Soul Stealers

CHAPTER 14
Wax Nest

The world was shrouded in mist. Kell stood, poised on the high mountain ridgeline, the world around him a blanket interspersed with vast drops and glimpses of the rearing, Black Pike Peaks.

Ahead, the mist thickened momentarily, obscuring the two Soul Stealers. Only the canker came on, and more vachine longbow shafts whistled from the mist and Ilanna slammed left, then right, cutting arrows from flight… as the canker, close now, and amazingly nimble for its bulk, bounded along the narrow, undulating rock path and leapt at Kell with a savage snarl, an ejection of saliva, and Kell's axe slammed left but the canker ducked, equine head swaying back. Claws hammered at Kell but Ilanna deflected the blow on a fast return sweep, and he took a step back, the mist suddenly parting around him to reveal vast drops from nightmare. He ducked another swipe of curved claws and set his chin in a grim line as he clenched teeth hard, brows furrowed, and felt himself descending dropping plummeting into a blood red rage…

I will help, said Ilanna.

Yes, said Kell.

A flickering staccato of images rampaged through his mind. It was the Days of Blood – again. And he welcomed it. He stood, muscles bulging, tensed as if pumped on drugs and violence. His brain ached, and random chaos bounced around the cage of his brain. He lifted Ilanna, and she sang, she sang a high beautiful song only this time THIS TIME the world could hear her lullaby and the people running down the street fleeing the insanity of the army they stopped, and turned, and listened to the stunning ethereal voice of Ilanna as the perfect hypnotising notes reverberated through fire and smoke and sounds of slaughter, and the fleeing refugees paused and Kell strode amongst them Ilanna cutting left and right, and they did not flee, and they did not retaliate, they simply stood staring at this blood soaked figure at Kell's rage and his fury and his madness as Ilanna slammed left and right with economical accuracy, and they had love in their eyes, love for Ilanna's Song, and they welcomed death and in welcoming death their blood fed the butterfly blades and when they were all dead, all cut up in pieces on the muddy cobbles, so Kell fell to his knees amongst the men and women and children, and he cried, his tears running through a mask of blood and he cast Ilanna away and screamed "WHAT HAVE I DONE?" and he knew then, that he was cursed, that he was evil, that ultimately he was trying to be good and just and honourable; but deep down, he was simply a very bad man.

Kell blinked.

The canker was on him, fangs an inch from his throat and his eyes met the mad crimson gaze and he dropped Ilanna between them, and thrust her up and out, blades punching a huge hole up through the beast's great, cavernous chest, and Kell's legs braced and his teeth ground, and he stood there, strong, a powerhouse, with the impaled canker kicking on the end of his axe and with neck muscles and arm and shoulder and chest muscles bulging, his face purple with effort, and he lifted the kicking squealing canker up, high up into the air and stood there, feeling a wonderful power flooding through him, feeling strength and godliness teasing through flesh like a divine orgasm. Ilanna began to sing and the canker kicked, like a lizard on the end of a spear. Kell jerked the axe, blades cutting deeper into the huge beast, fully twice his size, great equine head thrashing with teeth gnawing invisible bones, and Kell thrust forward again, the blades so deep now that thick gore flowed out, over his head and torso, drenching him in entirety. With a final thrust Ilanna severed the canker's spine. It went suddenly still on the end of the axe. With a mighty scream, Kell wrenched Ilanna sideways, half severing the dying canker's body into two discrete pieces, which flopped with slaps of thick dead meat. Bloody clockwork components scattered, many tumbling down the mountain's flanks, clattering, brass and crimson gears still stepping, wheels spinning, cogs shifting. Kell lifted Ilanna in the air, one-handed, as the mist parted and the Soul Stealers locked eyes to him and he grinned, grinned through his mask of canker blood and Ilanna began to sing. She sang a high beautiful song, which rang out across the mountains and valleys, echoed across snowfields and frozen tarns. It was long and eerie and mournful, a song about murder, a song about death. And as she sang, so the Soul Stealers paused, and they stood for a long time listening as the dead canker slowly shifted, and slipped from the mountain ridge, vanished into the abyss. Eventually, Kell lowered Ilanna. The Soul Stealers turned, and disappeared into the swirling white vapour.

"Grandfather!" came Nienna's shout. They were far across the ridgeline now, Saark guiding the young woman. Kell turned, moved away from the canker's blood pools and stopped. Gazing down where Myriam had fallen, he tried to differentiate her corpse from the distant slopes and jagged rocks. He could not.

