The Iron Wolves (14 page)

Orlana strode through the Main Hall of the Palace at Zak-Tan, head held high, eyes surveying the finery of the surroundings: carved marble, vibrant paintings, busts of stone, rich tapestries imported from the far east, wooden statues from the deep south. She swept up the steps towards Zorkai’s chambers, the king trailing ten footsteps behind, his mind still in a whirl from the madness he had witnessed. On the streets of the city, the returning forces had not been met with the same enthusiasm as when they had left. Men and women and children, running in blind panic, amidst screams and shouts and general chaos. Now, the streets were deserted, and patrolled by the horse beasts of Orlana. And whilst they were not exactly under orders to attack, Zorkai had quickly got the general impression his people weren’t willing to put it to the test.

“I like,” Orlana said, pointing to a huge tapestry at the top of the sweeping stairway. It depicted a huge battle between mud-orcs crawling like worms from the Mud-Pits, and defenders on the walls of Desekra Fortress at the Pass of Splintered Bones. Zorkai had always found the work depressing, but it had been a favourite of his late father and so he’d kept it to remind him of the stern old man.

“I always found it… brooding, dark, violent.”

“Those were dark, violent times.”

“You were there?”

Orlana met his gaze and gave a small nod. “Let us say I knew Morkagoth. He was a man possessed.” She smiled.

“He was killed by the Iron Wolves, right?”

“Not exactly
killed,
” said Orlana. “More
banished.
He carried the blood of the Equiem. Now, there is a race that’s hard to destroy.”

Zorkai glanced down the stairs, to where Tuboda had set up guard by the massive entrance doors to the Main Hall. The great lion-creature had settled down on its twisted haunches, leaning slightly to one side, and the tawny eyes met the king’s. He shivered. That look was far too intelligent for his liking.

“Zorkai! You’re back! Why didn’t they ring the bells?” Shanaz ran down the steps, hair bouncing, silks flowing, bare feet slapping, a wide smile on her pretty face: her gleaming red gloss lips, and evocative, dark ochre eyes. Then she saw Orlana and stopped dead. “Who is that?”

“This is Orlana.”

“Your new queen,” said Orlana, voice soft, eyes glittering.

“
What?
” screeched Shanaz. “Hunta! Marella! Come quickly! Come NOW!”

She needn’t have shouted, for both women were already on their way, unwilling for Shanaz to spend too much time alone with their
shared
husband. The two other wives paused at the top of the steps, eyes widening at this new complication, then slowly descended to the mid-point landing and the huge tapestry depicting the War of Zakora.

“This woman! She says she is the new queen!” babbled Shanaz, near hysterical, head turning from left to right, hair flying, eyes suddenly wild. “Have you ever heard such rubbish? Zorkai! How could you? How could you bring another woman here? We three are not enough for you? After all those wild nights I spent in your bed making you moan, my nails clawing your back, my performance better than these other two
bitches!
”

Orlana looked at Zorkai, then back to Shanaz. “Is this woman ever quiet?”

“Don’t you dare do that!” screamed Shanaz, and Zorkai took a step back, paling. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room. Oh no! So tell me,
bitch,
go on, how long have you been seeing
our
husband? How long have you been
fucking
my king?” She strutted towards Orlana, and only then did the small, jewelled blade become visible in her hand. It glittered with gold and precious jewels, but the blade was razor sharp, the edge thinner than paper and honed religiously by a fanatic.

Hunta and Marella were silent, but they leaned forward eagerly, eyes shining, thrilled at this new turn of events. It seemed like a situation which could only benefit them; Shanaz was building herself up into a frenzy, and whether she killed this new woman or not, she was not painting herself in a modest light. Zorkai did not like such displays amongst his wives. Whatever the outcome, Hunta and Marella were going to benefit. Especially if Shanaz
killed
his new woman…

“It’s a disgrace!” shouted Hunta.

