by Andy Remic
Saark snorted. "And they don't fucking care, Kell! Don't you understand? We're dealing with criminal scum here, the freaks of the country, the bastards who are bastards to their own mother's bastards. They don't deserve to live, and they won't fucking help you, I'm fucking telling you, I am."
"Ha, that's so much horse shit," snapped Kell. "You, with your southern queer dandy ways, you have no fucking idea what these men are like." Kell moved close, his voice dropping a little. "You don't get how life works, do you, Saark? You've had silver platters and boiled eggs all your life. You've had your face in so many rich bouncing tits, licking the arse-crumbs from oh so many perfume-stinking nobles' cracks, that you have no connection with reality. Most of these men, they're not bad men, not evil men, there are shades of grey, Saark, and we all make mistakes. It's nice to see you're so fucking perfect! In a different world, you would have lost your head a long time ago!"
Saark snorted again. "What the hell am I hearing? You put hundreds of these bastards in here! Listen to the last of the great hypocrites! You hunted them down, Kell, you killed a lot, and you dragged many back to Vor for trial. And now you want them to fight for you? Now you want them to die for you? I've met some mad skunks in my time, heard some crazy bloody plans, but this takes the ridiculous plum straight from the mouth of the insane rich. They'll never follow you, Kell, Legend or no. They'd rather shit on your grave."
"You'll see," rumbled Kell.
"And what you going to do? Kill the new governors?" Saark laughed.
"That's the idea."
"What with? Your left thumb?"
"If I have to. Now stop your prattling, I'm trying to think and you're carping on like a fishwife on a fish stall selling buckets of fish to rank stinking fishermen."
"What? What? Is that an example of how you're going to win over the crowd? Ha ha, Kell, you've got some serious lessons to learn in life. You're about to throw yourself to the wolves."
"We'll see," said Kell, eyes glowing. "We'll just see."
As the day progressed, Kell and Saark watched a hundred or so men sawing wood and putting together some kind of framed structure. Kell brooded in silence, wincing occasionally at his damaged shoulder, and sat with his knees pulled up under his chin, arms wrapped around his legs, wondering how to get out of this mess. Nobody came to their cell, and they were given no food or water. Occasionally, they saw one of the new Black Pike Governors wandering around the frantic building work, and as a hefty softwood frame took shape, Saark put his head on one side.
"Looks like a stage," he said, at last. "Why are they building a stage? Are they going to treat us to a performance of Dog's Treason, or maybe a sequence of sonnet recitals based around the life of that great lover, Cassiandra? I know! I've got it! They're going to perform The Saga of Kell's Legend just for your bloody benefit!"
"It's a gallows, idiot. That's why the centre has extra vertical struts. There's going to be a hole through which somebody drops."
"Somebody?"
"I take a lot of killing," said Kell, voice low, eyes narrowed. "Look, there's Jagor Mad. He really is a big, dumb fool. I thought he would have learnt his lesson last time I brought him in. Evidently not."
"What did he do?"
"Aah," Kell shook his head, then lowered his face to stare at the rocky floor of the cave. He kicked his boot against one of the pitted iron bars. "Jagor came from a city called Gilrak, to the west of Vor. All those who wanted to live in Vor, but couldn't afford to live in the capital, well they lived in Gilrak, and what a sorry heap of shit it was. Like a scum overflow. A sewer outlet. Now, the thing about Gilrak was that it was a new city, with the old one, Old Gilrak, lying a half-league southwest. But what few people knew was that the two were connected by old tunnels. So Jagor and a few of his friends came up with a wonderful money-making scheme. They'd kidnap children, take them through the tunnels – so that when a search went out there was no chance of finding the bastards – take them through the tunnels to the deserted city of Old Gilrak, fast horses, down to the coast where bad men from across the sea were waiting on Crake's Beach with boats."
"So he took children and sold them?"