"Damn it," he snarled, then loped across the ridge at great speed, showing no fear of heights, showing no worry at the vast slopes veering off to either side. For Kell, vertigo was something that happened to other people.

Saark and Nienna moved on, through the eddying haze, and Kell eventually caught them up as they climbed towards the next mountain top. As they breached a rise, a savage steep scramble which did its best to cast all three back down the mountainside, so a wind snapped around them and the mist cleared, and the world of the Black Pike Mountains opened like God peeling the top off the world.

"Stunning," said Nienna, simply.

Kell grunted.

Saark helped the old warrior up the last scree of rocks, and they stood in silence staring at the black granite wilderness, and the sweeping fields of snow. It was quite light where they stood, although the wind bit into them like ice knives.

"You did well," said Saark.

"I reverted," said Kell.

"Meaning?"

"Something happened to me. Something happened to Ilanna. Something bad."

"I don't understand."

"I think only Ilanna understands. I think, sometimes, she plays her own game, Saark. She sang to the Soul Stealers – there was a connection there, what kind of connection I am not sure. But they retreated. They fled."

"You killed the canker. Maybe they were scared of you?"

"No," grunted Kell, rubbing his beard and leaning on the axe. Her blades gleamed black in the harsh winter light. "No, they were frightened of Ilanna. I think."

"Where do we go next?" asked Nienna, hunkering down in her clothing. Her face was drawn, ashen, her eyes red from crying. The death of Myriam had stunned her.

Kell pointed, to where a huge mountain reared high above the others. It was formidable, even at this distance, with twin horns of overhanging rock rearing near the summit and spreading out, so the beast in its entirety resembled the skull of a ram.

"Skaringa Dak," he said. "Otherwise known as Warlord's Peak."

"That's one ugly mountain," said Saark. "And it's big. Too big, Kell. Look at the distance we have to cover! We can't be dragging Nienna all that way."

"We must. But rest assured, we go through the mountain, not over the top."

"Kell, that's Silva Valley you're talking about. It's an entire civilisation, by all the balls of the gods! You cannot fight the world, old friend."

"One step at a time," said Kell.

Saark sighed, and Nienna moved to him, hugged him. "I can't believe Myriam is gone," she said. Saark nodded, but said nothing. It did not surprise him, and he had to admit, he had wanted her dead. However, now the deed was done, guilt stabbed him like a tiny knife in the belly. She had been a victim of the cancers eating her body, her bones. She had given in to madness to chase an impossible dream. And her only reward now was lying dead and broken, a smashed doll, at the foot of the terrible Black Pikes.

"Yes," he said, finally, and hugged Nienna tight. It was a simple connection, a simple sharing of warmth and humanity. And in this dark place of stone and ice, it felt necessary.

"Come on," said Kell. "We have a long way to go."

"You're mad, old man."

"Maybe," he said, face dark. "Let's get moving, before those bitches forget Ilanna's song and come back."

She swam through darkness, and at last there was no pain. It had happened so suddenly. The arrow in her throat, rolling from the high ledge, then… a long, rattling descent. She hit rocks, and was conscious for a while of great darkness hanging over her like a guillotine blade waiting to drop. Then, she supposed, she died. There was a long period of nothing. And then fire seemed to rage through her veins, potent and raw, the most powerful injection of energy she had ever, ever felt. She felt something cold against her chest, and with a jerk she shuddered in huge lungfuls of cold mountain air. Only then did she feel the pain at her neck, and everything came rushing back and she opened her mouth to scream but a hand clamped over her face, muffling her. She thrashed for a while, arms and legs kicking in chaos, but something immeasurably strong pinned her down, holding her still, and she felt the fire raging through her and it hurt, hurt so bad, hurt worse than anything she'd ever felt and seemed to rage for a million years. Then her eyes flickered open and she stared into a gaunt, pale, beautiful face. The face of the Soul Stealer. She tried to struggle in sudden panic, but Shanna held her tight and smiled a hollow smile and showed her fangs, which were stained with blood.

"Be still, child," she hissed. "It will not take long."

She looked to the left and Tashmaniok came into Myriam's plane of vision. She carried something and Myriam frowned. Then another punch of pain spun through her and she convulsed, unable to breathe, her heart filled with pure white agony as she slammed into cardiac arrest.

"Now," said Shanna.

