The Dragon Engine (12 page)

Jonti grimaced. And smiled.

That's the way the dice roll.

“There's a barracks up ahead,” said Beetrax. “Good place to make camp for the night. I don't fancy another night in the rocks; my piles are bad enough as it is.”

“You should get them seen to,” said Talon, giving him a narrow smile. “A man as rich as you can surely afford the best in medical expertise! After all. You don't want the wrong fingers poking away up there, do you?”

“Fuck off, Tal.”

The barracks was a large, old building of rough-cut stones and blackened timber. It sat snug against a rock wall, and had been roofed with slate taken from the surrounding mountain detritus. The windows were small, signalling the harsh climate, and the door was open a little, showing old leaves and a scattering of pebbles.

Dake scouted inside, sword unsheathed, ever wary of bandits, but the old barracks was empty.

“There's even a fire laid,” he said, grinning as he emerged.

“I'll stable the horses,” said Talon. “Beetrax?”

“Aye, lad?”

“Can you muster some of your famous Vagandrak stew?”

Beetrax beamed suddenly. “Oh yes, lad! By all that's holy, I can do
that
!”

S
now fell
, along with the mountain night. A savage wind howled down the White Lane, bringing with it yet more chill and ice. A fire roared in the hearth, filling the main room with heat, and warmth, and an easy, amiable light. Beetrax had fished out an old iron pot from the store cupboard, and after cleaning it with handfuls of snow, soon had his stew bubbling over the fire. He mixed in dried beef, wild onions, small potatoes, wild mushrooms Lillith had picked back in the forest, then added plenty of salt and a mixture of his own special blend of herbs – Beetrax's “special recipe” as made “by his mother, grandmother and great grandmother for the past one hundred and twenty years”. Or so he claimed.

The room was filled with an amazing aroma that soon had everybody's mouths watering. As the door slammed open allowing Talon to stagger in, Jael close behind, both laden with logs for the fire, Beetrax scowled.

“Come on, come on, you're letting the snow in!”

“Feel free to help bring logs,” snapped Talon, dumping them beside the hearth. “After all, it's more than a two-man job to heat this bloody place for the night!”

Beetrax, who had just tasted his stew and was holding a wooden spoon, wagged the spoon at Talon. “Listen, archer, I don't tell you how to fire your arrows, or string a bow. I don't need you interfering with the culinary art –
art,
you hear? – of perhaps one of the finest chefs in Vagandrak.”

“Art now, is it?” growled Talon, eyes narrowed.

“Lad, without meaning to sound arrogant, you don't have an artist – that's me – break away from a masterpiece – that's the stew – to do some simple, heavy, manual labour, like what you is doing. Right? I mean,” he chuckled with incredulity, “who
else
could cook such an amazing meal?”

“Manual labour,” said Talon, in a strangled voice.

Lillith moved over to Talon, her thick hair swaying, her scent strong, eyes smiling, and placed her arm around his shoulders. “Ignore the self-important axeman. You
know
what he's like.”

“I know he wouldn't be able to wave that spoon at me with a yew shaft through his hand.”

“Threats of violence, lad. I like that. Like that a lot! But you'll still want to eat my stew when it's ladled onto a plate before you, so keep your threats to yourself, or you won't be eating from my pot.”

Talon frowned. “I won't…”

“Shh,” said Lillith, turning him around. “Dake wants to speak with you. Over there, in the other room. About Jonti.”

“Where is Jonti?”

“Tending the horses. Go now. I think he needs your… support.”

Talon nodded, and without looking at Beetrax, picked his way across the room and disappeared into one of the several other chambers leading from the main common room of the old barracks.

Lillith moved, and sat beside Beetrax.

He looked at her.

“Why do you goad the man?”

“Keeps him on his toes.”

“I do believe Talon does not need to be kept on his toes. He is as accomplished as any in this company.”

Beetrax shrugged, and looked at Lillith. “He looks down at me, I think. He thinks I am scruffy, and common, and vulgar.”

“You are.”

“I fucking know that! I just don't want some man-loving dandy with hair like a woman to keep reminding me.” He scratched his beard vigorously. Then looked sideways at Lillith. “Anyways. It didn't stop you, did it?”

