The White Towers (20 page)

Narnok laughed, and cuffed him round the ear. “Well, if they show now, lad, we’ll give them a fucking good run for their money.”

Now it was Yoon who smiled, despite the blow. “Indeed you will. And later, when I have your head on a spike mounted at floor level in one of my many palaces, I will often use you as a latrine as I piss in your bloody eye and gormless slack mouth.”

Narnok’s smile fell and his axe came up.

“No!” snapped Kiki, stepping forward. She glanced around. “No time for this. It will be night soon. We need to find some shelter.”

They marched north through the vast army of boulders, Sameska limping in their midst, an oddly silent member of their group. As they walked, Kiki watched him constantly, the wonder in her eyes at such an unusual creature marred only slightly by the horror stories told to all children about the elf rats during stormy nights after they’d broken crockery during washing up chores.

With an early night darkness fast descending, Narnok spied the edges of woodland and they angled north and east, leaving the plain of huge boulders behind, and wandered across snow laden moorland peppered with rocks and streams. The woods were silent, dark, enclosing, and as the weary party crept under boughs covered in snow, Narnok leading the way, the distant howl of a wolf came like a strangled cry from the north. It dropped off, gradually, into silence, and the Iron Wolves exchanged glances.

“I think we should build a fire,” said Dek, glancing north. He was a big man, powerful: a brutal pit fighter. But he knew the reality of starving wolves in winter. Knew their cunning, and knew their savagery. The lonesome howl was not a good omen.

“I agree,” said Kiki, quietly.

They moved under the high canopy of leafless oak and ash, and towering pines that swayed softly, snow trickling down like stray sugar. They found a dry place where the snow had not managed to intrude. Narnok dragged three fallen logs into a rough “U” shape, and gathered some rocks in which to build a fire. Sameska sank gratefully to the ground, rough face pale, exhaustion etched like acid into his eyes and movements. The others gathered wood whilst Narnok tied Yoon to a nearby tree trunk by his throat and arms, which were bound behind his back. Yoon sank to the ground, leashed and pale and with eyes full of absolute hate.

“You will die for this, you big ugly fucker.”

Narnok rumbled laughter at him, and moved back to the ring of rocks, dumping his pack and pulling free a reasonably sized cooking pot and various utensils, including salt. The pot was black from old use, and he’d picked it up in the storeroom back under the Mountains of Skarandos. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting the quality of the brazing, the old blackened aspect, which spoke of many a fine meal around a hearty campfire. For some reason, the pot cheered Narnok and he was still gazing at the item as Zastarte returned, arms full of kindling.

Zastarte stopped. “Nice of you to help us out, old horse.”

“I was just looking at this pot,” said Narnok.

“It’s a pot,” said Zastarte, dumping his load of wood.

“Yeah, but I was just thinking about its history.” He looked up, single eye fixing on the dandy.

“Its history,” replied Zastarte, voice dry, and level. “The history of a pot?”

“Yeah. You know! Like what kind of life it’s led, all the meals it could have cooked and people it entertained. The life of the pot!” He saw Zastarte’s face. “It’s fucking life, all right? If it could have told some fucking stories, all right?”

“Were there some, you know, mushrooms inside this pot of yours?” said Zastarte. “Big purple and yellow ones? Did you taste one?”

“Hey, fuck off, so-called Prince. I know what I’m talking about.”

“Well, I’m glad somebody does. Now, light the fire, there’s a good goat. Some of us have serious hunger cramps.”

After a bit of fighting with damp kindling, Dek took over from a grumbling, mumbling, bad-tempered Narnok. He had a baby blaze going in minutes, and a roaring fire within fifteen. Narnok was still mumbling and cursing as they added dried beef to the pot, and Trista returned with wild onions and mushrooms (along with a quip from Zastarte: “Hey, now we can all start talking to the pot!”, followed by, “I’ll fucking cook you in the pot, you dandy bastard!”)

As night fell, and another lonely, distant wolf called to the cloud-covered moon, so the fire was roaring and the stew in the pot smelled just fine. They sat around on the logs Narnok had dragged, all except Yoon, who stayed by the tree to which he was shackled, mumbling to himself, cursing them: cursing the Iron Wolves.

