by Andy Remic
“Drink?”
“Bad idea,” said Jonti. “I thought we were on your amazing mission to find immortality and eternal wealth?”
“What’s that got to do with a drink?”
Jonti shrugged. “I thought, after the contract, that this was supposed to be professional?”
Beetrax stared at her. Hard.
“Yes, well, I confess,” she continued, “I recognise that you and professional exist on a different level.”
“Listen,” said Beetrax, gesticulating with the bottle, “when we stood on Desekra, and those mud-orcs came howling towards us, I was the most professional soldier in that whole fucking army. When I was down in Zakora fighting off bloody bastard tribesmen and their insane squealing women, and we got trapped in a gulley and had to face a wall of steel – I was professional. When I had to fight this horrible twisted horse-creature, with only a dagger and a broken shard of wine goblet, I was the most professional soldier you’d ever met. But now, here, now, in this shit, on my terms, in my world, there’s nothing wrong with having a neck of brandy to ward off the bloody snow, like. You get it?”
“I get it,” said Sakora, grabbing the bottle from his hand with one lightning-strike gesture. She popped the cork and took a sip. “Good. Twenty years, I reckon.”
“Hey! How did you do that?”
Sakora grinned at him. “Training. And… lack of alcohol.”
They ate, and huddled under blankets, and enjoyed the heat of the fire. There was friendly atmosphere, gentle banter, and Beetrax found himself relaxing for the first time… since he’d stood on the walls of Desekra Fortress, awaiting an attack by Orlana’s mud-orcs. They shared his brandy, and talked about the coming journey through the Karamakkos – the Teeth of the World.
“I knew five men who did it, and returned to tell their tale,” said Talon.
“How many set off?” asked Dake.
“Eight. Three got caught in an avalanche. But five survived.”
“What was the purpose of their quest?” said Lillith, sipping a cup of water and lifting her hand to turn away the offered venison steak. “Sorry. I do not eat meat.”
“They climbed mountains. For fun,” said Dake.
“Why?” asked Beetrax.
“Because they could? Because they enjoyed it? A challenge, maybe? I don’t know. You’d have to ask them.”
“Er. So there was no gold, nor whores, at the end of it?”
Sakora coughed.
“Apologies.” Beetrax held up his hand. “So there was no gold, nor throbbing ladies of the night, at the end of it?”
“It was a challenge,” said Dake. “They battled the mountain. And won. Well. Five of them did. An avalanche is a terrifying thing.”
“I remember,” said Beetrax, voice soft. “Anyways! Enjoyable and morally uplifting though this conversation is, I have had my fill of brandy and venison.” He chuckled. “I must confess, I didn’t think this quest would be quite so difficult! I am going to turn in for an early night.” He stood, and paused, and then looked to Lillith. She looked back.
“Yes?”
“Would you like to accompany me for a conversation?”
“Not particularly.”
“I insist.”
Lillith sighed, and gathering her wide black skirts, stood. She crunched across the snowy ground and followed Beetrax out beyond the rocks, where a chill wind was biting through the darkness. Away from the fire it was blacker than a dwarf mine-pit, and Beetrax crunched into the snow, his broad, athletic, fat frame forming a huge black mass against the star-filled turquoise sky.
Lillith halted. “Beetrax? What’s bothering you? It’s been a long day, and I’m more used to libraries, research and reading, than travelling; I’m tired.”
“I just wanted to say.” His voice was a deep rumble.
“Say what?”
“I miss you.”
“Oh, Beetrax.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. What we had was… amazing. And I miss it. All of it. Even the arguments. And I miss you.”
“I’ve moved on,” said Lillith, as gently as she could. “And you should, too.”
Beetrax took a little step closer, then stopped, as if unsure of himself. “I miss you. I miss holding you. The sex was amazing, yes, I grant you that, but I miss holding you. Holding you naked, in the long hours before dawn; just feeling the smoothness of your skin. Just touching you. I miss that more than anything.”
