Kell’s Legend

TEN
Jajor Falls

Kell met the canker head on, both snarling, both leaping through witch-light on the snow-laden woodland. They hammered together, canker claws clashing a hair’s-breadth from Kell’s face as his axe slammed the beast’s neck, and he felt blades bite through thick corded muscle and into whirling clockwork deep within; their bodies thumped together and all was madness; even as they collided, Kell’s free hand grasping a huge claw-spiked canker paw, something huge and dark sailed over their heads and the Stone Lion landed snarling, elongated face stretching to roar and with fangs clashing, it collided with the two cankers, and the three figures smashed together, claws raking, teeth gnashing, and blood and wheels went spinning off into the undergrowth. One canker kicked back, crouched, then leapt atop the Stone Lion, fangs fastening on its head. With a massive crunch it bit the Stone Lion’s head in two, pulling back, claws fixed in the Stone Lion’s torso as it shook its prize like a dog with a bone and the Stone Lion went down on one knee; but even as the canker chewed, spitting out chunks of wood and stone, so the Stone Lion’s fist whirred up, over, and down with a whump that shook the woodland and crushed the canker into a mewling heap, spine broken, and claws flexed and ripped out its lungs in a bloody spray of mechanical parts and still pumping organs. The Stone Lion smacked the second canker against a tree, as Kell hit the ground, Ilanna embedded in the canker’s neck, but a high shriek filled the woodland and the canker turned from Kell, leaping on the Stone Lion’s back as its companion attacked the Stone Lion from the front, and both fastened huge jaws on the Stone Lion which spun in a fast circle, long arms flailing, trying to dislodge the beasts from its body.

Kell sat down heavily with a grunt, all energy flushed from him. He pulled out his Svian half-heart-edly and watched the raging battle as the Stone Lion charged trees, crushing the cankers against ancient oaks, and the feral twisted vachine deviants retaliated with brass claws, opening holes in the Stone Lion’s belly to allow molten fungus to pour free…

Wearily, drained, saddened, Kell rolled his shoulders and neck, only now realising the muscles he had strained, the joints impacted, the huge bruises and many lacerations to his skin. He felt like a pit-fighter after twelve bouts, each one knocking another chunk from his prowess, as well as his sanity. He laughed a little, then, as the roaring went on, and for a few minutes Kell had a ringside seat in the most savage battle he had ever seen.

The two remaining cankers were gradually chewing the Stone Lion to death, cutting chunks from it, attempting to get another premium hold for that final, terminal great bite. Even with half its head missing, the Stone Lion was putting up a good fight, pounding huge fists and claws into the cankers to accompanying shrieks of mis-meshed gears and the thump of compressing flesh. All the time, the wounded canker with no lungs and a broken spine paddled aimlessly in the dead leaves, making a strange mewling sound, not so much expelled air but the pathetic squeaking of a winding-down clock. Kell saw dark blood-oil pump out in a few savage spurts, and eventually the wounded canker was still.

“At least they fucking die, ” murmured Kell, eyes narrow, wary, observing the final performance.

The Stone Lion accelerated backwards, hammering a tree and finally dislodging the clinging canker. It stamped down on the canker’s head, pushing it deep under the earth as the remainder of heavily muscled body flopped like a rag-doll, and it turned, searching out the final beast…which bounded to the attack, ducking low under a swipe and catching the Stone Lion in the throat with its fangs, ripping out a huge section of stone-and wood-flesh to reveal narrow tubes, like vines, within. The Stone Lion dropped to one knee, and slammed the canker with a fist, a blow that propelled it into a tree where it snapped a rear leg with a brittle loud crack that echoed through the woodland.

The Stone Lion settled slowly to the ground, forming almost a heap of what now appeared nothing more than an outcropping of stone and ancient wood. It seemed to give a huge sigh, and Kell watched the great, ancient creature die on the woodland carpet. Despite its savagery, he felt almost sad.

The canker trapped under the earth by Stone Lion finally stopped struggling, with Kell’s axe poking from the rigid, corded muscles of its throat. Kell stood, walking numbly through the carnage, to place his boot on the carcass and tug free Ilanna.

He turned, staring at the final canker. It growled at him, a feral sound of hatred, and tried to stand. Instead, it fell back in pain and whimpering. Something metallic squeaked in a rhythmical manner.

Kell hefted his axe, and strode to the canker which glared. It lunged, and he dodged back, then planted his axe blade in its neck. He rocked the blade free and blood-oil spurted, along with several coils of wire. Kell hefted Ilanna again, dodged another swipe of canker claws, and with the second strike decapitated the beast.

Blood gushed for a while, then slowed to a trickle. Kell could see the gleam of parts inside the neck, but each cog and wheel was curiously formed, as if kinked, and each piston was bowed or bent, each gear buckled. Kell shook his head; he didn’t understand such things. Looking around, he grasped a handful of dead leaves and started cleaning the twin axe blades.

“Old horse! Why didn’t you wait for us? You’ve had all the fun!”

Kell glanced up, gradually, to see Saark leading his horse amidst the flesh and clockwork debris. The clearing-the creatures had smashed the trees into a clearing-appeared as a minor battlefield. Blood gleamed everywhere. The ground was littered with brass and steel clockwork mechanisms.

Kell said nothing.

“It’s fine,” Saark called back through the trees. “Kell’s heroically battled three cankers and the Stone Lion, and managed to kill them all!”

Saark stopped before Kell, who watched Nienna and Kat appear, faces shocked by the carnage. The horses were skittish, and they tied them to a tree by the edge of the battle and moved to Kell. Nienna hugged him, and he smiled then, but his eyes never left Saark.

“I injured the Stone Lion,” he said. “Then I ran. But there was no horse for me.” There was a dark gleam in Kell’s eye, a suggestion of violence in his stance, and Saark noticed Kell did not lower his axe.

“We left a horse for you, old boy,” said Saark, voice lowering, humour evaporating. “Didn’t we, girls?”

“We left your horse,” said Kat, smiling uncertainly, not understanding the tension in the air.

“We did, grandfather,” said Nienna, putting her hand on Kell’s torn bearskin. “I saw Saark tie the creature myself. He is not to blame if it escaped.”

Saark held his hands wide. “An accident, Kell. What, you think I’d leave you to die back there?”

Kell shrugged, and turned his back on the three, gazing off through the trees. His emotions raged, but he took a deep breath, calming himself.

