Kell's Legend

Smoke pumped from a stubby chimney, and light showed from behind slatted shutters. Kell led the horses to stables behind the inn, handing them over to a skinny old man who introduced himself as Tom the Ostler. He wore nothing but a thin shirt against the snow, and his limbs were narrow, wiry, his biceps like buds on a branch. He grinned at Kell in a friendly manner, taking the horses, stroking muzzles, staring into eyes, blowing into nostrils. “Come with me, my beauties,” he said, and Kell could sense the old man’s love for the beasts.
    Kell strode back to the inn’s door, entered slowly, eyes scanning the busy main room. Tables were crammed in, and full, mainly, of men drinking tankards of ale and talking Falanor politics. A few women sat around the outskirts of the main room, mostly in groups, talking and laughing. Some wore bright dresses, but most wore thick woollen market skirts. Smoke filled the inn, and a general hubbub of noise made Kell gradually relax. Sometimes, it was nice to be anonymous amidst strangers. He looped along leather thong through the haft of his axe, then over his shoulder, drawing the weapon to his back. Then, he strode to the bar, searching for Saark, Nienna and Kat.
    The barman waved at Kell. “What’ll it be, squire?” he asked.
    “My friend’s booked three rooms for the night.”
    “Ach yes, I just gave him the keys. Up the stairs,” he pointed, “rooms twelve, thirteen and fourteen.”
    Kell grunted thanks, strode up the stairs, and turned on the landing to survey the common room. He made out the gambling table in the corner. Near it were three women, dressed in high stockings, their lips rouged with ink, feathers in their hair. Whores. Kell grunted, eyes narrowing, thinking of Saark and his eagerness. He moved into a smoke-filled corridor and searched for the rooms. Floorboards squeaked under his boots, and this was good. It would be hard to creep down such a passageway.
    Locating the first room, he tapped. “Grandfather?” came Nienna’s voice, and Kell pushed open the portal, stepping inside, scanning the sparse furnished space. There was a large bed, with ancient carved headboard depicting a raging battle. Thick rugs covered dusty boards, and drawers and two stools lined the far wall. The windows were shuttered. A lantern burned on a table with honey light.
    “Cosy,” he said, setting down a pack he’d taken from the albino soldier’s horse. Then he removed his axe, and stretched broad shoulders. “I hope there’s a bath in this place, because I stink, and I hate it when I stink.”
    “You look like you’ve had a beating,” said Nienna, moving over to him. “I could ask the landlord for some cold cream, to take down the swellings.” She reached out, tenderly touched his bruised cheek.
    Kell cursed.
    “Does it hurt?” said Nienna, concern in her eyes.
    “No. It’s just people remember a beaten face. I stand out. That’s not good.”
    Nienna nodded. “Shall I go and see if the bathing room is free?”
    Kell looked around, then. He frowned. “Where’s Kat?”
    Nienna shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    Kell moved back to the corridor, walked to the next door with a surprisingly light step, and opened it. Both Saark and Kat were sat on the bed, side by side, just a little bit too close. Kat’s laughter tinkled like falling crystals.
    Saark looked around, up into Kell’s face, and the smile dropped from his features.
    “Saark. A word, if you please.”
    Saark coughed, stood up; Kell saw he had removed his boots. He stepped out. “There a problem, old horse?”
    Kell reached past, closed the door, smiling at Kat, then grabbed Saark by the throat and rammed him up against the wall with a thud. Saark’s feet kicked for a moment, and Kell lowered him until their faces were inches apart.
    “She’s not to be touched,” growled Kell.
    “I don’t know what you mean!” Indignation.
    “The girl, Saark. Kat. And my granddaughter, as well, whilst we’re having this little man-to-mandiscussion. Both are not to be… molested by you. Do you understand, boy?”
    “They’re grown women, Kell. They are intelligent, and intuitive. They make their own choices.” Saark’s smile was stiff.
    “And I’m a grown man, telling another grown man that they’re little more than children, and if you touch them, I’ll break every fucking bone in your spine.” His voice was low, but deadly, deathly serious. Saark met his stare with a neutral expression.
    “You