"What's that?"
"Our army is getting bigger," he said, eyes twinkling.
Kell faced General Exkavar from the Army of Brass, and General Zagreel from the Army of Silver. Both men were tall, thin, with long white hair, pale waxen flesh and the crimson eyes of the albino, although Kell knew after his adventures under the Black Pike Mountains, that these warriors were nothing as simple as humans with a difference in pigmentation. These were the White Warriors. These were another race entirely.
"Please, explain to me what just happened, gentlemen," said Kell, seating himself at the huge feasting table and placing his hands before him. The two generals removed helms and placed them on the scarred wood. The room had been tidied of destruction, and only these gouge marks from the claws of the vampires were evidence of recent vampire occupancy.
General Exkavar fixed Kell with a hard look. "I thought that was self-evident. We stopped your men from being slaughtered. We killed the Harvesters who brought us through the mountains, and turned on the damn vampires." He gave a glance at Saark, and curled his lip. "We will serve no more. Not vachine, not vampire, not Harvester. It is time the White Warriors took a stand."
"Why help us?" said Kell, softly.
"We share common enemies. For many years the vachine, and indeed vampires, have preyed on both our races. We should stand together. We should rid Falanor of this vermin."
"And then?" said Kell, eyes twinkling. He had twenty men just outside the chamber, swords drawn, waiting for his nod. If Exkavar or Zagreel proved to be a threat, then Kell would exterminate them, and then their men, when they slept that night. Kell could not risk another enemy rioting through his homeland.
"We will leave Falanor, head back to our lair under the Black Pike Mountains."
"Why come out in the first place?"
"We have come for our Army. The Army of Iron. They are currently slaves in Vor, under the command of Meshwar, the Violent. There is no way to get a message to them. So we decided a show of strength was the order of the day."
Kell nodded, and placed his chin on his fist. He stared at the two generals, and then over to Saark, and Myriam, Grak and Dekkar. All were now bathed, well-groomed, and fed.
After the battle on the previous day, the routing of the Harvesters and the vampires, the Army of Brass had spent the rest of the day hunting down vampires through the streets of Jalder – and putting them out of their misery. Then, slowly, the people had begun to emerge, from sewers and factories, from attics and cellars and hidden tunnels, from warehouses and cottages and holes in walls. They had assembled before the Palace, perhaps two thousand in all, a sorry mess of stamped-on humanity. Kell set Grak to feeding and watering these refugees; to finding them clothes and medicines. Grak happily organised the convicts from the Black Pike Mines, and the men had gone about their work. Only the Blacklippers, sullen and dark in mood, stayed outside the city gates. They said it would be hypocrisy to enter.
With so much organising to do, Kell and Nienna had seen little of each other. Myriam had tended the girl, and reported to Kell that she was angry and hurt about the death of her mother. Myriam tried to explain there was no reversion from the vampire; and that Kell had done her a great service. But Nienna had descended into a world of sullen brooding. Kell shrugged it off. He had more important matters to worry about than a sulking child.
"So you head for Vor," said Kell, and stroked his beard. "You are confident you can wipe out the menace of Meshwar? The Vampire Warlords are terrible indeed. Creatures of the Chaos Halls."
"We have magickers," said Exkavar. "If we cannot kill him, we can open the portal. Once open, believe me, the Keepers will come for Meshwar. They have failed in their duties, you see? They want the Vampire Warlords back as much as we want them gone."
Kell nodded. "I suggest, then, that we head for Port of Gollothrim," he said. "We must cleanse that place of vampires as well, find Bhu Vanesh, and send him home."
"He is the strongest of the three," said Myriam, looking up from a goblet of wine. "The strongest, Kell."
Kell nodded. "Still. We must fight on. Are you with me?"
"I am," rumbled Grak the Bastard, and thumped the table. "By the gods, I am."
"My people will see this through to the end," said Dekkar, and gave Kell a nod. "We are your warriors in this battle, now. We will stand by you. We will fight by you. And we will die by your side, if that is what it takes."
"Good," said Kell, and glanced back at the two albino generals. "How long will you stay?"
"We will head south at dawn. Do not worry yourself, Kell; we have no wish to rule Falanor lands. Once we have our men, and have disposed of Meshwar, we will be gone."
"Have you made an enemy of the Harvesters?" asked Kell.
"Yes. But that is a battle for another day. We have learnt much from their mastery. Now, it is time for the slaves to throw off their shackles, rise up, and smite their masters." Exkavar gave a cruel, brittle smile. "Too long have their injustices been served on us."
Again, Kell nodded, and the two generals stood, donning helms. Kell stood, and reached out to shake their hands. Both generals stared at him, but did not extend their own.
"I am sure we will meet again. One day soon," said Zagreel, his crimson eyes shining.
"Indeed," said Kell, with an easy smile, and watched the two generals leave the hall. He glanced at Grak. "I want triple guards, on every building, every gate, every fucking latrine, until they are gone. You understand?" "Yes, Kell. Can you tell me something?"
"Ask."
"Tell me again why they helped us?"
"Because we have a common enemy. But what worries me, my murdering friend, is what happens when all our common enemies are dead . In my experience, many freed slaves are full of bitterness and hate. And that never leads to a pleasant aftermath."
"What about the men? How long do we rest?"
"Two days. They've earned it. Then we march on Gollothrim."
Kell was eating a shank of pork, juice running through his beard, as Saark tottered across the tiles before him. "Oh, such luxury again!" he beamed, and then frowned down at Kell. "What is this? A pig eating a pig?"
"I see you found the perfume again," growled Kell, dropping the shank to his plate and wiping his hands on a cloth.
"You can smell it? Does it smell fine?"
"Smell it, lad? I've smelt sewers with more sexual allure."
Saark moved over and seated himself nimbly at the table. Once again, he had managed to find crimson leggings, a pink silk shirt, and some heavy silver beads which were draped about his throat like the finest pearls. Saark leaned forward, and cut a small slice of cheese with his knife. "I say, Kell, one day I really should teach you to eat with a knife and fork."
"And I should teach you some manners."
"Yes, but, I mean, look at your lunch! It looks like… well, like an abortion!"
"Not really the sort of talk I want to hear at the dinner table."
"Well, it has to be better than Grak's boring drivel. Swords and helmets, the feeding of the refugees, talk of repairing the city. Gods, the vampires have only just left and they're talking about fucking building. Those who've survived should be out in the damn streets drinking and whoring, dancing and humping! I should say an orgy of some kind is called for."
"They've just survived a terrible ordeal," said Kell through gritted teeth.
"Exactly," smiled Saark, nibbling on his cheese.
Kell stared at him. "Listen lad, don't be thinking you're wearing that shit when we march on Gollothrim! Last thing we need is your early warning stench giving away any element of surprise."
"Hah! Really!"
Saark reclined, stretching, and his face was a platter of rapture. "I could always stay here, Kell. Oversee the rebuilding of Jalder. Insinuate myself into the nobility structure here; I'm sure they will have room for one with such refined etiquette as myself."