Twilight of the Dragons (20 page)

“Yeah. And… I don't mean to sound like I'm kissing your arse, but you were… incredible. Just a killing machine. I've never seen anything quite like it.”

Narnok shrugged, and stared off above the distant fog. “Killing ain't really something to be proud of, lad.” Somewhere, a bell chimed. It was a haunting, lonely note. “I never asked to be the way I am,” he said, voice now soft, not really speaking to anybody, just voicing an internal diatribe which wanted,
needed,
to be free. “I was a good man, once. But every man has his head on the anvil of life, and some get slapped, some get hit with a hammer, and some get pulverised by a sledgehammer. I was the latter. Toughened me up. Made me realise no cunt was going to look after me in this world; no. All everybody wanted to do was take, and so I'd have to look after myself, real hard, like.”

Trista moved forward, and sat suddenly, cross-legged. She looked up at Kareem and Narnok. “I agree. I had my whole life, my whole world ahead of me. And my cheating bastard husband took it away. And so I took him away. And I'm still taking him away.” Tears were on her cheeks, and Kareem realised she had a razor dagger in each hand. “I wish Kiki were here,” she said. “Kiki understood.”

“And Zastarte,” said Dek. “I miss that dandy bastard, despite his fucking silk and lace.”

Trista laughed, and rubbed tears from her eyes. “Yes. Zastarte.”

Narnok fished a flask from his pocket, and unscrewing the cap, lifted it. “To Kiki and Zastarte,” he said. “Gone, but not forgotten.” The others repeated his words, and he took a hefty swig and passed it around. Dek swallowed, as did Trista. When it was Kareem's turn, he choked on the liquid fire, spluttering like a toddler on too-hot milk.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Serendian Fire Water. It'll put hairs on your chest, lad,” grinned Narnok.

“Or scars in my gullet.”

“That as well.”

Distantly, fire blossomed. It rose up into the sky, eating through the fog, and roared for a while, white-hot and terrifying.

“Dragon, or natural explosion?” said Trista, idly.

“We'll soon find out,” rumbled Narnok, scratching at one of his facial scars.

“I meant to ask,” said Kareem.

“Yeah?”

“The scars… on your face…”

“Yeah?” Narnok turned purple.

“Oh. Nothing.”

Trista jumped up, and put a hand on Narnok's heavy shoulder. “He doesn't mean anything. Let it go.”

“Well, some people give me no privacy.”

“Let it go, Narn.”

“I'm just saying.”

“Let it go.”

The scream echoed through the city of Vagan, and it contained not just fury, but white-hot hatred.

“I reckon this is our favourite little bitch,” said Mola, scanning the horizon. It was vaporous and ethereal, fog illuminated by fires beneath. Tonight, due to the dragon attack, no lamps had been lit. Only the fires, the moon and the stars supplied their light on this ghostly scene. It was quite unique.

“When she comes, she'll come fast,” said Dek, looking up at the stars. For a moment he felt quite emotional. This might be the last time he ever witnessed them. Tonight, in a few minutes, time could be his last moment in the world. And then he'd be gone, and within a short time nobody would remember the name Dek. No children to mourn him. No children to continue his name – to give him at least a little form of longevity.

“Damn.” His eyes shone. “Let's give her a fucking fight.”

“Will do,” grinned Narnok, and slapped Kareem on the back. “You up for this, lad?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Kareem.

“Well, help Mola on the ball thing; me and Dek will operate the crossbow.”

They grabbed their weapons, and waited.

When she came, they didn't see her. They only heard her.

There came a
swish
of air, high above. Glancing up, something dark obliterated the stars, and then was gone.

“She's checking us out,” said Dek, and swivelled the crossbow around on its monopod, so it was facing up. “Come on you wyrm bitch, give us a clear shot.”

“Do you think she knows what we've got here?” said Kareem.

“Well, she'll soon find out. We'll learn her!”

Again, something slammed high overhead, dark against the stars. And they saw her shape flash before the near-full moon. And it was true. Volak, Queen of the Wyrms, was far from dead.

“What's she been waiting for?”

“Recovering, I reckon,” said Narnok, grinning. “Maybe we did hurt her.”

“Time to hurt her some more,” said Dek.

Volak fell from the sky like an asteroid, screaming towards the tower, wings folded back, jets of fire burning in her maw. She turned at the last moment, wings smashing to slow her, and a huge roaring
wall
of fire screamed across the face of the tower, aimed directly at the Iron Wolves, who cowered with wide eyes in sudden shock and fear…

I
t was harvest time
. Bales had been gathered, and formed crude straw walls. They walked along a rough mud track, hand in hand, stopping occasionally to gaze at one another. Their eyes shone. Love defined their faces.

