by Andy Remic
"There must be ten thousand!" snapped Grak, who had come up close behind him.
"Fuck," said Kell. "You're right." His hands were slippery on Ilanna. He turned swiftly on Grak. "You know what to do," he said.
Grak nodded, and ran back to the men. "Shield wall!" he screamed. "Long spears at the ready."
"Time for us to move, old horse," said Saark, and there was fear in his face, nestled in his eyes like golden tears.
"Yes. I know. I might be hard," said Kell, "but I ain't stupid."
They turned, and as the vampires let out a mammoth screeching roar that filled the plain from end to end with a terrible decaying sound, and charged at the army of convicts and Blacklippers, so Kell and Saark pounded back to their battle lines and the shield walls opened to allow them in. They took up their positions, each taking a long spear and bracing themselves.
"Hold steady now, lads," growled Grak, and his voice carried through the ranks, strong and steady. "Let 'em come to us! Let 'em fall on us!"
The shield wall held.
Fear washed through the men, like a plague.
Snow fell from winter skies, as dark as twilight.
The vampires charged. The front ranks slammed the men of Falanor. Vampires hit the wall of shields, which opened at the last second at a scream from Grak the Bastard, and spears slammed through piercing flesh, throats and necks and groins and hearts and eyes, and the first rank of vampires went down thrashing and screaming, spewing blood and black oil vomit, and the spears withdrew and then struck out again, and again, and again, and waves of vampires went down falling over their brethren, but the wall was wide, too wide, and on both sides the vampire charge swung around like enveloping horns, attacking the men of Falanor from three sides now. The Blacklippers and convicts from the Black Pike Mines were strong, grim men, and although they were not soldiers, they held their ground, and they slaughtered the vampires, and the snow was slippery with blood in minutes, in seconds. A breach appeared to Kell's left, a vampire slashing a man's throat and squeezing into their fighting square of armour and spears, and Kell's Svian was out, slamming into the creature's eye and it fell with a gurgle. "Breach!" screamed Kell, as more vampires poured into the hole in the fighting wall. Short swords stabbed out, but the vampires were fast, and strong, their claws sharp, claws like razors. They fought with tooth and claw. They ripped out throats, and ripped off heads using incredible strength. Snarls echoed through the Falanor men. Screams wailed up from the mud, down amongst tramping boots and the fallen. Kell used his Svian, for Ilanna was strapped to his back, too big and hefty for close-quarters combat. He grabbed a short sword from a fallen man as a vampire leapt, an old woman with yellow eyes. He shoved the sword point into her mouth, and down into lungs and heart, ripping it out in a shower of bone and blood which covered him. Snarls sounded in his ear. Kell whirled about, but Saark skewered the vampire through the back, through its heart. Smoke came out of its ears, and it lay whining in the mud until Kell stabbed it through the spine at the base of its skull. A vampire hit Saark from behind, and Kell cut off its arm. Saark stabbed it through the eye, its punctured eyeball emerging from the back of its head. Blood bubbled and splattered across the struggling men. Kell saw their fighting square was faltering, and with sword and Svian, waded into the breach. A vampire hit him in the chest, and he head-butted it, his broken nose flaring in agony, and his Svian cut up into its groin. He felt a warm flush of blood cascade over his fist and he pushed, heaving deeper. Another two vampires leapt, and coolly Kell sliced a throat and stabbed one in the eye, but there were more, always more, and five had widened the gap, ripping off the heads of convicts with dull cracks and twists and splatters. Kell and Saark launched at them, boots slipping, screaming and shouting as snarls filled their ears, but these vampires had swords and metal on metal rang, the discordant clash of steel, a song of battle, a symphony of slaughter, and Kell hacked like mad and a blade whistled in front of his eyes making him step back, as a vampire landed on his shoulders and he reached up, dragging it to the floor and kneeling on its throat to stab out its eyes. Then Dekkar was beside him, had fought his way alongside Kell and there was a space around him and Kell saw why. Dekkar's huge flanged mace whirled with a sullen whine, and caved in the brains of a vampire, crushing its head down into a compact bone platter. Another blow killed a second, then a third, then a fourth and fifth and Kell leapt forward, Ilanna