“I changed, Beetrax,” said Lillith, and she had edged closer to him. She stood in his awesome, huge shadow, like a young doe before a stag.
“Why did you change? Why did you leave me?”
“I needed… something else.”
“What?”
“I became a different person. I no longer craved humanity. I craved education, and medicine, and a burning desire to help people less fortunate than myself. I am a healer, Beetrax, not a warrior.”
“Horse shit. People less fortunate? They thank you at the time, but people are selfish by nature. Except for those you love and who love you. You left me, Lillith, and I still don’t truly understand why.”
“Neither do I,” she whispered.
Beetrax stepped in closer. He leant forward. He smelt her hair.
“No,” she said.
“No what?”
“We cannot go down this path again.”
“Why not?”
“Because I will not allow it.”
“You allowed it once before.”
“And I am a different person now. I told you. I’m a better person. My aim is to help all people, not shackle myself to one man in a selfish and vain attempt at pleasing my own vanity, my own base desires.”
“Base desires are good,” whispered Beetrax. “They define us. They make us human.”
“They are a challenge to overcome. To show we are in control of our own minds.”
“Then maybe I am no longer in control of my own mind. Because I want you, I want you more now than I ever did; and I love you, Lillith; love you more than life itself. I will kill for you, and I will die for you.”
“I desire neither outcome,” she whispered.
“You have no choice in this matter,” Beetrax said.
“I could walk away. Abandon this quest.”
Beetrax paused. “As you wish,” he said, voice incredibly gentle for such a big, aggressive man.
There came a moment of calm, of quiet. Beyond them, within the rocks, they could hear quiet conversation. A laugh. The crackle of burning logs.
“Can I ask you one thing? One favour? You may say no.”
“For old time’s sake,” said Lillith, and ran her hands through her long thick hair, her face lifting, coming up to focus on Beetrax.
“Can I hold you? One more time? Please?”
Lillith considered this, her breath coming in short bursts. “You may hold me,” she said, her voice tiny.
Beetrax stepped closer, and reached down, and took her in his arms, encircling her. And he breathed in the aroma of her hair, and he breathed in the scent of her skin, and he tasted her again, tasted her for the first time in a million years, and a raging inferno roared through him, and she was everything, she was the world and the universe and life and death. Her arms encircled his waist and they stood there for a while, like young lovers in a first embrace.
When she pulled away, she realised Beetrax was crying.
“I am sorry, my love,” she said. “I never meant to hurt you in any way. I just chose a different path to follow; a different journey to the one which was forced upon me, by my parents, by my friends, the one I was expected to pursue. I have a craving in my heart, and I had to pursue that need.”
“I understand that. I respect you for that.”
“Will you let me go, now?” She looked up at him, at his face and beard, pale under the wan moonlight, under the dazzling starlight.
“No,” he said.
“Never,” he said.
“I cannot,” he said.<
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“You make it almost impossible for me to travel with you,” she said.
“Then that is something we both must suffer.”
“You will suffer more than I,” said Lillith, kindly. “And that is not something I wish to bear on my conscience.”
“I will bear it,” said Beetrax. “Go back to the fire, now.”
Lillith moved towards the circle of rocks. She stopped. She turned back, hair describing a floating arc. “Are you coming?”
“No. I will wait out here for a while. The cold air is good for me.”
Lillith disappeared, and Beetrax stared up to the stars, and then the massive black silhouette of the rearing, distant mountains. Tears were on his cheeks and he scrubbed at them savagely. He pulled out the remains of his brandy. He drank it in one vicious movement, then threw the bottle down in the snow where it shattered on a half-hidden rock.
“I’ll miss you,” he said, and closed his eyes against the majesty of the vast, sparkling heavens.
Jake Crade cracked his knuckles, took up his bow, notched an arrow, and sighted down the shaft. His men, most of them lounging on the ground, or on fallen trunks in the deep silence of the velvet forest, gave a low ripple of heavy, cynical laughter.