"Yes. Sold them to bad men, for a lot of gold, men who would use them for, shall we say, unspeakable acts. Things a child should never have to go through." Kell's eyes were gleaming.
"Not a happy end for a child?" ventured Saark.
"No. King Leanoric had three genius spies, who eventually uncovered what was going on. Then they passed the information over to me, and the King charged me with stopping the trade. He gave me limitless funds, and the pick of his men. Well. I work fast, and alone, but Jagor had forty men working his trade so I picked out five of Leanoric's best killers. Not swordsmen, mind, not soldiers, but killers. Men I'd seen in battle, men with real stomach for the job."
"And the job was?"
"Extermination," said Kell, glancing up at Saark. "I've seen the way the justice courts worked in Vor." He spat. "I've watched good men hang, and I watched bad men walk free. I wasn't about to let this little fish escape the pond."
"So what happened?"
"First, we found one of Jagor's scouts. We tortured him, broke his fingers and toes, cut off his balls, held him screaming in a cellar before cutting his throat. The vermin. Well, he told us where the next targets were; where the next children were. And Jagor's kidnappers were getting greedy; they were going to take ten children that night, all under the age of ten. One of my killers took the place of Jagor's scout, and we waited, let them sneak in and take the girl from her little town house in the poor part of the city, then we followed those fuckers back to their camp in the woods, and the place they'd dug down and smashed through into the old tunnel network leading to Old Gilrak."
"What happened next?"
Kell shrugged. "We came on them in the night. Fucking slaughtered them, six of us there were with rage in our eyes and blood on our swords and axes. We massacred them, men and women alike, no mercy. Five escaped into the tunnels, including Jagor Mad. I'd gone in for the kill, we fought and I hit him so hard I put a dent in his skull, broke three bones in my hand but it was worth it. But then somebody jumped on my back, I rammed back my head, ended up with half his teeth stuck in my scalp, but it gave Jagor time to flee. Down through the tunnels."
"You don't make friends easy, do you Kell?"
"Shut up. Well, my men took the kids back to Gilrak and I went down the tunnels after these rats. I followed them all night, caught up with two who were injured, killed them easy enough, then another two tried to spring a trap on me in the dark. Well, Kell doesn't die easy, and I gave them a few things to think about – delivered courtesy of the butterfly blades of Ilanna. Then I chased Jagor Mad all damn night, but the bastard got away. He might look like a big brute, but he ran faster than any frightened schoolgirl, I can tell you."
"How did he end up here?"
"Some of Leanoric's soldiers caught him a week later, north in Fawkrin, heading there with all his ill-gotten gains. I reckon he was going to set himself up as a bandit in Vorgeth Forest, live like a woodland lord. Anyway, because the soldiers had him, he was delivered to the Chief Lord Justice in Vor. Meant he got a trial. Hah! I had to stand there, and them bastards with their fancy words and stupid wigs, they tried to make it sound like I was some bloodthirsty killer, or something…"
"And of course, they'd be right."
"And I pointed out I wasn't the one selling children to dirty bastards from across the sea, and that's when we went into the woods, it was six of us and forty of them. Still."
Kell rubbed his chin. "They had to put him in prison. Too many families weeping and wailing in the courts. Would have looked bad on the Chief Lord Justice. Not even he could have stomached a mass public retribution for his bad comedy court system." Kell chuckled. "I'll never forget, all those judges giving me their dirty looks from under powdered wigs. Gods! Enough to make a man puke, it was."
"So… Jagor Mad came here?"
"Yeah. Scow
ling at me all the way through the courtroom, mouth uttering threats. He was the lucky one; the others got a taste of my axe. And they fucking deserved it."
Saark looked out from behind bars. He tested them, tugging gently, as he had a hundred times that day. "And now they'll give you your own trial, to satisfy Jagor Mad's sense of revenge."
"Looks that way."
"What about the others? Dandall and Grey Tail? You put them both here?"
"Aye, lad."
"And what did they do?"
