Kell's Legend (11 page)

‘I was thinking. Of mam.’

Kell frowned. “She’d gone to work at Keenan’s Farm, yes? To work on the pottery?”

Nienna nodded, face frightened.

“That’s eight miles out of the city,” said Kell, soothingly. “She’ll be fine. Trust me. The enemy want the garrison; it’s not worth their effort scouring the countryside for every little farmstead.”

Nienna gave another nod, but Kell could see she wasn’t convinced.

They approached the stone cottage warily. It was single storey, simple in construction with a thatched roof. No smoke came from the chimney, and no livestock scattered in the yard as was normal for these modest but cosy dwellings.

“It’s deserted,” said Saark, kicking a bucket which clattered across the mud.

Kell threw him a dark scowl, and moved to the entrance. “What’s the matter? You sorry there are no serving wenches at hand to see to your every petty whim?”

Saark shrugged, and stood, a hand on one hip, his rapier pointing at the ground. He plucked at a tattered, stained cuff. “Well, I’m sorry there are no serving wenches sat on my hand, Kell old horse. It’s been commented in social circles how I can supply the most exquisite of pleasures to even the most buxom pigs with a face like a horse arse.” He smiled, showing neat
teeth. “I have a certain way with female flesh. And with male flesh, come to think of it.”

“Keep your thoughts to yourself,” said Kell darkly, “or you’ll have a way with my fist,” and he entered the cottage. He emerged a moment later, and gestured them inside. They stepped in. The floor was flagged with stone, and a table and several chairs, old, battered but expertly crafted, stood in one room. A kitchen bench ran down one entire wall containing wooden plates and cups, and a large jug. The second room contained a huge bed, still scattered with old blankets. Saark peered in, and tutted.

“What’s the matter now?” snapped Kell.

“No silk sheets,” smiled Saark, and rubbed at weary eyes. He yawned, and stretched. “Still, it’s good enough for tonight. I’m going to take a nap.”

“No you’re not,” said Kell, turning to face him across the long table.

“Excuse me?”

“I said,” growled Kell, “you’re not going to put down your head and leave all the work to us. We need wood for the fire, water for the pot, and I spied a vegetable patch outside with cabbages and potatoes. They need to be pulled from the frozen soil and scrubbed clean.”

“I’m sure you’ll get on just wonderfully with such menial labour,” smiled Saark, Kell’s anger apparently lost on him. “It is, of course, no job for a nobleman and dandy of such high repute.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Of course! But alas, I cannot cook, have never chopped wood, and my lower back is a tad sore from
all my romantic endeavours. Alas, your jobs, valiant and necessary as they are, are beyond a simple coxcomb like myself.” Saark turned, as if to enter the mouldy bedroom.

“If you don’t work, you don’t eat,” said Kell, voice low.

“Excuse me?”

“Is there a problem with your hearing? Something, perhaps, that needs cleaning out with the blade of my axe?”

Saark scowled. “I may be a sexual athlete, and I may dress in silks so expensive the likes of you could not afford them even if you worked a thousand years; but I will not be threatened, Kell, and don’t you ever doubt my skill with a blade.”

“I don’t doubt your skill with a blade, boy, just the skill with your brain. Get out there, and chop some wood, or I swear I’ll kick you down to the river like an old stinking dog and drown you.”

There was a moment of tension, then Saark relaxed, and smiled. He crossed to the doorway, both young women watching him in silence, and he turned and gave Kell a nod. “As you wish, old man. But I’d do something about that sexual tension; it’s eating you up, and alas, turning you into a cantankerous ill-tempered bore.” His eyes flickered to Kat, lingered for a moment, then he gave a narrow smile and left.

Within moments, they heard the chopping of wood. Saark had obviously found the wood shed.

Nienna crossed to her grandpa, and touched his arm. “He means no harm,” she said. “It’s just his way.”

“Pah!” snapped Kell. “I know his sort; I saw plenty of them in Vor and Fawkrin. He takes, like a parasite, and never gives. There are too many like him, even in Jalder. They have spread north like a plague.”

“Not any longer,” said Kat, eyes haunted. “The albino soldiers killed them all.” She took the jug from the long bench and left, heading down to the river for water. Kell sighed, and placed Ilanna on the table with a gentle motion. He took Nienna by both shoulders, and looked into her eyes, deep into her eyes, until she blushed and turned away.

