by Andy Remic
"You think I don't realise that?" snapped Saark.
Kell waved Ilanna casually at the popinjay. "Get some pants on. Walk with me."
"But it's freezing out there! It's the bloody middle of… the… fine, fine, I can do that, it's not a problem, if that's what you want, that's what we'll do."
Kell walked fast down the huge hallway. High above, dark towers and pillars glistened. Huge archways and the carvings of ancient demons were hidden in shadows. Saark slapped along, bare-foot beside the huge old warrior. He eyed the axe nervously, not totally convinced this wasn't some secret ruse to get him alone and decapitate him.
Kell halted. Saark stopped, also, but not too close. Never too close.
"You look like pampered donkey shit," said Kell, gesturing Saark's bedraggled appearance, silk shirt hanging out his trews, feet bare, toenails blackened from far too many weeks marching the mountains.
Saark smoothed back his long dark curls. "Hey. We've had a rough few weeks, haven't we, Kell?"
"So we have, lad. So we have."
There came a long pause.
"Is there a purpose to this little chat, Kell? I'm freezing my balls into orange pips and there's a good warm bed, er, waiting for me." He stopped. Kell was glaring. "Er…"
Kell waved his paw. "Don't fret. It's something I'm going to have to get used to. Isn't it?"
"I, er, I suppose so."
"You'll look after her, Saark, won't you?" Kell had turned away, but Saark read the anguish in his words. Here, the mighty Kell was at last relinquishing hold on his precious granddaughter. And, even more frightening, he was passing the mantle to Saark.
Now, it would be Saark's responsibility.
He shivered.
"Of course I will, old horse. I'd kill for her, and I'd die for her."
"I can ask no more than that."
Saark folded his arms, and smiled. A little of his cocky arrogance returned. "Thanks for being so understanding. At last, Kell, you've allowed the girl to flower into a woman! She deserves that, after everything she's been through. She deserves her own life, her own freedom, not your iron shackles."
Kell eyed Saark up and down, nodding. "Aye. I suppose she does. But just be warned." He pointed with one large, stubby finger. "If you disrespect her in any way, I can still come looking. I'll cut your fucking head down the middle with the same thought I'd give to squashing an ant."
Saark shivered and frowned. "Yes. Yes, I know that, old man. I'd not forgotten all our previous… discussions!"
Kell sat on his own bed. The night was dark and cool outside the palace windows. Distantly, he could hear song, and smell woodsmoke. He sat, and thought about the past, about the things he had done, and brooded, long and hard. It was all wrong. All bad. This wasn't the way his life was supposed to turn out. Not the way it was supposed to be.
I'm here for you, Kell.
Go to Hell! Ha, I forgot, you're already there! And by your own treacherous dark magick hand, I might add.
I was only trying to do what was right. What was best for Falanor; for the people. For the innocent and weak!
Damn the people, snarled Kell internally. And he felt Ilanna, felt Ehlana, shrink back from his rage. It was pure and bright, like a new born star in his soul. What about us? What about the life we had? The life we should have had? You condemned us, woman! And you condemned me to a life of violence, and here you are, filling the axe with black sorcery in order to help others. WHAT ABOUT US? US! YOU DESTROYED US!
Ehlana faded, and Kell sat there staring at the weapon. Well, they were blood-bond now. But more. Ilanna contained the soul of the woman he loved, and who, in reality, he would always love…
Until the end of time.
Until the stars flickered out.
Kell curled up on the bed, and slept alone.
• • • •
"Kell?"
Kell groaned, and sat up. "What is it?"
"It's me. Myriam."
"Ahh. Yes. I could never forget you! That poison sluicing round my veins makes my joints feel on fire all the fucking time. So nice of you to call in. Just what I need in the middle of the night. A chat with a riddling mad woman."
"Mad? Maybe I am," said Myriam, and moved in close, sat on the end of the bed, and Kell found himself lost for words. He stared at her, as she whispered, "I am here for you."
Eventually, he said, "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. I don't believe you're that fucking naive."