Once, said Ilanna, in his mind, in his soul, you would have killed him for that.

I would have questioned him.

No. He would already be dead.

That was in the bad days! he stormed. When I was so drunk on the whisky I didn’t know what I was doing. Those were evil days, Ilanna, and you used to fuel me, used to feed me, used to push me towards violence every step of the way, only so you could taste blood yourself, you depraved fucking whore!

Kell turned and faced Saark, and forced a smile. “I apologise,” he said, as their eyes locked. “I mistrust too easily. There is a thing called a Fool’s Knot-the slightest pressure, and it slips. But of course, you would never use such a thing on me.”

Saark grinned. “Of course not, Kell! In fact, I have only now just heard of such a knot, this very moment you mentioned it. Now. We are all exhausted, the girls are frightened, hungry, in a fiery agony of chafing from riding, and I fancy I saw evidence of civilisation only a few short leagues from this very spot.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Traps. Trappers never stray too far from home. Come on, Kell! Think of it! Comfy beds, whisky, hot beef stew, and if we’re lucky,” he lowered his voice, leaning in close, “a couple of willing buxom wenches apiece!”

“Show me the way,” said Kell, and frowned. Saark confused him; he wanted to believe the man, but his intuition told him to plant his axe in Saark’s head the first chance that arose. “If it was just me and you, I’d say no. I have a feeling the albino army is moving south; chasing us, effectively. It will destroy every damn town and village it hits, raiding for supplies and destroying buildings in the army’s wake so their enemies can’t make use. I have seen this before.”

“But think of the girls,” said Saark, voice lower, playing to Kell’s weakness. “Think of Nienna. Frightened half to death, chased by horrible creatures, forced to fight for her life; she told me she and Kat were captured by evil woodsmen, who proceeded to-”

“Tell me they didn’t!” Kell gripped his axe tight, eyes slamming over to Nienna.

“No, no, calm down, Kell. The girls have their integrity. But it was only a matter of time; that Stone Lion you so effectively slew…” Saark peered at the dead creature, frowning, “Gods, did you cut off half its head? Anyway, that Stone Lion rescued them. The woodsmen were attacked by a canker, and the Stone Lion killed the canker. Saved their lives, but damn near frightened them to death! They need time to relax, Kell. They need normality.”

“And you need an ale,” said Kell, staring hard at Saark.

“I admit, I am a man of simple pleasures.”

“Let’s move, then.”

Kell and Saark walked to where Nienna knelt, examining an intricate piece of machinery. “I don’t understand,” she said, looking up at the two men. “Are they just monsters? They have…this thing inside them. At school once the teacher took an old clock apart, and it looked like this, with wheels and cogs and spinning parts; only this looks…bigger, stronger, as if it would power a much larger clock.”

“It powered something more dangerous than a clock,” said Kell, rolling his neck with cracks of released tension.

I can tell you what it is, said Ilanna.

Go on.

It is an Insanity Engine, invented by the forefathers of Leerdek-ka and Kradek-ka, then further refined by those engineers. We saw creatures powered by these machines under the Black Pike Mountains.

Kell’s face coloured, and he ground his teeth. Never mention that, he snarled. Understand? If you ever bring up Pike Halls again, I will cast you into the river! Do you understand me, bitch?

You are still ashamed, then? Ilanna’s voice, so beautiful and musical, was little more than a whisper.

Aye. I am still ashamed. Now leave me be; I have two frightened girls to attend to.

They rode in silence through the remainder of the day until evening drew close, and finally emerged from the dense woodland of Stone Lion Woods. Saark scouted ahead, checking for signs of the Army of Iron; or indeed, cankers or any other creature that might take a fancy to the small travelling party.

Kell, Nienna and Kat stood by the edge of the woods, looking out over snowy fields and hills. Saark had been right: distant, a few lights shone, lanterns lit against the fast encroaching darkness.

“I’m sorry,” said Kell, at last, facing them.

“What for?” asked Kat, eyes wide.

“For leaving you, on the boat. It was foolish. I should have stayed with you. I should have known when I jumped that you’d be swept away and have to fend for yourselves. That was…foolish of me.”

“But Saark would have died,” said Kat.

Kell gave a little shrug. “And you two nearly died…and worse, according to Saark. Those woodsmen; I knew them. They were savage creatures indeed, and if the canker hadn’t come you would still be there, singing a high sweet tune with skin hanging in strips from your backs and arses.” He saw their eyes, wide and pale, and coughed, taking a deep breath. “Sorry. Listen. You stay with me from now on. You understand?”

“Saark will look after us, as well,” said Kat, face round and innocent in the failing light. The moon had risen, a pale orb the colour of dead flesh, as the sun painted the low western horizon a dazzling violet.

“Be careful with Saark,” warned Kell.

“Don’t you trust him?” asked Nienna, surprised.

“I do not know the man,” said Kell, simply. “He joined us in the tannery; aye, I saved his life, but that was just me being…human. Instinct. I curse it!” He gave a bitter laugh. “They write poems about you for less, so it would seem.”

“He is totally trustworthy,” said Kat, nodding to herself, eyes distant. “I know it. In my heart.”

“In your heart, lass?” Kell smiled a knowing smile. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And you have, too. But I warn you; don’t trust Saark, and especially not like that. He has enjoyed a hundred women before you, and he’ll have a hundred women after.”

Kat flushed red. “I am waiting for the right man to marry! I am not…for sale, Kell. Saark can look all he wants, I know his ilk, and I know what I want in a man. Yes, Saark is handsome; never have I seen such hair on a man! And he has the gift of the silver tongue, in more ways than one, I’d wager…” Nienna giggled, “but I am proud of my virtue. I know a good man is out there, waiting for me. I do not need your…fatherhood.” She narrowed her eyes. “I can look after myself.”

“As you wish,” said Kell curtly, returning his sweeping gaze to the snowy fields. “But know this. Saark is not a man of honour. He will come for your flesh.”

“A man of honour? And I suppose you are as well-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Nienna, glaring at Kat. “That’s my grandpa you’re speaking to. The hero of Kell’s Legend! Don’t you know your contemporary history? Your battle-lore? He saved the battle at Crake’s Wall, turned the tide of savages in the Southern Jungles!” Anger flushed her cheeks red. Her fists were clenched.

Kat looked sideways at Kell, who continued to stare across the fields. “It’s fine, Nienna,” he said, voice little more than a whisper. Then, to Kat, “You’re talking about back at the tannery, aren’t you lass?”

