Vampire Warlords: The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles, Book 3

by Andy Remic

  Meshwar turned, fast, to see the Harvester watching him with a smile on his curious, blank face. Small black eyes were fixed on Meshwar and his own blood-red gaze narrowed.

  "You want something, Vishniriak?"

  "My clan master would speak with you, Meshwar, great Warlord. It is most urgent."

  "I will speak with him when I am good and ready. Not now. Not tonight. I have much work to… attend."

  Vishniriak nodded, but the Harvester did not break the connection. Despite looking odd, with his tall angular frame, pale oval face, small black eyes and perfectly white robes embroidered with fine gold wire – despite the filth, and smoke, and fire filling the city of Vor – Vishniriak still carried an air of power, and an air of authority. The Vampire Warlords considered themselves superior to the Harvesters; but the Harvesters did not share the same sentiment.

  "It's about the cankers. They have gone."

  "I thought they were destroyed? Like all vachine filth?"

  "No. There was a leader amongst them. And, against all odds, he has rallied the cankers and they have fled together, north, it is believed."

  Meshwar considered this. "I did not think they had it in them; their bestiality is too far removed from any logical thought. Who commands them?"

  Vishniriak smiled, head tilting to one side. "He is one of General Graal's impromptu clockwork creations. A second-hand canker impurity with far too many slices of humanity remaining. His name is Elias, once the Sword Champion of King Leanoric. Now, ahh, a much altered beast."

  "Send a hundred slaves. Hunt them down. Kill them all."

  "Yes, Master." Vishniriak bowed his head, an inch away from actually showing respect, turned with a billowing of white robes and disappeared towards the Rose Palace.

  Meshwar scowled, face swirling with images of rape and torture and murder in the smoke. Then he relaxed, and decided what violence to inflict on Vor that night.

  It was past midnight. General Graal sat at the table, staring into the solitary flame of a candle and thinking of Bhu Vanesh, thinking of Helltop and the Summoning of the Vampire Warlords. So much effort. So much blood-oil magick. So many dead. And all for what?

  Graal smiled a crooked smile, and mocked himself. He had harboured such plans! He had thought he, and Kradek-ka, could rule the Vampire Warlords, use them as puppets to build an army and take control of the world! And yet things had turned out different. Things had become… distorted. And now, they were as much slaves as those poor lost souls turned down on the streets below.

  The door opened, and a draught drifted in like plague. Wood slammed with a rattle, and Kradek-ka sat down opposite Graal and glared at the man, at the albino, at the vachine.

  "I cannot believe it's fucking come to this!" he snarled, and bit the top from the bottle with a crunch of breaking glass. "I sacrifice my own fucking daughter, I sacrifice the vachine civilisation of Silva Valley, and here we are, locked in a tower like two old men waiting to die."

  Kradek-ka poured two generous glasses of brandy, taken from the looted and ravaged city below. Even now, at this late hour, they could hear the hammering of ship-builders. Frantic work on the new navy continued. And the ships' skeletons were growing. Slowly, imperceptibly, but they were growing.

  "We should kill Bhu Vanesh," said Graal, drinking the brandy. It glistened on his pale lips; glistened against his brass fangs. "We should kill him. It. Now. Tonight." He glanced up, and Kradek-ka was staring at him. "We should send the fucker back to the Chaos Halls."

  "We tried. We failed."

  "We should try again!"

  "We only get one more chance." Kradek-ka smiled weakly. "You know how to do this, and not die in the process?"

  "I have an idea."

  "Blood-oil magick?"

  General Graal nodded, and drank more. "When we opened the gate to the Halls they followed a path between that place and this; every path has a resonance. A bond, if you like. The Vampire Warlords were bound to the Chaos Halls; being here is an unnatural balance. All we need do is give them a push, and they'll be dragged back, kicking and screaming. I think. I believe a killing blow will do this."

