“And his sword?”
“Yes,” the Historian paused to collect himself. “Mythology is rife with tales of magical swords, but few turn out to be genuine when found.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” Vykers agreed.
“There is, however, a handful of weapons scattered around the world that are known to be, er, legitimate. Your Queen possesses one.”
“So I’ve learned.”
“Another such is said to exist within Morden’s Cairn, the great tomb of the Northern Clans.”
Vykers shook his head in amused disbelief. “Morden’s Cairn, huh? Sounds like a cheerful place.”
“The sword’s remoteness and inaccessibility are what have kept it safe all these centuries.”
“Right. And, uh, what’s this particular sword supposed to do?”
“Whatever it wants,” the Historian said.
“Whatever it wants…”
“Yes. It’s alive, after a fashion. Possessed of its own thoughts, desires and abilities.”
“No shit?” Vykers said, rather impolitely.
“No shit,” the Historian repeated, dryly.
*****
There was only one inn in all of Ahklat that catered to “outsiders” tastes – Landy’s Palace, and Vykers was finally directed there after visiting almost all the native-style inns in the city, places with names like Repose, Silence, Remembrance, Lassitude and Memory’s Corner. In deference to the locals, Landy’s Palace still observed the unspoken anti-noise ordinance and featured the same, intentionally spartan foyer as all the other inns, but its rooms were a bit more traditionally furnished and comfortable, and, more importantly (from Vykers’ point of view), its meals were considerably more pleasant. Too bad his companions didn’t know how to enjoy such fare. While the Reaper was enjoying pork with roasted apples, the Five were dining – if dining was the proper word – on raw legs of lamb and venison. Vykers had eaten raw meat many a time out of necessity; it would do in a pinch. But he preferred it well done and slightly charred on the outside.
A sword that can Shape? Arune asked. That will make my job easier.
Your job? Vykers countered. Your job is to find a way out of my body and into one of your own.
Arune offered a mental shrug. That’s as may be, warrior. In the meantime, I need to handle those defenses that fall outside your…expertise.
I did okay before you came along.
May I remind you that when I came along, as you put it, you were crawling on all fours like a mindless beast, missing your hands and feet and shitting yourself at every turn.
And you were dead. Still are, truth be told. And I’m still missing my hands and feet. Don’t think for a moment these ghostie parts are better n’ my own flesh and blood.
I could remove them again, Arune thought to herself. But no point in further irritating the big oaf.
Vykers speared a roasted apple with his knife and took a bite. “What do you know about this Morden’s Cairn?” he asked Number 3.
“Nothing,” the creature confessed, regretfully.
“Wonderful,” Vykers said, sourly.
“Are you worried, Master?” Number 17 asked.
Vykers looked over at him. “Worried? No. But I like to be prepared. If I’m to beard the dragon in his den, I like to know how big he is, how he likes to attack, that sort of thing.”
“We’re going to fight a dragon?” Number 12 gasped.
“No. No dragon,” Vykers corrected. “It was just a what-do-you-call-it…”
Metaphor, Arune offered.
“A, uh,…dammit, what’s the word?” Vykers continued to fumble.
Figure of speech.
“A figure of speech,” Vykers finally said.
You’re welcome.
I didn’t use your suggestion. I thought of it, just as you were yapping at me.
I’m sure.
Vykers shut her out. Sometimes, the Shaper was worse than living without hands and feet.
“We need to find a map,” Vykers told Number 3. “Everybody wants me to save the world, but nobody’s makin’ it easy.”
“Off the market square, there’s a collector of old books, papers and maps.”
“And you know this from your previous visit?” Vykers asked.
Number 17 cut in, “We may look savage, Master, but we’re not savages.”
Vykers stood up. “I’m off to find this collector. Come along or stay here, as you wish. But be ready to leave by sunrise.”
The Five looked at one another, briefly. “I’ll join you, Master,” Number 12 said. Vykers had never heard him speak before; he had the odd, cracking voice of a teen-aged boy, which didn’t sit well with his bizarre, many-fissured appearance.
“Suit yourself,” Vykers said, indifferently.
When the two had gotten a couple of blocks from Landy’s, Number 12 spoke again. “Excuse me, Master…” he began.
“Yes?”
“Why do you kill?” the creature inquired.
In unusual circumstances, Vykers had learned to expect equally unusual events, so he was not completely surprised by the non sequitur. “I like it,” he answered flatly.
“So do I.” Number 12 said. After a while he added, “But why?”
The Reaper had been asked this very question by a thousand whores and ten times as many widows, many of whom would be forced into the same profession themselves as a result of Vykers’ actions. “It’s a simple enough question, my friend, but the answer’s anything but: I’m good at it, it’s easy. I like the feeling of power and control it gives me. I like the struggle, the contest of wills and skills as we used to say in the army. But mostly, killing’s who I am.”
