gallows. Kell gave a grim smile. Everybody knew this was a farce, a stage-show; there would be no real trial, just a performance and then some killing. Kell took a deep breath. So be it, he thought.
Kell and Saark were guided down the rocky path, and Kell glanced left. He could see Nienna, clutching the bars of her own cell and watching, face small, white, filled with fear. Kell tried to give her an encouraging smile, but a spear butt jabbed him in the back of the head and he stumbled. Kell stopped, and turned. The man stared at him.
'Do that again, and I'll make you eat it, point first,' growled Kell.
The man swallowed, and took a step back.
Dandall laughed. 'Don't let the old fool scare you. He knows he can't outrun or outfight crossbow bolts; and at the end of the day, we have his granddaughter. Nienna. And the fun we could have with that pretty sweet slab of meat.' Dandall licked his lips. 'After all, Kell knows how skilled I am with a variety of blades. And if we were to give Nienna over to Grey Tail there, well,' he chuckled, and sniffed the air as if sniffing the aroma of a fine cooking stew, 'mmmm, I'm sure there's bits that would taste sweeter than she looks!'
Kell made a guttural growling sound, but said no more. He marched forward, down the path to be swallowed between the jeering, shouting crowd of men. Many punched and kicked out as he passed, but Kell ignored the blows, and marched with head held high, reaching the stage and pausing just for a second to stare up the steps, at the huge thick beam supporting the gallows and a gently swinging noose. Kell gave a sickly, wry smile. He'd sent enough men to be hanged under the supervision of King Leanoric. How ironic, it had come to this!
Kell mounted the steps, and Saark was jabbed up after him. Their boots were hollow, echoing on the planks as they were pushed forward and made to kneel. To one side, ten thick, hand-carved chairs had been set in a semi-circle, and now another seven men approached and mounted a second set of steps, taking their places in the chairs with as much regal air as they could muster. They were old, most of them, and wearing rich clothes and thick gold jewellery. Their eyes were bleak and cold – except for one man, on the end, Governor Myrtax, who was trembling, and kept his head low, eyes studiously ignoring Kell. It was clear he was being coerced, but Kell felt a twinge of disappointment that the man had no backbone. Kell sneered at him, and gazed out on the crowd.
Thousands of faces. Filled with hate. Shouting, and sneering, crying and bellowing. Fists were punching the air. Their hate rolled out and encompassed Kell and he absorbed it, and he used it. He revelled in it. He used it to focus. It reminded him of fighting in the pit.
Now, Grey Tail and Jagor Mad approached, and took their seats, leaving one final chair free for Dandall who stood, and raised his hands, and gradually the cacophonous roaring cheering noise subsided.
'Men and women of Black Pike Mines!' he cried, and another roar went up and Kell's fists clenched. He glanced over at Saark, who was visibly pale, and trembling. Saark licked his lips and gave Kell a worried smile. Vachine or no, Saark would die in this place. No extra strength or speed could aid him against such numbers. A crowd like this, they were a killing crowd, a lynching mob. They wanted blood, and wouldn't be happy until they had it – even if that meant each other's.
'Hang 'em!' shouted a man near the front, a man with a thick beard and small dark eyes.
'Yeah, we want to see them dance!' cried another.
Kell squared himself to the crowd, and allowed himself to smile. 'Why don't you come up here and do it yourself, fucker?' he snarled. 'Or have you lost your balls in that face full of beard?'
A roar of laughter rippled through the crowd and Kell grinned. 'You are all fools,' he said, and the laughter stopped in an instant. 'You sit here in the place that imprisoned you, frightened to move, frightened to leave, frightened to fucking fart, and you have no idea what's turning in the real world outside!'
'Shut up!' snapped Dandall. 'You are here for trial. A trial to determine your death, so I advise you to be silent when I tell you.'
'A trial?' roared Kell, and saw Jagor Mad surge from his seat, face red, fists clenched but Grey Tail held him back. 'What petty nonsense. And to be honest, Dandall, I don't give a shit about your trial. I reckon you'll all be dead, soon enough.'
'What do you mean?' rumbled the bearded man from the front of the audience.
'STOP!' roared Jagor Mad. 'This is OUR day, the day when Kell the Legend, defender of the rich, arse-kisser to nobility, fucker of Queens, the day when he DIES!'
