The Dragon Engine

by Andy Remic

  “Why did you not stay with me?”

  “Always we return to that damn question. A question, truly, I cannot answer. Only know this. There have been none after you. Not one man has touched me since you. And I love you, Beetrax. You know that. I always have, and I always will.”

  Beetrax was fighting himself. He looked at her then, with an intensity, a passion so deep it burned right through him. “Come to my bed, Lillith,” he said. “I want you. I need you. Like the sapling needs sunlight. Like a babe needs it mother’s milk. Come to my bed, tonight.”

  Lillith pursed her lips, and smoothed out her black skirts. “You should not think of me in that way. It is over.” He words were gentle and she stared into the fire, refusing to meet his gaze.

  “But… I do think of you that way,” he said. “I watch you. Every movement. Every hand gesture. I watch your fingers, want you to put them in my mouth, to taste them. I watch your face. The sparkle of your eyes. The curve of your mouth. The slender taper of your nose. I remember your long pale limbs. I remember your breasts, your nipples, I remember tasting you, my tongue inside your mouth and inside your quim; sandalwood, that’s what you taste like. I could drink you like I would drink well water–”

  Talon gave a small cough from the doorway, then walked forward. He sat beside Beetrax, and glanced at Lillith. “Not very private, these barracks, are they?”

  “Not when you’re here,” snapped Beetrax.

  The door opened, and Jonti entered, bringing with her a blast of freezing winter chill. “The snow’s getting heavier. We’ll have to turn the horses back soon. No sense in killing them out in the wild. They’ll find their way to warmer pastures.”

  Lillith nodded. “The Karamakkos beckon.”

  Jonti smiled, but it was a smile without humour. “Indeed they do. As do the Ice Bridges of Sakaroth.”

  “Let us hope they have formed, or we’ll have a long wait in bloody miserable freezing conditions.”

  “Only the Mountain Gods know the answer to that.”

  “STEW’S UP!” bellowed Beetrax, suddenly, and stared at Talon. “What?”

  “Hell, man, you made me jump.”

  Beetrax grinned. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

  “I’m going to die, aren’t I, Dake?”

  “Nobody is going to die, my love.”

  “I am. I’m going to die, without ever having children, without ever seeing my babies grow up into fine young men and women. What did I do wrong, Dake? What evil gods did I upset? It’s so damn unfair.”

  They lay, curled together under warm blankets. Outside the wind howled, and snow fell, smothering the world. Dake’s hand rested on Jonti’s hip, and slowly he ran his fingers across her smooth, warm flesh, up, until his fingers rested just beneath her left breast. Jonti gave a low groan, and pushed her face into his neck. He could feel her tears on his skin and it killed him. Killed him there and then, and for all eternity.

  “We’re going to find these jewels, and they will heal you,” whispered Dake into her long, dark hair. He smelled her musk. Her natural scent. He inhaled her, and knew that he’d be lost without her.

  “You know what the doctors said. What the surgeons said. This thing inside me, it will eat me, I will grow weak, and then I will die. There is no cure.”

  “There is magick,” said Dake.

  Jonti snorted. “Magick is so much horse shit. Charms and chanting and invisible spells. Next you’ll be telling me fucking dragons exist outside of a child’s bedtime story!”

  “What about the Horse Lady? What about the mud-orcs? The demons we fought. That is proof of magick. Surely, you have not forgotten so soon?”

  Jonti considered this. “I think… there are some things we don’t understand. I believe there is a power in the earth; in the mountains, the rocks, the soil, the trees. But I don’t believe there are sparkling baubles that will shine and sing and take this cancer away. It’s inside my bones, Dake, my love. And I appreciate your sentiment; all of you. I appreciate it. But this, for me, is one final adventure. One last chance to do something… great. Special. Different. Call it what you will. But to be here with you, and all these other bastards – well, it will make my final days worthwhile.”

  “Don’t talk like this, my lady. I cannot bear it.”