sliding free and together Kell and Dekkar reigned bloody slaughter on the vampires, forcing them back through the breach of the shield wall, back onto the snowswirling plain. They stepped out beyond their comrades, Dekkar's mace whirling and crushing, Ilanna singing now, a high pitched song like the voice of a woman, a beautiful woman, a sorrowful woman, and Kell felt himself tumbling into that pit, into that dark blood pit and he was back, back there, back in that place, back in the fucking Days of Blood and it feels good it feels right and they fall before the axe before Ilanna before her blades, and none can stand before me, not man, woman, beast, or fucking vampire and Kell's axe slammed left, and right, twin decapitations, and heads spun up into the sky on geysers of blood. Ilanna cut one vampire in two from crown to crotch, body peeling apart like halved fruit, necrotic bowel sliding free like diseased oil snakes. She slammed left, smashing ribs and leaving a vampire writhing in the mud where Dekkar's mace crushed the woman's face. In the same swing, Ilanna drove right, removing a vampire's legs. The man floundered, walking for a moment on stumps before being consumed by mud and snow and blood. Dekkar and Kell fought on, oblivious now to the widening circle around them, and although the rest of the vampires fought on, attacking with raw screeching ferocity, they were thinning. A child leapt at Dekkar, and he swayed back but could not kill. It landed on the Blacklipper King's chest, fangs snapping forward for his throat. Ilanna caught the child vampire on one blade, tossing it back into the vampire horde. Dekkar flashed Kell a smile, and Kell, covered from head to boot in vampire blood and gore, gave a nod. There was no smile. In his head, he was in a different place. Then…
A cheer went up.
Kell staggered, and righted himself. He started to breathe, and realised he was panting, and the world slid back into focus and it was a grim place. The vampires retreated, and reformed their ranks, and their dead lay scattered in their hundreds, a semi-circle around the fighting square of Falanor men.
"Grak!" screamed Kell.
"I'm on it!"
Grak started reorganising the men, and from behind came stretcher-bearers, removing the wounded. Wails and screams echoed over the battlefield. The vampires watched in silence, like kicked dogs licking their wounds. Licking their balls.
Kell, a gore-coated demon, gathered Dekkar, Grak and Saark to him. "You know what must happen now."
Saark took Kell's hand, wrist to wrist in the warrior's grip. "Be swift, my friend."
Kell nodded, and moved back into the ranks, and removed his bearskin jerkin, handing it to a huge man named Mallabar. The man carried an axe, an axe that looked similar to Ilanna and which had been forged at the Black Pike Mines.
"Fight well," growled Kell.
"Be lucky," growled Mallabar.
"I don't believe in luck," said Kell, and thumped the large man on the arm. "I make my own."
And then Kell was gone, to the rear of the thousands of fighting men where several horses waited. He rode up the hill, towards the women and Myriam and Nienna. He heeled his mount to a stop, and Nienna stared up at him, face hard and white, eyes like stones.
"I had to do it," said Kell.
"You could have taken her prisoner," snapped Nienna.
"One day, you will understand."
"Today, I understand."
"And what do you understand, girl?" growled Kell.
"I finally understand your Legend," said Nienna.
Cursing, Kell put heels to flank, and the horse sped away over the hill, and circled to the south, away from the battlefield. Snow fell thickly. Kell rode hard, the stallion snorting and protesting at his weight and ab
use. Kell slammed along, knowing that time was of the essence. The army was terribly outnumbered, and although they were fighting bravely, they would only last so long against so many enemies…
Kell entered a snowy forest, and before long could hear the trickle of a frozen stream. Hooves cracked ice, and Kell was across and galloping hard once more. Steam rose from the stallion's flanks, and the beast was labouring hard as they reached the next rise and Kell dismounted. He crouched low, eyes scanning the southern wall of Jalder. His mind was sharp with memories of Sara, the little girl on the black pony, and the laughing face of King Leanoric. In older times. Happier times. Times now gone…
There!
Kell moved through the snow, thinking back to Saark, and Grak, and Dekkar, Nienna and Myriam. Even now, Grak should be organising the women, the archers, to advance to the rear of the fighting square. They had been training hard in previous weeks, and Kell was sure they would inflict a terrible damage on the vampires…
Kell grimaced. He hoped they could hold out.