Kat nodded.

Kell continued, “Yes. I was brutal, brutal and merciless towards you, and I shocked you into movement, into action! If you’d lingered on your injuries, on your fear, you could have killed us all. I could not allow you, even as a friend of Nienna, to be responsible for her death. I would not allow it!” He turned, stared at his granddaughter with a mix of love, regret, and nostalgia. He smiled then. “I would cross the world for you, my little monkey. I would fight an army for you. I would kill an entire city for you. Nobody will get close to you again, this I swear, by the blood-oil of Ilanna.”

Nienna moved forward, took his hand, snuggled in close to him. “You don’t have to do all that, grandfather.” Her voice was small, a child again, nestling against the only father figure she had ever known.

“But I would,” he growled. “No canker will get close. I’ll cut out the bastard’s throat.”

“Saark’s coming.”

They watched him approach, walking his horse with care over snowy undulations. He was smiling, which was a good sign; at least the Army of Iron hadn’t rolled through destroying everything in its path. For a long, hopeful moment Kell prayed he was mistaken, prayed to any gods that would listen that he was wrong; but a sourness overtook his soul, and he fell into a bitter brooding.

“There’s an inn, with rooms. I’ve booked us three.” He glanced at Kell. “Wouldn’t like to put up with your snoring again, old horse. No offence meant.”

“None taken; I am equally horrified by the stench of your feet.”

“My feet! I am aghast with horror! Oh the ignominy! And to think, we risked mutilation and death to come back for you with a horse. Old boy, we should have left you to eat fried canker steaks for the next week; maybe then you would have learnt manners.”

Kell pushed past Saark, leading his own horse. “That’s an impossibility, lad. A man like me…well, I’m too honest. A farmer. A peasant. Manners are the reserve of gentry; those with money, those born with silver on their tongue…” Saark smiled, inclining his head to the compliment, “…and equally those with a brush up their arse, shit in their brains, a decadent stench of bad perfume on their crotch, and a sister who’s really their cousin, their mother and their daughter all rolled into one. Inbreeding?” He growled a laugh. “I blame it on the parents.”

He stalked off, down the hill, and Saark turned to the young women. “Who rattled his chain and collar?”

“He rattled it himself,” said Nienna, stepping forward, touching Saark’s arm. “Don’t be too offended; back in Jalder, he made few friends.”

“How many friends?”

“None,” admitted Nienna, and laughed. “But he was a wonderful cook!”

“So wonderful he poisoned them all?”

“You are full of charm,” said Nienna, breathing a sigh as Saark took her arm. They started down the hill, leaving Kat with two horses, and she scowled after them, eyes narrowing, watching the sway of Saark’s noble swagger as he walked, one hand on his hip. He was going home; or at least, to a place of modest civility.

“We’ll see who’s full of charm,” she muttered.

Darkness had fallen as they entered the outskirts of the town, which Saark identified as Jajor Falls. Six cobbled roads ran out from a central square which acted as a hub and market, and there was an ornate stone bridge containing six small gargoyles over a narrow, churning, river. A fresh fall of snow began, as if heralding the travellers’ arrival, and they walked tired horses up the snow-laden street, hoof-strikes muffled, looking left and right in the darkness. Some houses showed lantern light in windows; but most were black.

“A sombre place,” remarked Kell.

“The inn’s livelier.”

“What’s it called?”

“The Slaughtered Piglet.”

“You have to be joking?”

“Apparently, there is a long archaic story of magick and mayhem behind the title. They’ll tell us over a tankard of ale.” He winked. “You have to admire these peasant types; they tell it like it is.”

“Sounds grand.”

They heard music before they saw the inn; it came into view, a long, low, black-stone building. Smoke pumped from a stubby chimney, and light showed from behind slatted shutters. Kell led the horses to stables behind the inn, handing them over to a skinny old man who introduced himself as Tom the Ostler. He wore nothing but a thin shirt against the snow, and his limbs were narrow, wiry, his biceps like buds on a branch. He grinned at Kell in a friendly manner, taking the horses, stroking muzzles, staring into eyes, blowing into nostrils. “Come with me, my beauties,” he said, and Kell could sense the old man’s love for the beasts.

Kell strode back to the inn’s door, entered slowly, eyes scanning the busy main room. Tables were crammed in, and full, mainly, of men drinking tankards of ale and talking Falanor politics. A few women sat around the outskirts of the main room, mostly in groups, talking and laughing. Some wore bright dresses, but most wore thick woollen market skirts. Smoke filled the inn, and a general hubbub of noise made Kell gradually relax. Sometimes, it was nice to be anonymous amidst strangers. He looped a long leather thong through the haft of his axe, then over his shoulder, drawing the weapon to his back. Then, he strode to the bar, searching for Saark, Nienna and Kat.

The barman waved at Kell. “What’ll it be, squire?” he asked.

“My friend’s booked three rooms for the night.”

“Ach yes, I just gave him the keys. Up the stairs,” he pointed, “rooms twelve, thirteen and fourteen.”

Kell grunted thanks, strode up the stairs, and turned on the landing to survey the common room. He made out the gambling table in the corner. Near it were three women, dressed in high stockings, their lips rouged with ink, feathers in their hair. Whores. Kell grunted, eyes narrowing, thinking of Saark and his eagerness. He moved into a smoke-filled corridor and searched for the rooms. Floorboards squeaked under his boots, and this was good. It would be hard to creep down such a passageway.

Locating the first room, he tapped. “Grandfather?” came Nienna’s voice, and Kell pushed open the portal, stepping inside, scanning the sparse furnished space. There was a large bed, with ancient carved headboard depicting a raging battle. Thick rugs covered dusty boards, and drawers and two stools lined the far wall. The windows were shuttered. A lantern burned on a table with honey light.

“Cosy,” he said, setting down a pack he’d taken from the albino soldier’s horse. Then he removed his axe, and stretched broad shoulders. “I hope there’s a bath in this place, because I stink, and I hate it when I stink.”

“You look like you’ve had a beating,” said Nienna, moving over to him. “I could ask the landlord for some cold cream, to take down the swellings.” She reached out, tenderly touched his bruised cheek.

Kell cursed.

“Does it hurt?” said Nienna, concern in her eyes.

“No. It’s just people remember a beaten face. I stand out. That’s not good.”

Nienna nodded. “Shall I go and see if the bathing room is free?”

