by Andy Remic
Again, something slammed high overhead, dark against the stars. And they saw her shape flash before the near-full moon. And it was true. Volak, Queen of the Wyrms, was far from dead.
“What’s she been waiting for?”
“Recovering, I reckon,” said Narnok, grinning. “Maybe we did hurt her.”
“Time to hurt her some more,” said Dek.
Volak fell from the sky like an asteroid, screaming towards the tower, wings folded back, jets of fire burning in her maw. She turned at the last moment, wings smashing to slow her, and a huge roaring wall of fire screamed across the face of the tower, aimed directly at the Iron Wolves, who cowered with wide eyes in sudden shock and fear…
The Harvest Field
It was harvest time. Bales had been gathered, and formed crude straw walls. They walked along a rough mud track, hand in hand, stopping occasionally to gaze at one another. Their eyes shone. Love defined their faces.
“Look,” she said, and pointed.
Beetrax turned, and could see the outline of a stone ruin. He frowned. His face was a face created for frowning. “What is it?”
“The old Kelbery Church. Seven hundred years old. It’s beautiful. Want to see?”
“You’re beautiful.”
“No I’m not.” She blushed, and lowered her eyes coquettishly.
“Oh but you are, my lady,” he said, and stepped in close. Closer. And they stood, like magnets, attracted, pulled towards one another, trapped in one another’s orbit. And when you were trapped within another orbit, you were, quite literally, fucked.
“I’m not beautiful,” she repeated.
“You are,” he said, moving a little closer. He smelled her skin. He smelled her hair. It was subtle, but necessary.
“Did you just smell me?”
“Yes. You smell good.”
She didn’t know how to respond.
Unconsciously, her hand came up and rested on his hip. She did not realise what that meant to him. That unbidden instinct. That soul connection. That subtle and yet intimate moment, not designed, not chosen, just a part of natural intimacy.
“I like that,” he said.
“I like it as well,” she said.
His head lowered. He stared at her. Their lips were inches away.
“Do you realise, you have a love heart of freckles on your cheek?”
“I do?”
“Yes.”
“It must be because I’m so in love with you. So kiss me,” she said.
And he kissed her.
Their kiss lasted a million years. And then her hands came up, gripping his hips. And slowly, they lay down amongst the bales of hay.
“Kiss me again,” she said.
He did. His hands moved over her, exploring, gentle, questing, and she did not complain. Slowly, she removed her skirts, her blouse, her undergarments, and she lay back, naked and pale and beautiful, a perfection doll, motionless amidst the hay.
She gazed up at him, face like the moon, eyes wide and imploring.
He lowered himself onto her, into her, and she groaned, and that primal animal groan fried his blood like no words or golden coin could ever fire him. She wanted him. She needed him. She was his, body and soul, and in return, he was hers, body and soul.
They made love in the hay field, under the beaming sun, with the ruined church in the background, a sentinel watching over their embracing of nature, their base merging with the magic of the earth, of this simple, natural joining, of connection, of sharing, of love.
Afterwards, they lay giggling like children. Until awareness of their nudity prompted them into action.
She dressed, her beaming smile one of hope and joy.
He dressed, mind swimming, watching her, watching her move, every simple elegance a wondrous moment.
“Hey, aye, what the fuck have we got here then?”
Six young men were on the path, watching Lillith hurriedly pull her blouse together. The largest of the youths, Jelgeth, leered at her. “I’ve been asking you for months, but you’ll happily get your tits out for this fucking simpleton!” he growled, eyes narrowed.
“Shut up,” said Lillith.
“Why?” asked Jelgeth, looking genuinely surprised. “A whore needs good coin to open her legs. And yet you – why, you do it for free!”
A ripple of laughter circled the group.
“Why, you arrogant, hateful little bastard,” growled Beetrax, stepping forward, as a young man rose before him with an old, battered helve, and swung, clubbing him. Beetrax hit the ground hard and fast, blood leaking from a crack in his skull. The youth with the helve smiled, and nodded to Jelgeth, and the circle moved, and closed, and contracted around Lillith, now pale with fear.