Trista ladled stew into wooden bowls, and they ate in silence, all except Sameska who refused the food with a simple hand wave. “I cannot eat meat,” came his gentle, lulling voice. “None of my kind eat meat.”

“What do you exist on then, lad?”

“We have various ways of feeding,” said Sameska, glancing up with his large, yellow eyes, almost shyly. “We eat what the tree provides; be that moss, or fallen leaves and pine needles, or wild mushrooms and onions, chestnuts, acorns, the seeds of the tree.”

“Never trust a man who doesn’t eat meat,” rumbled Narnok, scratching heartily at his crotch. “They’re all fucking spineless, weak-kneed and lily-livered. Yellow as a fucking yellow chicken, they are. And I bet you a flagon of whiskey piss…” he gesticulated with his spoon, almost, but not quite, in Zastarte’s direction.

“Go on, old goat,” smiled Zastarte, taking the bait.

“I
bet
a man who doesn’t eat meat, does some of that young boy fancying, I’d wager.”

“What does that mean?” said Zastarte.

“You know. Fiddling with boys. Young men. Whatever.” He took another hearty bite of stew-softened beef.

“Fiddling? You mean some kind of cheating out of his honestly earned inheritance during a bad game of cards?”

“Noo-
ooo,
you horse dick. Fiddling. You know. Hands down shorts, fingers up the arse, that sort of man-love-man-love-boy ridiculousness.” Narnok sat back and licked his spoon, his long red tongue easily equal to that of any horse.

“Don’t go there,” muttered Kiki, glancing up.

“So then,” and he was smiling broadly, “are you telling me,” Zastarte said, watching in increasing horror as Narnok’s tongue threatened to swamp the utensil, “that you’ve never, ever, used that big red flapping tongue of yours to pleasure a man?”

Narnok choked, tongue sucked back in quicker than a striking adder and almost dragging the spoon with it.

Zastarte pressed his advantage. “Are you telling me a Big Man like yourself has never had the joy of taking a cock between his teeth, and sucking another man to the point of pleasurable explosion? Feeling it swell and pump against your tongue, feeling that hot honey squirt into your mouth...”

“Stop!” roared Narnok, stumbling forward, his spoon striking Zastarte on the nose. “Just shut your mouth now! Before I go and get Old Faithful and carve you a new fucking throat smile. I know you’re just doing it to wind me up, and yes, you get a reaction from me every time. All I want you to know,
fucker
, is don’t tar me with your own man-loving cock, right?”

Zastarte considered this, head to one side. “Narnok, my good man? Don’t knock it, until you have tried it.”

Narnok scowled. “I thought you cheated the wives of wealthy civil servants, dignitaries and politicians out of their wedding vows, orgasms and jewels, in that particular order”

“I did. I
do.
But that doesn’t mean to say I don’t enjoy lying with a pretty boy once in a while.”

Narnok stared back at him. It was a hard, unforgiving stare. The kind of stare that had seen ten big men back down in a tavern brawl. The kind of stare that sent screeching mud-orcs reeling. The kind of stare Narnok used before using his axe to cut a bastard from crown to crotch in a slippery puddle of his own fucking necrotic bowels.

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“You fucking don’t.”

“I fucking do. And fucking enjoy the fucking.”

“So… you stick it, you know, up there.”

“Yes,” smiled Zastarte, finishing his stew and lounging back with ease, hands behind his head. “It can be tight, I’ll warrant you, and a little oil helps. But that tightness, Narnok, that clenching around your cock… reminds you of that first hot quim, that first desperation
is she going to let me, is she going to let me, fingers in, hot and slippery, then pushing inside with absolute disbelief at getting that far and her not pushing you away like all the others with a cheeky giggle and a harder than usual playful slap that isn’t really a playful slap, but a very fucking real warning she’ll go and get her dad and five brothers to break your fucking arms.
It’s like that, Narn, all over again. Just close your eyes and enjoy it.”

“I… I don’t think I could do that. To another man, I mean. I mean, it’s just wrong, right? I mean… it’s the wrong hole, ain’t it? That’s a hole for pushing out with, not pulling in with.” He stared around, and Kiki and Dek burst out laughing. Trista had a twinkle in her eye, and only Sameska stayed still, head tilted slightly to one side, his confusion obvious.

