onion sack, and sucking on the honeyed teat of a rescued virgin, well it needs to be excised right at the start.'
'Grandfather, listen to her,' said Nienna, sitting cross-legged on a stone. 'What have you got to lose?'
'All our lives?' suggested Kell, but muttered something unheard and scratched his beard. At least the oily lake had sluiced him clear of blood, gore and vachine brains, vachine clockwork. He was feeling barely human, for a change. 'Go on girl, let's hear it. Then I'll focus on getting my granddaughter clear of this unholy shit-hole, and back to some semblance of sanity.'
'Not in Falanor, you won't,' said Myriam, voice soft. She glanced down at Saark, face now relaxed in peace, then back to the old, grizzled warrior. 'There are three of them. Kuradek the Unholy, with a passionate hatred for all human religions. His favourite pastime was slaughtering monks and ladies of the cloth; or even worse, changing them into vampires and letting them loose on their colleagues. He burned churches and temples to the ground, then would eat their ashes, laughing that his shit would be baptised in holy fire. Now, he intends to return to the northern city of Jalder. He will control the northern half of Falanor, and build up his army of albinos and… and vampires.'
'They killed everybody in Jalder,' said Kell, voice cold and hard. 'I was there. I saw it.'
'No, Kell. They killed many in Jalder. But men are more resilient than you give them credit. They hid. In cellars and attics and warehouses. In the sewer systems, in the shit cauldrons of the tanneries. Kell, many survived, trust me. Kuradek knows this, and he will hunt them down, turn them into his vampire slaves. Into parasitical puppets he can control.'
Kell took a deep breath. He thought of his few friends in Jalder, old men, old warriors from back at Crake's Wall, Jangir Field, the Siege of Drennach, and the Battle of Valantrium Moor. If any could have survived the ice smoke, then surely these were the men?
'I don't know,' said Kell, slowly. 'It was a miracle I survived the invasion. If it had not been for Ilanna…'
'This is what Graal told Kuradek. This is what I heard.'
Kell nodded. 'And what of the other two bastards? They going to set up a nursery and wean baby vampires with bottles of blood?'
'No, Kell. Meshwar the Violent will head south, rule Falanor's capital, the city of Vor. There, Graal believes even more rebels survived the ice-smoke invasion. There are thousands of tunnels beneath the city, a huge and sprawling complex. When Graal's invasion began, many fled into the tunnel and sewer network. Many hid. And Vor is vast, as you well know. It is Meshwar's job to hunt down these people, weed them out, turn them into his vampire horde.'
'And the third?'
'Bhu Vanesh. The Eater in the Dark. He is a hunter, from the old days,' said Myriam, and she rubbed at her eyes, weary now despite her vachine blood. Terror edged her words, and Kell noticed a slight tremor to her hand. If she was faking her fear, then she was a very good actress. But then, Kell had met many a good actress in his years of battle across Falanor. He'd killed a few, as well; on stage, and off.
'And what is his wonderful plan?'
'He will seek to take control of the Port of Gollothrim.'
'Ship building?' said Kell darkly, brow furrowed. 'He would seek to expand their dirty little empire west? He wants transport for his army, doesn't he, Myriam?'
'Yes. His albino slaves and vampires will take the existing navy, and also build him an extended fleet of ships. With this new, mammoth navy they will head west across the Salarl Ocean – expand their Vampire Dominion across the world!'
'What of Graal?'
'He will go with Bhu Vanesh. Oversee the ship-building. One could say he has been… demoted. Graal thought he could control the Vampire Warlords. But they are all-powerful. They have other plans.'
'Graal always was an arrogant bastard. And I didn't get to carve my name on his arse with my axe. Not yet, anyways. Still, l at least carved him a new cheek flap.'
'Graal was less than complimentary about that,' said Myriam, flashing a dark smile. Her eyes met Kell's. 'You understand what all this means, axeman? You do understand?'
