The Iron Wolves (19 page)

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Now for the real test. We have forty thousand mud-orcs, and near five thousand of my beautiful splice. We will head west, across the borders into Kenderzand; they have been your blood-oath enemies for millennia. We will slaughter them. We will enslave them.”

Zorkai lifted his head, eyes reading the madness in Orlana’s face. But he smiled, and licked his lips, and said carefully, “We are not at war with Kenderzand; we currently have good trade relations. They are a much more prosperous people than we. We have contracts. We have treaties.”

“Fuck your contracts and treaties. When we slaughter them, and take everything they own, and feed their flesh into the Mud-Pits, then you will see; then you will
know
that we cannot be stopped. This is our first real test, Zorkai; this is where we trial the mud-orcs, to see if they’re as brutal as they look. To harden them in battle. To ready them, for the real war.”

“There are three passes through the Kender Straits, all protected by high walls, and with sea to either side.”

“Well,” said Orlana, pulling on a plain black helm. “This is where it begins.”

“Welcome back, Narnok,” whispered Xander, with the intimacy of a lover.

Narnok had been rocking the chair to which he was tied. He had felt the weakness in the front leg, and kept levering his weight on the flawed joint, until… There came a
crack
, and the chair leg snapped. Narnok was jerked forward into Xander, who jumped suddenly as Narnok lurched and his head struck Xander’s nose. Xander went down hard, blood gushing, and Narnok kicked free one leg from the broken chair, the rope unravelling from his other ankle, and he stamped down on Xander’s balls, then on his sternum, then on his face with three hard sudden blows.

Xander squealed, a long high pitched noise, his hands not knowing where to grab, and a door opened somewhere amidst the crates. The eight heavies who’d abducted Narnok back at the Pleasure Parlour piled in, armed with iron bars and helves; one also carried a sword. Narnok eyed the weapon coolly and stamped free of the broken chair legs and rope.

“Ahh, my lovely boys,” he said, grinning, and delivered another heavy stamp that broke three of Xander’s ribs. Xander groaned, wheezing.

The men spread out as Narnok backed to the tray of Xander’s torture implements, grappling with a scalpel. It parted the rope and the remains of the chair fell away, rope trailing from both of Narnok’s wrists. “Come on then, let’s see what you’ve got,” he rumbled.

The men were all a touch taller than Narnok and more heavily muscled. They sported a range of beards and pock-marked faces, and wore rough woollen clothing and cheap boots. But their eyes glittered with the promise of a coming fight and they were secure in numbers. The man with the sword gestured, and two men with iron bars approached warily. Narnok still held the tiny scalpel in one hand, the broken chair in the other. The two men rushed towards him and he hurled the chair, took an iron bar on the forearm and slashed the scalpel across his attacker’s eyes in a horizontal stroke. The man went down screaming and Narnok kicked the other in the knee and took his iron bar as he writhed on the ground, leg folded back the wrong way. He cast the scalpel aside with a bright tinkle of steel and weighed the bar thoughtfully.

Narnok rolled his shoulders and tilted his head left, then right, with terrifying cracks of released tension. The two men at his feet were groaning at different pitches, and Narnok stepped over them, testing the weight of the bar and muttering, “Not as good as the axe, but it’ll do.” He looked up. And grinned. “What’s it to be, then? Two at a time or all six at once?”

“Get him!” screamed the swordsman, and the heavies charged. The rest was a whirl of chaos with Narnok at the centre. He ducked a helve swing, jabbed the edge of the bar into a man’s throat, kicked another in the balls, leant back to avoid a sword swing, smashed a left straight to another’s nose, smashed a man straight over the head with his bar, took a blow on his shoulder, smashed his bar across a man’s knees, jabbed his outstretched fingers into another’s throat, deflected a sword swing, charging forward so the bar ran up the blade with a shower of sparks and his knee came up in the man’s balls, his fist hammered him to the ground – and he took the blade. He threw down the bar, swung the sword in a whistling figure of eight, then glanced at the four men still standing. “Let’s finish this,” he growled, and in five strokes left four corpses bleeding on the stone flags.

