by Andy Remic
“It’ll be cold in that ice, I can promise you that.” He saw Kiki’s face. “However, I can see what you mean,” he mumbled, and ladled more soup into his maw, averting his eyes and trying to absorb some of the meagre heat from the fire.
Kiki said nothing. And they repacked in silence.
Another night travelling through freezing darkness. Another bleak morning catching a few hours beneath too-thin blankets and wondering if the ice demons would take them in the night.
Never had Kiki needed the honey-leaf more. And she took what little she had, and kept her addiction at a stable level, and did not tell Dek. After all, would he understand? Could he ever understand?
Dek was torn and exhausted and done. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like he didn’t give a fuck about Zastarte. Zastarte had saved Dek’s life on thirteen separate occasions, and he’d had a certain fondness for the bisexual, sartorially challenged, murderous and murdering motherfucker. But at the end of the day, they weren’t in this thing as a game. The odds were serious shit – stacked against them. They were Iron Wolves. They’d fought through a million battles. They knew the fucking risks and Zast knew the fucking risks. And his luck had run out. On a long enough mission, all their luck ran out.
The stars were twinkling diamonds.
The horses were unhappy, snorting and stamping.
The path was a weaving, winding, nightmare.
Days seemed to blend into one another, and time no longer meant anything, no longer mattered; and Vagandrak no longer mattered, and the elf rats no longer mattered. They were battling the White Lion Mountains. And the White Lion Mountains were a savage, merciless mistress – willing to snuff out life in an instant. No regrets. No emotion. That’s the way it was. Life and death. But shit, mostly death.
They sat in a cave Dek had carved out of a snow wall with a hand axe. They were slowly freezing to death. They had burned the last of the wood bundles they’d brought on their mounts, and food was running low. The next stage was to kill one of the horses, eat as much as they could, bundle up the rest of the best cuts and travel on. Dek seemed nonplussed at the thought of slaughtering one of the geldings; Kiki, however, couldn’t even bear the thought.
A blizzard had driven them to shelter, and the hours blended into one another. Kiki and Dek shared the last of the honey-leaf, entwining under their blankets. They had no idea how long they’d been travelling. No idea how long it was since Zastarte was swept over the mountain and claimed by the Ice Demons. Disorientation ruled them.
They ran out of food, and Kiki said she would not, absolutely would not kill the horses.
So they embraced one another, and got high, and waited to die.
The sun rose, painting a strip of violet across the horizon. Kiki opened her ice-encrusted eyes, and drank in the view beyond their tiny cave entrance, and breathed. The blizzard had subsided. And the view that opened up before her was one of an awesome, vast world – beyond the White Lion Mountains.
“Dek,” she croaked. “Dek!”
She looked down, and his face was deathly white. At first she thought he was dead and panic slammed her in the chest like a sledgehammer. She shook him, and slapped his face, and he murmured and gradually came awake. Sombrely, they realised how close to death they were. Skipping along the edge of a razor.
And then they looked out beyond the mountains.
Zalazar stretched away beyond, endless rolling plains, and lakes, and forests.
Zalazar. The elf rat lands.
In silence, they descended sweeping paths down this, the final border mountain to Zalazar. With each hundred feet of descent the wind dropped, and the temperature started to rise. There was no greenery of any kind, but the warmer breeze was a welcome break from the relentless buffeting of snow and ice. Gradually, the snow started to disappear and there were more glimpses of black rock breaking up the endless white; huge jagged boulders dotted the mountainside, and maybe half way down Kiki and Dek sat on two large rocks and surveyed the elf rat lands.
Rolling hills spread away, green and patched with rocks, patched with snow. The winter was less harsh here. To the north and southeast were great swathes of… forest. But instead of the evergreen they’d expected, these forests were entirely black. Black tree trunks, black leaves, black pine needles. Branches were crooked, disjointed, like arthritic limbs. The soil was soaked with something like fish oil.
Distantly, more mountains lined the horizon.
“It never ends,” said Kiki, sighing.
