by Andy Remic
"I have a bad feeling," said Kell, voice low. He hefted Ilanna, and Myriam cranked her Widowmaker. It gleamed dully in grey light from the high windows.
They moved through endless chambers, empty feasting halls, long high corridors with stone arches, many lined with statues of past kings and queens.
"Where is the bastard?" snarled Kell, eventually, and they arrived at a sweeping set of stairs. They climbed, wary, weapons at the ready, and when they were halfway up there issued snarls…
The vampires leapt from on high, snarling and spitting, and landed lightly before Kell and Myriam. One was a small, narrow-faced man, slim and wiry, his clothing torn, his hands curled into talons, his eyes blood-red and insane. Kell blinked in recognition, and licked his lips. This was Ferret, renowned through Jalder as a fighter, a thief, part of the hazy criminal underworld. He had a reputation. He was a Syndicate Man. But they'd got to him… the bastard vampires had got to him…
The second vampire was a girl, maybe eleven or twelve years old. She was slim, with dark skin, her eyes shadowed, her face twisted into the bestial. On her fingers were expensive rings set with huge gems, a contrast to her pale vampire flesh, her yellow, crooked vampire claws…
They attacked, in a blur, Ferret launching at Kell who slammed his axe up in a vertical strike, catching Ferret in the chest and lifting him, carrying him, flinging him back down the marble steps and onto the smooth marble floor beyond, where he skidded on all fours like an animal, and came charging straight back at Kell…
"No!" hissed Myriam, but Rose was on her, spitting and snarling and there was a slam as the Widowmaker kicked in Myriam's hand, and Rose was lifted vertically into the air, arms and legs paddling, face snarling, blood and strings of flesh drooling from her fangs and Myriam took a step back, aimed, and sent a second bolt hammering into Rose's face. Rose catapulted backwards, her head caved in, face gone, and lay twitching on the steps. Myriam whirled, saw Ferret leap high but Kell ducked, a swift neat movement, Ilanna slamming overhead and hitting Ferret between the legs, cutting straight through his balls and up to wedge in his abdomen. Both Ferret and Ilanna continued the arc, hitting the steps and wrenching the axe from Kell's grasp. He cursed. Ferret squirmed, claws ringing against Ilanna's blades as he tried to drag the axe free from his trapped body. Kell drew his Svian, and moved to Ferret squirming on the steps. Kell smiled, a warm smile of sympathy, and of empathy, and there was compassion in his eyes. "I'm sorry, lad. Really I am," Kell whispered, voice low, and soothing, and he punched the Svian through Ferret's heart. The small man went still, muscles relaxing, and blood pooled under his body, rolling down the steps in a narrow stream, dripping from one to the next until it finally slowed, and all that could be heard in the huge hall was the tiny drip drip drip.
Myriam reclaimed her bolts, and reloaded the Widowmaker. She glanced over at Kell.
"You all right?"
"No."
"It's going to get worse."
"I know. Come on. Let's put this fucking Vampire Warlord out of his misery."
Saark was breathing deep, and he touched tenderly at his ribs where a vampire's claws had sliced him down to the bone. But damn, he thought, they were sharp. And fast! Too fast. Faster than him. Suddenly, his vachine status didn't feel so menacing…
"Come on, Kell, come on, Kell," he muttered, watching the vampires retreat. They were hard, and fast, but the stout men of Falanor were standing their ground well and inflicting punishing casualties on the vampires. Long spears for repelling charges, and short stabbing swords for close-quarters combat were a devastating combination. The battlefield was littered with hundreds, even thousands, of dead vampires. Those that didn't disintegrate into oily puddles or smoke.
"How you doing, lad?" said Grak, slapping Saark on the shoulder. Saark groaned. He felt like one huge bruise.
"I feel like a big fat whore sat on my face."
"I thought you would have enjoyed that?"
Saark eyed Grak. The man was oblivious to sarcasm. "Aye," he said. "I suppose I would, at that. How long before they come back?"
"Not long," snapped Grak, peering out from the shield wall. "Shit. What in the name of the Bone Halls are those?"
Saark stared, and his mouth went dry. From beyond the gates of Jalder emerged a line of Harvesters. They wore white robes patterned with gold thread. They were tall, with small black eyes and hissing maws, but it was those long fingers of bone which attracted Saark's attention. He had seen up close what they could do. And they frightened him, deep down in a primal place.
