by Andy Remic
First came Narnok, the huge axeman: bitter, twisted, hating humanity because of what his wife, Katuna, had done to him – over, ultimately, money. He also hated Dek, for Dek had been drawn into the spider’s web of seduction and deceit, and had betrayed one of his most trusted friends by taking Katuna to bed; Katuna, with her long dark curls, flashing eyes, and perfect olive skin. The fact she had then employed Xander the torturer to cut up Narnok’s face and put-out one of his eyes with acid had done nothing to temper the huge axeman’s view of the world and the insects that scurried about on its surface. Damaged wasn’t the half of it; but then, deep inside, weren’t they all?
Dek. Handsome Dek! A tall, athletic pit-fighter, with a broken nose and a hatred of his brother after what went on with their dying mum. But now Ragorek was dead, and Dek seemed to have mellowed, remembering a time long ago when he and Kiki had been young recruits, and more: lovers. But when Dek slept with Katuna, betraying Narnok, he had also betrayed Kiki. She still remembered the pain in his eyes when she’d screamed at him, screamed that she’d slit his throat, cut off his balls, eat out his heart. She hadn’t meant it, but it had had to be said. And now, years on, decades on, after so much sleep and wine and the addictive curse of the honey-leaf… well. That world seemed another lifetime, filled with different people, different lovers; lovers who’d helped dilute the pain.
The next Iron Wolf was Zastarte: handsome, dashing, stunning, with his slim rapier and witty banter, his expertise at giving women pleasure and his love of burning people alive. Amoral, twisted, decadent, he had changed since the old battles with mud-orcs and the sorcerer Morkagoth; or had he? Kiki remembered Zastarte from the Before Times – he’d always had a merciless streak. Had always been… mean? Ruled by money, sex, and later fame after the Iron Wolves became heroes; his merciless, amoral streak had grown dominant, yes; but, more importantly, it had always been there: more powerful than the curse that ran through all their blood, all their flesh. You could trust Zastarte, as long as there was good solid gold at the end of the mission. And maybe a few buxom wenches to lighten the darkness in his soul.
Trista was the very essence of beauty and the beast, yet another twisted individual. A great swordswoman, her husband had betrayed her and she’d spent many an evening hunting down newlyweds and murdering them in their conjugal bed – so, as it appeared in her twisted reality, they could be together… forever. No betrayal for those visited by Trista. No cheating lies and backstabbing treachery. She also had an unusual, predatory streak; Narnok had once compared her to the female spider that mated, then ate its mate. He said she was a predatory cannibal; and to sleep with her, was to die. Although Trista had been offended at the time, Narnok had been pretty astute with his observations.
And finally. Finally? Kiki turned her critical eye on herself. Kiki, Captain of the Iron Wolves, a dazzlingly accomplished warrior. But after the fame of turning back the mud-orcs at the Pass of Splintered Bones, of heading out into No Man’s Land and confronting Morkagoth the Sorcerer, and beating him using the curse of the Iron Wolves… Kiki had discovered she had a tumour close to her heart. The King, Yoon’s father, had showered them with money, jewels, lands, and Kiki had used a small fortune seeking the best medical advice in Vagandrak and beyond. When one brave surgeon finally cut her open, he had immediately sewn her back up again. To operate, he advised her, to remove the tumour would be to kill her stone dead. And so Kiki had fallen into bad ways, losing herself in the world of the honey-leaf, self-pity, drugs and liquor and meaningless sex – constantly mocked by the voice of her dead sister, Suza, taunting her inside her own tortured skull. Until the aged General Dalgoran had come looking for her, with a new mission.
And now. Now she held the key to releasing the Iron Wolves from the curse they suffered. Just like she had promised, if they accompanied her back to Desekra to face the new threat of massing mud-orcs and the Horse Lady, Orlana. And they had. They had all stuck to their side of the bargain. And, she realised, she could – she could release them from the curse, if she so chose. They could search for Dalgoran’s secret chamber and drink the potion or wear the magick fucking ring – whatever secret was hidden in the box which would unbind the magick locking the Iron Wolves together. But…
But.
