by Andy Remic
“I’m turning in. Now remember! Be nice to Dek.”
Narnok stared at her, and carried on chewing, and did not reply. Tutting, Kiki disappeared into her own room. She shut, and bolted, the door.
Narnok grinned. “So much for sisterly trust,” he muttered, cutting a thick slab of cheese. It was creamy and soft. “By all the Gods, this is fine cheese!”
“Beth bought it especially for us, down at the farmer’s market.” Dek’s voice was soft and low. “They love Kiki like a daughter. They dote on her. Lucky for us, or it’d be rancid pilchards and maggoty bread.”
Narnok said nothing, but continued to chew, his back to Dek, his mind in a whirl. He’d imagined this moment a thousand times, ten thousand times! What he would say, what he would do, the violence he would inflict, the curses he would spit like venom. But a gauntlet of confusion grabbed his brain and squeezed hard and his mouth was dry and cheese dribbled down his scarred chin and he remembered, by God, he remembered…
Finding him rutting in bed with her, her black curls scattered across the pillow and down her pale naked body…
The fight; massive, massive fight…
And Dek’s face, cheeks wet with tears, eyes wide in absolute horror…
“Do you remember the last thing you said to me?” rumbled Narnok, slowly, rolling back his shoulders and then turning. By the bright flickering candlelight he saw Dek standing in the doorway to his room, feet bare, wearing cotton trews and a loose, white cotton shirt. He was as big as Narnok remembered. But then, Narnok was no little girl.
“I said I was sorry,” whispered Dek, iron eyes hidden by shadows.
“I went and got my axe. I was going to kill you.”
“I know.”
“Instead… well. Katuna was not pleased with her beating. She thought it unjust, despite fucking my best friend behind my back. And she wanted my money, the whore. She did this to me, Dek; she fucking did THIS to me!” He strode forward, kicking a couch out of the way. Dek did not move. Narnok thrust his scarred face, his milky eye, into Dek’s impassive gaze and screamed, “SHE FUCKING DID THIS TO ME! CAN YOU SEE? CAN YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I HATE YOU?”
Ragorek and Dalgoran, in the other room playing cards with a bottle of brandy, stared at one another over their tumblers of amber fire.
“Maybe we should intervene?” said Ragorek, gently.
“No,” said Dalgoran.
“They might kill one another.”
“Yes, they might do that,” said Dalgoran.
“Then surely we should stop them?”
“My old mother used to have a tomcat. A vicious, nasty piece of shit it was, scratch your skin from your bones given half a chance. A real heavyweight bruiser: stocky, with tattered ears and liquid hate for a stare. Her friend moved to another city, and she had another tom herself; left it for my mother. Mother put them both in a room together and locked the door until they’d sorted it out. It was messy.”
“These are not tomcats,” said Ragorek.
“The principle is the same. We have to let them get it out of their systems. Let them sort it out their own way. So it is, sometimes, with men.”
“Do you know what they did?”
“No. But they’ll sort it out. Trust me.”
Back in the communal area, the two men stood toe to toe, nose to nose. Narnok was shaking with rage, but Dek was calm, breathing deeply, his eyes locked to those of his old best friend.
“I won’t fight you, Narnok.”
“But I’ll fucking kill you!”
“So be it.”
Narnok stared at him. “Damn you, you bastard!”
“I’m sorry, Narnok. Truly. If I could take it back, I would. What happened was bad; it was wrong. I have my excuses, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hear them. And… your wounds. I did not know about that. Not till years later. If I had known, we could have hunted them down together; tortured them together.”
“But we did not,” said Narnok, softly. “Instead, you fucked my wife.”
“Yes.”
“Was she good?”
“Yes.”
“Were you good?”
“No. I was out of my skull on honey-leaf and whiskey.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Those are the facts, brother.”
“Don’t call me your fucking brother! I’ve heard how you treat your brothers. Well, this one ain’t going to lie down and die. This one is going to kick your fucking teeth out in this very room.”
Dek stared into Narnok’s eyes and realised this wasn’t going to end without bloodshed. Narnok’s pain, both psychological and physical, was too great. He wanted his payback, and Dek had to say, had to admit it from the darkest reaches of his soul, he could not blame the man; couldn’t blame him at all. Well, if that’s the way it was going to be, then that’s the way it was fucking going to be.
