Kell's head came up, and he glared at Jalder – at the silent city. "Come on, you fucking whoresons!" he screamed. "Don't cower in the dark like little girls, come out and face us! Or is Kuradek truly a coward? Is Kuradek the Vampire Pukelord cowering and whimpering in the corner, sucking his own engorged dick and vomiting up his dinner in rank open fear!"
Kell strode back to the ranks and planted Ilanna's haft between his boots. He waited.
Saark sidled forward.
"I don't mean to be pedantic, old horse," said Saark, "but wasn't that a bit… rash?"
"The only rash here is on your crotch!" snapped Kell.
"Shouldn't we have at least talked to him?"
"No. We have to piss them off. We have to draw them out for a fight. If we head into the city now, where they are strong, we lose the advantage of armour and steel. We cannot let them hunt us down. We must do battle."
"Why won't they come?"
"They don't like the light," grinned Kell, his face filled with humour but eyes narrowed, evil almost in the gloom. He glanced up at the clouds, heavy, black and thunderous above. "But there's a storm coming. They'll like that. They like the cold, and they like the gloom. Pray for snow, Saark. That'll bring them to us…"
Even as Kell was speaking, the sky overhead darkened perceptibly. Clouds rushed across the sky and thunder rumbled, deep and ominous. Then the gates to Jalder opened fully to reveal – a woman.
It was Sara. Kell's daughter. And she was smiling.
Kell glanced at Saark. "Go back. I'll deal with this bitch."
"What are you going to do?" said Saark, voice trembling.
"What I have to."
"You can't," hissed Saark, grabbing Kell's arm. "Nienna's back there! She's watching!"
Kell took hold of Saark's shirt and dragged the dandy in close. His talk was fuelled with fire and spittle. "I must! " he hissed into Saark's face, then threw the exSword Champion back, where he stumbled in the snow and glared at Kell.
Kell strode out to meet Sara. Her hair was dark, her eyes shrouded in gloom, her face beautiful. Kell swallowed. He loved her. Loved her so much. Losing her to bitter internal family feuding had been a hard pill to swallow. Something he tried to put right again, and again, and again. But Sara was a stubborn woman. One of the worst. Kell had laughed at the time; "She gets it from me," he would chuckle, but in reality there was no humour about their situation, and it had to be here, and now, all events spiralling down to this battlefield outside Jalder. Between the castoffs of Falanor, and the vampire converted.
"Father," said Sara, striding forward. She glanced down at the beheaded corpse of Xavanath without compassion. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes, and this confused Kell. Why was a vampire crying?
"Go back to your whining master, girl," snapped Kell. "This is no place for women."
"Spoken like the true woman-hating bastard you are!" she hissed, but still tears trickled down her face and it was this contrast which slowed Kell. He knew he had to kill her. And fast. She was deadly, he could sense it, and the world suddenly went slow, honey treacle, and Ilanna was there in his mind like a ghost…
Talk to her, Kell…
Listen to her, Kell…
You know you must.
Sara leapt, suddenly, claws slashing for Kell's throat. He leaned back, but her fist struck his jaw, rocking him – his boot came up into her groin, and his free hand grabbed her hair and with a grunt, he planted her head against the snow. She struggled violently, but Kell lowered Ilanna so the arc of the left butterfly blade pinned her throat to the ground like a stationary, waiting guillotine.
"Go on!" she snarled, legs still kicking. "Do it, father, you always wanted to. You were ever the fucking hero. Well kill me. Kill your own daughter, just like you killed your own fucking wife!"
Kell's eyes went hard, and with Sara in place, he pulled free his Svian and rammed it down hard into her heart. She started to kick, and struggle, but Ilanna pinned her in place, held her there like a slaughtered lamb.
Her eyes locked to Kell. And she smiled. And blood bubbled from her mouth.
"You remember the south tunnel?" she said, her teeth crimson, her legs still kicking. Her eyes were locked to Kell now, locked in death, and his teeth were gritted, and tears were on her cheeks, and snow was falling, a gentle drift all around them as huge dark clouds unleashed. Kell gave a single nod. "It is open," she said, on a flood of black blood, "and Kuradek lies at the end."
Then she spasmed, and Sara, Kell's daughter, died.
Saark ran up beside Kell, and the huge old warrior stood, slowly, wearily, and began to clean his Svian whilst staring down at his dead daughter. He remembered holding her as a babe, her mewling sounds, and the incredible love and joy he'd felt surge through him. For the first time in his life, here had been something which truly meant something to him. A child. A child for whom he would kill… and for whom he would die. But it had gone wrong. Gone so terribly wrong.
"What happened?" snapped Saark.
"She sacrificed herself," said Kell, gently, his voice cracked.
"What do you mean?"
"She knew I had to kill her. She allowed me to kill her. Then she gave me information. On how to reach Kuradek."
"How?"
Kell looked at Saark, then, and the dandy saw the old man crying openly. Tears flowed down his cheeks, and into his beard, and Saark stepped in close, supporting the huge warrior, holding him.
"When she was a child, she came riding with me and King Leanoric. She was so proud, sat on the saddle of a little black pony. We'd found a tunnel, dug by Blacklippers for smuggling, way to the south of Jalder." He waved a hand vaguely. "It led deep into the city, coming up in a building near the Palace. Leanoric had it sealed. Sara has opened the tunnel for me. I know this. I feel this."
"To get you inside?"
"To get me to Kuradek," growled Kell.
"It could be a trap."
"This is no trap," said Kell. He took a deep breath, and stepped back. His sorrow passed, and he gazed up at the falling snow. He turned and addressed the army. "They're coming, lads! Be ready! And Saark?"
"Yes… Kell?"
"Thanks, lad."
Saark grinned. "Hey. I love you like a brother, but I still don't want to marry you. So don't get any bloody ideas, you old goat."
"Wouldn't dream of it," said Kell, and turned to face the gates.
And they came.
The vampires came…
In a wide, dark flood, pouring from the city of Jalder with screams and hisses and snarls, red eyes crazy with blood lust, many running, some crawling, some leaping in huge bounds, there were men and women and children, there were bakers and smiths, armourers and greengrocers, teachers and students, and all were snarling and spitting, fangs wide, jaws stretched back, and Kell felt the men behind waver as they realised the scope of the battle – for these were not just a few vampires, they poured from the gates which bottlenecked their charge. But outside the city they spread, spread wide into huge ranks a hundred across. There were thousands. Kell swallowed, hard. His military-trained eye swept the surging, seething ranks as they halted, and assembled, like rabid dogs pulling at an unseen leash. Kell swallowed again.
"There must be ten thousand!" snapped Grak, who had come up close behind him.
"Fuck," said Kell. "You're right." His hands were slippery on Ilanna. He turned swiftly on Grak. "You know what to do," he said.
Grak nodded, and ran back to the men. "Shield wall!" he screamed. "Long spears at the ready."
"Time for us to move, old horse," said Saark, and there was fear in his face, nestled in his eyes like golden tears.
"Yes. I know. I might be hard," said Kell, "but I ain't stupid."
They turned, and as the vampires let out a mammoth screeching roar that filled the plain from end to end with a terrible decaying sound, and charged at the army of convicts and Blacklippers, so Kell and Saark pounded back to their battle lines and the shield walls opened to allow them in. They took up their positions, each taking a long spear and bracing themselves.