Soul Stealers: The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles by Andy Remic

vices, yes," his face twisted a little, as if he was pained to recall them, "but I know where my priorities lie. And if we abandon this boy, he will die."
    "Not so."
    "You a prophet now, Legend ?"
        Kell's eyes narrowed. "You have been sent to torture me, Saark, I swear. I should have killed you back in Jajor Falls."
        "Why didn't you?" It was such an innocent question, it caught Kell off guard. Saark persisted, clutching his side where blood wept through the makeshift packing of torn shirt. "You're the Big Man here, you're the warrior, the hero, the bloody legend of song and dance; you're the man with no conscience, the man of the fucking moment and to the Bone Halls with everybody else! Why am I still here, hey? Why am I still walking by your side? Or have you got a sneaky back-handed death lined up for me, also?"
        Kell grabbed Saark's shirt, lifting him from the ground and drawing him in close, until their faces were only inches apart.
    "Don't push me."
        "Or what'll you do, big man? Stab me in my sleep?" "Damn you Saark! You twist my mind! You twist my words! Everything with you is fencing, a tactical, verbal puzzle to be negotiated. And I am sick of it!" "Listen." Saark smoothed down his shirt. "I am with you, Kell. I am not your enemy. I will come with you; we will rescue Nienna, of that I am sure. But don't let panic, don't let blind urgency cloud your vision. This boy here; he is innocent. In fact more; without him, we'd be dead."
        "Maybe."
        "What?" scoffed Saark. "You think you could take on fifty cankers? You dream, old horse. But what I would say to you is this; I am going for a walk, in the snow, to check our perimeter. I want you to talk to the boy. Find a peace with him – here," he tapped his own skull, "in your head. Because you have a problem, Kell, a serious problem they did not choose to address in your Saga ." Saark moved away from the fire, and with drawn rapier, stepped through the leaning doorway and out into the cold, bleak woods. Kell sat down for a while, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the slithering of Skanda's knife. Eventually, as his temper settled, and recognising some worth in Saark's words, he stood and turned and crossed to Skanda, who was just slicing the final strips of meat and adding them to the broth. "It will be a fine stew," said the boy.
        "It smells good already." Kell's hand was tight on the haft of Ilanna. The axe blades gleamed cold. He was standing before the boy, just to one side, and Skanda was busy, intent on his task. An easy target. An easy death. No, he thought. Then: why not?
        After all, he had been poisoned, infected by the vile escaped prisoner, Myriam, with the aim of blackmailing him to help her save her own worthless skin. Kell's mission was simple, uncomplicated – ride north, fast, and locate Nienna. His granddaughter had also been poisoned with the same toxin; without Kell's haste, she would die, probably sooner than he for she was young and weak. Despite Kell's age, he was as strong as an ox, he knew. But the problem here lay with Skanda. Kell knew, deep down, that Saark wouldn't leave the boy with so many albino soldiers and cankers scouring the woods looking for them. But the boy would slow Kell down. In doing so, Nienna might die… so, to his mind, it was an easy problem to fix.
        Kell scratched his beard. He realised Ilanna was still tight in his fist. Her blades gleamed, catching the light of the fire.
        Another problem, was that if he left the boy behind, then how long before Graal tortured information from his spindly limbs? Saark had blabbed enough of the story to Skanda to make the boy a threat. Which meant only one course of action.
        Kell took a step closer. Still, Skanda did not look up. His hands moved swiftly, preparing more of the fresh rabbit meat. The smell made Kell's nose twitch, but his mind was working fast, one step ahead of