Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1)

by Allan Batchelder

  “Because I’m spreading the forest?”

  “Just so. As to your second question, your brother was once as you are. You know this. Something entered and changed him. You know this, too. This something is very old, though not as old as my people.”

  “And what is this old thing?”

  The satyr laughed. “Much I know, but I do not know that.” He stood and stretched. “We may well find out, though, before all is said and done. Come, let’s continue on our way.”

  Aoife rose less enthusiastically. More walking.

  *****

  The End, In Camp

  He felt an unfamiliar thrill that have might been, what, anxiety? Doubt? Fear? Impossible. Sitting on a makeshift throne inside his tent, the End-of-All-Things listened to each and every tale of this Reaper that he could find. His face wore a pinched expression indicative of intense concentration. He had to learn the truth of this adversary. How was it possible that one man, without an army at his back or any sorcery at his disposal, could eradicate an entire city in his rage? Why had no one ever slain him with an arrow or even poison, for that matter? Here was another tale of this Vykers engaging an army by himself. This story was widely circulated and varied so little from village-to-village and town-to-town that it had the inescapable air of truth about it. One man against an army? Anders caressed the hilt of his sword. With his magic, his sword and Vykers’ martial prowess, he could crush the whole world like an egg. Alas, things were rarely so easy, and he suspected he’d have to exterminate the Reaper. He sensed Shere in his peripheral vision.

  “Yes?” he intoned.

  “Forgive the interruption, my lord, but the latest group of recruits is ready for their induction.”

  Anders opened his eyes. “And how many, this time?”

  “Nearly five hundred.”

  “Nearly?”

  “Four hundred, eighty-two, and it please you.”

  “It does not please me. When I ask for a number, I want an exact number the first time I ask.” Arcane energies burst into life on his fingertips, and his general quailed ever-so-slightly at the sight. “You cannot imagine what I will do to you if you fail or betray me.”

  “No, my lord,” Shere responded, all humility and obedience.

  “Let us go, then” Anders said.

  Outside, several soldiers patrolled around the perimeter of a large, roped-in circle, inside of which were the aforementioned four hundred and eight-two “recruits.”

  The End-of-All-Things addressed a nearby officer. “Soldier,” he called out, “tell me of this latest collection. All peasants again, are they?”

  “No, my lord,” the man replied, frightened to his marrow to have been addressed by Anders at all. “Some there be, that’s certain. But there be craftsmen and local militia ‘mongst the mob, too.”

  Anders nodded. “As you were, then,” he told the man. To Shere he said, “Let us proceed.”

  On one side of the circle, there was a small gate of sorts, manned by four guards – two on either side of the rope. One at a time, another group of guards forced the captives to approach the End-of-All-Things, who reached into a nearby chest, retrieved an odd nutlike object and fed it to each in turn. At sword point, none resisted, though many had a look in their eyes that said they would if they could. As nothing dramatic happened immediately after swallowing these nuts, the mood in the roped-in enclosure remained reasonably calm. And because the nuts’ magic only took effect during sleep, most of those in the pen would never see what was coming.

  By morning, any who had slept would be little more than automatons; those who resisted sleep would fail, eventually. And once they succumbed, they would act with absolute obedience to their master, the End-of-All-Things. They would march endlessly, fight tirelessly, ignoring hunger, thirst or pain for as long as their bodies would sustain them. It was a dark marvel, really, to field such a force, a force that knew nothing of fear or fatigue. On this particular evening, Anders’ host numbered well over a hundred thousand such soldiers. Tomorrow, it would have four hundred and eighty-two more.

  *****

  Once again, Anders sat on his (latest) charger, on a ridge overlooking his host. This was a ritual he dearly loved, the testing of his power over his automatons. They faced him in perfect rows and columns, stretching almost out of sight to the East, West and South. The End-of-All-Things didn’t believe there were so many stars in the sky. If there were, he would snuff them out, too, given time.

  Anders raised his hands over his head and said “kneel.” No one could have heard him more than twenty paces away, but his host felt his command nonetheless and kneeled in one thunderous motion. “Stand!” Anders commanded, and they did. “Roar!” he yelled, and they roared. Anders had no doubt that could be heard to the horizon line in any direction. He grinned. “Say ‘Vykers must die!” he commanded. “Vykers must die!” the host bellowed. “Again!” Anders laughed. “Vykers must die!” “Again!” “Vykers must die!”

  “Did you hear that, Tarmun Vykers?” Anders asked the wind.

  The wind howled in response.

  *****

  Janks, On the Trail

  Janks and his crew were pulled up short by the strangest noise any of them had ever heard, which sounded, to Janks’ ears, like all the people in the world yelling at once from a distant mountaintop.

  “Truly, my liege, that’s a most fearsome clamor,” Rem offered.