"Myriam, there's something you should know…"
She laughed, and took hold of Kell. She was amazingly strong. She had always been strong, but with her added vachine clockwork she was nearly a match for the mighty warrior…
"Don't tell me. You're married?"
Kell pulled a face. "Well…"
"Shh," she said, and placed a finger against his lips. Then she kissed him, and Kell sat there for a while and let her, and slowly, like a behemoth rising from a slick mud pit, Kell started to respond. They kissed, and Kell placed his large hands on Myriam's shoulders, and pushed her away.
"I cannot do this," he said.
"I think you should," she said.
"No."
"What, I didn't realise you were that old? " she mocked. "Old, yes, but not past it."
"I'm not," he said.
"Are your teeth still your own? Do you piss in a bag attached to your leg? Is that really your own hair and beard, or something pasted in place like they do in the decadent theatres of Vor?" She smiled sweetly. "I thought you were a hero. A Legend, damn it!"
"Curse all women with sharp tongues," said Kell.
"There's a simple way to make me quiet," she smiled.
Myriam took a step back, and quickly undressed. She stood naked before him, hips swaying a little, her eyes wide and a friendly smile painted on her face.
"Come to me," she said, and distant, like the steady lapping rhythm of the ocean, there came a muffled tick tick tick tick tick…
In silence, Kell complied.
The new Falanor army marched in two discrete columns. One column was led by Dekkar, a grim host of Blacklippers in three marching lines. They had lost four hundred men at Jalder to the vampire hordes, and this had made them yet more determined, more hatefilled, and resolute to expel the enemy from their world. The second column, the criminals from Black Pike Mines, had lost nearly six hundred men during the fighting – or at least, six hundred who would never fight again. This now gave Kell a fighting force of just over four thousand. Not exactly the Eagle Divisions of King Leanoric! But at least the Army of Brass and Army of Silver had gone on ahead, to Vor, leaving them a clear path, now, a clear goal: Port of Gollothrim. Where Bhu Vanesh ruled.
Kell marched with a soldier's stride, Ilanna slung across his back, breathing deeply and occasionally whistling an old battle tune, or singing a ribald verse from a battle hymn. He soon had many of the men smiling, and some even joined in, their rolling song echoing out across the valleys and frozen woodlands of Falanor.
Saark sidled up to him. "You're in good form," he said, glancing up at Kell with narrowed eyes. Suspicion riddled his face like a parasite.
Kell stared at the dandy. "What the fuck are you wearing now?"
"It's the height of fashion in Vor, I'll have you know."
"Vor is overrun by vampires!"
"Well, I'm pretty sure they'll have better sartorial elegance than our army. If nothing else, the vachine have ego. It's what separates men from beasts, you know? Anyway, I was wondering why you were in such a good mood. I thought you were going to chop my head from my shoulders in the night."
"There's still time," said Kell, gruffly.
"Don't be like that, Kell. We're marching to near-certain death! The gods only know how many vampires Meshwar and Bhu Vanesh have turned. The whole damn country might be crawling with the fanged bastards. The last thing we should be doing is squabbling amongst ourselves like buzzards over a corpse scrap."
"Well, they won't miss you, with an orange shirt l
ike that. What a target! Every archer in bloody Falanor will be sighting on you. I thought they taught soldiers to be discreet. You were in the army, Saark, you should know these things."
"Yes, but I was not a common low-life low-ranker, was I? I was bloody commissioned! I was an officer, I was."
Kell shrugged. "Well, a soldier should bloody well know better! Just make sure you stand a good way from me during battle; I don't want to take an arrow destined for your peacock arse."
"You never answered my question, Kell."
"Which was?"
"You're a happy beaver. Why's that? It's not like you to be upbeat. In my experience, you have the happy and joyous nature of a widow mourning five dead sons."
"I'm marching into battle, aren't I?" said Kell, grinning sideways at Saark. "You know how it is. Prospect of a few heads on spikes, a few splintered spines. Brings me out in goosebumps of anticipation, I can tell you, lad. You know me! I'm Kell, nothing gets me hard like a good fight."
"No." Saark shook out his long, oiled curls. "There's something else."
