Secrets of Arkana Fortress (3 page)

              The man shook his head firmly.

              ‘Oh well… can’t blame a guy for trying, can ya?’ Kelken laughed between hiccups before attempting to get up from the table. ‘Fancy changing pubs or whatever? Getting bored with this one now.’

              The young man observed Kelken with a look of suspicion that was typical of most lowlifes in this part of the city – no-one trusted each other, for many reasons, and even if they did it would not have been long before they were stabbed in the back; quite literally.

              ‘Yeah go on then, olden, but watch yourself.’

              Kelken stumbled a little as he stood up, raising a quivering eyebrow at his drinking companion. ‘What you mean watch myself?’ he growled. He leaned on the wooden table top and burped loudly, the lingering aroma of alcohol on his breath. ‘S’cuse me.’

              ‘Yeah… thanks… just what I wanted was that.’ The blonde man stood up and then burped as well.

              Kelken laughed coarsely. ‘Ah that’s the stuff – let it out, boy.’

He slapped him on the shoulder and then wobbled his way to the tavern door, the feeling in his stomach growing more and more unstable. He took one quick glance back to the bar where the chunky bald-headed tavern keeper was serving a customer some ale that was probably old dishwater from the kitchen – it wouldn’t have surprised Kelken if it had been. He subtly nodded in the keeper’s direction, a returning look on his face. He had slipped the man a few rubos coins in exchange for some information about the blonde man – who he was, and where he frequented for his drinks.

              The man had entered the room, not long after Kelken, dressed in a fancy black uniform with silver embroidery that had come from one of the finest tailors in the city. He certainly looked out of place amongst the shabby tunics and tattered mercenary outfits, which the other drinkers wore with a sense of unsubstantiated pride. Half of them just kitted out in this way to either impress or intimidate.

              Kelken tottered out through the door and into the cobbled street, taking in a large breath of the air before burping loudly again. It was daylight. ‘Oh… what the hell is this?’ he exclaimed with annoyance. He rubbed his hands over his brown and grey padded jacket, adjusted the belt that looped diagonally around his torso, then smoothed out his greying, dark brown hair.

              The blonde man came out, a distraught look on his smooth face. He was visibly feeling the sudden impact of fresh air on a stomach full of alcohol. ‘It’s… fucking daylight?’

              Kelken slapped his face gently with his hands, his unshaven jaw prickling his palms. ‘Must’ve been in there all night,’ he laughed; his futile attempt to stand still going horribly wrong. He staggered about, then wheezed heavily.

              ‘You OK, old man?’

              ‘Yeah yeah, I’ll be OK… this fresh air, if you can call it that; is a bit crap.’ Kelken shook his head from side to side harshly. ‘Shouldn’t have done that.’

              The blonde man picked up his drinking partner and carried his weight up the road.

              ‘Mind the horse shit, will ya!’ Kelken bellowed, still slurring.

              ‘Ah shove it, you stupid old drunk,’ the man snapped back. ‘I’m taking you to the shop up the road and getting you some coffee.’

              ‘Fuck that, you ain’t taking me anywhere like that. Come on it’s never too early for another one.’

              The man said nothing and kept hauling Kelken along.

              ‘Another drink it is then. Where’s the next pub… tavern… thing… place?’

              The street was deserted apart from a few scavenging dogs and cats. The smell of rotting faeces permeated the air around them adding to their constant nausea. The buildings on the sides of the street were mostly abandoned; having been boarded up with haste, the previous occupants scampering away to better places.

This was the one part of Donnol that had been neglected; mainly because of the city’s ever increasing cash-flow crisis. Times were grim, and the politicians were stuck with the issue of what to do about money. Many of them had blown it on tackling the plague; and the threat of raids and skirmishes from outsiders… all to no avail. An enormous rain cloud hung over the city with distress and despair; and nobody had a solution.

