by Andy Remic
Kell scrambled up the brass planks and leapt, catching Myriam's outstretched hand. She was strong. She hauled him up onto the rocky ridge, and Kell whirled, eyes narrowed, staring at the vampires. The Blacklippers had retreated, forming themselves into a fighting square surrounded by the corpses of their friends. Those with shields had made a wall at the front, and the vampires coolly dismounted and watched with interest, smiles staining faces as they lifted bright, silver swords.
"Help me up," he croaked.
Kell jumped, and glared down into Dekkar's face. The huge man was in pain, face twisted and battered and streaked with grime. He had climbed as far as he could, but could not traverse the final leap.
"Why?"
"Because they're slaughtering my people!" screamed Dekkar, and held out his hand.
Kell stared at it. The bridge lurched again, dropping another foot. Great tearing sounds echoed through the rift, and the bridge was vibrating as if alive and fitting. Cogs could be seen, spinning slowly. A huge piston went thunk.
Kell glanced at Myriam. "Hold my belt." She grabbed him, hands like iron shackles, and he knelt, leaning forward, hand outstretched. His eyes met Dekkar's. "You'll have to jump."
"Can I trust you?"
"No. But you have little choice."
Dekkar growled an ancient curse, and leapt…
Kell leant, and the two men grabbed one another, wrist to wrist and stayed locked there for a moment, Kell staring down into Dekkar's wild eyes, muscles screaming as they took the weight. Then Kell hissed, and hauled Dekkar up the wall as behind him the huge brass bridge squealed like a woman in pain, and slowly tilted, sliding backwards with a whoosh to vanish into the abyss.
Kell looked down at his hand, and then up into Dekkar's eyes. He noted the big man carried his mace, and he swallowed. Kell always said he took a lot of killing; well, here was a man hewn from the same granite cast.
Dekkar turned, and stared at the vampires. They had dismounted, and were smiling as they advanced on the retreating Blacklippers. He released Kell's grip, and Kell hoisted Ilanna and glanced at Myriam, who drew her own sword.
"It's time for those bastards to die," said Kell.
"Let's fight," growled Dekkar.
They charged across the rocky ground, and the vampires smiled wider until eyes fell on Ilanna. One pointed, but Kell, Dekkar and Myriam crashed into them and Kell's axe lashed out, opening a throat, and on the return swing cutting a vampire's head free from its body. There was an explosion of flesh, and Kell grabbed the hair and hoisted the head up high. "See!" he screamed "They can fucking die! Die, I tell you!" Everything was chaos. The vampires seemed to suddenly shrink back, staring at Kell, and Ilanna, and the severed vampire head with fangs still gnashing and gnawing. Kell launched the head into the pit, and kicked over the body which spewed out foul stinking black blood. Kell waded into the mass, Ilanna hewing left and right, thumping into flesh, spattering him with gore. The vampires attacked him with their inhuman speed but Kell was a demon, moving smoothly, seeming to shift here, twitch there, and claws and swords sailed past him by a hair's breadth, but always by a hair's breadth, and he had some inhuman instinct, some natural grace as if he was in perfect tune with the killers and always slipping beyond their claws. Dekkar was close behind, feeding in Kell's wake. As Kell moved forward through the vampires, Ilanna slamming left and right, so anything that went past was crushed under Dekkar's mighty mace. Myriam, also, moved with incredible vachine speed, sword slamming out, cutting throats and piercing hearts. Some vampires shrivelled into decayed mush. Some crumbled into ash.
In what seemed an instant, Kell broke through their ranks and high-pitched keening rent the air. Five or six fled, leaping onto horses and galloping away only to find a wall of Blacklippers had gathered, and charged at the remaining vampires with swords and axes, cutting them to pieces. Screams pierced the air. Without mercy, the Blacklippers killed the skinless horses, and threw them into the sulphurous rift.
Kell stood for a moment, panting, then whirled on Dekkar. Ilanna came up. Kell's eyes were bright glowing coals without trust.
Dekkar placed his mace head against the ground, and leant heavily on the weapon. Suddenly he looked old, and tired; bone-weary. He smiled weakly at Kell, and rubbed his eyes.
"You did well. For an old man."
