sword into the middle of your head.'
'Point taken,' prickled Saark, and turned his attention to Kell. 'But seriously, Kell, think about it. You know I like to gamble, drink the finest wines, suckle the most succulent foods, dance like a peacock and fuck like a stallion. All the sensible things in life, my man. I've never trained an army in my life! You'd be insane to entrust me with such an important directive!'
Kell loosened his axe, and in a sudden movement swung the blade for Saark's head. Saark rolled back, fast, faster than any human had a right to move. His rapier was out, and he'd grabbed up the stool on which he was seated and hoisted it as a makeshift shield. He'd also moved, imperceptibly, so his back was against the wall of the fortress.
Kell grinned. 'You see? Defence, stance, back to the wall, and you shifted so that you could attack all three of us, not knowing from whence the next strike would come.' Kell sheathed Ilanna. Saark scowled. 'It's all intuitive. You'll do just fine, lad. Just teach them about the strength of shield walls, the tactical advantage of a solid fighting square and how to respond in formation to commands. Get them practising. That's what I need. That's what you must do. Lives depend on it, Saark. All our lives.'
'Bloody great,' mumbled the dandy.
'As I said,' roared Grak, 'the bastard here will help. I've trained soldiers before. Just see yourself as the commissioned officer, and me as your finely honed tool.'
'There's only one finely honed tool around here,' mumbled Saark, but forced a smile. 'Very well. If train men I must, then train men I must! We will turn back the tide of these evil vampires! Hurrah!' He flourished his rapier. Everybody stared at him.
'But don't think you can sit on your arse and do nothing,' said Grak, amiably.
'Er. That's something like what I had in mind. You said yourself, you've trained men before.'
'Aye, but I won't put up with slothful bastards. I put my foot down, I do.'
'I take it by your story and demeanour, young Grak, that something untoward happened to your last Commanding Officer?'
'Aye. I cut off his hand.'
'By accident?'
'Well, it was his accident to be damn disrespectful about the men whilst I was chopping wood.'
'I thought you said you killed your General?' interjected Kell.
'Aye, him as well. Why do you think I'm here?'
Saark stared at Kell. 'Please?' he mouthed, silently.
Kell turned his back on the dandy, and slapped Jagor Mad on the shoulder, having to stand on tiptoe to do so. 'Come on, lad. Our horses are waiting.'
'How long will you be?' said Saark, in what bordered on a useless puppy whine.
'A week, I reckon,' said Kell, and glanced back. 'Don't let me down on this, Saark. You understand?'
'Yes, Kell.'
'And Saark?'
'Yeah?'
'Watch out for Sara. She's a wily bitch. I think she communes with Kuradek, so I'd limit what she can see, hear and do. She can spy bloody everything from that cell you put her in.'
'Perhaps you'd like me to put a bag over her head?'
'A brilliant idea! Just don't get too close to her claws.'
'Yes,' said Saark, weakly.
'And Saark?'
'Go on.' He sighed. 'What now?'
'Don't touch Nienna.'
'Like I would dream!'
'I know all about your fucking dreams, lad. If you do it again, the next fight we have, vampire invasion or no, you'll be wearing your feet as souvenirs round your pretty slit throat.'
'Any other advice?'
'Keep the men well fed, but work them hard.'
Saark put his hands on his hips. 'Any more fucking advice? Why the fuck are you leaving? Maybe you should write me a, y'know, short manuscript on the art of running a fucking soldier-camp full of scumbag convicts – no offence meant -'
'None taken,' smiled Grak menacingly.
'- or maybe you should just do it yourself!'
'See you in a week.'
Saark scowled as Kell and Jagor moved to the horses, the finest war chargers from Governor Myrtax's stables. Huge beasts of nineteen hands, one was a sable brown gelding, the other charcoal black. Kell mounted the black beast, which reared for a moment and silhouetted Kell against the weak winter sun.
Saark stared in wonder.
Kell calmed the gelding, patting its neck and whispering into its ear, and ducking low over the horse's neck, galloped off through the gates of the Black Pike Mines and out onto the snowy fields beyond, closely followed by the hulking figure of Jagor Mad dressed in bulky furs and standing in his stirrups, giving a final, menacing, backward glance.
'I hope he knows what he's doing,' said Saark.
'I hope you do,' said Grak, staring at him.
The gates closed on well-oiled hinges, and Saark glared at Grak with open hatred. 'I'm going for a bath,' he said.
Grak nodded, and watched the peacock strut away, hand on scabbard, a stray sausage stuck to the back of his silk leggings. Grak sighed, and stared up at the sky.
'The gods do like to challenge,' he said, and headed for the barracks.
Kell and Jagor rode in silence for a long time. West they travelled, along a low line of foothills before the rearing, dark, ominous Black Pike Mountains. Both horses carried generous packs of provisions, and for a while Kell brooded on his last conversation with Nienna.
'I'll miss you, grandfather.'
'And I you, little Nienna.'
'I am little no longer,' she laughed.
'You will always be a child to me.'
He sensed, more than saw, her shift in mood.
'That's the problem, isn't it? You control. I heard what mother said, heard some of the things she accused you of; and I have seen you raise your hand to me on several occasions! You need to learn, grandfather, you need to get in tune with the modern way of thinking! I am a little girl no longer! Understand?'
'When I was a boy,' said Kell, 'a woman could not… meet with a man until she was twenty-five summers! You hear that? Twenty-five years old! And you are seventeen, a suckling child barely weaned from her mother's tit and still lusting after the stink of hot milk.'
'How dare you! I can have children! I can drink whiskey! I am a woman, and men find me attractive. Who the hell are you to lecture me on keeping myself to myself? I worked it out, Kell. I'm not stupid. You were twenty when you sired my mother; and she was eighteen. Barely older than me! And I bet that wasn't the first time your child- maker had a bit of fun with her…'
Kell glared, and lifted Ilanna threateningly. 'You need to learn to hold your tongue.'
'Or what? You'll cut it out?'
Kell frowned now, as a cold wind full of snow whipped down from the mountains and blasted him with more ferocity than his memories allowed for. Or had he simply been tougher, during his youth? As the years passed, had he simply grown weak? More pampered? Relying more on his reputation than any real skill in battle?
Kell was troubled by Nienna, but aware that events were overtaking him fast. He knew Saark would destroy any training he hoped to give his fledgling army. And anyway – an army of bloody convicts? Kell would laugh so hard he would puke, if he could summon the stamina.
And just to make his life more miserable, filled with hardship, filled with pain, the poison injected into him by