Tash knelt, and in her hand was a tiny device, a cross between the innards of a watch and an insect made from gold wire. It scampered from Tash's hands, and moved across Myriam's skin as she stared down at it, pain slapping her in waves, her eyes following the tiny clockwork machine in terror. "This is the latest technology," came Tash's soothing voice, as the clockwork spider paused over Myriam's spasming, fractured heart, lifted a leg, and with a high-pitched screeching drilled a hole through her breastbone.

Myriam screamed, thrashing, and again Shanna clamped the woman's mouth, cutting the sound off with a sharp slap. The tiny clockwork machine cut downwards, opening a dark hole in Myriam's chest, and then climbed in. It reached back, and did something – as if closing a zip. Then it crawled into Myriam's heart and long tendrils of gold wire ejaculated from tiny needles, encircling Myriam's dying, fluttering organ and encapsulating it. Tiny sections of the clockwork machine broke away, and began to travel through Myriam's body. She spasmed, and convulsed, her limbs twitching, her eyes rolling back, froth foaming from her mouth, fingers and toes clenching and then suddenly erupting with brass claws, and her teeth broke out with snaps as fangs pushed from her own gums. They were made from gold. They gleamed.

Finally, Tash threw Shanna a knife. Shanna slashed her wrist, and allowed a gush of dark blood-oil to spill into Myriam's open mouth. She convulsed again, as if taking poison, her teeth stained crimson, and black, her tongue lolling around like a fat eel. Then, finally, she went still.

Shanna wrapped a cloth around her wrist, binding it tight, then climbed from Myriam's still, lifeless body. She moved to Tash, and placed her hand on the Soul Stealer's shoulder. They waited, motionless, watching Myriam with interest.

"Did it work?" said Shanna, finally.

"If they do not bind, she will soon fall apart," said Tashmaniok without emotion. "Like succulent cooked meat pared from the bone. Like a desecration of all that is human." Then she turned, and stared up the mountain flanks to Wolfspine. Her eyes narrowed, still remembering the pain of Ilanna's song piercing her skull. It had skewered her brain like a spear. Her soul. Even now, she was shivering.

We will find you soon enough, old man, she thought.

We will see how long the magick lasts in your axe!

All pain fled. It happened in an instant. Myriam sighed, and breathed out. She felt, ultimately, at peace. Devoid of the agonies which had wracked her for so long, the cancers which had eaten her and supplied constant pain. She had suffered an eternity, the pains fading to a background agony, a persistent throb which just became normal to everyday existence. Only in sleep did the fire sometimes abate; and there was always a vast disappointment in the morning when Myriam awoke to find she still suffered.

But… Not now.

She felt it, as an emotion, as injected knowledge. The clockwork had moved through her body, combining with blood-oil, combining with the virus of the vampire, and all three had worked in harmony. Cancers were obliterated in a moment. The arrow wound in her throat had bubbled, and slowly healed as she slept. Her pain had gone, all pain had gone, and she floated in a warm secure place not unlike a womb.

Her eyes opened. It was dark. They were in a small, warm cave. Shanna and Tash sat on rocks by the fire, watching her.

Slowly, Myriam sat up. She was wary. These were the enemy.

Then she looked down at her hands, and a thrill of fear and excitement flooded her. Her fingers ended in claws. She blinked. She reached up to her throat, remembering the savage arrow-wound which had, effectively, punched her from the summit of the ridge. The flesh was smooth, uninterrupted by wound or scar.

Then her hands moved to her teeth, and touched gently at the fangs there.

She looked at the Soul Stealers.

"You have made me vachine?" she said, softly.

Shanna nodded.

"You have removed the cancer from my body?"

Tash stood, and crossed to her. She held a shard of mirror, which Myriam took and stared into. She sank into that mirror, then, sank into the silvered glass as if being sucked down into a lake of beautiful mercury.

Myriam stared at her own face. Her flesh had filled out, and although she was pale, she was radiant with health. No longer did gaunt eye-sockets dominate her face with purple rings. Her eyes sparkled like fine-cut gems. When she smiled, her teeth were white and strong, not knuckle-dice wobbling in a corrupt jaw.

Myriam looked down at herself. Her clothing was battered and tattered and torn, as befitted somebody who had slid down the mountainside. But her hips were full, legs powerful, her fingers strong, the flesh filled out and defined by muscle.

"There is one more thing you must do," said Tashmaniok, kneeling beside Myriam.

"Anything," she wept, "anything at all."

"You must swear your soul to us," she said, voice gentle. "You must swear it by the blood-oil that flows in your veins, by the blood-oil that lubricates your clockwork."

