“Yes?” Her Majesty responded.
“The End’s body?”
“We burned it. I had intended to put his head on my gates, but some thieving wretch got to it first and stole it, along with his heart. No mistaking his body, though, and that’s nothing but ashes now, which I fully intend to scatter to the four winds.”
“Good,” Vykers grunted. “And my sword?”
“Your…companion has it. None else could touch it,” the Queen replied. “I’m told it has changed since you saw it last.”
“I. Need. It.”
“Oh ho! Do you, now? I thought the great Tarmun Vykers had no use for magic swords and the like!”
Vykers was not amused.
The Queen sighed rather melodramatically and whispered in her Shaper’s ear. He promptly left the tent. “You’re awfully demanding for a near corpse.”
“And savior. Of. Your realm,” Vykers countered.
The Queen’s dark eyes sparkled. “Er, yes.”
The Shaper returned with Number 3 in tow. “Master,” the chimera said, and held the sword out for inspection.
It had changed. It had, if appearances could be trusted, devoured the End’s weapon, in much the same way the Five had eaten one another. Now, the sword was larger, longer, uglier. It clearly featured elements of both swords in its shape and design, and it radiated chaos.
“Let me. Touch.”
Aoife objected. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
Her Majesty sniggered. “Wise? Tarmun Vykers? Ha!”
The A’Shea looked gobsmacked.
“Let him touch the damned thing,” the Queen ordered.
Ever so gently, Number 3 set it down near Vykers’ left hand. Cautiously, he laid two fingers upon its hilt. He grimaced as if in pain. Aoife was about to try to remove the accursed sword, Queen’s orders or no, when Vykers at once relaxed. The shadow of pleasure crossed his face. “We will,” he said, apropos of nothing, and returned to sleep.
*****
By week’s end, entire divisions had headed back south, often accompanied by large numbers of bemused peasants, looking for direction, purpose, a new start. The battlefield, which some joker had christened “the End of the End” (and the name stuck), had been largely cleared of bodies. That had been an arduous process, involving the separation and identification of remains, whenever possible, and, ultimately, their mass cremation. Fortunately, the snow had melted, which made the job somewhat easier, if a bit more foul-smelling.
The few larger tents remaining in the Queen’s army were mostly occupied by soldiers and officers in the final throes of celebration. It had truthfully seemed the world was about to end, but it had not. Hence, the prolonged festivities. There was only so much feasting, drinking and public farting a man could tolerate, however, before the mind wandered to more productive pursuits. Such was the case for everyone seated at Long’s table.
Joining the old sergeant, whose expression was now more or less permanently bittersweet, were Mardine, Spirk, Rem, the twins and even Sergeant Kittins. All were delightfully, visibly pickled, with the exceptions of Long Pete and his bride-to-be.
“Once more to ole Bash!” Kittins shouted out, raising his flagon high and sloshing himself and Spirk with a goodly amount of ale.
“To Bash!” everyone yelled and drank.
“To Pellas the Great!” Rem sang out.
“To Pellas!” everyone cheered.
“To Corporal Janks!” Spirk blurted out.
“To Janks!” everyone agreed and drank.
Long, alone, seemed to voice a silent prayer on top of the toast.
“To Long Pete!” a voice called from the doorway.
For the first time since setting eyes on Mardine after the victory, Long broke into a wide, genuinely happy smile. Yendor Plotz stood in the tent’s open doorway, looking like hell and grinning like the village idiot. Long jumped to his feet and ran over to embrace his old comrade in arms and intoxication.
“How ya been?” Yendor asked.
Long demonstrated his inability to talk.
“’S just as well,” Yendor said. “We’re men of action, anyways, ain’t we?”
Long’s shoulders shook in silent laughter.
Yendor came further into the tent and extended his hand to each person at the table. “Yendor Plotz, former general and gen’rally good guy!” he announced, by way of introduction. Without waiting for an invite, he squeezed himself onto the bench, between Spirk and Kittins.
Kittins was already amused. Yendor had that effect on people. “Former general, is it? You fought for the End?”
“Fought for? Nah, I drank his booze, shit in his latrines and spent a lot of time passed out drunk. What the hell else was I gonna do? Kill innocent people?”
Kittins roared with laughter and slapped his new friend on the back.
Rem asked the obvious question: “How did you survive the battle and where have you been this past week?”
Yendor actually giggled. “Wunna you bastards put my horse down, so I just huddled beside it, drinking the last o’ my Skent ‘til I took a snoozer. Horse kept me warm for a day or so, b’lieve it or not, and then I just joined these roving bands o’ the lost until some officer put me in line for a good meal and a blanket. Finally, I sobered up enough to start thinkin’ – always a dangerous thing, by the by – and asking around for Long Pete and this Janks fella he was always goin’ on about.”
At the mention of Janks, the table grew quiet, Yendor noticed. “Oh, it’s that way.” He looked over at Long. “I am truly and sincerely sorry for your loss, my friend.”
Me, too, Long mouthed. Thank you.