"Dandall killed people. Lots of people. Used to wait down on Port of Gollothrim docks for drunks, men, women, didn't matter to him. He used to use a long stiletto dagger, get them down a back alley and push it through their necks. I reckon he thought he was doing somebody a favour, although it was probably himself. He was lucky there were seargents with me when I brought him in. He'd just done a drunk prostitute, killed her then cut out her eyes. If I'd been on my own, well, he would have got Ilanna in the back of the head."
Saark considered this. "Is there anybody you don't try to kill?"
"Yeah. People who mind their own business."
"So Jagor Mad kidnapped children for the sex trade, Dandall was an out and out murderer, what lovely crime did Grey Tail commit? Don't tell me, he was arrested for stealing sugar?"
"No. He used to eat people. Before he was a Blacklipper. Must have picked up that dirty stinking vachine habit – no offence – when he came to this wonderful shit-hole. Grey Tail lived in Vor, our illustrious capital city, quite a rich man by all accounts. Worked as a physician, tending the wounded arses of those too rich to get off them. It took the authorities years to realise that occasionally his rich clients would vanish. He had a big house on a very well-to-do street in Merchant's Quarter. Four storeys it was, very nice stone, big cellar below street level. Used to take the odd client, one who wouldn't be missed too much, take them down there, strap 'em to a chair and then, well then he'd begin."
"There he is now," said Saark, and they stared out at the small, wiry man with the round face. He was directing a group of carpenters, who were hammering planks in place as a makeshift floor. If you looked past the evidence of him being a Blacklipper, he was a modest-looking man who could have quite easily, in the eye of the imagination, been a respectable surgeon. "What exactly did he do to his patients?"
"Used to cut them up, piece by piece, and cook them in a little pan. Used to eat their flesh first, he'd gag 'em, slice off a chunk, fry it, eat it. Keep them alive for a few weeks whilst he feasted on their flesh. It was the neighbours who complained; I reckon they got sick of the stench of frying human fat."
"We live in a decadent world," said Saark.
"Aye. Sometimes, laddie, it makes me wonder if the vachine have the right idea."
"Hey, I can always bite you?" He grinned. "You'd become one of us."
Kell stared at him. "The day you bite me, Saark, is the day I rip off your skull."
"As I said, is there anybody you've met who you didn't try and kill?"
"No. I don't have it in me."
"That's what I thought you'd say. Oh, look Kell, up go the gallows. Hurrah!" Ten men laboured to erect a huge post, which was then strapped into position and secured with cross-struts. The sound of hammering echoed across the flat ground. Kell's face was grim.
"No need to be so happy about it."
"Hey, I'm pretty sure it's designed for me as well, mate. You're not the only one with the honour of being an enemy of the new Black Pike Mine Governors."
"Yeah. Well. We should rest. Going to need all our strength, later, aren't we."
"You really think you can convince them?"
"I hope so," said Kell. "All our lives depend on it."
"Wake up, you fucking bastards." It was Jagor Mad, growling through the evening gloom and between the bars. Snow was falling. Both Kell and Saark awoke, weary, groggy, as if they had been drugged. "Come on, quick, before I call a man with a crossbow."
Kell stood, and stretched languorously, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. "Yeah. Well, lad, that would be your way now, wouldn't it? Shoot us through the bars, in the fucking back, just like the coward piece of sliced horse dick you really are. But look, out there. All your pussy lickers are waiting, watching you. And you know you have to play the game, or some bastard will stick you in your sleep. Not that you don't get that every night, eh Saark?" Kell nudged Saark, who gave a nervous laugh, eyes fixed on the pure hate and rage that filled the trembling Jagor Mad standing before them.
"You will eat those words, Axeman," spat Jagor.
"Show me!"
"Your time will come, soon enough! On the end of a fucking rope!"