“Go on, Shanaz, show her we won’t be dishonoured like this!”

Zorkai threw them an evil glare, and placed his hand on his sword hilt. “Shanaz, wife, calm yourself!” But there was no soothing Shanaz. Her temper was up. Her face was flushed red with fury. Her eyes glittered brighter than her dagger blade.

Orlana still made no move as this spitting, snarling ball of dark energy approached. She wore a narrow smile on her face, but her hands were by her sides, her soft flesh apparently unprotected.

“Bitch queen!” spat Shanaz in Orlana’s face, having to stand on tip-toe to reach her. She was close now. Close enough to plunge in the blade. But she paused… her flapping tongue had not yet finished.

“You think you can come here and open your legs and take my man, well I’m here to tell you something; he belongs to
us,
we worked hard to get him,
I
worked hard to get him. And I’m not letting some skin and bone arrogant whore suck and slime her way into his bed and take the wealth we –
I –
have worked so hard to acquire! Have you any last words before I gut you like a rotten fish?”

Orlana considered this. Her small pale tongue moistened her pale, almost translucent, lips. The smile had still not left her face. Quietly, she said, “Do you always mewl like a fist-fucked kitten?” before back-handing her down the stairs, a movement so swift none saw Orlana even lift her hand.

Shanaz spun, over and over, limbs and torso slapping hard against the marble edges of the steps, her jewelled razor dagger clattering away ahead of her. She hit the bottom hard and lay still, and broken, a skin bag of crushed bones.

Slowly, she groaned, and pushed herself up a little, but slumped back down to the white marble floor. The small pool of blood which leaked from her mouth was dark crimson, a stunning contrast against skin and white marble.

Zorkai said nothing, but took another step back, as if to distance himself from this act of violence. Whilst he did not actively dislike Shanaz – she was a wild Hellcat beneath the sheets, for example – he had no real desire to see her come to harm. And despite her pulling a blade on Orlana, her words had been hot air. In a real world of real violence, one acted, not flapped lips. Shanaz was full of hot words and insults. He did not believe she would have used the blade.

Now, Orlana lifted her gaze to Hunta and Marella. The two women had turned pale.

“Come to me, little chickens,” said Orlana, and stretched out her hand, and half closed her eyes.

“Zorkai, no, don’t let her hurt us! We’re your wives! Please!”

Zorkai clamped shut his mouth and lowered his eyes, as against their will, both Hunta and Marella began the long, long walk down the marble steps towards the woman with pale skin and soft, glowing eyes…

The corridor was plush and expensive, in a cheap and nasty way. The wallpaper was maroon with golden swirls, but in poor condition, damaged on doorway corners and scuffed near skirting boards. The red carpet, whilst once thick and rich and obviously expensive, now had various tattered patches and various unrecognisable stains. There were quality fake busts made from cheap plaster, and an over-abundance of gilt on archways and decorative vases which, rather than add to the allure of the décor, gave the opposite effect. It was the sort of corridor decorated and dressed by somebody who had never seen wealth before; which was ironic, because Narnok was one of the wealthiest men in the city.

None of this mattered as the panicked screams bounced down the long passage, from which ten doors led to ten independent “suites” housing a variety of young ladies with differing hair colours, styles, breast sizes and tastes in the extreme. The Pleasure Parlour catered for most.

Narnok sprinted down the red carpet, boots thudding to stop by Room 9. Without ceremony, the large man kicked open the door to see Luleyla cowering beneath the gathered black sheets, backed up against the headboard of the overlarge bed, her face framed in horror and bobbed red curls. The thin, hairy man, naked but for his socks, held a short serrated knife and he spun around, eyes locking to Narnok’s brutal scarred face. Narnok took a threatening step forward.

“Lose the weapon, friend,” he rumbled.

The man, weasel-faced with a short, forked beard, grinned, eyes glittering. He might have only been of slim build, but there was a wealth of nasty experience in those dark gleaming eyes. Narnok immediately disliked him. But then, Narnok immediately disliked most men.

