Kell's Legend

screaming flames consuming flesh hot fat running over stone steps and into gutters; charging through streets, blood smeared flesh gleaming in the light of the burning city, axe in hands and blades covered in gore and glory in his mind violence in his soul and dancing along a blade of madness as the Days of Blood consumed him…
    Kell snapped out of it. Saark was looking at him. Nienna and Kat were looking at him. He frowned. “What?”
    “I said,” repeated Saark, rolling his eyes, “are you going to drink that whisky, or stare at it all night?”
    Remembering his vision, Kell took the whisky. It was amber, a good half tumbler full—these tiny outpost villages always provided generous measures—and he could see his face distorted in the reflection. He knocked it back in one, then closed his eyes, as if savouring the moment; in reality, he was dreading the moment, for he knew deep down in his heart and deep down in his soul that when the whisky took him, consumed him, he could and would become a very, very bad man…
    But not any more, right? He grinned weakly. Those days were dead and gone. Buried, like the burned corpses, the mutilated women, the hacked up pigs…
    “Order another,” he said, slapping the glass on the oak planks.
    “That’s my boy!” cheered Saark. He eyed Kell’s plate. “Are you going to eat those potatoes?”
    “No. Suddenly, I don’t feel hungry.” He wanted to add, the minute I begin drinking I cannot eat, for all that I want is more whisky. But he did not. Saark reached over and speared a potato, gobbling it down.
    “Can’t be wasting good food,” he said, grinning through mash. “There’s village idiots in Falanor starving!”
    “You’ve eaten enough to feed a platoon,” said Kell.
    Saark pouted. “I’m a growing lad! Need to keep up my strength for tonight, right?”
    “Why?” said Kell, as his second whisky arrived. “What’s happening tonight?”
    “Oh, you know,” said Saark, stealing a second unwanted potato. “I feel like a hermit, locked up for a whole month! It’s been days since I had a good time. I’m a hedonist at heart, you realise.”
    “What’s a hedonist?” asked Kat.
    “A skunk’s arsehole,” said Kell.
    “Funny,” snapped Saark, raising his glass. “Here’s to getting out of Jalder alive.”
    Kell lowered his glass. “I don’t need to toast that. It’s the past. What we should think about is the future.”
    “No problem,” grinned Saark. “Well, let’s toast these fine young ravishing women beside us. They are the future!”
    Warily, Kell toasted, and Nienna and Kat drank their own glasses of port. Nienna, who had never before experienced alcohol, felt her senses spin. The room was a pond of swimming colours, and warbled sounds and fluctuating smells. Suddenly, her belly flipped, felt queasy, but she fought the sensation forher mind was filled with liquid honey, and Saark was looking surprisingly handsome, now she really thought about it, he was tall and dashing, witty and charming, and when his eyes fell on Nienna she felt her heartbeat quicken and her legs go weak at the knees. She glanced over at Kat, but Kat’s topaz eyes were fixed on Saark.
    One of the innkeeper’s daughters arrived. “You ordered hot water for a bath, sir?” she enquired.
    Kell nodded, and stood, feeling the whisky bite him. Damn, he thought. I should never have drunk it so fast! But then, two little whiskies couldn’t hurt him, could they? He was a big man, an experienced man, and Saark—damn his fancy ways—was right. It was a miracle they were alive. They deserved at least some normality…
    He nodded to Saark. “I need this bath. Don’t get in any trouble when I’m away.”
    “You’re right, you do need the bath,” agreed Saark. “And don’t worry about a thing. I’ll look after the ladies. We were considering dessert; some kind of sugared sponge cake, covered in cream. How about it, ladies?”
    Kat nodded, licking lips in anticipation. It was rare she got such a treat.
    Kell followed the innkeeper’s daughter across the crowded room, aware that eyes were on him, curious but somehow…disconcerting. He hated being any centre of attention; the gods only knew, it had happened enough in his life. Usually during combat.
    Halting by the stairs, he called the girl back, and checking to see Saark and Nienna weren’t watching,told her to bring a bottle of whisky to the bathing room.
    “We don’t usually…” began the