Narnok growled, but Kiki leapt across to him, firing Zastarte a warning shot harder than iron to
shut the fuck up.
Her hand touched Narnok’s lightly, and she looked into his good eye. She gave a little shake of her head, and said, “Don’t let him do it to you again. It’s warm here by the fire. Don’t go storming off.”

“Well.” Narnok ruffled his feathers, then leaned sideways, addressing Zastarte around Kiki’s protective bulk. “You put your little man sausage near me, lover boy, and I’ll cut the little prick clean off. Now
that
is Narnok’s promise.”

“Point taken,” smiled Zastarte.

Kiki patted Narnok, and slipped him a small silver flask. “Whiskey. It’s Dek’s. Don’t drink it all. This is dangerous country and these are dangerous times; I still need you focused, axeman.”

“Sure thing, Captain.”

They bantered around the fire for a while, laughing; the oppression of battle, and the threat of being hung by the very people they were protecting, followed by days under the mountains in oppressive tunnel systems, finally easing from them like garlic through pores, and drifting gradually away. Sameska stayed, sat quietly watching, whilst Yoon crouched against the tree trunk, face in a dark scowl, obviously deeply annoyed by the Iron Wolves’ improving mood.

Narnok got up, cut a chunk of bread and cheese using his skinning knife, and carried them over to Yoon. “Here you go, lad. Don’t want you starving on us. After all, you’re the king of
all Vagandrak, whoooo
!
”
He was grinning. Dek’s whiskey had hit a soft spot.

Yoon took the food and ate it quickly. Then his dark eyes sought out Narnok’s orb of iron. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

“I think I understand perfectly,” said Narnok, and Kiki and Dek came up behind him.

“No, no, no.” Yoon shook his head, long dark curls moving about his shoulders and the rich embroidery of his soiled jacket. “You’ve kidnapped the king. You are guilty of
treason
. I condemned you to
death.
”

“Yeah, you back-stabbing cunt,” snapped Narnok. “We fucking fought for you, we saved the wall at Desekra against the mud-orcs, against that bitch-queen Orlana; we offer up our lives on a plate and you fucking try and hang us! Some king you turned out to be.”

“It was… necessary,” said Yoon, stiffly. “I had greater plans with Orlana, and you got in the way. The point is, my friendly little Narnok One-Eye and his band of incredibly stupid mercenary
cunts,
the point
is
that the elf rat over there who you have so happily rescued from my secret prison, is helping to plan an invasion of Vagandrak; I was in discussions with Orlana. She did not want to conquer Vagandrak. She simply wanted passage to the Plague Lands and our little fortress stood in the way. I was in negotiations to open the gates and provide passage, and you came stumbling along and ruined everything! Now, you have committed the most vile treason and, get this
Iron fucking Wolves
, put the country in far more peril than it was already.”

“That is so much horse shit,” said Kiki, finally. “Orlana’s mud-orcs were slaughtering our people. Your men.
Your soldiers.
There were no talks to begin with. No groups of politicians sat around in war council trying to prevent war. Orlana the Horse Lady came and attacked the fortress. It was that simple. Now you’re trying to twist it because some other game was being played.”

Yoon looked sly for just a moment. It was a glint in his dark eyes that hinted at, despite his veritable insanity, a cunning that ran deeper than any twisted politician.

“The elf rats plan to attack,” he said, gently. He pointed at Sameska, who looked suddenly vulnerable and terribly, terribly frightened. “That bastard is an elf rat spy for Daranganoth, the Elf Rat Ring. This will be the war, Iron Wolves.
This
will be the battle to end all battles. They will pour like a plague from their lands in the far northeast, Zalazar, beyond the White Lion Mountains. And when they come, it will be a flood. When they come, none shall stand in their path.”

“And you know this?” said Kiki.

“Tortured it out of that little quivering bastard,” said Yoon, gesturing to Sameska.

Suddenly the elf rat, snarling and spitting, scrambled across the logs and leapt at Yoon, claws raking for the King’s eyes. Narnok interposed himself, serious and big and holding his double-headed axe like he meant business. Dek and Kiki grabbed at Sameska, then swayed back as blackthorn claws like razors slashed towards their throats.