“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.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. If the Army of Iron surprises Leanoric…well, they can plough through Falanor like a knife through a sleeping man’s eyeball. Our armies would topple. People enslaved. All that kind of tiresome business of Empire. Could you live with that on your conscience, Kell?”
“You’re a fine one to speak of conscience.”
“For a cuckolded husband? No. For the slaughter of an entire population? Use your head, Kell. And anyway… there may be a warm spot in the Hall of Heroes for somebody who does the Heroic Thing.” He winked. “One must always try and please the gods. Just in case.”
“You’re a worm, Saark.”
