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praise for ANDY REMIC

“Violent is really not the right word for this spare-no-detailfantasy monstrosity. Insane? Maybe. Really, the only wayto describe Remic’s Kell’s Legend is with a phrase: a bloody,violent, fantastic journey through carnage, terror, and adownright epic tale that makes Underworld and everyzombie movie look bad… Remic is the Tarantino offantasy, and if that isn’t a compliment, then I don’t knowwhat is.”

– Fantasy & SciFi Lovin’

“Kell’s Legend was awesome – a fun, hectically fast-pacedand brutally action-packed novel with plenty of awesomecharacters and inventive worldbuilding. If you’re a fan ofcolourful characters, plenty of blood and gore, then thisbook is definitely for you. 9 out of 10”

– Dave Brendon, Fantasy & SciFi Weblog

“Kell’s Legend is an iconoclastic melange of themes thatincorporates devices from various genres – Moorcook/Gemmell heroic fantasy, steampunk, and horror. It is anexciting, brutal novel, soaked in testosterone and pacedlike a roller coaster. The sex and violence is visceral andthe action is non-stop.”

– Red Rook Review

“Despite the fact that on the surface this is a heroadventure story not much different from the early days ofDragonlance and Forgotten Realms, Kell’s Legend managesto be relevant and enjoyable today. The Kell storyline isvery high fantasy, it is the larger picture of the world thatis important here. The idea of the vachine are a brilliantreimagining of both steampunk ideas and vampires. I giveit a 4/5.”

– SciFi & Fantasy Bookshelf

an excerpt fromSOUL STEALERS

THE CLOCKWORK VAMPIRE CHRONICLES VOL IIAndy Remic

To be published October 2010 (UK/RoW) andNovember 2010 (North America)

by Angry Robot, in paperback and eBookformats.

UK ISBN: 978-0-85766-066-4US ISBN: 978-85766-067-1

eBOOK ISBN: 978-0-85766-068-8

Angry RobotAn imprint of the Osprey Group

Distributed in the US & Canadaby Random House

angryrobotbooks.com

Copyright © Andy Remic 2010

All rights reserved. However, feel free toshare this sample chapter with anyoneyou wish. And if you like this, go and

buy Rem’s books. And if you love them,tell your friends too…

It was an ink-dark dream. A razor flashback. Afrozen splinter of time piercing his mind like a sterileneedle. Nienna, beautiful Nienna, his sweet younggranddaughter; they stood by the edge of a wide,sweeping river, spring sunshine warming upturnedfaces and glinting like diamonds amongst swayingreeds. Kell was teaching her how to fish, and heguided her hands, her long tapered fingers a contrastto his wrinkled, scarred old bear paws, hooking thebait (at which she pulled a screwed-up face) thencasting out the line. They sat, then, incompanionable silence, and Kell realised Nienna waswatching him intently. He turned, scratching hisgrizzled grey beard, eyes meeting her bright gaze,and she smiled, face radiant.

“Grandfather?”“Yes, little monkey?”“Isn’t fishing… you know, unfair?”“What do you mean?”“Well, it’s like a trap, isn’t it? You dangle the worm

PROLOGUE

Soul Stealers

5

on a hook, and the fish swims along, unsuspecting,and you whip him out and eat him for supper. It’sreally not fair on the fish.”

“Well, how else would I catch him?” said Kell,frowning a little. He chuckled. “I could always throwyou in – you could swim after all the little fishes, catchthem in your teeth like a pike!” He moved as if tograb her, to toss her into the deep waters, and shesquealed, backing away fast up the bank and gettingmud on her hands and clothes.

Nienna tutted. “Grandfather!”“Ach, it’s only a little mud. It’ll wash off.”What Kell had wanted to say was that all life is a

trap, a deceit, a bad con trick from a clever con artist.Life leads you on, life dangles tantalising bait on adulled hook of iron – the bait being happiness, goodhealth, wealth, joy – and you reach with both hands,mouth gaping like a slack-brained jester in the King’sCourt, but Life is a bitch and just when you thinkyou’ve found it, found your dream, the line snagsand you’re yanked by your balls, guts and brain.Hooked, and slaughtered. That was Life. That wasReality. That was Sobriety. But Kell kept his mouthshut. Kept it shut tight. He didn’t want to spoil themoment, this simple joy of fishing with his talented,optimistic granddaughter beside the Selenau River.

Now, Kell and Saark stood on the high rooftop of theshattered, teetering tower block in Old Skulkra. Thiswas their trap. The bait had been laid by GeneralGraal, his Army of Iron, his disgusting twisted

6 SOUL STEALERS

cankers, and they had been snagged like fools, likenaïve hatchlings, cornering themselves in OldSkulkra with an impossible task and a terrible fight.

Kell clutched his black axe Ilanna to his chest,gore-spattered knuckles white, face iron thunder,and Saark was tense, slim rapier wavering beforehim, his face a shattered silhouette of half-brokenfear.

Below, in the bowels of the old stone block,something ululated, high-pitched and keening andfar too feral to be human. It was followedimmediately by a flurry of snarls, and growls, andheavy thuds and a scrabbling of brass claws clatteringand booming through velvet black.

It was the cankers… and they were coming forfresh blood.

Kell’s face was a thunderstorm filled with bruisedclouds. Saark’s face was hard to read, battered froma beating at the hands of Myriam’s men, and hisblood seeped through a torn and dirt-smeared shirtfrom a recent stab wound. Kell took a deep breath,nose twitching at fire from distant funeral pyres inthe wake of the recent battle; he lifted Ilanna, andseemed, for a moment at least, to commune with thebattered axe.

The cankers drew close. The two men could hearthe beasts’ heavy breathing on the stairwell.

Suddenly, a pulse seemed to pound through theancient, deserted city; through the world. It wassubsonic, an esoteric rumble; almost an earthquake.Almost.

ANDY REMIC 7

Saark allowed breath to hiss free betweenclenched teeth. His fear was a tangible thing, a stain,like ink. He glanced at Kell.

“We’re going to die up here, aren’t we?”Kell laughed, and it contained genuine humour,

genuine warmth. He slapped Saark on the back, thenrubbed thoughtfully at his bloodied beard, and withglittering eyes said, “We all die sometime, laddie,” asthe first of the cankers burst from the opening in aflurry of claws and fangs and screwed up faces ofpure hate.

With a roar, Kell leapt to meet them…As the first canker leapt, so Kell’s mighty axe

slammed down in a savage overhead blow, splittingthe head in two, right down to the twisted spine-top. Flesh, brain and skull exploded outwards, andmixed in there with muscle and bone shards weretiny, battered clockwork machines, wheels and cogstwisting and turning, clicking and shifting,clockwork gears clacking, and in a blur Kell steppedback, dragging his axe with him as the first cankercorpse hit the ground and he swayed from a swipeof huge claws from the second snarling beast, Ilannasinging as she hammered left now, butterfly bladeshorizontal, cutting free the canker’s arm with ajarring thud and a shower of flowering blood petals.The beast howled, but a third heaved andshouldered past, huge and bulky, the size of a lion,a disjointed, twisted lion with pale white skinbulging with muscle, like overfull bowels pressingagainst maggot flesh in an attempt to break free of

8 SOUL STEALERS

a pus-filled abdomen. The canker was covered witha plague of grey fur, tufted and irregular, and itsforehead was stretched right back, its huge maw fivetimes the size of the human mouth which hadformed its template, skull open like an axe-choppedpumpkin showing huge brass fangs which curleddown from rancid gleaming jaws and weredecorated with knurled swirls, like fine etchings incopper. The canker’s body was covered in openwounds, and within each wound thrashedclockwork, a myriad of tiny, spinning wheels,gyrating spindles, meshing gears, but whereas thepure vachine was perfect, and noble, and secure inits Engineer-created arrogance, this canker – thisdeviation, this corruption – showed bent gears andlevers and unmeshed cogs, and in a blur Kell leaptsideways, Ilanna carving a parting line of muscleacross the canker’s neck, like an unzipping of flesh.Despite pain and squirming, unreleased muscle, itssheer weight and bulk carried it forward across thescattered concrete beams of the tower block’s flatroof, where it slammed into Saark as his rapierstabbed frantically, slashing open more huge curvedwounds. They both staggered back, fell back, andKell turned from Saark allowing the wounded manto deal with the dying canker in a hiss of steelopening flesh and a gush of severed arteries.