Kell looked around, then. He frowned. “Where’s Kat?”

Nienna shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Kell moved back to the corridor, walked to the next door with a surprisingly light step, and opened it. Both Saark and Kat were sat on the bed, side by side, just a little bit too close. Kat’s laughter tinkled like falling crystals.

Saark looked around, up into Kell’s face, and the smile dropped from his features.

“Saark. A word, if you please.”

Saark coughed, stood up; Kell saw he had removed his boots. He stepped out. “There a problem, old horse?”

Kell reached past, closed the door, smiling at Kat, then grabbed Saark by the throat and rammed him up against the wall with a thud. Saark’s feet kicked for a moment, and Kell lowered him until their faces were inches apart.

“She’s not to be touched,” growled Kell.

“I don’t know what you mean!” Indignation.

“The girl, Saark. Kat. And my granddaughter, as well, whilst we’re having this little man-to-man discussion. Both are not to be… molested by you. Do you understand, boy?”

“They’re grown women, Kell. They are intelligent, and intuitive. They make their own choices.” Saark’s smile was stiff.

“And I’m a grown man, telling another grown man that they’re little more than children, and if you touch them, I’ll break every fucking bone in your spine.” His voice was low, but deadly, deathly serious. Saark met his stare with a neutral expression.

“You need to open your eyes, old man. They’re far from children. They are roses, blossoming into beauty. They are river currents, flowing out to sea.”

Kell snorted, and dropped Saark to the floorboards. “Save your pretty words for the whores downstairs,” said Kell. “There was enough good coin in the soldiers’ saddlebags to entertain you for a week; take it. But I warn you. Keep away from the girls.”

Saark nodded, and brushed down his roughed clothing. He coughed. Stared at Kell, tilting his head. “You finished now, Grandfather? Can I go and get some ale, and a bite to eat? Or would you like to offer a sermon on further corruption and impurity in the world?”

Kell nodded, and Saark moved back to the room. Kell stood, waiting, and Kat emerged, eyes lowered, and hurried into Nienna’s room. Kell followed her, retrieving his pack and axe. “I’ll meet you down in the common room for food, in about twenty minutes. Aye?”

“Yes, Grandfather,” said Nienna. Kat said nothing.

Kell grunted and left.

“How dare he!” raged Kat, a few moments later.

“Shh, he might hear!”

“Damn him, damn him to hell, I don’t care! I don’t need his protection! I don’t need him treating me like his granddaughter, because I’m not, and I’ve looked after myself far too long to begin adopting an overzealous guardian now!”

“He…only means well,” said Nienna.

“Rubbish! He’s jealous! He sees my young limbs, my hips, my ripe breasts, and he wishes he could have a slice of my rich fruit pie. Well, he can’t.”

Nienna stared at Kat, then. She shook her head. “That’s horse-shit, Katrina.”

“Maybe so. But Saark says I’m beautiful, and I could take my pick of Jevaiden, Salakarr, Yuill or Anvaresh; and I could make money, lots of money, with my beauty.”

“By doing what?”

“I could be a dancer, or escort rich men to the theatre. Saark said they pay a lot of good money to have a beautiful young woman on their arm.”

“And in their bed,” snapped Nienna. “Are you really that foolish? You’d be little more than a whore!”

“Maybe that’s what I want!” stormed Kat, her temper escalating, her fists clenching. “At least it’d be my choice!”

At that moment Saark entered, and stood, smiling at the two women. He was transformed. He wore a fine silk shirt of yellow, with ruffled collar and cuffs of white cotton; he wore rich green trousers made from panels of velvet, high black leather boots, and his long curled hair had been oiled and was scraped back into a loose ponytail. He looked every inch the ravishing dandy, the court noble fop, the friend of royalty. He smiled, and a rich perfume invaded the room, a musky scent of flowers and herbs.

Kat whirled, and her temper died. She smiled at Saark. “You look…ravishing!” she said.

“Where did you get the clothes?” asked Nienna.

“I bought them. From a clothes merchant. I make contacts fast, especially when I enter a new town looking like a diseased cesspit cleaner.”

“Kell said for us to keep a low profile.”

Saark grinned. “This is me keeping a low profile.”

“But,” said Nienna, choosing her words tactfully, “you look extremely, um, wealthy. And the smell! What is that smell?”

“The perfume of gentry,” said Saark. “Popinjay’s Musk. It’s expensive. Well, ladies, I’m waiting to eat.”

“We need to change,” said Nienna. “Or at least, to beat the dust from our clothes.”

“Wait there,” said Saark.

He disappeared, with Nienna and Kat frowning at one another. When he returned, he carried two dresses, one of yellow, one of blue. Both were silk, richly embroidered, and Nienna and Kat clasped their hands together in wonder.

“Saark!” said Nienna. “I don’t believe it!”

“They’re beautiful,” beamed Kat, walking around Saark, her hand reaching out, almost timidly, to touch the silk.

“Only the finest clothes, for such beauty,” he said, grinning, his eyes shining, lips moist.

“But we can’t wear them,” said Nienna, suddenly, smile dropping, lip coming out a little. “Kell wouldn’t approve.”

“To hell with the old goat. You’ve been to the Pits of Daragan and back; you deserve a little pampering. I surely couldn’t let you go downstairs to eat wearing those tattered rags. It would be…indecent!”

“Thank you, thank you,” said Kat, eyes shining.

“Get dressed. I’ll meet you down there.”

“Did you get anything for Kell?”

“No. If he wishes to look like a beggar in a sack, so be it. He wishes to blend in? Let the old sourpuss blend in. I’m going to have a fine time. We nearly died back there, in Jalder, and on the journey. And I may be dead tomorrow. But tonight! Tonight, ladies, we dance!”

Kat giggled, and Nienna swirled, holding the dress to herself. Saark turned to leave, then whirled about suddenly. He peered out, down the corridor, checking Kell wasn’t about to inflict damage on his body again. Then he pulled a vial from his cuff, and handed it to Kat.

“What is it?”

“Perfume. To make you smell as good as you look.”

Kat uncorked the vial, and sniffed, and her eyes widened. “But,” she said, shrugging, “where do I put it? I’ve never had perfume before. Old Gran used to say it was the trademark of the whore.”

“Pah! Sour words uttered by every damn woman who couldn’t afford it. It’s called Flowers of Winter Sunset. I once knew a queen who wore it…so trust me, it’s special.”

