Kell's Legend

at his eyes. “Maybe they do.”
    Saark chose that moment to make his grand entrance, and he grinned, giving a twirl by the bedroom door. “I look like you people, now,” he said, tying back his long curls.
    “You said they were clothes for a peasant,” pointed out Kell.
    “Exactly,” smiled Saark. “Is there any more stew? I’m famished.”
    “You’ve already had two bowls,” said Kat.
    “I’m a growing lad who needs his energy.” He winked at her, and sat down, ladling more stew into his bowl. “By all the gods, this stinks of cabbage.”
    “You can always go hungry, lad,” said Kell.
    “No, no, I’m starting to enjoy the…ahh, cabbage flavour. It’s certainly an acquired taste, but I think, in maybe a year or two, I might just get used to it.”
    After the girls were asleep, Saark waved a small flask at Kell. “Drink, old horse?”
    “Stop calling me old horse. I ain’t that old.”
    “Ach, so you won’t be wanting this whisky, aged fifteen years in oak vats, will you?”
    “Maybe just a drop,” conceded Kell. “To warm against the winter chill.” He took the flask, drank deeply, and handed it back to Saark, smacking his lips. “By all the gods, that’s a fine drop.” He eyed Saark. “Must have cost a pretty penny.”
    “Stolen by my own fair hand.”
    “‘The World despises a thief, leste he undermyne Mighty Kings’,” quoted Kell, staring hard at Saark. “I kind of echo that sentiment, laddie.”
    “All fine and well, when you have money in your purse. Ask those without. The merchant who shared his produce won’t be needing it; the albino soldiers killed him and his wife.”
    “And I suppose you had just…ravished her?”
    Saark snorted laughter, and took another drink. “Ravished? Come come, Kell, we are both men of the world. You can speak to me as one man to another. Yes, I fucked her. And what a pretty piece of quim she was, too. Never have I tasted such succulent honey.”
    Kell’s eyes hardened, fists clenching. “You have very little respect for women, lad.”
    Saark considered this. “Well, they have very little respect for me. Now, listen Kell.” He leant forward, firelight dancing in his dark eyes. “We need to decide what we’re going to do next. You know, as I, the Army of Iron will head south. We have but a few days; they will consolidate their position, leave their own garrison in command of Jalder, and travel the Great North Road. We need to be gone from here by then; their scouts will spread out, and will certainly find us. We are easy to spot.” He thought. “Well, you are.”
    Kell nodded, and when he replied his voice was cool. He found it hard to hide his distaste for the popinjay. Kell was a simple man who wore emotions on his face, and on his fists. He told it like it was. “What do you have in mind, Saark?”
    “Much as it pains me to say this, for there is little actual personal profit in it for me, but…we should ride south. We should warn King Leanoric. It is the right thing to do.”
    Kell picked up a sharp bread knife, toyed with it between his fingers. He seemed uneasy. “Surely, the king already knows? His northern capital has been sundered.”
    “Maybe. Maybe not. If the Army of Iron surprises Leanoric…well, they can plough through Falanor like a knife through a sleeping man’s eyeball. Our armies would topple. People enslaved. All that kind of tiresome business of Empire. Could you live with that on your conscience, Kell?”
    “You’re a fine one to speak of conscience.”
    “For a cuckolded husband? No. For the slaughter of an entire population? Use your head, Kell. And anyway…there may be a warm spot in the Hall of Heroes for somebody who does the Heroic Thing.” He winked. “One must always try and please the gods. Just in case.”
    “You’re a worm, Saark.”
    “Maybe. But a man needs all the help he can get. We must warn Leanoric. He will need to gather the Eagle Divisions; if surprised, he could be sorely routed. What life then for a dandy on a mission?”
    Kell nodded, and his eyes met Saark’s. “You are from the south, aren’t you lad?”
    “Yes. Hard to hide the Iopian burr.”
    “Have you met the king?”
    “Once,” said Saark, his voice dropping soft, eyes becoming dreamy. “Many moons ago, old horse.”
    The fire was burning low. Outside, the wind howled and hail rattled in bursts against the windows like a smash of arrows. Kell came awake, one arm cold,head foggy. The whisky had done him