The Iron Wolves (10 page)

There came hisses, and black-feathered arrows appeared in the backs of two mercenaries, who grunted and fell forward. A second later, they were joined by two more. In a few heartbeats eight mercenaries were dead; townsfolk were lining one side of the street, hands to mouths, eyes wide in horror at this sudden surge of violence.

Lars stood, stunned, four men still behind him but his fury transcending normal logical thought. “You bitch!” he screamed, and launched himself at Kiki. She stood her ground, tall, graceful, head held high, eyes burning. She was back on the battlefield, armoured men bearing down on her, their swords slamming towards her head. She blocked Lars’ horizontal sweep and sparks showered the cobbles, blades sliding together until their hilts locked.

“Say goodbye, Lars. You were fun… whilst you were breathing.”

Kiki stepped back, disengaging blades, and what followed was a stunning display of swordsmanship. Lars, despite his fancy clothes and noble birth, had been taught by some of the finest swordsmen and fencing tutors in Vagandrak. But he was not a soldier. His contests had been for prizes, be they monetary, or the warm bed of some grinning, slack-jawed beauty. This was different. This was real. This was to the death…

The blades rang in song, hissing left and right, diagonal cuts, thrusts to the face or groin; Kiki and Lars moved back and forth on the cobbles, faces locked in concentration but with an increasing look of panic creeping into Lars’ features. He licked his dry lips and found himself madly defending against a dazzling attack, blades clashing and grating together, until Kiki’s sword cut a line across the side of his neck. Blood flushed warm down his collar. An inch deeper and she would have cut open his windpipe…

He took a step back. “I withdraw,” he said, voice shaking.

“Not this time,” said Kiki, and launched a final attack, a dazzling smash of blades that left Lars’ weapon clattering across the cobbles, then a
thud
as his decapitated head landed face down, followed by his collapsing, deflating body.

Kiki’s head snapped up. The remaining mercenaries held up their hands and glanced at Dalgoran who gave a nod. Slowly, they backed away from the scene, sheathed their swords and disappeared down the nearest alley.

“The archers were yours?” said Kiki, smiling bleakly.

“Of course. Basic military strategy dictates at least one form of backup when entering any known confrontation. It’s textbook.”

“Yes. General Dalgoran.
Father.
Thank you. And… I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. “I have been a fool.”

He stared hard at her. “It was good to see you fight again, Kiki. Good to see my captain in action once more. You still have it; a bit rusty on the lower left defence, but not something that can’t be ironed out.”

“You asked me a question. You want to reunite the Wolves? You want to take on this new menace?”

“Yes. You’ll come with me, Kiki?”

“I’ll come with you, Father. But I have to warn you, the others… they have fallen on bad times. Harsh times.”

Dalgoran nodded. “It’s been too many years, Kiki. But whatever state we find them in, you’re still my Iron Wolves, still the best elite unit in Vagandrak. And I’ll skewer any man who says otherwise.”

“Some might say you’re living in the past,” whispered Kiki.

Dalgoran sheathed his sword and held up his hand as the City Guards approached. Seeing his rank, the squad of six stopped suddenly, snapping to attention, salutes held in place. Nobody demanded more respect than Dalgoran.

Nobody, except the King.

“We shall see,” growled the old general, and gestured for the guards to clean away the bodies.

Dek sat on the wooden bench, staring at the ale tankard before him. The tankard, in turn, sat on a wooden plank. The wooden plank was attached to other wooden planks, and the wooden planks, rough sawn, still carrying speckles of sawdust and the heads of large iron nails, were hammered together to form a crude box. It was a coffin. And inside the coffin lay Dek’s mother.

Dek’s face was grim, battered, bruised, scowling. His knuckles were grazed and swollen, and one of his ears was missing a lobe and had been roughly stitched. Directly opposite him, also with a growling visage, sat Ragorek, although Ragorek held his tankard in his bandaged fists. The two men stared at one another. The grand living room was filled with menace and a promise of impending violence. A single brand on the wall flickered, filling the space with eerie light and long dancing shadows.

“I came as fast as I could,” said Ragorek, finally.