A fresh flood of cankers burst through theopening, forcing Kell towards a grim-faced Saark,and the two men stood side by side, shoulder toshoulder, faces grim and splattered with gore,

ANDY REMIC 9

weapons flickering skilfully to open savage woundsas the cankers formed an expanding wall of flesh, anarc of solid muscle, as more and more surgedthrough the opening to reinforce their ranks untilthere were ten, fifteen, twenty of the huge beastsranged against them, hissing and grunting.

Kell gave a sardonic snarl, teeth grinding, andrubbed his grey beard. At his feet lay five deadcankers, a feat for any mortal man – for each cankerwas a terrible foe. Kell’s eyes glittered, dark and feral,and his gore-slippery axe lowered a little as herealised – realised with a bark of laughter – that theywere waiting.

“What’s the matter, lads?” he boomed. “Left yourbollocks at home with your pus-ugly wives?”

The cankers growled, huge puddles of drooldescending from wide stretched maws where brassfangs curled like scimitar blades. Behind Kell, Saarkwas panting, long curly hair in lank strips filled withbits of bone and flesh, his beautiful face now atapestry of agony.

“What are they waiting for?” he whispered, as ifafraid his voice would accelerate them into action.

Kell shrugged. “I reckon we’ll find out soonenough.”

Within seconds, the line of quivering flesh, oftufted fur and deviant clockwork was heaved aside,and a massive canker forced its way through thethrong. Kell could smell hot oil, and fancied he couldhear the steady, tiny tick tick tick of off-beatclockwork.

10 SOUL STEALERS

“Now we die,” muttered Saark.“No,” snapped Kell, “for if we die, then Nienna

dies, if we die, then we cannot hunt down herkidnappers, we cannot seek justice and revenge! So,Saark, will you shut up and focus!” Kell fixed his gazeon this new creature, this towering beast, eight feettall, heavily muscled, with glowering red eyes andan accompanying stench like desecration. Its skinwas terribly pale, corpse-flesh waxy and entirelywithout hair. Kell’s eyes narrowed. It was almostlike… almost like this beast was merged with thealbino soldiers from Graal’s Army of Iron. Kell’sglittering gaze scanned the wounds in the canker’sflanks and chest, where deep inside brass clockworkspun and meshed. He grinned, but his eyes weredark and unfriendly. “Gods, lad, you stink like a ten-week corpse after dysentery and plague. What thehell’s wrong with you beasts? Don’t answer that. It’snothing my axe can’t put right.” He gesturedflippantly with Ilanna, eyes watching, and perceivedthe canker’s understanding.

Snarls and growls echoed up and down the line,and Kell knew these unholy beasts couldcomprehend. They were intelligent, and thatfrightened Kell more than any display of corruption.It was when this huge, dominant creature suddenlyspoke that Kell took a step back, boots thumping theconcrete beams, surprised despite himself; althoughhe fought well not to show it.

“I am Nesh,” said the canker, forming its wordswith care; despite impedance from curved fangs, its

ANDY REMIC 11

accent was Iopian, and that shouldn’t have beenpossible. The whole mass of corrupted flesh andclockwork shouldn’t have been possible. It wasnightmare made real. “My General, the WarlordGraal, requires the honour of your presence. Indeed,he grants you life in exchange for your cooperation.You may agree now, little man.” The canker grinned,more saliva pooling to the shattered, ancient beamsof the high roof.

Kell took another step back. Saark was beside him,and Kell glanced at his friend with hooded eyes. Hemuttered, “Have you found an escape route yet?”

“There’s no way off this roof!” said Saark. “We’retrapped!”

“We’re going to have to fight our way free, then.”Saark eyed the twenty or so cankers, and could see

the shadows and hear the snarls of more on thestairwell below. He shuddered, fear a dry dead rat inhis throat, a snake of lard in his intestines, a fist ofiron in his belly. Saark, ever the dandy, a lover of life,women, wine and any narcotic that could swell thehedonistic experience of all three, knew deep downin his darkest most terrible nightmares that he wasgoing to die here, knew he was to be ripped apart bythose huge fangs, torn into flesh shreds, intostreamers of muscle and skin spaghetti, and therewas nothing he could do to avert this fate.

“You’re joking, right?”Kell threw him a dark glance, and growled, “I

never joke when it comes to killing. Now! Follow mylead! You understand, boy?”

12 SOUL STEALERS

Saark nodded, sweating, hands gripping his rapiertight.

Nesh, growing impatient, moved its angry red gazefrom one warrior to the other, then back. Kell movedhis own eyes over the waxy, pale flesh; he shivered.The creature had hints of humanity in its twistedcorruption of skin and bone, but there, any similarityended. It was a distortion, not just of humanity, butof albino and vachine; a creature of no place,despised by all. Strangely, a thread of sympathywormed into Kell’s mind. He cut it savagely with amental blade. This beast would show no mercy, norcompassion. It was here to kill.

“So, man? Will you come?” growled Nesh, andKell could see other cankers straining at the leash;they could smell blood, and fear, and even remnantsof Saark’s distant flowery perfume. Kell grinned,baring his teeth as his face screwed into a ball ofhostility.

“Tell Graal he can shove my axe up his arse!”Saark groaned… and readied himself for attack…

Winter had finally come to Falanor.Snow fell in blankets from iron clouds beneath a

pale, albino sun. Violent storms flung folds of whiteto cover Falanor’s valleys and rolling hills, her forestsand rivers and ragged, towering mountains. Fromthe savage flanks of the Black Pikes to the north,down through recently conquered cities, from Jalderto Skulkra, Vorgeth, Fawkrin and the southerncapital of Vor, winter knew no obstacle and arrived

ANDY REMIC 13

early, with a ferocity not seen in the world for twocenturies.

Within three days all northern passes wereblocked; an ideal situation in the normal running ofthe country, for it meant many of the brigands,deviants and Blacklipper smugglers who oft troublednorthern towns were trapped like bears in theirmountain hideouts until the following spring.

It also meant General Graal, and his albino Armyof Iron, were trapped in Falanor, blockaded far fromtheir homeland in the heart of the Black PikeMountains, severed from the vachine civilisationoccupying Silva Valley, seat of power for the HighEngineer Episcopate and Engineer Council, theEngineer’s Palace and revered resting place for theOak Testament.

