by Andy Remic
"Rubbish! It was only a kiss." And she giggled, but he could see it in her eyes, she wanted more, she wanted much more, she wanted it all. Saark swallowed, as a hand thumped his shoulder.
"Not far now, lad."
"Kell." Saark's voice was a croak, and he did well to speak at all.
"Did you sneak up on us, grandfather?" said Nienna, turning her head and fixing him with a beady stare.
"Heh, just checking Saark here was being an honourable gentleman. Anyway, come on, there's a cottage up ahead. It's been lived in recently, but it's empty now; probably owned by a crofter. We can have a good rest, I think we've earned it, and approach the Black Pike Mine prison fresh tomorrow, eh?"
Saark stood, and took Mary's rope.
And as Kell led the way, he threw Nienna a look which she missed; she was gazing, distantly, a dreamy look on her face. Shit. Shit shit and double horse and donkey shit!
Less than an hour saw them inside the small and cosy cottage. It was little more than a living room and a sidelarder, mostly empty except for a few flagons, old mouldy bread and three small sacks of grain. Saark made a nosebag for Mary, filling it with grain and placing a blanket over her back under a rickety lean-to on the south side of the cottage, where there was the least wind.
Nienna prepared a thick broth, and Kell chopped firewood. He got a good blaze burning, and they sat, warm for the first time in what felt like years, bellies full of hot broth and mugs of coffee in dirt-ingrained hands.
"I'd forgotten what it felt like to be a part of civilisation," said Saark, quietly, and sipped his sweet coffee, relishing the heat and the mixture of bitterness and sweetness all mixed in together. A contrast of pleasures.
Kell snorted a laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"Not long ago, lad, this would have been far from your idea of civilisation. Where's all your raw fish on silver platters now? Where are your buxom serving wenches with rouged lips and powdered wigs? I tell you, a curse on nobility."
"Spoken like a true working man," smiled Saark.
Kell stood, and stretched, and Saark eyed the old warrior thoughtfully. He was much leaner than when Saark first met him back in Jalder, hiding in a tannery from a hunting Harvester. The miles, the fights, the climbing of mountains, it had done much to return Kell to a lean, rugged, muscular figure, despite his advancing years. Then Saark's eyes slid sideways to Nienna; here, also there had been a vast change in physical appearance. Whereas she had been slightly plump, and soft, her face carrying the puppy-fat of childhood, now she was slimmer, stronger, more muscular; she carried herself erect and proud, like a fighter. The fat had gone, and there were creases in her face, hard edges around her eyes. A young woman who had seen too much hardship. Still, she was coping, mentally, as well as physically. Saark wasn't sure how long many young women from King Leanoric's court, with their white make-up and long, crafted fingernails, would have lasted in the mountains, or being hunted by Soul Stealers and cankers and rough soldiers from the Army of Iron. No. Not long, he'd wager.
Nienna saw the look, and gave him a dazzling smile. Saark licked his lips. He could still taste her there. It was most pleasant. His ruse about Myriam had worked. Nienna believed him.
Kell moved into the small storeroom, and came out with a pewter flagon. He sniffed it warily, and his face lit up. "It's whiskey," he said, in all innocence.
"Oh no," said Saark. "You know you shouldn't drink that. You know what it does to you!"
"Just a small one," said Kell, and smiled easily, and pulled up a chair with a scrape. "Saark, after all the shit scrapes we've been through, lad, after nearly dying on Skaringa Dak and falling through that mountain, the least I can do is have a drink."
"It makes you bad," said Saark.
"No. Too much makes me bad. But I know when to stop. I always know when to stop. It's just sometimes I choose not to." He lifted the flagon, and took a hefty drink, then lowered it and smacked his lips with the back of his hand, rubbing at his beard. "By all the gods, that's a rough drop, but it warms a man's belly after a trek through snow, so it does."
"Here." Saark took the flagon, and took a hefty drink himself. He nearly choked as the raw moonshine burned his throat, but Kell had been right, and it warmed him right through.
"It's good, right lad?"
"It's like drinking donkey piss, Kell."
"You should know, mate. You and that Mary lass have got way too close." He laughed, and winked, and offered the flagon but Nienna waved it away. He took another hefty swig, and this time held it there for a while. As he lowered it, Nienna looked concerned.