"As did you. For a fat bastard."
"Ha! Kell, I think we may have got off to a bad start."
Kell scratched his chin. "You reckon? Maybe I'd have to agree with that one. I came here to warn you about the vampires, about their army gathered at Jalder. I have gathered my own army, and I was coming here to ask you to join."
"What, you would have Blacklippers fight alongside the good men of Falanor?" There was a hint of a sneer to Dekkar. Long-held prejudices could not be erased with ease.
Kell shrugged, and gazed at Ilanna's bloodied blades. They were slick with vampire gore. "My army is made up of criminals, freaks, and convicts from the Black Pike Mines."
Dekkar smiled. "That is good, then. My sort of people."
"Will you come with me?" said Kell. "Will you fight with me?"
Dekkar stared hard at Kell, then past him, to the thousands of gathered Blacklippers. His people. His outcast race. Then he nodded, and lifted his mace into the air. "Gather your weapons!" he roared. "We are going to war!"
A cheer rang out, and Kell turned, face a dark sour hole. Myriam grasped his arm and they walked away from the cheering Blacklippers to stare out, past the destroyed bridge and the torn clockwork moorings that were all that remained.
"What is wrong?" she said.
"They cheer because they know they will kill the men and women of Falanor. It is sick."
"You got your army."
"Yes. I got it. But what worries me is once I've unleashed it, and if we win… how do I rein it back again? But that's a problem for another day."
Myriam nodded, and peered down into the depths of the rift. "I'm sorry, Kell. About before. About Saark."
"I should have let you drown him longer. Would have done him good. Cooled him off a little." Kell grinned. "Have you learnt your lesson?"
"So you're not going to cut off my head?"
"You saved my life, didn't you? With that damn fine bow."
"Maybe I was trying to hit you?"
Kell roared with laughter, suddenly, and slapped Myriam on the back. He was battered, his nose broken, his face and clothing covered in gore, vampire blood, strings of flesh. He looked like an animal. He looked worse than an animal. He looked like a Vampire Killer.
Myriam shivered.
"Either way, lass, you saved my hide on that bridge. And in a roundabout way, you have helped save Falanor."
"How so?"
"I think you led the vampires here. They were a tracking unit. I reckon they were after killing themselves a vachine. They know your kind are a threat, and you must be a priority hunt for them."
"Oh," she said, deflating a little. Kell put his arm round her.
"Don't worry, Myriam. You're with me now. And me and Ilanna, we're starting to get quite fond of you vachine. You certainly have your uses in a scrap!"
"Yes, but we're hard to love," said Myriam, and smiled, and looked up at Kell, and he stared at her as if almost seeing her for the first time. When Kell had first met Myriam, back in Vorgeth Forest, and she had poisoned him; she had been a husk of a woman, riddled with cancer, eyes sunken, hair lifeless; now, thanks to her vachine change at the hands of the Soul Stealers, she was tall, powerful, skin pale but radiant, and her hair was long, gently curled, luscious like the glossy pelt of a panther. Her eyes were dark and glittering and intelligent, and if it hadn't been for the brass vachine fangs, she would have been, to Kell's eyes at least, strikingly beautiful.
He remembered her touch. He remembered glimpses of her, little snippets of naked flesh, bathing, dressing. And back in Vorgeth Forest, just before she had injected him with poison, she had pressed close against him, and even now he could remember t
he musk of her body, and he remembered the rising lust in his loins and cursed himself, now and then, for being weak, for being pitiful, for betraying the memory of his long lost Ehlana. Back in Vorgeth Myriam had kissed him, and it had felt good. It had felt more than good. But he pushed the memory away. Never again, old man, he had told himself. Not in this life.
Kell shuddered.
"No," he said.
"No what?" Myriam was looking at him strangely.
"Just no. Come on. Let's take these Blacklippers to Saark and the men. The fight is just beginning."
"Wait." Her hand was on his arm.
Kell stared at her fingers, then lifted his head to look into her face. Again, that curious smile. The tilt of the head. Kell shivered, for he thought he knew what that smile meant. Myriam was weak – she needed to be loved, to be cherished, and to be in control. And she was attracted to power. Attracted to Kell's ferocity, his savagery, his Legend.