  “Lay off the ‘my liege’ crap, eh Rem? I can’t tell if you’re supportin’ me or mockin’ me, but I ain’t comfortable with it either way.”

  “As you say.”

  The corporal was not happy. His half was supposed to have returned to Long’s camp three days ago, but their quarry had led them in circles until they were all but lost. The twins were supposed to be good at this kind of thing, but even they seemed flummoxed.

  “Might be there’s magic involved,” one of them allowed.

  Janks tossed his cap in the dirt and slid off his horse. “Well, that’s fuckin’ wonderful, lads, fuckin’ wonderful.”

  “Corporal,” Long’s twin whispered urgently, “been an army up ahead, and recently.”

  “What’d you see?” Janks asked.

  “Whole lot of hoof prints and no particular effort to hide ‘em. But they look half a day old or more.”

  Slowly, the whole team crept in the indicated direction, scrutinizing the ground and keeping their hands near their weapons. After two hundred paces or so, the group emerged into a small clearing, their former campsite.

  “Alheria’s frigid tits!’ Janks cursed. “This ain’t good, no matter how you look at it. Either somebody came by and nabbed Sarge, or our own army’s moved on without us. Mahnus be damned to the last of all hells!”

  “There’s no blood, if that helps,” the mousy A’Shea said. “I’d know if there were.”

  Janks walked over to the fire pit, which one of the twins was busy investigating. “How long?” he asked the man.

  “Couple hours. Maybe three.”

  The other twin came over and poked around in the ashes. “Yep. Two, three hours. Right enough.”

  Did they ever contradict each other? Janks would almost pay to see that.

  “What’s the order?” Janks’ twin asked.

  “We…follow, looks like. At least ‘til we get a sense of what we’re up against. If it’s trouble, we head back to base. If not, maybe we join up with ‘em.”

  Bash spat into the muddied grass.

  Wordlessly, Janks’ half pulled themselves together, made a quick check of their gear and supplies and headed out after the twins.

  *****

  Vykers, At Morden’s Cairn

  The hole opened into a tunnel. A creepy fucking tunnel, of course. Why did this kind of stuff always play out exactly as expected? Vykers wasn’t asking for half-naked dryads cavorting around an underground fountain of rum, but this? He clenched his teeth and looked around. Maybe he’d been a bit premature in his assessment. Whereas he might justifia
bly have anticipated a square or rectangular passageway, this one was completely round. Its walls had been thoroughly scorched by the same flames, he guessed, that had burnt the stones above. Must’ve been a hell of a big fire. Or maybe a lot of fires. Or both. Anyway, there’d been a battle here, at some point.

  Vykers became dimly aware of an approaching headache. To a man who had experienced the amputation of both hands and feet, though, a headache was nothing.

  What are you getting? He asked Arune.

  Same as you: evidence of numerous battles at the entrance. Some of this is arcane damage, some of it’s more conventional munitions. Arune paused. Do you hear the screaming?

  What screaming?

  Apparently not.

  What screaming?

  Ever since we passed underground, there’s been a constant, distant screaming.

  Let me guess: souls wailing in torment?

  How can you be so cynical all the time without fracturing into a million pieces?

  I have no idea what you just said.

  I’m saying, what if it is souls wailing in torment?

  You don’t happen to hear any giggling dryads, do you?

  <???>

  Never mind, Vykers said, finally. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled back the way he’d come. Before long, he saw the familiar forms of the Five in silhouette against the daylight outside the hole. In another minute, they stood before him.

  “Old magic,” Number 17 said.

  “Do any of you hear screaming?” Vykers asked.

  Four of the five answered “no.” Number 17 replied in the affirmative.

  Thinking aloud, Vykers said, “So, it’s magic of some sort…”

  Number 17 cleared his throat. “Master…if I may…” he began awkwardly, “how is it that you hear the screaming?”

  Vykers smiled at him. “Because I’m the Reaper.”

  Again, the Five exchanged looks of utter bewilderment.

  Well done, Arune muttered.

  “Awfully black down this tunnel,” the Reaper observed. I can probably make a torch or two, but those won’t last long.

  “Darkness is no trouble to us,” Number 3 said.

  How well do you trust these five? Arune asked.

  Not at all, Vykers answered.

  That’s what I wanted to hear. Anyway, I can take care of your vision problem.

  I don’t have a vision problem.

  In here, you do. Or would have. Now you won’t.

  What -- ? Suddenly, Vykers could see quite a ways down the tunnel. Ah, he told Arune, so you are good for something, after all.

  Arune never knew how to respond to these jibes, so she chose silence.

  “Why don’t you boys take the van,” Vykers prompted, “and I’ll bring up the rear.”

  “Yes, good.” Number 3 responded.

