The Dragon Engine
Page 12
“You were with them, weren’t you?”
Lillith stopped. “What?”
“At Desekra Fortress. You were with Beetrax, and Dake, and Jonti and Talon. I’ve read all about you. You were heroes. You are heroes!”
“Yes, I was there.” She did not meet his gaze.
“Was it exciting?” His eyes were shining. Lips wet.
Lillith remembered the screams of the injured as they writhed on the stone cobbles trying to hold their massacred bodies together. She remembered the glazed looks in the eyes of the dead. She remembered the pleading and whimpering from fathers who would never see their baby daughters, from newly-wed husbands who would never see their young wives. She remembered the tears. The begging. The blood. The agony. The screams. The piss. The shit. The humility of the cut, the broken, the severed and the dying.
“Yes. It was exciting,” she whispered.
“I would like to be a great warrior, some day,” said Jael, and winced, grabbing suddenly at his broken ribs.
“Talk to Beetrax.” She smiled kindly. “He will train you. His vanity won’t let him do anything else.”
“Dake. May I have a word?”
“Er. All right then.” Dake nodded, and frowned, and stretched his shoulders, and followed Beetrax off into the trees away from the group. He glanced up, where towering evergreens swayed, creating a gentle, background hissing. Their boots crunched old pine needles.
Beetrax stopped, and paused, then turned around, hand resting on the head of the great axe holstered at his hip.
“What are we doing, Dake?”
“I thought we were on a mission.” Dake’s lips narrowed into a humourless smile. “To get rich. Or die trying.”
“And don’t forget the immortality,” nodded Beetrax, grinning suddenly. “And healing Jonti, obviously. That has become a priority.” His face turned serious.
“Yes. A priority,” said Dake, distantly. He looked off through the forest. His grey eyes seemed dreamy, detached.
Beetrax coughed. “It’s this lad we rescued. Er…”
“Jael.”
“Yes. Jael.”
“What about him?”
“We should cut him loose. Get rid of him. He’ll slow us down.”
“Only for a little while. Until his wounds heal.”
Beetrax stared at Dake. “Damn you man, do you need me to spell it out to you? This was our contract. Our agreement. Our mission. Our quest. We never agreed for no… no seventh party coming on board. I’m very sorry this young lad was captured by forest bandits, I am sure. But I ain’t his fucking dad. We can’t be responsible for every fucking waif and stray we find wandering around the forest getting themselves into trouble. What are we? A fucking charity?”
“Didn’t you hear his story?”
“What story?”
“About the bandit attack on his village?”
“I didn’t hear no story.”
“Ah yes.” Dake looked down his nose at Beetrax. His lips curled a little. “You were asleep, curled up to your best friend, the wine flagon.”
“Nothing wrong with a wine flagon,” frowned Beetrax. “Like I’ve always said. A wine flagon is one of the cornerstones of civilisation, along with the gold coin and the happy whore. Now, what’s this story you’re clucking on about like an invigorated chicken?”
“An invig…” Dake’s hand rested on his sword hilt. “Beetrax. Sometimes, you go too far. Take back that comment before I show you what damage an invigorated chicken can do with a blade as sharp as any razor.” He half drew his sword, and fixed his gaze on the big axeman.
“All right, all right, don’t get your pants all twisted with vinegar. I take it back. For old times’ sake, like. Now then. What this lad’s story?”
“He wasn’t just wandering around the forest aimlessly, picking fights with bandits. Those bastards attacked his village and killed damn near everybody. He resisted, using his wood-cutting axe, but they were professional soldiers. Hit him to the ground where he watched his mother and father murdered, watched his sister abused and then her throat slit.” Dake shivered. “Sometimes, I lose my faith in humanity, for I believe we live in savage times.”
“We need to send a message to the king’s guard. We can’t have scum like that roaming Vagandrak.”
“At least we taught them a little lesson,” smiled Dake. “But, as you can see, this lad is damaged goods. I suggest we at least look after him until his wounds have healed. Then he can make his own choices.”