Number 12 made a strange chittering noise that might have been laughter. “Yes,” he said, “I see. Like a spider.”
“Yes,” Vykers agreed. “But a damned big one.”
They walked on a while longer, turned a few corners, and then Vykers said, “You ask, because you want to understand yourself, your own urges.”
“I do,” his companion admitted.
“Then you’ll get to know yourself right well in my service,” the Reaper said, as the two came to the edge of the market square.
“The shop we want is over there,” Number 12 pointed.
Vykers noted a narrow building, wedged in between two much larger structures. “Huh,” he said, making straight for it. When he made his way through the door, the shopkeeper looked up from behind the counter and nodded.
“Ah, an honor to have such a renowned warrior in my establishment,” he said softly.
“How in the infinite hells does everyone here seem to know of my coming before I get where I’m going?” Vykers complained.
“It’s quite simple, really. We…”
“Never mind. It doesn’t change anything.”
“No,” the shop keeper replied with mild disappointment.
“I’m guessing you know why I’ve come to your shop, then?” Vykers asked.
The shopkeeper brightened. “You’re looking for a map of the Morden’s Cairn region, or, perhaps, for a map leading from here to Morden’s Cairn.”
Vykers eyed Number 12, who said nothing. “Yes,” the warrior told the shopkeeper.
This was the shortest Ahklatian Vykers had seen, a least a head shorter than the big man, with the same pale skin and washed out hair as all the others he’d seen. And the same black, almost soulless eyes.
“What do you know about Morden’s Cairn?” the man asked.
“Nothing. Ghost stories and such.”
“Then you know the truth of it: the place is well and truly haunted, rife with the undead and the spirits of the dead,” the shopkeeper finished, with a morbid smile.
“O’ course,” Vykers said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Naturally. I’m sure the place is Evil’s summer home.”
The shopkeeper must’ve taken umbrage, because he frowned at the bigger man. “Do you take evil lightly, warrior?” he asked in his darkest tone.
<
br /> Vykers almost laughed at the melodrama. “I get it, my friend. I’m well aware that you’re acquainted with evil. As am I.” He paused, “As will I ever be.”
The other man dropped his gaze and let out a long, slow sigh. “It grieves me nonetheless,” he said, almost to himself. Wordlessly, he extended a small roll of leather and placed it into Vykers’ waiting hand. “If I believed in prayer,” the smaller man said, “I would pray your own evil outweighs that you face.”
The Reaper didn’t know what to say to that, so he regarded the shopkeeper quizzically, turned on his heel, and left.
*****
The next morning, Vykers and the Five set out through the Winter Gate for the wild northwestern part of the continent. It was a damp, drizzly morning, but Vykers was excited. It was territory he had always wanted to explore and now he had the freedom, no, the mandate to do so. He was further pleased by his little team of chimeras; they fought like demons but talked little and obeyed him without question or hesitation. He could see why House Blackbyrne had taken to them, but remained confused as to what they received in return. At the same time, the idea that he might have to face and kill one or all of them was never far from his mind. He didn’t relish the idea, but neither was he afraid of it.
The trees up here smelled different to the warrior, and the wind had a different flavor to it, too.
Those are pine trees you’re smelling, Arune informed him.
Was I talking to you? Vykers asked.
Must you always be so disagreeable?
No, I’m in earnest: I didn’t know I was talking to you.
Well, Arune hedged, you weren’t, not really…
Oh! Now you’re reading my mind?
I’m learning to, Arune admitted.
You don’t have my leave.
Your leave? I may save your mangy hide a thousand times before we part ways.
Are you bored, spook? Is that it? Vykers taunted.
It’s an absolute wasteland in here. You should see all the cobwebs…
You’re so smart, tell me something useful.
You need a bath.
Another? I had one yesterday.
It didn’t work.
Maybe Arune liked this kind of banter, but it was wearing on Vykers. Tell me something that ain’t about me.
Your five bodyguards are a mix of races – you know that. But some of those races aren’t of this world.
Vykers wasn’t sure what to make of that. Uh-huh…
And they honestly aren’t aware of that. They’re telling the truth when claim they know little of their origins.
But they were made for killing. That much is clear.
No one would know that better than you, I guess, Arune allowed.
There’s something going on here, a bigger game being played than I can see or figure out.
I feel the same.
Huh, Vykers said. A ghost moving in with me, this End-of-All-Things, the Virgin Queen making me her general, a noble family in the Capital offering me a bodyguard of creatures not of this world, and now I’m off to a haunted ruin right out o’ the fairy stories to find me a bleedin’ magic sword. And those are just the pieces I can see on the board. Mahnus knows whatever else is in play.
That’s a pretty fair assessment.
Vykers spat into the dirt beside the trail. “Thanks,” he said aloud, forgetting the whole conversation thus far had been internal. Number 3 looked over at him, but Vykers just shook his head and looked away. He didn’t feel like explaining.
