Kell's Legend

skull face.” Myriam flushed crimson with fury, but bit her tongue and said nothing, eyes narrowed, hand on sword-hilt. If Kell had to endure her poison, he reasoned, then she, too, would have to endure his. They were symbiotic, now; but that didn’t mean Kell had to enjoy it.
    “You see the stand of trees? Over yonder?”
    “Aye,” said Kell.
    “We’ll wait for you there,” said Saark, eyes hooded, face filled with melancholy.
    Kell nodded, reading Saark’s face. “Play nice, now,” he said, and kicked his horse forward alongside Nienna. A moment later, Myriam followed leaving the three men on the low hill. They watched the small group descend, where they were quickly intercepted by scouts and a small, armoured cavalry squad. Weapons were taken from them, and they were escorted towards the shadowy, crumbling walls of a leering, eerie Old Skulkra.
    “You leading the way, pretty boy?” grinned Styx. Saark glanced at him, and saw the Widowmaker held casual in one fist, wound and giving an occasional tick. Saark nodded, and guided his horse south, down the hill and towards nearby woodland. As he rode, his thoughts turned violent.
    “Kell! By all the gods, it is good to see you!”
    King Leanoric’s tent was filled with incense, rich silks and furs, and he was seated in full armour around a narrow table containing maps, alongside Terrakon and Lazaluth, his Division Generals. They had cups of water clasped in gnarled hands, and Lazaluth smoked a pipe, dark eyes narrowed, ancient white whiskers yellowed from the pipe smoke he so loved.
    The men stood, and Kell grinned, embracing first Leanoric, then Terrakon and Lazaluth, both of whom Kell knew well, for they had fought alongside one another in ancient, half-forgotten campaigns. The four men stood apart, smiling sombrely.
    “I hope, by all that’s holy, you’ve come to fight,” said Leanoric.
    “So my journey is wasted? You know of the events in Jalder?”
    “Only that is has been taken. We have no specifics. It would seem,” Leanoric’s face turned dark, brooding, “that few survived.”
    Myriam and Nienna were taken outside, and seated with a group of women awaiting a meal of stew and bread. They accepted this food thankfully, and Myriam found Nienna watching her strangely; there was a hint of hate, there, but also a deep thread of needful revenge. Myriam smiled. Nienna’s bitterness, growing cynicism and fast rise to adulthood started to remind her of herself.
    Inside the war-tent, Kell hurriedly outlined his recent exploits in Jalder, from the ice-smoke invasion and the incursion of heartless, slaughtering albino soldiers, murdering men, women and children without mercy, down to accounts of the cankers and Harvesters, and the subsequent battles as they travelled south.
    “Have you seen this Army of Iron?” said Lazaluth, puffing on his pipe and churning out a cloud of blue smoke.
    Kell shook his head. “Only platoons of albino soldiers. But they fight like bastards, and use the ice-smoke blood-oil magick—freezing everybody in their path. And they have the cankers. I know in my heart they have more of these beasts; they are savage indeed.”
    “How far behind you lie this albino army?”
    “The vanguard? No more than a few hours.”
    “Really,” said Leanoric, voice low. His eyes narrowed. “My scouts, to a man, tell me three days. We have another two divisions on the march; they willarrive tomorrow, just ahead of the enemy.”
    “No,” said Kell, shaking his head. “Your scouts are…lying. Or misinformed. Graal is closer than you believe, I swear this by every bone in my body.”
    “That’s impossible!” roared Terrakon. “I have known Angerak since he was a pup! He is a fine scout, and would never betray his king, nor his country! Get the lad in here, we’ll question him. You must be mistaken, Kell. It is not in this boy’s nature.”
    Kell waited uneasily as Angerak was summoned, and he felt the eyes of the old Division Generals on him. He grinned at them, a broad-teeth grin. “You can cut out that shit, gentlemen; I no longer serve under your iron principles. You can stick your polished breastplates up your arse!”
    “You always were a cheeky young bear,” growled Terrakon. “But fight! Gods, I have never seen a man fight like you. It’s good to have you here, Kell. It is a good omen. We’re going to give this Graal a kicking he won’t forget, send him running back to the Black Pikes squeaking with his shitty