Kell's Legend (20 page)

With a grunt, and the cracking of wood, the canker broke through the trees. They fell, toppling from high above, crashing through branches and other smaller trees and bringing a whole mass of forest down in a howling crunching terrifying clump.

Nienna and Kat were running, pine needles peppering their hair from above as trees fell and whipped. The canker howled again, and continued to crash after them, clumsy in its passion.

“Thick woods,” panted Nienna, face streaked with sweat and covered by numerous tiny scratches.

“What?”

“Head for thick woods; the trees will stop the canker. Slow it down!”

Kat nodded, and they veered left. The canker altered its course, crashing and smashing, thumping and tearing its way through the forest like a whirlwind. Soon, the trees grew more closely placed, but this plan didn’t work as well as Nienna and Kat anticipated; for one thing, the more dense sections of forest were the younger sections of forest. The older, thicker trunks were more widely spaced; they had conquered their territory, their particular arena of forest floor, and at their bases where little sunlight reached were simple carpets of pine and discarded branches. Here, now, in the midst of entanglements was where new trees fought for supremacy, for height, for sunlight, and Nienna realised with a pang of horror that the canker ploughed through such trees with ease. There was no halting it…

“I’ve got to stop!” wailed Kat.

“What is it?”

“My feet, they’re cut to ribbons!”

Darkness poured into the thick forest, like from a jug. That was the second downside, Nienna realised, acknowledging her own error of judgement with a sour grimace. The thicker the woods, the more dark and terrifyingly cloying it was. With bigger trees, at least some light, and snow, crept through. Here it was just icy and dark, with little ambient light

Kat stopped, and Nienna stopped beside her. They stood still, listening to the canker falter, and halt; a bellow rent the air, and they heard the deformed beast sniffing.

“Maybe it won’t see us,” said Kat, voice trembling. She shuffled closer to Nienna, and they held each other in the caliginous interior. They could not even make out one another’s faces.

“Yes.”

The canker, snuffling and grunting, came closer. Now they could hear the tiny, metallic undercurrent of vachine noise; the click of gears, the whistle of piston, the spinning of cogs.

“What the hell is it?” said Kat.

“Shh.”

Even now, it came closer, and closer, and both girls held in screams and prayed, prayed for a miracle as their feet bled and they shivered, sweat turning to ice on their trembling flesh…

Something huge moved above them and Nienna felt a great presence in the trees, as if a giant stalked the forest and the canker growled, screamed, and
leapt, and there were sounds of scuffling, of claws scrabbling wood and jaws clashing with metallic crunches and then a mammoth, deafening, final
thud.
The forest shook, as if by a giant’s fist.

Silence curled like smoke.

Nienna and Kat, both trembling, looked at one another.

What happened?

To the canker, but also…out there?

There came a series of sudden hisses, and clanks, and then silence again. Whatever had happened to the canker it had been immediate, and final. Some giant predator? A bear, maybe? Nienna shook her head at her internal monologue. No. A bear couldn’t have killed the—thing—that pursued them. So what, then?

“Come on, let’s move,” whispered Kat.

Something huge and terrible reared above them in the darkness, smashing branches and whole trunks in its ascent and making Kat scream out loud, all sense of self-preservation vanished as primeval terror took over and the dark shadow reared above, and roared, suddenly, violently, a deep and massive bass roar without the twisted undercurrents of the canker…

“I know where we are,” hissed Nienna, clutching Kat in the shade.

“Where?” she wept.

“Stone Lion Woods,” whispered Nienna, her mind filled with horror.

“I’m telling you,” said Saark, “it’s crazy to head out into the snow!”

“Well, I’m going, aren’t I.”

Kell opened the door, and stepped out into the storm. It had lessened now, and small flakes tumbled turning the forest clearing into a haze. Kell’s eyes swept the dark trees.

“Get your sword.”

Saark reappeared in his damp clothes, grumbling, and stood beside the immobile form of Kell in the snow. “What’s the matter now, you old goat? Forgot your gold teeth? Left your hernia cushion? Maybe you need a good hard shit?”

Kell turned on him, eyes wide, flared in anger. “Shut up, idiot! There’s something in the trees.”

Saark was about to offer further sarcastic comment, but then he, too, sensed more than heard the movement. He turned his back on the small hut and faced the trees, rapier lifting, eyes narrowing.

