Governor's stomach, folding him over with an explosion of sour air. In the same movement, his arm powered back and he turned, where Grey Tail had leapt into a kick. Both boots hit Kell in the face, and he grabbed the wiry man's legs and they both went backwards across the doubled-over figure of Dandall, crashing to the boards. Grey Tail slithered around, getting atop Kell and delivering four powerful punches straight to Kell's face before Kell grabbed the man's cock and balls in a single handful, jerking tight, and Grey Tail let out a high-pitched wail as Kell crushed him in one mighty fist, rising to one knee, then to his boots, with Grey Tail dancing and squealing on his tiptoes, 'Let go, let go, let go.' Kell let go, and slammed a head-butt to his face, dropping the small man and turning into… a punch, which glanced from his cheekbone, and another, which glanced from his temple. Jagor Mad loomed over him, eyes mad with rage, and Kell dodged a third blow and kicked out, boot crunching against Jagor's kneecap and knocking the big man back. Kell stood, and lifted his fists. 'It's like fighting three little girls,' he spat though saliva and blood. Laughter rippled.
Dandall leapt at him, but Kell side-stepped, ramming an elbow into the man's face as he swept past, lifting him almost horizontally before Dandall thumped to the boards. Then with a roar, Kell charged at Jagor and delivered six punches, which Jagor managed to block, stepping back and back and back until he reached the edge of the stage, stumbled, his questing boot found nothing but air and he fell, face slapping the edge of the stage before he tumbled back into the crowd, who let out a loud jeer. Kell whirled, into a plank wielded by Grey Tail. The wood slapped his face and Kell went down, coughing, stunned, as Grey Tail set about kicking the large axeman. Kell warded off the blows, rubbed blood out of his eyes, then lunged at Grey Tail, grabbing him by balls and throat, hoisting him into the air and launching him into the crowd, who parted, allowing Grey Tail to land heavily. There was savage crunch, and his leg twisted beneath him at a crazy angle. Bone poked through cloth. Blood pooled out. Grey Tail screamed for a few seconds, then passed into a nodoubt welcome realm of unconsciousness.
Dandall stood, stunned, as Jagor Mad grunted and heaved himself back onto the stage. His face was battered, a diagonal line of blood crossing from one eye to his jaw, and his eyes held murder.
'Fuck this horse shit,' he said, and drew a small knife. Kell's eyes narrowed.
'You upping the stakes, boy?'
'Fuck the stakes, I'm going to gut you like a rancid fish.'
'But what about your crowd? They want to see a fight.'
'They want to see a killing.'
'Never upset your audience, Jagor.'
'Fuck the audience.'
The large Governor advanced, and Dandall backed away, face pale, recognising a fight now entering a different league; something of which he wanted no part. Jagor lunged at Kell, who backed away, then again, and they circled warily.
'Not so tough without your axe, eh Kell?'
Jagor ran at Kell, who batted the knife to one side and slammed a fist into Jagor's head, then skipped away as the knife slashed for his belly. Now, Kell's back was to the thick wood column and its dangling noose. He could feel the gaping hole of the drop behind him, and glanced back. Seeing his chance, Jagor ran at him and Kell stepped aside, slammed three straight punches into Jagor's face, slapped the knife from the man's hand then took hold of his tattered, bloodstained shirt.
'Is this what you wanted?' growled Kell, and shoved Jagor to the noose, grabbing the rope and lowering it over Jagor's head. Stunned, and coming round an instant too late, Jagor's fists grappled at Kell's bearskin and his boots scrabbled at the edge of the drop.
'What are you doing?' he shrieked.
'You said they came here for a hanging!'
'Not me, for you, Kell, for you!' Jagor's voice was filled with terrible fear, and his knuckles were white where he clung to Kell's bearskin. 'No, no, get the rope off!'
'You try to kill me, you up the stakes to death, then don't fucking complain when I return the favour!'
'No, Kell, I beseech you, don't do this! I don't want to die!'