Beetrax scowled. “I suppose we could write him into the contract, so that if he continues with us on this quest, he is not eligible for any share of the treasure…”
“Beetrax!”
“What?” His eyes went wide. “What?”
“It’s not about the share in the treasure, you ginger bastard. It’s about a basic humanity. About looking after an injured youth in need.”
Beetrax sighed. He nodded. “Oh. Okay then.” He rolled his neck and cracked the tendons, releasing tension. He took a few steps back towards the group, then turned and stared hard at Dake. He unhitched his axe, and pointed at the warrior with the gleaming twin blades. “But let’s get one thing clear. He ain’t anything – anything – to do with me. He’s your fucking burden, soldier. And your fucking problem. So don’t talk to me when he starts crying for his mama’s milk tits.”
Dake watched Beetrax saunter down the narrow trail, as if didn’t have a care in the world.
They called it the White Lane, which cut a line up the western edge of the White Lion Mountains. Once, in years gone by, the army had used it for training, along with the testing ground of the mountain summits themselves; but with recent cuts to the army made by King Yoon, it had become an abandoned valley, three leagues long, perfect ambush ground and doorway to the northern edges of Zalazar, Elf Rat lands, and the Karamakkos beyond.
They stood in a line, eyeing the narrow channel ahead of them.
“It’s been a long time,” said Sakora, licking her lips.
“Happy memories,” rumbled Beetrax, resting his axe on his shoulder.
“Happy memories?” Jonti stared at him. “I remember risking my life, training hard, carrying rocks, risking avalanche, crevasses, and death.”
“As I said,” rumbled Beetrax. “Happy memories. It is such training that made us the soldiers we are today. The warriors. The heroes.”
Jael, who sat astride Sakora’s mount, face bruised and swollen, wincing with every movement, turned to Beetrax.
“This is where the army trained?”
“Aye. Not just the army, though. This was the training ground for the Iron Wolves. The elite.”
“The Iron Wolves…” whispered Jael.
“They were hard bastards,” said Dake, nodding.
“I knew Kiki, one of the captains,” said Lillith, smiling, and running her hand through long hair.
“You did?” Beetrax looked at her. “When?”
“Shall we say we both had a love of the same herb lore.”
“Eh?”
Dake nudged Beetrax, and gestured to Jael, who was still staring at the axeman. The young lad struggled, and slid from the horse, and approached, limping. “I have a request, Great Beetrax.”
Dake chuckled. “The only thing great about him is the girth of his wine belly.”
Jael shook his head. “In school, we were taught repeatedly about Vagandrak history. Your name – all of you – your names came up many times. Around the time of Orlana. And the mud-orc invasions at the Pass of Splintered Bones. But what caught my attention, the stories that made me gasp, were about Beetrax, and his amazing Axe of Death.”
“Oh, Axe of Death is it?” said Dake, elbowing Beetrax in the ribs.
“Shut up,” muttered the axeman.
“I wondered, if I might hold the great weapon of these legends?” Jael looked up at Beetrax, eyes pleading from a puffy, swollen face. One eye was nearly swollen shut, and the lad’s nose was bent, nostrils still bloodied.
Talon gave a little cough.
“Shut it, you bastard.” He turned back to Jael. He scowled. He seemed ruffled, suddenly out of place; uneasy. “Here. Take it.” He thrust out the weapon.
Jael took the battle axe in both hands, eyes widening in awe. “This is the same weapon that slew mud-orcs on the walls of Desekra Fortress?”
“That’d be it, lad.”
“One day, I will be a great warrior like you! I will join the army. I will find evil woodland bandits. And I will slaughter them. I will protect the innocent from the evil strong.” He thrust the axe back towards Beetrax, and turned away from the group, tears coursing down his cheeks.
Lillith moved over to him, as Beetrax stood looking uncomfortable, and she placed her arm around the young lad’s shoulders.
“Everything will be all right,” she soothed.