  Jonti sat up, suddenly, and took his head in her hands. “Stop being maudlin! Stop whining. You are a man, Dake. A warrior. So fuck me now, make me scream, because I want to feel life lived to the full.” She took his balls in her hand and squeezed, hard, holding him in place. Dake groaned, and blinked, fell deep down into his wife’s magick wishing well.

  Beetrax sat, staring into the fire. He took another slug from a wine flagon, and welcomed the feel of alcohol pulsing through his veins. He had welcomed it far too much these past decades… a source of constant regret. And yet there was nothing he could do about it. Drink was drink. And some things were just meant to be.

  “Well met, Beetrax!”

  Jael had emerged from a bunkroom, and sat down beside the large axeman. He was smiling and friendly, but Beetrax frowned. Beetrax was not smiling and friendly. In fact, the last thing Beetrax wanted was idle chatter.

  “Your stew was magnificent!”

  “Thanks.”

  “I was paying you a compliment, Axeman.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t sound very happy, Beetrax? Have I done something to offend you?”

  Beetrax turned his head and stared at the youth. The swelling had gone down a little in his face. His eyes were shining; young, and bright and alive. Optimistic. Hopeful. It filled Beetrax with piss and bile.

  Offend me? Of course not young man! I am here to entertain you, and offer you words of wisdom on becoming a great axe warrior like myself. Then you, too, can defend the walls of Desekra Fortress against a common evil that seeks to invade your land and kill your women and children… and you’ll watch your best friends die on the battlements, arms lopped free, throats cut, bowels emerging from long sword slashes, spilling to the stone as men scream and weep and beg to die, their blood freezing in crimson puddles as we step on their wailing bodies in an attempt to halt the same horror happening to us! You want to hear the glory of battle, boy? Well, in all honesty, you can fuck off. There is no glory in battle. Only corpses and regret and rich generals drinking port.

  Beetrax coughed. He focussed; a little. “No, lad. Not at all. I was just feeling… mawkish. Remembering old things, like. Old times. Friends who are dead. Lovers long past.”

  “We could raise a drink to them?”

  “Not tonight, lad. Not tonight.”

  They sat in silence for a while, flames crackling, with the smell of woodsmoke strong in the air. It was comfortable and comforting. Beetrax settled back a little, alcohol buzzing him, and took a gulping swig from the wine flagon. Then, without a single word, he held out the flagon to Jael.

  Jael paused, then took the flagon, and took his own dribbling drink. He spluttered, nearly dropping the flagon, and Beetrax tutted, grabbing the clay flask back from him. “What’s wrong with you, boy? If you drop it, there’ll be none left!”

  “It’s strong!” wheezed Jael.

  “Aye. That’ll be the liquor I add. Just to fortify it a bit. You know. Puts hairs on your chest. That sort of thing.” He grinned then, and leaning forward, slapped Jael on the back. “That was your first time, wasn’t it? Eh? Go on, own up!”

  Jael’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide. “Yes. Yes it was.”

  Beetrax loomed close, great shaggy brows frowning, bushy beard making him appear even more aggressive – evil – in the small, fire-lit space. “You been living in a fucking cave, boy?”

  “No. My parents did not drink. And there was never any liquor in the village. The Elders used to complain mightily if any alcohol was discovered!” He grinned, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Ah. Elders, eh? Fuck me. Wise men so full of the need to satisfy their own pleasures and expanding pur
ses, they rarely think of the greater good. Like politicians. All in need of a sword blade sawed through the neck.” He paused, and stared hard at Jael. It was a disconcerting stare. “So then. Was it good, lad?” he said suddenly. “Get more down you!” He thrust the flagon, and Jael took another choking drink, handing it back to Beetrax who roared with laughter.

  “Beetrax? I have a question?”

  “Go on then.”

  “I was looking at your axe.” He gestured with a nod, to the weapon which never lay far from Beetrax’s bear paw.

  “Aye?”

  “It has all those metal bands down the shaft. I’ve never seen that before.”

  “That’s because you’re used to woodcutters’ axes, boy. Mine is a weapon of war.” He saw Jael frown. “What I mean is, a woodcutter does not have somebody swinging a sword at him. The metal bands are called langets. They make it more difficult for an enemy warrior to cut the shaft during battle.”