“It must have cost a fortune,” said Nienna, eyes narrowing. “Or you’re full of horse-dung.”

“No, it cost a pretty penny,” said Saark. “Let’s just say the horse I took from the soldier had enough gold coin to sink one of Leanoric’s Titan Battleships. So, I cannot take full credit. But enjoy, ladies! Enjoy! I will go and see what paltry food is served on these premises.” He stepped forward, took the vial from Kat, tipped the vial to the cork, then dabbed some behind her ears. “Here, princess,” he said, smiling into her face. He repeated the action, reached forward, and drew a vertical line down her breastbone, to the dip in her cleavage. “And here,” he said, eyes locked to hers. She took the vial from him, then he was gone with a swirl of oiled hair, his rapier flat by his side.

Kat turned to Nienna. Her face was flushed.

“Kell is going to be pissed,” said Nienna.

“Saark was right. We’ve been through hell the past couple of days. We deserve a good time.”

Nienna shrugged, and sighed. Then she nodded. “Yes,” she agreed, and took the perfume bottle from Kat. Mimicking Saark, she dabbed it between her breasts, “And let’s put lots here, you sexy little vixen.”

Both girls erupted into laughter at her mimicry, and felt tension lift from their shoulders. It was good to laugh. It was good to joke. And for a few hours, at least, ever since the invasion of Jalder, it was good to relax in a safe and secure environment.

Saark caused a stir as he entered the main room, mainly because of his dress, but then because in a loud bellow he announced a round of free drinks for everyone in the room. A cheer went up, and Saark found himself a corner table, the oak planks warped with age. Around the walls were a variety of stuffed creatures, from weasels and foxes to a particularly annoyed looking polecat. Saark sat, sinking a long draught of snow-chilled ale, and allowing his mind to ease.

The second stir occurred when Nienna and Kat entered, in their fine silk dresses, and drew the attention of every man and woman in the room. They moved to Saark, seated themselves, and Saark ordered them each a small glass of port from a bustling server.

“Kell doesn’t let me drink,” said Nienna, as the server returned holding two glasses. Saark shrugged.

“Well, you’re old enough to do what you like.”

“What do you think of the dresses?” asked Kat.

Saark gave her a broad smile. “I was stunned upon your entry to the premises; for it was as if two angels, holidaying from the gods, had stowed their wings and glided through gilded windows of pure crystal. The room was diffused with light and effervescence, my nostrils incarcerated by perfume-not just the ravishing scent of wild flowers under moonlight, but the sweet and heady aroma of gorgeous ladies acquiring a friend. You stunned me, ladies. Truly, you stunned me.”

Kat was left speechless, whilst Nienna tilted her head, searching Saark’s face for traces of mockery. He met her stare with an honest smile, and she realised then he had switched, reverted to a former self, like an actor on the stage. Here, he was at home; revelling in his natural environment. He was a chameleon, he shifted depending on his surroundings. Now he was playing Lord of the Clan, and preening with a perceivable, educated superiority.

Kat laughed out loud, and placed her hand on Saark’s knee, leaning forward to say, “You have a beautiful way with words, sir.”

“And you have the face of an angel,” he replied, voice a little husky.

Kell entered, stalking down the stairs at the far end of the room, and Kat hurriedly removed her hand. Kell eased through the crowded common room, searching, and only spied the group when Saark waved his arm high in the air. Kell strode to them and stood, hands on hips, face full of raw thunder.

“What’s this?” he growled.

“A table,” said Saark, feigning surprise. “I’m agog with amazement that you failed to recognise such a basic appliance of carpentry.”

“The clothes,” he raged, “you brightly coloured horse-cock! What do you think you’re doing?”

“You would rather the ladies dressed in rags? Showed tits and arses through threadbare holes for every punter to see?”

“No, but…something less… colourful would have been appropriate.” He lowered his voice, eyes narrowing. “Couldn’t you have bought some cotton shirts and trews? We’ll be travelling in the snow later; what good are silk dresses then?”

“I have purchased a few normal items, and fur-lined cloaks, Kell, even for you; although I’ll wager you’ll be as grateful as a rutting dog after a savage castration. Listen, these were all the merchant had. What was I supposed to do? Let them come here with knife rips in their shirts? For I know what would have been the more suspicious.”

“Hmph,” muttered Kell, slumping to a stool.

Saark turned, and winked at the girls. Kat covered her mouth, and giggled. “Anyway,” said Saark, twirling his wrists to allow puffed cotton to flower. “Don’t you like my noble attire, good sir? I find it serves when attracting the attention of sophisticated ladies.”

“Saark, you’re a buffoon, a clown, a macaroni and a peacock! I thought we were travelling to King Leanoric carrying urgent news? Instead, you strut about like a dog with three dicks.”

“We are,” snapped Saark, “but we can at least have a little fun along the way! Life is shit, Kell, and you have to grasp every moment, every jewel. You go out back and eat with the pigs from their slop-trough if you like; me and the ladies, we are going to dine on meat and sup fine wines.”

“No drink,” said Kell.

“Why not?”

“We may have to leave fast.”

“Bah! You are a killjoy, a grump and a…a damn killjoy! We will drink, the ladies are my guests, and if you have any sense, man, you’ll at least have an ale. You look like a horse danced on your face. Admittedly, it improves your savage and ugly looks, but it must hurt a little, surely? A whisky would do no harm, against the pain of injury and winter chill.”

“An ale, then,” conceded Kell.

The server arrived, a young woman, slightly overlarge and with rosy cheeks. Saark ordered the finest food on the menu-gammon, with eggs and garnished potatoes. He also ordered a flagon of wine, and two whiskies.

Kell muttered something unheard.

They talked, and Kell surveyed the room. They had attracted a certain amount of attention with their fancy clothes, and the act of Saark buying the inn’s population a drink. He was showing he had perhaps a little too much money; they were certainly marked as strangers to the Falls.

Little happened before the food arrived. When plates were delivered, Saark expressed his delight and tucked in heartily, knife and fork cutting and rising like a man possessed. The girls ate more sparingly, as befitted their new image as ladies, and Kell sat, picking like a buzzard worrying a corpse, despite his hunger, one eye on the crowd and the door, wondering uneasily at the back of his mind if the albino army was marching south. And if they were, how far had they traversed across the Great North Road? Did Leanoric know of the invasion of Falanor? Did he have intelligence as to the taking of Jalder? Surely he must know…but only if somebody had escaped the massacre, and managed to get word to him.

