Kell's Legend

girl.”
    Saark looked her up and down, eyes widening. “Well, I can see that, my pretty.” His voice deepened. “You are all woman.”
    “Have you finished with the jug?”
    Grinning again, Saark handed it back and Kat turned to leave.
    “You can sleep with me tonight, if you like? I’ll keep you warm against the ice and the snow; keep you safe against the bad men in the dark.”
    “The only bad man in the dark would be you,” snapped Kat, without turning, and stalked back towards the cottage, her cheeks flushed red. But she was smiling as she walked.
    Kell lit a fire, and within an hour warmth had filled the cottage. Darkness fell outside, and night brought with it a storm of snow and hail, which rattled off the windows as a mournful wind howled through the yew trees out back.
    Nienna and Kat cooked a large pot of stew, thick with cabbage and potatoes, and plenty of salt which Kell found in a cupboard along with dried herbs, thyme and rosemary, which they added for flavour. They sat around the table, eating. All had cleaned themselves as best they could in the ice-cold river, and Nienna found some old clothes in a chest in the bedroom. Despite being cold, and smelling mildly of damp, they were far superior to the stained items which had suffered the tannery. Each in turn changed, burning old clothes on the fire and pulling on woollen trews and rough cotton shirts. Saark went last, and when Nienna handed him the thick trousers and shirt he held them at arm’s length, his distaste apparent.
    “What would you like me to do with these?” he asked Nienna.
    She gave a short laugh. “Put them on, idiot!”
    “Are you sure? I thought they were for cleaning out the pigs.” He glanced over at Kell and grimaced. “I see you’ve settled comfortably into your new wardrobe, old horse.”
    “These clothes are fine,” Kell said gruffly, not looking up.
    “Not itchy at all?”
    Kell glanced up from his stew. “Not for me,” he said. “But you may find them a little rough, what with your baby-soft skin, manicured hands and cream-softened arse.”
    “Ha! These are the clothes of the peasant. I’ll not wear them.”
    “Then you’ll stink of dog-shit, old brains and cattle-fat for the next week.”
    Saark considered this. “You sure they don’t itch?” he asked. “There’s nothing worse than a peasant’s fleas. Except, maybe, a whore’s syphilis!” He laughed at his joke, and carried the clothes through to the bedroom with Kell staring after him, eyes glowing embers.
    The door closed, then opened again. “Any chance one of you young ladies could help me dress? You know how tiresome this can be for us fine noble types.”
    “I’ll do it,” said Kell, pushing back his chair which scraped against the stone floor.
    “Ach, that’s all right, big man. I…I think I can manage.”
    Saark disappeared, and Kell returned to his stew, complementing Nienna and Kat on their cooking.
    When they’d finished eating, Nienna said, “Grandpa?”
    “Yes, monkey?”
    “Will the…” she seemed to be fighting with her thoughts, “will those albino soldiers come after us? This far from Jalder?”
    “No, girl,” said Kell. “They took the garrison, then the city. If they do intend to invade Falanor further, then the logical route is to head south down the Great North Road. After all, King Leanoric built it for transporting his troops.” He smiled, and it was grim. “It’s ironic, however, that I think he envisioned his own soldiers using it. Not the enemy.”
    “Where did those albino men come from?” said Kat. She was leaning back, hands stretched towards the fire, belly full and at least savouring a little contentment.
    “From the north, past the Black Pike Mountains. I saw them once; they have a huge civilisation there.”
    “Why does nobody in Jalder speak of them? Why is there no trade?”
    Kell shrugged. “The paths across the mountains are treacherous indeed. For most of the year impassable, even; certainly impossible for an army to travel. This Army of Iron must have found a new route, something to which I am not privy.”
    “Is it true there are tunnels under the Black Pikes?”
    Kell nodded. “Many. And more treacherous than the mountain trails, of that I am certain.” His eyes were distant, now, as if reliving ancient days. “I’ve seen many a man die in the Black Pikes. The mountains take no prisoners.”
    “You speak as if they live?”
    “Maybe they do,” said Kell, rubbing wearily