Dek took a drink. Foam lined his upper lip. “Eighteen fucking days. It’s a day’s ride, Ragorek. You unfeeling bastard.”

Ragorek stared at him. “I was busy.”

“Too busy to see your dying mum?”

“I… didn’t realise how serious she was.”

“I told you.”

“I didn’t understand.”

“Horse shit! You’re a bastard, Rag. A boneless, spineless, worthless son. I can’t wait for the day you die. Dad’s going to be there, wielding a helve and waiting for you to pop up your stupid grinning head. He’ll cave in your teeth, then your skull, and break your spine; and you’ll deserve every single damn blow.”

“You said that. Wait. Wait!” Dek settled back again, violence a cloak. “You’re being too harsh,” said Ragorek, and sighed, and placed his tankard by his side on the bench. “I came here to help. To help, Dek. To bloody help! Don’t you understand?”

“Horse shit,” growled Dek. “You thought you’d wait it out like a piece of shit coward, like a fucking rat at the bottom of a barrel of liquid shit. You thought you’d wait until she was dead, then poke up your stupid flat head and come on down for the money and the house. Well, here we are. And the house is here. But you know what, Ragorek? You can stick mum’s house up your rectum. You’re not having it.”

“That’s not your decision.”

“Now, there’s a wager.”

“She lodged it with legal men in Drakerath. It’s a legal procedure. Seconded by the King and the Law of the Land.”

“Fuck the Law of the Land.” Dek’s eyes were glowing. “And fuck the King.”

“I have the law on my side,” said Ragorek, not unkindly. “You are blinded by grief. I understand that.” He slowly stood. “I can see it was a mistake me coming here.” He rubbed his aching jaw, and his tongue probed an extra missing tooth. “I’ll be gone. You’ll get the paperwork through soon enough.”

Dek surged up. “YOU’LL FUCKING SIT DOWN AND DRINK YOUR BEER AND FUCKING SEND OUR MUM OFF RIGHT, OR I SWEAR BY ALL THAT’S UNHOLY, I’LL SNAP YOUR FUCKING SPINE OVER MY FUCKING KNEE!”

The two men glared at one another.

Brothers.

Brothers in hate.

Gradually, resentful, grumbling, Ragorek sat back down.

Dek subsided, his eyes wild, his face a contortion. He glared at Ragorek, then drank his drink, then slammed his tankard on his mother’s coffin.

“You show her disrespect,” said Ragorek, voice low.

“No. I was here.
HERE.
I did it all. I sorted it all. I held her hand. I told her I loved her. I listened to her rants. I kissed her tears. I listened to her laments. She wailed, and begged, and cried, and asked why you, YOU, you fucker, asked why you weren’t here.”

“You were always her favourite,” said Ragorek, softly.

“Fuck you. Man, how old are you? What horse shit. That’s because when Dad died, I was there for her. I was always there for her. You fucked off. You went playing your pathetic little games of life in another town, another city, another world; but I knew, I knew she was dying and I stayed and I helped. You did not. Would not. You would not help. And I swear, man, by all the unholy gods, I swear I’ll make you pay for
your
disrespect.”

“Not that again. Not the fight, again. I’m tired, Dek. Too old and tired for this.”

“Well, wake up, old man, because I’m going to kill you.”

They glared at one another over the rough sawn planks of their mother’s coffin. Around them, the house gave a soft creak, as if awaking. Outside, the wind howled and a storm hammered. Rain and sleet battered the windows. A lantern swung wildly, its yellow glow casting crazy patterns on the stone gravel drive.

The house was large and detached, stood in three acres of its own land. Dek’s father had been not just a career soldier, but a trader in ancient texts; he’d made his money and saw his family well provided for before his untimely, early death. The house had been their family home. Dek and Ragorek had played there as children, exploring the nooks and crannies, learning its many secrets. Now, it was worth a pretty penny on the Vagandrak property market, and Dek knew Ragorek had a gleam in his eye for the incoming coin.

Dek gave a sinister smile. Well. He had news for his brother.

Dek drank. And slammed down his tankard.

“Don’t do that.”