With a primeval instinct, Kiki knew this thing wasn’t over. Knew the horrors visiting Vagandrak, although it seemed they had been turned aside once more… well, something inside her screamed more loudly than her dead bitch sister. And to release the Iron Wolves from their united curse would be to… weaken a massive force for good in the land. Kiki knew she owed it to Dalgoran, to King Tarek, to General Jagged and all the tens of thousands of soldiers who had given their lives protecting the good land of Vagandrak.
This thing wasn’t over. Kiki knew it in her soul.
She gave a cough, and took a deep breath, straightening herself and staring into Narnok’s single intense eye.
“I will do as was promised,” said Kiki, slowly. “But we must head deeper. Deep down under Desekra and towards the north, under the Mountains of Skarandos. Because this thing, this unleashed evil – it isn’t over. To give away that which binds us together, it would be to weaken us out of all context. You understand?”
Narnok gave a grim smile, and a single nod. Kiki felt her heart melt, for she understood his sacrifice. When Dalgoran had brought them all together, they’d been a disparate bunch, filled with hate. Now – they were more a unit. The Iron Wolves were truly back.
“We are with you, Kiki,” said Dek, giving her a smile.
“Good,” she said.
They continued down the steeply sloping tunnel, and after a half hour they emerged into a large, round, stone chamber, with ancient curved oak benches set about the dry walls. They were deep beneath Desekra Fortress now. But the portals which led off from this hub, all heading steeply downwards, blew with stale cold air like the last rattling breath from the sour mouth of a mud-orc corpse.
Prince Zastarte – dandy, womaniser – placed a silk sleeve over his mouth. “This place is unholy. It was not made by men and is not fit for men.” He caught Trista’s scowl and flashed her a smile. “Or women, dear heart,” he amended. “You know I meant no offence.”
“Good,” said the beautiful, golden curled Trista, stepping past him, “or I’d have to slit open your belly like I was gutting a rotten fish.” Only then did Zastarte catch a glimpse of the short-handled, jewelled dagger nearly completely hidden in her hand. Trista. Beauty and the beast. The sexual cannibal.
“Charmed, I’m sure, my dear.”
“Enough shit,” rumbled Narnok, tugging Yoon into the chamber behind him on his length of rope. “Kiki has the keys here. We stock up on weapons, provisions, anything we think might be useful. It’s going to be a long journey down under the Skarandos Mountains, away from our enemies, and none of it’s going to be pleasant, that’s for sure.”
Yoon stared at the five Iron Wolves, his eyes bulging. “What? You madmen think you can travel these tunnels all the way under the mountains? Are you serious? And you’re taking me with you?”
“Well, what did you expect, Yoon? Turn around and head back out so your elite soldiers can hack us down one by one? No, son, you’re coming with us. We go deep. We go far. And we kill anything that stands in our fucking way.”
Yoon visibly trembled, paled. His long black curls were lank and plastered to his face and neck with damp cold sweat. He looked not an inch the battle king portrayed on the tapestries at the Royal Apartments in Vagan, the War Capital of Vagandrak, despite his athletic build and the fact he’d been trained by the best warriors in the realm.
Yoon licked fish-pale lips. “Him, him, that one, he has the right idea.” He gestured wildly at Zastarte. “This place is unholy. Not fit for men. There are things down there!” Yoon’s eyes flitted from one Iron Wolf to the next, to the next. His hands, tied tightly behind his back, were clammy with the same sweat that shone across his brow.
Narnok stepped closer,
and Yoon blanched, his head moving back from the terrifying, scarred gaze and single working eye of the huge axeman. “You talk like you’ve been down here recent-like,” breathed Narnok, dangerously quiet.
“No, no!”
“Oh, I think you have, little worm.” Narnok hefted his axe and held a blade under Yoon’s chin. “Speak more, little king.”
“No, well, I might have explored a little; it is my fucking fortress after all!” he snapped, anger and madness flashing for a minute across his face, through his eyes. He struggled at the ropes, hoping to snap them in the same fashion Narnok had snapped his own bonds back on the gallows at Desekra, but without luck. Or the required strength. Narnok was something special.
“Good,” said Narnok, straightening. “That means you can show us the way.”