"I will swear with all my heart!" cried Myriam, and put her face in the palms of her hands as she thanked the vachine for giving her health, strength, and ultimately, her life.

"Good," said Shanna, also leaning in close. "Now, my little virgin vachine, we have a job for you."

They walked through the darkness, down a narrow rock trail.

"This is insane," said Saark, for the tenth time.

"Shut up," growled Kell, for the tenth time.

"We'll break our bloody ankles, man!"

"What, so you'd wait here for those vampire bitches to hunt you down, would you?" snapped Kell. "Stop being such a court jester, and get on with the job, lad."

Saark shrugged, and moved on. In truth, the dark held no problem for him. Not now. Since Shanna bit him, his eyesight, and especially night vision, had increased tenfold. Now, the night was like a green-tinted summer's day. No longer would he have trouble falling over things drunk in the night. Now, there was no night.

However, despite increased strength and vision and stamina and healing, Saark was having other problems. Like the stench of blood. Here, and now, walking the mountain trails in snow and ice and whipping, freezing wind, he could smell Kell's blood more than anything. But Nienna's was also there, a more subtle, more gentle sweet fragrance; like the scent of roses, when compared to nettles. But with great force of will Saark was learning to master this weakness, or what he saw as a flaw in his new-found gift – or maybe curse? – and was able with great strength of mind to suppress the urges to extrude his still-growing vampire fangs and leap on Kell, devouring his throat and heart-blood.

The only problem had come when Kell killed the canker, lifting the beast up on the end of his axe and shaking it over his head, emptying its blood and bloodoil and guts over himself in a carnage orgy of gore. The sheer stench hit Saark like a wall, rolled over him like an explosion of rampant forest fire, and it was all he could do to hide his crazy rolling eyes, his extending claws, and not jump on Nienna's back and tear out her spine. In that moment, he wanted Nienna more than anything on earth, with a feeling of emotion and raw need greater than anything he had ever had to endure. Forget sex; sex was as rancid milk to thick clotted cream. This desire for blood, this urge this lust this mockery was more powerful than the sun and the moon. Brighter than the stars.

Nienna had turned, seen him advancing on her, and smiled weakly, meeting his crazed eyes. It was the smile that did it; broke the spell and caged the savage beast growing inside Saark. Without that connection of love and trust, he would have leapt on her and chewed out her soul.

Now, Saark fought himself.

He fought the new urges which drove him, using internal logic to battle the growing needs of a blossoming half-infected vampire. All he needed was clockwork integration to make him whole, and he would be a changed person, he realised. All he needed was a Watchmaker, and he would no longer be Saark. Saark would be dead. A stranger would stand in his shell. He would be corrupt. He would be lost.

"Damn it," muttered Saark, clawing himself, a thrashing of internal turmoil.

"What's it now, dandy?" snapped Kell, turning and scowling. Saark could see him as clearly as in daylight. He could see the pulse of blood at Kell's throat. It made his mouth go dry with longing.

"These damn vachine," snapped Saark irritably. "Don't you just fucking hate them?"

"Every last one," said Kell, turning back to the trail. "They need exterminating like a nest of cockroaches." He moved on, picking his way with care and helping Nienna when she needed help. Behind, Saark's eyes gleamed with malevolence.

They rested two hours before dawn, eating dried salted beef and rubbing warmth back into limbs bitten by cold. Saark had wandered off for toileting, and Kell sat close to Nienna, looking down into her eyes with concern.

"How are you, girl?"

"Frightened," she said.

"We have to do this, you understand?" he said. She nodded. "We have nowhere else to run. The bastards have taken over Falanor; we must fight the invasion at its root."

"What will you do when we arrive?" she asked.

"I will find these Watchmakers, I will find those who control the Army of Iron, the people who rule Graal. First, I will ask. And when they snarl in superior arrogance, then, then I will fight, and I will take their top Watchmakers hostage, force them to withdraw their soldiers from our land."

"Do you really think you can do this?"

Kell nodded. "I'll give it my best damn shot," he said.

"A fine plan," said Saark, approaching from the path to the large ring of rocks where they were seated, "with, I can see, only three major flaws."

"You heard all that?" said Kell.

"Aye, I heard some."

"What did you hear?"

"About finding the Watchmakers, holding them hostage, that sort of thing."

"By God, lad, you've got some incredible hearing."

"No, no," said Saark slowly, "I was on my way back."

"You were all the way over there. Shitting behind that rock. I could smell you. You stink worse than any boy-lover's perfume." Kell shook his head, frowning. "And lad, you move quiet. Did you say you used to be a thief?"