"I'm also looking forward to carving my name on Graal's arse with Ilanna. That's something been a long time coming. After all, it's no good sending these bastard Warlords back to the Chaos Halls if Graal just goes and summons 'em again. Eh, lad?"
"You're quite right. But you forget, Kell, I am a creature of the night. Or more precisely, a creature who hunts in ladies' bedrooms, dances on mosaic ballroom floors, caresses flesh in sculpted flowery gardens, and generally behaves in a way fitting for any would-be member of nobility. You, Kell, you know weapons and warfare. Whereas I, well old man, I know sex, and you've had you some."
"Eh?"
"You've been playing hide the pickle, haven't you, old man? Well, you cunning, raunchy little squirrel, you. You secret stag, you closet pike, you rampant bull. Go on, who was it? One of the maids? Not that I'm suggesting your low-born lack of nobility excludes you from the finer and more succulent morsels of flesh on offer, I'm aware the city's been desecrated, thousands turned into vampires, and all that stuff. Leaves much leaner pickings for those on the prowl, so to speak." Saark winked. "Go on. Who was she?"
"You are mistaken," said Kell, woodenly.
"Nonsense! When I see fish, I smell fish. And when I see Kell behave like this… well, I can smell fish. Spill the beans old goat, after all, you've done enough laughing at my terrible sexual misfortunes over the last few months. Aye, and judgemental, you've been. About time I got some payback for all those quips about the donkey."
"I notice she's still here," said Kell through gritted teeth.
"Mary is well and fine and carrying a payload of shields. You, however, are changing the subject. Go on, which lucky lass got to play with Kell's Legend? It was that young woman clearing the table, wasn't it? You scamp! She must be thirty years your junior! Have you no shame?"
Saark punched Kell on the arm. Kell stared at the place Saark punched him, then scowled, and glared at the dandy.
"You've got a big mouth. You've got a runny brain. Like a bloody undercooked egg yolk, it is. You need to keep your nose out of other people's business. And you need to refine your character if you think you're a fit man to look after my granddaughter for the next thirty years without me hunting you down and crushing you like a beetle under my boot."
"So, it was the cook! A fine and stocky lass she turned out to be, and I'm always the first to admit, a woman with a goodly amount of weight and mass to her, a big lass with big bones like that – well, you can't go wrong, can you? I mean, you need a woman who can take a good, hard-"
"It was Myriam."
They walked for a while, in silence, and Saark looked at Kell, opened his mouth to speak several times, then closed it again. He tried again, and again closed his mouth. Finally, he said, "She told me she loved me. She said we would live together, be strong together. That we would never die – thanks to our combined vachine energies. She said we were like royalty! We could achieve anything our hearts desired!"
Kell chuckled. "Just before she tried to drown you, if I remember it rightly?"
"Harsh, Kell, harsh."
"Well, what do you expect? You prance about, trying your amorous expertise on any woman who'll give you the barest sniff. That's what you are, Saark. A bloody sniffer dog. I've never seen a man so damn and permanently erect!"
"I thought we were talking about one of my true loves, and how you'd just had your way with her? You seem to have strayed away from our topic, and indeed, the prickly edges of my rapidly breaking heart."
"She seduced me," said Kell, primly.
" What? Ha! What arse-rot. I know Myriam, and she is a fine judge of character."
"Maybe that's why she tried to kill you?"
"Amusing, Kell. Can you see me laughing?"
Kell chuckled. "No, but I can see Mary laughing. At least your ass finds my comedy a damn sight more amusing than her owner!" The sound of Mary braying could be heard, and various shouts as men tried to stop the unpredictable donkey from kicking and bolting.
"This is hard for me, Kell. You've taken my woman!"
"No," said Kell. "I have taken nothing. She gave me plenty, though."
They walked again, in silence, for quite a while.
"Hey," said Kell, staring at Saark. "You know that little sound she makes?"
"What little sound?"
"Like a bird, chirping."
"I never heard no sound like a bird chirping. What are you talking about, you old fool?"