Kell sighed. It was a sigh from deep down in a dark place weary of carrying the weight of the world. 'I'm a retired soldier,' he said. 'I'm a simple man, a man of bread and cheese, of coarse wine and nostalgic memories of battle. It was never meant to be this way. I was supposed to live out my final years in Jalder, see this young lady through university, maybe travel the Black Pikes one last time before dotage crushed my rotten teeth in his fist, and watched my mind dribble out my ears.'
'We have to stop them,' said Nienna, who had been listening, quietly, head to one side. Her eyes flashed dark.
'We cannot,' said Kell.
'You can!' snapped Nienna. 'If anybody can halt this madness, Kell the Legend can!' Hope was bright in her eyes. Her hands and lips trembled. Her focus was complete.
Kell shook his head. 'I'm an old man, Nienna,' he said gently. 'My back hurts in the cold. My knees hurt on stairs. My shoulder is an agony every time I lift the damned axe. And, and this will amuse you, Myriam, for it is your damn fault… the poison is still in my bloodstream. The poison you put there. Lingering, like a maggot under a rock.'
'I gave you the antidote,' said Myriam, her lips narrowing.
'Which does not always work?' Kell raised his eyebrows. Myriam remained silent, chewing her lip. 'I thought not. With your eagerness to become a vachine, you killed me, woman, as sure as putting a dagger through my heart. Your antidote bought me time. But the evil liquor is still there: in my veins, in my organs, in my bones. I can feel it. Eating me, slow and hot, like an apothecary's acid.'
'I am so, so sorry about that,' said Myriam, but knew her words meant nothing. She had been dying, from a cancer riddling her every bone. To coerce Kell into helping her, she poisoned him with a rare toxin from a breed of Trickla flowers found far out west beyond the Salarl Ocean. Her antidote, however, had not been enough; or maybe the poison had been rampant in Kell's system for too long. What did he have now? Weeks? Months? A year? By saving herself, Myriam had effectively condemned Falanor's greatest hope. Falanor's last true hero. Myriam felt this irony slide through her like honey through a sponge, and she smiled a dry smile, a bitter smile. By her actions, Myriam may have condemned the world.
'I do not believe it,' said Nienna finally, placing hands on hips. Her eyes were narrowed, brows dark with thunder. 'Are you sure, grandfather? Sure about all this? I watched you fight those Soul Stealers. You killed them! Like they were children!'
Kell laughed sharply. 'Oh, how the young do so romanticise. They almost had me, girl; if it had not been for Skanda's help, I would be slaughtered horse-meat on a butcher's worn wooden slab.' His gaze transferred to Myriam. 'You came here for help. To help yourself, yes, through fear of your new masters; but to help Falanor was an after-thought. I am sorry, Myriam. Battle weighs heavy on my old body, and my twisted mind. There is nothing I can do. For once, Falanor must help Herself.'
Myriam bowed her head. Tears lay like silk on her cheeks. 'So be it, Kell,' she whispered.
They travelled for hours down narrow tunnels barely wide enough to accommodate Nienna. Eventually, when exhaustion crept upon Myriam, the hardy and seemingly tireless vachine, and Nienna was like the walking dead, they called a stop in a small alcove. It was cold, and damp, but then so were all the tunnels under Skaringa Dak.
Nienna lay, wrapped in a thin blanket, her finger stump throbbing. After an albino soldier amputated her finger in retaliation for Kell's defiance after they had been taken prisoner, events had moved so fast, so frantic, she had barely a moment to consider her new severance. But now. Now, despite her exhaustion, sleep would not come. Her eyes moved through the darkness lit by strange mineral lodes, and came to rest first on Kell, snoring, lost in the realms of distant dreams and memories and battles; then on to Myriam, breath hissing past her small, pointed fangs. Vampire fangs. Vachine fangs. Nienna rubbed at her finger, and winced as pain flared up her hand, up her arm. Kell had expertly stitched the wound, the amputation, slicing a flap of skin and pulling it over the neatly cut bone. He had tears in his eyes. Tears of sorrow, but also of guilt. He blamed himself. He felt completely responsible. And Nienna supposed he was, to a large extent; but then, if he was to blame for the loss of Nienna's little finger, he was also to blame for saving her life time after time after time. She could forgive him one small mistake, if mistake