Saark shrugged, and stroked his chin. "Is it time to move?" he said. "I have a feeling those Soul Stealer bitches are close on our trail."

"Yes. Not far now," said Kell.

"Not far from what?"

Kell stood, and stretched, and his mood visibly darkened. "The Worm Caves," he said. "So don't get too comfortable, lad, because we have a lot of sneaking to do. The Worm Caves are no place for mortals. They ooze death."

"You can't be serious," said Saark, eyebrows rising. "You mean the Va lentrio Caves? Shit. No, Kell. I've heard the tales, about the white worms which inhabit that place. In fact, they were from the same bloody bard who sang about your bloody maudlin Kell's Legend. Which just goes to show what a barrel of donkey-shit those songs really are." He grinned, a sour grin. "Maybe there's no danger after all?"

"Funny," said Kell, and threw Saark his pack. "Believe me, there's danger all right. So empty yourself now; this is no place to be needing a shit break. Let's go."

Shivering even more, and far from pacified by their talk, Nienna followed Kell, and Saark brought up the rear. The aroma of their blood twitched his nostrils, more tantalising than ever, now. He scowled, eyes narrowed. Damn this curse, he thought bitterly. Damn it to the Dark Halls! Damn it to the Bone Underworld!

The archway was small, and carved in a blank wall of rock with no other noticeable features. It would have been easy to miss the opening, if you hadn't known it was there.

Saark stood back from the black arch and looked up at finely carved script. His brow furrowed. "I've never seen lettering like that, before," he said, then wrinkled his nose. "Gods, it stinks in there."

"The leski worms," said Kell, voice soft.

"Have you even seen one of these worms?"

"Only once. From a distance. They have teeth as long as your forearm – but that's all I saw, I was too busy running in the other direction. They have a poisonous bite, lad, so don't get too close."

"That's comforting. What does the writing say?"

Kell shrugged, and started removing unnecessary kit from his pack. "Empty your pack of junk. You're going to need to travel light. There are some narrow places in there, tight places. Places a man could get easily trapped."

"But I thought you said the worms were big? Fangs as long as a horse's dick, or something?"

"They are, but they compress their bodies to squeeze through narrow apertures. Like a rat, Saark." His eyes twinkled. "You should know all about that kind of vermin, coming from your Royal Court background. And anyway, to answer your question, the script reads, 'Seek Another Path'."

"That's it? That's the warning?"

"That isn't good enough for you? With a stench of death like Dake's arse pumping out?"

"You have such a way with words, my man." Now, with his pack somewhat lighter, Saark drew his rapier and ran a finger along the blade. He re-sheathed the weapon. "Let's get going. Before I change my mind."

"You can always head back. Woo those vampire killers with your charm."

"What, and have them bite me, turn me into one of them? That would be insane!"

"Yes," said Kell, eyes glinting, "we wouldn't want that, lad, would we? Then I'd have to cut your head off!" He gave a low rumble of laughter, and slapped Saark on the back.

As they moved to the entrance, and Kell stooped to enter, Ilanna before him, Nienna touched his arm. "Grandfather?"

"Yes, monkey?"

She smiled at that. "I'm scared," she said.

"Don't be. I'll protect you."

"I know you will. But… I'm still scared."

Kell turned, and righted himself. He lifted Ilanna, looked at her curious matt black butterfly blades – so unlike any other weapon he had seen. She was older than the mountains, so the legend went. And indestructible. He kissed the blades, then bent down, and kissed Nienna on one cheek. "Just stick close to me, little lady. Don't be frightened of the dark. Kell walks beside you."

Nienna nodded, eyes full of tears. Her adventure was not quite what she'd expected. Not when so much blood and death was involved. Not when good women like Katrina had to give their life for nothing; for the honour of thieves and murderers. She sighed. And followed Kell into the gloom.

The Valentrio Caves were dark for perhaps a hundred metres, and then the floor seemed to shine with a very pale, sickly light. The darkness closed in fast, with claustrophobia in one fist, and haunting echoes in the other. Within minutes Saark had closed the distance from his rear guard, and was almost treading on Nienna's heels.

"Kell," he hissed, after perhaps ten minutes where they followed a level, winding passage.

"What?" said the old warrior.

"The light. On the floor. By Dake's Balls, what is it?"

Kell grinned, face a skull in the pale, ethereal glow. "Slime. From the worms. They must secrete it. Or something."