  “Ah. I see. Because an axe with no shaft…”

  “Is a lump of useless steel, lad.” Beetrax grinned. “I’ll tell you something else. A good axe-maker uses his skill to carbon-edge the blades. You can sharpen them a lot keener, then. Makes a proper mess of a mud-orc’s neck.”

  “Or a forest bandit.”

  “Yes.”

  He settled back yet more, and took another long draught of wine. He sighed, and scratched his ginger beard.

  “Were you in many battles?” asked Jael, voice gentle, eyes shining in the light of the fire. Demon fireflies sparkled, as if surging upwards, attempting to be free of the killing jar.

  “Too many.”

  “Poets used to come to our village all the time; they would recite ballads about… you.”

  “Yes, well, I hope your Elders stoned the bastards. I fucking hate poetry.”

  “Beetrax?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You are not like what I imagined.”

  “And what did you imagine? Now, be honest boy?”

  “Somebody more… polite. Noble. With good manners. Somebody who did not drink and fight so much.”

  “Well, that’s heroes for you. All of them a shower of horse shit, in my humble opinion. Noble? Ha! I wouldn’t know noble if it bit me on the arse. And neither would the nobles!” He roared with laughter, slapping his leg at his own comedy.

  “You still laughing at your own jokes, Beetrax?”

  Lillith stood in the doorway, like a ghost. Her dark hair framed her soft, gleaming olive skin. Her eyes were hidden. Silver charms glittered on her wrists in the firelight. Her form was alluring, without meaning to be so.

  “Always,” said the axeman, without looking round.

  “Could I speak with you?”

  “I thought that’s what we were doing.” He lounged back, glancing at her, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Which they both knew was a lie.

  “In private.”

  Beetrax sighed, and looked at Jael. “Better get a move on, lad.” He nudged him.

  Jael stood, wincing, hand on his broken ribs, then disappeared down a short corridor to his chosen room.

  Lillith came forward, and sat opposite Beetrax.

  “You require my counsel, lady?”

  “I was thinking.”

  Beetrax opened his mouth to make some smart retort, but some primitive instinct took over, some spark kicked his mind into sobriety and he recognised this meeting was subtly different. This was no fireside banter. It had become, worryingly, serious.

  “Yes?” He took another drink. A mote of apprehension drifted into his mind; a sliver of excitement pushed into his breast. Suddenly, the bitter wine tasted sweet. The acrid fire-smoke was perfume. The very fucking air was a drug.

  “I… I feel I very much wronged you. When we were betrothed, all those years ago. We were so close. And then I finished it, and I devastated you. I realise that. And, truly, I am sorry.”

  Beetrax nodded. “It’s fine, Lillith. I never deserved you.”

  “Oh, you deserved me.”

  Beetrax frowned. “I was a fighter, a drinker, uncouth and brash and vulgar. And you floated into my life like an angel. It was almost like we were opposites, Lillith. You love medicine and herbs, animals and people. To me, animals are something you eat, not rescue. People are bastards – sorry – who simply get in my way, and then I have to clear a path, usually with my axe. How did I deserve you? What gentle aspect of my soul brought you to me?” He gave a rumbling chuckle, and rubbed at his thick red beard.

  “You undersell yourself.”

  “Oh yeah? How’s that, like?”

  Lillith lifted her knees before her, and placed both hands around them, hugging herself. The fire crackled and popped, then settled into a glowing, humming hearth. Occasionally, a flame shivered upwards between the two, a dancing, flirting demon.

  “You wish to dissect my mind?”

  “Er. Yeah. If you like.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Why me?” Beetrax grinned, but his eyes were deadly serious.

  “Why you?” She considered this, dark eyes glittering in the firelight. “Ask my core, my chemical make-up, my soul. You are smart and funny, strong and… honourable, despite your claims to the contrary. You make me feel like I’m the only person in the room. Nobody has ever made me feel like that before. Not ever.”

  When Beetrax spoke, his words were low, and tender. “You are using the present tense,” he said.

  “You think things have changed? You think I fell out of love with you, just because I refused to marry you?”

