Andy Remic - Vampire Warlords

"Where?"

"To the north."

Grak and Saark ran around the fighting square, and stopped, dumbfounded. There, on a low hill, stood at least five thousand albino warriors. They wore black armour, black helms, carried black swords, and their shields were emblazoned with a brass image.

"Holy Mother," said Grak, and drew his sword. "We cannot fight two armies! On two flanks! We will be crushed!"

"We must flee the battlefield," urged Saark.

"No! We must stand! We must fight!"

"We cannot!"

"Archers!" screamed Grak, and turned, glancing to the square of women with bows strung, arrows stuck in the snow by their boots. He glanced back to the Harvesters. Ice-smoke billowed, and started creeping across the ground towards the men of Falanor… and the vampires stood, smiling, watching, claws flexing, blood-red eyes fixed on their prey…

There came a shouted command from the hilltop, and Saark drew his own sword. His mind was blank, mouth dry, bladder full of piss. They were going to die. Frozen. Cut down. Smashed apart like ripe fruit. "Shit shit shit," he muttered. "HORSE SHIT!"

The Army of Brass, led by General Exkavar, drew their swords with eerie precision, with the rhythm of a single machine… and charged down the hill towards the Falanor army in ghostly, flowing silence…

The room was filled with incredible opulence. From carved cherrywood chests, brass and gold urns, rich oil paintings covering huge expanses of wall, thick velvet curtains and drapes, carpets as thick as a man's fist covering the floors; well, it was a room fit for royalty.

At the centre, before the heavy, oak four-poster bed, stood Kuradek.

Kuradek, the Unholy.

"You came," he said, smoke curling around his smoke lips. And he smiled.

Kell and Myriam, who had been in the act of creeping into the room thinking Kuradek was in some kind of fugue, froze. They had waited a good ten minutes, watching him, but the Vampire Warlord had ceased to move, to breathe, apparently, to live. But he was alive. Alive and waiting.

"Well, we didn't want to let you down, boy," growled Kell, pushing his shoulders back and hoisting Ilanna.

Be calm, she said.

Until the… Time.

Kell stepped forward, and breathed deeply, and stared up at the towering figure of Kuradek, last seen on Helltop after his summoning from the Chaos Halls by General Graal.

"I thought you'd be bigger," said Kell.

"I knew you would come," said Kuradek. "It is written."

"What, prophecies again?" mocked Kell. "Give it a rest, you smoke-filled bastard. Now then." He pointed. "You know what I want. You know why I'm here. If you don't fuck off back to the Chaos Halls, I'm going to give you a damn good spanking and send you home with your tail between your legs."

Kuradek chuckled. "You think to challenge me, mortal? How?" He was genuinely amused. It was a genuine question.

"With this! " said Kell, shaking Ilanna at the Vampire Warlord.

The huge figure was silent for some time, as if analysing Kell and his weapon. Myriam, by the door, was of no consequence. Forgotten. Worse than forgotten: dismissed.

"One of the Three," said Kuradek, finally. "Well done. Still, She will not be enough."

"She is blood-bond," said Kell, gently, head lowered, eyes glittering dark. "And you know what that means."

"Then show me!" snarled Kuradek, and his huge long arms shot out, claws reaching for Kell who stepped back, and Ilanna smashed out left, then right, striking Kuradek's arms away. But incredibly, as they were slapped away, Ilanna's fearsome blades failed to penetrate the smoke flesh. Kuradek stepped forward, stooping, and behind Kell Myriam's Widowmaker hummed with clockwork and a bolt struck Kuradek straight in the face. The bolt was swallowed. Kuradek laughed. He moved with a hiss, so swift Kell was slammed aside, crashing through vases and a finely carved dressing table, turning them to tinder, hitting the wall and then the floor, winded, mind a blank, stunned by the speed and ferocity of Kuradek. Of the Vampire Warlord. " You think a fucking mortal could fight me? " he snarled, and held Myriam by the throat, two feet from the ground, her legs dangling, her face turning purple. " You think to challenge the might of the Vampire Warlords? " he shrieked, and threw Myriam who disappeared through the doorway, tumbling and rolling, flapping and slapping stone flags until she came to rest in the distance, useless and broken.

Kell climbed to his feet. He felt like an old man.

He stared at the smoke fangs. He stared hard at those blood-red eyes, glowing like coals.

He tried to summon Ilanna, but she was silent.

He tried to summon the rage from the Days of Blood… but it would not come. It had gone, deserted him, left him here like a lamb to die. To be sucked dry. To be slaughtered…

Kell stood his ground, pushing against the terrible fear which invaded him. "I have killed your kind before! " he growled, but his voice came out like a mewl from a frightened kitten.

"Not like me," said Kuradek, and there was a flash, a blur, and he was beside Kell, towering over Kell, looking down with those red eyes and Kell was frozen, could do nothing, and he realised in horror he was charmed by the vampire. Charmed, using blood-oil magick, a dirty back-hand trick. Kell snarled, but it was as if he was manacled in prison irons.

Kuradek leaned forward. His eyes were an inch from Kell's.

"You see. I have you in my power. Such an easy thing. Such a simple thing to disable the great Kell. Kell, the Legend?" Kuradek laughed, a low mocking sound, and smoked curled from his mouth, and entered Kell's lungs, and made him choke.

"I would say your time is done."

Kuradek's head lowered, and his fangs sank into Kell's throat…

Kell stood in the razed city. Around him, corpses burned. He was naked. He was smeared with the blood of a thousand people. Men. Women. Children. He laughed, and there was insanity in his mind, in his heart, in his soul. These were the Days of Blood. This was what Ilanna promised. Do it, said the voice, only this voice was not human, it was the voice of the axe, the primal voice of Ilanna – one of the Three. We must be blood-bond. For the future. For survival. Kell strode through the streets. When people ran before him, Ilanna cut out, chopping off legs and arms, lopping off heads. Bodies toppled at his feet, dead before they hit the ground. Gore splattered his legs. His toes squelched through pulped flesh. The gutters ran red. The cobbles were slick. Kell walked, and walked, and walked, and it took an eternity, and he wondered if sometimes he were dreaming, or in Hell, in the Bone Halls, in the Chaos Halls. He did not need food, or water, he wanted for nothing. Only constant slaughter. Only constant rampage. And the rage in him was terrible, all-consuming, and he was not human, he was not mortal. His blood flowed like lava. He had become an infection. A plague. A creature created to…

Fight.

The Impure.

To kill the impure, you must become impure. To eradicate evil, you must absorb the essence of evil. You must dance with the devils, Kell, you must be consumed by the Days of Blood, for only that way can you truly understand your greatest enemies, only that way can you become the nemesis of clockwork, of vampire, of wolf, of dragon, of all those other dark dreams which will come to plague Falanor during the following years…

It is written, Kell.

In the Oak Testament.

It is written you will be a killer, and a saviour.

It is written you must be impure, and pure.

It is written you shall never have redemption.

It is written you shall be a slave for all eternity.

Kell nodded, and walked, and accepted his fate, and reached the house and she was there, his sweet wife Ehlana, slim and naked, lying on the bed, and she glanced up and fear infused her eyes, fear and confusion and horror, and then she recognised him, and started to rise