  *****

  It seemed the gods never tired of needling Vykers for his arrogance. He’d scoffed upon entering this hole, feeling it too much like every other warren, abandoned mine or catacombs he’d fought his way through. Typical, he’d thought it, and predictable. But it was neither. Where he had expected some sort of labyrinth, this tunnel ran impossibly straight and true for what seemed forever. There were no side passages, dead-ends, cave-ins or any of the other features that made underground exploration simultaneously so frustrating and fascinating. On the contrary, the sheer monotony of the place was enough to drive anyone crazy. Whoever had dug this tunnel was at once singularly focused on reaching his goal and shockingly incurious about anything he passed on his way there. Vykers saw no evidence of prospecting, interments, or military intent: it was, from all he could see, a smooth, round, unending hole. Which was far worse than he’d been expecting.

  “The sun has gone down,” one of the Five finally said, as the group stopped for a brief rest.

  How do you know? Vykers wanted to ask. In the end, he supposed it didn’t much matter. “Unlikely place to make camp,” he said, “but it’ll have to do. I don’t see any change in this tunnel for a while.”

  “No, you’re right,” Number 3 said, a kind of awe creeping into his voice, “It does go on, doesn’t it?”

  Vykers sat, and the Five followed suit.

  Any idea how long this thing runs? Vykers asked Arune.

  Oh, I’m sorry, she responded, did you say something?

  Bad enough sharing his head with someone else, but a woman? The gods hated him, all right. Aren’t we past the courtin’ phase, yet? He challenged her. I just want to know, can you see an end to this damned tunnel!

  No, she replied, curtly.

  No? Vykers felt a brief moment of something like panic. What do you mean ‘no?’ How’s that even possible?

  These walls are a lacework pattern of spells and spell wards, hundreds if not thousands of years old. I couldn’t cast a spell in here if my life – or yours – depended on it.

  So…?

  So, I can’t see beyond what you see. I can’t hear beyond what you hear.

  Vykers looked over at the Five. “Hey, is there anything you fellas can tell me about this place?”

  Why do you always do that? Arune demanded.

  Number 3 said, “Not a great deal.”

  What? Vykers practically shouted back.

  Run to them every time I don’t give you an answer you like!

  You’ve never been in charge of anything, have you?

  Arune was silent, but he felt her fuming.

  Look, a commander, a leader –whatever you want to call it – he’s got to get as much information as possible, from as many difference sources as possible. I’m not trying to slight you. I’m trying to keep us alive.

  And so am I.

  Good. Then, let’s both keep doing our jobs. He turned back to Number 3. “I mean, you boys don’t get a sense of how long this tunnel runs, or who else might be in here with us…?”

  There are no Svarren, if that’s what you’re worrying about, Arune interrupted.

  Svarren would be a treat compared to this endless slog. ‘Least I know how to deal with them.

  There may be worse things in here.

  There’s nothing on earth likes a sword shoved up its ass.

  Poetry.

  I’m gonna get some sleep, Vykers said.

  Oh! Then I’ll take first watch, Arune answered, wryly.

  Then, he surprised her. Thanks, Burner.

  *****

  They walked another day and then another. The Reaper finally had to shut everything out – fatigue, boredom, worry – and push himself forward like some sort of herd animal, driven before the whip. Unexpectedly, the group reached a fork in the tunnel.

  Vykers stood and stared, stupidly, at his two choices. Left, right, left, right. “You boys gotta preference?” he said to the Five.

  “Right,” they all said in unison.

  Vykers blinked. In unison? “Okay, left it is, then,” he announced. Can’t let the chickens rule the roost, and all that. Of course, these were some damned nasty chickens. Still, a leader had to be a leader. And the chimeras seemed to take no offense, as they forged off down the left tunnel.

  After some time, Arune intruded on the Reaper’s thoughts. Did you notice the walls?

  He had. For the past hundred yards or so and continuing into the darkness ahead, the walls were inlaid with a mosaic of…human teeth. Vykers had seen some pretty weird shit, but this was especially unusual. He’d never been good at numbers, but it was clear even to him that thousands of people must have contributed to this…artwork, if that’s what it was. The only question was whether the contributors had done so voluntarily and during their lives, or otherwise. Vykers found, not surprisingly, that he didn’t much care either way. The dead were dead, and the living soon would be.

  I was in a catacomb once in which the walls were lined with skulls, Arune recalled. Teeth, though – that’s a new to me. Why teeth?

  I once walked on a rug, I guess you’d call it, made of severed –

  Don’t finish
that sentence! Aoife warned.

  Flowers, Vykers said. What’d you think I was going to say?

  You know bloody well what.

  Vykers paused. How do you know what I meant?

  You’ve got a rather gruesome image rattling around in here with me.

  Ah, well, they’re ‘flowers’ to some, I’ve no doubt.