Uneasily, Kell ate his eggs and gammon, allowing juices from the meat to run down his throat. Kell always ate slowly, always savoured his food; there had been times in his life when he could not afford such luxuries. Indeed, times in his life when there was no food to be had, camping in high caves in windy passes, the snow building outside, no way of making a fire, no food in his pack…but worst of all, there had been times far too miserable and brutal to recollect, times running through dark streets, the only light from fires consuming buildings as citizens cowered indoors screaming flames consuming flesh hot fat running over stone steps and into gutters; charging through streets, blood smeared flesh gleaming in the light of the burning city, axe in hands and blades covered in gore and glory in his mind violence in his soul and dancing along a blade of madness as the Days of Blood consumed him…

Kell snapped out of it. Saark was looking at him. Nienna and Kat were looking at him. He frowned. “What?”

“I said,” repeated Saark, rolling his eyes, “are you going to drink that whisky, or stare at it all night?”

Remembering his vision, Kell took the whisky. It was amber, a good half tumbler full-these tiny outpost villages always provided generous measures-and he could see his face distorted in the reflection. He knocked it back in one, then closed his eyes, as if savouring the moment; in reality, he was dreading the moment, for he knew deep down in his heart and deep down in his soul that when the whisky took him, consumed him, he could and would become a very, very bad man…

But not any more, right? He grinned weakly. Those days were dead and gone. Buried, like the burned corpses, the mutilated women, the hacked up pigs…

“Order another,” he said, slapping the glass on the oak planks.

“That’s my boy!” cheered Saark. He eyed Kell’s plate. “Are you going to eat those potatoes?”

“No. Suddenly, I don’t feel hungry.” He wanted to add, the minute I begin drinking I cannot eat, for all that I want is more whisky. But he did not. Saark reached over and speared a potato, gobbling it down.

“Can’t be wasting good food,” he said, grinning through mash. “There’s village idiots in Falanor starving!”

“You’ve eaten enough to feed a platoon,” said Kell.

Saark pouted. “I’m a growing lad! Need to keep up my strength for tonight, right?”

“Why?” said Kell, as his second whisky arrived. “What’s happening tonight?”

“Oh, you know,” said Saark, stealing a second unwanted potato. “I feel like a hermit, locked up for a whole month! It’s been days since I had a good time. I’m a hedonist at heart, you realise.”

“What’s a hedonist?” asked Kat.

“A skunk’s arsehole,” said Kell.

“Funny,” snapped Saark, raising his glass. “Here’s to getting out of Jalder alive.”

Kell lowered his glass. “I don’t need to toast that. It’s the past. What we should think about is the future.”

“No problem,” grinned Saark. “Well, let’s toast these fine young ravishing women beside us. They are the future!”

Warily, Kell toasted, and Nienna and Kat drank their own glasses of port. Nienna, who had never before experienced alcohol, felt her senses spin. The room was a pond of swimming colours, and warbled sounds and fluctuating smells. Suddenly, her belly flipped, felt queasy, but she fought the sensation for her mind was filled with liquid honey, and Saark was looking surprisingly handsome, now she really thought about it, he was tall and dashing, witty and charming, and when his eyes fell on Nienna she felt her heartbeat quicken and her legs go weak at the knees. She glanced over at Kat, but Kat’s topaz eyes were fixed on Saark.

One of the innkeeper’s daughters arrived. “You ordered hot water for a bath, sir?” she enquired.

Kell nodded, and stood, feeling the whisky bite him. Damn, he thought. I should never have drunk it so fast! But then, two little whiskies couldn’t hurt him, could they? He was a big man, an experienced man, and Saark-damn his fancy ways-was right. It was a miracle they were alive. They deserved at least some normality…

He nodded to Saark. “I need this bath. Don’t get in any trouble when I’m away.”

“You’re right, you do need the bath,” agreed Saark. “And don’t worry about a thing. I’ll look after the ladies. We were considering dessert; some kind of sugared sponge cake, covered in cream. How about it, ladies?”

Kat nodded, licking lips in anticipation. It was rare she got such a treat.

Kell followed the innkeeper’s daughter across the crowded room, aware that eyes were on him, curious but somehow…disconcerting. He hated being any centre of attention; the gods only knew, it had happened enough in his life. Usually during combat.

Halting by the stairs, he called the girl back, and checking to see Saark and Nienna weren’t watching, told her to bring a bottle of whisky to the bathing room.

“We don’t usually…” began the woman.

“I’ll pay you double.”

“I’m sure it can be arranged, sir,” she said, and Kell was gone, stomping up the steps, days of sweat and blood itching him now that a promise of hot water and soap were reality.

After their cake, Saark reclined, patting his belly. “By the gods, I think I’ve put on a few pounds there.”

“Me too,” laughed Kat.

“Does port always make you feel like this?” said Nienna.

Saark nodded, and grinned. “How does it feel?”

“I feel like the room is moving. Spinning!”

Saark shrugged. “You’ll get used to it. Listen, I have a fancy to go out back to the stables, to check on the horses. Will you two young ladies be fine by yourselves? Feel free to order anything you like to eat or drink.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Nienna, waving her hand.

Saark stood, checked his sword, and left the inn. Nienna missed the meaningful look between him and Kat, and so a minute later, when Kat whispered, “I need to pee, I’m going to the ladies room,” Nienna simple smiled, and nodded, and reclined in her own little world of honey and swirling sweet thoughts.

Kat stepped into the snow, but felt no chill. Excitement was fire in her blood, raging in her mind, and she crept around the outer wall of the inn, hearing the noise and banter inside as a muffled backdrop, a blur of sounds rolling into one strange, ululating whole.

She reached the corner, which led to a short opening and the stable-square beyond. She could see nothing.

“Saark?” she whispered. Then louder, “Saark!”

“Yes, princess?” He was behind her, close, and she felt his breath on her neck and a quiver of raw energy rampaged through her veins. She did not turn, instead standing stock still, now she was here, out in the darkness with this beautiful man, and suddenly unsure of what to do.

“I thought you really had gone to see to the horses,” she said.

“Maybe I did,” he said, and kissed her neck, a gentle tease of lips and tongue, leaving a trail which chilled to ice in the cold air.

Kat shivered. A thrill ran down her spine.

“Did that tickle?”

“It was wonderful.”

“Shall I do it again?”