  "Bhu Vanesh is mighty indeed," said Kradek-ka, with fear etched into his face and voice.

  "We must attack when he is at his weakest."

  "Which is?"

  "When he feeds," said Graal, eyes gleaming.

  • • • •

  Bhu Vanesh stood and stretched, and stepped down from the dais, staring at the three chained girls. They were shivering in terror, eyes staring at the ground, huddling together like sheep. Bhu Vanesh smiled at that. For, like sheep, they were about to become food. He moved swiftly, grabbing the first girl by the throat and pulling her close, almost as if to kiss. Then his maw stretched wide and the girl screamed, a wavering long high note, and Bhu Vanesh's fangs sank into her throat and started to suck her dry as the other two girls vomited, and squirmed, and moaned and thrashed with horror.

  Out of the shadows came Kradek-ka, moving fast, and the spear thrust into the Warlord's back with as much force as the old vachine could muster, born of fear and hatred; the spear rammed through the Vampire Warlord, through his heart and through the girl on which he fed, making her go rigid, puking blood as her limbs twitched spasmodically. Even as the spear thrust struck, so Graal leapt from the high beams of the roof, sword slashing down to open Bhu Vanesh's throat and the Vampire Warlord dropped, pinned to the girl, gurgling and Graal stood, his curved blade dripping blood and looked down with a sneer and spat at Bhu Vanesh, until he realised that the Vampire Warlord wasn't gurgling in his death throes, he was laughing and he slammed upright and rigid in a splinter of time, and fire seared the girl to which he was attached, crisping her instantly to ash. What remained of the spear Bhu Vanesh grasped, and pulled it smoothly through his smoke-riddled body, as the smoke-flesh of his throat ran together and Graal screamed, and attacked in a blistering display of sword skill but Bhu punched him in the chest, caving in his breastbone and ribs with one mighty blow and sending him slamming backwards to roll amongst scattered tables and chairs until he hit the wall, his clockwork pounding, several wheels rolling from the massive open wound. Kradek-ka attacked from behind, and Bhu Vanesh turned, grasped the old vachine's head between both sets of talons, and with a wrench twisted his head clean off. Kradek-ka looked surprised. His mouth worked soundlessly, as blood dripped from his severed neck stump. The body spewed blood and tiny brass cogs, then one knee folded, and Kradek-ka's corpse settled to the ground like a deflating balloon.

  Bhu Vanesh sighed, and tossed away the head. He pointed at Graal, and grimaced. "I cannot stand traitors," he snapped, and from the shadows eased Lorna, petite and blonde and smiling, and the bulk of Division General Dekull. They lifted Graal with ease. He could not fight. He was slowly dying, with his chest caved in.

  "Take him to the Black Tower," snapped Bhu Vanesh, eyes glowing, and he waved his talons to dismiss them and turned his attention back to the two moaning girls who remained. "I am still enjoying breakfast. I will deal with him later."

  Graal, his clockwork whining, was dragged from the chamber and out, into the cold stairwell, and up narrow winding steps.

  General Graal lay on the floor, panting, pain flooding him like nothing he'd felt in his long, long lifetime. Breathing was hard, with a caved-in chest, and he knew even with accelerated vachine healing powers, this pulping at the talons of Bhu Vanesh would take him months from which to recover. If he could recover. But then, in a few short hours he would be dead. Bhu Vanesh was toying with him.

  So, it was all for naught? How many men, down through the ages of history, have taken great risks only to end up, condemned and dying, in a prison cell? He smiled at that, then winced and vomited blood.

  Many. Many…

  And Graal had exterminated most.

  Pain rocked through him in waves, and it was so bad, so painful Graal went beyond pain and into comedy. He laughed, laughed because it hurt so damn fucking much. He lifted his hea
d, looked down at the hole in his chest. He could see his own beating heart merged with clockwork. Cogs spun, and gears stepped, but many were twisted and misaligned. The only time Graal had seen that was in the cankers. That thought made him shiver. Sobered him with a slap.