“What?” shrieked Yoon. “Are you insane? I’m not showing you, you, you fucking traitors and infidels… not showing you anything!”
“Well, lad, looks like I’ll be removing that kingly head from those kingly shoulders,” grinned Narnok, and loomed yet closer.
“Leave him!” snapped Kiki. “We haven’t got time for this. As far as we know, that bastard could be feeding us lies and horse shit. We’ll move on down through the tunnels, heading north and west. Dalgoran, God rest his soul, told me about the deeper tunnels, which form a network right under the mountains.” She glanced at Yoon and gave a nasty smile. “The King’s Guard will have to be extremely dedicated indeed to follow us that far into the unexplored wilderness beneath the mountains.”
Yoon scowled, but remained silent.
The Iron Wolves filled packs with supplies; dried and salted beef and fish; daggers; canteens of water; fish oil for the brands Kiki and Dek carried; and emergency candles for lanterns, which they found hanging in a bundle against one wall. They noted how well stocked this supply chamber was; it was obviously used with a regularity that surprised them all. Kiki asked Yoon, but he was no longer talking.
They moved on, Kiki leading the way, Narnok dragging Yoon like a dog. Zastarte and Trista were curiously silent, each withdrawn and growing more so the deeper the Iron Wolves descended into the subterranean darkness. Dek was the only one who seemed even remotely happy. Happy to escape the noose. Happy to escape battling mud-orcs and insane witch-queens. In a world of sudden violence and the necessity of the blade, to Dek, wandering through a few gloomy tunnels was a veritable party.
The tunnel they followed was wide, with a sandy floor. It sloped gradually down, and they trekked in silence. In the sand, there were boot prints, but there was no way of telling how old they were. Kiki kept her hand on the hilt of her short sword, just in case.
They journeyed for several hours, in silence, with Yoon making the occasional grunting sound or muttered curse as Narnok kept the king close to hand. As the ceiling grew lower, so Narnok muttered his own curses for it forced him to walk with a stoop, bent over, and he began to rub at his neck and spine as shooting pains bothered him.
Eventually, the tunnel split, then split again, and Kiki stopped, gathering her bearings. She glanced at Yoon, but the king looked away, pale face worm-like in the gloom, dark curls gleaming like insect carapace.
Kiki led them down a narrow tunnel, so narrow they could only move in single file. Occasionally they had to turn sideways themselves, to squeeze through narrow apertures, and once they came to what looked like an old rock fall that had been cleared above. They scrambled over a pile of large rocks, glancing up nervously at where it appeared huge, blocky boulders hung in a precarious balance, ready to tumble.
“Is that safe?” grumbled Narnok, grazing his knees as he climbed. He took it out on Yoon, tugging hard on the rope. Yoon made a strangled grunting sound.
“Is anything, in life?” replied Kiki from up ahead, her voice almost metallic as it reverberated.
“Suppose not,” muttered Narnok.
The scramble led to a large, hollowed-out chamber. Their firelight illuminated the rocks in streaks of silver and red. Kiki stared at the scene, confused for a moment until she realised there was a huge pool of water, an underground lake, which reflected the rocky angularities and protuberances of the ceiling. There were ledges to either side of the lake, and Kiki picked the left hand one that rose to a level just a few inches above the still, mirrored platter.
“Not sure about this,” said Narnok, uneasily, following the others onto the narrow ledge. “I don’t like water at the best of times; it’s only good for eels and fishes.”
“The interesting thing is,” said Yoon, stumbling along the ledge after him, “this lake formed because of the flash floods.”
Narnok stopped, and turned, and stared at Yoon. “You what?”
“Flash floods.” Yoon grinned almost maniacally, and seemed to gain some major satisfaction at the discomfort on the big axeman’s face.
“What does that bloody mean?”
“Storms, above, high up in the Skarandos Mountains. There are several fissures above here, high above, I believe. Sometimes, if the weather is bad – like now, during winter, for example – the mountains can dump millions of gallons of water, which come running down gaps in the rocks, finding their way and flooding chambers like this in seconds. I’ve had a lot of my men drown down here during exploration.”