Kat turned, looked up into his eyes. They were wide and pretty and trustworthy. They shone with love. They shone with understanding. She felt her heart melt; again. “Do you really think I’m beautiful?’

“More beautiful than the stars, princess, more beautiful than a snowflake, or a newborn babe.” He reached forward, until his lips were a whisper from her own. She felt his hands come to rest lightly on her hips, and again a thrill raged through her, pulsing like energy with every beat of her heart. Her head spun, and she wanted him, wanted him so badly she would risk anything to be with Saark right now, here, in this cold place of snow and ice…

He kissed her.

He was gentle, teasing, his tongue darting into her mouth and she grasped his head in eagerness and pressed her face into his, kissing him with passion, kissing him with a raw ferocity; his arms encircled her waist and she felt his hardness press against the front of her silk dress and it thrilled her like nothing in the world had ever thrilled her before…

He pulled away.

“Don’t stop,” she panted.

“You’re an eager little fox,” he said.

“Kiss me,” she said. “Kiss me everywhere! Touch me everywhere! Please…”

“Oh, my princess,” whispered Saark, eyes glinting in the darkness, “believe me, I will.”

Kell sank into hot water. It slammed him with a violence he welcomed. He poured a huge glass of whisky, balanced it on the rim of the old, ceramic bath, and allowed the oils in the water to fill his senses with pleasure.

You cannot drink it, said Ilanna.

Go fuck yourself, mused Kell, and sloshed in the bathwater. I’ll do what I damn well please. You’re not my mother!

You cannot return there!

I can return to whatever piss-hole I like. I am Kell. They wrote poems about me, you know? You were in them as well, but I was the hero, I was the legend. Kell’s Legend they called it-sour crock of deformed and lying shit it really was.

Please don’t drink it, Kell.

Why do you care? Because I won’t perform? Because I won’t kill as efficiently for you? To supply your blood fantasy? Your blood-oil craving?

You misunderstand.

What are you? My gran? Kell was mocking, his laughter slurred. He took the whisky. He drank the large glass in one, felt it swim through him like tiny fishes in vinegar. His mind reeled and he welcomed the feeling; glorified in the abandon.

It had been a long time.

Too long.

Nienna is feeling ill, said Ilanna, playing to the one emotional fulcrum she knew.

Kell cursed, and stood, water and oils dripping from his old, scarred, but mightily impressive frame. Most men grew stringy as they aged, their muscles becoming stretched out, their strength gradually diminishing. Not so Kell. Yes, his joints ached, yes arthritis troubled him, but he knew he was as strong as when he was twenty. Strength was something which had never failed him; he was proud of his prodigy.

Damn you. You lie!

I do not.

What’s going on?

Three men are talking to her. They can see she is drunk on the port Saark bought. They seek to bed her, in sobriety, or not.

Kell surged from the bath, knocking the bottle of whisky over. It glugged amber heaven to the rugs and Kell ignored it. He wrenched on his trews, boots and shirt, grasped his axe, and stormed out and down the stairs.

Ilanna had been right. The inn was even more crowded, now, noisier, rowdier, no longer a place for a genial meal; now this was a pit in which to drink, get drunk, and flirt with whores.

Nienna sat, back to the wall, face a little slack. Three men sat around her in a semi-circle; even as Kell strode down the stairs one pushed a glass to Nienna, feeding her drunken state, and she giggled, throwing back the liquor as she swayed. The men were young, late twenties, in rough labourers clothing and with shadows of stubble.

Kell stopped behind them, and placed his hands on hips. Nienna could barely focus.

“Grappa?” she said, and grinned.

The three men turned.

“I suggest,” said Kell, face dark like an approaching storm, “you move away. I wouldn’t like to cause a nasty scene in the inn where I sleep; it often increases my lodging bill. And if there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s an extortionate bill for broken furniture.”

“Fuck off, grandad, this girl’s up for some fun,” laughed one young man, turning back to Nienna, and thrusting another drink at her. This meant he’d turned his back on Kell. Later, he would realise his mistake.

Kell’s fist struck him on the top of the head so hard his stool broke, and as he keeled over and his head bounced from floorboards, it left a dent. He did not move. Kell glared at the other two men, who half stood, hands on knives.

Kell drew Ilanna, and glared at them. “I dare you,” he said, voice little more than a whisper. Both men released knives, and Kell grinned. “I’d like to say this wouldn’t hurt. But I’d be lying.” He slammed a straight right, which broke the second man’s nose, dropping him with a crash, and a powerful left hook broke the third man’s cheekbone, rendering him unconscious. It took less than a second.

The innkeeper stepped in, holding a helve, but took one look at Kell and lowered the weapon. “We don’t want no trouble,” he said.

“I intend to give none. You should allow a better class of scum into your establishment,” he said, and gave a sickly smile. “However, I am a fair man, who has not yet lost his temper. Get your daughters to escort my granddaughter to her room, and tend her a while, and I won’t seek compensation.”

“What do you mean?” asked the innkeeper, touched by fear.

“My name is Kell,” he said, eyes glowering coals, “and I kill those who stand in my way. I’m going outside for fresh air. To cool off. To calm down. When I return, I expect these three piglets to have vanished.”

At the name, the innkeeper had paled even more. There were few who had not heard of Kell; or indeed, the bad things he had done.

“Whatever you say, sir,” muttered the innkeeper.

Still furious, more with himself than anybody else, and especially at invoking the vile magick of his own name, Kell strode to the door and out, away from the smoke and noise now rumbling back into existence after the fight. He took several deep lungfuls, and cursed the whisky and cursed the snow and cursed Saark…why hadn’t the damn dandy kept an eye on Nienna as he’d promised? And where was Kat?

“The useless, feckless bastard.”

Kell glanced up and down the street, then moved to the corner of the inn. Snow fell thickly, muffling the world. Kell stepped towards the stables and thought he heard a soft moan, little more than a whisper, but carrying vaguely across the quiet stillness and reminding him of one thing, and one thing only…

Sex.

With rising fury and a clinical intuition, Kell stomped through the snow towards the nearest stall. He stopped. Saark was lying back on a pile of hay, fully clothed, his face in rapture. Kat stood, naked before him, stepping from her dress even as he watched. Kell was treated to a full view of her powerful, round buttocks.

“You fucking scum,” snarled Kell, and slapped open the stable door.

“Wait!” said Saark.

Kell lurched forward, kicking Saark in the head, stunning the man who fell back to the hay. He turned to Kat, face sour. “Get your clothes on, bitch. You’ll be having no fun tonight.”

