Vampire Warlords: The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles (22 page)

  "As I said, is there anybody you've met who you didn't try and kill?"

  "No. I don't have it in me."

  "That's what I thought you'd say. Oh, look Kell, up go the gallows. Hurrah!" Ten men laboured to erect a huge post, which was then strapped into position and secured with cross-struts. The sound of hammering echoed across the flat ground. Kell's face was grim.

  "No need to be so happy about it."

  "Hey, I'm pretty sure it's designed for me as well, mate. You're not the only one with the honour of being an enemy of the new Black Pike Mine Governors."

  "Yeah. Well. We should rest. Going to need all our strength, later, aren't we."

  "You really think you can convince them?"

  "I hope so," said Kell. "All our lives depend on it."

"Wake up, you fucking bastards." It was Jagor Mad, growling through the evening gloom and between the bars. Snow was falling. Both Kell and Saark awoke, weary, groggy, as if they had been drugged. "Come on, quick, before I call a man with a crossbow."

  Kell stood, and stretched languorously, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. "Yeah. Well, lad, that would be your way now, wouldn't it? Shoot us through the bars, in the fucking back, just like the coward piece of sliced horse dick you really are. But look, out there. All your pussy lickers are waiting, watching you. And you know you have to play the game, or some bastard will stick you in your sleep. Not that you don't get that every night, eh Saark?" Kell nudged Saark, who gave a nervous laugh, eyes fixed on the pure hate and rage that filled the trembling Jagor Mad standing before them.

  "You will eat those words, Axeman," spat Jagor.

  "Show me!"

  "Your time will come, soon enough! On the end of a fucking rope!"

  "Like that'll stop me," snarled Kell, moving close. Suddenly, he grabbed Jagor through the bars and dragged the huge bear close. Jagor Mad struggled, but despite his prodigious strength Kell was his match. Jagor's face slammed the bars, and Kell pushed his nose against his enemey's as his hands flapped and slapped, and grappled for his sword. When Kell spoke, his words were a low growl, so only he, Jagor and Saark could hear. "I could kill you, Big Man, right here, right now, bite off your fucking nose, put out your fucking eyes and you'd be screaming and then you'd be dead, and you fucking know it, you worthless worm." He pushed Jagor roughly back, just as sword cleared scabbard. The blade rang against the bars, and Jagor was in an uncontrollable rage.

  "Wise?" enquired Saark, backing away as Jagor Mad fumbled with the locks.

  "Is anything in this world?" snapped Kell. "Or would you rather dance on the end of a rope?"

  "Calm," said Dandall, and a hand appeared on Jagor Mad's shoulder, and there were muttered words and the huge Governor strode away, face scarlet. Dandall opened the locks, and behind him were ten crossbow men, all grinning.

  "Give up the tricks now, Kell. You're going on trial for your crimes. Either that, or ten bolts in your belly. You decide."

  "I'll come quiet," said Kell, "although it isn't my way."

  "Oh yes. The Legend." Dandall gave a slick sneer. "Well, it won't get you far in these parts. Not with these men. They like a good hanging, y'see? They like a bit of entertainment to pass away the long, cold winter evenings."

  Kell and Saark stepped from their cage. Wind caught them, chilled them, thrilled them. It ruffled Kell's hair and beard, and he flexed his powerful fingers and looked around, like a wild beast in its first few seconds of release. Then he looked down, to where three thousand convicts crowded at the front of the now finished stage and gallows. Kell gave a grim smile. Everybody knew this was a farce, a stage-show; there would be no real trial, just a performance and then some killing. Kell took a deep breath. So be it, he thought.

  Kell and Saark were guided down the rocky path, and Kell glanced left. He could see Nienna, clutching the bars of her own cell and watching, face small, white, filled with fear. Kell tried to give her an encouraging smile, but a spear butt jabbed him in the back of the head and he stumbled. Kell stopped, and turned. The man stared at him.

  "Do that again, and I'll make you eat it, point first," growled Kell.

  The man swallowed, and took a step back.

  Dandall laughed. "Don't let the old fool scare you. He knows he can't outrun or outfight crossbow bolts; and at the end of the day, we have his granddaughter. Nienna. And the fun we could have with that pretty sweet slab of meat." Dandall licked his lips. "After all, Kell knows how skilled I am with a variety of blades. And if we were to give Nienna over to Grey Tail there, well," he chuckled, and sniffed the air as if sniffing the aroma of a fine cooking stew, "mmmm, I'm sure there's bits that would taste sweeter than she looks!"

