leapt again, long claws stretching to tear free his throat…
Kell sat up. He spat. He noticed Saark watching him and scowled. 'What you looking at?'
'A grumpy old stoat?'
'Fuck off.'
'You did ask.'
'You didn't need to answer.'
'What are you thinking about?'
'Rescuing Nienna.'
'What about the poison in your veins?'
'DAMN THE POISON IN MY VEINS!' Kell screamed, face almost purple with rage, and then he realised he was standing, axe in hands, glowering down at Saark who had leant back, hands out, face open in shock. 'Calm down,' said Saark, eventually, as Kell subsided.
'I am… sorry,' said the big man.
'You need to learn to lighten up a little.'
'You can always fu… Yes, yes, I see.' Kell made a growling noise. 'I am sorry. I will attempt to be more amenable. I will talk with you, Saark, and I will be a gentleman.' He gave a rough cough, and pain shivered through his features.
'You are dying,' said Saark, gently.
'Yes. It grows unbearable. Excuse my rage.'
'We need to find this Myriam bitch.'
'Yes,' sighed Kell, weary with the world.
'I am looking forward to some payback,' said Saark, with a narrow smile.
They rode for hours. The clouds dissipated, and the sun, although weak, was warm and pleasing on their skin. On this morning, heading north, the world seemed a much happier, warmer place.
'Talk to me,' said Saark, after a while, hunched over his saddle, face lost in distant dreams.
'About what?' grunted Kell.
'Anything.'
'I'm not in the mood for talking.'
'I need you to take my mind off… something.'
Kell stared at Saark, hard. But said nothing.
'I'll begin then,' coughed Saark, and thought for a moment. 'Don't you think,' he paused, contemplating a myriad montage of memories in his laconical mind, 'that's there's nothing sweeter in this world than a ripe, eager quim?'
Kell considered this. 'Meaning?' he growled.
'It means what it says.'
'Meaning?'
'Come on Kell, talk to me, confide in me, I'm bloody bored, mate, and you need some cheering up. I nearly died back there at the fangs of Shanna or whatever the shit she was called, and I want some fun. I want some philosophising. I want some banter, my man – it's what I thrive on! I want some life!'
Kell stared at him. He cleared his throat. 'After all we've been through, after all the things we've seen, after all the battles we've endured; how can you be bored?'
Saark spread his arms wide, and grinned. His humour had returned. Pain no longer seemed to trouble him. He was bright as a button; brighter, in fact. So bright he shone. 'Hey,' he said, 'you know me. I am a hedonist. Drink. Women. Gambling. Fighting. Thievery. Debauchery. It's a dull day when the Bone Underworld shuts its gates.'
Kell coughed again, and looked away to distant mountains. Then he returned his stare to Saark. 'Do you not think,' he said, slowly, one great hand holding the reins of his horse, the other nestled almost unconsciously on the saddle-stashed Ilanna, 'do you not think I, also, enjoy such things?'
Saark considered this. 'Pah! You are Kell the Hero. Kell the Legend. You're idea of a good time is rescuing fair damsels in distress, hunting down vagabonds and returning stolen monies to the authorities, hell, you probably even clean your teeth before you go to bed.'
'You met my granddaughter, yes?'
'Of course, a fine fillet of female flesh, she was.' He coughed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 'If you don't mind me saying so.'
'I do, as a matter of fact,' said Kell, voice hard. But he let it pass. 'Obviously, I have a granddaughter. So then, where did she come from?'
'Your daughter would be the logical conclusion,' said Saark, smugly.
'Yes. My daughter. Proof of my prowess, surely?' 'Ha. I am sure I have many daughters! One is not proof of prowess, simply a proof of simple, common luck.'
'Meaning?' Kell's voice was cold.
'All I'm saying is that ale has a lot to answer for.'
'And your meaning?'
'Well,' said Saark, losing a little of his comfort zone, 'I know many an ugly bastard who's sired a child. The Royal Court wine is strong, and when drank in plentiful consumption can lead, shall we say, to amorous connections best left to the annals of dreams.' He considered this, as if through experience, his mouth twisting a little. 'Or maybe nightmare.'
Kell coughed, eyes glittering with a dangerous shine. 'You trying to say something, lad?'
'Only that alcohol has sired many children. One daughter, and hence granddaughter, is no display of excellence in the art of amorous seduction.'
'I'm not talking about seduction. I'm talking about love… no, no I'm not.' Kell frowned, rubbing his beard. 'I always was rough around talk of such things. What I mean to say is, I obviously had a wife.'
'Yes?' Saark smiled politely. There were many responses he could have made, but wisely chose to utter none.
'Well,' struggled on Kell, 'I had a wife, and I was married, and we had a child. A girl. A little angel. I loved her with all my heart, and I was a brute I know, but it was the first time in my life I realised I would kill for somebody, and I would also die for somebody. That was a new one on me. That was something unique.'
'I have heard it is a magical experience,' said Saark, a little stiffly. 'Although I have never experienced it firsthand, myself. Despite being a father many times over.'
Kell grinned, and it looked wrong on his face, Saark observed. Where was the scowl? The hatred? The fury?
'Well lad, you missed out on a rare experience, for all your talk of hedonism. For nothing beats a high like childbirth – and I should know,' his voice dropped to a dark realm, 'I've taken every bastard drug in Falanor.'
They rode in silence for a while, whilst Saark digested this information. We ll, he thought, there's more life in the old donkey than I realised! 'Go on,' he said, finally. 'What happened to your wife?'
'How did you know I was treading that particular territory?'
'I have spent an eternity in courts, with nobility, and royalty, and peasants who thought they were nobility. One thing they always want to speak about is their wives. Too fat, too thin, small tits, tits like a pig's bladder, carping, harping, moaning, whining, legs always open, legs always shut. It's all water off a greased duck's back.' Saark smiled. 'So, what's your story?'
'I was illustrating a point,' growled Kell with a nasty look.
'Am I supposed to understand the point? Or does that bit come later?'
'Just listen,' growled Kell. 'The point is, I am no longer with my wife. She is not dead. We separated. It was the best option.'
'What did you do?' asked Saark, voice a little more understanding now.
'I was a bad man,' said Kell, words so soft they were almost lost in the sigh of the wind. 'I was the toughest, meanest fucker you ever did meet. I maimed, I hurt, I tortured, I killed. I was infamous. My name was feared throughout Falanor. And I… I revelled in it, in the notoriety. Many a time we would stop at an inn, and I would leave my wife in the room and come down to the drinking bar, and drink whiskey, drink far too much whiskey, and as the night progressed so I would lie on the bar, bare-chested, laughing off challenges as a host of women rubbed ale into my hairy chest, or drank fine wine and passed it by mouth to my mouth, and then, when I was