“Why? You think I might wake the dead? I wish I could, brother. Wish I could.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while. The type of sour silence that invades a gloomy church ceremony. The atmosphere of a cuckolded husband listening to his wife’s weak excuses. The silence at a child’s funeral.

“I sat,” said Dek, slowly, “and held her hand.”

Ragorek stared at him. He didn’t know what to say. But he knew something was coming. Something bad.

“I sat and held her hand. And I watched her struggling; not to live, I think. I think I was watching her trying to die. She looked like a corpse. Her face was drawn, gaunt, stripped back to the bone. She hadn’t eaten for forty or fifty days. I don’t know. I lost count. I was too busy fucking crying. Crying and wondering where the fuck you were.” He cast a sideways glance at Ragorek, but his elder brother said nothing. “She’d lie for a while and look like she was at peace. But then she’d grasp my hand, crushing my fingers – which was incredible, because all the weight had fallen off her. She was skin and bone. She squeezed the hell out of me, but that was good,
good,
because it showed fight and it showed strength. The will was there. I’d cheer her on. ‘
Fight it!
’, I’d scream. ‘
Fight the fucking thing
’. But of course, it gets us in the end, don’t it? We can only hold out for so long, no matter how bloody hard we think we are. And so I held her hand, and she squeezed me, and I watched her contort, writhe, arching her back, her mouth open in a silent scream. I wept, cried silently, as she screamed silently, and we were mother and son in misery as well as in flesh and history. I waited for her to die. But more. Much more. I
willed
her to die, you know? I begged for it in the end. Down on my knees by her bedside, as she screamed and moaned and shit herself. She was suffering and there was nothing I could do to make it right. I begged for the gods to take her, but of course the gods are all fucking sick, and I mock them, piss on their rancid false effigies. And so, in my madness I started to think about killing her. About taking that fat duck-feather pillow and smothering her; because I could; because I couldn’t bear it, but more importantly – and this is where you fucking need to listen you selfish bastard of a brother – because
she
couldn’t bear it.”

Ragorek stared at him questioningly.

“Did you kill her, little brother?” he asked, eventually.

Dek held up his hand. “No, no, come on, please. I did not, although I contemplated it for long days and longer nights. But who am I to play a god? It is not for me to judge, to kill her, no matter how much she suffered.”

“I am surprised.”

“Why?” A plunge into immediate anger. Hate. Violence.

“You’ve sent enough to their deathbeds. In the army. In the Wolves. As a fighter in the Pits. I know your reputation. I’ve seen you take men apart limb by fucking limb. You’re a madman, Dek. A madman.”

“Only when the rage is on me. But I can control that now, I reckon. I’m better now.”

“Yes. We’ll see.”

Dek drank his ale. His small eyes were the colour of cobalt. He slammed down his tankard, which slopped over the sides, splashing his dead mother’s coffin.

“That’s disrespectful,” said Ragorek again, words slow and direct as pointed barbs.

“Fuck you. Fuck the man who fucks off for weeks when he knows his mother is dying. Fuck the man who doesn’t visit, doesn’t help, doesn’t care. Fuck the man who fucks off on his own little mission and only re-emerges when she’s dead and cold and gone, and he thinks he’s going to get his money, thinks he’s going to get his slice of the Estate. Fuck him.”

“It wasn’t like that, Dek.”

“It looked like that.”

“It didn’t play out like that.”

“Fucking looked like it, you big bastard.”

They stared at each other. Time passed. Worlds died. Stars were born. They did not speak. Eventually Dek smiled. A broad, friendly, humorous smile that was totally out of place. He drank his ale leaving a foam moustache.

“What’s that smile mean?”

“Ha! Get fucked.”

“No. Seriously, Dek. What’s going on inside your head? Except the blindingly obvious?”

“We have a problem.”

They stared at one another.

“What kind of problem?”

“A serious kind of problem,” said Dek, slowly, and threw his tankard to one side. He rose, ponderously, for he was a big man. He stared hard at his brother. “You have, of course, heard of the Red Thumb Gang?”

“Yeah. Nasty scum. When they kill somebody, they leave a bloody thumbprint on the victim’s forehead.”

“Yes. That’s them. They rule pretty much all the gangs and shite in Vagan, Drakerath, Kantarok, Zaret… all the major cities. Well. Let’s see. How can I put this… I owe them some money.”