Kelken slammed onto the ground with a disconcerting thump as the blonde man dropped him, the weight finally being too much for his narrow shoulders. He panted heavily as he arched his back and cracked his spine back into place. ‘You heavy fucker,’ he mumbled dryly with much disdain.

              Kelken snorted from the cobbles, old rainwater sucking itself up into his nose. He choked before clearing his throat from the gritty taste. ‘I’m no heavy bugger – you’re just a weak little shit,’ he retorted as his freshly dirtied face lifted up to assess the surroundings. ‘You still gonna pour coffee down my gullet?’

              ‘That’ll be the day old timer… the shop is gone.’ The blonde man palmed his face. ‘It was open yesterday… what the hell?’

              ‘Oh, you know how it goes in the low-towns – people either get chucked out or killed for being in the way of the gangs and their ‘
reign
’ of damned terror.’ Kelken trailed off and grumbled a little before resting his head on the floor again.

              The blonde man gently kicked him.

Kelken grunted disapprovingly.

He kicked him again, this time with more force.

Kelken flailed his arm feebly as if batting away an annoying moth.

              ‘For the love of the gods get the hell up, you stupid old git,’ the blonde man urged.

              Kelken leaned his head to one side and watched the blonde man shuffling backwards toward him, the boarded shop front now adorned with shadowy figures. He lifted himself up partially and spat into a small puddle.

‘Who the fuck are them geezers?’

              ‘I assume they’re the ones who closed the store,’ the blonde man said, hazarding a guess. He bent down and wrapped a hand around Kelken’s arm to lift him up.

He batted it away. ‘I’m quite capable of… lifting myself up, y’know? What do you think I am – drunk or summat?’

‘Get up old man…
quickly
.’

‘Stop calling me old, you little sod; I’m only 52, y’know?’ he scorned, the slurring becoming less frequent. He dusted his outfit off and swayed as he stood, noting the three men slowly lumbering their way towards him. He assumed they were part of the local Vildilim gang who were something to be feared as they were high in number, always fought dirty, and never took on anything or anyone alone.

The thugs stopped a few feet away from the two intoxicated men and, in unison, produced long knives from each of their sleeves. They wore sleeveless black hooded coats with long-sleeve brown tops underneath along with shabby leather belts across their chests.

Kelken looked them up and down, his eyes fixing on their lack of footwear; and ripped, knee-length trousers. He inspected their faces; if there was one thing he still knew in his hazardous state of mind was that making eye contact with an opposition was to know who they were.

Bollocks – their faces were hidden from him.

Kelken ground his alcohol-bleached teeth together, the frictional sound vibrating through his head. ‘Careful, you freaking nut jobs; I was once a knight of the old Traseken Order… I know my stuff.’

The blonde man rolled his eyes and backed away, his black uniform now splattered with the muddy water from the floor. ‘Smooth, old man, very smooth indeed; they’re gonna fucking kill us.’

‘Oh come off it,’ Kelken spat. ‘These whelps wouldn’t know what the… hell to do if the answer was right in front of ‘em.’ He put one hand on his belt.

‘Yeah,’ the blonde man began as he clapped his hands sarcastically. ‘Way to calm them down, eh?’

Kelken motioned for him to remain still and quiet. ‘I’m the experienced one here, not
you
.’ He turned back to the three gang members who were now encroaching upon him in an ever-widening semi-circle.

‘Smart move, boys. This means you’ll have to make me work for my…’

One of the hooded men fell onto his side, blood spurting out like a fountain from a gaping arrow wound in his neck. The other two jumped from the sudden attack and whipped their heads around searching for the assailant.

Another arrow shot through the stale air, slicing it open with a graceful force before jamming its tip into one of the remaining men’s forehead.

Kelken turned his head around and scanned for the archer that was taking these men out for him. ‘Saves me the trouble I suppose.’ He turned to the blonde man expectantly, only to find him cowering on the floor with his arms wrapped over the back of his head emitting odd-sounding whimpers.

