by Andy Remic
A year after the banishment of the Vampire Warlords to the Chaos Halls, Alexander, Oliver, Grak and twenty soldiers reined in their armoured mounts far to the west of Vor, and gazed with a mixture of wonder and horror at what had once been the oldest city in the country.
Whereas once huge white towers, temples and palaces dominated the skyline, and the city had been surrounded by white stone walls, now everything had been… encompassed by what looked, at first glance, like a giant, matt black beetle shell.
"Holy Mother," said Oliver, rubbing his chin and placing his hand on his sword hilt. "The city! It's gone!"
"Not gone," said Alexander, who now sported a small scar under one eye from duelling, from training, "but buried. What have those bastards done to our father's city? What have they done to our heritage?"
Grak kicked his horse forward, and placed a warning hand on Alexander's arm. "Majesty. I suggest caution. We must not approach the city. That was the pact made, the agreement between the leaders of Falanor and the… Ankarok."
Alexander nodded, but his eyes gleamed, and secretly he thought, that was not my agreement. Later, as he pored over maps in his tent, drinking watered wine from a gold goblet and eating cheese and black bread, so Alexander doodled a hypothetical retaking of the city of Vor.
For the honour of his father's memory, of course.
For the honour of Falanor.
A cold, fresh mountain wind blew.
Kell stood on a crag, exercising with slow, easy movements, swinging Ilanna left and right, running through manoeuvres so long used in battle they were now an instinct. He breathed deep, drinking in the vast pastel vision of mountains and hills and forests, valleys and rivers and lakes. It was a mammoth, natural vista, a painting more beautiful than anything ever captured on canvas. And it was there, there for Kell, there for his simple honest pleasure.
Kell finally ended his routine, and stood for a while, holding Ilanna to his chest, a violent internal war raging through his skull and heart. Part of him wanted to cast the axe away, far out from the mountain plateau, to be lost in the wilderness of crags and rocky slopes and scree below. But he did not. Could not. Even though he blamed Ilanna, to some extent, for the death of Nienna.
Nienna.
She haunted him.
Haunted him, with her innocence and the unfairness of it all.
"How are you feeling, old horse?" Saark grinned up at Kell, then deftly climbed up the ridge and sat, staring out over the early morning view. "By all the gods, this is a throne for a prince!"
"What are you doing here?"
"A simple good morning would have been a far more pleasant and agreeable salutation."
"Ha. I'm not here to be pleasant."
"I noticed. Here." Saark unwrapped a cloth sack and handed Kell a chunk of cheese and grain bread. Saark bit himself a lump of cheese and began to chew.
Kell, also, broke his fast, and the two men sat in companionable silence for a while. Until Kell winced, and clutched his stomach, tears springing to his eyes. He coughed, then rubbed at his head.
"The poison?"
"Aye, lad. It's gotten worse."
"You know what this means?"
Kell stared into Saark's eyes, and gave a nod. He sighed. "Aye. I must travel west. Find the antidote. Find the cure. I am reluctant to leave Falanor, but – well, I think after what happened with Nienna, maybe it would do me good. To see new countries, meet new people. To put my mark on a new place. A new world."
"'Different cultures, different customs'," quoted Saark, chewing on his bread. "You would of course need to travel far across the Salarl Ocean, my friend, out towards the lands of Kaydos. It is told the place is a vast, hot continent. Thousands and thousands of leagues of forest, hot, humid, damp, uncomfortable, where insects fight to make a merry meal of a man, and it is claimed in hushed whispers around strange fires that men and wolves walk together under the full yellow moon."
Kell eyed Saark thoughtfully. "Sounds like a harsh land, laddie."
"Only a fool would travel there," Saark agreed.
"I've already packed my things. I believe a ship leaves from Garramandos in a week. It should not be hard to acquire passage. As I said, it would do me good. And of course, this damn poison still courses through my veins. Some days, I curse Myriam her lusts."
"And some days you thank her," grinned Saark.
"Aye. That I do."