Silence descended, except for occasional groans from the wounded, and Narnok bent over, ripping a man’s shirt free. He cleaned the blade, admired the weapon, then looked up as a figure stepped through the doorway.

It was Kiki. Kiki!

Narnok did a double-take, then grinned from behind his scars and milk-eye. “Well, well, well; don’t tell me you’re behind this little skirmish, Captain?”

“You did well, Narnok.” She moved closer, and he read the pity in her eyes as she gazed upon his ruined features. “Those were pretty severe odds.” He nodded. “For a normal man, at any rate.”

“But then I’m not a normal man; I’m a Wolf,” he said, softly.

He reached out, and they grasped hands, and Kiki stepped in yet closer, hugging the big man. Into his shoulder, she said, words a little muffled, “I missed you, Narn. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“You too, little Kiki.” He pulled back and gazed down adoringly. Then he seemed to remember his scars, and he pulled away from her grip, turning his back on her. “I’m sorry you’ve got to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t patronise me, Kiki.”

She grabbed his arm, pulling him back to face her. Moving close, she repeated through gritted teeth, “
Like what?
Yeah, so you have your scars. We all have scars. Yours are on your face. So what? The point is, you’re still an Iron Wolf, and you can still fight like a bastard. That’s all I need to know.”

“How did you find me?”

“Maria. She was a Red Thumb sympathiser, shall we say. I persuaded her to explain where you might be.”

“Ahh. I confess. That…
surprises
me. I trusted that one.” He grunted, and turned back to stare at Kiki. “So, you have a mission?”

“I like that. Straight to the point. No
,
‘Where have you been the last ten years, Kiki?’ or ‘You’re looking younger and slimmer than ever, Captain’. Yes, I have a mission. One of considerable… challenge. I need you, Narnok. I need my axeman.”

Narnok stared at her for a long time, and she met that gaze, unflinching at the milky eye, the horror-show of razor lines and criss-crosses, some white, some red, some puffed and infected, some narrow and healed and permanent; a crazy patchwork duvet of the flesh.

“Is it paid work?” he said, at last, watching her.

“Yes. Of course. As much loot as you can carry in an ox-pulled wagon.”

He shrugged. “I don’t need the money, you understand; but it’s nice to be appreciated. Dalgoran set this up?”

“He’s waiting with the others.”

“Others?”

Kiki paused, biting her lip. Then she blurted, “Dek’s here.”

Narnok stared at her. “I’ve had better news.” One of the wounded attackers suddenly reared up behind Narnok, a knife in his fist. Without a word he turned, and back-handed the sword across the man’s throat. Blood spattered like rain, and the body flopped to the ground. “Dek.” Narnok contemplated this. “I remember what he did. That bastard.”

“You’ll have to put that behind you.”

Narnok blinked, slowly, like a cat. “I’ll think about it,” he rumbled, then seemed to come out of a daze. “I need my axe,” he said. Then glanced around. His eyes fell on Xander. His smile was not a pretty one. Even without the scars, it would have been horrific. Now, it was obscene. “And I need five minutes with that bastard.”

Kiki gave a nod. “Make it three. We’ve got fifty Red Thumb bastards on their way. Bad news like you travels fast.”

“Well, I reckon three minutes will be long enough,” rumbled Narnok, stooping to pick up a glinting, silver scalpel, a toy in his huge bear paws. Then he moved towards the quaking figure of Xander, who tried to scramble backwards, away from the looming axeman.

Kiki was waiting outside. It had started snowing. The world smelt fresh and new to Narnok and he took great lungful’s of bitter cold air. “Still alive,” he muttered, then turned on Kiki. “Where we going?”

“Timanta.”

“What, by Zunder? That’s a dangerous city, Kiki. What’s so important we need to go to that shit-hole?”

“Trista.”

“Trista!”

“And Zastarte.”

“Oh. Him.”

“Yeah. But don’t be getting any ideas about Trista; she’s harder than she used to be. Apparently.”

“Well, that’s one diamond-hard bitch, then, because she was unbreakable and unreadable before I ever met her.”