Graal had successfully brought his vachine-sponsored army of albino subordinates south, seizingthe cities of Falanor, kidnapping Queen Alloria,murdering the heroic Battle King, Leanoric, androuting his armies, including the previouslyunconquered Eagle Divisions. He had done this usingcunning and a merciless swift descent. And byutilising blood-oil magick.

In the wake of the successful invasion, and withinhours of snow blocking the Black Pike Mountainpasses, Graal’s Harvesters had brought forth theBlood Refineries: huge angular machines not unlikesiege engines, pulled by teams of horses and cankersand using, in a twist of final irony, of calculatedmockery, the fine, wide roads built by King Leanoric

14 SOUL STEALERS

for transportation of his own military divisions. Graalcamped his army outside Old Skulkra, and the greatblood refineries had come to rest on the plain beforethe deserted city just hours before heavy falls ofsnow rendered further transport from the northimpossible.

Graal sat in his war tent, cross-legged before a lowtable of ivory and marble, a scatter of parchmentslaid out before his weary eyes. The tent flap openedallowing a swirl of snow to intrude, and a Harvesterstooped low to enter. For a moment Graal stared, theuniqueness of this race never failing to occupy andtwist his curious mind; he watched the tall, heavilyrobed figure of the Harvester with its flat, oval,hairless face, nose nothing more than vertical slits,fingers not so much fingers as long slender needlesof bone used for the delicate extraction of blood froma human carcass… he watched the Harvester settledown in a complicated ritual. Satisfied, the Harvesterfinally lifted tiny, black eyes to focus on Graal.

“The roads are closed. We are severed from thevachine,” spoke the Harvester, voice a sibilanthissing.

Graal nodded, and returned his gaze to hisparchments, reports detailing the final militaryapproach on Vor by three of his albino Divisions.“Then we have months before they discover the…reality of the situation. Yes?”

“Yes, general.”“Has the vachine-bred Engineer Princess Jaranis

managed to cross the mountains south in order to

ANDY REMIC 15

inspect our situation? Although, what she expects tofind other than a jewelled dagger in her guts I haveno idea.”

“She arrived, general. An hour ago, in fact, withher military entourage. That is why I am here.”

“Entourage?” He showed interest, now. “Howmany?”

The Harvester chuckled, a disturbing noise deep inits long, quivering throat. “As I previously madeclear, the vachine in all their pious arrogance arewholly trusting of your endeavour. Jaranis, damnher clockwork, travelled with ten men only, a unitcommanded by a lowly engineer-priest. I have takenthe liberty of immediate slaughter, and even nowtheir corpses have been added to the frozen pyres ofrecent battle. Even now,” he paused, black eyesglinting, “their clockwork halts. However. Withregard to Jaranis herself… I thought it wise to allowyou counsel with this twisted princess. After all,despite her pretty skin and innocent ways, she mayhave an inkling of our plans.”

“Summon her,” said Graal, without looking upfrom his papers.

After a few minutes there came a suddencommotion outside the war tent, and two albinowarriors dragged a shackled woman into the cosyinterior. Although, upon closer inspection, it wasclear she was not entirely human for she sported thetiny brass fangs of the vachine – the machinevampires of Silva Valley. The vachine were ablending of human and advanced miniature

16 SOUL STEALERS

clockwork, a technological advancement ofwatchmaking skills evolved and developed andrefined over the centuries until flesh and clockworkmerged into a beautiful, superior whole. The vachinerelied on the narcotic of blood-oil, a concoction ofrefined blood, in order to keep their internalclockwork mechanisms running smoothly. Withoutblood, and more importantly, blood-oil, a vachine’sclockwork would seize; and they would die. Hencethe necessity of vampiric feeding.

Jaranis was thrown to the ground, where she spatup at Graal, eyes blazing with fury and shockeddisbelief. Her fangs ejected with a tiny pneumatichissing. She climbed smoothly to her feet. She wastall, elegant, with a shower of golden curls. She wasbeautiful beyond the human, and as she spoke Graalcould see the tiny clockwork mechanisms in herthroat, miniature gears and cogs and pistons workingin a harmony of flesh and clockwork. Like a well-timed vampire machine. A vachine.

Graal smiled, some curious emotion not unlikelust passing through his mind; through his soul.

“Graal, you excel yourself with stupidity andarrogance!” snapped Princess Jaranis. “What, in thename of the Oak Testament, are you doing?”

Graal smiled, slowly, and stood. He stretchedhimself and gave an exaggerated, almost theatrical,yawn. Then his cold eyes focused on Jaranis and shecould see there was anything but pantomime in thatshadowed, brutal gaze.

“I admit, O princess, that it has been considerable

ANDY REMIC 17

time since I sought to pride myself on the baserconcept of… stupidity,” said Graal, handling the wordlike an abortion, and as he spoke he moved smoothlyto a rack of armour and began to buckle onbreastplate and forearm greaves fashioned from dullblack steel. “Rather, my sweetness, I seek to pridemyself on the twin lusts of betrayal and dominion.”

“You would betray the vachine?” whisperedJaranis, stunned. “A society you helped build from amewling wreckage of primal carnage and bestialevolution?”

Graal smiled, and halted midway throughbuckling a greave. His eyes seemed distant, and ashe spoke his voice was lilting, a low growl, almostmusical in its harmony. “Allow your mind to driftback, like drug-smoke, for a millennium, my sweet;there were once three Vampire Warlords, maybe youhave heard of them? Their names are written in ironon the Core Stone of Silva Valley, carved into theback cover of the Oak Testament with a knife usedto slit the throats of babes.” His eyes grew hard, likecobalt. “They are Kuradek, Meshwar, Bhu Vanesh –Kuradek, the Unholy. Meshwar, the Violent. AndBhu Vanesh, the Eater in the Dark.” He glanced atJaranis, then, head tilting. With tight lips Jaranisshook her head, and frowned, seeking to understandGraal’s direction.

“These warlords,” continued Graal, “were, shallwe say, all powerful. I am surprised you have limitedknowledge of their prowess, for they are a pivotalpart of baseline vachine history.” He smiled. “That is,

18 SOUL STEALERS

your vachine history. For as we all know, theEngineer Council seek to strongly enforce a truevachine culture in which nobody strays from a pureand holy path. Is that not so?”

“That is so,” said Jaranis, voice little more than awhisper. She was trembling now, and Graal felt atrickle of lust ease through his veins like a honeynarcotic. Sex, fear and death, he thought, went handin hand, and were always a turn-on.

“The warlords, they had clockwork souls,” saidGraal, eyes blazing with a sudden fury. He calmedhimself with intricate self-control, and finishedstrapping on his armour with tight, sudden littlejerks. “But then, you may not know this, for theHigh Engineer Episcopate practice and preachrewritten histories and a fictional past.”

Jaranis shook her head, and Graal gestured to thetwo albino soldiers, who stepped forward, grabbingthe young vachine woman and dragging her out intothe freshly falling snow. All through the war camptumbled jarring sounds, the snort and stamp ofhorse, cankers snarling, the clatter of arms, the low-level talk of soldiers around braziers. Jaranis wasthrown to her knees, her fine silk robes stained withsaliva, and just a little blood.

Graal emerged, striding with an arrogant air thatmade Jaranis want to rip out his throat. Her fangsejected fully, eyes narrowing and claws hissing fromfingertips. They gleamed, razor-sharpened brass. Sheconsidered leaping, but caught something in herperipheral vision: two figures, both female, both

ANDY REMIC 19

albino subordinates. She snarled in disgust, andturned to stare at these… soldiers.

