by Andy Remic
Kell breathed, and shivered, and rubbed at the bite marks in his neck. He fell to his knees, then used Ilanna to lever himself up once more. "What a bastard," he muttered, legs shaking, and hurried out into the corridor. Myriam was starting to come round, and the first thing her dazed eyes fixed on was Kell's neck.
"He bit you?"
"Don't worry."
"He bit you! You'll turn, you'll see…"
"He's gone," said Kell. "I can't turn into nothing."
"You killed him?"
"He cannot be killed," said Kell, and hefted Ilanna. "The Vampire Warlords are immortal. But I sent him back to the Chaos Halls. Back to the Keepers. I think they were pissed at his escape. I think they had a special present waiting for him."
"What about the rest of the vampires?"
"Let's go see."
Kell and Myriam rushed up steps and onto ice-rimed battlements. A cold wind snapped along, slapping them. Below, on the plain, they watched in stunned silence.
The men of Falanor stood in a tight unit behind their shields, spear points twinkling in the ghost light. By the gates stood a massive horde of vampires, waiting behind ten Harvesters engulfed in wreathes of ice-smoke. The ice-smoke was moving towards the Falanor men, creeping eerily across the churned snow, but at the same time an army of albino soldiers charged, in silence, like a dream, and veered at the last moment from the men of Falanor, slamming into the ranks of Harvesters and vampires, crushing the front lines which went down in a scything sea of descending swords…
"I don't understand," said Myriam.
The Army of Brass clove through the Harvesters and vampires, who started to scream and flee. Thousands of albino soldiers slammed through Kuradek's slaves, killing them mercilessly as they turned to run, swords cutting off heads, ramming through hearts. Within minutes, it became a slaughter.
Kell sat back on the battlements, pressing fingers to his punctured neck.
"What happened?" snapped Myriam. "I thought they would turn back? When you killed Kuradek?"
"But I did not kill him," explained Kell, patiently. He chuckled, and rested his head wearily against the wall. He closed his eyes. "The Vampire Warlords are immortal. Once they turn you into vampire kind, you stay that way. They are a parasite on all life. That's why they were summoned to the Chaos Halls. That's why the dark gods banished them there."
"What about you?" snapped Myriam. "Should I get my knife ready?"
"Me?" Kell opened his eyes. He laughed again, and shrugged. "Hell, woman, you do what you like. It would appear I am blessed. Dark magick. Or something. From back during the Days of Blood. It would appear I was fucking made to fight these creatures. Can you believe that?" He laughed again. A weary laugh. The laugh of the defeated. A laugh of desolation. "Only they did it thirty years too soon. Bloody prophecies. Should have them tattooed on my arse, for all the use they are."
"Prophecies? Blessed? What the hell are you talking about? Who told you all this?"
Kell grinned at Myriam. "The wife. Now be a good girl, go and fetch Saark and Grak, will you? They'll be wondering what happened."
"And I suppose you can tell me why the albinos turned on the vampires?"
Kell shrugged. "No idea, lass. I'm as surprised as you. But I do know one thing."
"What's that?"
"Our army is getting bigger," he said, eyes twinkling.
Kell faced General Exkavar from the Army of Brass, and General Zagreel from the Army of Silver. Both men were tall, thin, with long white hair, pale waxen flesh and the crimson eyes of the albino, although Kell knew after his adventures under the Black Pike Mountains, that these warriors were nothing as simple as humans with a difference in pigmentation. These were the White Warriors. These were another race entirely.
"Please, explain to me what just happened, gentlemen," said Kell, seating himself at the huge feasting table and placing his hands before him. The two generals removed helms and placed them on the scarred wood. The room had been tidied of destruction, and only these gouge marks from the claws of the vampires were evidence of recent vampire occupancy.
General Exkavar fixed Kell with a hard look. "I thought that was self-evident. We stopped your men from being slaughtered. We killed the Harvesters who brought us through the mountains, and turned on the damn vampires." He gave a glance at Saark, and curled his lip. "We will serve no more. Not vachine, not vampire, not Harvester. It is time the White Warriors took a stand."