Kell drew his Svian from under his arm, and cursed the loss of his axe. He felt it deeply; not just because it was a weapon, and he needed such a weapon now. But because the axe was…his. Ilanna. His.

“Hell’s teeth,” muttered Saark, as the albino soldiers edged carefully from the trees, gliding like pale ghosts, their armour shining in shafts of moonlight tumbling between snow-clouds.

“I count ten,” said Kell, delicately.

“Eight,” said Saark.

“Two archers, just inside the trees, off to the right.”

“By the gods, you have good eyesight! I see them!”

“Horse-shit. I wish I had my axe.”

“I wish I had a fast horse.”

“Very heroic.”

“Not much use for dead heroes in these parts.”

The albino soldiers spread out, crimson eyes locked on the two men. Kell stepped away from Saark, mind settling into a zone for combat; and yet, deep down, Kell knew he would have struggled even with his axe. With a long knife? Even one as deadly as the Svian? And with his bad knees, and cracked ribs, and god only knew what other arthritic agonies were waiting to trip him up?

He grimaced, without humour. Damn. It wasn’t looking good.

“Drop your weapons,” said the albino lieutenant.

“Kiss my arse,” snarled Kell.

“Superb: weaponless
and
an idiot,” said Saark, eyes fixed on the soldiers.

“You can always run back through the woods and jump in the river.”

“Now that is a good idea.”

They stood, tense, waiting for an attack. The lieutenant of the albino soldiers was wary; Kell could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t fooled by an old man and a dandy dressed in villager’s clothing. He could see Saark’s hair, the cut of his stance, the quality of his rapier. There were too many factors of contrast, and the albino was cautious. This showed experience.

“Ready?” muttered Kell…as something huge, and hissing, with gears crunching and hot breath steaming slammed from the trees and into the midst of the albino soldiers, rending and tearing, ripping and smashing, causing an instant sudden confusion and panic, and the albinos wheeled in perfect formation, swords rising, attacking without battle cries
but with a superb efficiency, a cold and calculating precision which spoke more of butchery than soldiering…swords slammed the canker, and two sets of arrows flashed from the trees, embedding in the canker’s flanks. Rather than wound the creature, or slow it, it sent the canker into a violent rage and it whirled, grabbing an albino and ripping him apart to scatter torn legs spewing milk blood in one direction, and a still screaming torso and head in the other. More arrows thudded the canker’s flanks, and it reared, pawing the air with deformed arms, hands ending in glinting metal claws, and fangs slid from its jaws as its vampire vachine side emerged and it leapt on a soldier, fangs sinking in, drinking up milky blood and then choking, sitting backwards as swords hacked at its cogs and heavily muscled flesh and it spat out the milk, reached out and grasped an albino by the head, to pull his head clean off trailing spinal column and clinging tendons which
pop pop popped
as they dangled and swung like ripped cloth.

“This is our invitation to leave, I feel,” muttered Saark.

“Into the woods,” said Kell. “I’ll wager they’ve got horses nearby.”

As the savage battle raged, so Kell and Saark edged for the trees, then ran for it, tense and awaiting the slam of sudden arrows in backs. They made the treeline, cold, snow-filled, silent, and behind them howls and grunts bellowed, and swords clanged from clockwork as the canker spun and danced in a twisted spastic fury.

“There.” Kell pointed.

They moved through the trees, the sounds of battle fading behind; within minutes the noises were muffled, like a dream from another world.

A group of horses were tethered to a tree by a small circle of logs. Kell untied the reins, and taking four mounts they spurred the remaining creatures and mounted two black geldings, leading the other two along a narrow forest deer-trail.

“Which way?” said Saark.

“Away from the canker.”

“A good choice of direction, I feel.”

“Seems the wisest, at the moment.”

“A thought occurs, Kell.”

“What’s that?”

“That creature back there. It was different to the last, the one ripped apart in the river. There are…two of the beasts, at least. Yes?”

“Observant, aren’t you, laddie?”

“I try,” grinned Saark, in the dark of the snow-locked forest. “What I’m trying to say is that, if there are two, maybe you were right, maybe there will be more. And they are not the sort of beasts we can fight with peasant’s sword and axe.”