‘Damn pussy.’

Kelken swivelled around slowly and eyed the last thug who was now crouching low with his blades held up in front of him with the low hopes of deflecting the next missile. A muffled crash echoed around the deserted street as he barrelled into the man with un-nerving speed for someone who had been drinking all night and most of the morning. His shoulder connected with the hooded man’s side in a flash move, his entire weight shifting as he took the attacker down to the floor.

He felt the thumping blow of a fist against his jaw and he reeled away, the pain slightly numbed by the mental film of intoxication. He groaned as he received another punch, this time to the chest.

‘Get the fuck
off
me, you little shit,’ he scathed as he struggled against the man’s unyielding swiftness. ‘Oi, blondie… give me a goddamn hand… please?’

The blonde man looked up then stared with acknowledging blue eyes at the corpses of the two hoods. His legs found footing as he stood up, shaking, and started stepping forward to pick up one of the blades from the dead bodies. ‘I rarely use these things.’

Kelken fought back with a head butt while his hands locked with the thug’s wrists to keep the steel of a newly unsheathed blade away from his chest. ‘It’s easy… pointy end goes into the flesh… man dies. Now, hurry the hell up.’

The thug fell to one side, blood seeping from his neck.

The blonde man stared, the blade lodged firmly in his grip.

Kelken clumsily got up to his feet and kicked the dead body sharply with his boot. ‘Thank you for that. Good place to kill a man is in the neck.’

‘But… I didn’t do anything.’

‘I wasn’t talking to you, blondie,’ Kelken replied before pointing behind the man. ‘I was talking to her.’

The blonde man turned around and promptly stared in awe.

A slender female emerged from the shadows, a winged recurve bow held powerfully in her right hand, and a quiver of foreign-looking arrows on her back. As she moved into the dim light of the emptiness; her mane of long, wavy red hair became apparent to them both.

‘And so the cavalry has arrived,’ Kelken chuckled before stifling a burp.

Without a word, the woman walked up to him and slammed her palm into his cheek, a look of pure anger and scorn on her well-formed face.

He recoiled, one of his battle-worn hands trying to sooth his cheek. ‘Ow! What the fuck was that for?’

‘
That
was for keeping me waiting out in the bloody freezing night air for, oh let me see, nine fucking hours! You careless bastard.’ Her voice was angered and yet still held its sweetness along with an ever so slight lisp to it.

The blonde man raised an enquiring hand, and then stepped forward only to be pushed back by Kelken.

‘Well I’m sorry, OK?’ Kelken snapped back at the young woman, determined not to be hit again.

She clenched her fist and slung the bow onto her back. ‘This isn’t the first time, you sod. Remember back in Port Pillin? That time when you told me to wait in that crate so I could jump out and get the man we were hired to kill? Remember that one?’

Kelken’s bark-brown eyes darted from side to side, looking at the cobbles. ‘I… erm… I apologised for that one, if you’ve forgotten?’

The red-head weighted herself onto her left leg and winced a little while she adjusted her long black battle skirt. ‘Oh yes, and so sincere it was too,’ she snorted before spitting at Kelken’s boots.

The blonde man sighed loudly.

The woman turned to him with fire embedded in her features causing him to step back. The look in her eyes was not the thing that startled him the most, but the presence of two vertical pupils tinged with green and yellow.

‘What the hell are you?’ he stammered as he stumbled back a few steps.

She turned to Kelken. ‘Is this him?’

‘Yeah, this is him – this is blondie.’

The man grunted as he glared at Kelken. ‘I have a name, you know?’

The woman turned and stepped towards him. Even though she was slender and athletic in demeanour, she was still an intimidating figure for a female. ‘Yes, I know – Morjat Villes; black market trader, womaniser, supplier of illegal substances; including drugs, alcohol, weapons, and illegal magic devices. Am I right?’

It was then that the pale light of the morning revealed the clusters of small grey scales running up both sides of her neck and around the back.