iron bars. Further back, where Saark and Nienna could not spy, Kell informed them, was the Hole. The Hole, or the mine itself, was the place where so many thousands of criminals had been worked to death in the name of rehabilitation.
'It looks like a prison,' said Saark.
'It is.'
'I know. I'm just saying.'
'Searlan wanted his bastards to stay put. That's what they called themselves, back in the bad old days. Searlan's Bastards.'
'I expect you put a few good men away there as well, did you?'
'No.'
'No?'
'No good men. Only scum.'
'How many?'
'What does it matter?' Kell's eyes gleamed. More snow was falling, and the gloom made him look eerie; a giant amongst men, bear-like, with his looming, threatening mass, his bearskin, his huge paws. It was easy to forget he was over sixty years old.
'I'm just contemplating, right, what happens if we get inside that place and a few of the old prisoners recognise you? You understand? Old fuckers carrying some twenty year pent-up grudge. After all, I've known you but a few sparse months, and I already want you dead.'
'Thanks very much.'
'I'm just being honest.'
'Listen, Saark. I must have put over a hundred men in there. And if they cross me again, they'll have a short sharp conversation with Ilanna. You understand?'
'You can't kill a hundred men, Kell. Be reasonable.'
'Fucking watch me,' he growled. 'Come on. Get your shit. I know the Governor, a man called Myrtax. He's a good man, a fair man. As long as he kept those gates shut, even the Army of Iron would have struggled to breach the defences; and I doubt very much this pipe in the arsehole of Hell was high on Graal's invasion agenda.'
They moved down a narrow track which led to a wide open, bleak killing field. As they moved across barren rock and snow, Kell pointed to four high towers.
'Each tower can take fifty archers. That's two hundred arrow men raining down sudden death. And out here,' he opened his arms wide, 'there's nowhere to hide.'
'You fill me with a happy confidence,' said Saark, voice dry.
'I try, lad. I try.'
They moved warily across the killing ground, heads lifted, eyes watching the towers for signs of archers, or indeed, any military activity. But they were bare. Silent. The whole place reeked of desertion.
They drew closer. A cold wind blew, whipping snow viciously and slapping it into exposed faces. Nienna gasped frequently, her breath snapped away, an ice shock sending shivers down her spine.
Eventually, they were in shouting distance and Kell halted, Ilanna thunking to the snow, Kell stroking his beard as he surveyed the formidable wall and massive gates before him.
'IS ANYBODY THERE?' he rumbled, deep voice rolling out across the bleak prison fortress. Echoes sang back at him from the walls, from the vertical mountain flanks, from the slick, ice-rimed rocks. The wind howled, an eerie, high-pitched ululation.
Silence followed. A long, haunting silence.
'There's nobody here, Kell.'
'I don't understand. Why would Myrtax give up his castle? He was a brave man. Loyal to the King.'
'The King is dead,' said Saark, weary now, sighing.
'Hmm.'
There came a crack, and a head appeared over the icy crenellations. 'By all the gods, Kell, is that you?'
'Governor Myrtax?'
'It's been a long time. Wait there, I'll come down and open the gate.'
'Where are the prisoners?' frowned Kell, hand on his axe.
'Gone, Kell. All gone. Wait there. I'll be but a few moments; I have warm stew, a fire, and hot blankets inside. You must have travelled far.'
Kell nodded, and rubbed once more at his frosted beard.
'Wonderful!' beamed Saark. 'A little bit of civilisation, at last! I'd wager he has some fine ale in there as well, and all we need to make the evening complete is a couple of buxom happy daughters, and…'
'Saark!' snapped Nienna.
'What?'
'Saark!' Her frown deepened.
'I am simply pointing out that a buxom wench could be considered a luxury in these parts.' He shrugged. 'You know how it is, with me and buxom wenches.'
'I certainly do,' said Nienna, her voice more icy than the frozen battlements.
Governor Myrtax opened the huge, thick door, which in turn was set in the fifty foot high gates which guarded the prison wall; he stood, a beaming smile on his face, a well-built man who had run to fat. His hair was shaved close to the scalp, and peppered with grey. He wore a full beard, a mix of black and ash, and his eyes were dark, intelligent, and friendly.
Myrtax opened his arms. 'Kell! It's been too long! No happy prisoners for me this time?'
'No,' snapped Kell, and stepped forward, hugging the man. 'Sorry. Not this time. But give a few months and I'll have ten thousand heads on spikes for you!'
'Are things that bad, to the south?'
'King Searlan is dead.'
'No!' Myrtax drew in a sharp breath, and his face went serious. 'That is grave news indeed.' He glanced around, up and down the snowy field where the wind blasted gusts of loose snow in rhythmical, vertical curtains. 'Better come inside. We've had Blacklippers sniffing around, the dirty, oil-taking bastards.'
Kell nodded, and ushered Nienna and Saark before him. They moved into a long, dark killing tunnel, high roofed and with balconies for archers and stone-throwers used in times of siege. They walked a short way along, and Saark glanced up nervously.
'Don't worry lad. We can trust Myrtax.'
Myrtax had stopped next to the second portal. Beyond, they could see black cobbles and streaks of ice. Myrtax turned, lifted his hands, and his eyes fixed on Kell and his eyes were haunted, filled with guilt, and with grief. 'I'm sorry, Kell.'
There came a rattle of activity and above the three travellers, on the high killing balconies, rose fifty men, convicts, murderers, dressed in rag-tag furs and armour and each sporting a powerful crossbow.
'Truly. I am sorry.'
A tear ran down Myrtax's cheek. 'They have my wife. They have my little ones. What could I do, man? What could I do?'
'Throw down your weapons,' came a gruff bark.
'There's only fifty of you,' snorted Kell, dark eyes moving across the ranks of men. But Saark's hand touched his shoulder, and he knew what the dandy meant. Nienna. There was always Nienna. Like a splinter in his side, removing his strength, castrating his fury. 'Damn.'
Saark tossed down his rapier, and Nienna threw down her short sword and knives.
Reluctantly, Kell rested his great, black axe against the wall. His shoulders sagged. They had him.
Three men pushed into the tunnel, and shoved Myrtax aside where he stumbled against the wall, going down on one knee. They arranged themselves before the travellers, and each wore a snarl as ugly as his features.
'I am Dandall,' said the first, a tall, narrow-faced man in his fifties with slanted green eyes. He had scars on his cheeks, and long, bony fingers.
'I am Grey Tail,' said the smaller of the three. He was a head shorter than Dandall, slim and wiry, his face round and almost trustworthy, if it wasn't for the black lips of imbibed blood-oil which tainted him with its curse. Kell saw the man's hands were shaking, probably withdrawal from his drug of choice. The veins stood out on the
