Vampire Warlords: The Clockwork Vampire Chronicles (42 page)

  "I'm also looking forward to carving my name on Graal's arse with Ilanna. That's something been a long time coming. After all, it's no good sending these bastard Warlords back to the Chaos Halls if Graal just goes and summons 'em again. Eh, lad?"

  "You're quite right. But you forget, Kell, I am a creature of the night. Or more precisely, a creature who hunts in ladies' bedrooms, dances on mosaic ballroom floors, caresses flesh in sculpted flowery gardens, and generally behaves in a way fitting for any would-be member of nobility. You, Kell, you know weapons and warfare. Whereas I, well old man, I know sex, and you've had you some."

  "Eh?"

  "You've been playing hide the pickle, haven't you, old man? Well, you cunning, raunchy little squirrel, you. You secret stag, you closet pike, you rampant bull. Go on, who was it? One of the maids? Not that I'm suggesting your low-born lack of nobility excludes you from the finer and more succulent morsels of flesh on offer, I'm aware the city's been desecrated, thousands turned into vampires, and all that stuff. Leaves much leaner pickings for those on the prowl, so to speak." Saark winked. "Go on. Who was she?"

  "You are mistaken," said Kell, woodenly.

  "Nonsense! When I see fish, I smell fish. And when I see Kell behave like this… well, I can smell fish. Spill the beans old goat, after all, you've done enough laughing at my terrible sexual misfortunes over the last few months. Aye, and judgemental, you've been. About time I got some payback for all those quips about the donkey."

  "I notice she's still here," said Kell through gritted teeth.

  "Mary is well and fine and carrying a payload of shields. You, however, are changing the subject. Go on, which lucky lass got to play with Kell's Legend? It was that young woman clearing the table, wasn't it? You scamp! She must be thirty years your junior! Have you no shame?"

  Saark punched Kell on the arm. Kell stared at the place Saark punched him, then scowled, and glared at the dandy.

  "You've got a big mouth. You've got a runny brain. Like a bloody undercooked egg yolk, it is. You need to keep your nose out of other people's business. And
you
need to refine your character if you think you're a fit man to look after my granddaughter for the next thirty years without me hunting you down and crushing you like a beetle under my boot."

  "So, it
was
the cook! A fine and stocky lass she turned out to be, and I'm always the first to admit, a woman with a goodly amount of weight and mass to her, a big lass with big bones like that – well, you can't go wrong, can you? I mean, you need a woman who can take a good, hard–"

  "It was Myriam."

  They walked for a while, in silence, and Saark looked at Kell, opened his mouth to speak several times, then closed it again. He tried again, and again closed his mouth. Finally, he said, "She told me she loved me. She said we would live together, be strong together. That we would never die – thanks to our combined vachine energies. She said we were like royalty! We could achieve anything our hearts desired!"

  Kell chuckled. "Just before she tried to drown you, if I remember it rightly?"

  "Harsh, Kell, harsh."

  "Well, what do you expect? You prance about, trying your amorous expertise on any woman who'll give you the barest sniff. That's what you are, Saark. A bloody sniffer dog. I've never seen a man so damn and permanently
erect!"

  "I thought we were talking about one of my true loves, and how you'd just had your way with her? You seem to have strayed away from our topic, and indeed, the prickly edges of my rapidly breaking heart."

  "She seduced me," said Kell, primly.

  "
What?
Ha! What arse-rot. I know Myriam, and she is a fine judge of character."

  "Maybe
that's
why she tried to kill you?"

  "Amusing, Kell. Can you see me laughing?"

  Kell chuckled. "No, but I can see Mary laughing. At least your ass finds my comedy a damn sight more amusing than her owner!" The sound of Mary braying could be heard, and various shouts as men tried to stop the unpredictable donkey from kicking and bolting.

  "This is hard for me, Kell. You've taken my woman!"

  "No," said Kell. "I have taken nothing. She gave me plenty, though."

  They walked again, in silence, for quite a while.

  "Hey," said Kell, staring at Saark. "You know that little sound she makes?"

  "What little sound?"

  "Like a bird, chirping."

