The storm ended, with a click.
The black fire died.
Kell, kneeling, his jerkin drifting smoke, an old man again, looked up slowly and in horror. Saliva pooled from his silently working jaws. His face and hands were lacerated. His blood dripped to the thick burnt carpets. Nienna was lying at his feet, gasping, a huge wound from her shoulder to ribs. Blood bubbled at her chin, on her tongue and lips. Blood pulsed easily from the wound. Her eyes were glazed, confused, tears lying on her cheeks like spilt mercury. Kell dropped to her side, threw Ilanna to the floor, and grabbed at the huge slice through Nienna's flesh. With trembling fingers he tried to hold Nienna together. With force of will, he tried to meld her body back into one piece. Blood pulsed up, ran over his hands with the beating of her damaged, irregular heart. "No," whispered Kell, staring down into his sweet granddaughter's face, "no, not here, not now, not this way…"
"Grandfather?" she said, although it was barely audible. " Why?"
And then her lips went pale, and her eyes closed, and she convulsed, and although Kell's hands tried to hold her back together, she died there on the floor at the bequest of the great Ilanna – at the command of the Vampire Warlord.
"NO!" screamed Kell, and shook Nienna, but she was dead, and gone, gone to another realm, and Kell stood and took up Ilanna, and he gazed at her butterfly blades where Nienna's blood, her life-force, her essence, her soul stained those portals into the Chaos Halls… and a wild wind slammed through the chamber, both hot, and cold, and bitter and sweet. Smoke poured out from Ilanna, a thick black acrid smoke which stank of Nienna's blood, her summoning, and which filled the room in an instant. The world went slow, filled with black sparks, and a groan rent the air, the groan of the world torn asunder as a smoke-filled corridor opened up behind Bhu Vanesh. It stretched away for a million years. It led to a chamber of infinity, endlessly black, and from the sky fell corpses tumbling down down down through nothingness into lakes of blood and rivers of death and oceans of evil weeping souls. Kell hefted Ilanna, and glared at Bhu Vanesh, who lifted his hands in supplication, eyes glowing red, smoke curling from his slick wet mouth.
"Get thee back to Chaos," snarled Kell, and strode forward, and there came a deafening clanking of chains and deep within the vaults Kell could see figures, tall and thin, like grey skeletons, their eyes pools of liquid silver that glowed. They came forward, walking oddly, and Kell blinked for he was on the roadway, on the path to the Chaos Halls, and thick pitted iron chains slammed past him, wrapping around Bhu Vanesh who was weeping, smoke oozing from every orifice like drifting blood-mist, and Kell strode forward and slammed Ilanna between his eyes, splitting Bhu Vanesh's head in two but still the Vampire Warlord wept, and still the smoke spilled from his mouth, for Kell could not kill Bhu Vanesh. Nobody could kill Bhu Vanesh. He was immortal.
"That's for Nienna," he spat.
"Not the Halls," Bhu Vanesh wept. "Not the Halls!"
The chains rattled, and Bhu Vanesh hurtled off along the infinite road all the while chanting his mantra, and now Kell saw the roadway was made of bones, of skulls, a wide flowing road of skulls and Kell dropped to one knee and wept, and the tall bony figures strode towards him and stood, five of them, watching him with their silver eyes, in complete silence.
Finally, Kell ceased his crying. He stood, breathing deeply, and lifted Ilanna in both hands still stained with Nienna's blood. Only then did a chill breeze caress his soul. He turned, wind ruffling his scorched bearskin jerkin, but the portal to the World of Men was gone.
All that remained was that infinite roadway of skulls, an obsidian sky, and a world stretching off to a distant horizon of eternally falling corpses, of fallen souls…
Kell was trapped in the Chaos Halls.
Kell was lost to Chaos.
CHAPTER 16
Grak the Bastard knelt amidst a hundred vampire corpses, sword lashing out, and Dekkar was behind him, a few remaining men beside. As fires roared along the dockside, so other units from the new army of Falanor had found Grak, and they fought vicious short battles until they were together, clashed together, united, the last few hundred survivors. But still they were losing. Still they were being massacred…
Then, the vampires fell back.
The dawn was coming.
Still fires raged, flames crackling, and Grak couldn't tell where the snow ended and the ash began. The world was in chaos. A living nightmare madness. Grak watched the ring of vampires, their snarling faces, their blood-red eyes.
"What are they waiting for?" rumbled Dekkar.
"Beats me," said Grak, sword before him, eyes lost to the horror . There was no way out of this. If Kell had killed Bhu Vanesh, then it would have been done a long time ago. If Kell had killed the Vampire Warlord, then his creatures would have turned to dust, to slime, to oil. But here they stood. The dawn had come.
Kell was dead, Grak knew it in his heart, in his bones, in his soul. Kell wasn't coming back.
"Shit," he said, hawked, and spat.
"What are they waiting for?" snapped Vilias, words edged with pain. He had a long, ragged slash down his face, from one eye to his chin. He'd been moaning about how no woman would ever look at him again. Grak supposed it didn't really mattered any longer… soon, they would all be corrupt. Either that, or dead.
"Maybe they know they're outnumbered?" suggested Grak. "They know they're beaten! After all, we're what? Three hundred? And they've…" his eyes scanned the rooftops, the roadways, the distant rubble, the edges of inferno. "Three, four thousand bloodsucking scum? We can take 'em, eh lads? We'll give 'em a damn good kicking!" Chuckles ran up and down the ranks, and exhausted men, wounded men, hoisted their weapons and waited grimly for the end.
"Come on!" screamed Grak. "Show us what you're made of! Fucking cowards! FUCKING VAMPIRE PLAGUE COWARDS! COME ON!"
"Hey." Vilias nudged Grak in the ribs. "Somebody's coming."
"Who is it? Dake the Axeman?" He roared with laughter. "Shall I show him my arse?"
"Better than that," grinned Vilias. "It's Kell."
"No!"
"It is, I swear it!"
From the distance, and as the dawn broke like a soft ruptured egg, Kell strode. Beams of yellow winter sunlight traced lines over the horizon, and Kell was blocked for a moment by the huge edifice of the Warlord's Tower. Then he moved through the rubble, strode past corpses, past fallen shields and fallen men, and stopped before Grak with boots crunching. Eerily, the vampires had parted to let him through. Their snarling subsided. They stared at him.
Everything was focused on Kell.
On Kell, the Legend.
Kell hefted Ilanna, and Grak could see the old warrior had tears in his beard. He lifted Ilanna, and his mouth opened, and he looked out at the vampire horde.
When he spoke, his voice was soft. Gentle, almost. Like mist creeping over a battlefield of corpses.
"Time to go home," he said, and each vampire lifted its head and smoke poured from its mouth, and flowed like lines of silver into Ilanna, into Kell's axe, in the Portal of the Chaos Halls. Kell stood, shuddering as each vampire was cleansed, each vampire purified. And now, as people, they fell to their hands and knees weeping in horror as they remembered what they had done.
It seemed to take an age.
One, by one, by one, the vampires' corruption was drawn into Ilanna. Their evil exorcised.