They were tall, lithe, athletic, and wore lightarmour of polished steel unlike the usual blackarmour of the albino Army of Iron. Both womenwore sleek longswords at their hips, and one had herlong white hair braided into twin, wrist-thickponytails, whilst the second had her hair croppedshort. It was spiked by the snow. Their skin waswhite, almost translucent, and they had highcheekbones, gaunt faces, and crimson eyes. Whenthey smiled, their beauty was stunning but deadly,like a newborn sun. And when they smiled, they hadthe fangs of the vachine.

Princess Jaranis hissed in shock. Albinos could notbe vachine! It was not permitted. It was illegal. It wasunholy.

Graal stepped forward, and touched one womanbehind her elbow. She smiled at him. “This isShanna, and this is Tashmaniok. Daughters, I wouldlike to introduce the vachine princess, Jaranis.” Thetwo albino vachine warriors gave short bows andmoved to stand erect, one at either side of Graal.They took his arms, as if enjoying a stroll down sometheatre-lined thoroughfare in one of Silva Valley’smore respectable cultured communities, and theireyes glowed with vampire hate.

“You will not get away with this… blasphemy!”snarled Jaranis, voice dripping poison and fury. “Notfor giving White Warriors the clockwork, nor forbetraying the vachine!”

20 SOUL STEALERS

“But, my sweetness, I think I already have,” saidGraal. He smiled down at Jaranis. “You vachine areso trusting, and so beautifully naïve. These girls, theyare not some simple blending. Some back-streetblack-market clockwork abortion!” His voice rose, alittle in anger, blue eyes glinting as his focus drilledinto the vachine princess. “Don’t you understand towhom you speak? Don’t you recognise the birth ofyour death?”

“The Soul Stealers?” whispered Jaranis, in horror.Graal smiled. He gave a slight, sideways nod, and

Shanna detached from his linked arm and in onesmooth movement, drew her sword and decapitatedthe vachine princess.

Jaranis’s head rolled into the snow and blood, andblood-oil, spurted from the ragged neck stump. Thebody paused for a moment, rigid, then toppled likea puppet with cut strings. As blood-oil ran free, soclockwork machinery grew noisy, it rattled andspluttered until it finally faltered, and came to apremature clattering halt with a discordant note likethe clashing of swords in battle.

Graal knelt in the snow, ignoring the vachineblood which stained his leather trews. He stared intothe severed clockwork face of the murdered vachine;in death, she was even more beautiful.

He glanced back. The Soul Stealers were poisedmotionless, beautiful, deadly.

“I had a mind-pulse from Nesh,” he said, voice lowand terrible. “He says Kell and that puppet, Saark,are cornered in the maze of Old Skulkra.”

ANDY REMIC 21

“Yes, father,” said Tashmaniok.“Bring them to me,” he said, and shifted his gaze

to the Soul Stealers’ bright, focused eyes, “It is theSoul Gem that matters, now. You understand?”

“We serve,” they said, voices in harmony.With the stealth of the vampire the Soul Stealers

vanished, like ghosts, through the snow.

22 SOUL STEALERS

Kell grinned. “Tell Graal he can shove my axe up hisarse!”

Saark groaned… and readied for attack…“As you wish,” said Nesh, lowering its strange,

bestial, wrenched clockwork head, red eyes shining,mouth full of juices in anticipation of the feed tocome. Muscles bunched like steel-weave cables,fangs jutted free with crunches, and behind it theother cankers growled and the growl rose into aunified howl which mingled and merged formingone perfectly balanced single note that held on theair, perfect, and signified their reward.

Kell’s eyes were fixed on the lead canker, his bodya tense bow-string, senses heightened intosomething more than human. He was the delicatetrigger of a crossbow. The impact reflex of a strikingsnake.

It was going to be a damn hard fight.But then… the incredible happened. Nesh settled

back on its haunches, eyes meeting Kell’s, and the

ONE

Ankarok

23

old warrior was sure he saw a corrupt smile touchthe beast’s lips like a tracing of icing sugar on horse-shit. Nesh stood, turned, and pushed through thecankers. The howling subsided into an awkwardsilence; then the cankers slowly filed after theirleader, one by one, until only their rotten oil stinkremained – alongside five canker corpses, bleedingslow-congealing lifeblood onto the stone roof.

“What happened?” breathed Saark, his wholebody relaxing, slumping almost, into the cage of hisbones. Kell shrugged, and turned, and fastened hisgaze on the small boy standing perhaps twenty feetaway, by the low wall overlooking Old Skulkra’sancient, crumbling remains.

Kell pointed, and Saark noticed the boy for thefirst time. He was young, only five or six years old,his skin pale, his limbs thin, his clothing ragged likemany an abandoned street urchin easily found in theshit-pits of Falanor’s major cities. The boy turned,and looked up at Kell and Saark, and smiled, headtilting.

It’s in his eyes, thought Kell, his cool gaze lockedto the boy. His eyes are old. They sparkled likediseased Dog Gems, those rarest of dull jewels leftover from another age, another civilisation.

Kell stepped forward, and crouched. “You scaredthem off, lad?” It was half question, half statement.The air felt suddenly fuzzy, as if raw magick wasdischarging languorously through the breeze.

The boy nodded, but did not move. He shiftedslightly, and something small and black ran down

24 SOUL STEALERS

the sleeve of his threadbare jacket. It was a scorpion,and it ran onto the boy’s hand and sat there for awhile, as if observing the two men.

Saark let out a hiss, hand tightening on rapier hilt.“The insect of the devil!” he snapped.

“Look,” said Kell, slowly. “It has two tails.” Andindeed, the scorpion – small, shiny, black – had twocorrugated tails, each with a barbed sting.

Saark shivered. “Throw it down, lad,” he called.“Our boots will finish the little bastard.”

Ignoring Saark, the boy stepped across loose stonejoists, moving forward with a delicate grace whichbelied his narrow, starved limbs. He halted beforeKell, looked up with dark eyes twinkling, thenslowly plucked the twin-tailed scorpion from hishand and secreted the arachnid beneath his shirt.

“My name is Skanda,” said the boy, voice littlemore than a husky whisper. “And the scorpion, it isa scorpion of time.”

“What does that mean?” whispered Kell.The boy shrugged, eyes hooded, smile mysterious.“You scared away the cankers!” blurted Saark.

“How did you do that?”Skanda turned to Saark, and again his head tilted,

as if reading the dandy’s thoughts. “They fear me,and they fear my race,” said Skanda, and when hesmiled they saw his teeth were black. Not the blackof decay, but the black of insect chitin.

“Your race?” said Kell, voice gentle.“I am Ankarok,” said Skanda, looking out over Old

Skulkra, over its ancient, deserted palaces and

ANDY REMIC 25

temples, tenements and warehouses, towers andcathedrals. All crumbling, and cracked, all savagedby time and erosion and fear. “This was our city.Once.” He looked again at Kell, and smiled the shinyblack smile. “This was our country. Our world.”

Saark moved to the edge of the crumblingtenement, staring over the low wall. Below, he couldsee the retreated cankers had gathered; there weremore than fifty, some sitting on the ancient stonepaving slabs, some pacing in impatient circles. Manysnarled, lashing out at others. At their core wasNesh, seated on powerful haunches, almost like alion, regal composure immaculate.

“They’re waiting below,” said Saark, moving backto Kell. He glanced at Skanda. “Seems their fear onlyextends so far.”

