Vampire Warlords cwc-3

by Andy Remic

  "Looks like a stage," he said, at last. "Why are they building a stage? Are they going to treat us to a performance of Dog's Treason, or maybe a sequence of sonnet recitals based around the life of that great lover, Cassiandra? I know! I've got it! They're going to perform The Saga of Kell's Legend just for your bloody benefit!"

  "It's a gallows, idiot. That's why the centre has extra vertical struts. There's going to be a hole through which somebody drops."

  "Somebody?"

  "I take a lot of killing," said Kell, voice low, eyes narrowed. "Look, there's Jagor Mad. He really is a big, dumb fool. I thought he would have learnt his lesson last time I brought him in. Evidently not."

  "What did he do?"

  "Aah," Kell shook his head, then lowered his face to stare at the rocky floor of the cave. He kicked his boot against one of the pitted iron bars. "Jagor came from a city called Gilrak, to the west of Vor. All those who wanted to live in Vor, but couldn't afford to live in the capital, well they lived in Gilrak, and what a sorry heap of shit it was. Like a scum overflow. A sewer outlet. Now, the thing about Gilrak was that it was a new city, with the old one, Old Gilrak, lying a half-league southwest. But what few people knew was that the two were connected by old tunnels. So Jagor and a few of his friends came up with a wonderful money-making scheme. They'd kidnap children, take them through the tunnels – so that when a search went out there was no chance of finding the bastards – take them through the tunnels to the deserted city of Old Gilrak, fast horses, down to the coast where bad men from across the sea were waiting on Crake's Beach with boats."

  "So he took children and sold them?"

  "Yes. Sold them to bad men, for a lot of gold, men who would use them for, shall we say, unspeakable acts. Things a child should never have to go through." Kell's eyes were gleaming.

  "Not a happy end for a child?" ventured Saark.

  "No. King Leanoric had three genius spies, who eventually uncovered what was going on. Then they passed the information over to me, and the King charged me with stopping the trade. He gave me limitless funds, and the pick of his men. Well. I work fast, and alone, but Jagor had forty men working his trade so I picked out five of Leanoric's best killers. Not swordsmen, mind, not soldiers, but killers. Men I'd seen in battle, men with real stomach for the job."

  "And the job was?"

  "Extermination," said Kell, glancing up at Saark. "I've seen the way the justice courts worked in Vor." He spat. "I've watched good men hang, and I watched bad men walk free. I wasn't about to let this little fish escape the pond."

  "So what happened?"

  "First, we found one of Jagor's scouts. We tortured him, broke his fingers and toes, cut off his balls, held him screaming in a cellar before cutting his throat. The vermin. Well, he told us where the next targets were; where the next children were. And Jagor's kidnappers were getting greedy; they were going to take ten children that night, all under the age of ten. One of my killers took the place of Jagor's scout, and we waited, let them sneak in and take the girl from her little town house in the poor part of the city, then we followed those fuckers back to their camp in the woods, and the place they'd dug down and smashed through into the old tunnel network leading to Old Gilrak."

  "What happened next?"

  Kell shrugged. "We came on them in the night. Fucking slaughtered them, six of us there were with rage in our eyes and blood on our swords and axes. We massacred them, men and women alike, no mercy. Five escaped into the tunnels, including Jagor Mad. I'd gone in for the kill, we fought and I hit him so hard I put a dent in his skull, broke three bones in my hand but it was worth it. But then somebody jumped on my back, I rammed back my head, ended up with half his teeth stuck in my scalp, but it gave Jagor time to flee. Down through the tunnels."

  "You don't make friends easy, do you Kell?"

  "Shut up. Well, my men took the kids back to Gilrak and I went down the tunnels after these rats. I followed them all night, caught up with two who were injured, killed them easy enough, then another two tried to spring a trap on me in the dark. Well, Kell doesn't die easy, and I gave them a few things to think about – delivered courtesy of the butterfly blades of Ilanna. Then I chased Jagor Mad all damn night, but the bastard got away. He might look like a big brute, but he ran faster than any frightened schoolgirl, I can tell you."

  "How did he end up here?"

