Vampire Warlords

CHAPTER 14

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.

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 Harvesters?" 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.

"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 like 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 claws 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.

"Kell comes from the north," said Graal.

"We head south," said Skanda.

"Kell has an army, now," said Graal. "That's what the patrol told us. Maybe five thousand men. Maybe more."

"Our priority is Vor," said Skanda. "Meshwar will be driven back. We need that city."

"And what of Kell?"

Skanda smiled, black teeth glistening. He reached out, and patted Graal's arm. "Don't worry. You shall have your time. You shall have your chance. And you shall have revenge."

Skanda turned, and a high-pitched squeal reverberated throughout the valley. The Ankarok turned south, and like a buzzing plague of insects, headed through the forests… and towards the unsuspecting Army of Silver.