“You did well, girl.”

“In the university?”

“All of it,” said Kell. “You were strong, brave, fearless. You haven’t been moaning and whining,” he glanced outside, his insinuation obvious, “and you have proved yourself in battle.” He smiled then, a kindly smile, and Nienna’s old grandpa returned. “Funny, you said you wanted an adventure. Well, you’ve brought us that, little Nienna.” He ruffled her hair, and she gave a laugh, but it faded, twisted, and ended awkwardly.

This was not a day for laughter.

Kat washed herself as best she could, then filled her jug at the river, and carrying it back towards the stone cottage she stopped, observing Saark work. He had tied back his long, dark curls, and stripped off his shirt revealing a lean and well-muscled torso. He had broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips, and although he claimed never to chop wood, he did so with an expert stroke, his balance perfect, every swing striking true
to split logs into halves, quarters and eighths ready for the fire.

Kat watched him for a while, the sway of his body, the squirming of muscles under pale white skin, and the serenity of his handsome face in its focus, and concentration. No, she decided; not a handsome face, but a beautiful face. Saark was stunning. Almost feminine in his delicacy, his symmetry. Kat licked her lips.

He turned, then, sweat glistening on his body despite the chill, and he waved her towards him. Slowly, she approached, eyes down now, feeling suddenly shy and not understanding why.

“Hello, my pretty,” he said with a wide friendly smile. “Would it be possible to quench my thirst?”

“Sir?”

“The water,” he laughed, “can I have a drink?”

Kat nodded, and Saark took the jug, taking great gulps, water running down his chest through shining sweat. She saw his chest had the same curled, dark hair as his head, and as he lowered the jug he grinned at her, eyes glittering.

“Do you like what you see?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were watching me. Whilst I chopped wood.”

“I was not!” Indignant.

“How old are you, girl?”

“I’m eighteen. I’m a woman, not a girl.”

Saark looked her up and down, eyes widening. “Well, I can see that, my pretty.” His voice deepened. “You are all woman.”

“Have you finished with the jug?”

Grinning again, Saark handed it back and Kat turned to leave.

“You can sleep with me tonight, if you like? I’ll keep you warm against the ice and the snow; keep you safe against the bad men in the dark.”

“The only bad man in the dark would be you,” snapped Kat, without turning, and stalked back towards the cottage, her cheeks flushed red. But she was smiling as she walked.

Kell lit a fire, and within an hour warmth had filled the cottage. Darkness fell outside, and night brought with it a storm of snow and hail, which rattled off the windows as a mournful wind howled through the yew trees out back.

Nienna and Kat cooked a large pot of stew, thick with cabbage and potatoes, and plenty of salt which Kell found in a cupboard along with dried herbs, thyme and rosemary, which they added for flavour. They sat around the table, eating. All had cleaned themselves as best they could in the ice-cold river, and Nienna found some old clothes in a chest in the bedroom. Despite being cold, and smelling mildly of damp, they were far superior to the stained items which had suffered the tannery. Each in turn changed, burning old clothes on the fire and pulling on woollen trews and rough cotton shirts. Saark went last, and when Nienna handed him the thick trousers and shirt he held them at arm’s length, his distaste apparent.

“What would you like me to do with these?” he asked Nienna.

She gave a short laugh. “Put them on, idiot!”

“Are you sure? I thought they were for cleaning out the pigs.” He glanced over at Kell and grimaced. “I see you’ve settled comfortably into your new wardrobe, old horse.”

“These clothes are fine,” Kell said gruffly, not looking up.

“Not itchy at all?”

Kell glanced up from his stew. “Not for me,” he said. “But you may find them a little rough, what with your baby-soft skin, manicured hands and cream-softened arse.”

“Ha! These are the clothes of the peasant. I’ll not wear them.”

“Then you’ll stink of dog-shit, old brains and cattle-fat for the next week.”

Saark considered this. “You sure they don’t itch?” he asked. “There’s nothing worse than a peasant’s fleas. Except, maybe, a whore’s syphilis!” He laughed at his joke, and carried the clothes through to the bedroom with Kell staring after him, eyes glowing embers.

The door closed, then opened again. “Any chance one of you young ladies could help me dress? You know how tiresome this can be for us fine noble types.”

“I’ll do it,” said Kell, pushing back his chair which scraped against the stone floor.

