by Andy Remic
" Kell! " snapped Saark, frowning.
"What is it, lad?"
"You're leaving me here? With these?"
"Hey, you chose to dress like a sweat-slippery whore in a disreputable tavern." Kell grinned, and slapped Saark on the back. "Don't worry, lad! If they bugger you rancid, I'll hear the screams and come running to your rescue!"
"Kell!"
"Just remember, some of these blokes have been locked up for years without a quim as tasty as yours."
"Kell, my entire sense of humour has gone!"
"Good. Because now is not the time for jokes; now is the time for killing. Tell them what you know, and tell them well. One day soon, our lives will rest on these men."
Saark swallowed, and turned, and looked at the forty hefty labourers with dark eyes under dark brows. A cold wind howled down from the mountains, and from the corner of his eye Saark observed Kell stride away. What a bastard. A bastard's bastard.
One of the smiths stepped forward. His two front teeth were missing, and his forearms were as wide as Saark's thighs. "Is that really a pink silk shirt you're wearing, boy?" he rumbled, voice so deep it was like an earthquake beneath the Black Pikes.
Saark drew his rapier. He smiled. "Gentlemen. Allow me to begin your education," he said.
• • • •
As Kell strode across the rocky earth towards the cells built into the mountainside, Governor Myrtax joined him, jogging a little to keep up with Kell's warrior stride.
"They will work for you?"
"Aye," said Kell. He stopped, and looked across to the smaller man. "I want you to oversee production. I want as many labourers as possible helping make armour and weapons and shields. When we go into battle, each man must have the best, for the fight will be savage indeed."
"Do you think we can win?"
Kell looked Myrtax straight in the eye. "No," he said.
"Then why fight?"
"Why indeed."
"This is insane, Kell! Madness! You say these Vampire Warlords are all-powerful. I saw those vampires the men from Jalder brought in; and they killed forty people! We cannot stand against such odds."
"But it matters that we stand," said Kell, his voice low. "Now tell me, what did you do with Jagor Mad?"
Myrtax pointed. "He's in those cells over there. With the other bastard so-called Governors. Why? Are you going to kill him?" There was a strange gleam in Myrtax's eye that Kell did not like. Kell grimaced.
"No. I need his help."
"His… help?" Myrtax's voice had gone up several octaves. "He'll not help you, Kell, unless it's to throw you in the furnace. He hates you with every ounce of his flesh."
"We'll see. First, I'm going to see my daughter."
"I'll come with you."
Kell stopped again, and turned. "No, Governor. Go to Saark. Help him organise the smiths. Saark is a canny lad, but he's little experience with metallurgy – or indeed, the instruction of people. Especially men. He tends to rile them the wrong way, admittedly by trying to sleep with their wives and virgin daughters, but still. Go. Help me, Myrtax. I cannot do this alone."
The Governor nodded, and hurried off, one hand on his robust and well-fed belly.
Kell continued to walk, glancing up at the skies, a huge pastel canvas of white, ochre and deep slate. Distant, heavy clouds vied for sovereignty. They threatened more snow against the world of Men.
Reaching the cell, Kell saw Sara was alone. The two vampires had been separated through basic mistrust. A wise choice. She watched Kell approach, eyes yellow and narrow, but she did not move from where she lay on the floor, curled like a lizard on a rock in the sun.
Kell sat down an arm's length from the bars, and placed his chin on his fist.
"Sara. What am I going to do with you, eh girl?"
"Knowing you, you'll use that great axe to cut off my head!"
"You are vampire-kind now. Maybe that would be a kindness?"
"My master will find you!" she hissed, suddenly, and leapt at the bars, claws raking out. Kell stayed motionless, and the sharp points of her talons skimmed the end of his nose. For a few moments Sara thrashed and hissed, trying to get to him, to his throat, to his jugular, to spill his blood and drag him like torn offal into her cage where she could gorge and feed… but she could not reach. Kell had judged his distance well. Gradually, she subsided, glancing at him like a sulky child.
"Your master is Kuradek the Unholy?"
"Yes."
"And he has taken Jalder?"
"Go to Hell!"
"You're already there, girl. Help me!"
