“Corpse attack?” said Valkyrie. “What was that?”
“Valkyrie doesn’t need to hear this story,” Skulduggery said, and they all started walking again.
“Nonsense,” said Shudder. “She needs to hear every story. She’s one of us now.”
“The only reason you don’t want this story told is because you’re not in it,” Vex said. Skulduggery didn’t answer.
“We were in Denmark,” said Saracen, “waiting for the boat to take us home. There were about thirty others with us. We’d been fighting for weeks while Quintin Strom and his lot kept Mevolent busy on the other side of the world. The last we’d heard, Vengeous was injured and we knew that Serpine was unlikely to make the trip out to face us, so were pretty confident that we’d get home without any extra hassle.”
“But we hadn’t heard anything about where Lord Vile happened to be,” said Ghastly.
A Lord Vile story. No wonder Skulduggery hadn’t wanted it told.
“So there we were,” Saracen continued, “huddled round the various campfires, swapping stories, singing songs. We hadn’t lost one single soldier in the last few weeks. Plenty injured, sure, but no fatalities. We were feeling pretty good about ourselves. Feeling pretty unstoppable.”
“Then we found out what unstoppable really was,” Ravel muttered.
“We looked around and Lord Vile was standing right there,” said Saracen, “right in the middle of the camp. The sentries were dead, though we didn’t know that yet. He’d killed them all without making a sound. Easy pickings, for someone like him.”
“We attacked,” Vex said. “Threw everything at him. He killed anyone who got too close. Larrikin was hurt pretty bad, but finally Anton here got past his defences – that Gist of his sure is persistent – and Vile disappeared. He’d had enough, he’d got bored, he didn’t like it when the fight got a little fairer … whatever the reason, he left.”
“He killed twelve people,” Saracen said. “Those shadows of his just sliced them apart. So we gathered up their remains, by morning they were buried, and we dug in and prepared for his return. The boat was still three days away, and he was out there.”
“So the sun went down,” Ravel said, picking up the story. “We formed a perimeter. No one was singing any songs that night, believe me. Hours went by. The breeze rustled leaves, owls hooted, animals skittered by in the undergrowth … I remember every single sound from that night, because every single one of them stopped my heart. But nothing happened. Morning came. Some of the soldiers started to believe that Vile had run off, that maybe Anton had hurt him more than we’d realised.”
“I hadn’t,” said Shudder. “I told them I hadn’t. They wouldn’t listen.”
“Night came again,” Saracen said. “Again, we formed a perimeter. Again, every sound made us jump. Then we heard the voices. Voices of the people we’d buried, calling out to us, begging for help.”
Ravel gave Valkyrie a half-smile. “We don’t spook easily. We’d faced dark sorcerers and vampires and monsters of all descriptions. Ghosts didn’t scare us. Most ghosts can’t even hurt you. But those voices … They kept calling to us. All night. We had to stop people from leaving the camp to go and help.
“By morning, our nerves were in tatters. As soon as it was light, a group of us went out. The graves were empty.”
“We had one more night to go,” Ghastly said. “So we dug ourselves in one final time, and the sun went down. For a few hours, there was nothing. Then there was movement, all around the camp. People, just standing there in the darkness, watching us. The people we’d buried.”
Valkyrie frowned. “Zombies?”
“Of a sort,” said Vex. “But not the decomposing kind. Our friends had been … infected. When Vile killed them, we figured he’d left behind some little shard of Necromancer magic. Remember, some of these soldiers had been sliced to bits, but here they were, whole again, staring at us. And then they attacked.”
“We were down to ten men when the sun came up,” Ghastly said. “Whatever these things were, they could only live at night. At dawn, they fell apart. We gathered them, put them with the bodies of the men and women they’d killed, and we burned them all. A few hours later, our boat came and we got the hell out of there.”
“If you can survive three nights like that,” said Shudder, “then that is all I will ever need to know about you.”