Saark's face fell. He looked ill. "Shit," he said. "I wish I'd never asked."

"Don't worry," soothed Kell, seeing Nienna's face from the corner of his eye. "This tunnel system is vast; it stretches for hundreds of miles under the mountains, vertically as well as horizontally. You can travel here for weeks and never see a worm. The leski are primitive, they have no understanding. They just eat and breed."

"Sounds a bit like us sophisticated humans," muttered Saark.

"Come on. Let's get moving. We have a long way to go."

They walked, boots making odd sounds on the sticky, luminescent ground. Saark realised, unconsciously, that he had his rapier drawn. He cursed himself, and sheathed the weapon, frowning. At least his rising fear and claustrophobia were good for one thing; they were taking his mind off the sweet, cloying smell of Nienna's blood, distracting him from the everpresent rhythmic thumping of her heart. He shook his head. What are you becoming, Saark? he asked himself, and didn't like to consider the answer.

They moved for hours, and sometimes the glowing floor would end and they would ease through deepest gloom, guided by mineral veins in the rock and marble walls. Sometimes, the corridors would narrow as Kell predicted, so that both Saark and Kell had great difficulty squeezing through and only Nienna was able to pass with ease. Occasionally, they came to areas where huge boulders had dropped, crushing part of the tunnel and making it near impossible to pass. Several times they had to squeeze beneath a chunk of mountain that, if it shifted, would crush them like an ant beneath a boot. At one point the crushed section was extended, and Saark found himself on his back, scrambling along with limbs scratched and dust falling in his eyes and his panting coming in short, sharp bursts. Panic was an old friend clutching his heart, and he was coughing and choking and pushing up at the immeasurably huge rock above and wondering if he was going to die until Kell's rough hands grasped his scruff, and hauled him the rest of the way under the obstacle.

Saark sat there, choking, covered in grey dust and looking pathetic. He wiped his sweating, dirt-streaked face, and glanced up at Kell. "Thanks, old boy."

Kell gave a single nod, and stood, stretching his back. "It's going to get more enclosed ahead."

"Just what I need," said Saark.

"I'm just warning you."

"Well, don't! I'd rather have a sour, nasty, bad surprise."

Again, they picked up the trail of glowing passageways, this time rising steeply until the tunnel emerged onto a small platform overlooking a cavern. As they approached, they could see the slime-glow increase in intensity, and this warned the group; they moved slow, hunkering down as they broached the rise. The small platform was just wide enough for the three of them; and what they saw left them crouched in stunned silence.

Below, in what appeared to be a naturally carved cavern, a massive affair strewn with stalactites and stalagmites, there were pods; corrugated, white, each pod about the size of a horse and divided into six or seven bubbled segments. They lay, motionless, not glowing but pale white, almost luminescent. And there were hundreds of them. Thousands. Littering the cavern, many of them packed in tight, crammed together.

"What," said Saark, with a completely straight face, his voice low and carefully neutral, "are those?"

"I don't know," said Kell.

"But you said you've been here before!"

"Yes, but I've never seen those before!"

"Are they, you know, something to do with the worms? Maybe they hatch, or something? Like eggs?"

"Possibly," said Kell, giving a small shiver. If they hatched, the group would be immediately overrun.

"Look," said Nienna, pointing. Kell lowered her finger.

"I can see it, girl."

They were pulsating. As if they were breathing.

"What now?" whispered Saark.

"I reckon we could go down there and cut one open," said Kell. "Then we'd know exactly what was inside. Exactly what we're dealing with."

" What? " snapped Saark. "Are you out of your mind, you crazy old fool? You might set them all off, then we'd be fucked for sure. And here's another thought – if they are eggs, then what in the name of the Grey Blood Wolf laid them?"

Kell nodded. "I suggest we circumvent."

"I would second that," agreed Saark.

They moved to the right, still watching the thousands of pulsating, segmented cocoons, or eggs, or whatever the organic objects were. They looked dangerous, and that was enough for the party.

Taking a right-hand tunnel, Kell led the way once more, wary now, Ilanna in his great fists. He was more alert, eyes straining to see ahead, ears listening for sounds of any approaching enemy. He wouldn't let Saark or Nienna speak now, and they travelled in morbid silence, ears pricked, nerves suspended on a razor wire.

The tunnel wound on, ever upwards, crossing many more in a complex maze. Kell chose openings with a sure knowledge, and Saark made a mental note not to get lost down here. The Valentrio Caves were a maze like nothing he had ever witnessed.