“Under the Black Pike Mountains, Saark,” Kell’s voice was a grim monotone, “there are thousands of these creatures. I saw them. A long, long time ago.”

They rode in silence.

Eventually, Saark said, “So, to all intents and purposes, there could be an essentially endless supply of these ugly bastards?”

“Yes.”

“Well. That’s put a dampener on things, old horse.” He followed as Kell switched direction, heading deeper into the forest. Now, the sounds of battle, all sounds in fact, had vanished. Only a woolly silence greeted them. Above, the trees swayed, whispering, false promises murmured in dreams. “By the way, which way are we going?”

“Towards Nienna.”

“And you know this because?”

“Trust me.”

“Seriously, Kell. How can you know?”

“She has my axe. I can feel it. I am drawn to it.”

Saark stared at Kell in the murk. One of the geldings whinnied, and Kell leaned forward, stroking his head, calming him. “There, boy. Shh,” he said.

“He’s not a dog, Kell.”

“Do you ever stop yakking?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Back in Jalder, a neighbour of mind had a shitty yakking little bastard of a dog. All damn night, yak yak yak, with barely a word from the woman to chastise the beast. Many times, the little bastard yakked all night; so one summer, fatigued by lack of sleep, and in a temper I admit, I took down my axe, went around to my neighbour, and cut off her dog’s head.”

“Is this a sophisticated parable?”

“The moral of my story,” growled Kell, “is that dogs that yak all night tend towards decapitation. When I’m annoyed.”

“Proving you are no animal lover, I’d wager. What happened to the neighbour?”

“I broke her nose.”

“You’re an unfriendly sort, aren’t you, Kell?”

“I have my moments.”

“Was the yakking dog some veiled reference to my own delicate tongue?”

“Not so much your tongue, more your over-use of said appendage.”

“Ahh. I will seek to be quiet, then.”

“A good move, I feel.”

They eased through the night, listening with care for the canker, or even a squad of albino soldiers; neither men were sure who would be victorious, only that the battle would be vicious and long and bloody, and could not end without some form of death.

Suddenly, Saark started to laugh, and quelled his guffaws. Silence rolled back in, like oily smoke.

“Something amuse you, my friend?”

“Yes.”

“Like to share it?”

“That damn canker, attacking its own men. I thought they were on the same side? What a deficient brainless bastard! Laid into them as if they were the enemy; as if it had a personal vendetta.”

“Maybe it did,” said Kell, voice low. “What I saw of them, they had few morals or intelligence as to who or what they slaughtered. They were basic, primitive, feral; humans who had devolved, been twisted back by blood-oil magick.”

“Humans?” said Saark, stunned. “They were once men?”

“A savage end, is it not?”

“As savage as it gets,” said Saark, shivering. “Listen, old man—how do you know all this?”

“I was in the army. A long time ago. Things…happened. We ended up, stranded, in the Black Pike Mountains and had to find our way home. It was a long, treacherous march over high ice-filled pathways no wider than a man’s waist. Only three survived the journey.”

“Out of how many?”

Kell’s eyes gleamed in darkness. “We started with a full company,” he said.

“Gods! A hundred men? What did you eat out there?”

“You wouldn’t want to know.”

“Trust me, I would.”

“You’re like an over-eager puppy, sticking your snout into everything. One day, you’ll do it to something sharp, and end up without a nose.”

“I still want to know. A nose has limited use, in my opinion.”

Kell chuckled. “I think you are a little insane, my friend.”

“In this world, aren’t we all?”

Kell shrugged.

“Go on then; the suspense is killing me.”

“We ate each other,” said Kell, simply.

Saark rode in silence for a while, digesting this information. Eventually, he said, “Which bit?”

“Which bit what?”

“Which bit did you eat?”

Kell stared at Saark, who was leaning forward over the pommel of his stolen horse, keen for information, eager for the tale. “Why would you need to know? Writing another stanza for the Saga of Kell’s Legend?”

“Maybe. Go on. I’m interested.” He sighed. “And in this short, brutal, sexually absent existence, your stories are about the best thing I can get.”

“Charming. Well, we’d start off with his arse, the rump—largest piece of meat there is on a man. Then thighs, calves, biceps. Cut off the meat, cook it if you have fire; eat it raw if you don’t.”