Dek rammed his head forward, breaking Narnok’s nose, and the big axeman spun away, arms outstretched, blinded. He stumbled back over a low couch and knocked a flagon of wine from the table, where it glugged onto the carpet.
Dek stepped forward and cracked his knuckles.
“Well, brother, fuck it, if that’s what you feel you have to do, then that’s what we must do. Come on, you big bastard. Get up and fight. Or are you down and out already?”
Narnok climbed to his feet, snarling, and charged Dek with arms outstretched. Dek threw a right hook, but Narnok jerked his head, avoiding the blow, and cannoned into the pit fighter; they both slammed back against the wall, and Narnok punched Dek in the belly as his arm circled his throat. Dek grabbed Narnok round the waist, lifting him into the air and throwing him back. Narnok twisted like a big cat, landing on his feet, and as Dek charged him a front-kick checked his advance.
They circled, down into the communal area. Narnok growled and, using the table as a spring board, scattering bread and cheese across the carpet, launched himself headlong at Dek, grappling the man to a low couch. They were punching one another: heavy body blows. Dek tried another headbutt but Narnok twisted, and slammed his own head into Dek’s face, breaking his nose. Now both had faces covered in blood, and their pummelling slowed a little as blows thudded home. Narnok cracked one of Dek’s ribs. Dek bit into Narnok’s shoulder and the axeman howled, clubbing his fist into Dek’s broken nose… and as Dek pulled away he tore a strip of flesh in his teeth.
“You dirty stinking fucking cheating bastard,” said Narnok, grabbing the torn flesh.
“It’s a free for all in the Red Thumb Fighting Pits.”
“This ain’t the fighting pits!” bellowed Narnok.
“Well, you turned it into one. So, here we are.”
They circled, and Dek hooked his foot under the table, flipping it up at Narnok and charging after the barricade. Narnok went down under the roast ham and a wine flagon, which spun across the carpet disgorging fine red, which glugged as it escaped. Atop the table, Dek jumped up and down as Narnok wrestled to be free, suddenly tipping the platform and sending Dek twisting sideways.
With a growl, Narnok ripped a leg from the table and hurled it at Dek, whose arm shot up, deflecting the blow. Narnok ripped another leg free and the two men, now armed with short wooden clubs, advanced on one another…
“I think it’s time you put up your weapons,” said General Dalgoran, from the doorway. “You’ve done enough damage.”
“Fuck off, old man,” hissed Narnok through curtains of rage.
“Or I can run my sword through your back, if you like.” He said it so casually, nobody disbelieved him.
“Do what you will,” growled Narnok, and launched at Dek, and the clubs met with a heavy thud. They locked, sliding together, and both men’s faces were inches apart.
“I should have hunted you down ten years ago,” said Narnok through spit and blood.
“What, so you could die ten years younger?”
“I’m going to mash your face, you wife-shagging bastard.”
“Looks li
ke somebody already did that to you!”
Howling, Narnok took a step back and the table leg caught Dek between neck and shoulder, dropping him to his knees. His arms came up but the next blow smashed through them, hitting him in the face and knocking him onto his back where he lay, panting fast, blinded by blood.
Narnok towered over him, the table leg in both bloodied fists. He, also, was panting fast, and had a murderous gleam in his eye, his face a wrinkled, scarred mask of hate and rage. He lifted the table leg high into the air… and Kiki’s voice floated to him through a sea of crimson.
“If you do that, you will regret it. Forever.”
Narnok paused, club raised, hate burning in his heart.
“Don’t do it, Narnok. You’re better than that. He was your best friend, once. Let him prove himself to you.”
Her voice was like music; and magick, as well. It soothed the savage beast in his soul and Narnok tossed away the club, where it bounced from the wall. Dek was scraping blood from his eyes and, blinking, looked up at the huge axeman.
Narnok stretched out his hand.
“You satisfied, now?” said Dek, and spat out a piece of tooth.
“No. I’ll never be satisfied. But Kiki here wants it so; and at the end of the day, we’re both Iron Wolves. That must count for something.”
Dek took Narnok’s hand and the axeman hauled him up.
They stared at one another for a while and Dek laughed, shaking his head. “You should do some stretching exercises. You’re a little slow on the lower left. I’d put that down to old age, though.”