“Pick up the pace,” said Skulduggery from up ahead. “We need to cover more ground before setting up camp.”
Valkyrie watched him as they walked. She knew what it was like to hear people talk about you without them even realising they were doing so. Whenever anyone mentioned Darquesse, she found herself shrinking inside. She tried not to imagine their disgust, their horror, if they ever found out that Darquesse was who she’d become if she ever gave in to the voice in her head, even for a moment.
Was Skulduggery the same? Did Lord Vile whisper to him when things got quiet? Did he have to fight the call of that black shadow-armour like she had to fight against Darquesse’s sheer unbridled power? Valkyrie didn’t even know where Skulduggery kept the armour any more. He’d told her it was locked in a case and hidden away. He told her it was secure. It was caged. He acted so casual about it, like giving it up wasn’t a big deal, like the power wasn’t addictive.
Of course, maybe, for him, it wasn’t. Or maybe his disgust at himself for the things he’d done, the people he’d killed, during those five years as Vile was so overwhelming that it cancelled any addiction he might have felt. That was a possibility. But Valkyrie didn’t believe it.
She believed he was like her. He had a terrible secret, a secret that would cause his friends to turn on him in an instant, but it was a secret that he wanted to keep alive. She believed that the darkness, the power, the freedom, bubbling away beneath the surface, kept him going when nothing else would. Because all he had to do was give in, let it take over, and all the guilt and the shame and the pain would go away forever.
She believed he was like her because she needed to believe that. If he wasn’t like her, if she was wrong, then she was alone.
And there was no one who could save her.
Valkyrie sat close to the fire, gloved hands out to catch the warmth. The rest of the Dead Men huddled in from the cold night, except for Skulduggery, who sat cross-legged on the ground without any need for heat.
She looked at each of them in turn, these men who wore their age in their eyes. Hardened men, veterans of war, warriors and killers and heroes. And villains, too, she supposed. No such thing as a true hero, not where war is concerned. Not where people are concerned. For years she had held Skulduggery himself in that high regard – he was her hero. He still was, in many respects. To have gone through everything he’d gone through, to have done the things he’d done, and to emerge on the other side as the man he was … that was pretty damn heroic. But those things he’d done when he’d given in to the darkness, when he’d surrendered to his own despair … those things could never be forgotten. Never be forgiven. She knew that better than most.
“How did this start?” she asked, breaking the silence. “The Dead Men, I mean? Who put you together?”
“No one,” said Skulduggery. “We just found each other. That’s what happens when people try to kill you – you form attachments. But when the war broke out, I was already friends with Ghastly and Hopeless.”
“And Hopeless brought me in,” said Ravel.
Ghastly nodded. “It was the four of us to begin with. We were soldiers like everyone else, fighting the good fight, trying not to get killed …”
“Some of us were more successful at that than others,” Skulduggery put in. “After Serpine killed me, when I came back, I was the miracle soldier. Not even death could stop me, they said.”
Vex smiled. “I heard stories about him, how he rose from the dead to lead us against Mevolent, how the war was going to be over within weeks. That didn’t exactly happen. When I finally got to meet the miracle soldier, the l
iving skeleton, I was so excited. I was expecting blazing fireballs for eyes and all this magic I’d never seen before. What I got instead was … him.”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Glad I could disappoint.”
“We joined up a little while after Dexter,” Saracen said, motioning to himself and Shudder. “I impressed them by attacking an entire battalion of Mevolent’s troops on my own.”
“You slipped,” said Shudder.
“Stop saying that. I did not slip.”
“I was there. You slipped and fell down the hill and rolled into their camp.”
“Aggressively. I rolled aggressively into their camp.”
“I had to save you.”
“Why do you always say it like that? Like it was a chore? I was very dizzy. I probably had a concussion. However it happened, whatever the exact details were, it was a very brave thing for me to do and because of it we met up with these fine people you see before you, Valkyrie, and we became the squad of which you are now part.”