“Yes. What did you do to him, Narn?”

“Who?”

“The old torturer. Back there.”

“I, er… I returned an old favour.”

“What favour’s that?”

Narnok grinned. “I cut out his fucking eyes. When I get my payback, I like it with a little bit of interest.”

After detouring to the Pleasure Parlour, which was silent and dark, front door open, lanterns extinguished, a smell of blood in the air, Narnok got his axe – his huge, black, double-headed monster of a weapon. He followed Kiki back into the snowy street and, pulling on heavy leather cloaks, they headed across the city, Kiki a few steps ahead of Narnok, the big man constantly checking over his shoulder.

Dalgoran had rented a suite of rooms in one of Kantarok’s larger taverns, but at this early hour of the morning the revelry was done, the drunks ejected, the floors scattered with sawdust, and candles now burned low and few. Only a complicated series of knocks and taps got Ralph the Landlord to open the door. Ralph had a big round head and a wide friendly face. He was portly and boisterous, even at this unholy hour, his body big and round, his cheeks puffed red behind a bushy black beard. He was a naturally happy soul, content with his role in life; that of drinking heavily, and getting others to drink heavily, whilst experimenting with the Joy of Food – “
All Food!
” he would studiously point out – as he watched his two girls grow into adulthood, like trees growing and spreading their branches, before they progressed out into the world.

Ralph eyed Narnok’s axe with utter distaste. “No weapons in here, son,” he said, finally, voice quavering a little as that milky eye seemed to fasten on him and suck out his very soul.

“I think you’ll find I’m the exception,” said Narnok, coldly.

“He’s with me, Ralph. He’s OK. I’ll vouch for him.”

“He doesn’t bloody look OK to me,” muttered Ralph, fumbling to lock the tavern door before leading them through the large main drinking area, gloomy and filled with shadows, and to the foot of the wide bare-board stairs. “I’ll leave you here, Kiki. And you, er, whatever your name is.” He glanced at the axe again.

“Don’t worry. We just need sleep, then we’re heading out in the morning. Well. Maybe around noon.” She reached over and pecked him on the cheek. “Thanks for all you’ve done. It’s much appreciated.”

Ralph blushed a deeper red.

“My pleasure, Kiki, honestly, it’s a great honour and…”

“Who is it?” screeched Ralph’s wife, Beth, from the ground floor bedroom.

“I’m coming, love of my life,” hollered back Ralph, and grinned apologetically. “Wedded bliss! Only for the mad!” he said, before disappearing behind a thick oak door, where heated words were exchanged.

Kiki heard phrases like, “…
let them walk all over you,
” and “
at this unholy hour of the morn!
” She grinned again, almost forgetting that Dek and Narnok were about to meet for the first time in ten years. And the first time since… the incident.

She climbed the stairs, Narnok close behind, and onto a broad landing. They stepped through a door to the left, which she locked behind her, and a short corridor led to a square communal area with carpeted floor and low comfortable couches, and four separate doors leading to four separate rooms. On a table at the centre of the couches was bread, cheese, pickled onions and a glazed roast ham, along with several flagons of Vagandrak Red. Narnok dropped his axe with a
thunk.
“Food! Fabulous!” He ambled forward, grabbing a carving knife and sawing a thick slab of ham, which he skewered on the end of the knife to gnaw like a dog.

“Help yourself,” said Kiki.

“Thank you, I will,” mumbled the huge warrior from behind a mouthful of bread and meat.

“I’m turning in. Now remember! Be nice to Dek.”

Narnok stared at her, and carried on chewing, and did not reply. Tutting, Kiki disappeared into her own room. She shut, and bolted, the door.

Narnok grinned. “So much for sisterly trust,” he muttered, cutting a thick slab of cheese. It was creamy and soft. “By all the Gods, this is fine cheese!”

“Beth bought it especially for us, down at the farmer’s market.” Dek’s voice was soft and low. “They love Kiki like a daughter. They dote on her. Lucky for us, or it’d be rancid pilchards and maggoty bread.”