“I’m not your friend,
fucker.
I paid my coin, and now I’m going to get what I paid for. A few little cuts won’t hurt. Will it, sweet cheeks?” He turned to Luleyla, grinning.

“He wants to hurt me, Narn. Please don’t let him!”

“Nobody’s going to hurt you, Lules. Go over there and get dressed.”

“Don’t – fucking – move.” The man turned back to Narnok, and the fact he’d had the balls to turn his back on the large man with his broad, powerful chest, hulking shoulders and fists like shovels was a testament to his courage; or his stupidity. He stared into Narnok’s brutally scarred face, with its criss-cross of thin white razor scars and the one milky white eye, and his face relaxed into a languid smile. “Why, you’re a pretty one. You’re Narnok. I’ve heard of you.”

“Only bad things, I hope,” growled the huge warrior.

“On the contrary. I know you know my people. Therefore, you should know me. I am Galtos Gan.”

“Never heard of you. Now drop the knife before I really lose my temper.”

“I am cousin to Faltor Gan. I’m
Red Thumb,
see? And I always get what I pay for.”

“Not this time.”

“I was told this girl likes to play rough. I’m ready to play rough. If you don’t like it – well, you can kiss my rosy backside. You know my boys will be round in the hour to torch this place if I just say the word.” He reached forward and patted Narnok on the shoulder. “So, be a good lad, and clear off. There’s a woman here needs a little bit of slicing.”

As his hand retreated from the pat, Narnok’s own hand struck swiftly, grabbing Galtos Gan’s hand and twisting it savagely against the joint, whilst lifting it high. Galtos was immediately forced down on one knee, a squeal of shock and pain erupting from his lips, his other hand dropping the knife and slapping the floor hard. Narnok held him like that for a moment, then let go, stepping back, scarred face narrowed.

“That’s your warning. Get your clothes and leave. Maria on the desk will give you back your coin.”

In silence, Galtos Gan pulled on his trousers and fine silk shirt, and a heavy overcoat of rich dark wool. He pulled on his boots, and stooped to retrieve his dagger, but Narnok trod on the blade.

“You must have missed our ‘no weapons’ sign on the door when you came in, friend. You can leave that there. Give us your address and I’ll have it sent on. After all, I wouldn’t like to
upset
the Red Thumb boys now, would I?” Narnok gave a crooked smile, as if he really didn’t have a care in the world.

“That’s fine,” said Galtos, straightening his heavy overcoat. He threw a look towards Luleyla, along with a narrow smile. He winked. “Be seeing you sooner than you think, sweet cheeks. After all. A perfect body like that needs a little scarring.”

As he turned back, Narnok delivered a powerful low right hook to the man’s ribs. Three broke with audible cracks, and the man doubled over, grunting, as Narnok’s knee rose into his face, snapping his head back with a splash of blood up the walls and breaking his nose in the process. Galtos fell back, gasping, whining, both hands clutching his face as he stared up through a mask of blood.

“You bastard! You broke my nose!” He clutched at his side and tried to rise. His fine silk shirt was sodden with blood.

Narnok reached down, grabbing the man’s hair and hauling him to his feet. “You threaten my girls again,” he growled, pulling him close enough to kiss, “and I’ll snap your fucking neck. You understand, you maggot?”

“He’s got a knife!” screamed Luleyla, as the blade slashed for Narnok’s side. He batted it away and head-butted Galtos on the broken nose, making him slam back into the wall, slipping down to the carpet, weeping and holding his broken face.

“Get dressed, Luleyla. And gather the girls together. Tonight is a good night to close early, I think.”

Luleyla ran from the room and Narnok took the knife and examined the blade. Fine silver steel, honed to a razor. This man was wealthy; there was no doubt. But was he really part of a Red Thumb Gang?

