"Kell, you've got to reach the control panel," a woman was shouting, and Kell turned back to the rocky embankment. He squinted again, and then shook his head. It was Myriam, bow in hand, face earnest.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he yelled.
"Rescuing you, old man! Reach the panel! I can see the core shafts of the bridge, and they're bending, you understand? The whole damn thing is tearing itself free! It's going to fall!" Kell felt the sickness in his stomach rise through him. If the bridge fell into the furnace, well, it was Goodnight Sweet Lady.
Kell started to climb down, hand over hand, the brass warm to his touch. He could see Dekkar struggling beneath him, and his gaze moved first to the control panel, then left, to Ilanna. Kell gritted his teeth, and struggled to the axe. He took her. He cradled her to his chest. She was warm to his touch. She was thankful.
"Kell!" screamed Myriam. He glanced up.
The charging vampires hit the massed Blacklippers in a tight wedge, and he saw, saw heads sail up into the air and heard the vampires' high-pitched keening, realising with rising gorge that they were laughing, fucking laughing as they slaughtered. The swords of battle rang across the Valleys of the Moon. Steel on steel. Steel biting flesh. Steel breaking bone.
Kell scrabbled across the brass strut. The bridge groaned and shuddered beneath him. He stared at the controls, but there were small dials and levers and he did not understand. He started to press and twist things at random, and the bridge groaned, gears clanked, and there came a horrible, booming tearing sound. The bridge shuddered, and dropped – then in an eerie silence, tilted to one side and began to fall.
Kell hung on for his life, wind and sour sulphur fumes blowing through his hair and bloodied beard, and the edge of the bridge clanged against the edge of the valley floor, but behind him it fell away and then snagged with various metallic tearing sounds. Kell looked up, into Myriam's concerned face. "Shit," he snarled. "I can't believe it's you!"
"Come on. We have only seconds!" She glanced behind herself, fearful of the charging vampires who were cutting a path through the Blacklippers. Men, women and children were slaughtered like diseased cattle. Heads were cut from shoulders, arms and legs from torsos. It was a massacre. It was an abattoir.
Kell scrambled up the brass planks and leapt, catching Myriam's outstretched hand. She was strong. She hauled him up onto the rocky ridge, and Kell whirled, eyes narrowed, staring at the vampires. The Blacklippers had retreated, forming themselves into a fighting square surrounded by the corpses of their friends. Those with shields had made a wall at the front, and the vampires coolly dismounted and watched with interest, smiles staining faces as they lifted bright, silver swords.
"Help me up," he croaked.
Kell jumped, and glared down into Dekkar's face. The huge man was in pain, face twisted and battered and streaked with grime. He had climbed as far as he could, but could not traverse the final leap.
"Why?"
"Because they're slaughtering my people!" screamed Dekkar, and held out his hand.
Kell stared at it. The bridge lurched again, dropping another foot. Great tearing sounds echoed through the rift, and the bridge was vibrating as if alive and fitting. Cogs could be seen, spinning slowly. A huge piston went thunk.
Kell glanced at Myriam. "Hold my belt." She grabbed him, hands like iron shackles, and he knelt, leaning forward, hand outstretched. His eyes met Dekkar's. "You'll have to jump."
"Can I trust you?"
"No. But you have little choice."
Dekkar growled an ancient curse, and leapt…
Kell leant, and the two men grabbed one another, wrist to wrist and stayed locked there for a moment, Kell staring down into Dekkar's wild eyes, muscles screaming as they took the weight. Then Kell hissed, and hauled Dekkar up the wall as behind him the huge brass bridge squealed like a woman in pain, and slowly tilted, sliding backwards with a whoosh to vanish into the abyss.
Kell looked down at his hand, and then up into Dekkar's eyes. He noted the big man carried his mace, and he swallowed. Kell always said he took a lot of killing; well, here was a man hewn from the same granite cast.
Dekkar turned, and stared at the vampires. They had dismounted, and were smiling as they advanced on the retreating Blacklippers. He released Kell's grip, and Kell hoisted Ilanna and glanced at Myriam, who drew her own sword.
"It's time for those bastards to die," said Kell.
"Let's fight," growled Dekkar.
They charged across the rocky ground, and the vampires smiled wider until eyes fell on Ilanna. One pointed, but Kell, Dekkar and Myriam crashed into them and Kell's axe lashed out, opening a throat, and on the return swing cutting a vampire's head free from its body. There was an explosion of flesh, and Kell grabbed the hair and hoisted the head up high. "See!" he screamed "They can fucking die! Die, I tell you!" Everything was chaos. The vampires seemed to suddenly shrink back, staring at Kell, and Ilanna, and the severed vampire head with fangs still gnashing and gnawing. Kell launched the head into the pit, and kicked over the body which spewed out foul stinking black blood. Kell waded into the mass, Ilanna hewing left and right, thumping into flesh, spattering him with gore. The vampires attacked him with their inhuman speed but Kell was a demon, moving smoothly, seeming to shift here, twitch there, and claws and swords sailed past him by a hair's breadth, but always by a hair's breadth, and he had some inhuman instinct, some natural grace as if he was in perfect tune with the killers and always slipping beyond their claws. Dekkar was close behind, feeding in Kell's wake. As Kell moved forward through the vampires, Ilanna slamming left and right, so anything that went past was crushed under Dekkar's mighty mace. Myriam, also, moved with incredible vachine speed, sword slamming out, cutting throats and piercing hearts. Some vampires shrivelled into decayed mush. Some crumbled into ash.
In what seemed an instant, Kell broke through their ranks and high-pitched keening rent the air. Five or six fled, leaping onto horses and galloping away only to find a wall of Blacklippers had gathered, and charged at the remaining vampires with swords and axes, cutting them to pieces. Screams pierced the air. Without mercy, the Blacklippers killed the skinless horses, and threw them into the sulphurous rift.
Kell stood for a moment, panting, then whirled on Dekkar. Ilanna came up. Kell's eyes were bright glowing coals without trust.
Dekkar placed his mace head against the ground, and leant heavily on the weapon. Suddenly he looked old, and tired; bone-weary. He smiled weakly at Kell, and rubbed his eyes.
"You did well. For an old man."
"As did you. For a fat bastard."
"Ha! Kell, I think we may have got off to a bad start."
Kell scratched his chin. "You reckon? Maybe I'd have to agree with that one. I came here to warn you about the vampires, about their army gathered at Jalder. I have gathered my own army, and I was coming here to ask you to join."
"What, you would have Blacklippers fight alongside the good men of Falanor?" There was a hint of a sneer to Dekkar. Long-held prejudices could not be erased with ease.
Kell shrugged, and gazed at Ilanna's bloodied blades. They were slick with vampire gore. "My army is made up of criminals, freaks, and convicts from the Black Pike Mines."
Dekkar smiled. "That is good, then. My sort of people."
"Will you come with me?" said Kell. "Will you fight with me?"
Dekkar stared hard at Kell, then past him, to the thousands of gathered Blacklippers. His people. His outcast race. Then he nodded, and lifted his mace into the air. "Gather your weapons!" he roared. "We are going to war!"
A cheer rang out, and Kell turned, face a dark sour hole. Myriam grasped his arm and they walked away from the cheering Blacklippers to stare out, past the destroyed bridge and the torn clockwork moorings that were all that remained.