Yendor grabbed the pitcher from which the table’s various mugs and flagons had been filled and lifted it. “To them’s have gone on and to those as are coming!” He nodded to Mardine with a wink and a twinkle in his eyes that set the table on a roar. Long blushed, and everyone laughed all the more.
~ EPILOGUE ~
It was the single most comfortable bed chamber Tarmun Vykers had ever experienced, with the best bed, too.
Man could get used to this, he thought. Except the gaping-hole-in-the-gut part.
Reunited with his sword, Vykers had improved steadily, and yet the wound refused to close. The existence of that damned dagger had been the End’s one real surprise, and Vykers almost admired how well the egomaniacal fiend had kept it a secret until he absolutely needed it. It just happened that Vykers’ many secrets outweighed the Ends’.
An A’Shea came in to change the dressings on Vykers’ wound and assess its status. This was another of those very rare male A’Shea. Hard to admit it, even to himself, but Vykers missed Aoife. But, as she didn’t seem to miss him, there wasn’t much point in dwelling on it. He’d saved the world; surely, there were plenty o’ women willing to share their…gratitude…with him.
Ugh, Arune groaned in disgust.
Still there, then? Been so long since I’ve heard from you, I thought you’d gone away.
Keeping your sorry carcass alive’s a full-time job.
And that had been the biggest riddle in the aftermath of the battle: why had the Shaper chosen to stay with Vykers and keep him alive when she could finally have had her freedom and a body of her own once again? He suspected he knew the answer, but dared not express it, even to himself.
The A’Shea said nothing as he left.
Vykers’ appetite had improved, so he picked at a chicken carcass sitting on a nearby side-table. And then the door opened again and Aoife stepped through. Vykers was genuinely happy to see her.
Uh-oh, he thought.
*****
A lone figure struggled and fought its way up the icy mountainside, carrying dual burdens. In his left arm, shielded against his chest, a small child peered out into the snow with eyes devoid of emotion; in the figure’s right hand was a roundish bundle, dark with dried blood.
“Soon,” General Omeyo said, more to himself than the child, “we’ll find shelter soon.”
> ~ THE END ~
Appendix A
Cast of Characters
Tarmun Vykers, A.K.A, “the Reaper” – a legendary warrior
Arune – A spectral Burner who shares Vykers’ body
Anders Cestroenyn – the self-proclaimed “End-of-All-Things
General Schere – One of the End’s men
General Wims Deda – Another of his men
General Omeya – Another of his men
Three – A chimera and friend of Vykers
Aoife Cestroenyn – An A’Shea or “Mender,” sister of Anders
Too-Mai-Ten-La, A.K.A. “Toomt’-La” – a satyr, born of Aoife
The Historian, A.K.A, “the Ahklatian” – An ancient sage and Shaper
Long, A.K.A, Long Pete
Esmun Janks – A friend to Long
D’Kem – a washed up Burner
Mardine -- A giantess
Yendor Plotz – A drunk and friend to Long
Spirk Nessno – An idiot and friend to Long
Remuel Wratch, A.K.A. “Rem,” -- a famous actor
Major Bailis – An officer in Her Majesty’s Army and Kittins’ Commanding Officer
Sergeant Kittins – An officer in Her Majesty’s Army
Bash – A halfbreed soldier
Her Majesty, the Virgin Queen – Ruler of the Central or Midlands Kingdoms
The Five – Chimeras who serve Vykers
Mahnus – God of Creation and War
Alheria – Goddess of Earth, Nature and life
Appendix B
A Guide to Character Name Pronunciation
Author’s note:
If you’ve read this far, these are your characters as much as mine. You may imagine their names however you’d like. This list is really for the sticklers amongst us.
Tarmun Vykers = Tahr-muhn Vahy-kurz
Aoife = Ee-fuh
Arune = Uh-roon
D’Kem = Di-kem
Bailis = Bey-liss
Mardine = Mahr-deen
Deda = Dey-duh
Omeyo = Oh-mey-oh
Toomt’-La = Toomt’-La
Mahnus = Mahn-us
Alheria = Uh-lair-ee-uh
Ahklat = Uh-klaht
Ahklatian = Uh-kley-shuhn
About the Author:
Allan Batchelder is a professional actor, educator and former stand up comedian. He has written several plays and screenplays, dialogue for computer games, and online articles about theatre and/or education. Steel, Blood & Fire is his first novel, the opening act in a planned series. Allan lives in Washington State with his wife, son, cat and dog. And his computer.
Vykers’ saga continues with As Flies to Wanton Boys and Corpse Cold. Be sure to catch book four, The Ruined God, in the summer of 2016!
Dear Reader:
Thank you for reading Steel, Blood & Fire. If you enjoyed it, please consider writing a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or anywhere else books are reviewed. Vykers is one tough bastard, but he can’t survive without your support!
For updates and news about sequels, go to:
www.immortaltreachery.com
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And on Twitter at: @TarmunVykers
Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1) Page 50