  Better death, than to turn canker.

  He had seen what becoming a canker did to a man. After all, it had happened to his brother. The brother Kell had killed. Kell! That old bastard. Graal grimaced. Now there's a fucker who needs his head on a spike! His balls chopped off! His throat opening like a second smile! Far too much testosterone. Far too much of the fucking hero factor, the dirty stinking piece of reprobate horse-shit! Him, and that damn axe… that axe…

  "I'm sorry to intrude," said the little boy, "but it would appear somebody left a door open."

  Graal groaned, and his eyes moved to the boy. He was five or six years old, skinny and raggedy looking to the extent he would be taken for a vagrant in any of the fine cities of Falanor. Not that many existed, in the old sense of the word city. The boy wore rags, and had no shoes, and he was smiling and his teeth were black, like insect chitin.

  "You!" gasped Graal, and struggled to rise, but groaned as pain swamped him and he passed back into a welcome deep honey pool of glorious unconsciousness.

  When his eyes fluttered open, Skanda was sitting on the edge of Graal's bed, staring down at him where he lay on the stone flags, still with that disarming smile stuck on his face. "You do look rather ill," said Skanda. "Maybe some medicine is in order?"

  "I want nothing from you!" Graal spat, and he would have screamed and attacked, but had not the strength, nor the energy. Instead, he glared with blue albino eyes at the boy.

  "I disagree," said Skanda, and he hopped from the bed and Graal cringed, as if expecting some fearful weapon. Instead, Skanda knelt down by Graal and placed his hands on the vachine's belly. Inside him, Graal felt the clockwork slow to a rhythm that was normal, not discordant, not twisted. Pleasure ran through him, tingling every fingertip, and pain fled like rats before a flood.

  Graal sighed. Then he blinked, slowly, and allowed himself to breathe.

  "Thank… you," he managed, and stared hard at Skanda. "But I haven't forgotten Helltop. I haven't forgotten your part in the deaths of my daughters!"

  "Ahh. The delightful Shanna and Tashmaniok. Yes. I am sorry about them. But we need Kell alive. We need the Legend to exist. Or all our plans would be for nothing."

  "Our plans?" said Graal.

  "The Ankarok," said Skanda, softly, his dark little insect eyes fixed on Graal. "That is why I am here. That is why I need your help."

  "There is nothing I can do for you, boy," snapped Graal. "Nothing I can do for the Ankarok! Nothing I can even do for myself…"

  "We are alive," hissed Skanda, "and if you help me, Graal, General Graal, Graal the Dispossessed, Graal the Dying, Graal the Fallen, Graal the Slave, Graal the Whipping Boy of the fucking Vampire Warlords… then I will help you. We will help you."

  Graal swallowed, and he looked at the six year-old boy, but it was the eyes, the eyes were old, older than Time it seemed. They were portals, piss-holes straight back to the Chaos Halls.

  "What is it you require?" said Graal, voice a little strangled.

  "We want our Empire back," said the Ankarok.

  "What do you need me to do?"

  "We need your blood-oil magick. Ours is trapped. Trapped in the curse that is Old Skulkra. I broke free, broke free and was aided by Kell and Saark. But now, now we are ready to return. General Graal – we will sweep aside these vampires. We will send the Warlords back to the Chaos Halls."

  "But we'll have you instead," said Graal.

  "You will not be a slave," said Skanda. "I guarantee you that. You will rule by my side. You will be a vassal of the Ankarok. You will be a Prince of the Ankarok!"

  "How do I know I can trust you?"

  "Because you have little choice. But also, I could leave you to die. There are others, Graal. But I like you." The boy grinned. "I like your tenacity. I like your lack of fear. I like your will to get the job done." His smile dissolved. "I like your ability to kill."

  "So we would exchange one evil empire for another?"