"Why help us?" said Kell, softly.
"We share common enemies. For many years the vachine, and indeed vampires, have preyed on both our races. We should stand together. We should rid Falanor of this vermin."
"And then?" said Kell, eyes twinkling. He had twenty men just outside the chamber, swords drawn, waiting for his nod. If Exkavar or Zagreel proved to be a threat, then Kell would exterminate them, and then their men, when they slept that night. Kell could not risk another enemy rioting through his homeland.
"We will leave Falanor, head back to our lair under the Black Pike Mountains."
"Why come out in the first place?"
"We have come for our Army. The Army of Iron. They are currently slaves in Vor, under the command of Meshwar, the Violent. There is no way to get a message to them. So we decided a show of strength was the order of the day."
Kell nodded, and placed his chin on his fist. He stared at the two generals, and then over to Saark, and Myriam, Grak and Dekkar. All were now bathed, well-groomed, and fed.
After the battle on the previous day, the routing of the Harvesters and the vampires, the Army of Brass had spent the rest of the day hunting down vampires through the streets of Jalder – and putting them out of their misery. Then, slowly, the people had begun to emerge, from sewers and factories, from attics and cellars and hidden tunnels, from warehouses and cottages and holes in walls. They had assembled before the Palace, perhaps two thousand in all, a sorry mess of stamped-on humanity. Kell set Grak to feeding and watering these refugees; to finding them clothes and medicines. Grak happily organised the convicts from the Black Pike Mines, and the men had gone about their work. Only the Blacklippers, sullen and dark in mood, stayed outside the city gates. They said it would be hypocrisy to enter.
With so much organising to do, Kell and Nienna had seen little of each other. Myriam had tended the girl, and reported to Kell that she was angry and hurt about the death of her mother. Myriam tried to explain there was no reversion from the vampire; and that Kell had done her a great service. But Nienna had descended into a world of sullen brooding. Kell shrugged it off. He had more important matters to worry about than a sulking child.
"So you head for Vor," said Kell, and stroked his beard. "You are confident you can wipe out the menace of Meshwar? The Vampire Warlords are terrible indeed. Creatures of the Chaos Halls."
"We have magickers," said Exkavar. "If we cannot kill him, we can open the portal. Once open, believe me, the Keepers will come for Meshwar. They have failed in their duties, you see? They want the Vampire Warlords back as much as we want them gone."
Kell nodded. "I suggest, then, that we head for Port of Gollothrim," he said. "We must cleanse that place of vampires as well, find Bhu Vanesh, and send him home."
"He is the strongest of the three," said Myriam, looking up from a goblet of wine. "The strongest, Kell."
Kell nodded. "Still. We must fight on. Are you with me?"
"I am," rumbled Grak the Bastard, and thumped the table. "By the gods, I am."
"My people will see this through to the end," said Dekkar, and gave Kell a nod. "We are your warriors in this battle, now. We will stand by you. We will fight by you. And we will die by your side, if that is what it takes."
"Good," said Kell, and glanced back at the two albino generals. "How long will you stay?"
"We will head south at dawn. Do not worry yourself, Kell; we have no wish to rule Falanor lands. Once we have our men, and have disposed of Meshwar, we will be gone."
"Have you made an enemy of the H
arvesters?" asked Kell.
"Yes. But that is a battle for another day. We have learnt much from their mastery. Now, it is time for the slaves to throw off their shackles, rise up, and smite their masters." Exkavar gave a cruel, brittle smile. "Too long have their injustices been served on us."
Again, Kell nodded, and the two generals stood, donning helms. Kell stood, and reached out to shake their hands. Both generals stared at him, but did not extend their own.
"I am sure we will meet again. One day soon," said Zagreel, his crimson eyes shining.
"Indeed," said Kell, with an easy smile, and watched the two generals leave the hall. He glanced at Grak. "I want triple guards, on every building, every gate, every fucking latrine, until they are gone. You understand?" "Yes, Kell. Can you tell me something?"
"Ask."
"Tell me again why they helped us?"