  "I never heard no sound like a bird chirping. What are you talking about, you old fool?"

  "Sure, Saark. You must have heard her. She makes it, when she orgasms…" Kell placed his hand over his mouth. "Oh, sorry, Saark. Maybe you didn't hear it after all." Kell's booming laughter ranged across the marching columns on the Great North Road, and Saark trailed along behind him, fists clenched, face like thunder, heart ticking with clockwork.

The albino soldiers from the Army of Brass moved slowly through the valley. It was ringed with trees, and steep rocky flanks led up to Valantrium Moor to the east.

  General Exkavar held up his fist, and the army halted. His captains came to him, and he issued orders to set up camp. He ordered scouts out to scan the surrounding country, and various patrols to watch over the troops as they set up base-camp for the night.

  After an hour, tents had been erected, fires lit, food was cooking and night descended. Exkavar knew that further south and west the Army of Silver were setting up a similar camp. He smiled to himself. The Army of Silver would check Fawkrin, and Gilrak further south. The Army of Brass would march through Valantrium, and Old Valantrium, and then both armies would convene at Vor and smash the vampires there. The remains of the Army of Iron would join, forming the closing claws of a perfect manoeuvre, and Vor – the capital city of Falanor – would belong to
them
. To the
White Warriors
. And the
Harvesters
with whom they worked…

  Exkavar moved to his tent, and slowly removed his armour. Servants brought a bowl of water warmed over the fire, and the old general washed his pale, white limbs, washed sweat and salt from his skin, from his face, from his stinging eyes. And then he sat, in a simple white robe, and ate dried meat and strips of dried fruit – the
eldabarr
fruit, grown far to the north, far past the Black Pike Mountains. In the place where the vachine ruled.

  Distant screams reached Exkavar's ears, and frowning, he stood and reached for his black sword. He ran from his tent – and the world smashed down into
chaos.
All around men were fighting, swords slashing, most of the albino soldiers in underwear or simple cotton leggings. There had been no early warning. Not one patrol had sounded a bugle alarm. And the enemy, the enemy were –

  General Exkavar
blinked
, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. They were children, and their skin was gloss black, and they moved fast, some too fast to see until they stopped, for a moment, to chop off a head or arms or legs. They glistened under the moonlight and Exkavar's stomach
churned
, not just with the simple disgust of seeing them, for they were horrible to behold, a blend of child and insect, teeth black and pointed, many with claws instead of hands, and four arms, and taloned feet. They ran and jumped and crawled and squirmed, and some had large pulsing thoraxes dangling between legs like deviant, distorted pregnant bellies. His stomach
churned
because he knew what they were, and fear ate through him as easily as the
Ankarok
ate through his soldiers. They were like a swarm, of locusts, or something more dark and terrible, and there were hundreds of them,
thousands
in fact. They slammed through the Army of Brass, and killed everyone, and all the time there was a background hissing, like a million insects buzzing and croaking and Exkavar stood, and waited to die, but he did not die, it was a miracle, until he saw a boy walking towards him and his eyes were glowing black and he was dressed in rags but Exkavar knew him, he
knew
this was The Skanda. The King.

  Exkavar stood to attention as all around him men were decapitated and ground screaming into the snow. White blood splattered tent walls. Limbs flew through the air to impact with sickening crunches.

  He could hear them…

  
we have been imprisoned for thousands of years

  
we are free now to roam and kill and devour

  
we are free to take back the land

  
we are free to kill.

  The Skanda halted, and looked up at General Exkavar. "You were heading to Vor?" he said.

  Exkavar nodded, and then blinked, for behind The Skanda walked General Graal. The man held his head high, and his blue eyes shone, but his face was riddled with patches of black insect chitin. As if he had started to
blend
. To become a part of the ancient race known as
Ankarok.

  "You have another army, south and west of here."

  "I will never divulge military information," snarled Exkavar, and attacked in a blur, sword slamming at Skanda's head. The little boy did not move, but Graal's sword intervened – and slowly, Graal pushed Exkavar's weapon back. With a flick of the wrist, Graal disabled Exkavar, then his head snapped left as if awaiting instruction.

