Vampire Warlords: The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles, Book 3

by Andy Remic

  Saark punched Kell on the arm. Kell stared at the place Saark punched him, then scowled, and glared at the dandy.

  "You've got a big mouth. You've got a runny brain. Like a bloody undercooked egg yolk, it is. You need to keep your nose out of other people's business. And you need to refine your character if you think you're a fit man to look after my granddaughter for the next thirty years without me hunting you down and crushing you like a beetle under my boot."

  "So, it was the cook! A fine and stocky lass she turned out to be, and I'm always the first to admit, a woman with a goodly amount of weight and mass to her, a big lass with big bones like that – well, you can't go wrong, can you? I mean, you need a woman who can take a good, hard–"

  "It was Myriam."

  They walked for a while, in silence, and Saark looked at Kell, opened his mouth to speak several times, then closed it again. He tried again, and again closed his mouth. Finally, he said, "She told me she loved me. She said we would live together, be strong together. That we would never die – thanks to our combined vachine energies. She said we were like royalty! We could achieve anything our hearts desired!"

  Kell chuckled. "Just before she tried to drown you, if I remember it rightly?"

  "Harsh, Kell, harsh."

  "Well, what do you expect? You prance about, trying your amorous expertise on any woman who'll give you the barest sniff. That's what you are, Saark. A bloody sniffer dog. I've never seen a man so damn and permanently erect!"

  "I thought we were talking about one of my true loves, and how you'd just had your way with her? You seem to have strayed away from our topic, and indeed, the prickly edges of my rapidly breaking heart."

  "She seduced me," said Kell, primly.

  "What? Ha! What arse-rot. I know Myriam, and she is a fine judge of character."

  "Maybe that's why she tried to kill you?"

  "Amusing, Kell. Can you see me laughing?"

  Kell chuckled. "No, but I can see Mary laughing. At least your ass finds my comedy a damn sight more amusing than her owner!" The sound of Mary braying could be heard, and various shouts as men tried to stop the unpredictable donkey from kicking and bolting.

  "This is hard for me, Kell. You've taken my woman!"

  "No," said Kell. "I have taken nothing. She gave me plenty, though."

  They walked again, in silence, for quite a while.

  "Hey," said Kell, staring at Saark. "You know that little sound she makes?"

  "What little sound?"

  "Like a bird, chirping."

  "I never heard no sound like a bird chirping. What are you talking about, you old fool?"

  "Sure, Saark. You must have heard her. She makes it, when she orgasms…" Kell placed his hand over his mouth. "Oh, sorry, Saark. Maybe you didn't hear it after all." Kell's booming laughter ranged across the marching columns on the Great North Road, and Saark trailed along behind him, fists clenched, face like thunder, heart ticking with clockwork.

  The albino soldiers from the Army of Brass moved slowly through the valley. It was ringed with trees, and steep rocky flanks led up to Valantrium Moor to the east.

  General Exkavar held up his fist, and the army halted. His captains came to him, and he issued orders to set up camp. He ordered scouts out to scan the surrounding country, and various patrols to watch over the troops as they set up base-camp for the night.

  After an hour, tents had been erected, fires lit, food was cooking and night descended. Exkavar knew that further south and west the Army of Silver were setting up a similar camp. He smiled to himself. The Army of Silver would check Fawkrin, and Gilrak further south. The Army of Brass would march through Valantrium, and Old Valantrium, and then both armies would convene at Vor and smash the vampires there. The remains of the Army of Iron would join, forming the closing claws of a perfect manoeuvre, and Vor – the capital city of Falanor – would belong to them. To the White Warriors. And the Harvesters with whom they worked…

  Exkavar moved to his tent, and slowly removed his armour. Servants brought a bowl of water warmed over the fire, and the old general washed his pale, white limbs, washed sweat and salt from his skin, from his face, from his stinging eyes. And then he sat, in a simple white robe, and ate dried meat and strips of dried fruit – the eldabarr fruit, grown far to the north, far past the Black Pike Mountains. In the place where the vachine ruled.

  Distant screams reached Exkavar's ears, and frowning, he stood and reached for his black sword. He ran from his tent – and the world smashed down into chaos. All around men were fighting, swords slashing, most of the albino soldiers in underwear or simple cotton leggings. There had been no early warning. Not one patrol had sounded a bugle alarm. And the enemy, the enemy were –

  General Exkavar blinked, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. They were children, and their skin was gloss black, and they moved fast, some too fast to see until they stopped, for a moment, to chop off a head or arms or legs. They glistened under the moonlight and Exkavar's stomach churned, not just with the simple disgust of seeing them, for they were horrible to behold, a blend of child and insect, teeth black and pointed, many with claws instead of hands, and four arms, and taloned feet. They ran and jumped and crawled and squirmed, and some had large pulsing thoraxes dangling between legs like deviant, distorted pregnant bellies. His stomach churned because he knew what they were, and fear ate through him as easily as the Ankarok ate through his soldiers. They were like a swarm, of locusts, or something more dark and terrible, and there were hundreds of them, thousands in fact. They slammed through the Army of Brass, and killed everyone, and all the time there was a background hissing, like a million insects buzzing and croaking and Exkavar stood, and waited to die, but he did not die, it was a miracle, until he saw a boy walking towards him and his eyes were glowing black and he was dressed in rags but Exkavar knew him, he knew this was The Skanda. The King.