"Go on."
"That thing. Back there. With Saark. I didn't mean it."
"What, trying to kill him? Don't worry about that. I love the man, but I, also, want to kill him regular."
"Not killing him, no. The… other thing."
"Ahh."
"It was just… a moment. I am free of him. You see?"
"I see," said Kell, voice low, eyes locked to Myriam. "Come on, lass. We should go."
"Yes."
Kell led the way, and Myriam followed, sheathing her sword.
Dekkar sent a fast rider with three horses within the hour. The mission was simple: to reach Saark at the Black Pike Mines with a letter from Kell. In it, were instructions to assemble the new army and to rendezvous on the plains south of the Black Pike Mines. Then they would take a direct course from the Black Pike Mines to the occupied city of Jalder.
Now Kell, Myriam and Dekkar, King of the Blacklippers, led two thousand armed male and female Blacklippers across the ice and snow, and out from the Valleys of the Moon. They moved mostly in silence, hair and furs ruffled by the cold wind from the mountains. It was a bleak day, grey and cold and threatening snow.
"Now, we go to war," said Myriam, voice gentle.
"Now, we fight for Falanor," agreed Kell.
CHAPTER 13
The Battle for Jalder
"It's grandfather!" grinned Nienna, shading her eyes from the glare of the snow. From the hilltop across the valley emerged a horde of soldiers, heavily armed, who descended into the valley floor with Kell marching alongside a huge man bearing a mace.
"Looks like a bunch of murderous cutthroats to me," muttered Saark, then gave a sly smile. "As you say. Your grandfather."
"Don't be like that! He's done it! He's brought more soldiers!"
Nienna ran off ahead, boots ploughing through fresh soft snow, an almost childish look on her face which made Saark blush as he remembered the past week and the things they'd done. Nothing fazed Nienna. Saark had to admit, she gave him a run for his money.
Saark watched as Nienna leapt at the old man, throwing her arms about him, and he laughed and hugged her tight, shifting Ilanna to one side out of the way where sunlight gleamed on the dark matt blades.
If he finds out, I'm a dead man. No. More. If he finds out, he'll beat me, then he'll torture me, then he'll cut me up into little pieces! He'll tear off my arms and cut off my balls. Saark clutched his balls with compassion. And I don't ever want to lose my balls. I like my balls. After all… He grimaced. My balls are my best feature.
Saark moved across the snow, signalling to Grak the Bastard to stand down the men. As Saark approached, Kell grinned at him and cracked his knuckles. "I see you, dandy."
"Somebody hit you?" Saark squinted at the damage.
"People always hit me," said Kell.
"I see somebody broke your nose. You look better for it."
"Yes," said Kell, and gestured to Dekkar, the Blacklipper King. "We had a few, shall we say, disagreements. But then the vampires attacked the Valleys of the Moon, and it all worked out right in the end."
Saark nodded, grinning. "Nice to meet you, Dekkar." Saark held out his hand. Dekkar simply stared at him, as a lion would if presented with a potato. "Ahh, I see, you employ the old school of ignorance just like our big stinking friend here."
Dekkar leaned close to Kell. "Shall I silence this yapping puppy?"
"No, no, he's all right. He's always like this. You get used to him."
"I do not think I will," said Dekkar, scowling and hefting his huge mace.
"Hey," said Saark, scowling, "I'm here, you know, right here in front of you, now I'm used to people talking about me behind my back but this just isn't on. You wouldn't get this sort of thing in the Court of King Leanoric, I can tell you!"
"Did he look after you?" said Kell, to Nienna.
"He looked after me," she said, voice small, but thankfully Kell was looking away, surveying the army of criminals as presented by Saark. So he missed the blush. He missed Nienna's subtle tone of voice. Saark scowled at her, then waved up the slope.
"We trained them. Just like you said. And although I'd like to take all the credit, in fact I shall take all the credit, but maybe a little of the credit must go to Grak. He's a bastard, but he knows a thing or two about formations, and training men, and getting the best out of them."
"Stop babbling," said Kell.
"But. We had, er, a couple of problems."
"Such as?"
They watched Grak striding down the slope, dragging with him the unwilling figure of Myrtax. The man was struggling, and his hands were bound before him.