  Kell made a guttural growling sound, but said no more. He marched forward, down the path to be swallowed between the jeering, shouting crowd of men. Many punched and kicked out as he passed, but Kell ignored the blows, and marched with head held high, reaching the stage and pausing just for a second to stare up the steps, at the huge thick beam supporting the gallows and a gently swinging noose. Kell gave a sickly, wry smile. He'd sent enough men to be hanged under the supervision of King Leanoric. How ironic, it had come to this!

  Kell mounted the steps, and Saark was jabbed up after him. Their boots were hollow, echoing on the planks as they were pushed forward and made to kneel. To one side, ten thick, hand-carved chairs had been set in a semi-circle, and now another seven men approached and mounted a second set of steps, taking their places in the chairs with as much regal air as they could muster. They were old, most of them, and wearing rich clothes and thick gold jewellery. Their eyes were bleak and cold – except for one man, on the end, Governor Myrtax, who was trembling, and kept his head low, eyes studiously ignoring Kell. It was clear he was being coerced, but Kell felt a twinge of disappointment that the man had no backbone. Kell sneered at him, and gazed out on the crowd.

  Thousands of faces. Filled with hate. Shouting, and sneering, crying and bellowing. Fists were punching the air. Their hate rolled out and encompassed Kell and he absorbed it, and he used it. He revelled in it. He used it to
focus
. It reminded him of fighting in the
pit.

  Now, Grey Tail and Jagor Mad approached, and took their seats, leaving one final chair free for Dandall who stood, and raised his hands, and gradually the cacophonous roaring cheering noise subsided.

  "Men and women of Black Pike Mines!" he cried, and another roar went up and Kell's fists clenched. He glanced over at Saark, who was visibly pale, and trembling. Saark licked his lips and gave Kell a worried smile. Vachine or no, Saark would die in this place. No extra strength or speed could aid him against such numbers. A crowd like this, they were a killing crowd, a lynching mob. They wanted blood, and wouldn't be happy until they had it – even if that meant each other's.

  "Hang 'em!" shouted a man near the front, a man with a thick beard and small dark eyes.

  "Yeah, we want to see them dance!" cried another.

  Kell squared himself to the crowd, and allowed himself to smile. "Why don't you come up here and do it yourself, fucker?" he snarled. "Or have you lost your balls in that face full of beard?"

  A roar of laughter rippled through the crowd and Kell grinned. "You are all fools," he said, and the laughter stopped in an instant. "You sit here in the place that imprisoned you, frightened to move, frightened to leave, frightened to fucking
fart
, and you have no idea what's turning in the real world outside!"

  "Shut up!" snapped Dandall. "You are here for trial. A trial to determine your death, so I advise you to be silent when I tell you."

  "A trial?" roared Kell, and saw Jagor Mad surge from his seat, face red, fists clenched but Grey Tail held him back. "What petty nonsense. And to be honest, Dandall, I don't give a shit about your trial. I reckon you'll all be dead, soon enough."

  "What do you mean?" rumbled the bearded man from the front of the audience.

  "STOP!" roared Jagor Mad. "This is OUR day, the day when Kell the Legend,
defender of the rich, arse-kisser to nobility, fucker of Queens, the day when he DIES!"

  Kell laughed. His voice was low, but carried to every man in the audience. "If you want me dead so bad, Jagor Mad, why not come do it yourself? Here. Right now."

  "I will!" thundered the huge man. "Who do you think will be dropping you on the end of that noose?"

  Kell spat out laughter once more. "Just what I thought of you, Jagor. A coward and a lick-spittle, spineless, chicken, hiding behind the decisions of others, hiding behind a hangman's horse shit when out there in Jalder and Vor and Gollothrim the Vampire Warlords have returned, they're killing all your people, your friends, and families, infecting them with vampire poison, turning them into vampire slaves!"

  A murmur ran through the audience, and Jagor strode forward and hit Kell with a mighty right hook. Kell did not go down, but instead stared hard at Jagor, blood at the corner of his mouth. "Go on!" he bellowed, "show them what you can do to a man with his hands tied! What a hero! What a warrior! A man to be feared – by chickens!"

  Again, laughter ran through the crowd and Jagor went red with embarrassment and anger. "You want to fight me, old man? You want to fight, here and now, and the loser hangs? Then so fucking be it."

  Silence reigned. The falling snow hissed gently in a diagonal sleet.

  "That would be unfair," said Kell, voice rumbling out slow and measured, a performance as good as any Saark had ever seen. Kell turned to face the crowd. He acknowledged that
they
held the power in this comedy trial; they would demand what they wanted, and would get it through strength in numbers. Kell stared at three thousand faces, hard men, criminals, men who'd survived the mines for many years, the hard manual labour making them stronger, more brutal in a struggle for simple survival. Kell smiled. He glanced at Jagor Mad. "You, on your own, ha, you would be far too easy. I would fight you, Dandall and Grey Tail! All at once. And if I win, I get to speak to the crowd. I tell them of the Vampire Warlords, and the carnage sweeping the real world."