She glanced down at Beetrax. The woodcutter was out cold, blood leaking from his head, along his jaw, forming a point on his chin, and dripping slowly into the rich brown earth of harvested stalks.
Jelgeth stepped in close, and Lillith screamed as he leapt forward, grabbing her, and bearing her to the ground, kicking and screaming, his mouth pressing against her face, his tongue licking streaks across her struggling cheeks. Two others were there, each grabbing a leg and pulling her wide open.
And then – calm. Silence.
Jelgeth moved close. “You’re a pretty one, all right. And even though that big, dumb bastard has filled you full of his seed, each man here is going to enjoy you. And you know something, pretty one? You’ll keep your mouth shut. But more importantly, you’ll fucking enjoy it. Because my father is the Warden of Vagandrak, and I can have your whole family put to death with a single word. You hear that, pretty one?”
“You are scum,” said Lillith, spitting in Jelgeth’s eye.
He laughed, wiping it away and looking at her fluid. “Well. That’ll be a start in getting you wet… if you aren’t already…”
Lillith screamed again, and Jelgeth started struggling, tugging at her underwear.
Beetrax rose behind the fixated group, blood pouring down his face, his eyes dark, like pools leading down a tunnel into death. He moved to the man who had hit him with the helve, and punched him in the back of the head. Even though he was unconscious when he hit the ground, Beetrax stamped on his head, twice, and took the helve, weighing it thoughtfully. He wished it was an axe. But here, and now, timber would have to be good enough.
“Oy. Cunts,” he growled.
They all turned.
Beetrax smiled.
“Welcome to my rapists’ party of pain,” and the helve swung, hitting a man in the face and knocking six teeth out with a bloody crunch. His head slammed sideways, expression intense and twisted, and he flailed his way to the ground.
Beetrax waded forward, the helve slamming left and right. Arms came up in defence. Bones cracked. Broke. Poked from skin with piss showers of blood. The helve cracked jaws, breaking them, sending young men screaming to the soil. It cracked skulls. It knocked out teeth. It broke legs and cheek bones. Beetrax waded through them like a scythe through wheat, no fear, filled with a dark hate that burned in his narrowed eyes.
And then they were all down, moaning and screaming and holding broken faces, except for Jelgeth, whose eyes burned and arrogance shone as he turned, still holding Lillith’s ankles.
“Don’t do anything stupid, peasant,” said Jelgeth. “My father is the Warden of Vagandrak! I can have you hanged from the battlements for heresy so easy, it isn’t even funny. So let me fuck this bitch, and then you can have a second go, and then we’ll go for a few beers. I’ll even buy them, to show you there’s no hard feelings.” He stared hard at Beetrax, and any who knew Jelgeth knew the young man was deadly serious, backed up by a reputation of malice, violence and an abuse of power.
“Well,” said Beetrax, rubbing his square chin, “that’s a mighty fine offer, from one so highly placed as you.”
“Yes?”
“But.”
“But what?”
“But I’ll have to decline.”
Jelgeth sta
red at the large youth. “Based on what?”
“Based on the fact I’m going to beat you to death, you fucking rapist.”
The helve hit Jelgeth in the face, dislodging teeth and breaking his nose.
“No!” gasped Lillith, her hand coming up.
But Beetrax was in a different world, a different time, and he stepped over the bastard and the helve rose and fell, beating his head into a mashed, deformed pulp.
Afterwards, Beetrax stood there panting.
“What have you done?” whispered Lillith.
“I’ve made Vagandrak a better place.”
“But… his father! The Warden! He will never stop hunting you!”
“I’ve been hunted before,” growled Beetrax, and despite his nineteen years, he looked as mean as any wild predator on the hunt. This wasn’t fun. This was fucking survival.
Lillith gazed about, tugging together the torn buttons of her blouse. A cool wind blew, shifting her beautiful, rich hair.
“What about the others? They are witness to your killing?”
Beetrax grinned a nasty grin, and as the other broken men were coming round, he moved forward, dropping the helve and pulling free his small skinning dagger. “That’s all right. They’ll never speak again,” he said, as he cut the first tongue from its owner’s mouth with a struggle and a scream.