Narnok said nothing, but continued to chew, his back to Dek, his mind in a whirl. He’d imagined this moment a thousand times,
ten thousand times!
What he would say, what he would do, the violence he would inflict, the curses he would spit like venom. But a gauntlet of confusion grabbed his brain and squeezed hard and his mouth was dry and cheese dribbled down his scarred chin and he remembered, by God, he
remembered
…

Finding him rutting in bed with her, her black curls scattered across the pillow and down her pale naked body…

The fight; massive, massive fight…

And Dek’s face, cheeks wet with tears, eyes wide in absolute horror…

“Do you remember the last thing you said to me?” rumbled Narnok, slowly, rolling back his shoulders and then turning. By the bright flickering candlelight he saw Dek standing in the doorway to his room, feet bare, wearing cotton trews and a loose, white cotton shirt. He was as big as Narnok remembered. But then, Narnok was no little girl.

“I said I was sorry,” whispered Dek, iron eyes hidden by shadows.

“I went and got my axe. I was going to kill you.”

“I know.”

“Instead… well. Katuna was not pleased with her beating. She thought it unjust, despite fucking my best friend behind my back. And she wanted my money, the whore. She did this to me, Dek; she fucking did THIS to me!” He strode forward, kicking a couch out of the way. Dek did not move. Narnok thrust his scarred face, his milky eye, into Dek’s impassive gaze and screamed, “SHE FUCKING DID THIS TO ME! CAN YOU SEE? CAN YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I HATE YOU?”

Ragorek and Dalgoran, in the other room playing cards with a bottle of brandy, stared at one another over their tumblers of amber fire.

“Maybe we should intervene?” said Ragorek, gently.

“No,” said Dalgoran.

“They might kill one another.”

“Yes, they might do that,” said Dalgoran.

“Then surely we should stop them?”

“My old mother used to have a tomcat. A vicious, nasty piece of shit it was, scratch your skin from your bones given half a chance. A real heavyweight bruiser: stocky, with tattered ears and liquid hate for a stare. Her friend moved to another city, and she had another tom herself; left it for my mother. Mother put them both in a room together and locked the door until they’d sorted it out. It was messy.”

“These are not tomcats,” said Ragorek.

“The principle is the same. We have to let them get it out of their systems. Let them sort it out their own way. So it is, sometimes, with men.”

“Do you know what they did?”

“No. But they’ll sort it out. Trust me.”

Back in the communal area, the two men stood toe to toe, nose to nose. Narnok was shaking with rage, but Dek was calm, breathing deeply, his eyes locked to those of his old best friend.

“I won’t fight you, Narnok.”

“But I’ll fucking kill you!”

“So be it.”

Narnok stared at him. “Damn you, you bastard!”

“I’m sorry, Narnok. Truly. If I could take it back, I would. What happened was bad; it was wrong. I have my excuses, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to hear them. And… your wounds. I did not know about that. Not till years later. If I had known, we could have hunted them down together; tortured them together.”

“But we did not,” said Narnok, softly. “Instead, you fucked my wife.”

“Yes.”

“Was she good?”

“Yes.”

“Were
you
good?”

“No. I was out of my skull on honey-leaf and whiskey.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Those are the facts, brother.”

“Don’t call me your fucking
brother!
I’ve heard how you treat your brothers. Well, this one ain’t going to lie down and die. This one is going to kick your fucking teeth out in this very room.”

Dek stared into Narnok’s eyes and realised this wasn’t going to end without bloodshed. Narnok’s pain, both psychological and physical, was too great. He wanted his payback, and Dek had to say, had to admit it from the darkest reaches of his soul, he could not blame the man; couldn’t blame him at all. Well, if that’s the way it was going to be, then that’s the way it was fucking going to be.

Dek rammed his head forward, breaking Narnok’s nose, and the big axeman spun away, arms outstretched, blinded. He stumbled back over a low couch and knocked a flagon of wine from the table, where it glugged onto the carpet.

Dek stepped forward and cracked his knuckles.

“Well,
brother,
fuck it, if that’s what you feel you have to do, then that’s what we must do. Come on, you big bastard. Get up and fight. Or are you down and out already?”