They sat in silence for a while. Eventually, Saark said, "I, also, have taken the liberty of packing. It would, of course, be highly foolish to let such a moaning old goat as yourself travel alone. Imagine the trouble you would get yourself into, with your ignorant peasant ways, base stupidity and crude manners! Whereas I, I with my noble breeding, sense of natural etiquette, and love of everything honourable, well, I would surely keep one such as you out of terrible mischief."
Kell looked sideways at Saark. "I suppose you've packed a huge wardrobe? Silver goblets? Silk shirts? A perfume of subtly mingled horse shit?"
"Of course. But thankfully, I have Mary, my donkey, to help shoulder my burden."
Kell groaned. "You're not bringing that stinking and cantankerous beast."
Saark frowned. "But Kell, how else will I journey with an extensive wardrobe? Just because I travel with peasants, doesn't mean I have to look like one. I must protest…"
"Wait, wait." Kell held up a huge hand. "What do you mean, 'peasants'? Plural? You told Myriam?"
"Well," Saark shifted uncomfortably, "I couldn't have you sneaking off in the night without her, could I? I couldn't allow you to do the dishonourable thing."
"Dishonourable thing!" spluttered Kell, turning bright red. "You! You! You dare to come out with that whining bloody gibberish? After all the things you've done to the poor women of Falanor! After all the hearts you broke? After all the children you sired? After all the chastity locks you picked?"
"Hey," frowned Saark. "I never said I was perfect. Only that you should show some morals."
"Morals?" screeched Kell, but they were rudely interrupted. Myriam appeared, climbing deftly up the rocky ridgeline. She was dressed for travel, and had her bow strapped to her back. She smiled at the two men.
"I'm ready," she said.
Kell scowled. "So I need to book passage for three travellers, do I?" he snapped.
"And a donkey," said Saark.
"And a donkey," growled Kell, through gritted teeth. "Well, we better be going, I reckon. It's a long trek to Garramandos, that's for sure. Over some treacherous terrain."
All three stared across the western flanks of the Black Pike Mountains, vast and black, towering and defiant, and their gazes drifted down towards the Salarl Ocean, which glittered like molten silver in the early morning sunlight.
"Men and wolves," said Kell, distantly.
Saark grinned and slapped him on the back. "Aye. Men and wolves. Come on."
Against a sparkling horizon of ocean and a rearing backdrop of savage mountains, the three travellers began a long, careful descent from the mountain plateau to the breathless, waiting world below.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks must go, as ever, to many people. To Sonia, Joe and Oliver for lots of laughs, to Dorothy for advice and critiques, to my ever-increasing circle of editors, you are all wonderful creatures and always right… to my many filmmaking friends for enduring my abuse on either side of the camera, to Nick for all his Mac advice and weird Combat K machinations, to Jim for being such a good sport, to Kev for relighting an old friendship (and I won that old Monopoly tournament, by the way…), and seeing as this is the final Clockwork Vampire novel, a final big kiss to the Gemmell community for not savaging me too much in what is a genuine homage to my writing hero.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Andy Remic is a British writer with a love of ancient warfare, mountain climbing and sword fighting. Married with two children, he works as a writer in the fields of Fantasy and SF, and in his spare time is a smuggler of rare Dog Gems, a drinker of distilled liquor and hu
nter of rogue vachine. He also dabbles in filmmaking.
www.andyremic.com
Extras...
A Q & A WITH THE MAN REMIC HIMSELF
Angry Robot) So that brings us to the end of the Clockwork Vampire Chronicles. Prior to Kell's Legend you were known for your science fiction. How have you enjoyed your first foray into the realms of epic fantasy?
Andy Remic) I've absolutely LOVED writing in the fantasy genre. I really appreciate the opportunity given to me by Angry Robot, so lots of man-love should be squirted around the room. It's quite a different process writing in the fantasy genre compared to SF; I have a completely different mind-set, and enter a completely different world during creation. In some ways (many ways) when I write in the fantasy genre it's a lot more realistic for me – I think I used to be a warrior of Genghis Khan. Or something. I love riding ponies. And can smell the Prairie Steppes on a rainy day… even in London ;-).
Angry Robot) You've always acknowledged a debt to Gemmell, and have described Kell's adventures as a tribute to your hero. Did you accomplish everything you set out to do with the series?