  "We have no further need for him. Kill him," said Skanda.

  Graal's sword cut Exkavar's head from his shoulders. Graal looked up, and all around the camp had descended into death, and now silence. The several thousand Ankarok warriors stood motionless, eyes glistening, skin glistening. They were perfectly immobile. As if controlled. As if turned to stone.

  "Kell comes from the north," said Graal.

  "We head south," said Skanda.

  "Kell has an army, now," said Graal. "That's what the patrol told us. Maybe five thousand men. Maybe more."

  "Our priority is Vor," said Skanda. "Meshwar will be driven back. We
need
that city."

  "And what of Kell?"

  Skanda smiled, black teeth glistening. He reached out, and patted Graal's arm. "Don't worry. You shall have your time. You shall have your chance. And you shall have revenge."

  Skanda turned, and a high-pitched squeal reverberated throughout the valley. The Ankarok turned south, and like a buzzing plague of insects, headed through the forests… and towards the unsuspecting Army of Silver.

CHAPTER 15

Bhu Vanesh

It was night. Kell crawled through the snow, which froze his knees and made him wince. Damn, he hated it when his knees seized up.
Getting old
, he thought to himself bitterly.
Old, and weak, and tired, and weary. Weary of the world. Weary of the years. Weary of the fighting. Everything seems so complicated now, why can't it be simple like in the old days? In the old days, Saark would have been hanged from the nearest oak if he'd stepped outside in silk and perfume…

  
How decadent we've become.

  
How decadent…

  "It's quiet," said Saark, who was lying next to Kell in the snow. "Maybe too quiet?"

  "They're out there," said Kell, and his eyes scanned the huge sprawl of Port of Gollothrim below. On the outskirts were massive yards and factories, silent now, still, motionless, a ghost town within a ghost town. Machines should be grinding and clanking, Kell knew. Gollothrim was a thriving anthill, even at night. But not tonight.

  The vampires had taken control…

  "You know we'll not get them out for combat," said Grak the Bastard, voice low, stroking his beard. He was a reassuring mass in the darkness. Grak had proved himself to be a more than able soldier. "We'll have to go in after them. I reckon those Warlords speak to each other, up here." He tapped his head. "They'll know right enough what happened to Kuradek. Know how Kell disposed of him. There'll be no sneaking in, this time."

  Kell scratched his beard. "I need to get to Bhu Vanesh. I need to bury Ilanna in his skull, open the pathway back to the Chaos Halls. They want him back, that much is for sure."

  "Who?" said Saark, looking sideways at Kell.

  "The Keepers," said Kell, darkly.

  "You know
way
too much for a fat old man," said Saark, and shivered. "And sometimes, you can have too much insight. Me, I'd rather have a plump serving wench sat on my face, ten flagons of ale and a plate of fried pork and eggs in the morning."

  Kell stared at Saark. "I have a favour to ask."

  "Yes?"

  Kell looked down, and seemed to fidget for a moment. He gestured to the vast sprawl of Gollothrim. "It's going to be wild down there, you know that? It's going to be
bad
. Much worse than Jalder."

  "You think?"

  "I have a sixth sense about these things," said Kell, quietly. "What I wanted to ask you, what I wanted to…
request
, was a promise. Something sworn in blood and honour. Can you do that for me, Saark?"

  Saark stared into Kell's dark eyes. There was a glint of desperation there. Saark nodded. "Kell. I fool around a lot. But you know, deep down, I was the Sword Champion of King Leanoric. And yes, I betrayed him, but I do have honour – I have honour for my friends, and for those whom I love. I may wear handsome silks and the finest perfumes – don't comment – but when it really matters, I will kill and die if needed. You
know
that, don't you?"

  "I know, laddie." Kell chewed his lip. "If I die down there, Saark, I want you to promise me you'll take care of Nienna. I want you to
swear
on your lifeblood that you will not treat her bad. You will treat her with respect and honour and dignity, help her with the hard choices in life… hell, I don't know. Be like a
guardian
for her. She's a tough girl, I know – she's my granddaughter, after all. But she's still just a babe when held against the warped tapestry of the real world. Of history."