  Exkavar stood to attention as all around him men were decapitated and ground screaming into the snow. White blood splattered tent walls. Limbs flew through the air to impact with sickening crunches.

  He could hear them…

  we have been imprisoned for thousands of years

  we are free now to roam and kill and devour

  we are free to take back the land

  we are free to kill.

  The Skanda halted, and looked up at General Exkavar. "You were heading to Vor?" he said.

  Exkavar nodded, and then blinked, for behind The Skanda walked General Graal. The man held his head high, and his blue eyes shone, but his face was riddled with patches of black insect chitin. As if he had started to blend. To become a part of the ancient race known as Ankarok.

  "You have another army, south and west of here."

  "I will never divulge military information," snarled Exkavar, and attacked in a blur, sword slamming at Skanda's head. The little boy did not move, but Graal's sword intervened – and slowly, Graal pushed Exkavar's weapon back. With a flick of the wrist, Graal disabled Exkavar, then his head snapped left as if awaiting instruction.

  "We have no further need for him. Kill him," said Skanda.

  Graal's sword cut Exkavar's head from his shoulders. Graal looked up, and all around the camp had descended into death, and now silence. The several thousand Ankarok warriors stood motionless, eyes glistening, skin glistening. They were perfectly immobile. As if controlled. As if turned to stone.

  "Kell comes from the north," said Graal.

  "We head south," said Skanda.

  "Kell has an army, now," said Graal. "That's what the patrol told us. Maybe five thousand men. Maybe more."

  "Our priority is Vor," said Skanda. "Meshwar will be driven back. We need that city."

  "And what of Kell?"

  Skanda smiled, black teeth glistening. He reached out, and patted Graal's arm. "Don't worry. You shall have your time. You shall have your chance. And you shall have revenge."

  Skanda turned, and a high-pitched squeal reverberated throughout the valley. The
Ankarok turned south, and like a buzzing plague of insects, headed through the forests… and towards the unsuspecting Army of Silver.

  CHAPTER 15

  Bhu Vanesh

  It was night. Kell crawled through the snow, which froze his knees and made him wince. Damn, he hated it when his knees seized up. Getting old, he thought to himself bitterly. Old, and weak, and tired, and weary. Weary of the world. Weary of the years. Weary of the fighting. Everything seems so complicated now, why can't it be simple like in the old days? In the old days, Saark would have been hanged from the nearest oak if he'd stepped outside in silk and perfume…

  How decadent we've become.

  How decadent…

  "It's quiet," said Saark, who was lying next to Kell in the snow. "Maybe too quiet?"

  "They're out there," said Kell, and his eyes scanned the huge sprawl of Port of Gollothrim below. On the outskirts were massive yards and factories, silent now, still, motionless, a ghost town within a ghost town. Machines should be grinding and clanking, Kell knew. Gollothrim was a thriving anthill, even at night. But not tonight.

  The vampires had taken control…

  "You know we'll not get them out for combat," said Grak the Bastard, voice low, stroking his beard. He was a reassuring mass in the darkness. Grak had proved himself to be a more than able soldier. "We'll have to go in after them. I reckon those Warlords speak to each other, up here." He tapped his head. "They'll know right enough what happened to Kuradek. Know how Kell disposed of him. There'll be no sneaking in, this time."

  Kell scratched his beard. "I need to get to Bhu Vanesh. I need to bury Ilanna in his skull, open the pathway back to the Chaos Halls. They want him back, that much is for sure."

  "Who?" said Saark, looking sideways at Kell.

  "The Keepers," said Kell, darkly.

  "You know way too much for a fat old man," said Saark, and shivered. "And sometimes, you can have too much insight. Me, I'd rather have a plump serving wench sat on my face, ten flagons of ale and a plate of fried pork and eggs in the morning."

  Kell stared at Saark. "I have a favour to ask."

  "Yes?"

  Kell looked down, and seemed to fidget for a moment. He gestured to the vast sprawl of Gollothrim. "It's going to be wild down there, you know that? It's going to be bad. Much worse than Jalder."

  "You think?"

  "I have a sixth sense about these things," said Kell, quietly. "What I wanted to ask you, what I wanted to… request, was a promise. Something sworn in blood and honour. Can you do that for me, Saark?"

  Saark stared into Kell's dark eyes. There was a glint of desperation there. Saark nodded. "Kell. I fool around a lot. But you know, deep down, I was the Sword Champion of King Leanoric. And yes, I betrayed him, but I do have honour – I have honour for my friends, and for those whom I love. I may wear handsome silks and the finest perfumes – don't comment – but when it really matters, I will kill and die if needed. You know that, don't you?"

