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.
Dandall stood, stunned, as Jagor Mad grunted and heaved himself back onto the stage. His face was battered, a diagonal line of blood crossing from one eye to his jaw, and his eyes held murder.