“Oh yes? Why? Haven’t you a hard enough cock yourself?”

Kell raised his hand to strike her, then stared hard, glancing at his huge splayed fingers; like the claws of a rabid bear. He lowered his hand, instead grabbing Saark by the collar and dragging him through the hay, back out onto the street and throwing him down.

“What did I tell you?” he snarled, and kicked Saark in the ribs. Saark rolled through the snow, grunting, to lie still, staring at snowfall. He gave a deep, wracking cough.

“Wait,” Saark managed, lifting his hand.

Kell strode forward, rage rushing through him, an uncontrollable drug. Deep down, he knew it was fuelled by whisky. Whisky was the product of the devil, and it made him behave in savage, evil ways, ways he could not control…

“You would abuse a young, innocent girl?” he screamed, and swung a boot at Saark’s face. Saark rolled, catching Kell’s leg and twisting it; Kell stumbled back, and Saark crawled to his feet, still stunned by the blows, his face twisted as he spat out blood.

“Kell, what are you doing?” he shouted.

“You went too far,” raged Kell, squaring up to Saark. “I’m going to give you a thrashing you’ll never forget.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, old man.”

“Don’t call me old man!” Kell charged, and Saark side-stepped but a whirring fist cracked the side of his head. He spun, and returned two punches which Kell blocked easily, as if fending off a child. Kell charged again, and the men clashed violently, punches hammering at one another in a blur of pounding. They staggered apart, both with bloodied faces, and every atom of Saark’s good humour disintegrated.

“This is crazy,” he yelled, dabbing at his broken lips. “She’s eighteen years old! She knows what she wants!”

“No. She knows what you tell her! You’re a womaniser and a cur, and I swear I’m going to beat it out of you.”

They clashed again, and Kell clubbed a right hook to Saark’s head, stunning him. Saark ducked a second blow, smashed a straight to Kell’s jaw, a second to his nose, a hook to his temple, and a straight to his chin. Kell took a step back, eyes narrowed, and Saark realised a lesser man would have fallen. In fact, a great man would have been out in the mud. Saark may have come across as an effeminate dandy, with a poison tongue and love of female sport and hedonism, but once, long ago, he had been a warrior; he knew he could punch harder than most men. Kell should have gone down. Kell should have been out.

Kell coughed, spat on the snow with a splatter of blood, and lifted his fists, eyes raging. “Come on, you dandy bastard. Is that all you’ve got?” He grinned, and Saark suddenly realised Kell was playing with him. He had allowed Saark the advantage. But Kell’s face turned dark. “Let’s see what you’re fucking made of,” he said.

Saark started to retreat, his head pounding, his face numb from the blows, but Kell charged, was on him and he ducked a punch, spun away from a second, leapt back from a third. He held out his hands. “I apologise!” he said, eyes pleading.

“Too late,” growled Kell, and slammed a hook that twisted Saark into the air, spinning him up and over, to land with a grunt on the snow, tangled. He coughed, and decided it was wise to stay down for a few moments.

“Get up,” said Kell.

“I’m fine just here,” said Saark.

“Grandfather!” Nienna was standing in the inn’s doorway, sobered by the spectacle, and surrounded by others from the inn who jostled to watch. She ran down the steps, silk shoes flapping, and placed herself before the fallen Saark and the enraged figure of Kell.

“What are you doing?” she shrieked.

“He was trying to rape Kat,” said Kell, eyes refusing to meet his granddaughter’s.

“I was doing no such thing,” snapped Saark, crawling to his knees, then climbing to his feet. “She needed no persuasion, Kell, you old fool. Have you no eyes in your head? She was lusting after me, even back in the tannery. You just can’t stand the thought of a young woman desiring a man like me…”

Kell growled something, not words, just primal sounds of anger, and a continually rising rage, and Nienna stepped forward, slapping both hands against his chest. “No!” she yelled, voice strong, eyes boring into her grandfather. “I said NO!”

Viciously, Kell grabbed Nienna and threw her to one side. She stumbled, went down in the snow with a gasp, then rolled over to stare in disbelief at the man she had known for seventeen years, from babe to womanhood, a man she irrefutably knew would never lay a hand on her, would never pluck a hair from her head.

“That’s it!” laughed Saark, voice rising a little as he saw the inevitability of battle, of destruction, of death rising towards him like a tidal wave. “Take it out on a young girl, go on Kell, what a fucking man you are.” His voice rose in volume, tinged by panic. “Is this really the hero of Jangir Field? Is this truly the mighty warrior who battled Dake the Axeman, for two days and two nights and took his decapitated head back to the king? Go on Kell, why don’t you just kick the girl whilst she’s on the ground…after all, you wouldn’t like her to fight back now, would you, bloody coward? You’re a fucking lie, old man…the Black Axeman of Drennach?” Saark laughed, blood drooling down his chin as Kell stopped, and unloosed his axe from his back. The old man’s eyes were hard, harder than granite Saark realised as a terrifying certainty flooded his heart. “I spit on you! I bet you cowered in the cellars during the Siege of Drennach, listened to the War Lions raging above tearing men limb from limb…whilst the real men did the fighting.”

Kell lifted his axe. His face was terror. His eyes black holes. His visage the bleakness of corpse-strewn battlefields. He was no longer an aged, retired warrior with arthritis. He was Kell. The Legend.

“Go on,” snarled Saark, hatred fuelling him now, spittle riming his lips, “do it, kill me, end my fucking suffering, you think I don’t hate myself a thousand times more than you ever could? Go on, bastard…kill me, you spineless gutless cowering heap of horse-cock.”

“No!” screamed Nienna.

“You speak too much,” said Kell, his voice terribly, dangerously low. “Here, let me help you.” He hefted Ilanna, huge muscles bunching, and only then did Saark glimpse, from the corner of his eye, a tendril of white mist drifting across the street. His head twitched, turned, and he watched ice-smoke pour from a narrow alleyway, to be joined by another from a different alley, and yet another from a third…like questing tendrils, wavering tentacles of some great, solidifying mist-monster…

“The albino soldiers!” hissed Nienna, eyes wide as Kat skidded around the corner, face flustered, dress hitched up in her hands. “They’re here! Kell, they’re here!”

Kell lifted Ilanna, face impassive. His body flexed, and twisted, and the mighty axe sang as she slammed in a glittering arc towards Saark’s head.