Vampire Warlords: The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles (41 page)

  "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."