"Like that'll stop me," snarled Kell, moving close. Suddenly, he grabbed Jagor through the bars and dragged the huge bear close. Jagor Mad struggled, but despite his prodigious strength Kell was his match. Jagor's face slammed the bars, and Kell pushed his nose against his enemey's as his hands flapped and slapped, and grappled for his sword. When Kell spoke, his words were a low growl, so only he, Jagor and Saark could hear. "I could kill you, Big Man, right here, right now, bite off your fucking nose, put out your fucking eyes and you'd be screaming and then you'd be dead, and you fucking know it, you worthless worm." He pushed Jagor roughly back, just as sword cleared scabbard. The blade rang against the bars, and Jagor was in an uncontrollable rage.
"Wise?" enquired Saark, backing away as Jagor Mad fumbled with the locks.
"Is anything in this world?" snapped Kell. "Or would you rather dance on the end of a rope?"
"Calm," said Dandall, and a hand appeared on Jagor Mad's shoulder, and there were muttered words and the huge Governor strode away, face scarlet. Dandall opened the locks, and behind him were ten crossbow men, all grinning.
"Give up the tricks now, Kell. You're going on trial for your crimes. Either that, or ten bolts in your belly. You decide."
"I'll come quiet," said Kell, "although it isn't my way."
"Oh yes. The Legend." Dandall gave a slick sneer. "Well, it won't get you far in these parts. Not with these men. They like a good hanging, y'see? They like a bit of entertainment to pass away the long, cold winter evenings."
Kell and Saark stepped from their cage. Wind caught them, chilled them, thrilled them. It ruffled Kell's hair and beard, and he flexed his powerful fingers and looked around, like a wild beast in its first few seconds of release. Then he looked down, to where three thousand convicts crowded at the front of the now finished stage and gallows. Kell gave a grim smile. Everybody knew this was a farce, a stage-show; there would be no real trial, just a performance and then some killing. Kell took a deep breath. So be it, he thought.
Kell and Saark were guided down the rocky path, and Kell glanced left. He could see Nienna, clutching the bars of her own cell and watching, face small, white, filled with fear. Kell tried to give her an encouraging smile, but a spear butt jabbed him in the back of the head and he stumbled. Kell stopped, and turned. The man stared at him.
"Do that again, and I'll make you eat it, point first," growled Kell.
The man swallowed, and took a step back.
Dandall laughed. "Don't let the old fool scare you. He knows he can't outrun or outfight crossbow bolts; and at the end of the day, we have his granddaughter. Nienna. And the fun we could have with that pretty sweet slab of meat." Dandall licked his lips. "After all, Kell knows how skilled I am with a variety of blades. And if we were to give Nienna over to Grey Tail there, well," he chuckled, and sniffed the air as if sniffing the aroma of a fine cooking stew, "mmmm, I'm sure there's bits that would taste sweeter than she looks!"
Kell made a guttural growling sound, but said no more. He marched forward, down the path to be swallowed between the jeering, shouting crowd of men. Many punched and kicked out as he passed, but Kell ignored the blows, and marched with head held high, reaching the stage and pausing just for a second to stare up the steps, at the huge thick beam supporting the gallows and a gently swinging noose. Kell gave a sick
ly, wry smile. He'd sent enough men to be hanged under the supervision of King Leanoric. How ironic, it had come to this!
Kell mounted the steps, and Saark was jabbed up after him. Their boots were hollow, echoing on the planks as they were pushed forward and made to kneel. To one side, ten thick, hand-carved chairs had been set in a semi-circle, and now another seven men approached and mounted a second set of steps, taking their places in the chairs with as much regal air as they could muster. They were old, most of them, and wearing rich clothes and thick gold jewellery. Their eyes were bleak and cold – except for one man, on the end, Governor Myrtax, who was trembling, and kept his head low, eyes studiously ignoring Kell. It was clear he was being coerced, but Kell felt a twinge of disappointment that the man had no backbone. Kell sneered at him, and gazed out on the crowd.