“I will show you a way out of this building,” saidSkanda, and started to move across the roof, dodgingholes and loose joists.

Saark stared at Kell. “I don’t trust him. I think weshould head off alone.”

Ignoring Saark, Kell followed the boy, and heardthe battered dandy curse and follow. “Wait,” saidKell, as they reached a segment of wall where a partof the floor had appeared to crumble away revealing,in fact, a tunnel, leading down through the wall. Kellcould just see the gleam of slick, black steps. Itdispersed his fears of magick, a little. “Wait. Whywould you do this for us? I have heard of theAnkarok. By all accounts, they were not, shall wesay, a charitable race.”

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Skanda smiled his unnerving smile. Despite hisstature, and his feeble appearance of vagrancy, heexuded a dark energy, a power Saark was only justbeginning to comprehend; and with a jump, Saarkrecognised that Kell had not been fooled. Kell hadseen through the – disguise – immediately. Saarksnorted. Ha! he thought. Kell was just too damnedsmart for an old fat man.

“Why?” Skanda gave a small laugh. “Kell, for youwe would attack the world,” said the little boy,watching Kell closely. His dark eyes shone. “For youare Kell, the Black Axeman of Drennach – and it iswritten you shall help save the Ankarok.”

His name was Jage, and they left him to die whenhe was six years old. He couldn’t blame them. Hewould have done the same. The blow from an iron-shod hoof left his spine damn near snapped in two,discs crushed in several places, his bent and brokenbody crippled beyond repair – or at least, beyond therepair of a simple farming people. Nobody in thevillage of Crennan could bring themselves to kill thechild; and yet Jage’s mother and father could notafford to feed a cripple. They could barely afford tofeed themselves.

His father, a slim man named Parellion, carriedthe boy to the banks of the Hentack River where,in the summer months when the water level waslow, the flow turned yellow, sometimes orange, andwas highly poisonous if drank. It was completelysafe, so it was said, in the winter months when the

ANDY REMIC 27

flow was fast, fresh, clear with pure mountain meltfrom the Black Pikes; then, then the water could besafely supped, although few trusted its turncoatnature. Most villagers from Crennan had seen theeffects of the toxins on a human body: the writhing,the screaming, flesh tumbling from a bubblingskeleton. Such agony was not something easilyforgotten.

Jage’s father placed him gently on the bank, andJage looked up into his kindly face, ravaged by yearsof working the fields and creased like old leather. Hedid not understand, then, the tears that fell from hisfather’s eyes and landed in his own. He smiled, forthe herbs old Merryach gave him had taken awaythe savage pain in his spine. Maybe they thoughtthey’d given him enough herbs to end his life?However, they had not.

Parellion kissed him tenderly; he smelt strongly ofearth. Beyond, Jage could see his mother weepinginto a red handkerchief. Parellion knelt and strokedthe boy’s brow, then stood, and turned, and left.

In innocence, naivety, misunderstanding, Jagewatched them go and he was happy for a whilebecause the sun shone on his face and the pain hadreceded to nothing more than a dull throb. Thesunshine was pleasant and he was surrounded byflowers and could hear the summer trickle of theriver. He frowned. That was the poisonous river, yes?He strained to move, to turn, to see if the waters ranorange and yellow; but he could not. His spine wasbroken. He was crippled beyond repair.

28 SOUL STEALERS

For a long time Jage lay amongst the flowers, histhirst growing with more and more intensity. Theherbs had left a strange tingling sensation and abitter taste on his tongue. I wonder when father willcome back for me? he thought. Soon, soon,answered his own mind. He will bring you water,and more medicine, and it will heal your brokenback and the world will be well again. You’ll see. Itwill be fine. It will be good.

But Parellion did not return, and Jage’s thirst grewimmeasurably, and with it came Jage’s pain beatinglike a caged salamander deep down within, in hisbody core, white-hot punches running up and downhis spine like the hooves of the horse that kickedhim.

Stupid! His mother told him never to walkbehind a horse. The eighteen-hand great horse, ordraught horse as they were also known, was ahuge and stocky, docile, glossy creature, bay withwhite stockings, prodigious in strength and usedpredominantly for pulling the iron-tipped plough.Jage had been concentrating on little Megan, flyinga kite made from an old shirt and yew twigs, andher running, her giggling, the way sunlight glintedin her amber curls… He ran across the field tospeak to her, to ask if he, too, could fly the kite andimpact threw him across the field like a ragdoll, andfor a long time only colours and blackness swirledin his mind. Everything was fuzzy, unfocused, buthe remembered Megan’s screams. Oh how heremembered those!

ANDY REMIC 29

Now, the copper coin of the sun sank, and brightfear began to creep around the edges of the youngboy’s reason. What if, he decided, mother and fatherdid not return? What if they were never going toreturn? How would he drink? How would he crawlto the river? He could not move. Tears wetted hischeeks, and the bitter taste of the herb was strong,and bad, in his desiccated mouth. But more, thebitter taste of a growing realisation festered in hisheart. Why had they brought him here? He thoughtit was to enjoy the sunshine after the crampedinterior of their hut, with its smell of herbs and vomitand stale earth.

And as the moon rose, and stars glimmered, andthe river rushed and Jage could hear the stealthyfootfalls of creatures in the night, he knew, knewthey had left him here to die and he wept forbetrayal, body shuddering, tears rolling down hisface and tickling him and pitifully he tried to move,teeth gritted, more pain flaring flaring so bad hescreamed and writhed a little, twitching in agonyand impotence amongst the starlit flowers, theircolours bleached, their tiny heads bobbing.

Suddenly, somewhere nearby, a wolf howled. Jagefroze, fear crawling into his brain like an insect, andhis eyes grew wide and he bit his tongue, tastingblood. Wolves. This far south of the Black PikeMountains?

It wasn’t unheard, although the people ofCrennan were keen to hunt down and massacre anywolves sighted in the vicinity. The mountain wolves

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were savage indeed, and never stopped at killing asingle animal. Their frenzies were legendary. As wastheir hunger.

The howl, long and lingering and drifting tosilence like smoke, was answered by another howl,off to the east, then a third, to the west. Jageremained frozen, eyes moving from left to right, hisimmobility a torture in itself, which at this momentin time far outweighed the physical pain of hisbroken spine.

If they found him, they would eat him, of this hewas sure.

Eat him alive.Jage waited, in the darkness, in the silence, with

pain growing inside him, his severed spine prickinghim with hot-iron brands of agony, his heartthumping in his ears. I will be safe, he told himself.I will be safe. He repeated the phrase, over and overand over, like a mantra, a prayer-song, and part ofhim, the childish part, knew that if danger trulyapproached then his father, brave strong Parellion,would be waiting just out of sight with his mightywood-cutting axe and he would smash those wolvesin two, for surely the village was near enough forthem to hear the howls? The villagers would nottolerate such an intrusion by a natural predator! Butanother part of Jage, a part that was quickly growingup, an accelerated maturity and a consideration tosurvive told him with savage slaps that he wascompletely alone, abandoned, and if he did nothingthen he would surely die. But what can I do? he

ANDY REMIC 31

thought, fighting against the urge to cry. I cannotmove!

He wanted to scream, then. To release hisfrustration and pain in one long howl, just like thewolves; but he bit his tongue, for he knew to do sowould be to draw them like moth to candle flame.