“The Mountains of the Moon,” said Dek, quietly. “We’ve seen them before.”
“I remember.”
They scanned the landscape. It had been a long time. Twenty-five years, or more. A different world. A different lifetime.
“There they are,” said Kiki, with reverence.
“The White Towers.”
“Yes.”
And they both stared at the distant towers that rose from the centre of a matt black forest sprawl. Twin needles of glistening white, as if the towers were created from ice. They shot up from the forest, impossibly high for structures made by man. But then, they were not made by man. They had been built by the Elves, over a thousand years previous.
“This is an impossible mission,” said Dek, his chin on his fist, despondency his mistress.
“Perhaps.”
“Look at it. The pride of the elf rats. The seat of their power. They’re in the process of taking Vagandrak apart – with absolute fucking ease. Yoon’s armies are in disarray; ignore that. Yoon’s armies are non-existent. Disbanded. Demoralised. Those who weren’t killed by Orlana’s mud-orcs have probably run off home to wives who deserve them. Those who stayed… well. There can’t be that many Yoon didn’t send home.”
Kiki looked at him. “I love you, Dek. You know that.”
“I know it, sweetie,” he rumbled, with a broken-toothed smile.
“As long as you know. In case we don’t make it.”
Dek chuckled.
“What is it?”
“If we go down there, Kikellya Mandasayard, there’s no going home.”
“And yet you’ll still come with me? Knowing we ride to certain death?”
“Of course.” He frowned. “What the fuck else have I got to do?”
She laughed, then, a genuine peal of laughter that brought a ragged wide smile to Dek’s face, and they got up, and brushed themselves down, and checked their weapons, and headed down the mountain with two battered, wild-eyed horses looking very much the worse for wear – and maybe unconsciously aware they’d escaped the cooking pot by the skin of their equine teeth.
It was early afternoon when they reached the valley floor and rode into the first forest of black trees. It was silent. There were no birds, no leaves, no sound at all. It was perfectly still. Still as a church. Still as a thousand year tomb.
The horses’ hooves clopped on a road of frozen mud. The trees were large, angular, unreal. They were like no other trees Kiki had ever seen. Their branches were angular, as if beaten from old iron swords. And yet they were living. Must be living, after a sort.
“The elf rats are bonded to their Heart Trees,” said Dek, eventually, when the eerie silence had become too much.
Kiki nodded. “Yes.”
“We should burn the forests.”
“No. That’s not the way.”
“Sounds like the right thing to me.” He tilted his head.
“Trust me, Dek. This is not about murder. This is about salvation.”
They rode for hours through the endless trees of black. Occasionally, they came upon a clearing and saw the distant spikes of the White Towers, the twin glittering spires of bright white, white, as if they were glowing, as if they were the exact antithesis to these twisted, stunted, warped and blackened trees. As if the White Towers themselves had sucked all the life out of the land: all the colour, all the energy, all the spirit.
The White Towers.
Or… what lay within them.
Ev
entually, Dek and Kiki rode out onto a green hillside. They climbed slowly, weary, tired to the bones. As they reached the summit, they stopped.
Below them, sat a motionless army of elf rats.
Kiki hissed.
“Fuck me,” said Dek, eyes wide, teeth forming an unholy grin. “Are they waiting for us?”
There must have been ten thousand soldiers. Winter sunlight glinted from their black armour. Violet fire shone from the points of ten thousand spears. They turned, in gradients, as one single unit.
Kiki shrugged, and stared down at the warriors who looked up, dark eyes under matt black helms fixing on her. There was no doubt about it. They were there, between the two remaining Iron Wolves, and their goal: the White Towers.
Dek’s horse pawed the frozen grass.
“What do we do?”
“We ride down.”
“They’ll fucking cut us to pieces!”
“Then they cut us to pieces.”
The soldiers spread away like an ocean. Armour glinted. The sun shifted and extra rays of light glittered across the warriors ranged before them.
“There’s two of us,” said Dek.
“Yeah,” said Kiki.
“We’re Iron Wolves.”
“Damn. Fucking. Right.”