'None of us want to die, son,' said Kell, and slammed a heavy slow punch between Jagor Mad's eyes. His fingers released Kell's jerkin and he stepped back, and there was a snap as the rope went tight and Jagor dangled there, kicking, face purple, hands clawing at the rope but because he was such a hefty, large man, battered and bruised and tired from the fight, he could not take his weight. He kicked for a while, and a cheer went up from the army of convicts ranged about the stage.
Kell glanced over at Dandall, who was white with fear. Kell stooped, picking up Jagor's knife, and his eyes were glittering and Dandall held up his hands. 'No, not me, spare me Kell, please.'
'Get down on your knees and beg.'
Dandall got down on his knees, and touching his trembling forehead to the planks, he begged.
'And these are your leaders?' roared Kell, facing the crowd as behind him Jagor Mad's head and shoulders could be seen, struggling, and below the stage his legs kicked and danced and he refused to let go of that most precious thing. Life.
'You would fight for these worms? You would kill, for these fucking maggots?'
'NO!' roared the men before Kell, and he grinned at them, and turned, and sawed through the rope. Jagor Mad fell through the hole and hit the ground with a thump. He lay still, wheezing, and Kell peered down at him, where he squirmed in the mud and snow-slush.
Kell lifted his arms wide, and addressed the convicts. 'The Army of Iron came from the north, from beyond the Black Pike Mountains. They slaughtered thousands of people in Jalder, men, women, children, I saw this with my own eyes. King Leanoric's army was beaten, their bodies fed into huge machines, Blood Refineries, to feed the vampire monsters to the north. But then it got worse, gentlemen. The vachine summoned the ancient Vampire Warlords – and they are terrible indeed. They rampage through our land, through Falanor, and none can stand against them. They take your friends and families, your kinsmen and countrymen, they bite them, they convert them to vampires and the world out there will never be the same again unless you stand beside me and fight!'
'Why should we trust you?' shouted one man.
'Because I am Kell the Legend!' he boomed, 'and when I fight the world trembles! I do not do this for money, or lust, or any petty base desire. I do this because it has to be done! It is the right thing to do! I know many of you here hate me, but that's good, lads, hate is a good thing – I'm not asking you to kiss my fucking arse,' a few laughed at that, 'I'm asking you to help me put the world back together. These vampire whoresons have broken it, and they need a damn good thrashing.'
'You put many of us here! We're criminals to you, scum, why the fuck would you care?'
'No, you're wrong, you're men who made mistakes, and yeah a lot of you did bad things, but now's your chance to do the right thing. Falanor needs you. She needs your strength. She needs your trust. She needs your steel. Will you fight with me?'
A terrible silence washed across the gathered men. Behind him, Kell heard Saark's sharp intake of breath. Their future, their lives and deaths, and the lives and deaths of thousands of people, the future of Falanor, all hung here, and now, as if a delicate thread of silk lay threatened by the brute bulk horror of an axe-blade.
Kell folded his arms, as if in challenge to the three thousand men ranged before him.
'Well lads,' came a voice from the front. It was the hefty bearded man who'd spoken earlier. 'I don't know about youse lot, but I ain't having no vampires shitting blood and shit in my bloody country!' He drew a short sword, and waved the dull blade above his head. 'I'm with you, Kell, even though it's your damn fault I'm here! I'll fight beside you, man. We'll send these fuckers home and down into the shit!'
'Good man!' boomed Kell. 'What do they call you?'
'They call me Grak the Bastard.'
'And are you?' roared Kell.
The large bearded man grinned. 'You'd better believe it, you old goat!'
'Glad to have you with me, Grak. Now then, lads, are you going to let Grak head out there into Falanor alone? Or are you going to show some brotherly bonding, are you going to fight for your homeland, fight for the future of your children? After all, it's damn fucking unsporting to let me and Grak kill all those vampire bastards on our own! It'd be a shame to have all the hero songs to ourselves!'
'I'll come!' bellowed a short, powerful man with biceps as thick as Kell's.
'Me too! We'll show the vampire scum what the scum of Falanor can do!'