  "Evil is all about perspective," said Skanda. "But these Vampire Warlords thrive on destruction; and what use is that? If you kill all the slaves, who then will be the slaves? It is a base stupidity. A flaw in their strategy."

  "What do you need me to do?"

  "Follow me."

  "What about the thousands of vampires in the city below?"

  "Trust me," said Skanda, smiling with those gloss black teeth. "They will not be a problem for my power."

  "I will come with you," said Graal. "But I have one request."

  "Ask."

  "When we find Kell, the Legend, I want to be the one who places his head on a spike."

  "Agreed."

  CHAPTER 10

  Valleys of the Moon

  Kell stared at his daughter, and slowly, without taking his eyes off the tall female vampire, he reached down and hoisted Nienna to her feet.

  "Mother!" she gasped.

  Sara stared at Kell, glanced at Nienna, sneered, and turned back to Kell. "You are looking old, Bastard Father. Soon, soon you will be dead. Sooner, if I have my way."

  Kell glanced at Saark. "Go and get chains. And shackles." He stared hard at Sara. "Better make them strong ones."

  Saark nodded, and eased through the fortress gates.

  "You're looking well," said Kell, staring up at his vampire daughter. She rolled her neck, as if easing tension, and smoothed her hands down her black dress. Then she looked at the bonds restraining her hands. They were tight, and blood bubbled around the rope and thin wires, which bit into her flesh.

  "I am weak. These fools put a pitchfork in my back. Right through me! The bastards. But soon, when I am strong, I will return the favour!" She turned and hissed at the men, who backed hurriedly away from the cart, lifting their weapons in a parody of defence.

  Kell realised, then: Sara had been weakened during a fight in which she killed forty men and women. She had been restrained. But soon, soon she would snap the wires like cotton thread. She had let them take her; so she could rest. Recuperate. To sleep the sleep of the vampire – like an injured hound licking its wounds, waiting, waiting…

  Suddenly Kell leapt atop the cart so he was inches from Sara, and Ilanna was between them and she hissed when she saw the axe, and scrambled back as far as the bindings would allow.

  "You remember my axe?" said Kell, voice deep, eyes fixed on Sara. The second vampire started to rise, but Kell waved Ilanna at her. At it. "Stay down, or I'll cut off your pissing head, I swear! There's no healing a wound like that!" He returned to Sara. "Not even for you, daughter of mine."

  "It is a shame it came to this," she said, and licked her lips, showing sharp fangs.

  "Indeed," said Kell, gaze locked. "Because now I'm going to have to kill you."

  "Please, no," and suddenly she was pleading, voice soft, aggression gone and she dropped to her knees. "I will pray to you, great Kell, Kell the Legend, and I will do your bidding."

  Kell gave a mocking laugh. "Like you prayed to your god? And look what he did for you, Sara. He cursed you! He made you like this! The gods? Bah! A curse on all their hairy arses! And all for what? The pain you caused Nienna with your hard ways, your religious learning, your pious necessities. Well, now she is my ward." Kell dropped to his own knees, so they were once again facing each other. His words came out in a low growl. "And you will serve. Or you will die."

  "I will serve," said Sara, head low. She glanced at Ilanna.

  "Look well on the blades," said Kell, and then climbed down from the cart as Saark approached with shackles. "For vampire or no, they will tear out your soul and devour it. This, you know. This, you have seen."

  Saark secured the shackles on ankles and feet, and using a small ratchet tool, cranked them tight until Sara gave a howl and glanced at him, shar
ply, as if imprinting his face in her mind for future reference.

  Kell lifted Nienna to her feet. "Come on, girl. This place is too painful for you."

  "What will you do to her?"

  "I will not kill her, if that's what you think."

  "I… I love her, Kell. She is my mother, no matter all her faults. No matter her poisonous gossip, her forcefed opinions, her casual hate. I have to love her. No matter what she's done. That's why she's my mother."

  "I know that, love."

  "How did she become like this? What happened?"