  "Some of Leanoric's soldiers caught him a week later, north in Fawkrin, heading there with all his ill-gotten gains. I reckon he was going to set himself up as a bandit in Vorgeth Forest, live like a woodland lord. Anyway, because the soldiers had him, he was delivered to the Chief Lord Justice in Vor. Meant he got a trial. Hah! I had to stand there, and them bastards with their fancy words and stupid wigs, they tried to make it sound like I was some bloodthirsty killer, or something…"

  "And of course, they'd be right."

  "And I pointed out I wasn't the one selling children to dirty bastards from across the sea, and that's when we went into the woods, it was six of us and forty of them. Still."

  Kell rubbed his chin. "They had to put him in prison. Too many families weeping and wailing in the courts. Would have looked bad on the Chief Lord Justice. Not even he could have stomached a mass public retribution for his bad comedy court system." Kell chuckled. "I'll never forget, all those judges giving me their dirty looks from under powdered wigs. Gods! Enough to make a man puke, it was."

  "So… Jagor Mad came here?"

  "Yeah. Scowling at me all the way through the courtroom, mouth uttering threats. He was the lucky one; the others got a taste of my axe. And they fucking deserved it."

  Saark looked out from behind bars. He tested them, tugging gently, as he had a hundred times that day. "And now they'll give you your own trial, to satisfy Jagor Mad's sense of revenge."

  "Looks that way."

  "What about the others? Dandall and Grey Tail? You put them both here?"

  "Aye, lad."

  "And what did they do?"

  "Dandall killed people. Lots of people. Used to wait down on Port of Gollothrim docks for drunks, men, women, didn't matter to him. He used to use a long stiletto dagger, get them down a back alley and push it through their necks. I reckon he thought he was doing somebody a favour, although it was probably himself. He was lucky there were seargents with me when I brought him in. He'd just done a drunk prostitute, killed her then cut out her eyes. If I'd been on my own, well, he would have got Ilanna in the back of the head."

  Saark considered this. "Is there anybody you don't try to kill?"

  "Yeah. People who mind their own business."

  "So Jagor Mad kidnapped children for the sex trade, Dandall was an out and out murderer, what lovely crime did Grey Tail commit? Don't tell me, he was arrested for stealing sugar?"

  "No. He used to eat people. Before he was a Blacklipper. Must have picked up that dirty stinking vachine habit – no offence – when he came to this wonderful shit-hole. Grey Tail lived in Vor, our illustrious capital city, quite a rich man by all accounts. Worked as a physician, tending the wounded arses of those too rich to get off them. It took the authorities years to realise that occasionally his rich clients would vanish. He had a big house on a very well-to-do street in Merchant's Quarter. Four storeys it was, very nice stone, big cellar below street level. Used to take the odd client, one who wouldn't be missed too much, take them down there, strap 'em to a chair and then, well then he'd begin."

  "There he is now," said Saark, and they stared out at the small, wiry man with the round face. He was directing a group of carpenters, who were hammering planks in place as a makeshift floor. If you looked past the evidence of him being a Blacklipper, he was a modest-looking man who could have quite easily, in the eye of the imagination, been a respectable surgeon. "What exactly did he do to his patients?"

  "Used to cut them up, piece by piece, and cook them in a little pan. Used to eat their flesh first, he'd gag 'em, slice off a chunk, fry it, eat it. Keep them alive for a few weeks whilst
he feasted on their flesh. It was the neighbours who complained; I reckon they got sick of the stench of frying human fat."

  "We live in a decadent world," said Saark.

  "Aye. Sometimes, laddie, it makes me wonder if the vachine have the right idea."

  "Hey, I can always bite you?" He grinned. "You'd become one of us."

  Kell stared at him. "The day you bite me, Saark, is the day I rip off your skull."

  "As I said, is there anybody you've met who you didn't try and kill?"

  "No. I don't have it in me."

  "That's what I thought you'd say. Oh, look Kell, up go the gallows. Hurrah!" Ten men laboured to erect a huge post, which was then strapped into position and secured with cross-struts. The sound of hammering echoed across the flat ground. Kell's face was grim.

  "No need to be so happy about it."

  "Hey, I'm pretty sure it's designed for me as well, mate. You're not the only one with the honour of being an enemy of the new Black Pike Mine Governors."