“It didn’t become official until Meritorious asked for volunteers to undertake a suicide mission,” Skulduggery said, the orange light from the fire bouncing off his skull. “My hand was the first hand raised.”
“Mine was the second,” said Ghastly. “I thought he had a plan.”
“I really didn’t,” said Skulduggery.
“I didn’t know that at the time,” Ghastly admitted.
“I just want it made clear that I did not volunteer for that mission,” Saracen said. “I was yawning. That raised arm was me stretching. But they made me go anyway.”
“By the end of it,” Vex said, “Meritorious had seven volunteers. They started calling us the Dead Men when they thought we were out of earshot. No one expected us to come back.”
“And we came back,” said Ravel. “That’s when they started calling us the Dead Men to our faces. After that, we sort of developed a reputation for undertaking impossible missions and making it out alive. There were some injuries along the way, of course. When I was recovering, Larrikin took my place. And when Skulduggery went on his little walkabout, when none of us knew if we were alive or dead, Larrikin stepped in again.”
“And then when Hopeless died,” Ghastly said quietly, “Larrikin became a permanent member of the squad.”
“Until Serpine killed him,” said Vex.
“And a few months later, Mevolent was killed,” said Skulduggery. “And a few months after that, the war was over, and the Dead Men officially disbanded. We never thought we’d be needed again.”
“And here we are,” Saracen muttered.
“Strike from the shadows,” Vex said.
“Disappear into darkness,” finished Ghastly.
Silence followed, until Ravel said, “We should probably sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
alkyrie woke the next morning, ate a surprisingly hearty breakfast, and they set off. They stopped a few hours later for food, and almost immediately upon starting out again they came across a trail. They followed it to a larger trail which Skulduggery insisted on calling a road. They almost lost this road multiple times as long grasses threatened to swallow it. It was getting dark by this stage. A vote was taken – to set up camp or continue walking. Six to one. They kept walking.
The fog came from nowhere, blotting out the stars in the night sky. Valkyrie frowned. She no longer felt the eddying currents of air against her skin.
Ghastly snapped his fingers. Nothing happened. “Either we’ve stepped into a huge binding circle,” he said, “or this fog has just dampened our magic.”
The Dead Men turned, facing out, expecting an attack. Only Skulduggery remained calm.
“We’re here,” he said, as he pulled up his hood.
They were on the edge of Wolfsong and they hadn’t even known it. It was an old town, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, lit up with flickering torches. There were sigils on the outer walls, barely noticeable through the fog, and friendly faces on the people within. They didn’t look like the type of people who were about to spring an attack. Skulduggery and the others immediately switched to speaking French, and Valkyrie smiled and nodded and did her best to understand what was being said. In the end she gave up and just focused on smiling and nodding.
They were directed to a tavern, and they walked in and Valkyrie’s stomach started rumbling. It had been hours since she’d last eaten, and the smell of freshly cooked food was overwhelming. They took a table by the wall and ordered food and drink, and as they ate the tavern owner came over, an Englishman with a neat beard.
“Hello there,” he said in English. “Not often we have tourists in our little hamlet. Name’s Griff, pleased to make your acquaintance. You’ve been here before, have you?”
“A hundred years ago or more,” said Vex. “Not much has changed.”
Griff laughed. “Not much needed to. You can keep the outside world, thank you very much. We’re happy where we are. And why wouldn’t we be?” He looked closer at Skulduggery, peering beneath the hood. “Well, there’s something you don’t see every day. You must be that skeleton fellow I’ve heard so much about—Skulduggery someone. Welcome to Wolfsong, sir.”
“Thank you,” said Skulduggery. “Do you get fogs like this often?”
Griff shrugged. “It visits every day as the sun wanes, and takes our magic. The price we pay, I suppose, for living in peace. The first time it came, it brought with it wraiths.”