"Because we have a common enemy. But what worries me, my murdering friend, is what happens when all our common enemies are dead . In my experience, many freed slaves are full of bitterness and hate. And that never leads to a pleasant aftermath."
"What about the men? How long do we rest?"
"Two days. They've earned it. Then we march on Gollothrim."
Kell was eating a shank of pork, juice running through his beard, as Saark tottered across the tiles before him. "Oh, such luxury again!" he beamed, and then frowned down at Kell. "What is this? A pig eating a pig?"
"I see you found the perfume again," growled Kell, dropping the shank to his plate and wiping his hands on a cloth.
"You can smell it? Does it smell fine?"
"Smell it, lad? I've smelt sewers with more sexual allure."
Saark moved over and seated himself nimbly at the table. Once again, he had managed to find crimson leggings, a pink silk shirt, and some heavy silver beads which were draped about his throat like the finest pearls. Saark leaned forward, and cut a small slice of cheese with his knife. "I say, Kell, one day I really should teach you to eat with a knife and fork."
"And I should teach you some manners."
"Yes, but, I mean, look at your lunch! It looks like… well, like an abortion!"
"Not really the sort of talk I want to hear at the dinner table."
"Well, it has to be better than Grak's boring drivel. Swords and helmets, the feeding of the refugees, talk of repairing the city. Gods, the vampires have only just left and they're talking about fucking building. Those who've survived should be out in the damn streets drinking and whoring, dancing and humping! I should say an orgy of some kind is called for."
"They've just survived a terrible ordeal," said Kell through gritted teeth.
"Exactly," smiled Saark, nibbling on his cheese.
Kell stared at him. "Listen lad, don't be thinking you're wearing that shit when we march on Gollothrim! Last thing we need is your early warning stench giving away any element of surprise."
"Hah! Really!"
Saark reclined, stretching, and his face was a platter of rapture. "I could always stay here, Kell. Oversee the rebuilding of Jalder. Insinuate myself into the nobility structure here; I'm sure they will have room for one with such refined etiquette as myself."
"You're coming with us, lad," snapped Kell, and continued to eat, gnawing at the joint.
Footsteps echoed, and Saark spun around. "Ah! And here is the most beautiful Nienna."
Kell watched the grand entrance, and he licked grease from his lips, and considered his words with care. She wore a long silk gown, silk slippers, and her lips were rouged in the manner he'd seen women employ at Royal Court. And she wore perfume almost as nauseating as Saark's.
"A couple of fine dandies you make together," he growled, at last, and grasped his tankard, drinking his ale and spilling a goodly amount down his jerkin and on the table.
"We're not… together," said Nienna, frowning, then smiled.
Kell placed his tankard down with care, and stared hard at Nienna. Then over to Saark, who grinned, and held his palms outwards in a flourish, shrugging his shoulders. "We're not," he said.
Kell returned to his meal. "Good," he said. And as Saark and Nienna, whispering and giggling, moved towards the arched opening leading from the hall, Kell snapped, "Go pack your stuff. We'll be leaving early in the morning."
"So, just one last night of civility?" said Saark.
Kell glared at him. "Looks that way," he muttered.
Nienna watched Saark undressing. He was a little drunk, but she didn't mind, because she was too. She slid deeper down under the covers luxuriating in their softness, and the firmness of the bed. She wasn't used to such opulent surroundings.
"You still want me, Little One?" whispered Saark, removing his trews in the shadows. Nienna felt a thrill course through her veins. It was like dying. No, it was like being born. Born into a different world, at least.
"I want you," she said, husky.
He came to her, sliding under the covers, his flesh warm, soft, and he touched her and she writhed, responding to the delicate caress of his fingers. He was gentle. He was caring. He was skilful. He was kind. He kissed her, and they lay like that for a while, lips connected, tongues darting, his hand between her legs teasing her.
Nienna pulled back.
"Do you love me, Saark?"
"I love you," he said, and the words slid from his mouth like honey from a spoon.
"I bet you say that to all the women," she said.
"Only the ones I love," he said. "And I love you."
"Did you say it to Myriam?"
"No."
"I bet you did."