"No more, grandfather. Saark was right. It turns you bad."
"Ach, I'm a big man, I can take the whole flagon and it wouldn't touch the hole in my stomach!"
"Or indeed, the ego in your skull," said Saark.
"Ha!" He took another big drink, and passed it to Saark, who put the flagon carefully to one side.
"No more, Kell."
"You big girl!"
Saark smiled. "Maybe, but I having a feeling that where we are going tomorrow, the last thing you need is a drink; or even worse, a damn hangover!"
Kell shrugged, easily, and sat down. For a while they sat in amiable silence, watching the fire, then Kell stood again. "I'll go and chop some more wood. You know me. I like to keep active."
Saark nodded, and Kell stepped outside. The world seemed brighter, more whiter than white. He grinned to himself, and licked at the droplets in his beard. They tasted just grand. Snow was falling heavy now, obscuring the sky, obscuring the world. A fluffy silence filled every space. This cottage clearing felt small, safe and secure.
Kell strolled around to the small woodshed, and glancing back to make sure he went unobserved, pulled a hidden flagon from under a pile of logs. He unstoppered the flagon, took a deep breath, and followed it with a long, gulping drink.
"No good will come of this," he muttered, but by then – as it always was – it was far too late…
Night fell. The fire burned low. Kell snored heavily on one side of the room, and Saark lay with his back to the fire, eyes closed, unable to sleep. Inside of him he felt something shift and it made him feel nauseous, like he was going to puke. Tick, tick, tick went his steady clockwork-enhanced heart. By all the gods, he thought, it feels too strange.
Saark heard Nienna shift, and kneel up beside the fire. Saark turned himself, and looked at her long hair glowing. She moved to him, and lay beside him, and he threw a glance to Kell but the man had drank more whiskey later that evening, and was now sleeping like a baby – albeit a very drunk one.
"We shouldn't," he said, as Nienna kissed him; but not like before, this time it was urgent, and this time she pressed herself into him, eagerly, filled with lust, filled with desire.
"We should." She had waited a long time to get hold of Saark. She wasn't going to let him go now.
They kissed, and she straddled him, and their passion grew and Saark felt himself in that place again, that uncontrollable place and, as he always did, he gave in to it, surrendered unconditionally and kissed Nienna, kissed her hard, with passion, his hands running up and down her flanks, caressing her breasts and she writhed atop him, moaning, and Saark was hard and pressing against her and something intruded on his thoughts and there was a click as he realised his error. Something was wrong. Shit. Kell was no longer snoring…
"Up you get, girl."
Kell lifted Nienna bodily from Saark, and placed her to one side. His eyes were glowing embers in the gloom of the cottage, his fists were clenched, his beard glinted with droplets of whiskey, and the firelight gave him the air of a demon.
Maybe he is, thought Saark.
"You too. Up you get."
"We've been here before," laughed Saark.
"No we haven't. This time I'm going to break your fucking spine, I reckon."
Saark looked up into those merciless eyes, and swallowed hard. Kell was not a man to back down.
"I implore you, Kell, the
re are greater things at stake here than Nienna's honour! Think of Falanor! Think of the Vampire Warlords! And let's be honest, look, the girl is fully clothed, all I did was maul her a bit. Squeeze her tits. Get her hot and ready. No harm is done, really, Kell, I beseech you!"
Kell loomed close. "The harm, fucker, is that you never stop. Ever. And unless I teach you a lesson, you'll come back time and time again. And I can't have that. Now get up, or I'll kick you into a pulp like the fucking dog you are."
Kell's boot swung, and Saark rolled fast, avoiding the blow. He leapt up, wearing only his trews, and lifted his fists slowly, as did the pugilists he'd watched in the Shit Pits.
"I've got to warn you, Kell. I'm vachine now. Stronger. Faster. Harder." His own eyes glowed by the light of the fire.
"Show me," said Kell.
"Stop it!" screamed Nienna, both hands at the sides of her head. "Stop it, both of you!"
They ignored her.