Kell and Sara stared at one another.
"You know nothing about how I feel," she snapped, eventually, and Kell sat back a little, listening. She eyed him warily. "You were a bad man, Kell. I know your secrets. My mother told me all about you, before she… died." Her eyes narrowed. "And even that event is shrouded by mystery, is it not, great Legend?"
"What happened during the Days of Blood, happened," said Kell, softly. "I am not proud of myself. Not proud of my actions. But I tell you now, there's no need to bring your mother into this. You have reason enough to hate me yourself."
"I can still feel the handprint," she hissed, jabbing a finger at Kell. "Here!" She placed a hand against her face. "It burns me, like a brand, making me a slave to the Great Man, the Great Hero, ha ha! If only the people of Falanor knew the real Kell. The bastard. The wife-beater. The child-beater."
"It was not like that," said Kell, darkly.
"Oh, but it was! You see, it's all about perspective, it's all about purity, and you had neither, you fucking old bastard. You turned on us. All of us. And not just your family, your King and country! Don't you remember? Or has the whiskey rotted your mind as well as your fucking teeth?"
"It was not like that," growled Kell, and his fists clenched. He forced himself to stay calm. "That is in the past. Now, Sara, we must talk about the present."
"What? About how you'll beat my little girl? Nienna never did see past your mask, did she, the little fool. Dragged in by the stories of glory, dragged in by the myth but not the man. I'm surprised you haven't bruised her yet, Kell. Or maybe you have. I'm amazed she's still walking in a straight line. It was my leg you broke though, silly me for forgetting."
"Still the acid tongue, I see," snapped Kell. "Just like your mother! There are bigger things at stake here, now, in this time. Like Falanor! Like the world!"
"Pah! Like you give a damn about anything but your own horse-shit ego and petty desires. Can't you see, Kell, I am part of something bigger, now, part of something powerful! I am strong, Kell. I could take you, in battle, I could rip your arms from their sockets and piss on your face as you stumbled slipping in the mud." Her eyes were gleaming, cheeks flushed in triumph. "Go on Kell, let me out, let me show you! Or are you still the pathetic, weak, moaning coward you always were?"
"Tell me of Kuradek."
Sara laughed. "What would you like to know? He controls Jalder. We have turned, between us, many thousands into vampires! There is little of the resistance left."
"So they did resist you? That's good. Their spirits still live."
"No! It is foolish! Kuradek is Master, he is incredibly powerful and he knows you, Kell, oh yes he knows you, he remembers you from Helltop and he has sworn to hunt you down, to change you into one of us! Imagine it, Kell, imagine how powerful you would be! Increased strength, speed, and you could never die!"
"You die," snapped Kell. "You die just like everybody else. All we need do is cut off your head, or ram a sword through your necrotic heart."
Sara went quiet.
"You forget," said Kell. "I know your kind."
"You hunted vachine," sneered Sara. "They are weak, spineless, mechanised with their pathetic ticking clockwork! They are an aberration of the pure; they are the weak, the diseased, the freaks." She chuckled. "The vachine are a corruption."
"I hunted vachine," said Kell, and met Sara's gaze. "But I hunted your kind, too. Me. An
d Ilanna. Do not think I haven't killed true vampires. It was a long time ago, but I remember the taste like it was yesterday."
"Impossible! Vampires were extinct until the Vampire Warlords returned!"
Kell shook his head. "Oh no," he said, eyes glittering. "You are so wrong, with your little mind from little Falanor. You never did travel, did you Sara? Never saw the world and all its mysteries. Well I did. I saw enough to make any sane man crazy. And that's why I know… I know your Master, Kuradek, Kuradek the Unholy – if I kill him, if I remove his head, then I may save all those he has tainted with his evil."
Sara remained silent, staring at him. Eventually, she said, "How could you know that?"
"I do," growled Kell. "Because I have seen things you people could never comprehend. I have walked the dark magick paths to the Chaos Halls. Do you think the Vampire Warlords are the only creatures touched by evil? Sara. I have done… many, sobering things. I believe I am touched by darkness. But I am trying to be good. Trying so hard."