“Ach, that’s all right, big man. I…I think I can manage.”

Saark disappeared, and Kell returned to his stew, complementing Nienna and Kat on their cooking.

When they’d finished eating, Nienna said, “Grandpa?”

“Yes, monkey?”

“Will the…” she seemed to be fighting with her thoughts, “will those albino soldiers come after us? This far from Jalder?”

“No, girl,” said Kell. “They took the garrison, then the city. If they do intend to invade Falanor further, then the logical route is to head south down the Great North Road. After all, King Leanoric built it for transporting his troops.” He smiled, and it was grim. “It’s ironic, however, that I think he envisioned his own soldiers using it. Not the enemy.”

“Where did those albino men come from?” said Kat. She was leaning back, hands stretched towards the fire, belly full and at least savouring a little contentment.

“From the north, past the Black Pike Mountains. I saw them once; they have a huge civilisation there.”

“Why does nobody in Jalder speak of them? Why is there no trade?”

Kell shrugged. “The paths across the mountains are treacherous indeed. For most of the year impassable, even; certainly impossible for an army to travel. This Army of Iron must have found a new route, something to which I am not privy.”

“Is it true there are tunnels under the Black Pikes?”

Kell nodded. “Many. And more treacherous than the mountain trails, of that I am certain.” His eyes were distant, now, as if reliving ancient days. “I’ve seen many a man die in the Black Pikes. The mountains take no prisoners.”

“You speak as if they live?”

“Maybe they do,” said Kell, rubbing wearily at his eyes. “Maybe they do.”

Saark chose that moment to make his grand entrance, and he grinned, giving a twirl by the bedroom door. “I look like you people, now,” he said, tying back his long curls.

“You said they were clothes for a peasant,” pointed out Kell.

“Exactly,” smiled Saark. “Is there any more stew? I’m famished.”

“You’ve already had two bowls,” said Kat.

“I’m a growing lad who needs his energy.” He winked at her, and sat down, ladling more stew into his bowl. “By all the gods, this stinks of cabbage.”

“You can always go hungry, lad,” said Kell.

“No, no, I’m starting to enjoy the…ahh, cabbage flavour. It’s certainly an acquired taste, but I think, in maybe a year or two, I might just get used to it.”

After the girls were asleep, Saark waved a small flask at Kell. “Drink, old horse?”

“Stop calling me old horse. I ain’t that old.”

“Ach, so you won’t be wanting this whisky, aged fifteen years in oak vats, will you?”

“Maybe just a drop,” conceded Kell. “To warm against the winter chill.” He took the flask, drank deeply, and handed it back to Saark, smacking his lips. “By all the gods, that’s a fine drop.” He eyed Saark. “Must have cost a pretty penny.”

“Stolen by my own fair hand.”

“‘The World despises a thief, leste he undermyne Mighty Kings’,” quoted Kell, staring hard at Saark. “I kind of echo that sentiment, laddie.”

“All fine and well, when you have money in your purse. Ask those without. The merchant who shared his produce won’t be needing it; the albino soldiers killed him and his wife.”

“And I suppose you had just…ravished her?”

Saark snorted laughter, and took another drink. “Ravished? Come come, Kell, we are both men of the world. You can speak to me as one man to another. Yes, I fucked her. And what a pretty piece of quim she was, too. Never have I tasted such succulent honey.”

Kell’s eyes hardened, fists clenching. “You have very little respect for women, lad.”

Saark considered this. “Well, they have very little respect for me. Now, listen Kell.” He leant forward, firelight dancing in his dark eyes. “We need to decide what we’re going to do next. You know, as I, the Army of Iron will head south. We have but a few days; they will consolidate their position, leave their own garrison in command of Jalder, and travel the Great North Road. We need to be gone from here by then; their scouts will spread out, and will certainly find us. We are easy to spot.” He thought. “Well, you are.”

Kell nodded, and when he replied his voice was cool. He found it hard to hide his distaste for the popinjay. Kell was a simple man who wore emotions on his face, and on his fists. He told it like it was. “What do you have in mind, Saark?”

“Much as it pains me to say this, for there is little actual personal profit in it for me, but…we should ride south. We should warn King Leanoric. It is the right thing to do.”

Kell picked up a sharp bread knife, toyed with it between his fingers. He seemed uneasy. “Surely, the king already knows? His northern capital has been sundered.”