"Sure, Saark. You must have heard her. She makes it, when she orgasms…" Kell placed his hand over his mouth. "Oh, sorry, Saark. Maybe you didn't hear it after all." Kell's booming laughter ranged across the marching columns on the Great North Road, and Saark trailed along behind him, fists clenched, face like thunder, heart ticking with clockwork.
The albino soldiers from the Army of Brass moved slowly through the valley. It was ringed with trees, and steep rocky flanks led up to Valantrium Moor to the east.
General Exkavar held up his fist, and the army halted. His captains came to him, and he issued orders to set up camp. He ordered scouts out to scan the surrounding country, and various patrols to watch over the troops as they set up base-camp for the night.
After an hour, tents had been erected, fires lit, food was cooking and night descended. Exkavar knew that further south and west the Army of Silver were setting up a similar camp. He smiled to himself. The Army of Silver would check Fawkrin, and Gilrak further south. The Army of Brass would march through Valantrium, and Old Valantrium, and then both armies would convene at Vor and smash the vampires there. The remains of the Army of Iron would join, forming the closing claws of a perfect manoeuvre, and Vor – the capital city of Falanor – would belong to them. To the White War riors. And the Harvesters with whom they worked…
Exkavar moved to his tent, and slowly removed his armour. Servants brought a bowl of water warmed over the fire, and the old general washed his pale, white limbs, washed sweat and salt from his skin, from his face, from his stinging eyes. And then he sat, in a simple white robe, and ate dried meat and strips of dried fruit – the eldabarr fruit, grown far to the north, far past the Black Pike Mountains. In the place where the vachine ruled.
Distant screams reached Exkavar's ears, and frowning, he stood and reached for his black sword. He ran from his tent – and the world smashed down into chaos. All around men were fighting, swords slashing, most of the albino soldiers in underwear or simple cotton leggings. There had been no early warning. Not one patrol had sounded a bugle alarm. And the enemy, the enemy were -
General Exkavar blinked, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. They were children, and their skin was gloss black, and they moved fast, some too fast to see until they stopped, for a moment, to chop off a head or arms or legs. They glistened under the moonlight and Exkavar's stomach churned, not just with the simple disgust of seeing them, for they were horrible to behold, a blend of child and insect, teeth black and pointed, many with claw
s instead of hands, and four arms, and taloned feet. They ran and jumped and crawled and squirmed, and some had large pulsing thoraxes dangling between legs like deviant, distorted pregnant bellies. His stomach churned because he knew what they were, and fear ate through him as easily as the Ankarok ate through his soldiers. They were like a swarm, of locusts, or something more dark and terrible, and there were hundreds of them, thousands in fact. They slammed through the Army of Brass, and killed everyone, and all the time there was a background hissing, like a million insects buzzing and croaking and Exkavar stood, and waited to die, but he did not die, it was a miracle, until he saw a boy walking towards him and his eyes were glowing black and he was dressed in rags but Exkavar knew him, he knew this was The Skanda. The King.
Exkavar stood to attention as all around him men were decapitated and ground screaming into the snow. White blood splattered tent walls. Limbs flew through the air to impact with sickening crunches.
He could hear them… we have been imprisoned for thousands of years we are free now to roam and kill and devour we are free to take back the land we are free to kill.
The Skanda halted, and looked up at General Exkavar. "You were heading to Vor?" he said.
Exkavar nodded, and then blinked, for behind The Skanda walked General Graal. The man held his head high, and his blue eyes shone, but his face was riddled with patches of black insect chitin. As if he had started to blend. To become a part of the ancient race known as Ankarok.
"You have another army, south and west of here."
"I will never divulge military information," snarled Exkavar, and attacked in a blur, sword slamming at Skanda's head. The little boy did not move, but Graal's sword intervened – and slowly, Graal pushed Exkavar's weapon back. With a flick of the wrist, Graal disabled Exkavar, then his head snapped left as if awaiting instruction.
"We have no further need for him. Kill him," said Skanda.
Graal's sword cut Exkavar's head from his shoulders. Graal looked up, and all around the camp had descended into death, and now silence. The several thousand Ankarok warriors stood motionless, eyes glistening, skin glistening. They were perfectly immobile. As if controlled. As if turned to stone.