"It wasn't my fault, Kell," said Myrtax, red and sweating.
"Explain."
"He let Sara go," said Saark, voice low. "Killed the guards. Released her into the night."
"Horse shit," snarled Kell, "now the fucking vampires will know what we plan! Why did you do it, Myrtax? Why?"
"I was… I lost control!"
With a snarl, Kell hefted Ilanna and in a sudden stroke cut off Myrtax's head. There came a stunned silence, a pattering of blood, and the body flopped to one side, the head rolling to a stop in crimson snow.
"Why did you do that?" cried Nienna, suddenly, stepping back from Kell, face twisted in horror.
"He was a traitor, with a direct bloody link to the Vampire Warlords," growled the old warrior, and stared hard at Nienna. "I'm sorry. I seem to have lost control." He gave a grim smile, and pointed with a stubby, powerful finger. "Now stop asking damn fool questions and get back up the hill to Grak. We have a lot to do, and because of this offal," he spat, "we need to move fast. Saark!"
"Yes sir!" He snapped to attention, then slumped again. He pulled a pained face. "Did I really call you sir? Shit. Something bad must have got into me."
"And indeed," said Kell, voice low, temper now gone, mind drifting into a mood for battle, "something bad will get into you if you don't listen. She's called Ilanna, and she takes no prisoners. We will march east on Jalder. It's not a complex plan. You finished all the weapons? And collars?"
"All done," said Saark. "The smiths worked through many a night. Do you think they'll be effective?"
"If they don't, we'll soon be dead," said Kell. "Let's use what remains of the daylight and close down a few leagues; we can talk and plan tonight. GRAK!"
"Sir?" bellowed the bearded warrior.
"Let's move out."
"Yes, General!" bellowed Grak, and leading three thousand armoured convicts, now bearing swords and shields and helms of polished steel, they descended into the valley churning snow to mud.
Kell glanced down at Myrtax. He was touched by sorrow for a moment. The man had a wife. And little ones. But then Kell's heart went hard. For Myrtax would have sold them all out for his own safety. His cowardice had become his undoing… And a lesson had to be shown to the many fighting men around Kell: that traitors would not be tolerated. Dealt with swiftly. Harshly. Without mercy.
"Goodbye, old friend," he said.
Governor Myrtax continued to bleed in
to the snow.
The two new Divisions of Falanor men moved in discrete units. The Black Pike Mine men were grim, it had to be said; but not as grim as the Blacklippers, who considered themselves born to die.
Grak and Saark headed one column, and Kell and Dekkar the other. Nienna rode with Saark, and though this irked Kell, he accepted it. She was upset with him for killing Governor Myrtax, and one day, he knew, she would understand his act. Now was not a time to be planning. Now was a time for action.
After half a day's marching, when they stopped by the edge of a young forest to refill waterskins and eat hurried meals of oats and dried biscuits, Kell strode to Saark. "We'll be joined soon by an old friend," he said, and frowned, feeling like an intruder on Saark and Nienna's conversation. Saark grinned up at him, but Nienna's face remained set in a frown.
"What, old friend?" she said.
"Myriam."
"What?" spluttered Saark, spitting watery biscuit down his pink shirt, "I'll kill the bitch, I'll rip off her head and piss down her neck! The bitch! The back-stabbing whore!"
"No," said Kell, and squatted down beside his friend. "In the Valleys of the Moon, I was dead, lad. About to be slaughtered by that huge fucker," he gestured to the mighty figure of Dekkar, who was talking quietly with some of the most senior Blacklippers and examining a steel collar. "Myriam had been following me. She came to my rescue. Without her, Saark, Nienna, I would be dead."
"She betrayed us, grandfather," said Nienna, softly.
Kell shrugged. "Then she rescued me. She redeemed herself."
"Does that mean you'll cut off her head, like poor Myrtax?"
" Poor Myrtax stuck a knife through the ribs of a good soldier. That man had a family, Nienna. Little girls, by all accounts. Little girls who will grow up without their father thanks to the betrayal of Myrtax. And down to his big mouth and runny brain, we might all well be walking into a trap at Jalder. This game has not played out yet."