“Yeah? Well I kicked your hairy cunt, Pit Fighter,” said Narnok. Then he turned suddenly, to see Kiki, Dalgoran and Ragorek all watching. “What?” he snapped. “Get some more wine! This clumsy fucker has spilt it all!”
Narnok had drained a flagon in one, and went to clean himself up. Kiki sat, a bowl on her lap, cleaning the blood off Dek’s face as the pit fighter tested each tooth in turn. “I hate breaking a tooth. Do you know how hard it is to find a good dentist? Last bitch almost burned off my tongue with her bloody hot steel tools. I broke her jaw for that one.”
“It occurs to me, that you are not a subtle man,” said Kiki, dabbing a cut above his eye.
“Aye. Well. Some of us are made that way.”
“You weren’t like that on the walls of Desekra Fortress when the mud-orcs screamed and charged towards us. ‘Tall he was, noble and proud, a cloak he wore as if a shroud; his shining armour blazed like fire, the enemy burned on a funeral pyre!’”
“Fuck off, Kiki; that was a bad poem back in its day, and unlike wine, it has not matured with age. Whoever wrote it should be killed.”
They stayed in silence for a while, and Kiki dabbed the cloth into a water and blood filled bowl, and slowly cleaned the blood around Dek’s mouth.
“You let him beat you, didn’t you?”
Dek met her questioning gaze. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, eventually.
“Narnok is a fearsome warrior with an axe. And a formidable man in a fist fight. But I’ve seen you in the Pits, Dek; you’re a machine. You’re unstoppable. You scare me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Dek, gently, and smiled. “The point is, Narnok got some kind of a revenge. A small one, I’ll grant you, but up here,” he tapped his head, “it’ll do him the world of good. And now we can travel, can we not? Now, we can head for Timanta.”
“Good. I think it’s time we got some sleep.”
“Together?”
“Nice try, mister. But not tonight. Not in this life.”
“But we…”
“No.”
A commotion came from downstairs. A crashing sound, followed by a repeated banging, as of wood on wood.
“Narnok fall down the stairs?” grinned Dek.
“No…” said Kiki, frowning. “That was far too loud…” She gathered her sword and moved to the door leading to the stairs. Dalgoran came from his room, his own blade in his hand, closely followed by Ragorek.
“What is it?”
Kiki gave a shake of her head and opened the door. Another crash echoed up the stairway and Kiki ran to the top of the wooden flight; Ralph was at the bottom, backing away, hands outstretched. “No,” he was saying, hands trembling, “No, please, no!” and then he turned, and saw Kiki and his face contorted and he screamed, “Please, help me!” as something big hit him hard and fast, a blur of movement that shocked Kiki so much she took a step back. A ruptured shrill scream pierced the tavern and the creature, a twisted, grotesque deviation of horse and something else lowered its head and bit straight through Ralph’s red puffed cheeks, allowing his brain slop to spill out like jelly from a bowl.
It screamed again and shook its head from side to side like a dog with a bone. Then it looked up, its elongated equine head, with a huge lump to one side and random tufts of black spider hair sprouting, fixed on Kiki.
“By the Seven Sisters,” she said, voice hushed, taking a two-handed hold on her sword.
“Ralph! Ralph, Ralph!” wailed Beth, rushing forward bearing a carving knife.
“Keep back!” yelled Kiki, but with one swift movement the horse beast turned its head, and a huge arm/leg came up containing long black claws that sprouted through a buckled iron horse shoe; it lashed out, claws decapitating Beth. Her head rolled down the corridor and her body hit the wall to leave a crimson smear against the patterned flower wallpaper.
Kiki growled and took a step down towards the beast.
“I’m going to cut your fucking horsehead off,” she said.
“Wait!” hissed Dalgoran, and touched Kiki’s shoulder. From behind the twisted horse creature appeared two more, pacing forward like hunting lions. These, also, were part horse and part something, and each one was broken and twisted in a different way, each one wore different coloured skin and had crooked fangs of various diseased colours. One had a tusk in the side of its head.
“What in hell’s balls are those?” boomed Narnok, and hefted his axe, pushing to the front of the group.
“They move fast,” advised Dek, remembering Heroes’ Square. “Go for the eyes and the brain.”
Narnok nodded, for once lost for words.