The Red Thumbs were notorious throughout Vagandrak, and every city or large town had a syndicate run by a collection of the most wealthy crime families in the land. They specialised in extorting simple, honest people from their hard-earned coin; either as “protection” money or by open threats and injury; even murder. They ran gambling houses, dog- and wolf-fighting pits, whorehouses, honey-leaf dens, and even resorted to open robbery if the reward was high enough. They were a jagged splinter in the side of every City Watchman, and an embarrassment to King Yoon who seemed, with every passing month, to ignore their presence with renewed vigour. It was a well-known fact you didn’t cross the Red Thumbs, for their name had come about from the people they had murdered. Each corpse was left with a bloody thumb-print in the centre of the forehead. Hence the name, and synonym with violence.

Narnok had had his fair amount of trouble on the streets of Kantarok, but always studiously avoided the Red Thumb Gangs if at all possible. A man didn’t need that kind of concerted trouble. Narnok ran his whorehouse with efficiency, kindness to the women, and an honesty which brought him little attention from the City Watch. But now, it would seem, the Red Thumbs had come calling on him, whether he wanted their attention or not.

Narnok pocketed the knife, and hauled Galtos to his feet. “Come on, friend. Let’s escort you out to the street.”

“You’ll die for this,” said Galtos, through his bloody face.

“You never know when to shut up, do you, son? Well, if I’m going to die for this…” Narnok delivered a heavy punch to Galtos’ belly, making the man groan, and another solid overhand blow to the man’s face, pulping the cheekbone within. Galtos sagged under Narnok’s grip, as he hoisted the half-conscious man behind him and strode down the corridor towards the reception where Maria sat, face pale.

“Is it true? Is he Red Thumb?”

“Possibly, although he may well be full of horse shit. A lot of these people are. Get the girls together and go down to Tanor’s Tavern. I have good credit there; he’ll let you share a few rooms until I get this thing done.”

Maria stood and grabbed Narnok’s massive bicep. “What are you going to do, Narn?”

He grinned, then, a quite terrifying sight from behind an insane criss-cross of thin white scars below a milky eye. “Don’t you worry you none,” he growled. “This bastard had it coming. Nobody treats my girls like that and walks away.”

“Yes, but… the Red Thumbs…” She gazed at him, terrified.

“We shall see,” said Narnok. “Lock the door behind you.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right? I can call my brother, Gellund…”

“Just do as you are told, woman!” Narnok dragged Galtos to the door, and peered out. The cobbled street was silent, for the hour was late. Distantly, he heard drunken shouting, but boots thudded away and silence returned.

Narnok hoisted Galtos Gan up, draping one of the man’s arms around his broad shoulders as if helping a drunken friend home; then he stepped out into the winter chill.

It was dark, and a biting wind cut through the streets. Narnok walked Galtos, who was groaning and mumbling, for a good ten minutes until they reached the wide street which ran alongside the Kantarok River. Narnok could feel the chill from the deep, fast running waters and he shivered.

He looked up and down the street, eyes picking out the occasional yellow glow of a fish-oil lantern. Then he walked the mumbling man across, propping him against the low stone wall which had been built to protect the city from flooding. In past decades, the Kantarok had been swelled by snowmelt from the White Lion Mountains to the northeast, bursting its banks and flooding the cellars of half the city. The late, great King Tarek had funded the floodwall from his own royal coffers; but then, he had been a king of the people, loved by the people. Not like the latest dandy idiot, thought Narnok soberly.

He listened carefully. A wind howled from the mountains and for a moment Narnok was lost in their snowy embrace; he’d fought several campaigns over the mountains and the crossings, especially in winter, had been no mean feat. And yet… yet he loved the mountains with all his heart. No compromise there. Just iron. And rock. And ice. But equally, no ego, vanity or back-stabbing friends. Maybe that’s what he should do. Sell the whorehouse. Or even better, give it to the girls. Head off into the hills and build himself a lonely wooden cabin… Then he wouldn’t have to deal with situations like this.