"They're Harvesters," said Saark.
"They look mean. Do they fight?"
"They use magick," whispered Saark, and even as he watched, the ground began to blossom with surges of summoned ice-smoke. "Bad magick. Magick that freezes a man, renders him unable to fight. We must retreat, Grak! We must run!"
"Are you crazy?" snapped Grak. "If we run, if we break ranks, the bastards will slaughter us from behind! They'll pick us off like children!"
Saark saw the white clouds starting to billow. The Harvesters became shrouded in ice-smoke.
"They'll freeze us, here, where we stand!" hissed Saark, eyes crazy. "Then suck out our blood. I've seen it done! I've seen this before…"
"Sir!" snapped a soldier, slamming to a halt.
"What is it?" frowned Grak.
"Soldiers, sir. Lots of soldiers."
"Where?"
"To the north."
Grak and Saark ran around the fighting square, and stopped, dumbfounded. There, on a low hill, stood at least five thousand albino warriors. They wore black armour, black helms, carried black swords, and their shields were emblazoned with a brass image.
"Holy Mother," said Grak, and drew his sword. "We cannot fight two armies! On two flanks! We will be crushed!"
"We must flee the battlefield," urged Saark.
"No! We must stand! We must fight!"
"We cannot!"
"Archers!" screamed Grak, and turned, glancing to the square of women with bows strung, arrows stuck in the snow by their boots. He glanced back to the Harvesters. Ice-smoke billowed, and started creeping across the ground towards the men of Falanor… and the vampires stood, smiling, watching, claws flexing, blood-red eyes fixed on their prey…
There came a shouted command from the hilltop, and Saark drew his own sword. His mind was blank, mouth dry, bladder full of piss. They were going to die. Frozen. Cut down. Smashed apart like ripe fruit. "Shit shit shit," he muttered. "HORSE SHIT!"
The Army of Brass, led by General Exkavar, drew their swords with eerie precision, with the rhythm of a single machine… and charged down the hill towards the Falanor army in ghostly, flowing silence…
The room was filled with incredible opulence. From carved cherrywood chests, brass and gold urns, rich oil paintings covering huge expanses of wall, thick velvet curtains and drapes, carpets as thick as a man's fist covering the floors; well, it was a room fit for royalty.
At the centre, before the heavy, oak four-poster bed, stood Kuradek.
Kuradek, the Unholy.
"You came," he said, smoke curling around his smoke lips. And he smiled.
Kell and Myriam, who had been in the act of creeping into the room thinking Kuradek was in some kind of fugue, froze. They had waited a good ten minutes, watching him, but the Vampire Warlord had ceased to move, to breathe, apparently, to live. But he was alive. Alive and waiting.
"Well, we didn't want to let you down, boy," growled Kell, pushing his shoulders back and hoisting Ilanna.
Be calm, she said.
Until the… Time.
Kell stepped forward, and breathed deeply, and stared up at the towering figure of Kuradek, last seen on Helltop after his summoning from the Chaos Halls by General Graal.
"I thought you'd be bigger," said Kell.
"I knew you would come," said Kuradek. "It is written."
"What, prophecies again?" mocked Kell. "Give it a rest, you smoke-filled bastard. Now then." He pointed
. "You know what I want. You know why I'm here. If you don't fuck off back to the Chaos Halls, I'm going to give you a damn good spanking and send you home with your tail between your legs."
Kuradek chuckled. "You think to challenge me, mortal? How?" He was genuinely amused. It was a genuine question.
"With this! " said Kell, shaking Ilanna at the Vampire Warlord.
The huge figure was silent for some time, as if analysing Kell and his weapon. Myriam, by the door, was of no consequence. Forgotten. Worse than forgotten: dismissed.
"One of the Three," said Kuradek, finally. "Well done. Still, She will not be enough."
"She is blood-bond," said Kell, gently, head lowered, eyes glittering dark. "And you know what that means."