Kell laughed. His voice was low, but carried to every man in the audience. 'If you want me dead so bad, Jagor Mad, why not come do it yourself? Here. Right now.'
'I will!' thundered the huge man. 'Who do you think will be dropping you on the end of that noose?'
Kell spat out laughter once more. 'Just what I thought of you, Jagor. A coward and a lick-spittle, spineless, chicken, hiding behind the decisions of others, hiding behind a hangman's horse shit when out there in Jalder and Vor and Gollothrim the Vampire Warlords have returned, they're killing all your people, your friends, and families, infecting them with vampire poison, turning them into vampire slaves!'
A murmur ran through the audience, and Jagor strode forward and hit Kell with a mighty right hook. Kell did not go down, but instead stared hard at Jagor, blood at the corner of his mouth. 'Go on!' he bellowed, 'show them what you can do to a man with his hands tied! What a hero! What a warrior! A man to be feared – by chickens!'
Again, laughter ran through the crowd and Jagor went red with embarrassment and anger. 'You want to fight me, old man? You want to fight, here and now, and the loser hangs? Then so fucking be it.'
Silence reigned. The falling snow hissed gently in a diagonal sleet.
'That would be unfair,' said Kell, voice rumbling out slow and measured, a performance as good as any Saark had ever seen. Kell turned to face the crowd. He acknowledged that they held the power in this comedy trial; they would demand what they wanted, and would get it through strength in numbers. Kell stared at three thousand faces, hard men, criminals, men who'd survived the mines for many years, the hard manual labour making them stronger, more brutal in a struggle for simple survival. Kell smiled. He glanced at Jagor Mad. 'You, on your own, ha, you would be far too easy. I would fight you, Dandall and Grey Tail! All at once. And if I win, I get to speak to the crowd. I tell them of the Vampire Warlords, and the carnage sweeping the real world.'
'They don't want to hear your bedtime stories, you old fuck,' snarled Jagor Mad. 'They want to see blood!'
'Let's show them,' said Kell, and lifted his bound hands. 'Untie me!'
'No!' snapped Dandall, striding forward with Grey Tail close at his heel. The three Governors of the Black Pike Mines scowled at Kell. Swiftly, he had changed the dynamic of the trial. The three men almost felt as though they were back before the noose. 'Kell will hang. That will be an end to it.'
'You scared of him, Dandall?' said the bearded man near the front.
'Of course I'm not scared of him!'
'Let him fight you, then. You telling me the three of you can't take one old man?' The crowd started to laugh, and the three Governors exchanged glances. Somehow, the tide had turned. There was hatred for Kell, yes, but it didn't outweigh a lust to watch a good fight. Entertainment, Saark had called it. And he'd been right.
At that moment, Saark started to make soft clucking chicken noises. More laughter burst out, and Jagor Mad pulled free a curved knife and pointed at Saark. 'I'll deal with you later, dandy,' then slashed the knife through Kell's ropes.
Kell moved back, boots pacing the stage as he rolled his shoulders, loosening muscles, wincing a little at the crossbow wound but grinding his teeth and knowing he must show no pain.
Kell reached the other side of the stage, and turned, and lifted his fists in a stance taken by Shit Pit fighters; a roar went up from the crowd and Dandall placed a hand on Jagor Mad's arm. The three Governors looked at one another, gave a nod, and spread out, eyes narrowed, wary. They knew who Kell was, knew him far too well, far too painfully, and despite appearances they knew what he could do. Kell was a killer, pure and simple. But they were experienced. They'd done this sort of thing before.
'Come on lads, let's see what you've got.'
Jagor Mad rushed Kell, fists high, purple face filled with hate and rage and spittle flying from lips which thrashed, teeth grinding, and he swung a powerful right hook but Kell swayed back, Jagor's knuckles flashing past his nose, and he slammed his boot into Jagor's groin. As Jagor grunted, and stumbled forward, Kell powered a punch down onto the bridge of the large man's nose and there was a terrible crunch. Jagor hit the planks face first and Kell stepped over him, watching as Dandall and Grey Tail spread even wider apart. They rushed him at once, a concerted attack, and Kell ducked a punch from Dandall, dropping to one knee and ramming his fist into the