Kell crouched in a ditch by the tunnel entrance, and scowled. There were thick steel bars, thicker than anything he could ever bend. They had been wrenched open, violently outwards, as if by some terrible, powerful blast. Of one thing Kell was sure: whatever slammed through those bars turning them into splayedout spikes and giving him a secret opening into Jalder – well, whatever it was, it wasn't human.
Kell squinted into the darkness. "Shit," he muttered, and hefted the solid haft of Ilanna.
I am with you, she said.
"That's what I'm worried about," muttered the old warrior, and touched one of the bars. It felt warm, and warm air drifted from the tunnel. Would it have rats? Or… something more sinister. Kell shrugged, and grinned. "Fuck it." Whatever's down here, it can't be more terrible than me!
"Kell! Wait!"
Kell cursed, and turned slowly, glancing up the icecovered slope. It was Myriam, on foot and holding her longbow in one hand. Kell's eyes dropped to her waist, where a Widowmaker was sheathed. Kell licked his lips. He'd forgotten Myriam used to carry such a weapon, a multi-loading hand-held crossbow, powered by clockwork and packing an awesome punch. It was with such a weapon Nienna's friend, Kat, had been murdered by one of Myriam's former colleagues. The memory was fresh in Kell's mind, like a bright stain of crimson against his soul. In some ways, he blamed Myriam. And that weapon. That dirty weapon. That underhand weapon. Kell hated it with every drop of acid in his soul.
"What do you want?"
"I've come to help."
"You'll get in my way."
"I need to help, Kell! All those men dying back there, and a lot of this shit, it's my fault."
"Then go and fight in the battle!" hissed Kell, whirling on her. His eyes were flashing like dark jewels. "You'll get in my way! I can carry no baggage."
"Baggage, is it?" she snapped, and was close to him, and her hand slid down his thigh and he groaned, and the blade pressed against Kell's throat. She grinned into his face. "This baggage got close enough to cut your fucking windpipe out."
"I could kill you, you know," said Kell, quietly.
"I know. But what a thrill, yes? It's damn good to be alive!"
Kell looked into her eyes. He saw madness there. He saw a lot of things there. He wasn't sure he fully understood Myriam. She wasn't just complex, but unpredictable and wild. It was this which attracted him to her. This which made him interested in women again… after so long. One woman, he corrected himself. One woman.
Once, in the marshes of the east, Kell had been attacked by a wild kroug cat, a stinking shaggy beast which roamed the marshes using secret paths. Kell was in the army at the time, and as his regulation short sword slid through its belly, up into lungs and heart, so their eyes had been inches apart, Kell punched onto his back, the dying, bleeding cat above him, foul breath caressing him, entering him, a kiss from the other side of sanity. Myriam's eyes reminded him of that wild cat. Untameable. Living on the edge, dangerous, truly a creature of chaos.
Kell grinned. "You can move your hand off my leg, now."
"Do you want me to?"
"No," sighed Kell, and relaxed, and Myriam stepped back and sheathed her blade. The Widowmaker hung at her belt, longbow on her back. She was tall and fit and athletic. Kell could still taste her breath on his tongue. "Later," he muttered.
"So I can come?"
"I don't believe I have any choice."
"No, old man. You do not. Lead the way!"
"You've not dragged bloody Nienna along as well, have you? Last bloody thing I need is half my family jumping out at inopportune moments. Makes it a bit difficult to hunt vampires."
"And Vampire Warlords."
"Indeed, yes."
They crouched, watching, then eased into the tunnel. The warm air was disconcerting after the cold of the snow and ice. It was quiet in the tunnel, dry as the desert. Kell touched the walls. "What was this place?"
"An escape tunnel for royalty," said Myriam, and when Kell looked at her, she shrugged. "I think it is, although these things are not really publicised. No?"
"I forgot. You fucked your way into all sorts of academic secrets back in Vor. In your quest to survive."
"That's all any of us want," she whispered.
They crept through long, dusty tunnels, thick with grime and smelling stale, with a tangy scent, like raw abused metal. The stonework was ancient, and carved into baroque curves and flutes which made Kell frown. Why make carvings down here? Where nobody could see and enjoy? He got a sense these tunnels had an ancient story to tell; something he would never discover.