"Then show me!" snarled Kuradek, and his huge long arms shot out, claws reaching for Kell who stepped back, and Ilanna smashed out left, then right, striking Kuradek's arms away. But incredibly, as they were slapped away, Ilanna's fearsome blades failed to penetrate the smoke flesh. Kuradek stepped forward, stooping, and behind Kell Myriam's Widowmaker hummed with clockwork and a bolt struck Kuradek straight in the face. The bolt was swallowed. Kuradek laughed. He moved with a hiss, so swift Kell was slammed aside, crashing through vases and a finely carved dressing table, turning them to tinder, hitting the wall and then the floor, winded, mind a blank, stunned by the speed and ferocity of Kuradek. Of the Vampire Warlord. " You think a fucking mortal could fight me? " he snarled, and held Myriam by the throat, two feet from the ground, her legs dangling, her face turning purple. " You think to challenge the might of the Vampire Warlords? " he shrieked, and threw Myriam who disappeared through the doorway, tumbling and rolling, flapping and slapping stone flags until she came to rest in the distance, useless and broken.
Kell climbed to his feet. He felt like an old man.
He stared at the smoke fangs. He stared hard at those blood-red eyes, glowing like coals.
He tried to summon Ilanna, but she was silent.
He tried to summon the rage from the Days of Blood… but it would not come. It had gone, deserted him, left him here like a lamb to die. To be sucked dry. To be slaughtered…
Kell stood his ground, pushing against the terrible fear which invaded him. "I have killed your kind before! " he growled, but his voice came out like a mewl from a frightened kitten.
"Not like me," said Kuradek, and there was a flash, a blur, and he was beside Kell, towering over Kell, looking down with those red eyes and Kell was frozen, could do nothing, and he realised in horror he was charmed by the vampire. Charmed, using blood-oil magick, a dirty back-hand trick. Kell snarled, but it was as if he was manacled in prison irons.
Kuradek leaned forward. His eyes were an inch from Kell's.
"You see. I have you in my power. Such an easy thing. Such a simple thing to disable the great Kell. Kell, the Legend?" Kuradek laughed, a low mocking sound, and smoked curled from his mouth, and entered Kell's lungs, and made him choke.
"I would say your time is done."
Kuradek's head lowered, and his fangs sank into Kell's throat…
CHAPTER 14
The Days of Blood
Kell stood in the razed city. Around him, corpses burned. He was naked. He was smeared with the blood of a thousand people. Men. Women. Children. He laughed, and there was insanity in his mind, in his heart, in his soul. These were the Days of Blood. This was what Ilanna promised. Do it, said the voice, only this voice was not human, it was the voice of the axe, the primal voice of Ilanna – one of the Three. We must be blood-bond. For the future. For survival. Kell strode through the streets. When people ran before him, Ilanna cut out, chopping off legs and arms, lopping off heads. Bodies toppled at his feet, dead before they hit the ground. Gore splattered his legs. His toes squelched through pulped flesh. The gutters ran red. The cobbles were slick. Kell walked, and walked, and walked, and it took an eternity, and he wondered if sometimes he were dreaming, or in Hell, in the Bone Halls, in the Chaos Halls. He did not need food, or water, he wanted for nothing. Only constant slaughter. Only constant rampage. And the rage in him was terrible, all-consuming, and he was not human, he was not mortal. His blood flowed like lava. He had become an infection. A plague. A creature created to…
Fight.
The Impure.
To kill the impure, you must become impure. To eradicate evil, you must absorb the essence of evil. You must dance with the devils, Kell, you must be consumed by the Days of Blood, for only that way can you truly understand your greatest enemies, only that way can you become the nemesis of clockwork, of vampire, of wolf, of dragon, of all those other dark dreams which will come to plague Falanor during the following years…
It is written, Kell.
In the Oak Testament.
It is written you will be a killer, and a saviour.
It is written you must be impure, and pure.
It is written you shall never have redemption.
It is written you shall be a slave for all eternity.
Kell nodded, and walked, and accepted his fate, and reached the house and she was there, his sweet wife Ehlana, slim and naked, lying on the bed, and she glanced up and fear infused her eyes, fear and confusion and horror, and then she recognised him, and started to rise
"Kell?"