“I reckon we can take a couple of hundred,” he growled. “What do you reckon?”
Kiki scowled. “I reckon we’re going to find out. Because I turn back for no man, woman or fucking toxic elf rat.”
She kicked her horse into a canter, and rode down the hillside, hooves crunching snow and icy grass. Dek followed, unsheathing one of his swords in a smooth, fluid movement. If he was going to die, it was going to be with a blade in his hand. A man could ask for no more. And his mam would damn well expect it.
They cantered down towards the elf rat army, and Kiki reined in a hundred paces from them. Their black and silver uniforms were immaculate. Their spears were held in perfect stillness. They stood, eyes turned to Kiki and Dek without emotion. They made no move, no sound, no gesture.
“I think it’s time to die,” said Kiki, and kicked her horse forward.
“I’m with you, girl,” growled Dek, and followed, his heart racing.
They approached the army, and smoothly it split apart, soldiers marching aside and stamping to attention. They created a road through their ranks, and stood, eyes staring straight ahead, now ignoring Kiki and Dek.
Kiki halted at the opening of this elf rat road. She gave a wicked grin. “You’re joking, right?”
Nobody answered.
“ You! Elf rat! Fucking answer me!”
Nothing. No indication the Iron Wolves even existed.
Kiki kicked her horse at the nearest solider, reining in at the last moment with a savage tug, the gelding twisting its head. The elf rat did not move. Did not flinch. She drew her short sword, and held it to his throat.
Nothing. No reaction. No attack.
Kiki looked back at Dek. “I expect,” she said, “that we’re expected.”
“I expect we’re going to be tortured,” muttered Dek.
“I truly don’t think that’s the case.”
“What is it then? Idle curiosity?”
“Aren’t you curious, Dek? Come on. Ride beside me. Let’s end this adventure together.”
Dek kicked his horse forward, and together they cantered through the ranks of thousands and thousands of elf rat warriors. Perfectly armed and armoured soldiers. Crimson painted their helms and breast plates and spears and swords. They could have killed Dek and Kiki in a minute. In an instant. But they did not.
The hill dropped, and Kiki and Dek rode side by side through the elf rat ranks, until they reached the end of the army and entered another woodland road. Kiki rode with her shoulder blades itching, expecting some shaft at any moment to punch between them, skewering her lungs.
But it did not come.
“I cannot believe that,” said Dek, shaking his head.
“I know.”
“I thought we would die.”
“Me, also.”
“What now?”
Kiki turned to him. “We ride to the White Towers,” she said.
The snow came; a wild blizzard blasted across Zalazar. And in the midst of the blizzard, emerging from a forest of twisted black trees towering high above them, the great limbs like the crooked arms of dead and cooked burn victims, Kiki and Dek came across a second army. There were less soldiers this time, maybe four or five thousand. Once more they stood in silent ranks, blocking the way to the White Towers. These had swords drawn, and were stood perfectly motionless, as the snow whipped and blasted around them. Their black armour was crusted with ice and snowflakes. They were taller than men, but still twisted, poisoned by the very land and trees that had spawned them; they wore black helms and black eyes gleamed like glass behind visor slits.
Kiki rode towards the front ranks, and they parted, the entire army splitting down the middle to create a road between their ranks. Kiki rode in a straight line, looking neither left nor right, and Dek followed, hand on his sword hilt, marvelling – and dreading – this turn of events. Because something was quite obviously wrong. There was a game being played, and Dek hated not knowing the bloody rules.
The thousands of black-armoured elf rats made no move, until Kiki and Dek had passed through the entire army. And then, with a many-replicated clink of armour and stamp of boots, the ranks closed to form an impenetrable wall of swords and shields and armour.
Dek glanced back, face grim, but Kiki did not.
“I guess we’re not going home in a hurry,” he said, voice bitter.
“I don’t think we ever were.”