  "I know, laddie." Kell chewed his lip. "If I die down there, Saark, I want you to promise me you'll take care of Nienna. I want you to swear on your lifeblood that you will not treat her bad. You will treat her with respect and honour and dignity, help her with the hard choices in life… hell, I don't know. Be like a guardian for her. She's a tough girl, I know – she's my granddaughter, after all. But she's still just a babe when held against the warped tapestry of the real world. Of history."

  "I will do anything for her, Kell. And for you. So yes. I swear. By every ounce of honour in my blood. By every clockwork wheel that turns and gear that steps. You know this, Kell."

  Kell turned his gaze back to Gollothrim, and allowed a long breath to hiss free. He gazed past the factories and yards, storage huts, barracks, houses, schools, temples, narrow twisting streets and broad thoroughfares for the moving of goods from the docks. He could see the dark silhouettes of the ships at anchor in the bay. He could see the skeletons of many more new ships, destined to take the vampires abroad, to spread their plague to other continents in search of global dominion. And Kell knew, this would be the hardest fight of his life. He knew death waited for him down there. It looked quiet, it looked safe, but soon the vampires would come drifting out to play. And Kell had to find his way through the maze. Find Bhu Vanesh, and kill the bastard.

  "You know I'm coming with you," said Saark.

  "No, laddie. You stay here and look after Nienna. That must be your priority. That must be your mission. If things start to turn bad, then you take her. You get away. You take her some place safe. You understand me?"

  "I understand."

  "I'm trusting you, Saark, with the greatest treasure of my life. Don't let me down."

  "I won't, Kell."

  Even as they watched, as Kell had predicted, the vampires started to emerge into the dark quarters of Port of Gollothrim. They wandered the streets mostly in packs, some alone. They howled at the moon like dogs. They laughed and squealed, danced and fought. Kell, and Saark, and Grak watched grimly. They watched, down by the wide yard as a group of vampires cornered a woman. She screamed, and ran. They pursued her cackling like demons, and grabbed her, pulling her apart. Her arms came away spewing blood and she fell over, weeping, still alive. The six vampires descended on her, drinking her blood, laughing and singing and masturbating.

  "We must go in," growled Grak, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We must end this depravity."

  Kell nodded. "I agree. Go get the men ready. I want archers at the front, and we'll descend real slow. Pick off those we can, then divide into small fighting squares. If we stick to the wide avenues, we'll bring the fuckers out onto our spears. You must warn the men – never chase them into narrow alleys. They'll fall on us from above, and our long spears will be useless."

  "How many in each unit?"

  "I'd say fighting squares of twenty-five. Shields all round. Couple of archers in the centre of each square. We'll quarter the city, work through it methodically."

  "Why don't we wait for daylight?" said Saark. "Most of them sleep."

  "We'll never bloody find them," snapped Kell. "We'll waste too much time hunting in sewers and bloody cellars. No. This way we can fight them on reasonably open ground; get some good slaughterin' done. Then in the daylight, we can pick out the rest. Gather those still normal around us, they'll know where some of these vampires are hiding. Sound like a plan?"

  Grak stared at where the six vampires chewed on the dead woman. He realised, stomach churning, that she was actually still alive. She was making weak mewling sounds. It was the sickest thing Grak had ever seen.

  "Sounds like a solid fucking plan to me. Let's get it done." Grak crawled back, then disappeared into the dark.

  Saark looked down on the city. "Kell. There's an awful lot of them out, now. Thousands of them."

  "Good. We'll have plenty of targets then, won't we?"

  "Don't you think the odds are against us?"

  "Lad, the odds are always against us. From birth to death, life is just one whole shit of a bitch."

  "I meant here, and now."

  "I know what you meant." Kell's eyes gleamed. "You remember what I said? About protecting Nienna?"

  "In some ways I'm relieved I'm not coming with you," said Saark.

  Kell's hand smashed out, and stroked Saark's cheek. He grinned, like a demon in the moonlight. "Look after her, vachine. You're strong, fast, deadly. Nobody else can keep her alive like you."

  Saark nodded. "What about Myriam?"

  "Myriam? Why, she's coming with me, lad."

  The outcast men of Falanor, the Blacklippers and thieves, rapists and murderers, extortionists and freaks, kidnappers and maniacs, the cast out and the depraved and the downright psychotic, assembled in tight military units, eyes gleaming, shields on arms, steel collars fixed around throats, swords oiled and sharpened, boot laces tightened and jaws grim with the prospect of death and mutilation as they considered the enemy – their numbers, and their ferocity.

  "Let's move,"
said Grak, and they marched through the darkness, through the trees and over low hills, boots tramping snow and ice and mud. They found the main arterial route which ran from the Great North Road to Port of Gollothrim, and picked it up like casual syphilis, emerging from the trees like armed and armoured ghosts, eyes hot jewels, lips wet, anticipation and hatred building like a slow-boiled rage.

  The armoured units approached Port of Gollothrim.

  It began to snow, a heavy snow obscuring their vision.

  Boots touched down on slick iced cobbles. Cold hands grasped weapons in readiness.