"Hold steady now, lads," growled Grak, and his voice carried through the ranks, strong and steady. "Let 'em come to us! Let 'em fall on us!"
The shield wall held.
Fear washed through the men, like a plague.
Snow fell from winter skies, as dark as twilight.
The vampires charged. The front ranks slammed the men of Falanor. Vampires hit the wall of shields, which opened at the last second at a scream from Grak the Bastard, and spears slammed through piercing flesh, throats and necks and groins and hearts and eyes, and the first rank of vampires went down thrashing and screaming, spewing blood and black oil vomit, and the spears withdrew and then struck out again, and again, and again, and waves of vampires went down falling over their brethren, but the wall was wide, too wide, and on both sides the vampire charge swung around like enveloping horns, attacking the men of Falanor from three sides now. The Blacklippers and convicts from the Black Pike Mines were strong, grim men, and although they were not soldiers, they held their ground, and they slaughtered the vampires, and the snow was slippery with blood in minutes, in seconds. A breach appeared to Kell's left, a vampire slashing a man's throat and squeezing into their fighting square of armour and spears, and Kell's Svian was out, slamming into the creature's eye and it fell with a gurgle. "Breach!" screamed Kell, as more vampires poured into the hole in the fighting wall. Short swords stabbed out, but the vampires were fast, and strong, their claws sharp, claws like razors. They fought with tooth and claw. They ripped out throats, and ripped off heads using incredible strength. Snarls echoed through the Falanor men. Screams wailed up from the mud, down amongst tramping boots and the fallen. Kell used his Svian, for Ilanna was strapped to his back, too big and hefty for close-quarters combat. He grabbed a short sword from a fallen man as a vampire leapt, an old woman with yellow eyes. He shoved the sword point into her mouth, and down into lungs and heart, ripping it out in a shower of bone and blood which covered him. Snarls sounded in his ear. Kell whirled about, but Saark skewered the vampire through the back, through its heart. Smoke came out of its ears, and it lay whining in the mud until Kell stabbed it through the spine at the base of its skull. A vampire hit Saark from behind, and Kell cut off its arm. Saark stabbed it through the eye, its punctured eyeball emerging from the back of its head. Blood bubbled and splattered across the struggling men. Kell saw their fighting square was faltering, and with sword and Svian, waded into the breach. A vampire hit him in the chest, and he head-butted it, his broken nose flaring in agony, and his Svian cut up into its groin. He felt a warm flush of blood cascade over his fist and he pushed, heaving deeper. Another two vampires leapt, and coolly Kell sliced a throat and stabbed one in the eye, but there were more, always more, and five had widened the gap, ripping off the heads of convicts with dull cracks and twists and splatters. Kell and Saark launched at them, boots slipping, screaming and shouting as snarls filled their ears, but these vampires had swords and metal on metal rang, the discordant clash of steel, a song of battle, a symphony of slaughter, and Kell hacked like mad and a blade whistled in front of his eyes making him step back, as a vampire landed on his shoulders and he reached up, dragging it to the floor and kneeling on its throat to stab out its eyes. Then Dekkar was beside him, had fought his way alongside Kell and there was a space around him and Kell saw why. Dekkar's huge flanged mace whirled with a sullen whine, and caved in the brains of a vampire, crushing its head down into a compact bone platter. Another blow killed a second, then a third, then a fourth and fifth and Kell leapt forward, Ilanna sliding free and together Kell and Dekkar reigned bloody slaughter on the vampires, forcing them back through the breach of the shield wall, back onto the snowswirling plain. They stepped out beyond their comrades, Dekkar's mace whirling and crushing, Ilanna singing now, a high pitched song like the voice of a woman, a beautiful woman, a sorrowful woman, and Kell felt himself tumbling into that pit, into that dark blood pit and he was back, back there, back in that place, back in the fucking Days of Blood and it feels good it feels right and they fall before the axe before Ilanna before her blades, and none can stand before me, not man, woman, beast, or fucking vampire and Kell's axe slammed left, and right, twin decapitations, and heads spun up into the sky on geysers of blood. Ilanna cut one vampire in two from crown to crotch, body peeling apart like halved fruit, necrotic bowel sliding free like diseased oil snakes. She slammed left, smashing ribs and leaving a vampire writhing in the mud where Dekkar's mace crushed the woman's face. In the same swing, Ilanna drove right, removing a vampire's legs. The man floundered, walking for a moment on stumps before being consumed by mud and snow and blood. Dekkar and Kell fought on, oblivious now to the widening circle around them, and although the rest of the vampires fought on, attacking with raw screeching ferocity, they were thinning. A child leapt at Dekkar, and he swayed back but could not kill. It landed on the Blacklipper King's chest, fangs snapping forward for his throat. Ilanna caught the child vampire on one blade, tossing it back into the vampire horde. Dekkar flashed Kell a smile, and Kell, covered from head to boot in vampire blood and gore, gave a nod. There was no smile. In his head, he was in a different place. Then…
A cheer went up.
Kell staggered, and righted himself. He started to breathe, and realised he was panting, and the world slid back into focus and it was a grim place. The vampires retreated, and reformed their ranks, and their dead lay scattered in their hundreds, a semi-circle around the fighting square of Falanor men.
"Grak!" screamed Kell.
"I'm on it!"
Grak started reorganising the men, and from behind came stretcher-bearers, removing the wounded. Wails and screams echoed over the battlefield. The vampires watched in silence, like kicked dogs licking their wounds. Licking their balls.
Kell, a gore-coated demon, gathered Dekkar, Grak and Saark to him. "You know what must happen now."
Saark took Kell's hand, wrist to wrist in the warrior's grip. "Be swift, my friend."
Kell nodded, and moved back into the ranks, and removed his bearskin jerkin, handing it to a huge man named Mallabar. The man carried an axe, an axe that looked similar to Ilanna and which had been forged at the Black Pike Mines.
"Fight well," growled Kell.
"Be lucky," growled Mallabar.
"I don't believe in luck," said Kell, and thumped the large man on the arm. "I make my own."
And then Kell was gone, to the rear of the thousands of fighting men where several horses waited. He rode up the hill, towards the women and Myriam and Nienna. He heeled his mount to a stop, and Nienna stared up at him, face hard and white, eyes like stones.
"I had to do it," said Kell.
"You could have taken her prisoner," snapped Nienna.
"One day, you will understand."
"Today, I understand."
"And what do you understand, girl?" growled Kell.
"I finally understand your Legend," said Nienna.
Cursing, Kell put heels to flank, and the horse sped away over the hill, and circled to the south, away from the battlefield. Snow fell thickly. Kell rode hard, the stallion snorting and protesting at his weight and abuse. Kell slammed along, knowing that time was of the essence. The army was terribly outnumbered, and although they were fighting bravely, they would only last so long against so many enemies…