  “You said you did. You stood there and told me you’d changed. Become a different person. Gone chasing education and medicine, helping people, and shit.”

  “I had to say that. I had to break free. For both of us. Sometimes, the greater sacrifice is the only way it can be.”

  Beetrax considered this. He shook his head. “Ha! You fuck up my mind, woman.”

  “Beetrax?”

  “Hm?”

  “Come to me. Come to my room. Now.”

  Beetrax stared at her. His hands were trembling. “Lillith, now you are truly making no sense.”

  “Does it have to make sense?”

  “You cast me aside, woman! And now you want me back in your bed? Why?”

  “You’re asking me to explain something I don’t fully understand; but I will try. When I first met you, Beetrax, it was something I didn’t ask for, something I didn’t look for. I was studying hard. I was in love with medicine. And then you were there. I didn’t ask for our connection, I didn’t expect it or even want it. It was just there. And it was immediate. I’m not going to give you crazy similes. From the moment I first met you in Vagan Library, you looking all flustered and lost, like a big oaf, well, you accepted my help. And after you left, I knew you would be there again the next day; I couldn’t wait to get back. I wrote you a letter, and you read it, and soaked up the words and the meanings, and I loved that. Loved this big brutal warrior who took the time to read my words. My bloody words. And up until the time I told you I was drawn to you, that you had affected me, that I believe we had connected, every moment apart from you was needles of pain in the centre of my brain.”

  “Er. You never told me that before.”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “Dissecting your brain?”

  “Trying to explain.”

  “Er. Wow.”

  “I knew you’d say that. I knew you’d use that word.”

  He frowned. “Well, you know me too well, then.”

  They stared at one another across the fire. Lillith licked her lips, and the sensuous moment was not lost on Beetrax.

  “You are mad,” he said, finally.

  “Don’t call me mad.”

  “You’re fucking mad.”

  “Beetrax, that’s worse!”

  “I mean… because of your intensity. Because you never told me before. You waited all these years, until now, until this place, this time in our liv
es. Why? Why?”

  “I feel self-conscious now.” She looked away, running her hand through her long, dark hair.

  Beetrax stood, and moved around to her. He sat, close, and their legs touched.

  “Don’t do this,” he said. “For I am weak. And I am lost.”

  “I have never been anything but honest with you.”

  “I know. But you left a lot unsaid. For all those years. You ripped a hole in my heart when you left. I thought I would never be whole again.”

  “I am sorry, Beetrax. Truly, I am.”

  “What you just said to me, now, that was beautiful and touching. I might be as rough as you can get, but I appreciate your honesty; I appreciate you talking to me like this.” He reached out, and brushed a stray hair from Lillith’s forehead. “I’ve missed you, you know? Missed our… intimacy.”

  “I, also. For months I convinced myself I had done the right thing. Now, I wonder.”

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I told you, back in the forest how I felt. How I’d never let you go. How you were… in my heart.”

  Lillith sighed. “I feel… vulnerable, where you’re concerned.”

  “Vulnerable? You hurt me!”

  “And by doing so, hurt myself.”

  “But now you’re back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Horse shit. Anyway. You never answered my earlier question.”

  “Which one?” Lillith appeared a little flustered, which was unlike her. She leant in closer to Beetrax, their arms applying pressure to one another.

  “Why wait all this time? Why say these words now?”

  Lillith turned her head, looked into Beetrax’s eyes. “I believe this is our last mission together,” she said, words little more than warm, sweet breaths. “I believe we will die under the Karamakkos.”

  “That’s not possible,” smiled Beetrax, as they inched closer, and their lips brushed, and Beetrax closed his eyes, and her lips were warm and sweet and tender, and she kissed him, and he tasted her, and he remembered that taste like a dream, like a bad drug, like chains wrapping around his brain and heart and soul. It triggered a beating in his heart and in his core. He sank into her. He worshipped her. Their tongues entwined. Her hands came up and held his head. And then they were apart and Beetrax was breathing, cheeks flushed, and Lillith stood, a surprisingly fluid movement, her hips twisting, and she reached down and took his hand and led him past the fire.