'Did you do that to him?' coughed Saark.
'It was the boy.'
'Skanda? No! No way could a small child…'
'He is not a small child,' said Kell, and with a grunt heaved himself upright and gazed across to the unconscious body of the shamathe. Her face was black and purple. 'Your mule has a fine aim.'
'Mary did that? Great! And by the way, she's a donkey, not a mule.'
'Same difference,' muttered Kell. 'Come on, we need horses. We need to put leagues between us and them.'
'What about Skanda?'
'I have a feeling,' said Kell, voice hard, unforgiving, 'that the boy can look after himself.'
Kell lifted Ilanna, and gazed down at Lilliath. He hefted the axe high, and suddenly Saark was there, hands held up. 'Whoa, Big Man, what are you doing?'
Kell scowled. 'She tried to kill us, Saark. You surely don't want her following? Doing that to us in our sleep?'
'You can't kill her, Kell. She's an old woman. She's unconscious! For the love of the gods!'
'She's a white magicker, and she deserves to die.'
Saark planted himself between Kell and the unconscious shamathe. 'No. I won't let you! It is immoral. If you kill her, Kell, then you are as bad as the enemy; can't you see?'
Kell gave a great and weary sigh. 'Very well,' he said, eyes narrowed, face pale from dust. 'But if she comes near us again, you can sort the bitch out. Let's find some horses.'
They moved around the exterior of the deserted armoury, Saark leading Mary by her halter, and indeed found horses tethered. Distant screams echoed through the forest. Whatever Skanda was doing to the albino soldiers, he was keeping them occupied – and their minds far away from their mounts.
There were six beasts tethered here, all seventeenhand geldings, and Kell and Saark raided saddlebags for provisions and coin, then picked the most powerful looking horses. Saark tied Mary's lead to his mount's tail, and the men mounted the beasts under moonlight and cantered up a nearby slope, and away, into woodland, into the drifting, falling snow.
They did not speak.
They were simply glad to be alive.
They rode for an hour. Several times Saark suggested pausing, and waiting for Skanda. Kell simply gave Saark a sour, evil look, and Saark closed his mouth, aware he would not get far with Kell when the old warrior was in such a stubborn temper.
Finally, they made a cold camp, wary of lighting a fire lest it attract more unwanted military attention. Saark, in particular, was in a bad way. Whilst Kell was seemingly strong as an ox, Saark had suffered several beatings, and a loss of blood from the knife wound at the hands of Myriam; whilst better than he had been, stronger and a little more clear-headed, the constant battering was taking its toll on the man. He had deep, dark rings around his eyes, and his face was drawn and gaunt with exhaustion and pain.
'This is wrong,' said Saark, as they stretched out an army tarpaulin between two trees to give them a little shelter. To their backs was a wall of rock from several huge, cubic boulders which must have tumbled from the nearby hills hundreds of years before, and this left only a single entrance from which the wind and snow could intrude.
'Which bit is wrong? Pull it, Saark, don't bloody tickle it.'
'I'm pulling it, man, I'm pulling! I simply have a reduced mobility due to the wound in my side; or maybe you hadn't bloody noticed me getting stabbed?'
'I'll notice you getting stabbed in a minute, if you don't help erect this damn shelter,' growled Kell. 'My hands are turning blue with the cold! So go on, what's wrong, man?'
'Running away, leaving Skanda to face the soldiers, demons, and whatever else fills this magickhaunted forest.'
Kell tightened a strap, and sat on a rock, rummaging in a saddlebag. Nearby, Mary brayed, and Kell scowled at the donkey. 'Listen, Saark. You didn't see what I saw – the boy, he ripped that soldier's skin and muscle from his body like a rug from a floor. Peeled it off, complete! Then bit out the soldier's throat and cut out his organs. Don't start moaning to me about leaving a little boy in the woods; Skanda is no boy like I have ever seen.'
'What is he then? A camel?'
Kell frowned at Saark, and motioned for the tall swordsman to sit. In a low voice, a tired voice, Kell said, 'I told you what I saw. If you don't believe me, then to Dake's Balls with you! You get out there in the snow and look for the little bastard. Me, I'd rather put my axe through his skull. He gives me the creeps.'
'You are incorrigible!'
'Me?' snapped Kell, fury rising. 'I reckon we brought something bad out of Old Skulkra; invited it out into the world with us. I fear we may have done the world a disservice. You understand?'
'He saved us,' sulked Saark, ducking into the makeshift shelter and resting his back against cold, damp rock. He shivered, despite his fur and leather cloak. 'You are an ungrateful old goat, Kell. You know that?'
'Saved us?' Kell laughed, and his eyes were bleak. 'Sometimes, my friend, I think it is better to be dead.'
They shared out some dried beef and a few oatcakes, and ate in silence, listening to a distant, mournful wind, and the muffled silence brought about by heavy, snowladen woodland. Occasionally, there was a crump as gathered snow fell from high branches. At one point, Kell winced, and took several deep breaths.
'You are injured?' Saark looked suddenly concerned.
'It is nothing.'
'Don't be ridiculous! You are like a bull, you only complain when something hurts you bad. What is it?'
'Pain. Inside. Inside my very veins.'
Saark nodded, his eyes serious. 'You think it's the poison?'
'Yes,' said Kell, through gritted teeth. 'And I know it's going to get worse. My biggest fear is finding Myriam, and the antidote, and not having the strength to break her fucking neck!'
'Do you think Nienna is suffering?'
'If she is, there will be murder,' said Kell, darkly, fury glittering in his eyes. 'Now get some sleep, Saark. You look weaker than a suckling doe. You sure you don't want some more food?'
'After seeing the result of that albino's corpse ripped asunder? No, my constitution is delicate at the best of times. After that spectacle, I have lost appetite enough to last me a decade.'
Kell grunted, and shrugged. 'Food is food,' he said, as if that explained everything.
Saark slept. More snow fell in the small hours. Kell sat on the rock, back stiff, all weariness evaporating with the pain brought by poison oozing through his veins and internal organs. It felt as if his body, knowing it was shortly to die, wanted him to experience every sensation, every second of life, every nuance of pain before forcing him to lie down and exhale his last clattering breath.
The dawn broke wearily, like a tired, pastel watercolour on canvas. Clouds bunched in the sky like fists, and the wind had increased, howling and moaning through woods and between nearby rocks which seemed to litter this part of the world. On the wind, they could smell fire. It was not a comforting stench. It was the aroma of war.
Kell, chin on his fist, eyes alert, Ilanna by his side, jumped a little when Saark touched his shoulder.
'Have you been awake all night, Old Horse?'
'Aye, lad. I couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind.'
'We will find Nienna,' said Saark.
'I don't doubt that. It's finding her alive that concerns me.'
'Shall I cook us breakfast?'
'Make a small fire,' said Kell, softly. 'Hot tea is what I need if these aged bones are to survive much more rough life in the wilderness.'
'Ha, it's a fine ale I crave!' laughed Saark, pulling out his tinderbox.
'I find whiskey a much more palatable experience,' muttered Kell, darkly.
They drank a little hot tea with sugar, and ate more dried beef. Kell's pain had receded, much to the big man's relief, and Saark was also looking much better after a good sleep and some food and hot tea. They huddled around the small fire, then stamped it out and packed away their makeshift camp. They were just packing