“Eventually.”

“Yes, but whilst it lasted...” He coughed, and found a sudden interest in his stew. “Why, er, why did you like me?”

Lillith smiled, genuine, pleasant, and honest. “You touched me. You affected me. You changed me. I was in your aura, and like a moon caught by a planet, I was in your sphere of influence; in your…
gravity.
”

Beetrax considered this. “Wow. Nobody has ever been in my gravity before.”

“That day we met, in the woods, you changed me. With your power and aura. Your presence. The warrior within.”

“Why did you not stay with me?”

“Always we return to that damn question. A question, truly, I cannot answer. Only know this. There have been none after you. Not one man has touched me since you. And I love you, Beetrax. You know that. I always have, and I always will.”

Beetrax was fighting himself. He looked at her then, with an intensity, a passion so deep it burned right through him. “Come to my bed, Lillith,” he said. “I want you. I need you. Like the sapling needs sunlight. Like a babe needs its mother's milk. Come to my bed, tonight.”

Lillith pursed her lips, and smoothed out her black skirts. “You should not think of me in that way. It is over.” Her words were gentle and she stared into the fire, refusing to meet his gaze.

“But… I do think of you that way,” he said. “I watch you. Every movement. Every hand gesture. I watch your fingers, want you to put them in my mouth, to taste them. I watch your face. The sparkle of your eyes. The curve of your mouth. The slender taper of your nose. I remember your long pale limbs. I remember your breasts, your nipples, I remember tasting you, my tongue inside your mouth and inside your quim; sandalwood, that's what you taste like. I could drink you like I would drink well water–”

Talon gave a small cough from the doorway, then walked forward. He sat beside Beetrax, and glanced at Lillith. “Not very private, these barracks, are they?”

“Not when you're here,” snapped Beetrax.

The door opened, and Jonti entered, bringing with her a blast of freezing winter chill. “The snow's getting heavier. We'll have to turn the horses back soon. No sense in killing them out in the wild. They'll find their way to warmer pastures.”

Lillith nodded. “The Karamakkos beckon.”

Jonti smiled, but it was a smile without humour. “Indeed they do. As do the Ice Bridges of Sakaroth.”

“Let us hope they have formed, or we'll have a long wait in bloody miserable freezing conditions.”

“Only the Mountain Gods know the answer to that.”

“STEW'S UP!” bellowed Beetrax, suddenly, and stared at Talon. “What?”

“Hell, man, you made me jump.”

Beetrax grinned. “I'll remember that for next time.”

“
I
'm going to die
, aren't I, Dake?”

“Nobody is going to die, my love.”

“I am. I'm going to die, without ever having children, without ever seeing my babies grow up into fine young men and women. What did I do wrong, Dake? What evil gods did I upset? It's so damn unfair.”

They lay, curled together under warm blankets. Outside the wind howled, and snow fell, smothering the world. Dake's hand rested on Jonti's hip, and slowly he ran his fingers across her smooth, warm flesh, up, until his fingers rested just beneath her left breast. Jonti gave a low groan, and pushed her face into his neck. He could feel her tears on his skin and it killed him. Killed him there and then, and for all eternity.

“We're going to find these jewels, and they will heal you,” whispered Dake into her long, dark hair. He smelled her musk. Her natural scent. He inhaled her, and knew that he'd be lost without her.

“You know what the doctors said. What the
surgeons
said. This
thing
inside me, it will eat me, I will grow weak, and then I will die. There is no cure.”

“There is magick,” said Dake.

Jonti snorted. “Magick is so much horseshit. Charms and chanting and invisible spells. Next you'll be telling me fucking dragons exist outside of a child's bedtime story!”

“What about the Horse Lady? What about the mud-orcs? The demons we fought. That is proof of magick. Surely, you have not forgotten so soon?”

Jonti considered this. “I think… there are some things we don't understand. I believe there is a power in the earth; in the mountains, the rocks, the soil, the trees. But I don't believe there are sparkling baubles that will shine and sing and take this cancer away. It's inside my
bones,
Dake, my love. And I appreciate your sentiment; all of you. I appreciate it. But this, for me, is one final adventure. One last chance to do something… great. Special. Different. Call it what you will. But to be here with you, and all these other bastards – well, it will make my final days worthwhile.”