“Try not to kill him,” growled one.
“Anyway, not right away, Jake, please!”
Jake shrugged off their mumblings, and steadied his aim. It was quite difficult after a full flagon of wine, and he was aware of the tip of the arrow wavering, moving from the lad’s head to his groin and back again.
“For the love of the Seven Sisters,” wailed the young man, “why are you doing this?”
“Shut it, before I shoot an arrow through your ball sack!”
“Please, let me go! I won’t tell nobody…”
The bandits laughed, and passed around the grog, and watched this evening’s entertainment with dark eyes and savage smiles. There was no compassion there. No humanity. Just pleasure in watching a fellow human being suffer. Some men were like that. Some men enjoyed the badness.
“You don’t have to do this! I’m an honest woodsman…”
“Shoot him through the quim. That’ll stop the bitch whining.”
Jake released the string, and the arrow whined through the air, missing the lad’s head by a hand’s width and rattling off through the trees.
“Damn,” muttered Jake, and accepted another flagon. He took a long drink.
A hundred feet away, a fern shivered, and the forest slowly regained composure.
“There’s sixteen of them,” said Talon, squatting down before the group. “Nasty bastards, by the look of them. Ex-soldiers, I’d wager. They may lounge around like scum drinking wine, but their weapons are clean and oiled, their kit packed and ready to move in a moment. Professional.”
“We’ll plot a way round,” said Beetrax, scratching his beard. “If we move a quarter league east, then head north again, that should keep us out of their immediate territory.”
“There’s a complication,” said Talon, glancing up. His eyes met Beetrax’s.
“What’s that, lad?”
“They’ve captured a young woodsman. They’ve tied him to a tree. I fear he is their evening of entertainment.”
Beetrax stared at Talon. “Like I said. We move a quarter league east, head north, plot around them.”
“But they’ve captured a young lad.”
“So? They’ve captured a young lad. He should have been more careful.”
Talon scowled. “Is this what the great Beetrax has become? A coward, frightened of standing up for the innocent in need?”
“How do you know he’s innocent?” countered Beetrax. “Maybe he’s a pig thief and they’re teaching him a lesson?”
“Horse shit,” snapped Talon. “They were drunk and toying with him. Hurting him.”
“I’ve seen you toy with and hurt many people.”
“This is not about me!” snapped Talon. “This is about doing the right thing!”
Dake put his hand on Beetrax’s shoulder. Beetrax looked up. Then he looked at Jonti, and Lillith, and Sakora.
Sakora was shaking her head, and Lillith turned away.
“What? What? We’re on a fucking mission here, or hadn’t you noticed?”
“Yes, for gold and your fucking immortality,” said Sakora, face a snarl. “And every moment we sit here arguing with an idiot, a young lad is being tortured by forest brigands. Well, I’ll go on my own if I have to.”
She stood, and clenched her fists.
Talon moved beside her, and strung his bow.
“Ha!” Beetrax stormed upwards, unhitched his axe, and scowled. “How many did you say?”
“Sixteen,” said Talon, quietly.
“Well, they’re in our way, then. Let’s go clear us a path.”
The forest sighed, like a satisfied lover. The trees shifted, conifers settling pine needles into the carpet. A gentle wind eased between solid boles, shifting ferns, as if the forest itself was breathing.
Beetrax emerged from the trees, and the head of his axe made a clunk as it hit the forest floor. The brigands turned towards him, as one, and he saw their eyes narrow, then move around, searching the forest to see if he was alone.
“You all right, lads?”
“What do you want?”
The leader foregrounded himself immediately. He was a big man, scruffy and professional at the same time. He held himself upright, broad chest protected by an old silver-steel breastplate. His hair was knife-cut short to the scalp, greying at the temples, a five-day shadow bearded his face, and his eyes were dark and calculating.
Beetrax glanced at the captured lad, slumped against bonds which secured him to the ancient oak. The lad had passed into unconsciousness, and his blood showed bright on his face, alongside bruising and a split lip, blackened eyes. Possibly a broken nose.