* * *
Mallageth, Warden of Vagandrak, walked down the cobbled road, face grim, eyes narrowed, thinking about his debts. Gambling debts. Debts from the whore house. Debs from borrowing money from the Red Thumbs.
“Horse shit.” No matter how much he gambled, no matter how much he risked, no matter how good his luck was – well, he always came off worse. And the Red Thumb Gang were starting to take a very real interest in him, despite his rank.
His two guards walked ten yards behind. They were good, alert, hands on daggers, eyes searching. And so it came as some surprise when a large man stepped from the shadows and decked both guards with single punches. Mallageth heard the crunch of broken bones and whirled, whimpering the one defence he had ingrained for moments like this…
“I have lots of silver! Don’t hurt me! It can be yours!”
Beetrax loomed from the shadows, eyes evil. “You are Jelgeth’s father?”
“I might be?” offered Mallageth, tentatively, his arms coming up.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Beetrax stooped, and pulled a sword from one of the guards. He grinned at Mallageth. “It would seem your parenting skills have been called into question.”
The sword lifted, moonlight glinting from the chipped blade.
“What do you mean?” squealed Mallageth.
Beetrax loomed close. “It seems you’ve raised a rapist as a son,” he said, and the sword hacked down, cutting the Warden’s head straight down the middle. Mallageth hit the cobbles, and slowly, his mashed brains leaked out, a grey and blue ooze.
Beetrax pushed back his shoulders, and dropped the short sword with a clang. He looked around for witnesses, but if truth be told, he didn’t care. Right now, he’d take on the fucking world.
“And if there’s one thing I hate,” he whispered, “it’s fucking rapists.”
Rage
Volak’s wall of fire screamed towards the Iron Wolves, but fell short by inches, the heat scorching eyebrows and fringes of the shocked heroes who lifted arms to protect their faces. Flames scorched the stone. Volak dropped and twisted, accelerating down the street, demolishing two chimneys into a shower of bricks… and then was gone.
“A warning shot?” rumbled Narnok, voice deep, breathing quickly. “She’ll be back, and back quick.”
“We know that, donkey dick,” snapped Trista. “Just be fucking ready!”
“I’ll be ready!” snarled Narnok, as Volak erupted from the centre of the building before them, stones and bricks smashed up and outwards in arcing trajectories, and she hung there before the tower, screaming, as fire blasted out once more, and the Iron Wolves stared at her in horror before suddenly hitting the ground hard and fast as fire washed over their heads and illuminated the night sky and the summit of the Spear Guard Tower and the very world…
Volak’s great wings flapped, gave a boom, and she banked, and was gone, accelerating down through the fog of her own creation, to disappear amidst the city chaos.
Narnok climbed to his feet. “It’s all right!” he said. “I’m all right!”
“She was right in front of you!” yelled Dek. “All you had to do was pull the fucking triggers!”
“Hey!” Narnok brushed some soot from his shirt. “She got me by surprise, all right? I can’t be mister-bloody-everywhere-vision, can I?”
Dek scowled. “You’re joking, right?”
“Guys! She’s coming back!” hissed Trista.
“How can you tell?”
Tris pointed. The smoky haze was shifting, as her flight beneath the smoke dragged patterns in her wake, like a shark in the ocean, creating shapes above.
Volak rose from the smoke, and Narnok screamed, and pulled the trigger on the massive crossbow. A massive quarrel sang, flashing through the night air, to skim Volak’s wing as she banked, rapidly, a strangled scream erupting from her dark jaws. Although it didn’t penetrate, the quarrel sheared free a line of scales which fluttered like errant iron butterflies for a moment, before tumbling beneath the smoke. Black blood spurted out.
And in a flash, she was gone.
“You see that?” roared Narnok.
Kareem slapped him, grinning. “You cut her up!” he boomed.
“Don’t get slack,” rumbled Dek. “She’s hurting now; she’s pissed. She’ll be back fast, mark my words. We need to be ready!”
