Andy Remic - Soul Stealers

Saark was watching her. "I admit," he said, voice soft, "once, you must have been a bonny lass."

"Enough to turn your eye, Sword Champion!" she snapped, "But no more."

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to offend."

"None taken," but her voice had become more brutal, more desolate.

"It must have been difficult. Watching yourself fading away."

"Yes, Saark." Her voice was little more than a whisper, and they came to a narrow set of large boulder-type steps, blocks carved from the mountain trail. Kell had helped Nienna up, and was ahead. Saark leapt lightly up, then turned and as Myriam climbed, she slipped… Saark moved so fast he was a blur, and caught her wrist. He lifted her onto the stone step, her hand in his, one hand on her hip. They stood for a moment, looking at one another, then Saark stepped back and coughed, releasing his hold.

"Watch your step, girl. That's a three thousand foot drop. And I bet you don't bounce much on the way down."

"Thank you."

"Pleasure."

They moved on. "Imagine," said Myriam, "if you suffered a horrible scarring to your face. Or you were trapped in a fire, and ended up with face and hair on fire leaving you brutally burned and ugly. How would you respond?"

Saark shivered. "It is a fate worse than death," he conceded. "I would be an easy victim for a torturer. This is my weakness, I admit. The minute he touched my face, I'd whimper like a girl and spill any and all secrets I carried."

"Vanity is a curse," said Myriam.

"Ahh, but only when you're not as beautiful as I."

"You are a real romantic," said Myriam, voice hard.

"I try," preened Saark, missing the irony – or choosing, at least, to ignore it. "I try, my sweet."

At the top of the climb they came to a plateau coated in hard-packed snow. Their boots crunched and, despite their ascent, a world of further, higher peaks spread around them in a glorious, full panorama. Nienna spun in circles, giggling, and Kell breathed deep. The wind was curiously still on this mountain summit, and Kell pointed with Ilanna, across a high ridgeline peppered with ice.

"Wolfspine," he said, simply.

"Looks dangerous," muttered Saark.

"It is," replied Kell, darkly. "We must take great care." He ruffled Nienna's long, dark hair. "And especially you, little monkey." But Nienna did not reply; her eyes were wide at the sight of the ridge they were to traverse.

Wolfspine. A half-league in length, a narrow, undulating ridge perhaps a foot in width, and with sheer four thousand foot drops to either side. The path itself was an inverted V of stone, black, slippery, frosted with lace patterns of ice.

Kell led the way, across a slightly curved plateau of snow, boots crunching. The air was still, and calm, brittle and cold, and bright light glared painfully from white snow.

Saark caught him up. "We are wonderfully illequipped for this," he said.

"You think I don't realise that, lad?"

"Just thought I'd mention it."

"Just try not to fall off, eh?"

"I'll certainly do my best on that account."

They stopped, where the mountain plateau rose and narrowed to the Wolfspine. Distant, through a haze of low cloud, they saw the next peak, the next Black Pike connected by this insane walkway of treacherous, icy rock.

"Is there no other way?" whispered Saark.

"No. The next five peaks are impossible to climb, and this ridge rises and dips, but links each peak together; without it, there would be no way to Silva Valley. The mountains form a protective barrier. In deep winter, this place is impassable – to all but the mad."

"Ha, and I suppose you're going to tell me you've done it?"

"I have," said Kell, voice low. "But I had ropes, and boots with spikes, and proper ice-axes."

"Can we do it now, do you think?"

"We're going to find out, Saark. There's no point going back. And… I want you to go first."

"Me?" squeaked the dandy, his fear palpable. "Why not you? You've all the damn experience. What do I know? I just drink wine and fuck pampered plump beauties. This is out of my bounds, Kell old horse. This is so far out of my world I should be paddling among the stars."

"I must take the rear," said Kell.

"Why?"

"In case those bastard cankers come back."

"Oh. Yes. A fine reason."

Kell stood, staring along the ridgeline. He glanced back at the near-flat plateau. It stretched off, then fell away into a darkness of seemingly endless valleys and tumbling mountain slopes. Beyond, he could see Falanor stretching away, see her hills and distant villages, her frozen rivers and snow-covered forests. Here, he knew – here was the point where Falanor fell behind, vanished, was eaten by the mountains. Here was the point of no return.

He remembered his time before, in the Black Pikes, hunting vachine.

"Damn," he said, and his gaze swept the world. Everything was clear and still and unbearably dazzling. It was like the gods had painted the world in pastel shades. Kell watched Falanor, and felt as if Falanor stared back. Help me, she said. Purify me. Make me proud.

"I'll be back," growled Kell, turned his back on Falanor, and started to climb up to the Wolfspine ridge.

"They're coming."

Nienna's voice was high in panic. Kell turned, glanced back over the undulating ridge. They were picking their way carefully over the narrow ribbon of stone, and clouds had shifted, a mist enclosing the small group, muffling sounds and at least, for a while, hiding the heart-stopping sheer drops to either side.

Kell drew Ilanna, and stood. He heard the snarls. The mist moved in patches, sometimes clearing, sometimes thickening. Then it cleared on their back-trail, and Kell saw the two crimson equine cankers. They moved fast along the ridge, sure-footed, drooling, their eyes fixed on their quarry, on fresh meat, on palpable fear.

There came a whoosh by Kell's ear, and an arrow punched into the lead canker, just below its face. It roared, feathered shaft erupting from its flesh, and pawed at the buried arrow for a moment, snapping the shaft. It roared again, and charged, pace increasing.

"Saark," growled Kell. "Go on. Get Nienna to the next peak. There is a resting place on the top of the mountain, a stone shelter. It would be easier to defend than here."

"And what about you?"

"I'll stay awhile, see what happens."

Another shaft hissed from Myriam's bow, and hit the lead canker in the eye. It reared then, screeching an impossibly high screech, and toppled from the mountain, sliding down the terrible slope at first, then connecting with a large rock and soaring out into the void. The mist swallowed the canker, and the monster was gone.

Now, as the mist cleared in patches, from further down behind the cankers strode the Soul Stealers. One lifted her bow, and too late Kell focused and realised. An arrow flashed, and Ilanna rose – but too slow. The arrow nicked his cheek, leaving a fine line of blood as it continued its trajectory… behind Kell, and into Myriam's throat. She gurgled, gasping, clawing the shaft and staggering back. She hit the ground, pitched sideways, and before Kell could grab her, slid off the ridgeline and into the vast, swallowing mist of the mountain void.

Nienna screamed.

Kell scowled, and turned back. Another arrow flashed for him, but with a rising rage and casual arrogance Ilanna snapped up and the arrow was deflected, cracking off into the mist.

Kell faced the final, charging canker.

And the Soul Stealers beyond.

"Come on," he growled, lowering his head. "Come and eat my fucking axe."

Vashell stared at the three vachine warriors, and heard Fiddion's Harvester head crackling in the fire as flames consumed flesh, and felt Alloria move away, behind him, giving him combat space. Vashell breathed deep, and settled into a rhythm of battle. They were underestimating him, he knew, because he had no face or claws or fangs, but Vashell was a warrior born. He hefted his knife, and stepped forward as the first of the vachine attacked…