You attract trouble like a fresh-laid turd attracts flies,
Dek had once said. Narnok had bridled, but Dek grabbed him in a bear-hug.
Look at you! Too bloody handsome by far! If you weren’t so good looking I’d break your bloody face!
They’d wrestled over that. A mighty contest. Narnok won eight silver pennies.

The memories drifted away like smoke on the biting, bitter wind, and Galtos Gan mumbled again. Narnok listened, but could hear no signs of the Watch. Just what he needed right now, some nosey guard sticking his big bloody nose in.

“What… what yer doing?” mumbled Galtos Gan, through a mouthful of blood and teeth shards. He drooled it down his already soiled silk shirt.

“Listen,” said Narnok, holding the man by the front of his heavy coat, good eye narrowing. “Tell me for sure, now. Are you really a part of the Red Thumb Gangs? Be honest with me, because a lot depends upon it.”

“Aye man, yes, so let me go or you will suffer greatly!” mumbled Galtos, easing the words out from his damaged face.

Narnok sighed, his heart heavy. “That’s what I was worried about.” He pulled free the expensive dagger, checked around once more, and pushed it slowly into Galtos Gan’s belly. The man felt the cold bite of razor steel and his eyes went suddenly wide, his body and mind suddenly fully awake as adrenaline and awareness flushed his lethargy away. He started to struggle, legs kicking, fists smacking weakly at Narnok, but the big man held him tight, and cut upwards with the knife, opening Galtos Gan like a fish on a block. The man wriggled, but the knife opened his heart and he spasmed in Narnok’s hands, then went suddenly slack. His mouth was open in an “O” of horror.

Narnok looked left and right again, and leaving the blade in the body, crouched, and hoisted it to the top of the thick stone wall. With one final look, he pushed the body into the Kantarok River. There was a splash, and he was gone in the blink of an eye, swallowed and carried away on powerful currents.

Narnok stared down at himself. Blood wet hands, and his own shirt stained.

Time to light the wood-burner in the cellar, he thought. And he’d not had to do that for a long time.

Not since Katuna. Not since her betrayal.

Narnok thought about his wife as he trudged home, hands deep in pockets to hide his murder. He thought about his
ex-
wife. He remembered her as she had been. Prettier than any woman he’d ever met, long black hair in natural curls, flashing dark eyes, skin the colour of olives! He’d been hailed as a hero back then, wealth and land showered on him by King Tarek after the killing of Morkagoth. Endless parades through the city streets, with people cheering and throwing flowers. Saved them all, he had, from a mud-orc massacre! The people loved him! And Katuna had loved him more. But then, he mused, his thoughts darkening, anger clouding his mind, fists clenching in his pockets,
no wonder
she’d loved him – when he had all that money!

They’d wed quickly and spent blissful weeks locked away in Narnok’s huge country retreat just outside the city of Drakerath. A ten-bedroom house, some two hundred years old and in its own mature grounds of thirty acres, with stables and a lake stocked with trout. Those had been days of bliss! Days to melt a man’s heart!

And Katuna! Loving! Doting! And a Hellcat between the sheets like nothing he’d ever experienced! His skin rippled with goose-bumps just thinking about her. But then… where had it gone wrong? His brow creased into a frown beneath the scars. He knew exactly where it had gone wrong. Other men. And greed. And a true Hellraiser attitude to life in general. She’d started spending mornings away from the house, but he’d hardly noticed, as Narnok was busy recruiting a new battalion for Tarek which kept him more than busy away from their love nest. When Tarek asked him to tour various towns giving his “Narnok the Axeman! Hero of the Desekra Fortress!” speech, he could hardly say no. He was gone for a little over a week, returning one Sunday morning just as the sun was rising. He’d picked wild flowers from the garden by the lake, where’d they’d made love frequently during the summer months, and crept up the stairs to their bed chamber to surprise her…

And found Katuna in their bed with another man.