Kell charged, roaring like a bear and throwing a fast combination of five punches. Saark dodged, left, right, ducked, then leapt back and his back slammed the wall of the cottage. But Kell followed him, a right straight thundering a hair's breadth from Saark's chin and implanting a dent in the plaster of the wall. Saark skipped away, and Kell followed again, a whirr of punches coming faster than any drunk should be able; Saark ducked, shifted his weight, then slammed a right hook to Kell's jaw that rocked the big warrior.
Kell halted, and stared hard at Saark.
"Have you come to your senses?" snapped Saark.
"Ha, no, well done boy," he rubbed his jaw, "a fine punch. Let's see some more." He launched at Saark, arms grappling around Saark's own and pinning them to his sides. Together, they crashed through the cottage door reducing it to tinder, and landed in the snow with "oofs" of exploded air. Saark wriggled, the dead weight of Kell atop him, and a stunning blow caught the side of his head, blinding him for a moment, then another cracked his nose and that made Saark good and angry and he felt his fangs ease free and talons slide from fingers and with a scream he heaved Kell aside and leapt up, talons slashing for Kell's throat, but Kell took a step back, swaying, and lifted his fists. "Yes lad! Come on! Show me what this pretty dandy's made of!"
They circled in the snow, Nienna hanging at the doorway, panting. Both men were wary now, eyes shining. Snow fell thick around them, and the whole scene was surreal to Nienna, muffled, silent, as if she was seeing it in a dream, or from the bottom of a frozen lake…
" Stop, " she begged, wearily.
Again, they ignored her. Saark attacked, aiming punches for Kell who swayed, the punches missing him. Kell's boot lashed out, catching Saark in the stomach, but Saark turned the blow into a backward leap, and he flipped, somersaulting to land on his feet, fists raised.
"A pretty trick, boy-lover. You left a piss-trail of perfume droplets in your wake."
"Funny, because despite the perfume I can smell your stale whiskey and bad sweat from here."
Kell growled, and charged, and Saark leapt over him, flipping again to land in the snow.
"Damn you, stand still and be battered!"
"No, Kell, I don't want to fight you! Don't you understand? There are enough fucking enemies out there to last us a thousand lifetimes! And you want to play here in the snow like little kids?"
"Little kids, is it?" growled Kell, and charged again. Saark leapt high, but Kell was ready, jumping himself with a grunt and catching Saark's legs. He swung Saark like a slab of beef, and the dandy hit the snow hard, head slapping trampled ice, all air smashed from him. Kell put one knee on Saark's chest, and one great hand around his throat. With his free fist, he punched Saark with a crunch, and glared down with lips working soundlessly, anger his mistress.
Nienna ran inside the cottage, and curled her hands around Ilanna. The weapon was cool to the touch, and perfectly smooth, like ice. Nienna lifted the axe, the huge axe, with ease. It was surprisingly light.
I have missed you, came the words in her head, and Nienna jumped. She nearly let go of the weapon, but for Saark wriggling around under Kell and returning punches to the great man's head.
Saark grabbed Kell's balls and squeezed hard. Kell howled, rolling to one side, and Saark scrambled free across the snow, but Kell lunged, catching the vachine's ankle and dragging him back -
Claws hissed through the air.
Nienna blinked. Am I dreaming? she thought, mind in a swirl of severed lust, fear and now, wonder.
No. I am Ilanna. I am Kell's axe. Do you remember, back in the Stone Lion Woods? I saved your life, but at the time thought you were too young to shock with my… thoughts. Now, I see, you are a much harder woman. I congratulate you.
If only everybody thought so, dreamed Nienna. She took a step towards the door. Kell and Saark were exchanging punches once more. Saark's newly accelerated vachine status was proving a match even for Kell, and both wore bruised and battered faces like horror masks.
I've missed you, said Ilanna, voice soft and sweet.
What does that mean?
We worked together. In the past. It was a good union. One day soon, we will speak again.
Confused, Nienna stepped out into the snow. "Stop!" she screamed, and held the huge battleaxe above her head. Ilanna gleamed dull, matt black, an awesome sight to behold. "Stop this foolishness! I demand it!"
Kell and Saark paused. Blood dribbled from the edge of Saark's mouth, and one of his brass vachine fangs had snapped. Kell had a blackened eye and blood coming from his nose. He looked superbly pissed off.
