by Andy Remic
“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 ca
lled 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.