Narnok stared at him, then glanced along the ledge to where Kiki had stopped and was frowning at him with a what the Hell is wrong now? face. Narnok growled, “This maggot says this chamber can flood!” He tried to keep the panicky whine from his voice, and was mostly unsuccessful.
“All the more reason to hurry along, then,” said Kiki through gritted teeth.
“But… I don’t want to drown,” said Narnok.
“Look at it this way,” said Dek. “If you drown, so does Yoon.”
They moved down the ledge, firelight dancing from walls and glowing against the lake’s surface like a sun’s dying rays over a distant world. The whole scene was intensely beautiful, filled with fire and subtle pastels. But Kiki was staring off ahead, mind working hard as she tried to remember, tried to remember, Dalgoran’s quiet words…
And that’s where it falls down, bitch, said Suza, voice crowing like a diseased cockerel in Kiki’s mind.
Kiki paused. Her head titled sideways a little. I thought you’d given up haunting me. I thought you’d crawled off somewhere to die; some poisonous little hole, some abandoned tomb, some place of death and desecration.
Sweet words, sister of mine. Maybe I’m already there, trapped in some poisonous little hole. Inside your head, bitch. A place of anger and hate, a place of self-pity and internal betrayals. I can see your every thought, and trust me when I say your mind is not a pleasant place to be.
Kiki heard her own laughter inside her skull. She blinked. The world seemed to have gone into slow motion. The flames in the brand flickered, casting light across the underground lake, and yet she felt suddenly like the still water had become a huge mouth, opening like a vertical tunnel leading down to the bowels of the earth where she’d be swallowed whole and chewed into a bloody mass of mashed up bones and pulped flesh by teeth made of rock – deep down in the World Engine…
She took a deep breath, hand reaching out to steady herself against the wall. It seemed to take an age.
I want you gone, Suza. I want you out of my head.
You cannot banish me, and Kiki could not miss the smugness in Suza’s tone. With all your power, with the curse of the Iron Wolves, with the mana of the Shamathe running through your blood and bones and brains, you fucking cannot even get rid of me. Because you killed me, bitch, and I, also, carried the seed of the Shamathe. And I fled my dying shell. And I fled into you. I am part of you, now, dear sister. Until the day you, and I, both die.
Kiki blinked, snapping out of it, and dropped to one knee, suddenly panting. It was like waking from a dream. A really bad dream.
“Kiki!” And Dek was there, tight beside her, his powerful body supporting her.
“I’m fine, Dek, I’m f
ine.” She stood, leaning against the wall for a moment.
“What happened?”
Kiki gave a narrow smile. “Bad ghosts. Come on, before one of Yoon’s flash floods comes thundering down and sends us swimming with the fishes.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?” said Dek, and she saw in his eyes the gleam of emotion. He cared for her. He cared for her, dearly.
She smiled, and patted his hand in thanks.
“After everything that’s happened in the last few weeks, I don’t know what to believe any more,” she said.
The underground lake was an hour behind them. The tunnel had levelled out, was reasonably wide and had a breeze blowing through to cool the Iron Wolves and their unwelcome captive.
Kiki halted, and waited for the others to catch up.
They all stopped, and stared, and then looked to Kiki.
“What, by all the demons in the Furnace, and by the Tails of the Seven Sisters, is that?” said Zastarte, smoothing back his curls.
“It’s slime,” said Dek, and knelt beside the glowing yellow substance. He reached out as if to touch it, then thought better and withdrew his hand. “Looks a little like when a slug has passed on by.”
“Well, it goes all the way down there, dear boy,” said Zastarte, pointing with his fine-bladed rapier. “That would take a lot of slugs.”
They all peered at the pale, sickly substance. It mainly coated the floor of the tunnel, but up ahead they could see it on the walls as well.
“Is it dangerous, d’you think?” rumbled Narnok.
“Ask your little dog, there,” said Dek.
Narnok turned on Yoon. “Is it dangerous, lad? Eh?”
Yoon gave a shrug. “It’s the worms. We came across them several months ago. They are dangerous, but primitive. Nothing an axe through the head can’t solve, axeman. And I’m pretty sure you’ll be the right thuggish brute for the job.” Yoon sneered up at Narnok.