“Listen.” Beetrax stood, red-faced. Jael’s shoulders were shaking. Beetrax looked around the group, then watched as Jael turned. He was snivelling, and presented a pretty pathetic specimen of a man.
“Yes, Great Beetrax?”
“I, er, well, I heard you have suffered, like. With your family, is what I mean. And I realise you want to do some good.”
“Yes, Great Beetrax?”
“Well, lad, seeing as you’re so enamoured with this battle axe, and we’re going to have a bit of free time on our hands, I thought I might teach you a few of the basic moves. You know, so if forest bandits come at you again, you can chop off their heads, and suchforth.”
“Oh, that would be amazing, Great Beetrax!”
“Yes. Well. Anything to help out a young lad in need,” he rumbled, and grabbing the reins of his horse, marched ahead, surveying the White Lane and the huge boulders which littered this jagged avenue through the mountains.
Dake followed, leading his own mount. “Beetrax! Wait up!”
Beetrax did not turn.
“What?”
“That was a good thing you did, man. A noble thing.”
“Yeah. Well. I expect extra wine rations. Or something.”
“He’s just a feeble woodcutter. He won’t take up much of your time.”
Beetrax shrugged. “I hate to see a young lad cry like that. It’s not right.”
“Still. You did a good deed today. Be proud.”
Beetrax turned and eyed Dake carefully. “I will then, Dake. Thank you. Sometimes, I remember why you are like a brother to me. Sometimes.” Beetrax strode forward, leading Bella by her reins.
“One last thing, Great Beetrax.”
Beetrax stopped dead. “Yeah?”
“It’s not like you to make new friends…”
“Fuck off.”
“Be gentle with him. We’ll be watching and scoring.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m amazed you’re going to let the lad touch your axe!”
“Dake? Fuck off.”
Beetrax strode ahead, kicking rocks out of his path.
They travelled the White Lane without incident. It was silent in that narrow gulley, and dark, each side towered over by sheer icy walls of rock and snow. The grey light that filtered down was ethereal, the atmosphere ghostly, seemingly from another, more innocent time, a time before the rise of Man.
Jonti rode alone. She was surrounded by her travelling companions, cocooned by her friends; and yet she rode alone.
She remembered this place, remembered like it was yesterday. Sections had changed, new rock falls, different formations of fake wall sections which they, as newly recruited soldiers, had to defend and attack in mock battle situations. She stopped her mount by one such temporary defence – she remembered helping to build it, down to shorts, smock and boots, sweating with the others as they scouted for rocks and added them to the pile.
Sergeant Dunda had bellowed at them, waving a short black stick which he called the “Recruit Fucker”, and they’d all worked so much harder, not wanting that chunky black stick across the back of the head.
Jonti blinked. And breathed. So long. So long ago. And yet here, now, replayed in this moment of time.
She surveyed her companions, face impassive, moving from Talon to Beetrax to Lillith to Sakora, then Jael, clinging on tightly to the horse and looking like he was going to be sick. Finally, to Dake. Her lover. Her husband. Her man. Her loyal man. Her soul mate.
Snow started to fall, a light sprinkling, and she looked up, enjoying the tickling feeling of snowflakes caressing her skin. She closed her eyes for a moment, and enjoyed the sensation. It was beautiful. It brought her life… whilst inside her body, the corruption, well, that only brought her death.
Jonti grimaced. And smiled.
That’s the way the dice roll.
“There’s a barracks up ahead,” said Beetrax. “Good place to make camp for the night. I don’t fancy another night in the rocks; my piles are bad enough as it is.”
“You should get them seen to,” said Talon, giving him a narrow smile. “A man as rich as you can surely afford the best in medical expertise! After all. You don’t want the wrong fingers poking away up there, do you?”
“Fuck off, Tal.”
The barracks was a large, old building of rough-cut stones and blackened timber. It sat snug against a rock wall, and had been roofed with slate taken from the surrounding mountain detritus. The windows were small, signalling the harsh climate, and the door was open a little, showing old leaves and a scattering of pebbles.