Jage waited, tense and filled with an exhaustivefear; he eventually drifted into a fitful sleep. Whenhis eyes opened, slowly, he knew something wasimmediately wrong despite his sensory apparatusunable to detect any direct threat.

Then, grass hissed, and Jage’s eyes moved to theleft and into his field of vision stepped the wolf. Itwas old, big, heavy, fur ragged and torn in strips fromone flank; its fur was a deep grey and black, mattedand twisted, and its eyes were yellow, baleful, andglittered with an ancient intelligence. This creaturewasn’t like the yelping puppies in the village; thiswolf was a killer, a survivor, and it knew fresh,stranded meat when it saw it.

“Oh no,” whispered Jage, eyes transfixed. Like asnake before a charmer, Jage watched the wolf padclose, then look left and right as if expecting a trapand humans waiting with pitchfork and axe. Otherwolves edged into Jage’s vision, growing inconfidence and spreading in a wide arc. The youngboy shuddered involuntarily.

They were going to eat him. Eat him alive. Andthere was nothing he could do.

A snarl came, low and malevolent, and those eyesnever left Jage’s. There was a connection between

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the two, between victim and killer, and Jage wasn’tsure what it meant, only that he felt like a boundsacrifice on an altar; and felt suddenly, violently sick.

The wolf lowered its head, fangs baring, and thesnarl elongated into a continuous threatening growl.A paw edged forward, and at the same time Jage felta tickling across his legs which twitched as if inautomatic response, and the tickling moved up overhis belly and onto his chest and Jage gaped at thespider there, small, glossy, black, about the size of hishand, so close he could see the many hairs thatcovered its legs and thorax and he blinked, for thiswas the highly toxic and very, very deadly HexelSpider, otherwise known – sweetly, ironically – as aLupus Spider. Jage allowed a slow breath to escapehis fear-frozen throat, and watched the spider turnto face the wolf – which had stopped, one pawextended, eyes narrowed as if in consideration.

The spider’s two front legs came up, then, poisedin the air, and Jage could see long curved cheliceraewhich he knew, even at this young age, were linkedto glands carrying venom.

The wolf halted, but the growl remained, and theold creature was wise enough to recognise danger inthis tiny creature. More growls echoed, and thenwith a shiver Jage felt more tickles spread across hisbody like rainfall, and his vision was flooded by aswathe of Hexel Spiders as they ran up him, overhim, and poised, a glossy mass of legs andexoskeletons, almost covering his body entirely andcertainly covering the ground around him in a

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bristling carpet. The wolf snarled, turned, and lopedaway; was gone.

Jage, however, could not breathe a sigh of relief,and his eyes roved frantically over the spiders whichslowly lowered their legs from attack posture andbegan to move across him, down onto the groundand he was waiting, waiting for that painful bitewhich would bring about oblivion and this musthave been why his parents left him here by a spidernest – certain of a quick, venomous end.

Jage blinked. One spider remained, on his chest,and he could see its tiny black eyes watching. Thenit moved forward, and crawled up his face and hecould feel each tiny footfall pressing his flesh and hewanted so desperately to scream but knew anysudden noise would bring about the bite.

The spider stopped, suspended over his mouth,and Jage gave the tiniest of whimpers.

From somewhere in the spider, whether it bechelicerae, gland or spinneret, a tiny dropletdetached and fell into Jage’s throat. It was warm,and slick. More drops followed, and a bitter tasteflooded through him, and darkness came in a violentrage and he thought, I have been poisoned, I amdying, I was left for this, and a black swell of ragingpain rushed up to meet him and he fell into andthrough a bottomless pit, and remembered no more.

Jage awoke face down, staring at rock. An incrediblethirst still raged through him, and he had distantmemories of motion but everything was blurred and

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his face felt sticky and he realised his skin wascovered, covered with a sheen of silk honey web.

So they want to eat me, he thought, miserably.They’ve brought me back to their cave, so that theycan eat me one piece at a time. I am a prisoner. I amfood.

He struggled to move, but could not. However,there was no pain, and Jage frowned. Then he spieda flood of spiders undulating across the rocky floortowards him, each the size of his hand, many withchelicerae clicking. Some carried sacks of eggs,encased in silk, some held them in jaws but otherscarried their precious cargo on their backs. Jagewatched, fascinated for a few moments, until herealised they had come to feed; had come to feedtheir young. He shuddered, and fresh tears fell, andthe surging carpet of spiders stopped and severalclambered over him, delicate footfalls teasing hisflesh with a terrible, mocking agony. He felt the bite,directly over his broken spine, and he screamed thenand would have thrashed if he could have moved…another bite came, and another, and Jage wassobbing uncontrollably as the spiders clicked andinjected him with venom, and he waited for the painto smash through him.

Instead, only euphoria eased into his veins, andthankfully he slipped into a welcomeunconsciousness.

Jage awoke, propped against rock, seated in thedark, in the cold. A breeze blew, which soothed his

ANDY REMIC 35

feverish skin. He licked dry lips, and his throatthrobbed raw from excessive screaming. He turnedhis head, surveyed the narrow tunnels which led tothis small, cramped space. On a rock near his foot,to the right, there was fruit; small berries, somestrawberries, several mushrooms and a potato. Jagefelt an incredible hunger rush through him, and hereached out, lifting the fruit and eating it, and berryjuice ran down his face staining his chin red and helaughed, and his feeding increased in frenzy until thefruit and raw vegetables were gone.

He felt stiff, and sore, and only then did realisationdawn.

He could move! He could move again.The young boy twisted, and his back felt strange,

tight and odd and not quite part of him. He frowned,and reached behind himself, his hand groping for hisspine. What he found there made him freeze, forthere was some kind of thick cord on the outside ofhis skin, stretching from the base of his spine all theway up to the base of his skull. His fingers traced thestrange, smooth, hard substance, and as he moved,and explored, he realised the thick cord was movingwith him, flexing with him. It seemed to be integralto his flesh.

What have they done to me? Jage thought,dreamlike, drifting, and he saw the spiders movingslowly into his cramped cave, only this time therewas something else, another spider, much bigger thistime but with exactly the same markings andappearance as the tiny Hexels. Jage fixed on this

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large arachnid, and its graceful movement of all eightlegs in choreographed coordination; it was the samesize as Jage, and he realised, at least, that answeredthe question of how he had been moved to the cave.What was this? A queen? A king? How did it workwith spiders?

The spider eased forward, ducking a little, each legmovement a forced hydraulic step, and it stoppedbefore Jage and he looked into the four black orbs –its eyes – and the spider was watching him and hehad absolutely no idea what it wanted. Was it goingto eat him? Was it going to poison him? Did it wantto be friends?

“Hello,” said Jage, head tilting. His spine gave atiny, tiny crackle. “Thank you, for saving me, fromthe wolves.”

The gathering of worker spiders did not move.They were a carpet of black, all eyes on him. Thelarge one (which he later discovered was the queen)stepped even closer, and Jage’s nostrils twitched, forhe could smell acid and hemolymph. He kept his faceperfectly straight as chelicerae the size of daggersmoved to his face and the spider seemed to be…sniffing him? It moved yet closer, all eight legssurrounding him, encompassing him in a strangespider-limb cocoon, and then against all odds thespider started to sing, a song without words, a high-pitched croon, a lullaby, and Jage sat there,ensnared, and she sang to him and he felt strangelyat ease, a part of this family hiding under the groundand inside the rock, feared and reviled and his face

ANDY REMIC 37

formed into a strange grimace which should havehad no place on a human mask and he foundacceptance for he had been abandoned and left to diebut here, here and now, with the spider queen’s songsoothing through his skull and veins he realised hewas a part of this new family; they would look afterhim, and protect him, and love him, and make himstrong again.