In the darkness of the curtained room, Narnok had bellowed in rage, and there had been a savage fight, smashing up the furniture, curtains torn from rails, and for once in his life Narnok found another man who was a match for his strength, speed and aggression. They’d burst from the bedroom, tumbling onto the landing where lanterns still burned, and through bloodied teeth, Narnok saw–

Dek.

His sword brother. His blood brother. His
friend.

He’d been stunned into inaction; felled, as if by a pick-axe handle. And Dek, with tears streaming down his face, whispered, “I’m sorry, Narn,” before fleeing down the stairs and out into the early dawn light.

For a long time Narnok simply stood, then he’d strode down the hall to his armoury, kicking open the door and hoisting his double-headed axe from its pride of place above the panels of armour and chainmail. The large weapon was dull and black, the blades nicked from years of combat and real-world battle. But the blades were razor sharp, the balance perfect, the axe a
part
of Narnok.

Katuna ran into the armoury. “No, Narnok! No!” She grabbed his arm, and he back-handed her across the room.

He strode down the hallway, but she came after him with a long knife, leaping onto his back trying to cut his throat. That’s when he lost it. That’s when his rage swamped his mind and the next thing he remembered, he was sat astride her, her face bloody and broken, her eyes filled with… not terror, exactly, but a cold understanding. He’d never seen a look like that on another soul, and knew he never would.

Leaving his axe, for fear of what he might do, he saddled a horse and went on a three day drinking spree around the seedier districts of Drakerath. When he arrived home, filled with remorse, and apology, and regret, still half-drunk from the many flagons of wine he’d consumed in the city, they were waiting for him. A hammer blow to the head saw him unconscious and when he came round they were in the old stone cellar, his hands and feet bound by wire to a sturdy oak chair.

Six men, large, swarthy, with the eyes of killers. They carried helves and knives. One carried a bottle.

At first, Narnok had no idea what was going on. Until from their midst stepped Katuna, his lovely, beautiful, sexy Hellcat Katuna! Her face was still bruised, and when she spoke the words were like ice spears through Narnok’s heart.

“This is Narnok, my husband. He betrayed me with a long line of bitch lovers, then beat me again and again and again.” Narnok could hear the growls of anger from the mercenaries. “You can still see my bruises,” whimpered Katuna, lowering her head as if in great shame; as if she regretted this whole sorry business. “Now,” she said, words a low whisper, “he wants to cheat me out of what is rightfully mine. He won’t allow me to leave. He won’t give me money, but I know he has plenty hidden in the house.”

The right hook knocked Narnok, and the chair, over. He hit the ground hard, smacking his head. Two men rushed behind and hoisted him up and his eyes flashed with anger.

“Don’t listen to her. It was not I who cheated, but her! She lies, I tell you!”

A small man pushed to the front of the group. He was narrow and quite old, his head bald, features pointed. He smiled at Narnok. In his hands he carried a cork-stoppered bottle. “You need to listen very carefully, Narnok. Very carefully indeed. I am Xander. I used to work King Tarek’s dungeon; my chief responsibility was torture, pain, confessions. Now, I am freelance – it would seem Tarek no longer wishes to rule his people by fear and punishment; a foolish choice, but his by right of monarchy, I believe. Still, that is history. What should concern
you
right now, is that we are in this young lady’s employ. You have been most dishonourable towards her…”

“Yes, he has,” whimpered Katuna, patting her bruised face.

“But in all truth, this is a paid job. If you do not tell us where the money is, then we do not get paid. So, we will begin with blades. And if that does not work,” he held up the bottle. “This is acid. I will burn out your eyes.”

Narnok started to struggle violently, but a helve blow to the back of the head stopped that, knocking him once more to the ground, half unconscious. He came around real fast when the razor cut a strip of flesh from his face…

His screams lasted long into the night.

And in the end, he told them where the money was.