“How much money?”

“A lot of money.” He grinned. “A
lot
of money.”

“What did you do?”

“Gambling, mostly. After the fights in the Pits.”

“And you lost?”

“Yeah. More than that. I lost. And I lost
this
.”

“This? What’s
this
?”

“This house.
This
fucking house.”

“It wasn’t yours to gamble!” screamed Ragorek, surging to his feet. “It belonged to our mother! It was her home! How could you gamble her fucking home? You little bastard shit.”

“At last! A show of emotion! Is the fear of losing your inheritance stinging you, little boy? Yeah, I bet the house on the pit fights, and I know what you’re going to say; you’re going to whine and moan and bleat like a fist-fucked goat. You’re going to say now,
now
our mother is dead, then half the house is yours. By the Law of the Land. The Law of our fine King Yoon. By all the courts and the Law of Vagandrak, yeah yeah. But unfortunately for you, you old bastard, the Red Thumb Gang don’t listen to the Law of the Land. They’re going to come here. They’re going to come here tonight and take what they want.”

“I don’t believe it!” raged Ragorek.

“You’d better believe it. I made a few mistakes. This house is forfeit. But then, that’s academic because our mother,
our fucking mother
, is dead. And the only loser I can see here, and now, is you.” He laughed out loud, and grinned at Ragorek. “I believe the gods show their pleasure in numerous different ways.”

Ragorek stood. He drew his short sword. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Be my guest. There’s a fucking line of bastards waiting to do it!”

There came a shout from outside. Firelight flickered from brands; many brands.

“They’re here!” hissed Ragorek.

“Yeah. I know.” Dek poured himself another tankard of ale. “Funny, ain’t it?”

“Oh, you bastard! You knew they were coming, you knew the Red Thumbs were coming and you let me sit here and drink and talk! Oh Dek, you’re the lowest form of horse shit.”

“And that’s where we disagree.” Dek rose and drew his own short sword. “You see Ragorek, you owe me. You owe me in blood, and in honour, and in your pathetic show of compassion; you owe me in family shame. You owe our old mum. Now, I’m happy to let you die here. By the sulphur of the Furnace, I’m willing to die here myself. By all the gods, I don’t rightly give a shit.”

“Hoy! You in there! Come out and throw down your weapons! We have a warrant from the Red Thumb Governor.”

Dek grinned. “But tonight, by all the gods, I’m going to burn this place down and cremate our mum. It’s where she wanted to lay. She wanted go by fire, here, in the grounds where our father is buried. Now, you can help me, Rag, or I can cut off your fucking head and do it all by myself. What’s it going to be?”

They stared at one another, across their mother’s coffin.

Ragorek’s face contorted. He gritted his teeth, and growled, and then spat.

“You cunt, Dek.”

“Never said I wasn’t,” rumbled the big pit fighter.

“I’ll do this. For our mum. And to show you I never was interested in the money.”

“Your face betrays the words that puke from your mouth like disgorged maggots, but whatever. Let’s get to it, if that’s the way it’s going to be.”

“What’s the plan?”

“We need to entice the Red Thumb boys inside. Deep inside. Lead them into the Heart.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’ve taken care of it,” said Dek, grinning, and showing his missing teeth.

Dek stood. His face narrowed.

Firelight glittered in the courtyard from many brands. Ragorek stood, and the two men looked out the window. There was a large group, dressed in dark clothing and bearing many weapons.

“There must be twenty men,” said Ragorek, and gave Dek a sideways look. “Shit, brother. They must want you pretty bad!”

“I did say I owed them money.”

“But…
twenty
men?”

“Let us say my reputation precedes me.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Get out your sword, follow my lead.”

Outside the group had gathered. Firelight shone on damp cobbles and various ancient, moss-darkened statues from the family’s distant past. One man foregrounded himself; he was a tall, athletic man, a warrior by his stance. He held his brand high and the firelight shone from his brown forked beard.

“Dek, this is Crowe,” he bellowed. “Come on out. We know you’re in there. Show yourself. You have some questions to answer, old friend. You have three minutes.”