Deep in the caves, there was a river. The water wasblack, but Jage drank from it often and neversuffered ill effects. He moved around the tunnelsfreely for a while, exploring winding tunnels andcaves and caverns, many littered with bones andlong, ancient drifts of web. Most of the Hexel Spidersdid their hunting outside, and fed mainly on otherinsects, although sometimes the three larger queenswho inhabited the central caves would head out intothe night and return, often with rabbits or snakes,once a weasel spitting and snarling in its sack of silk;and once, even, a wolf.

Jage watched as the three queens brought thecocooned wolf into the hub of caves and tunnels; itno longer struggled, and Jage reasoned it had beengiven a moderate bite to sedate it. The massiveshaggy beast was wrapped heavily in thick cords ofrestraining silk, and Jage crawled forward, curious,head tilting to one side as he realised with a start thecreature was the wolf that had threatened him allthose months earlier, as he lay paralysed andabandoned beside the Hentack River. On hands and

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knees Jage crawled until his face was only inchesfrom the wolf, and he stared into those old, balefulyellow eyes and the wolf seemed to grin at him,panting in short bursts, and Jage felt some kind ofvictory and he wondered if this was sheercoincidence, or if his new family had hunted downthe wolf and brought it to him.

Jage turned, and at that moment the wolf lunged,jaws snapping, slicing through his shoulder andmaking the young boy scream. The wolf locked jaws,and shook him, and Jage flopped to the rock and thespiders rushed over the wolf and the queen wasthere, small black eyes emotionless as cheliceraeswept down and there came a terrible cracking; shesnapped the wolf’s muzzle in two, then a legpunched out, entering the old creature’s skull withpile-driver force and skewering the brain within.

Jage fell back, weeping, pain flooding him. Gently,the queen gathered him up and a honey liquid oozedfrom her fangs and into his mouth and the paineased away, closely followed by wakefulness.

Jage awoke. His shoulder felt good. It felt more thangood. It felt strong. He looked down, and from themid-point of his chest across his shoulder and downto his elbow, there were panels of black chitin, glossylike spider armour, and woven deep into his flesh,indeed, deep into his very muscle and bone.

The queen entered, and settled down before him.Then a foreleg reached out and touched Jage’s face,and he closed his eyes and he could… he could flow

ANDY REMIC 39

with her thoughts and feel her desperation for she was aSoulkeeper of Species and they were at war and hunted andreviled and the battle had raged for thousands of years withthe Trallisk, who came with fire and poison to burn themand sting them, and battles had been fought, hugeunderground wars in tunnel and cave systems ranging forthousands of leagues to destroy the Sacred, and theSoulkeepers had finally been defeated in a huge bloodyscourge, and since that day they moved from cave system tocave system, always running, always hiding, taking theSacred with them, but one day they would conquer for itwas their way, they were a warrior species descended froma warrior species and Jage, Jage was a human exception,a conundrum for he had shown them kindness and a formof understanding and she knew he was different andunique and they needed something unique to beat theTrallisk in war and this, this meant acceptance, for he wasyoung and in him they could find an ally and they wouldstrengthen him and had built him a spine from cuticlecontaining proteins and chitin built up in layers and fedwith long protein strands into his own flesh and own spineand nerves and his body had accepted it as his own. Andnow. Now, after the incident with the wolf, the Soulkeepershad repaired his shoulder in a similar fashion, buildinghim a new shoulder blade, for the wolf’s fangs had tornmuscle and powdered bone and they were part of him now,all a part of him, and he was part of them, and they werehappy to accept Jage into their family for they knew therewas no evil in his body, mind or soul and he could helpthem, help them protect the Sacred for its purpose wasimportant to the world, and he, Jage, was important to the

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world… and one day, he would understand why they gavehim the Sacred to protect.

Jage’s eyes opened, with a start. He ran his tonguearound the inside of his mouth, coughed, and sat up.He flexed his new shoulder experimentally, andpressed at it with his free hand. It felt as strong assteel.

On a flat rock by his feet sat a platter of rock, withsome fruit, and vegetables, and a long, slick, grey slabof meat. Jage reached out, picked up the meat,which slithered against his fingers as if trying toescape. He knew what he had to do. He had to getstrong. He had to grow, and feed, and becomepowerful; only then could he repay the kindness ofthe Hexels and help them with their age-old waragainst the Trallisk; help them protect the Sacred.Help them deliver it.

Jage ate the meat, rubbing absently at his chestwhich itched, just over his heart, and at that momentknew he needed a new name. Something to reflecthis merging with the spiders; his acceptance not justinto their society, but into their very genetics.

From this point, he decided, he would be knownas Jageraw.

General Graal rode the black stallion to the top of thehill and turned, gaze sweeping the snowy wildernessand desolate, crumbling city of Old Skulkra. “I knowyou,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I remember you. Iremember you well, Old One.’

ANDY REMIC 41

Graal was half vachine, half albino. Accepted bythe vachine society and culture because of his age,his prowess in battle, his tactical expertise as ageneral, and because – although their history nolonger recorded it – he was one of the blood of thefirst vachine to walk the world, under the watchfulgaze of the Vampire Warlords, Kuradek, Meshwarand Bhu Vanesh. Graal was ancient. More than athousand years old. Ancient slave to the VampireWarlords. And Graal was pissed.

He attempted to calm himself, tried to slow thethunder of clockwork in his breast. But he could not.His teeth ground together, and he tasted his ownblood-oil.

A Harvester approached, eyes fixed on Graal,drifting through the fresh fall of snow like a ghost.

“You should calm yourself, Brother,” said theHarvester.

“I am fucking sick of this charade. I want thevachine dead. I want them slaughtered! I know mydestiny, by right of conquest, of kindred, of birth! Iknow my place, Harvester!”

“It will come,” soothed the Harvester. “It will allcome. You have shown great patience to this point;why do you grow so agitated? What has disturbedyour mind, general?”

Graal was silent for long minutes, pale lipscompressed, white face shaded by shadows, gloom,and a cascade of falling snow. His stallion stamped,snorting steam, and he turned the beast to stare acrossOld Skulkra. The ancient towers and palaces were

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rimed with snow; its cracked tenements, crumblingplazas, disintegrating bridges, all were sprinkled witha sugary ash and if Graal narrowed his eyes enough,he could imagine the city as it was a thousand yearsago, when it was the centre of the Vampire Warlords’Empire, when it had been a Seat of Power… and ofdeath, misery, and human desecration.

Graal leapt lightly from his mount, and stroked hispale features, lost in thought. The skin of an albino,and yet the eyes of the vachine? How little theyknew; how little they understood his lineage.

“What troubles you?” persisted the Harvester,drifting close, towering over the man. A handreached out, five long bone needles, and restedgently on Graal’s shoulder.

Graal spat. “The cankers had a simple task: to huntdown an old man and his wounded companion.More than fifty cankers I sent, and yet they cameback empty in tooth and claw. How could they notpossibly find one simple old man and his tart?”