Narnok climbed to his feet, snarling, and charged Dek with arms outstretched. Dek threw a right hook, but Narnok jerked his head, avoiding the blow, and cannoned into the pit fighter; they both slammed back against the wall, and Narnok punched Dek in the belly as his arm circled his throat. Dek grabbed Narnok round the waist, lifting him into the air and throwing him back. Narnok twisted like a big cat, landing on his feet, and as Dek charged him a front-kick checked his advance.

They circled, down into the communal area. Narnok growled and, using the table as a spring board, scattering bread and cheese across the carpet, launched himself headlong at Dek, grappling the man to a low couch. They were punching one another: heavy body blows. Dek tried another headbutt but Narnok twisted, and slammed his own head into Dek’s face, breaking
his
nose. Now both had faces covered in blood, and their pummelling slowed a little as blows thudded home. Narnok cracked one of Dek’s ribs. Dek bit into Narnok’s shoulder and the axeman howled, clubbing his fist into Dek’s broken nose… and as Dek pulled away he tore a strip of flesh in his teeth.

“You dirty stinking fucking cheating bastard,” said Narnok, grabbing the torn flesh.

“It’s a free for all in the Red Thumb Fighting Pits.”

“This ain’t the fighting pits!” bellowed Narnok.

“Well, you turned it into one. So, here we are.”

They circled, and Dek hooked his foot under the table, flipping it up at Narnok and charging after the barricade. Narnok went down under the roast ham and a wine flagon, which spun across the carpet disgorging fine red, which glugged as it escaped. Atop the table, Dek jumped up and down as Narnok wrestled to be free, suddenly tipping the platform and sending Dek twisting sideways.

With a growl, Narnok ripped a leg from the table and hurled it at Dek, whose arm shot up, deflecting the blow. Narnok ripped another leg free and the two men, now armed with short wooden clubs, advanced on one another…

“I think it’s time you put up your weapons,” said General Dalgoran, from the doorway. “You’ve done enough damage.”

“Fuck off, old man,” hissed Narnok through curtains of rage.

“Or I can run my sword through your back, if you like.” He said it so casually, nobody disbelieved him.

“Do what you will,” growled Narnok, and launched at Dek, and the clubs met with a heavy thud. They locked, sliding together, and both men’s faces were inches apart.

“I should have hunted you down ten years ago,” said Narnok through spit and blood.

“What, so you could die ten years younger?”

“I’m going to mash your face, you wife-shagging bastard.”

“Looks like somebody already did that to you!”

Howling, Narnok took a step back and the table leg caught Dek between neck and shoulder, dropping him to his knees. His arms came up but the next blow smashed through them, hitting him in the face and knocking him onto his back where he lay, panting fast, blinded by blood.

Narnok towered over him, the table leg in both bloodied fists. He, also, was panting fast, and had a murderous gleam in his eye, his face a wrinkled, scarred mask of hate and rage. He lifted the table leg high into the air… and Kiki’s voice floated to him through a sea of crimson.

“If you do that, you will regret it. Forever.”

Narnok paused, club raised, hate burning in his heart.

“Don’t do it, Narnok. You’re better than that. He was your best friend, once. Let him prove himself to you.”

Her voice was like music; and magick, as well. It soothed the savage beast in his soul and Narnok tossed away the club, where it bounced from the wall. Dek was scraping blood from his eyes and, blinking, looked up at the huge axeman.

Narnok stretched out his hand.

“You satisfied, now?” said Dek, and spat out a piece of tooth.

“No. I’ll never be satisfied. But Kiki here wants it so; and at the end of the day, we’re both Iron Wolves. That must count for something.”

Dek took Narnok’s hand and the axeman hauled him up.

They stared at one another for a while and Dek laughed, shaking his head. “You should do some stretching exercises. You’re a little slow on the lower left. I’d put that down to old age, though.”

“Yeah? Well I kicked your hairy cunt,
Pit Fighter,
”
said Narnok. Then he turned suddenly, to see Kiki, Dalgoran and Ragorek all watching. “What?” he snapped. “Get some more wine! This clumsy fucker has spilt it all!”