  "Yeah. Well. We should rest. Going to need all our strength, later, aren't we."

  "You really think you can convince them?"

  "I hope so," said Kell. "All our lives depend on it."

  "Wake up, you fucking bastards." It was Jagor Mad, growling through the evening gloom and between the bars. Snow was falling. Both Kell and Saark awoke, weary, groggy, as if they had been drugged. "Come on, quick, before I call a man with a crossbow."

  Kell stood, and stretched languorously, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. "Yeah. Well, lad, that would be your way now, wouldn't it? Shoot us through the bars, in the fucking back, just like the coward piece of sliced horse dick you really are. But look, out there. All your pussy lickers are waiting, watching you. And you know you have to play the game, or some bastard will stick you in your sleep. Not that you don't get that every night, eh Saark?" Kell nudged Saark, who gave a nervous laugh, eyes fixed on the pure hate and rage that filled the trembling Jagor Mad standing before them.

  "You will eat those words, Axeman," spat Jagor.

  "Show me!"

  "Your time will come, soon enough! On the end of a fucking rope!"

  "Like that'll stop me," snarled Kell, moving close. Suddenly, he grabbed Jagor through the bars and dragged the huge bear close. Jagor Mad struggled, but despite his prodigious strength Kell was his match. Jagor's face slammed the bars, and Kell pushed his nose against his enemey's as his hands flapped and slapped, and grappled for his sword. When Kell spoke, his words were a low growl, so only he, Jagor and Saark could hear. "I could kill you, Big Man, right here, right now, bite off your fucking nose, put out your fucking eyes and you'd be screaming and then you'd be dead, and you fucking know it, you worthless worm." He pushed Jagor roughly back, just as sword cleared scabbard. The blade rang against the bars, and Jagor was in an uncontrollable rage.

  "Wise?" enquired Saark, backing away as Jagor Mad fumbled with the locks.

  "Is anything in this world?" snapped Kell. "Or would you rather dance on the end of a rope?"

  "Calm," said Dandall, and a hand appeared on Jagor Mad's shoulder, and there were muttered words and the huge Governor strode away, face scarlet. Dandall opened the locks, and behind him were ten crossbow men, all grinning.

  "Give up the tricks now, Kell. You're going on trial for your crimes. Either that, or ten bolts in your belly. You decide."

  "I'll come quiet," said Kell, "although it isn't my way."

  "Oh yes. The Legend." Dandall gave a slick sneer. "Well, it won't get you far in these parts. Not with these men. They like a good hanging, y'see? They like a bit of entertainment to pass away the long, cold winter evenings."

  Kell and Saark stepped from their cage. Wind caught them, chilled them, thrilled them. It ruffled Kell's hair and beard, and he flexed his powerful fingers and looked around, like a wild beast in its first few seconds of release. Then he looked down, to where three thousand convicts crowded at the front of the now finished stage and gallows. Kell gave a grim smile. Everybody knew this was a farce, a stage-show; there would be no real trial, just a performance and then some killing. Kell took a deep breath. So be it, he thought.

  Kell and Saark were guided down the rocky path, and Kell glanced left. He could see Nienna, clutching the bars of her own cell and watching, face small, white, filled with fear. Kell tried to give her an encouraging smile, but a spear butt jabbed him in the back of the head and he stumbled. Kell stopped, and turned. The man stared at him.

  "Do that again, and I'll make you eat it, point first," growled Kell.

  The man swallowed, and took a step back.

  Dandall laughed. "Don't let the old fool scare you. He knows he can't outrun or outfight crossbow bolts; and at the end of the day, we have his granddaughter. Nienna. And the fun we could have with that pretty sweet slab of meat." Dandall licked his lips. "After all, Kell knows how skilled I am with a variety of blades. And if we were to give Nienna over to Grey Tail there, well," he chuckled, and sniffed the air as if sniffing the aroma of a fine cooking stew, "mmmm, I'm sure there's bits that would taste sweeter than she looks!"