Eventually, the low-ceilinged corridor ended in a small chamber. It glowed. There were eight of the slowly pulsating, slowly breathing pods blocking their path.

Kell halted, and held up his fist. Saark and Nienna froze, peering past him. The chamber, floor lined with sand, was small. The pods filled it entirely, leaving nothing but narrow passages between each throbbing slick body of luminescent white. Nienna shivered.

"I don't want to sound like a pussy," whispered Saark, "but is there another way around these… these blobs?"

"It'll be all right," said Kell. "I'll lead. Nienna, stay close behind. Saark, bring up the rear."

"Why do I always have to go at the back?" he whined. "What if one of the quivering little bastards wakes up and jumps on me?"

"Well," smiled Kell, "it won't be the first time you've taken it from behind."

"You are a jester, Kell. You truly should be capering like an idiot in the King's Court."

"Can't do that," growled Kell. "The king is dead."

They moved into the narrow spaces between the segmented bodies. Each cocoon was tall, as tall as a man, and most at least as long as a horse, high in the centre and then tapering down in staggered segments towards the tips, which seemed to glow, changing suddenly from pale white fish-flesh to jet black, and then back.

Saark shivered. Kell moved with his jaw tight. Nienna desperately wanted to hold somebody's hand, for she could feel the fear in the air, smell the metallic scent of these pulsing cocoons. Kell brushed against one, and for a moment the pulsating ceased. In response, Kell, Saark and Nienna froze, staring in horror at the huge bulbous thing.

"You woke it!" mouthed Saark, urgently, face screwed into horror.

Kell gripped Ilanna tighter, but after a few moments the regular rhythm of the creature resumed. The group seemed to breathe again. They crept past, six, seven, eight of the cocoons, and then Kell stepped out into the opposite tunnel and breathed deeply, shoulders relaxing. Nienna stepped out behind him, and Saark turned to stare back at the corrugated pods. "Well thank the bloody gods for that!" he grinned, as his rapier swung with him, tip at knee level, and the point of his decorative scabbard cut a neat horizontal line across the nearest pod's fleshy surface. There came a hiss, a bulge, then a thick tumbling spill of white splashing out like snakes in milk. A scream rent the air, so high-pitched the group slammed hands over ears and grimaced, then ran down the tunnel as the scream followed, perfectly in rhythm with the pulsing of the thing's body.

"You horse dick!" raged Kell. "What did you do that for?"

"I didn't do it on purpose, did I? Can I help it if their skin is as flimsy as a farm maiden's silk panties? I barely touched the damn thing!"

"Come on," said Nienna, pale from the screaming, and she led them on a fast pace up a steep corridor. Suddenly Kell lurched forward, grabbing Nienna and bundling all three into a side-tunnel. They stood, in the gloom, and watched the albino soldiers pounding past. Kell counted them. There were fifty of the very same black-clad albino warriors who'd invaded Falanor. "So, this is where they hide," whispered Kell, face grim.

"I am assuming," said Saark, in a quiet, affable voice, "that this place wasn't crawling with either egg-pods, nor albino soldiers, the last time you came through?"

"It was twenty years ago," snapped Kell. "I've slept since then."

"And got drunk many times," responded Saark, voice cool, eyes shaded in the gloom. "You've brought us into a hornet's nest, old friend. How many albino soldiers are here?"

"Let's find out," said Kell.

They moved back up the tunnel, which rose yet again on a steep incline that burned calves and sent shivers through straining thighs. They travelled for an hour, and three times more they came across squads of albino warriors wearing black armour and carrying narrow black longswords. And several times they passed along the lips of vast caverns, each full of pulsating segments, glowing, quivering cocoons. The third time they did so, Saark called for a stop. Down below, they saw several albino soldiers moving through the chamber, and one stopped, resting a hand on a quivering flesh segment.

"They're changing colour," said Saark.

"Eh, lad?" said Kell.

"The pods. They're no longer translucent. Now they are a deep white. Like snow. Look."

Kell peered. He shrugged. "So what?"

"And their pulsing is slower," said Nienna.

"So what?"

"You're an irascible old goat," snapped Saark. "The point is, each chamber seems to be some kind of birthing pit. That's my opinion. And these things are looked after by the albinos."

"Why would they do that?"

"Maybe they like to hatch worms," said Saark. "Maybe they are building a worm army!"

"That isn't even funny," said Nienna, eyes wide.

"Who said I was joking?"

"Shut up," said Kell. "Look. Something is happening."