“You fear this man?”Graal glanced at the Harvester then, and turned

away. “No. Fear is not the correct word. I respect him,and respect the damage he may cause if left to runriot. This man is Kell, and once he troubled thevachine in the Black Pike Mountains. He and hissoldiers called themselves Vachine Hunters – and yes,I do appreciate the irony, as sweet as any virgin’squim. They caused vachine and albino warriors alikeserious trouble during a four year period. Not onlydid they slaughter our peoples, they disrupted the

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blood-oil trade and nearly killed in its entirety thesmuggling of Karakan Red which, as we both know,many half-vachine rely on as part of Kradek-ka’s…shall we say, experimentations.”

“You were sent to deal with this thorn?”“Yes. To pluck it free. Many times Engineer Priests,

and even Archbishops, were sent with elite squadsamongst the Black Pikes to hunt down and endthis… problem. They returned either empty handed,or not at all. It was said these Vachine Hunters wereghosts, demons, unsavoury spirits sent by God toremove our kind from the face of the planet. Not so.They were men, highly skilled men with a talent fordeath and bloodbond,” he spat the word, teeth baredlike an animal, “weapons baptised in some ancientdark magick of which we had no knowledge, norunderstanding. They were sent by King Searlan, amagicker King, after he studied an ancient text andgrew afraid.”

“And the text?”“The Book of Angels,” said Graal, darkly.“A dangerous tome indeed. I hope it was

recovered?”“No. That was part of my reason for persuading

the Engineer Council to allow me to take their Armyof Iron south; otherwise, I fear they may not havetrusted me with so much singular authority.” Hesmiled. “There was, of course, also inherent panic attheir impending shortage of refined blood-oil.”

“Of course,” said the Harvester, with a sardonicsmile. “A well crafted situation. However, this…

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Kell? You never found him during your time In theBlack Pike Mountains?”

“My soldiers tracked him, and with his few menKell fought a retreat into the bowels of BeinTechlienain; there, the battle raged for hours in thenarrow tunnels and across high bridges, until mysoldiers were sure the last of Kell’s men – and theman himself – were cast screaming and begging intothe Fires of Karrakesh.”

“And yet, it would seem he survived.”“Yes, he survived,” said Graal, voice bitter. “I swear

this is the same man, although I never saw his facemyself under the Black Pikes.” His voice dropped anoctave. “I think some of my trusted soldiers were notquite honest with me about those long, dark weeksunder the Stone.”

“Maybe this new and unfortunate series of eventsis merely… coincidence? Or possibly a foolhardy,arrogant warrior seeking to step like a ganger intoanother’s skin?” The Harvester seemed to be smiling,although this was unlikely through the narrow slitof its mouth. Harvesters were renowned for havinga flatline when it came to humour.

“There is no such thing as coincidence,” snappedGraal. He gave a bleak smile. “As I will demonstrate.”

He called to a young albino warrior, and sent himto find Nesh, the leader of the cankers sent to findKell and Saark in Old Skulkra – and to bring themback. Nesh was as near controllable as one couldachieve, with such an inherently uncontrollable andchaotic blend of twisted species.

ANDY REMIC 45

Nesh arrived, huge, rumbling, mouth stretchedwide open, tiny eyes filled with swirling gold as itwatched Graal. The canker hunkered down, stinkingof oil and hot metal. Inside, its clockwork clicked andstepped, and pistons thudded occasionally. Nesh wasan example of a canker in its prime, although to bein its prime state, a canker must have regressed fromboth the human and clockwork that created it – tosuch an extent that the beautiful became ugly, thelogical became parody. To be in prime canker statewas to be days from death.

“Yes?” grunted the beast, its speech clipped andshort. Words caused this creature, fully eight feet inheight, great pain to utter. But it was a gift thecanker treasured, for not all could speak throughcorrupted clockwork and fangs.

Graal walked down one flank, observing the openwounds, the twisted, blackened clockwork, the bentgears and pistons. He smiled, a tight smile. To Graal,more than any other albino or vachine in existence,these creatures were abomination. But like a goodcraftsman, he used his tools well – withWatchmaker precision. No matter the extent of hispersonal abhorrence.

“You followed Kell’s scent? And the stench of thewounded popinjay?”

“Yes.”“And yet… you claim you lost them. In the maze

of streets and alleyways?”“Yes, General Graal. There much dark magick in

Old Skulkra. Much we not understand. Much left

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over from… the Other Time.”“You are lying,” said Graal.There followed an uneasy silence, in which the

huge, panting canker glared down at General Graal.Its mouth opened wider with tiny brass clicks, almostlike the winding of a ratchet, and the small hate-filled eyes narrowed, fixed on Graal, fixed on histhroat.

“I obey my Masters,” said the canker carefully, “foronly then do I get the blood-oil I require.” Thepanting increased. Graal noted, almost subliminally,that the canker’s claws were sliding free, silent, well-oiled, like razors in grease.

“My brother became a canker,” said Graal,brightly, moving away from the huge beast. “Foryears I tried to stop it happening, tried to halt theinexorable progress of an all-conquering corruption.But I could not do it. I could not stop Nature. Fordays, nights, weeks, we sat there discussing thepossibilities, of regression, of introducing freshclockwork, of forceful medical excision. And yet Iknew, I always fucking knew,” Graal turned, fixinghis glittering blue gaze on the huge beast, “when hewas lying.” Graal smiled, a narrow compression oflips.

“I cannot tell you,” snarled the canker. “You wouldnever believe!”

“You will tell me,” said Graal, voice soft, “or I willslaughter you where you stand.”

“They will curse me!” howled the canker, voicesuddenly filled with pain, and fear, and shock.

ANDY REMIC 47

“Who?”“The Denizens of Ankarok,” snarled Nesh, and

launched itself with dazzling speed at Graal, clawsfree, fangs bright and gleaming with gold and brass,savage snarls erupting in a frenzy of suddenviolence as claws slashed for Graal’s head and theGeneral, apparently frozen to the spot for longmoments, moved with a swift, calculated precision,stepping forward and ducking wild claw swingsuntil he was inches from the snarling frenzy ofbestial deviant vachine, and his slender swordplunged into the canker, plunged deep and Graalstepped away from slashing, thrashing claws,almost like a dancer twirling away with a stutter ofcomplex steps. Graal dropped to one knee, andwaited. Nesh, in a frenzy of pain and hate, suddenlydecelerated and its eyes met Graal’s as realisationdawned.

“You have killed me,” it coughed, and bloodpoured from its mouth. It slumped to the ground,more blood-oil flowing from its throat, and its bodyslapped the damp hillside. It grunted, and there camethe sounds of seizing clockwork. Finally, the internalmechanical whirrings died… and with a twitch, thecanker died with them.

Graal stood, and pulling free a white cloth, cleanedhis narrow black blade. The single cut had disabledthe canker more efficiently than a full platoon ofarmed albino soldiers. His technique was precise, anddeadly. He turned, and his eyes were narrowed, hisface ash.

48 SOUL STEALERS

The Harvester was watching him closely, almostwith interest. “So, the Denizens of Ankarok aidedKell? I find that… improbable,” he said, voice littlemore than a whisper.

“I also,” snapped Graal, sheathing his sword.“Especially considering the Vampire Warlordsslaughtered them to extinction nearly a thousandyears ago!”

ANDY REMIC 49

SOUL STEALERSby Andy Remic

416pp paperback and eBook

Extras: Free chapters from vol.III

Vampire Warlords

UK/RoW: September 2010

North America: October 2010

more? angryrobotbooks.com

Rem andyremic.com

also Vol I: Kell’s Legend