And Dek was right. She came back through the centre of the demolished building, and her eyes were acid, and she breathed, flames flowering like nothing the Iron Wolves had ever witnessed, washing over the tower top and setting fire to the Decimator’s huge stock. The roar seemed to go on and on, and it was like the end of the world.
“No!” wailed Mola, lying low, hands over his head, back seared as flames scorched above him. The Decimator’s wood burned, and the cups burned, and heavy lead balls dropped to the stone flags with six long, slow thuds.
The fire stopped.
The silence was deafening.
And Volak was gone, leaving a destroyed siege machine in her fiery wake.
* * *
Long minutes had passed. The stone tower summit had cooled, but still they could smell scorched stone, burned metal, smoke.
“It’s getting cooler,” said Kareem, and lifted his nose to a lulling chilled breeze.
The others stared at him, and glanced about.
“Seems fine to me,” said Dek, looking up at the moon and the stars. “See? All our favourite constellations.”
“No. There’s a storm coming,” said Trista.
They looked to the west, and huge clouds towered over one another, tumbling as they fell forward, heading east towards the humbled city of Vagan.
“That’s good, right?” said Dek.
“Why good?” asked Trista, with a tight smile.
“The dragon… if it’s still alive… well, the storm will mask us; make everything harder to see…”
“Or maybe it uses scent? The scent of our blood? Or sound? Or heat? Dek, maybe it has better night vision than we do?”
Dek scowled. “Fuck me, Trista, you’re ever the optimist, right?”
They waited, watching the distant storm roll in. The dragon no longer emerged; she had vanished. Deep down in the city, fires burned below the smoky fog, illuminating from beneath. It was spooky. Otherworldly.
“That’s creepy,” said Narnok.
“Worse than your face?” said Dek, with a grin.
“Yeah. Thanks for that, you fucking cuckold.”
The tumbling clouds were blacker than black. Lightning cracked through them, splitting the sky like a ruptured insect egg.
Time rolled back, languorous, as
below, the city appeared to sleep.
“Do you think we killed the dragon?” said Narnok, at last.
Trista stared at him. “Do you?”
“We winged it.”
“We might have hurt it. But remember the factory?”
“That was oil. The bitch is fireproof – we learned that one today. But this was steel. Cold, hard steel.”
“We didn’t kill it,” said Mola, sombrely. “It’d take more than that. Much more.”
A cold wind blew, chilling them. And now they could hear the rain, as the clouds rolled in and gradually covered the moon and stars. Darkness fell, and the world was lit only by the burning fires below.
“And I know that we are lost, and none can help us now,” intoned Kareem.
Dek nudged Narnok. “Happy little fucker, ain’t he?”
“Leave him alone. I know how he feels.”
Lightning broke the sky into triangular segments, thunder rumbled, and the storm came crashing in over Vagan. As the lightning vanished, crackling, so it left blue after-images tattooed against their brains.
Now, they heard the patter of rainfall, which seemed gentle at first. But it was not gentle. It became steadily more violent, slamming towards them in smashing diagonal sheets, and then, with a surge, washed over the Iron Wolves like a great flood, drenching them instantly.
“Are we having fun yet?” smiled Trista, grimly.
“Just keep an eye out for the wyrm,” said Dek, both hands on the massive crossbow. “When she comes in, she’ll come in fast. I guarantee it. She’s biding her time. Waiting for us to drop our guard. I reckon I know how she thinks.”
“Yeah, right,” scoffed Narnok. “How could you possibly have any clue how a fucking dragon thinks? She’s probably a million years old and used to eating us humans for breakfast.”
Dek shrugged. “I’ve just… been watching her. I understand her. She has a natural cunning.”
“Yeah. I’ll give you that one,” said Narnok, and the others nodded, wiping rain from their eyes.
The rain pounded Vagan, and gradually began to erode the smoke. More thunder rumbled, and lightning cracked out, demolishing the spire of a church in a massive blast of sparks and fire. Roof slates and stones tumbled, bouncing down the flanks of the structure. The Iron Wolves watched with wide eyes, taking deep breaths, then scanning the horizon again.