"Well don't! Don't fight it! Come with me, come to Kuradek! He does not want you dead, Kell, he wants you as his General! He knows your power, he knows what you and he could do together! You could overthrow the other Vampire Warlords! You could rule the world! We could be together again… father. We could walk the roads again, father."
Kell had lowered his head. Now his eyes lifted, and there were tears on his bearded cheeks.
"You would take me back?" he said, voice a husky low growl. "After all that I did? To you and your mother?"
"Yes! We could be a family again."
Kell stood, and turned his back to Sara. She stood, in her cage of rock and iron, and stepped forward, grasping the bars. "Come with me, Kell. Come to Kuradek. He waits for you!"
Kell turned back. His knuckles were white around Ilanna. "I'll go to him all right. I'll cut his puking head from his shoulders!"
"No, Kell, no! Wait!" but Kell was striding away, across the rocks, to the cell which held Jagor Mad.
Behind, in her cell, Sara sat cross-legged on the floor. She closed her eyes, and breathed deeply, and the feeling of Kuradek filled her, filled every muscle and every atom. She seemed to float, and she breathed deeply, and the world took on a surreal quality, a haze of witch-light, clouds rushing across the skies, dark ghosts walking the rocks beyond her cell like jagged, black cut-outs, holes in the raw core of the Chaos Halls.
"You did well," hissed Kuradek.
"I failed you."
"No. You gave him something to think about."
"He will come for you."
"Yes. And I will be waiting."
"He will try and kill you."
"Yes. But I am all-powerful. He will crumble. Like dust between my claws."
"Are you sure?"
Hundreds of miles away, on his throne in the Blue Palace at Jalder, Kuradek opened his dark crimson eyes and smiled. "Yes, my sweet," he said, smoke oozing from his mouth, skin writhing with corrupt religious symbols that squirmed as if fighting to be free of his dark-smoke skin. "They always do."
Kell's mood could be described as a thunderous rage as he approached Jagor Mad's cell. The three men who had called themselves the new Governors of the Black Pike Mines were sat together, eyes sullen, faces lost to despair. They were awaiting execution. The atmosphere was sombre.
Kell stopped by the bars, and gestured to the two guards who held long spears and wore short stabbing swords over kilts of steel. "Open it."
"But… Governor Myrtax said…"
"Governor Myrtax does what I tell him, laddie!" barked Kell, employing a parade ground bellow that once made many a Command Sergeant piss his pants.
"Yes, yes sir," snapped one guard, shaking as he fumbled keys and unlocked a three bar gate, swinging it wide from its slot in the mountain wall.
"Jagor Mad. Step free."
"What do you want?" said the big man, voice husky and low, his face still battered and bruised from their fight. Jagor stepped from his confinement, squinting at the bright daylight, and he stretched his huge frame. His throat was heavily bruised, huge welts showing where the rope had savagely burned him.
"I want your help," said Kell, folding his arms.
"Why would I help you?"
Kell drew Ilanna from his back, glanced at the twin black blades, and hefted her against his chest. "You help me, or I execute you now. Right here. On this fucking spot."
Jagor Mad considered this, and a finger lifted, touching the marks at his throat. "Seems like a fair choice. I'll help you. But don't be asking me to fucking sing and dance."
Kell grinned. "No, I have something far more fun than that planned." He turned to the guard. "Give Jagor your sword."
"What?"
"Are you deaf, lad, or shall I unblock your ears with my axe?"
"No need to be rude," grumbled the guard, and handed Jagor Mad the sword. Jagor took the weapon, face showing a mixture of confusion and suspicion. "What's happening here, Kell?" he murmured.
"Follow me."
"You wish to battle?"
"No, Jagor, you big dumb fool! These vampire bastards threaten the whole of Falanor! I want you alive, because you're a big hard bastard, and I'll not waste a man like you just because you were fighting for your freedom! I respect that. I respect your anger, your fire, and your fucking brutality! You were born to fight, Jagor, not be locked in a cage, not to hang from the gallows. Well, I'm giving you the chance to earn redemption."
"What do you want me to do?"
"There is a place. A hidden place. Where the last of the Blacklipper Kings reside, after their brother was killed by the vachine known as Vashell. Do you know what I'm talking about?"