And with a clattering thunder of broken hooves and claws, the splice lowered their heads, screamed a high-pitched alien wail and bounded up the stairs towards the grim warriors above…
JAGGED EDGE
The vast, rolling plain lay dull green, frosted with white. Heavy bruised clouds dominated the sky, with various towering cumulonimbus killing the winter sun and threatening snow with clenched fists and thunder. Banners bearing the crest of Vagandrak fluttered and snapped in the wind, and as General Jagged breached a rise he felt his adrenalin pump as the army spread out before him; thirty thousand camped infantry ranged in twenty-two individual battalion camps, each with their own cooks and armourers, servants and whores. At the centre was a large white tent, surrounded by the smaller tents for the generals and captains, and Jagged’s eyes narrowed at the black and white pennant of King Yoon.
“So, here you are, you bastard,” he muttered. Jagged leant back in the saddle with a creak of leather, and both Tuokhane and Kerran gave him a nod. Big serious men, born warriors, they were not to be taken lightly and rode their mounts like born cavalry, backs ramrod straight, dark eyes masked in storm-shadowed helms. “Now, there’s an army of Vagandrak iron, eh lads?” he grinned, but the two men said nothing. Jagged shrugged. They were here as bodyguards, not to swap pleasantries, and they took their roles with the utmost seriousness of the professional soldier.
“Yah!” Jagged kicked his horse into a canter and within thirty seconds ten riders broke away from the camp, galloping with lowered lances to meet the three men. As they came close, their lances lifted and Captain Gerander of House Trantor smiled at General Jagged.
“You’re a long way from home, General!” He saluted. “I thought you’d retired? What brings you all the way out here?”
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“I seek an audience with King Yoon,” said General Jagged, watching the cavalry captain’s face for signs of… what? Well, if the rumours were true…
Captain Gerander stiffened a little, and his eyes lost their humour. “The King does not enjoy the company of unwanted guests without appointment,” he said, carefully. “I would urge the general to reconsider the need of such a meeting, and only approach our beloved King if the meeting is of the utmost urgency.”
Jagged urged his mount forward and he patted Gerander on the shoulder. “It is, lad. It is. Don’t you worry. Take me to him.”
“You will have to surrender your weapons,” said Gerander, voice carefully neutral.
General Jagged stared at the captain for a long minute, then gave a nod, his smile gone, his mouth a line, his eyes hard. “If that’s the way it has to be,” he said, and gestured to his two bodyguards who reluctantly drew swords and knives, handing them over to the Vagandrak riders.
Jagged rode beside Gerander through the sprawling camp. Soldiers glanced up from their tents, swords or bowls of soup as the group passed by, and many gestured, waved or nodded to General Jagged. Jagged was an old soldier, a veteran of many a campaign. He smiled at a great many men, often making comments like, “I see you there, Belfour, you young pup,” or “you missed some rust on that blade, Falazar; sloppy work, man, sloppy work!” and there were a few grins. But Jagged’s overall impression was of an army not at the pinnacle of its morale.
Thunder rumbled distantly as heavily armoured guards took reins from Jagged. Gerander saluted, and said, “I must leave you here, General. It was good to see you again.”
“And you, Captain. If you’re ever north of Vagan, feel free to call in on my estates.”
“A very kind offer, sir. Maybe one day I will.”
Jagged’s guards were bid to wait outside, and Jagged ducked under a tent flap and stopped, his mouth open.
King Yoon’s war tent was… exquisite.
The ground was covered in thick patterned rugs and several mounds of fur had been built up, giving what Jagged could only presume were areas in which to be pampered. Several braziers burned, set on marble plinths, and gold and obsidian busts had been set around the tent’s interior on low stands. Silks and tapestries hung from horizontal tent-poles, some fluttering from unseen breezes or updrafts. Incense burned, lavender, orange and… Jagged frowned. Was that honey-leaf? The fact it soon filled his head with muddy thoughts, slowing his reactions, gave him the answer. There were long tables containing rich cakes, salted meats, flagons of wine and crystal decanters of amber liquor, and deep within the haze of the tent Jagged suddenly realised there were women reclining on a low bed; three of them, completely naked, oiled, moving with the ease and languor of sun-lazy snakes as they slowly crawled over one another, kissing, touching, caressing…