Several hours later, Arune intruded again. Large raiding party on both sides of the road, with a third group moving into place behind us.
Vykers was about to ask how many men, when he remembered how the Five had gauged the oursine more accurately. “How many in hiding around us?” he asked Number 17.
“Thirty…eight,” the chimera answered.
Forty, Arune corrected.
“Forty,” Number 17 echoed, unknowingly.
Well, I’ll be damned, Vykers thought at Arune.
Probably, she smirked back.
A big, wide man in a fang-studded helmet and breastplate stepped out of the underbrush just ahead and to the left of the party. He had an enormous brown beard, a wide mouth, and large, bulbous nose separating his green eyes. In his right hand, he held a mean-looking double-bladed axe.
“What in the endless hells have we got here? Some kind o’ circus?” the man joked loudly, as he looked over Vykers and the Five. Since Vykers and his crew said nothing, the man continued. “Or is this more of a travelling zoo?”
“Ah,” Vykers said, “there, you’ve hit it. We’re a travelling zoo, and it’s feeding time.”
“Only I’m the one doin’ the eating,” the man said. “Hoick!” he yelled.
Out of the bushes and woods all around them, the other 39 members of the stranger’s band appeared, weapons in hand.
“What the hell kinda signal is ‘hoick?” Vykers asked. “That some special code only idiots can understand?”
Some of the larger group laughed, others growled in disapproval. Their leader was of the first group, laughing heartily, but in an aggressive manner. “Well,” he said at last, “I’ve got to give you credit for havin’ some spleen about you. But you’re outnumbered four-to-one. You know how this works, old son, bigger group plants the smaller under the leaves and pine needles. Your corpse’ll be sprouting mushrooms inside a week.”
The fellow’s cronies laughed hysterically and repeated a few of his choicest words.
“Last time someone talked like that to the Reaper, I poured molten iron into his asshole.”
The big man stopped smiling, and every member of his band did, too. Most took one or two steps back. “You’re lyin,’” the leader said. “The Reaper’s dead. ‘Sides, he was a giant of a man. You ain’t.”
Vykers drew his sword and walked calmly towards the other man, who, not yet ready to lose face, stood his ground with a most concerned look upon his face. “Tell ya what I’m gonna do,” Vykers whispered. “I’m gonna take the heads off every man in your little band, stake you to the ground, and pile all ‘o them on top of you. They should make for great company ‘til the nighttime predators arrive.” The man’s eyebrow began to twitch. Vykers ducked just as his foe was about to deliver a sideways blow with his axe, sending him flying over the Reaper’s back. Instantly, Vykers wheeled and kicked him in the jaw, knocking him unconscious or close to it.
The rest of the bandits came to life and made to close with Vykers, but the Five stepped into position and their frightful, alien aspects momentarily stunned their assailants. “Let me!” Vykers told his companions. “You boys can sit this one out, get some rest.” And that means you, too! He told Arune.
You’re going to fight forty men by yourself? She asked, incredulous.
Shut up! Don’t distract me! He countered.
“Flank ‘im!” one of the bandits yelled. “Flank the fucker!”
Vykers swung his sword in series of mighty figure-eights, more to clear some fighting room around himself than to do any actual damage. Still, he caught a couple of his opponents on the arms and shoulders and they stumbled backwards, gasping or groaning in pain. “Shit, lads, I ain’t even gotten started!” he roared. Two more men tried to rush Vykers on his right, while a third came in from his left. Vykers tumbled left, swinging as he went, and took out the man’s knee. As the man went down, the Reaper was able to turn and bring his sword across the midsections of both attackers. One parried, the other died. Three more men came at Vykers’ back. With his left glove, he reached out and grabbed the solo attacker's sword. While the man struggled to wrench it free, Vykers put his own sword through the man’s right eye. Still in control of the dead man’s body, Vykers wheeled it around and threw it onto the incoming threesome. Two of them wrestled with the corpse, and the third came in, swinging north to south. Vykers parried and kicked the man in the balls. As his sword rebounded from the other man’s, he smashed him in the face with his q
uillons, catching the fellow by the inside of his right cheek and dragging his head down, where the Reaper could bash it with his rising knee. There was a great snapping sound, and the bandit collapsed. By now, the two wrestling to get through or past the body of their comrade had worked their way free, only to witness this latest casualty fall at their feet. They looked at one another and decided, without discussion, upon a more cautious approach. Meanwhile, more of the group continued to move into flanking positions, in hopes of catching Vykers off guard. Vykers feinted for the man’s right knee and when he parried, swept over the top and cut his head clean off. Following the momentum of that blow, Vykers spun completely around and caught the second man on the shoulder, while he was busy looking at his now-headless friend. The Reaper ran right into him and knocked him ass-over-teakettle in the dirt. He then jumped on the man’s torso, snapping numerous ribs for good measure.
Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1) Page 16