“Who’s that?” Beetrax gestured.
“None of your business.”
Beetrax gave a broad smile, and pushed back his shoulders. His axe came up, to rest comfortably in his hands, and he rocked back on his heels to give himself balance; the balance of a warrior.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Amaze me,” snapped Jake.
“I am Beetrax the Axeman.”
“Never heard of you. All I see is a fat old man with broken teeth and a ginger beard that needs a trim. Now fuck off, before we fill you full of arrows.”
“Old man, is it?” said Beetrax.
The axe left his hands with some force, and made a thrum thrum sound as it turned end over end, and split the bandit’s skull and breastbone down the middle. The man was punched backwards, where he quivered on the ground for a full minute, his blood and brains leaking out to soak the forest carpet.
Beetrax put his hands on his hips, scowling. “Any other cunt think I’m a fat old man?”
The bandits surged to their feet as Talon, Dake, Jonti and Sakora drifted from the trees like ghosts. One bandit ran at them, screaming, sword raised. Talon’s arrow smashed through his eye, the steel tip emerging from the back of his skull in a shower of brains and skull shards. He hit the ground, fitting, frothing pink, legs kicking.
There was a moment, where everybody was poised. Balanced scales. Nobody shifted. Then the bandits, fancying their odds, screamed and charged, swords hissing from oiled scabbards. Beetrax stood at the forefront, with Dake on his left, Jonti on his right. Jonti’s sword snaked from her scabbard and she smiled.
“Just like old times,” she said.
“Let’s break some skulls,” said Beetrax, cracking his knuckles.
They leapt forward. Jonti’s sword took a man in the throat, cutting out his bobbing Adam’s apple. Blood flushed down his chest accompanied by a silent, necessary scream. Dake ducked a sword swing, moving like an athlete, fast, supple, sure, and rammed his blade into his attacker’s groin. A bandit leapt at Beetrax, who had both hands wide apart, like a preacher, unarmed, easy meat. A sword hacked down. Beetrax s
hifted, arm lashing out, deflecting the flat of the blade. He grabbed the man’s tunic, pulling him onto a savage head-butt which dislodged teeth and cracked a cheek bone. Three times Beetrax head-butted the bandit, into unconsciousness, took his sword like sweet cakes from a child, and hacked off his head in two hard savage blows. They clashed together, and Beetrax, Dake and Jonti surged forward, weapons rising and falling. Talon fired off a dozen arrows, shafts punching into chests, legs and throats. Sakora waited patiently in the wings. A bandit charged her, sword raised, blackened teeth emitting a foul stench. She slid away from his three, four, five strikes. Her hand struck out, flat blade connecting with his windpipe. He staggered back, choking, dropping his sword, falling to his knees. Sakora watched impassively as he choked, and turned blue, and gradually toppled onto his face, dead. His windpipe was crushed by a single blow.
In a few moments it was over.
Beetrax strode forward and pulled his axe from Crade’s skull and caved-in chest with a crunch. It took three tugs, and he had to put his boot against the dead man’s ribs, but it came at last, and Beetrax observed the blood on the blade – like a hundred thousand times before – and gave a narrow smile which had nothing to do with humour.
“Bad choice,” he muttered.
“Any injuries?” shouted Lillith.
Beetrax cast around. Dake nodded. “We’re good,” said Beetrax, and turned his attention from the slaughtered bodies to the young lad tied to the tree. Beetrax sighed. He shook his head.
The lad was watching them, analysing the slaughter. He looked green.
Beetrax sighed.
“Talon, go see to him.”
“You go see to him. This became your slaughter the minute you stepped from the forest!”
“I was trying to avoid a blood-bath!” roared Beetrax.
“No. You were milking your ego. You encouraged a bloodbath.”
“What? WHAT? So, you fancy fucking archer, what would you have done?”
“Picked them off one at a time from a safe distance.”