They watched. A hundred soldiers marched into the cavern, and arranged themselves around a circle of five pods. A tall albino warrior stepped forward, and drawing a short silver dagger, he cautiously inserted it into the nearest pod and, with intricate care, cut a long curve downwards. Flesh bulged, and was followed by a flood of white which sluiced across the stone floor. There followed a tumble of cords, like thin white tree roots, and then there was a shape nestled amongst the mess, amidst the thick strands and gooey white fluid. It slopped, spread-eagled to the floor, and several of the soldiers stepped forward and…

"Holy Mother," said Saark, mouth open.

"So this is where the bastards emerge," growled Kell.

"What are they?" whispered Nienna, stunned by what she saw.

The soldiers wrapped the newly born, nearly-adult albino soldier, naked, flesh white and pure, scalp bald and glistening with milk, limbs shaking and unable to stand without support, in a blanket. The man was like a newborn foal, weak and quivering. The surrounding soldiers led the blanket-trussed newborn down a corridor in almost reverent silence.

"They're hatching," said Saark, without humour. "The human maggots are hatching."

"They're not fucking human," snarled Kell.

"Well," continued Saark, in the same cool, level voice, detached and not quite believing as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of what he was witnessing, "what actually are they, then?"

"They're the enemy," said Kell, "here for us to kill."

"An interesting viewpoint," came the smooth, neutral voice of the albino warrior. He stood, and behind him were thirty soldiers. All had bows bent, arrows aimed at the three peering intruders. "They are, in fact, our alshina larvae. As you so quite rightly put it, young man, we are not human. This is where we are hatched – eggs laid, implanted, and hatched by our queen." He drew a short black sword, and used it to point. "Ironic, that you refer to us as the albino. That would be your arrogance speaking. To think we are simply humans without pigmentation. Man, we are a different species."

He turned, then, and surveyed the bent bows of his warriors. Several smiled.

"What do you want?" growled Kell, and slowly stood. He flexed his shoulders, and his face was thun der. Saark stood next, and he placed a warning hand on Kell's shoulder.

"Look," said Saark. "They have Widowmakers."

The dandy was right; some of the warriors carried the same weapon that Myriam and her little band had used back in Falanor; the same weapon which had taken Katrina's life.

"If you know what these Widowmakers are," said the leader, smoothly, with no hint of fear or panic, "then you obviously know what they can do. I suggest you drop your weapons. My soldiers have been primed to kill the girl first."

"Why, you bastards," frowned Kell, stepping forward. The Widowmakers lifted in response to his antagonism. They were surrounded, heavily outnumbered, and even the mighty Kell could not fight with thirty arrows in his chest.

"We have to do it," urged Saark, and was the first one to lay down his rapier. Nienna, wide-eyed, fearful, threw down her own sword and reluctantly Kell knelt and placed Ilanna reverently on the rocky ground.

"Take care of her, lads. I'll be wanting her back real soon. And if there's a single mark on her, I'll be cracking some skulls."

"Fine words," smiled the leader, but then the smile fell like plague rain. "Restrain them."

They had hands tied tightly before them, Kell grumbling and growling all the time, facing out into the great hatching chamber where yet more newborns were eased from their larvae pods and into the cool air of the chamber; into the real world. Like insects, thought Kell with a shudder. They are hatched like insects.

He was spun round by surprisingly strong hands, and a huge white-skinned soldier smiled at him, crimson eyes fixed on his, hand on the hilt of his short black sword. "You'll be cracking skulls will you, Fat Man?" he hissed.

Kell's head snapped forward, delivering a terrific head-butt that dropped the albino warrior in a second, and had him crawling around in circles, blinded.

"There's the first one," growled Kell. "Any more fools want to try me out for size?"

The leader pressed a razor dagger to Nienna's throat. He still retained his air of calm, of clarity, as he stared down at his disabled soldier who – even as he watched, died on the floor. His skull was indeed cracked. Broken, like a raw egg.

"Anything else, Kell, anything at all, and I'll cut her up. A piece at a time."

"You've made your point, lad," said Kell, showing no surprise that the leader knew his name. "Just as I have made mine. So tell me – what happens next in this vile and acid-stinking albino piss-hole? You got any more surprises for us?"

"Just one," said the leader, words soft as he caressed Nienna's trembling throat with his blade. "Somebody wants to meet you."

"And who would that be? My mother?"

"No," said the leader. His crimson eyes twinkled. "His name is Graal. He's been expecting you."