  Kell made a guttural growling sound, but said no more. He marched forward, down the path to be swallowed between the jeering, shouting crowd of men. Many punched and kicked out as he passed, but Kell ignored the blows, and marched with head held high, reaching the stage and pausing just for a second to stare up the steps, at the huge thick beam supporting the gallows and a gently swinging noose. Kell gave a sickly, wry smile. He'd sent enough men to be hanged under the supervision of King Leanoric. How ironic, it had come to this!

  Kell mounted the steps, and Saark was jabbed up after him. Their boots were hollow, echoing on the planks as they were pushed forward and made to kneel. To one side, ten thick, hand-carved chairs had been set in a semi-circle, and now another seven men approached and mounted a second set of steps, taking their places in the chairs with as much regal air as they could muster. They were old, most of them, and wearing rich clothes and thick gold jewellery. Their eyes were bleak and cold – except for one man, on the end, Governor Myrtax, who was trembling, and kept his head low, eyes studiously ignoring Kell. It was clear he was being coerced, but Kell felt a twinge of disappointment that the man had no backbone. Kell sneered at him, and gazed out on the crowd.

  Thousands of faces. Filled with hate. Shouting, and sneering, crying and bellowing. Fists were punching the air. Their hate rolled out and encompassed Kell and he absorbed it, and he used it. He revelled in it. He used it to focus. It reminded him of fighting in the pit.

  Now, Grey Tail and Jagor Mad approached, and took their seats, leaving one final chair free for Dandall who stood, and raised his hands, and gradually the cacophonous roaring cheering noise subsided.

  "Men and women of Black Pike Mines!" he cried, and another roar went up and Kell's fists clenched. He glanced over at Saark, who was visibly pale, and trembling. Saark licked his lips and gave Kell a worried smile. Vachine or no, Saark would die in this place. No extra strength or speed could aid him against such numbers. A crowd like this, they were a killing crowd, a lynching mob. They wanted blood, and wouldn't be happy until they had it – even if that meant each other's.

  "Hang 'em!" shouted a man near the front, a man with a thick beard and small dark eyes.

  "Yeah, we want to see them dance!" cried another.

  Kell squared himself to the crowd, and allowed himself to smile. "Why don't you come up here and do it yourself, fucker?" he snarled. "Or have you lost your balls in that face full of beard?"

  A roar of laughter rippled through the crowd and Kell grinned. "You are all fools," he said, and the laughter stopped in an instant. "You sit here in the place that imprisoned you, frightened to move, frightened to leave, frightened to fucking fart, and you have no idea what's turning in the real world outside!"

  "Shut up!" snapped Dandall. "You are here for trial. A trial to determine your death, so I advise you to be silent when I tell you."

  "A trial?" roared K
ell, and saw Jagor Mad surge from his seat, face red, fists clenched but Grey Tail held him back. "What petty nonsense. And to be honest, Dandall, I don't give a shit about your trial. I reckon you'll all be dead, soon enough."

  "What do you mean?" rumbled the bearded man from the front of the audience.

  "STOP!" roared Jagor Mad. "This is OUR day, the day when Kell the Legend, defender of the rich, arse-kisser to nobility, fucker of Queens, the day when he DIES!"

  Kell laughed. His voice was low, but carried to every man in the audience. "If you want me dead so bad, Jagor Mad, why not come do it yourself? Here. Right now."

  "I will!" thundered the huge man. "Who do you think will be dropping you on the end of that noose?"

  Kell spat out laughter once more. "Just what I thought of you, Jagor. A coward and a lick-spittle, spineless, chicken, hiding behind the decisions of others, hiding behind a hangman's horse shit when out there in Jalder and Vor and Gollothrim the Vampire Warlords have returned, they're killing all your people, your friends, and families, infecting them with vampire poison, turning them into vampire slaves!"

  A murmur ran through the audience, and Jagor strode forward and hit Kell with a mighty right hook. Kell did not go down, but instead stared hard at Jagor, blood at the corner of his mouth. "Go on!" he bellowed, "show them what you can do to a man with his hands tied! What a hero! What a warrior! A man to be feared – by chickens!"

  Again, laughter ran through the crowd and Jagor went red with embarrassment and anger. "You want to fight me, old man? You want to fight, here and now, and the loser hangs? Then so fucking be it."

  Silence reigned. The falling snow hissed gently in a diagonal sleet.