“Well I fucking was,” snapped Dek. “There’s still an ocean of whiskey to drink; a million hog roasts to consume; and I’d hoped, one day, we might have children…”
“Children?” Kiki halted her horse, and turned, and stared at her lover. “Oh, Dek…”
“It’s all right. Don’t get soppy now, you hard-hearted bitch.” He smiled to take the sting out of his words. “Just a dream I had, that’s all.”
“Why did you never have children before?” Snow settled on her hair and shoulders. To Dek, Kiki looked like a queen.
“Because it was never with you,” he replied, voice husky.
They rode on. Towards the White Towers.
Light was failing as they emerged from another forest. Zalazar was practically one huge forest, from the White Lion Mountains all the way to the Mountains of the Moon – which loomed above them now. Maybe because every elf rat had to be linked to a tree? A Heart Tree?
They stood their geldings, stamping and snorting, and gazed up at the White Towers ahead of them.
“I expected another army,” said Dek, breath steaming like demon-smoke.
“Me, also.”
“Are we going in?”
“I think that’s the plan.”
Kiki led the way down a narrow path, which led into a valley. The White Towers dominated a central position, and shot up into the heavens with smooth, slick sides like polished marble. There were no doors or windows in the entire twin structures, just solid walls of gently glowing white; gleaming, as their polished surfaces reflected the winter sun. Above, maybe a thousand feet in the sky, the twin White Towers curved inwards, ending in perfect points.
Kiki slowed her approach, and Dek mimicked her pace. Finally, she stopped, and kicked herself from the saddle. Her eyes searched for doorways, an entrance of some kind. But there was none. She put her right hand on her right sword hilt, and walked forward with Dek close behind. But there came a sound, from the edge of the trees, and they emerged like four dark wraiths, gliding through the snow, each one bearing two drawn swords. It was the Tree Stalkers.
“Shit,” snarled Dek, drawing his own weapon. “I thought they were dead!”
“They have tracked us over the mountains,” said Kiki, and drew both her own swords.
“Shall we run?” hissed Dek. “
I don’t think we can take all four!”
“I agree,” said Kiki, bitterly, standing her ground.
They moved closer, each nearly seven feet tall, their limbs twisted just a little, their black glass eyes fixed with fanaticism and hate on the two Iron Wolves. There was Villiboch, his bow slung over his shoulder, his swords black and matt and razor sharp. There was Sileath, the female, her face long and pointed – a little like a rat’s. There was Ffaefel, taller and more elegant than the others, and finally Ugrak, hulking, broad shouldered, a power-house of a creature.
The Tree Stalkers halted ten feet away.
“You have one missing,” smiled Kiki, her eyes glinting.
“You killed Aeoxir in Skell Forest,” said Villiboch, stepping forward. “Now, however, you have come far enough.”
A distant howl echoed through the forest, as if punctuating Villiboch’s statement. It was long and mournful. Nobody moved.
“Do that thing,” muttered Dek from the corner of his mouth.
“What thing?”
“That thing with the earthquakes and the storms and shit,” he muttered. “Go on. Throw some fucking trees at them.”
“We are in their world now,” said Kiki, eyes locked on Villiboch’s. “That power is denied me.”
“Horse shit. So we have to rely on good old Vagandrak steel?”
“It would appear so,” growled Kiki.
Then, from the edge of the trees they came, padding on silent paws through the snow and iced grass. They were wolves, a pack of large wolves moving fast, four feet tall at the shoulder, their fur the thick grey of heavy winter coats. There were thirty or forty of the beasts, and the Tree Stalkers saw Kiki and Dek look past them…
Villiboch spun and swiftly strung his bow. Three shafts hissed through the air, taking down three of the great beasts, which rolled, blood staining the snow in great, pissing arcs – but the wolves increased their pace, charging across the clearing with growls and snarls to leap, and they were on the Tree Stalkers in an instant, growling and tearing, jaws snapping and breaking and the fight was incredibly brutal. Three wolves dragged a screaming Ugrak to the ground and chewed through his throat. Sileath’s head was snapped clean off with one giant bite. Within seconds, the Tree Stalkers were reduced to so much strewn and bloody meat and severed limbs.