noticed planks across the oil, resting occasionally on rusted iron pillars, and over which he had been dragged. Then he noticed, as they almost materialised from the gloom, huge, ancient machines, of angular iron, with great clockwork wheels and gears, meshing and interweaving. So. An old factory. From Elder Days. Abandoned. Derelict. With no understanding. But here they were, in the bowels of the old factory, the sump, where cooling oil was once stored. But one bright element drove through Saark's thoughts like a spear through chainmail.
Why bring him here?
He grinned, a skeletal grin. He wasn't leaving this place, was he?
They were going to drown him in the oil; and it would swallow him, and leave no mark of his passing.
He stared down into the black pit, motionless now, but as a man moved on the wooden planks so tiny ripples edged out and betrayed the liquid viscosity of centuries-old scum, filled with impurities and filth, and the perfect hiding place for murder…
With senses fast returning, Saark counted the men. There were twelve. T welve? He didn't remember accosting twelve women, but then the nights were cold and long in Kettleskull, Saark was easily bored and so, apparently, were the local housewives and daughters. Was he really that decadent? Saark stared long and hard into his own soul, and with head hung low in shame, he had to admit that he was.
'What are you going to do?' he asked, finally, watching as Rake tied a knot in a thick length of rope. A noose? Wonderful, thought Saark. Just perfect.
'We are going to purify you,' said Rake, face a demon mask in the lantern light, and moved forward, looping the rope over Saark's neck.
'No you're not, lads,' came a voice from the darkness. Then Kell stepped forward, his shape, his bulk hinted at by the very edges of lantern light. In this gloom it mattered not that he was over sixty years of age; he was large, he was terrifying, and Ilanna held steady in bear's paws was a horrible and menacing sight to behold. 'Now put the dandy down, and back away from the chair.'
The men froze, helves and a few rusted short-swords held limp and useless. Rake, who held Saark in a tight embrace – a bonding between executioner and victim – stared at Kell without fear. His eyes were bright with unshed tears.
'Go home, old man. We have unfinished business here.'
Kell gave a low, dark laugh. 'Listen boy. I've been killing men for over forty years, and I've killed every bastard who stood in my way. Now, despite your violence on Saark here, I understand your position, I even agree with you to a large extent…'
'Thanks, Kell!' moaned Saark.
'… but this is not his time to die.' Kell's eyebrows darkened to thunder. His voice dropped an octave. 'I have no argument with any man here. But anybody lays another finger on the wandering peacock, and I'll cleave the bastard from skull to prick.'
Time seemed to freeze. Kell's words hung in the air like drifting snow… and as long as nobody moved, the spell was cast, uncertainty a bright splinter in every man's mind. But then Rake screamed, and hauled on the noose which tightened around Saark's throat, dragging him upright, chair and all, his legs kicking, heels scraping old planks, and Kell took four long strides forward. The terrible axe Ilanna sang through the air and Rake's head detached from his body, and sailed into a dark oil pool. There was a schlup as Rake's head went under. His body stood, rigid in shock for several heartbeats as blood pumped from the ragged neck wound. One leg buckled, and slowly Rake's body folded to the floor like a sack of molten offal.
There was a thunk as Ilanna rested against the planks, and Kell's gaze caressed the remaining men. 'Anybody else?' came his soft words, and they were the words of a lover, whispered and intimate, and every man there lifted hands in supplication and started to back from the chamber.
Kell turned to Saark, reached down, and with a short blade cut the ropes. Saark stood, massaging wrists, then probed tenderly at his nose. 'I think they broke it.'
'No less than you deserve.'
'And I thought you were my knight in shining armour!' scowled Saark, voice dripping sarcasm.
'Never a knight. And no armour,' shrugged Kell. He lifted his axe, heavy shoulders tense, and glared around.
'What's the matter, Kell?' Saark rolled his neck, and pressed tenderly at his ribs. 'Ouch. And look at that! The bastards tore the silk. Do you know how much silk costs up here? Do you know how hard it is to locate and procure a fine tailor? Bloody heathens, bloody peasants… no appreciation of the finer things in life.' 'Take out your pretty little sword,' said Kell.
'Why?'
'DO IT!'
There came a scream. And a crunch. It was a heavy, almost metallic crunch. Like an entire body being ripped in half. This was followed by a thick slopping sound, and ripples spread across the black oil pool towards the men.
'That sounded interesting,' said Saark, his recent beating forgotten. He drew his sword, a fluid movement. The way he held the delicate rapier spoke volumes of his skill with the weapon; this was not some toy, despite its lack of substance. Saark's speed and accuracy were a thing to behold.
'Interesting?' snorted Kell, then ducked as a limp body went whirring overhead. It hit a wall of crumbling stone, and slid down like a broken doll, easing into the black ooze. The stunned face, with ragged beard and oval brown eyes, was last to disappear. Kell and Saark watched, faces locked in frowns of confusion; then they spread apart with the natural instinct of the seasoned warrior.
The single lantern, brought by Rake and his men, spluttered noisily. Its stench was acrid and evil, but not as evil as the shadows cast by the stroboscopic wick.
Kell took a step back. More crunches and screams echoed from the darkness, then fell gradually to an ominous silence.
'What is it?' whispered Saark.
'My mother?' ventured Kell.
'Your humour is ill placed,' snapped Saark. 'Something just silenced eleven men!'
'Well,' grinned Kell, 'maybe it'll have the awesome ability to silence you! Although I doubt it.'
'I am so glad we're both about to die,' hissed Saark. 'At least I'll die in the knowledge that you were ripped apart too.'
'I don't die easy,' said Kell, and rolled his shoulders, eyes narrowed, lantern-light turning his aged greying beard into a demonic visage. His eyes were hooded, unseen, but Saark could feel the cloak of solid violence which settled over Kell's frame; it felt like a high charge of electricity during a raging thunderstorm. It was there, unseen, but ready to strike with maximum ferocity.
The creature came from the gloom, moving easily, fluid, despite its bulk, despite its size. It was a canker, but more than just a canker; this was immense, a prodigy of the deviant, and Kell grinned a grin which had nothing to do with humour.
'Shit,' he said, voice low, 'I think Graal saved this one for us.'
'It's been looking for us,' said Saark, eyes narrowed, some primeval intuition sparking his mind into action. 'Look at its eyes. There's recognition there, I swear by all the gods!'
Kell nodded, hefting his axe, movements smooth and cool and calculated as he stepped forward. The canker was on a narrow bridge now, a thick plank of timber which bowed under its weight. It stopped, eyes fastening on Kell, fangs drooling blood-oil to the wood.
'Looking for me?' said Kell.
Within the canker's flesh, tiny gears and cogs spun and clicked. Its huge shaggy head lowered, and Saark had been right; there was recognition there. It sent a thrill coursing through Kell's veins. Here, he looked into the maw of death. And he was afraid.
'Graal sent me,' said the canker, its voice a strange hybrid of human, animal and… machine. A clockwork voice. A voice filled with the tick-tock of advanced Watchmaking. Its huge shaggy head, so reminiscent of a lion, and yet so twisted and bestial and deformed, tilted to one side in an almost human movement. That sent a shiver of empathy through Kell. He knew. Knew that once these creatures had been human. And it pleased him not a bit to slay them. 'I am a messenger.'
'Then deliver your message, and be gone,' snapped Kell, brows furrowed, face lost in some internal pain