"Shh," he said, and Ilanna slammed down, but the blades did not smash her apart as they would normal flesh and blood and bone, they cut into her spirit, and with a cry, a simple "No!" she was drawn from her body which shrivelled and died, sucked free of fluid, sucked free of fire, sucked free of her terrible dark magick and Ehlana, Kell's wife, Kell's love, was taken and absorbed into the axe. She melded with steel. Wasn't that the spell she cast? To make Kell immortal. To make Kell a Legend. She had seen the visions. She had seen the following darkness. And they needed a hero. They needed somebody who could fight the demons. But her pact with the Grellorogan gods needed more. They needed life. They needed blood. They need love. They needed magick. Her dark blood. Her dark magick. And so Ehlana, reading the prophecies, casting her spells, creating the ultimate killer, the ultimate champion for King Searlan of Falanor… so she gave her own life, and love, and magick.
Ehlana became a prisoner of Ilanna.
Ehlana became Ilanna.
Kell's eyes flared open, and he understood, and he remembered, and bitterness flooded him and hatred flooded him, and he wanted to scream Why, Ehlana? Why did you do this to us? I never asked for it? I never fucking asked for any of it! But Kuradek's fangs were in his neck, biting, sucking his blood in great thirsty gulps and Kell laughed, and breathed deep, and drew his Svian and rammed it hard into Kuradek's groin. Kuradek squealed high and long like a stuck pig and Kell reached up, grasped the smoky skin of Kuradek's head, and dragged the Vampire Warlord's fangs from his flesh with trembling, smoke-stained fingers…
With a heave, Kell sent Kuradek hurtling across the room. He hit the bed, flipped over it, smashed through two of the supports with crashes of splintering timber. Kell rubbed his neck, where blood flowed from twin vampire bites, and the Days of Blood welled free and wild in his mind.
" I am a pawn no more! " he growled bitterly and found Ilanna and lifted her. She was cold in his hands. Cold as ice. Her shaft and blades glowed with a deep sable black – not a real black, not steel or iron, not burned flesh or the night sky. This black was a portal. This black was an absence. An absence of matter. A pathway.
"Welcome back, husband," said Ilanna, her voice a soft breeze through his mind.
"Why did you do it? I loved you. I worshipped you. And you left me, sitting here in bitterness, self-loathing, believing I destroyed you in a fit of bloody madness! When all the time it was your own dark magick which brought about your death."
"I am not dead, husband," said Ilanna, "I live on, in this axe, in this symbol of strength and freedom, and together we will send back the Vampire Warlords! Together, we will show them what the Legend can do…"
"I do not want this!" screamed Kell, falling to his
knees.
"Want is immaterial," said Ilanna.
Kuradek had gained his feet, towering over Kell, and the Vampire Warlord leapt for the old warrior, huge claws closing around him, lifting him into the air.
"I will tear you apart like a worm!" screamed the Warlord.
Kell looked deep into those blood-red eyes. He smiled, showing his bloody teeth. "My name is Kell," he said, pulling free his arms with ease and lifting Ilanna high above his head. Her blades were a dull black hole in reality. "And it's time you went home, laddie."
Ilanna struck Kuradek between the smoke-filled eyes, splitting the Vampire Warlord's head in two. Smoke poured out, a thick black acrid smoke which filled the room in an instant. Kell stood very still as before him Kuradek stood, top half split wide open and wavering like petals on a stalk in a heavy wind. The world seemed to slow, and groan, and a smoke-filled corridor opened up behind Kuradek. It stretched away for a million years. Kell lowered Ilanna to the ground with a thunk, and cracked his knuckles, and stared down the pathway, and waited. The corridor led to a chamber of infinity, endlessly black, and from the sky fell corpses, tumbling down down down through nothingness and unto nothingness. Kuradek's glowing red eyes were fixed on Kell.
"What have you done?" snarled the Vampire Warlord, both halves of his severed, smoke-filled mouth working together from two feet apart. "What have you done to me?"
"I've sent you back," said Kell, almost gently, and there came a distant clanking of chains, and something dark and metal, like a huge hook, came easing along the million year corridor of smoke. Clockwork claws fashioned from old iron, pitted and rusted and huge and unbreakable, closed methodically around Kuradek the Unholy. They crushed him with ratchet clicks. Somewhere, there came a heavy, sombre ticking sound. Gears clicked and stepped. Kuradek screamed, and in the blink of an eye was dragged into acceleration down the corridor. Hot air rushed in, and the portal to the Chaos Halls imploded, all smoke being sucked to a tiny black dot, which flashed out with an almost imperceptible tick.