"They'll be heavy for the archers to fire," said a big man, with thunderous brows, shoulders like an ox, and a certain distinct look of eagles about him.
"Yes," nodded Kell, "but they'll also have a lot more impact. And believe me, we'll need that for these vampire bastards. They'll take some killing, if they're anything like their dirty, blood-sucking vachine brethren."
"Steady on, Kell," said Saark, sounding a little injured.
"Just telling it how it is."
"The men who came in last night," said the large smith. "They said three vampires wiped out near forty of their friends. They managed to kill one, and after a long struggle they captured the other two. That means these creatures are pretty brutal, if you ask me."
Kell nodded. "They're brutal, I reckon. But they also prey on naivety. If we know what we're fighting, and we know how to kill 'em, and we have some protection – I reckon we can take the fight to them. Another thing we need," he looked around to check he wasn't overheard, "we need steel collars."
"Like a dog collar?"
"Aye. Only these stop the bastards getting their fangs in your throat. You understand?"
"How thick do you want them?"
"About half a thumb-length."
"They'll be uncomfortable. Chafing, like."
"Not as uncomfortable as having your throat torn out and strewn across Valantrium Moor."
"I take your point. Although I'm not sure the men will wear them."
"They will. And those that won't, when they see a friend spewing blood they'll soon change their minds."
"What's the best way to kill these vampires?" asked the small man.
Kell jabbed his thumb towards Saark. "Lads. This is Saark. He's an, er, an expert on the vachine, and indeed, that makes him more of an expert on the Vampire Warlords than any of us could ever be. Any more questions about killin' 'em, ask Saark here. I know he looks like an accident in a tart's parlour, but he knows his stuff. I'm off, I need to speak to my daughter."
" Kell! " snapped Saark, frowning.
"What is it, lad?"
"You're leaving me here? With these?"
"Hey, you chose to dress like a sweat-slippery whore in a disreputable tavern." Kell grinned, and slapped Saark on the back. "Don't worry, lad! If they bugger you rancid, I'll hear the screams and come running to your rescue!"
"Kell!"
"Just remember, some of these blokes have been locked up for years without a quim as tasty as yours."
"Kell, my entire sense of humour has gone!"
"Good. Because now is not the time for jokes; now is the time for killing. Tell them what you know, and tell them well. One day soon, our lives will rest on these men."
Saark swallowed, and turned, and looked at the forty hefty labourers with dark eyes under dark brows. A cold wind howled down from the mountains, and from the corner of his eye Saark observed Kell stride away. What a bastard. A bastard's bastard.
One of the smiths stepped forward. His two front teeth were missing, and his forearms were as wide as Saark's thighs. "Is that really a pink silk shirt you're wearing, boy?" he rumbled, voice so deep it was like an earthquake beneath the Black Pikes.
Saark drew his rapier. He smiled. "Gentlemen. Allow me to begin your education," he said.
• • • •
As Kell strode across the rocky earth towards the cells built into the mountainside, Governor Myrtax joined him, jogging a little to keep up with Kell's warrior stride.
"They will work for you?"
"Aye," said Kell. He stopped, and looked across to the smaller man. "I want you to oversee production. I want as many labourers as possible helping make armour and weapons and shields. When we go into battle, each man must have the best, for the fight will be savage indeed."
"Do you think we can win?"
Kell looked Myrtax straight in the eye. "No," he said.
"Then why fight?"
"Why indeed."
"This is insane, Kell! Madness! You say these Vampire Warlords are all-powerful. I saw those vampires the men from Jalder brought in; and they killed forty people! We cannot stand against such odds."
"But it matters that we stand," said Kell, his voice low. "Now tell me, what did you do with Jagor Mad?"
Myrtax pointed. "He's in those cells over there. With the other bastard so-called Governors. Why? Are you going to kill him?" There was a strange gleam in Myrtax's eye that Kell did not like. Kell grimaced.
"No. I need his help."
"His… help?" Myrtax's voice had gone up several octaves. "He'll not help you, Kell, unless it's to throw you in the furnace. He hates you with every ounce of his flesh."
"We'll see. First, I'm going to see my daughter."
"I'll come with you."
Kell stopped again, and turned. "No, Governor. Go to Saark. Help him organise the smiths. Saark is a canny lad, but he's little experience with metallurgy – or indeed, the instruction of people. Especially men. He tends to rile them the wrong way, admittedly by trying to sleep with their wives and virgin daughters, but still. Go. Help me, Myrtax. I cannot do this alone."
The Governor nodded, and hurried off, one hand on his robust and well-fed belly.
Kell continued to walk, glancing up at the skies, a huge pastel canvas of white, ochre and deep slate. Distant, heavy clouds vied for sovereignty. They threatened more snow against the world of Men.
Reaching the cell, Kell saw Sara was alone. The two vampires had been separated through basic mistrust. A wise choice. She watched Kell approach, eyes yellow and narrow, but she did not move from where she lay on the floor, curled like a lizard on a rock in the sun.
Kell sat down an arm's length from the bars, and placed his chin on his fist.
"Sara. What am I going to do with you, eh girl?"
"Knowing you, you'll use that great axe to cut off my head!"
"You are vampire-kind now. Maybe that would be a kindness?"
"My master will find you!" she hissed, suddenly, and leapt at the bars, claws raking out. Kell stayed motionless, and the sharp points of her talons skimmed the end of his nose. For a few moments Sara thrashed and hissed, trying to get to him, to his throat, to his jugular, to spill his blood and drag him like torn offal into her cage where she could gorge and feed… but she could not reach. Kell had judged his distance well. Gradually, she subsided, glancing at him like a sulky child.
"Your master is Kuradek the Unholy?"
"Yes."
"And he has taken Jalder?"
"Go to Hell!"
"You're already there, girl. Help me!"
Kell and Sara stared at one another.
"You know nothing about how I feel," she snapped, eventually, and Kell sat back a little, listening. She eyed him warily. "You were a bad man, Kell. I know your secrets. My mother told me all about you, before she… died." Her eyes narrowed. "And even that event is shrouded by mystery, is it not, great Legend?"
"What happened during the Days of Blood, happened," said Kell, softly. "I am not proud of myself. Not proud of my actions. But I tell you now, there's no need to bring your mother into this. You have reason enough to hate me yourself."
"I can still feel the handprint," she hissed, jabbing a finger at Kell. "Here!" She placed a hand against her face. "It burns me, like a brand, making me a slave to the Great Man, the Great Hero, ha ha! If only the people of Falanor knew the real Kell. The bastard. The wife-beater. The child-beater."
"It was not like that," said Kell, darkly.
"Oh, but it was! You see, it's all about perspective, it's all about purity, and you had neither, you fucking old bastard. You turned on us. All of us. And not just your family, your King and country! Don't you remember? Or has the whiskey rotted your mind as well as your fucking teeth?"