  "They don't want to hear your bedtime stories, you old fuck," snarled Jagor Mad. "They want to see blood!"

  "Let's show them," said Kell, and lifted his bound hands. "Untie me!"

  "No!" snapped Dandall, striding forward with Grey Tail close at his heel. The three Governors of the Black Pike Mines scowled at Kell. Swiftly, he had changed the dynamic of the trial. The three men almost felt as though
they
were back before the noose. "Kell will hang. That will be an end to it."

  "You scared of him, Dandall?" said the bearded man near the front.

  "Of course I'm not scared of him!"

  "Let him fight you, then. You telling me the three of you can't take one old man?" The crowd started to laugh, and the three Governors exchanged glances. Somehow, the tide had turned. There was hatred for Kell, yes, but it didn't outweigh a lust to watch a good fight. Entertainment, Saark had called it. And he'd been right.

  At that moment, Saark started to make soft clucking chicken noises. More laughter burst out, and Jagor Mad pulled free a curved knife and pointed at Saark. "I'll deal with you later, dandy," then slashed the knife through Kell's ropes.

  Kell moved back, boots pacing the stage as he rolled his shoulders, loosening muscles, wincing a little at the crossbow wound but grinding his teeth and knowing he must show no pain.

  Kell reached the other side of the stage, and turned, and lifted his fists in a stance taken by Shit Pit fighters; a roar went up from the crowd and Dandall placed a hand on Jagor Mad's arm. The three Governors looked at one another, gave a nod, and spread out, eyes narrowed, wary. They knew who Kell was, knew him far too well, far too painfully, and despite appearances they knew what he could do. Kell was a killer, pure and simple. But they were experienced. They'd done this sort of thing before.

  "Come on lads, let's see what you've got."

  Jagor Mad rushed Kell, fists high, purple face filled with hate and rage and spittle flying from lips which thrashed, teeth grinding, and he swung a powerful right hook but Kell swayed back, Jagor's knuckles flashing past his nose, and he slammed his boot into Jagor's groin. As Jagor grunted, and stumbled forward, Kell powered a punch down onto the bridge of the large man's nose and there was a terrible crunch. Jagor hit the planks face first and Kell stepped over him, watching as Dandall and Grey Tail spread even wider apart. They rushed him at once, a concerted attack, and Kell ducked a punch from Dandall, dropping to one knee and ramming his fist into the Governor's stomach, folding him over with an explosion of sour air. In the same movement, his arm powered back and he turned, where Grey Tail had leapt into a kick. Both boots hit Kell in the face, and he grabbed the wiry man's legs and they both went backwards across the doubled-over figure of Dandall, crashing to the boards. Grey Tail slithered around, getting atop Kell and delivering four powerful punches straight to Kell's face before Kell grabbed the man's cock and balls in a single handful, jerking tight, and Grey Tail let out a high-pitched wail as Kell crushed him in one mighty fist, rising to one knee, then to his boots, with Grey Tail dancing and squealing on his tiptoes, "Let go, let go, let go." Kell let go, and slammed a head-butt to his face, dropping the small man and turning into… a punch, which glanced from his cheekbone, and another, which glanced from his temple. Jagor Mad loomed over him, eyes mad with rage, and Kell dodged a third blow and kicked out, boot crunching against Jagor's kneecap and knocking the big man back. Kell stood, and lifted his fists. "It's like fighting three little girls," he spat though saliva and blood. Laughter rippled.

  Dandall leapt at him, but Kell side-stepped, ramming an elbow into the man's face as he swept past, lifting him almost horizontally before Dandall thumped to the boards. Then with a roar, Kell charged at Jagor and delivered six punches, which Jagor managed to block, stepping back and back and back until he reached the edge of the stage, stumbled, his questing boot found nothing but air and he fell, face slapping the edge of the stage before he tumbled back into the crowd, who let out a loud jeer. Kell whirled, into a plank wielded by Grey Tail. The wood slapped his face and Kell went down, coughing, stunned, as Grey Tail set about kicking the large axeman. Kell warded off the blows, rubbed blood out of his eyes, then lunged at Grey Tail, grabbing him by balls and throat, hoisting him into the air and launching him into the crowd, who parted, allowing Grey Tail to land heavily. There was savage
crunch
, and his leg twisted beneath him at a crazy angle. Bone poked through cloth. Blood pooled out. Grey Tail screamed for a few seconds, then passed into a nodoubt welcome realm of unconsciousness.