"I know."
"Can you take me to this place?"
"It is a closely guarded secret amongst the Blacklippers," said Jagor Mad, carefully.
"We are all threatened here," said Kell, eyes glittering. "I need the help of the Blacklippers. I hunted them for decades, aye, and I am their sworn enemy. But now, I am like a brother compared to the nightmare in the dark."
Jagor stared hard into Kell's eyes. He lowered his sword. "I will take you. But they will kill you, old man. With no remorse."
Kell grinned. "I don't die easy," he said.
Kell strode up to Saark, who was sat on a stool eating a plate of sausages from his knees. He glanced up, then leapt up spilling his plate and knocking over his tankard as he saw Jagor Mad looming behind Kell. Saark grappled for his rapier, shouting, "Look out, Kell, he's behind you!"
Kell patted Saark on the arm. "I know, lad, I know. I brought him here."
"What? What? " snapped Saark, spitting and dribbling sausage everywhere.
"He's coming with me. To help me."
"Where are we going all of a sudden?" said Saark, lifting and picking his sausages from the snow with a curse and a dirty glance. "I thought you said we had an army to train?"
"Yes. You have an army to train. I have a problem to solve."
"What problem, what the hell are you talking about? And army? Me train an army? You have to be sky-high out of your fucking donkey skull if you think I'm capable of training a bloody army!"
"You were a soldier, weren't you?" said Kell, and nodded to Grak who appeared, carrying a newly forged steel collar in his powerful hands. Grak stopped, and put his hands on his hips, grinning.
"I was King Leanoric's Sword Champion," said Saark, looking injured, "if that's what you mean?"
"There you go. You were in the army. That's good enough for me. That's all settled then."
"Now wait a minute," said Saark, "I was a commissioned officer, I didn't rough it with the scum in the barracks," he glanced at Grak, and Jagor, and swallowed, "no offence meant, I was in the High Court watching the jesters and eating venison and lobster from silver platters! I was attending the buxom serving wenches and bestowing gifts of fine silver jewellery on nobility! I wasn't eating bloody beans from a pan and scrubbing my boots! I had servants for that sort of thing! Peasants! Like… wel
l, like you…" He stopped.
Grak gave a cough, and slapped Saark on the back, a slap so hard he nearly pitched Saark to the ground. "Don't worry, lad. I'll help you! Grak the Bastard by name, Grak the Bastard by nature. I won't let no fancy big-titted silver-wearing venison-stuffed ladies get in the way of you training the lads. Right?"
"Er, right," said Saark, weakly, and seemed to physically slump.
"After all, if all our lives rest on your scrawny shoulders, I think you're going to need some help. Right?"
"Right."
"I mean, if we're going into battle to face a terrible foe, a foe who is savage and brutal, knows no remorse, is stronger than us, faster than us, more brutal than we could ever imagine – well, we'd be idiots to let a dandy moron train us without any experience or skills, wouldn't we?"
"Er. Yes."
They stared at each other. "Not that I'm saying you're a moron," explained Grak, helpfully, and roared with laughter.
Saark stared at the carrots stuck in Grak's beard, and shook his head. He threw Kell a nasty glance. "So, Leg end, what wonderful little jaunt are you going to be enjoying whilst I get stuck here with three thousand condemned convicts, nary a beautiful woman in sight, and food so bad even Mary would turn up her muzzle in disgust?"
"I'm going to the Valleys of the Moon," said Kell, smiling and nodding.
"What?" said Saark, and placed a hand on one hip in what could only be described as an effeminate stance. "The Valleys of the Moon don't exist! Leanoric hunted for them, for thirty years, after his father had damn well given up!"
"It's said you have to be a mystic to enter," said Kell, cryptically.
"And I suppose you qualify, do you?"
Kell shrugged. "I have three thousand soldiers here. Or I will have, when you complete their training. I need more. It's not enough to take Jalder, or indeed, any of the other cities. The vampires are savage. And the Army of Iron is disciplined, that's for sure. They also rely on magick. We need the magick of the Blacklippers."
"Pah, what are you talking about? Have you been on the whiskey again?"