“Look,” she said, and pointed.

Beetrax turned, and could see the outline of a stone ruin. He frowned. His face was a face created for frowning. “What is it?”

“The old Kelbery Church. Seven hundred years old. It's beautiful. Want to see?”

“You're beautiful.”

“No I'm not.” She blushed, and lowered her eyes coquettishly.

“Oh but you are, my lady,” he said, and stepped in close. Closer. And they stood, like magnets, attracted, pulled towards one another, trapped in one another's orbit. And when you were trapped within another orbit, you were, quite literally, fucked.

“I'm not beautiful,” she repeated.

“You are,” he said, moving a little closer. He smelled her skin. He smelled her hair. It was subtle, but necessary.

“Did you just smell me?”

“Yes. You smell good.”

She didn't know how to respond.

Unconsciously, her hand came up and rested on his hip. She did not realise what that meant to him. That unbidden instinct. That soul connection. That subtle and yet intimate moment, not designed, not chosen, just a part of natural intimacy.

“I like that,” he said.

“I like it as well,” she said.

His head lowered. He stared at her. Their lips were inches away.

“Do you realise, you have a love heart of freckles on your cheek?”

“I do?”

“Yes.”

“It must be because I'm so in love with you. So kiss me,” she said.

And he kissed her.

Their kiss lasted a million years. And then her hands came up, gripping his hips. And slowly, they lay down amongst the bales of hay.

“Kiss me again,” she said.

He did. His hands moved over her, exploring, gentle, questing, and she did not complain. Slowly, she removed her skirts, her blouse, her undergarments, and she lay back, naked and pale and beautiful, a perfection doll, motionless amidst the hay.

She gazed up at him, face like the moon, eyes wide and imploring.

He lowered himself onto her, into her, and she groaned, and that primal animal groan fried his blood like no words or golden coin could ever fire him. She wanted him. She
needed
him. She was his, body and soul, and in return, he was hers, body and soul.

They made love in the hay field, under the beaming sun, with the ruined church in the background, a sentinel watching over their embracing of nature, their base merging with the magic of the earth, of this simple, natural joining, of connection, of sharing, of love.

Afterwards, they lay giggling like children. Until awareness of their nudity prompted them into action.

She dressed, her beaming smile one of hope and joy.

He dressed, mind swimming, watching her, watching her move, every simple elegance a wondrous moment.

“Hey, aye, what the fuck have we got here then?”

Six young men were on the path, watching Lillith hurriedly pull her blouse together. The largest of the youths, Jelgeth, leered at her. “I've been asking you for months, but you'll happily get your tits out for this fucking simpleton!” he growled, eyes narrowed.

“Shut up,” said Lillith.

“Why?” asked Jelgeth, looking genuinely surprised. “A whore needs good coin to open her legs. And yet you – why, you do it for free!”

A ripple of laughter circled the group.

“Why, you arrogant, hateful little bastard,” growled Beetrax, stepping forward, as a young man rose before him with an old, battered helve, and swung, clubbing him. Beetrax hit the ground hard and fast, blood leaking from a crack in his skull. The youth with the helve smiled, and nodded to Jelgeth, and the circle moved, and closed, and contracted around Lillith, now pale with fear.

She glanced down at Beetrax. The woodcutter was out cold, blood leaking from his head, along his jaw, forming a point on his chin, and dripping slowly into the rich brown earth of harvested stalks.

Jelgeth stepped in close, and Lillith screamed as he leapt forward, grabbing her, and bearing her to the ground, kicking and screaming, his mouth pressing against her face, his tongue licking streaks across her struggling cheeks. Two others were there, each grabbing a leg and pulling her wide open.

And then – calm. Silence.

Jelgeth moved close. “You're a pretty one, all right. And even though that big, dumb bastard has filled you full of his seed, each man here is going to enjoy you. And you know something, pretty one? You'll keep your mouth shut. But more importantly, you'll fucking enjoy it. Because my father is the Warden of Vagandrak, and I can have your whole family put to death with a single word. You hear that, pretty one?”

“You are scum,” said Lillith, spitting in Jelgeth's eye.

He laughed, wiping it away and looking at her fluid. “Well. That'll be a start in getting you wet… if you aren't already…”

Lillith screamed again, and Jelgeth started struggling, tugging at her underwear.