Andy Remic) Kell was indeed a tribute to David, but an idea I actually had – oooh, gods, about 15 years ago now – when I was cycling on the Pennine Moors in the ice and snow. And of course, this was also when David was alive. It was intended that Kell was always going to be my "Druss", a no-nonsense axe man who took the world by the balls and gave it a good kicking, whilst "doing the right thing" in an ultimately moralistic sense. In my original mental planning, Druss was a retired warrior living in an abandoned lighthouse on a rugged coast, and when the albino soldiers invaded (I was reading Elric at the time, so hats off to Moorcock) Druss would have to take up his mighty axe. However, I never wrote the book at the time – I didn't feel I had enough original elements, and indeed, back then I was still a fledgling unpublished author. The original elements for Kell's Legend only came with the introduction of the Clockwork Vampires, a completely different and deviant mental direction. And then, when all the ideas gelled… whoosh! Yes. Those long winter bike rides through the ice on The Viking Route were superb planning time for what would transmogrify into Kell's Legend, Soul Stealers and Vampire Warlords. However, in terms of accomplishing everything… no no no. Oh no. Kell and Saark are not being let off the hook that easily! I have so much pain waiting for them, it's going to make Evil Dead look like a silly little film about puppies.
Angry Robot) The parallels between Kell and Gemmell's Druss have been discussed elsewhere. Why pay homage to Druss, in particular? What was it about this character that inspired your series?
Andy Remic) Legend by David Gemmell was the first fantasy novel which really made me sit up and think, Holy crap! This is GENIUS! when I was about 15 years old. Obviously, Druss was the driving force in Legend and you could completely identify and comprehend how much love Gemmell put into the old man. Druss became an icon of Gemmell's heroic fantasy worlds (for me and many, many others), and as such, I wanted to pay tribute – not just to the character whom I so admired, but to the author I so admired as well – and had sadly passed away. When David died, me and Ian Graham built a fire and toasted him to the Hall of Heroes with lots of whiskey. I hope his shade finds my story a worthy homage. If not, I'm sure Snaga will be teaching me a lesson in the Afterlife! *checks over his shoulder in the dark shadows of the room*…
Angry Robot) Will we see Kell and Saark again?
Andy Remic) I have another six books of pain, agony and torment planned (in my head) for Kell and Saark, so yes, I definitely want to work with them again. They truly were a joy to write, and by the end of Vampire Warlords they didn't so much feel like characters I created, more like old friends and comrades I had been to Hell and back alongside. I lived through their squabblings and their battles, and enjoyed every damn second of it! First, however, I have another series to attend… but trust me, I will be back to Kell and Saark in the near future. There are plans, my friends, PLANS!
Angry Robot) You're an established SF author, and now fantasy. What's next – Andy Remic's paranormal romance series?
Andy Remic) It's funny you should mention that, I have plans for a series of romantic novels called, "Love's Loving Kissing Flame", "The Pink Rose of the Virgin's Nun" and "The Throbbing Clitoris of Ecstasy"… Or maybe I just dreamed that ;-).
On the fantasy front, I have a new series planned called the Machine Dragon Chronicles – The Dragon En>gine, Dragon's Ice and Twilight of the Dragons, where the upper world of man has become a prison of vicious ice, thus men have been forced underground, slaves to the dwarves and their "dragon engine" used in the smelting of ore. The novels follows the machinations of religious maniac, poet and torturer Cardinald Skalg, and his plot to use three dark adventurers to free the dragon engine of its world chains. This is still in the planning stages, but it's going to be fast-paced, dark and dirty, a bastard deviation of everything Tolkien did.
That's the plan!
ANGRY ROBOT
A member of the Osprey Group
Midland House, West Way
Botley, Oxford
OX2 0PH
UK
www.angryrobotbooks.com
Gears of war
An Angry Robot paperback original 2011
1
Copyright © Andy Remic 2011
Andy Remic asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-0-85766-105-0
EBook ISBN: 978-0-85766-107-4
Set in Meridien by THL Design.
Printed in the UK by CPI Mackays, Chatham, ME5 8TD.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.