“Don't talk like this, my lady. I cannot bear it.”

Jonti sat up, suddenly, and took his head in her hands. “Stop being maudlin! Stop whining. You are a man, Dake. A warrior. So fuck me now, make me scream, because I want to feel life lived to the full.” She took his balls in her hand and squeezed, hard, holding him in place. Dake groaned, and blinked, fell deep down into his wife's magick wishing well.

B
eetrax sat
, staring into the fire. He took another slug from a wine flagon, and welcomed the feel of alcohol pulsing through his veins. He had welcomed it far too much these past decades… a source of constant regret. And yet there was nothing he could do about it. Drink was drink. And some things were just meant to be.

“Well met, Beetrax!”

Jael had emerged from a bunkroom, and sat down beside the large axeman. He was smiling and friendly, but Beetrax frowned. Beetrax was not smiling and friendly. In fact, the last thing Beetrax wanted was idle chatter.

“Your stew was magnificent!”

“Thanks.”

“I was paying you a compliment, Axeman.”

“I know.”

“You don't sound very happy, Beetrax? Have I done something to offend you?”

Beetrax turned his head and stared at the youth. The swelling had gone down a little in his face. His eyes were shining; young, and bright and alive. Optimistic. Hopeful. It filled Beetrax with piss and bile.

Offend me? Of course not young man! I am here to entertain you, and offer you words of wisdom on becoming a great axe warrior like myself. Then you, too, can defend the walls of Desekra Fortress against a common evil that seeks to invade your land and kill your women and children… and you'll watch your best friends die on the battlements, arms lopped free, throats cut, bowels emerging from long sword slashes, spilling to the stone as men scream and weep and beg to die, their blood freezing in crimson puddles as we step on their wailing bodies in an attempt to halt the same horror happening to us! You want to hear the glory of battle, boy? Well, in all honesty, you can fuck off. There is no glory in battle. Only corpses and regret and rich generals drinking port.

Beetrax coughed. He focussed; a little. “No, lad. Not at all. I was just feeling… mawkish. Remembering old things, like. Old times. Friends who are dead. Lovers long past.”

“We could raise a drink to them?”

“Not tonight, lad. Not tonight.”

They sat in silence for a while, flames crackling, with the smell of woodsmoke strong in the air. It was comfortable and comforting. Beetrax settled back a little, alcohol buzzing him, and took a gulping swig from the wine flagon. Then, without a single word, he held out the flagon to Jael.

Jael paused, then took the flagon, and took his own dribbling drink. He spluttered, nearly dropping the flagon, and Beetrax tutted, grabbing the clay flask back from him. “What's wrong with you, boy? If you drop it, there'll be none left!”

“It's strong!” wheezed Jael.

“Aye. That'll be the liquor I add. Just to fortify it a bit. You know. Puts hairs on your chest. That sort of thing.” He grinned then, and leaning forward, slapped Jael on the back. “That was your first time, wasn't it? Eh? Go on, own up!”

Jael's cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide. “Yes. Yes it was.”

Beetrax loomed close, great shaggy brows frowning, bushy beard making him appear even more aggressive – evil – in the small, fire-lit space. “You been living in a fucking cave, boy?”

“No. My parents did not drink. And there was never any liquor in the village. The Elders used to complain mightily if any alcohol was discovered!” He grinned, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Ah. Elders, eh? Fuck me. Wise men so full of the need to satisfy their own pleasures and expanding purses, they rarely think of the greater good. Like politicians. All in need of a sword blade sawed through the neck.” He paused, and stared hard at Jael. It was a disconcerting stare. “So then. Was it good, lad?” he said suddenly. “Get more down you!” He thrust the flagon, and Jael took another choking drink, handing it back to Beetrax who roared with laughter.

“Beetrax? I have a question?”

“Go on then.”

“I was looking at your axe.” He gestured with a nod, to the weapon which never lay far from Beetrax's bear paw.