Beetrax rose behind the fixated group, blood pouring down his face, his eyes dark, like pools leading down a tunnel into death. He moved to the man who had hit him with the helve, and punched him in the back of the head. Even though he was unconscious when he hit the ground, Beetrax stamped on his head, twice, and took the helve, weighing it thoughtfully. He wished it was an axe. But here, and now, timber would have to be good enough.

“Oy. Cunts,” he growled.

They all turned.

Beetrax smiled.

“Welcome to my rapists' party of pain,” and the helve swung, hitting a man in the face and knocking six teeth out with a bloody crunch. His head slammed sideways, expression intense and twisted, and he flailed his way to the ground.

Beetrax waded forward, the helve slamming left and right. Arms came up in defence. Bones cracked. Broke. Poked from skin with piss showers of blood. The helve cracked jaws, breaking them, sending young men screaming to the soil. It cracked skulls. It knocked out teeth. It broke legs and cheek bones. Beetrax waded through them like a scythe through wheat, no fear, filled with a dark hate that burned in his narrowed eyes.

And then they were all down, moaning and screaming and holding broken faces, except for Jelgeth, whose eyes burned and arrogance shone as he turned, still holding Lillith's ankles.

“Don't do anything stupid, peasant,” said Jelgeth. “My father is the Warden of Vagandrak! I can have you hanged from the battlements for heresy so easy, it isn't even funny. So let me fuck this bitch, and then you can have a second go, and then we'll go for a few beers. I'll even buy them, to show you there's no hard feelings.” He stared hard at Beetrax, and any who knew Jelgeth knew the young man was deadly serious, backed up by a reputation of malice, violence and an abuse of power.

“Well,” said Beetrax, rubbing his square chin, “that's a mighty fine offer, from one so highly placed as you.”

“Yes?”

“But.”

“But what?”

“But I'll have to decline.”

Jelgeth stared at the large youth. “Based on what?”

“Based on the fact I'm going to beat you to death, you fucking rapist.”

The helve hit Jelgeth in the face, dislodging teeth and breaking his nose.

“No!” gasped Lillith, her hand coming up.

But Beetrax was in a different world, a different time, and he stepped over the bastard and the helve rose and fell, beating his head into a mashed, deformed pulp.

Afterwards, Beetrax stood there panting.

“What have you done?” whispered Lillith.

“I've made Vagandrak a better place.”

“But… his father! The Warden! He will never stop hunting you!”

“I've been hunted before,” growled Beetrax, and despite his nineteen years, he looked as mean as any wild predator on the hunt. This wasn't fun. This was fucking survival.

Lillith gazed about, tugging together the torn buttons of her blouse. A cool wind blew, shifting her beautiful, rich hair.

“What about the others? They are witness to your killing?”

Beetrax grinned a nasty grin, and as the other broken men were coming round, he moved forward, dropping the helve and pulling free his small skinning dagger. “That's all right. They'll never speak again,” he said, as he cut the first tongue from its owner's mouth with a struggle and a scream.

M
allageth
, Warden of Vagandrak, walked down the cobbled road, face grim, eyes narrowed, thinking about his debts. Gambling debts. Debts from the whore house. Debs from borrowing money from the Red Thumbs.

“Horse shit.” No matter how much he gambled, no matter how much he risked, no matter how good his luck was – well, he always came off worse. And the Red Thumb Gang were starting to take a very real interest in him, despite his rank.

His two guards walked ten yards behind. They were good, alert, hands on daggers, eyes searching. And so it came as some surprise when a large man stepped from the shadows and decked both guards with single punches. Mallageth heard the crunch of broken bones and whirled, whimpering the one defence he had ingrained for moments like this…

“I have lots of silver! Don't hurt me! It can be yours!”

Beetrax loomed from the shadows, eyes evil. “You are Jelgeth's father?”

“I might be?” offered Mallageth, tentatively, his arms coming up.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

Beetrax stooped, and pulled a sword from one of the guards. He grinned at Mallageth. “It would seem your parenting skills have been called into question.”

The sword lifted, moonlight glinting from the chipped blade.

“What do you mean?” squealed Mallageth.

Beetrax loomed close. “It seems you've raised a rapist as a son,” he said, and the sword hacked down, cutting the Warden's head straight down the middle. Mallageth hit the cobbles, and slowly, his mashed brains leaked out, a grey and blue ooze.

Beetrax pushed back his shoulders, and dropped the short sword with a clang. He looked around for witnesses, but if truth be told, he didn't care. Right now, he'd take on the fucking world.

“And if there's one thing I hate,” he whispered, “it's fucking rapists.”