Kell gave a sudden laugh, a bark, and lowered his fists. "Whatever you say, granddaughter. I think I gave this popinjay a pasting."
"You think so, old man?" scowled Saark. "I've had grandmothers give me harder blow jobs."
Kell lifted his fists again.
"STOP!" screamed Nienna. "What is wrong with you? Saark, you idiot, stop provoking him! And Kell, what's your problem? One sniff of whiskey and you turn into an uncontrollable beast."
That stopped Kell in his tracks, and he rubbed his beard, and lowered his head, a little in shame, a little in guilt. "Yes," he mumbled, and then looked up again. "Give me the axe."
"Why?"
"Because she is mine."
Nienna chewed her lip. She nearly spoke. Nearly said it – that Ilanna had talked to her. But part of her thought it was nothing more than a hallucination brought on by stress, or lack of sleep; part of her thought that maybe she was a little crazy.
Nienna stepped forward, and Kell took the huge weapon. He stared at it thoughtfully, then over at Saark. Saark slowly lowered his fists, paling. Kell wasn't called a vachine hunter for nothing.
"Now wait a minute, Big Man," he said.
"Ach, calm yourself, dickhead. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead." He gestured with Ilanna, pointing towards Saark's chest with the blade tips. His voice lowered to a bestial rumble. "But I promise you this, lad. If you lay another finger on Nienna, I'll cut your dirty vachine head from your fucking vachine neck. Understand?"
"I understand."
"And this time, it's a fucking promise, lad."
"Acknowledged."
Kell lowered the weapon, strode to Saark, and threw his arm around the man's shoulders. "But by all the gods, you've got bloody handier with those clockwork fists, so you have! I haven't had a black eye in thirty years!"
"Wonderful," said Saark, mouth dry.
"This calls for a drink! Nienna, bring out the flagons."
"Over my dead body," said Nienna, scowling.
Kell shrugged. "Was only a suggestion, was all. Let's have some soup, then – and talk about happier times gone by!"
"I remember my father hanging himself," said Saark, voice cold, testing his broken brass fang with his thumb and wincing.
"You always know how to put a pisser on it, don't you lad?" He slapped him, hard. "Come on. I'll tell you about when I lost my first bout of single combat."
"You lost in single combat?" said Saark, raising his eyebrows.
"No lad, of course I didn't. I'm just trying to cheer you up."
"It's big," said Saark, lying on his belly and staring down into the valley. "No. I'll rephrase that. It's a monster."
The Black Pike Mines.
Originally built by King Searlan to house the worst and most violent criminals in Falanor, it also became a repository for the Blacklipper smugglers – who, by definition, had probably caused murder in order to get their casks of Karakan Red.
There was a gap in the mountains, and the Black Pike Mines had been built into the gap, the front wall merging seamlessly with near-vertical walls of jagged mountain rock. However, to simply call it a mine or a prison was misleading; this was a fortress. The staggered front walls were a sort of keep, and the prison stepped back into the V of an inaccessible, impregnable mountain valley. There was no back door, and only sheer smooth black granite walls for those who wanted to get in – or out. It would take an army to enter the prison mine, and that was the idea. When King Searlan built a prison, he intended his criminals to stay put.
Behind the defendable battlement walls were rows of cells carved into the mountain itself, fitted with black iron bars. Further back, where Saark and Nienna could not spy, Kell informed them, was the Hole. The Hole, or the mine itself, was the place where so many thousands of criminals had been worked to death in the name of rehabilitation.
"It looks like a prison," said Saark.
"It is."
"I know. I'm just saying."
"Searlan wanted his bastards to stay put. That's what they called themselves, back in the bad old days. Searlan's Bastards."
"I expect you put a few good men away there as well, did you?"
"No."
"No?"
"No good men. Only scum."
"How many?"
"What does it matter?" Kell's eyes gleamed. More snow was falling, and the gloom made him look eerie; a giant amongst men, bear-like, with his looming, threatening mass, his bearskin, his huge paws. It was easy to forget he was over sixty years old.
"I'm just contemplating, right, what happens if we get inside that place and a few of the old prisoners recognise you? You understand? Old fuckers carrying some twenty year pent-up grudge. After all, I've known you but a few sparse months, and I already want you dead."