Skulduggery tilted his head. “Is that so?”
Griff leaned in to Valkyrie, his eyes narrowing mischievously. “You ever seen a wraith, young lady? Terrible creatures to behold. Warlocks command them. I speak not one word of a lie, ask your friends. Once upon a time, they were men and women, but after the Warlocks got through with them, they shed their humanity like a snake sheds its skin. Pale and terrible, they are. You hold your finger a hair’s breadth from their skin and your finger is likely to freeze. But you touch their skin and it’s like a heat you’ve never felt. They burn to the touch, and can’t be killed. They get their hands on you and it’s death, and a hollow kind of death, at that. They leave your ghost wrapped up in eternal torment, so the legend goes.”
“Why did they attack?” asked Vex.
Griff sat back, gave another shrug. “Warlocks commanded it. Don’t know why. They have a settlement, up in the mountains to the east. Or they had. Don’t know if it’s still there. Some of our boys disappeared one night. Their friends said they’d gone to creep up on the Warlock camp, to see if the stories of their unnatural practices were true. A week later, they still hadn’t returned. There was talk of going up after them.
“Then the fog came, and the wraiths. They walked through the streets, dozens of them. Silent. They killed so many.”
“How did you stop them?” Valkyrie asked.
“We didn’t,” said Griff. “Those who weren’t killed ran until they were clear of the fog. It cleared by morning, and took the wraiths with it.”
“And they never came back?”
“They haven’t as of yet.”
Valkyrie frowned. “But how can you feel safe here? How can you sleep? How many locks can you have on a door?”
“Locked doors mean little to wraiths,” said Griff, smiling a little. “But we learned our lesson. We don’t go into the mountains any more. We don’t trouble them, they won’t trouble us.”
“So you haven’t noticed anything strange?” Skulduggery asked. “The Warlocks haven’t been active recently?”
“We haven’t noticed anything at all,” Griff said. “They might still be up there, or they might not. We don’t even look in that direction any more.”
“What would you say if I told you there have been reports of increased Warlock activity at all their known settlements around the world?”
“I wouldn’t know about any of that. Is that why you’re here, then? To see if they’re stretching their legs? Because while you may be guests here, and we treat our guests well, we cannot allow you to go up there.”
/>
“We’re not planning on it,” Ravel said quickly. “That’s not why we’re here. How much contact have you had with the outside world?”
“Little,” Griff admitted.
“Then you have heard nothing about the war?”
“Another one?”
“Sadly, yes, but this one is different. It’s a war between Sanctuaries. Wolfsong is a small town, but it’s a town with a proud history. You have defied the Paris Sanctuary’s rulings and you have prospered here, alone and isolated. You seized your independence and you clung to it, fought for it, even when they tried to take this town by force.”
“I remember all that,” said Griff. “I was here when it happened. Now I hope you’ll excuse me, because I don’t speak all flowery like you Sanctuary mages, but if you want to ask a question, ask a question. Leave the flowers for the gardens.”
“Well said,” muttered Shudder.
“Very well,” said Ravel. “Griff, we want Wolfsong to lend its strength to the Irish Sanctuary. In return, we will provide you with assistance and resources should you need them.”
Griff grunted, and stroked his beard. “It seems to me that Ireland is a long way away.”
“This is true. But the alternative is to add your strength to the Sanctuary in Paris, and fight against us.”
“No,” said Griff, “the alternative is not to add our strength to anyone. Why would we get involved in your disagreements? It’s got precious little to do with us.”
“War has a tendency to spread.”
“Especially if invited. You all seem like nice people, but we’re not nearly as strong as we were a hundred years ago. The wraiths took our strongest fighters. We wouldn’t add much to your forces.”
“On the contrary, you would be an invaluable asset. The more allies behind enemy lines we can secure, the greater our chances of success become. Wolfsong won’t be the only one who will rally to our cause.”
“How many so far?”