After an hour Kell could smell fresh air. The tunnel abruptly ended at an ancient, iron ladder, leading up to far distant daylight. Snow fell down through the aperture, and Kell welcomed it, breathing deep after the confines of the tunnel. He hated tunnels. Hated enclosed spaces. It reminded him too much of the grave…
"Is it safe?" said Myriam.
Kell laughed.
"What?" she said.
"There's three Vampire Warlords on the loose converting thousands into vampires; there's a battle raging on the snowy plains outside Jalder. And you're worried about a ladder?"
"I just don't want to be entombed," she said, quietly.
"Hmm." Kell started to climb, and the ladder shook, but held under his considerable weight. Myriam followed, and they appeared on the roof of a warehouse, emerging and crouching by a low stone wall. Distantly, they could hear the sounds of battle. The vampires were once again assaulting the lines of the new Falanor army.
"Which way?" said Myriam.
Kell pointed. The Blue Palace reared, and in the diffused light of the gentle snowstorm, looked ugly, gothic, ancient and evil. Kell shivered, as if with premonition. Bad things were going to happen here. Very bad things.
"We can go over the rooftops, to… there." She pointed. Kell nodded. "Come on. This is my area of expertise."
They moved, climbing a sloped roof to a ridgeline and then halting. Kell glanced over the walls which surrounded Jalder. He could see the old garrison, once housing one of King Leanoric's Eagle Divisions; now deserted, the cobbles no doubt stained with the blood of the slain.
Kell glanced back, down the hill towards the river, and saw the tiny square of his old house. His heart skipped a beat. You've come full circle, old man. You're back where you started. Back in Jalder. Back where the Army of Iron invaded. Where the ice-smoke drifted out and took so many lives, froze so many innocent people to be just cattle for the bloodthirsty vachine…
He glanced at Myriam. Vachine.
He shook his head.
We must go, said Ilanna, her words soft and drifting through his skull. Kuradek awaits.
And you want his blood?
I want him to taste the Chaos Halls. To go back to where he belongs…
Kell stood, but Myriam touched his arm. "Wait. Look."
Kell glanced back to the distant battle. The vampires had pulled back. The men of Falanor, no doubt u
nder instruction from Saark, Grak and Dekkar, were reorganising their lines. But then Kell saw something that made his heart leap into his mouth. By the gates of Jalder were Harvesters… a line of Harvesters, and their hands were above their heads, eyes fixed on the Falanor men… and around their feet swirled and billowed a huge globe of pulsing ice-smoke.
"Horse shit," snarled Kell, his eyes bleak. And as his gaze drifted, through the falling snow, as if by instinct he looked to the north and saw the army that appeared through the haze. They marched in unity, black armour gleaming under winter sunlight, black helms and black swords proud and Kell's mouth went terribly dry. He could see they were an albino army, very much like the Army of Iron which had first taken Jalder. And they, combined with the summoning ice-smoke at the feet of the Harvesters before Jalder's gates… well, it did not bode well for the men of Falanor.
"Come on!" hissed Myriam.
"Look," said Kell, voice bleak, tears in his eyes. How could they battle such magick? How could they go to war against such evil – and even hope to win?
"They will fight," snarled Myriam. "They will stand strong! Come! We have our own path. Come on!"
They hurried across the rooftops, and Myriam signalled a place to climb to the ground. The streets were deserted, most vampires obviously out on the plain already fighting the Blacklippers and criminals of Falanor. Kell stood on the cobbles, and felt foolish. He felt lost. He felt a cold flood of desolation through his soul.
Kill Kuradek, said Ilanna. You must do it! Now!
Kell grasped the axe, and ground his teeth. They moved to a high iron gate set in a stone wall and grown about with wild white roses. The gate was open. It was almost as if Sara had anticipated their route, and Kell smiled at that.
They moved down paths, and into the cool interior of the palace. High chambers were empty, but showed many signs of destruction. Polished wooden floors were scarred with hundreds of gouges from claws, and furniture lay in smashed heaps, vases shattered, bronze cups twisted and crushed and scattered; everything showed signs of decadence, of destruction, of disrespect.