"I did not. I loved another woman – she was betrothed to another. She was Queen Alloria. She betrayed me. She was Graal's puppet on a string. I felt like a fool, and so the words do not come easy."
"So… you mean it?"
"I mean it, angel."
Nienna drew her to him, and as he entered her she gasped. Her hands raked his hair, cut trenches down his back, grasped his buttocks and pulled him deeper, with lust, with urgency, with open raw desire. "Fuck me, Saark," she whispered in his ear, biting the lobe and feeling him work harder. He liked that, she'd discovered.
"I'm trying," he muttered, biting her neck and then – withdrawing, at the last moment. His brass fangs gleamed under stray strands of moonlight. Saark hissed, but Nienna was too lost to the moment to recognise the danger. Saark shook his head. How long can I live between worlds? How long can I suppress my vachine instincts?
Blood. Blood-oil.
The desires increase…
"How long will you love me?" said Nienna.
"Until the day I die," crooned Saark, and the silk under his hands felt fine, the woman beneath his flesh felt succulent, and his perfume filled both their nostrils with its charm and sophistication.
"That might not take very long," came a low, cold voice, and a figure was there and it filled the room, filled the sky and Saark squawked and scrambled from Nienna, falling onto his back and sliding from the silk scattered bed with a thump.
"Kell!" he breathed.
Kell filled the space. He was vast, a giant, a titan, a god. His face was bathed in shadows, gloom was his mistress, darkness his master, and Kell stood with Ilanna lifted against his chest and Saark felt fear, knew fear, for this was it, the end, his death come so soon and for what? For the simple pleasure of a girl? There are worse ways to die… Shit! The axe glinted, dull in the darkness, moonlight tracing tiny chips in the black iron butterfly blades. Saark could not take his eyes from that axe. It was bigger than Kell. Mightier. It filled the universe. It drank in stars. It was a pathway to the Chaos Halls and now, NOW Saark understood and he felt the wonder and vast dread and cold hydrogen horror of the weapon, more ancient than time, an eternal devourer in the dark. That was how Kell fought the Vampire Warlords. That was how Kell took on cankers, and vachine, and vampires, and gods. For Ilanna was not just metal, not even demon-possessed metal. She was a symbol. She was a pathway. She was dark magick made whole. She was Chaos,
pure Chaos, in the form of a weapon wielded by Man. And she controlled Kell. Saark felt it. Knew it. Here, and now, Kell was not his own person and he always said it was the whiskey which forced him into unreasonable violence. However. It had never been the liquor. No. It had been the axe.
"Damn you, do it!" screamed Saark, hands clawing at the thick Ionian rugs. "Get it over with! Cut my bloody head off!"
There came a pause, a slice through the realms of time, and the world ran slow on its shifting axis. Then Kell leant forward, and his face was a writhing mass of war, contorting, a raging inner battle. Through gritted teeth, he growled, long and low and slow, "You've earned it, by all the demon shit that roams the planet, you've earned it, Saark."
"I'm sorry! Sorry, Kell! I love her!"
"He does, grandfather." Nienna was standing, naked, skin pure and soft and white, her eyes glowing as if filled with molten love. She moved to Saark, stood before him protectively, like some faerie creature from dreams come to defend the weak and downtrodden. "I will not let you do this."
Kell stood quivering, torn, huge muscles tense, Ilanna lifted high and ready for combat and slaughter. Then, slowly, he slumped back, seemed to fold in on himself until he was simply a mortal once more. A simple old soldier with a bad back, arthritis, and in need of a simple life.
"I'm sorry, Nienna," he said.
Nienna smiled, and reached out, and touched his arm.
"I'm sorry for being the village idiot. I'm sorry for being stubborn, and rude, and brash, for my bad temper and threats and worst of all, for treating you like a child. You are a woman. I can see that now."
"Yes," she said, voice a lilting rose. "I am a woman."
"Do you know how hard it was?" said Kell, and tears were running down his cheeks, through his beard, making it glisten. "To kill Sara? My own flesh and blood? My own little girl? Shit." Kell shook his head, half turned, then turned back. He glared down at Saark. "You're one lucky bastard's bastard," he said.