Dake scouted inside, sword unsheathed, ever wary of bandits, but the old barracks was empty.
“There’s even a fire laid,” he said, grinning as he emerged.
“I’ll stable the horses,” said Talon. “Beetrax?”
“Aye, lad?”
“Can you muster some of your famous Vagandrak stew?”
Beetrax beamed suddenly. “Oh yes, lad! By all that’s holy, I can do that!”
Snow fell, along with the mountain night. A savage wind howled down the White Lane, bringing with it yet more chill and ice. A fire roared in the hearth, filling the main room with heat, and warmth, and an easy, amiable light. Beetrax had fished out an old iron pot from the store cupboard, and after cleaning it with handfuls of snow, soon had his stew bubbling over the fire. He mixed in dried beef, wild onions, small potatoes, wild mushrooms Lillith had picked back in the forest, then added plenty of salt and a mixture of his own special blend of herbs – Beetrax’s “special recipe” as made “by his mother, grandmother and great grandmother for the past one hundred and twenty years”. Or so he claimed.
The room was filled with an amazing aroma that soon had everybody’s mouths watering. As the door slammed open allowing Talon to stagger in, Jael close behind, both laden with logs for the fire, Beetrax scowled.
“Come on, come on, you’re letting the snow in!”
“Feel free to help bring logs,” snapped Talon, dumping them beside the hearth. “After all, it’s more than a two-man job to heat this bloody place for the night!”
Beetrax, who had just tasted his stew and was holding a wooden spoon, wagged the spoon at Talon. “Listen, archer, I don’t tell you how to fire your arrows, or string a bow. I don’t need you interfering with the culinary art – art, you hear? – of perhaps one of the finest chefs in Vagandrak.”
“Art now, is it?” growled Talon, eyes narrowed.
“Lad, without meaning to sound arrogant, you don’t have an artist – that’s me – break away from a masterpiece – that’s the stew – to do some simple, heavy, manual labour, like what you is doing. Right? I mean,” he chuckled with incredulity, “who else could cook such an amazing meal?”
“Manual labour,” said Talon, in a strangled voice.
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br /> Lillith moved over to Talon, her thick hair swaying, her scent strong, eyes smiling, and placed her arm around his shoulders. “Ignore the self-important axeman. You know what he’s like.”
“I know he wouldn’t be able to wave that spoon at me with a yew shaft through his hand.”
“Threats of violence, lad. I like that. Like that a lot! But you’ll still want to eat my stew when it’s ladled onto a plate before you, so keep your threats to yourself, or you won’t be eating from my pot.”
Talon frowned. “I won’t…”
“Shh,” said Lillith, turning him around. “Dake wants to speak with you. Over there, in the other room. About Jonti.”
“Where is Jonti?”
“Tending the horses. Go now. I think he needs your… support.”
Talon nodded, and without looking at Beetrax, picked his way across the room and disappeared into one of the several other chambers leading from the main common room of the old barracks.
Lillith moved, and sat beside Beetrax.
He looked at her.
“Why do you goad the man?”
“Keeps him on his toes.”
“I do believe Talon does not need to be kept on his toes. He is as accomplished as any in this company.”
Beetrax shrugged, and looked at Lillith. “He looks down at me, I think. He thinks I am scruffy, and common, and vulgar.”
“You are.”
“I fucking know that! I just don’t want some man-loving dandy with hair like a woman to keep reminding me.” He scratched his beard vigorously. Then looked sideways at Lillith. “Anyways. It didn’t stop you, did it?”
“Eventually.”
“Yes, but whilst it lasted.” He coughed, and found a sudden interest in his stew. “Why, er, why did you like me?”
Lillith smiled, genuine, pleasant, and honest. “You touched me. You affected me. You changed me. I was in your aura, and like a moon caught by a planet, I was in your sphere of influence; in your… gravity.”
Beetrax considered this. “Wow. Nobody has ever been in my gravity before.”
“That day we met, in the woods, you changed me. With your power and aura. Your presence. The warrior within.”