by Warhammer
‘This place stinks of evil sorcery. Such power hsd been drawn on here as has not been felt in centuries. Daemons have been here, aye, and, worse than daemons.’
‘What could be worse than daemons, majesty?’ Ivan asked curiously.
‘The men who would summon them.’
Ivan was not sure about that, but he was not about to argue. Ahead of them, he could see new enemies emerging from the gates of Praag, thousands upon thousands of them, frothing with battle lust, and ready to die in combat.
‘It seems we must worry about these wicked men later, my queen,’ he said.
‘Aye, old friend, for now we must face daemons in earnest.’
Looking at the glowing shapes in the middle of the oncoming horde, Ivan knew exactly what she meant. He took a moment to commend his soul and the soul of his daughter to Ulric, and then prepared to charge once more.
Max swarmed up the swaying rope ladder into the airship’s cupola. The wind tore at his face, and he took a last look down. It was a long drop. The streets of the burning city were a long way below. Ulrika waved up at him and then raced off to join the duke’s force. He prayed she would be all right. She meant as much as life to him. Still, he could not see what harm could come to her now. No one was leaving the inner city and venturing out into that inferno.
The squat leather-clad form of the Slayer Engineer, Malakai Makaisson, was there to greet him. His leather flying-helm with the slit cut in it for his dyed crest of hair was on his head. The crystal goggles he wore when flying his gyrocopter were pushed back onto his forehead.
‘You took your time, Malakai,’ said Max. He found he was grinning nonetheless as he stretched out his hand to grasp the Slayer’s.
‘Aye, weel, we had a wee bit o’ mechanical trouble an’ then some bother wi’ the headwinds, an’ it took some time tae get ah the lads the gither,’ said Makaisson. He actually sounded a little embarrassed about it. ‘An’ the Spirit is joost a wee bit overloaded tae.’
‘Well, better late than never.’
‘That’s what ah always say. Whaur’s Gotrek and the lad Felix Jaeger? They no wi’ ye?’
It was Max’s turn to sound embarrassed. ‘I don’t know where they are. I last saw them on the outer wall. They’re probably fighting in the city right now. They were not in the citadel.’
‘Well, if onybody is gannae be fine in this mess, it’s that pair, so ah better get doon tae bizness.’
‘What would that be?’
‘The Slayer King asked me tae ferry his warriors here. Got aboot a hundred stuffed intae every nook and cranny. Some are even upstairs in the gasbag. We’d better get the lads ontae the grun so they can start fightin’ an’ ah can get doon tae the serious bizness o’ killin’ beastmen.’
Even as Max and the Slayer spoke, hard-faced dwarf warriors were pushing their way down the passage, and swarming down the rope.
‘Ah wuz gannae gaun back an’ bring the rest, but it looks like ah neednae bother. The fightin’ might well be ever by the time ah got back.’
‘Every little helps, Malakai.’
‘Aye, weel, ah built some new weapons onto the Spirit of Grungni here. Ah’ll show them in a wee minute, yince the boys are doon. That was yin o’ the things that kept me awae so laung. Ah thocht I might need something special for this.’
Max wondered what Malakai Makaisson could possibly have brought that was deadly enough to turn the tide of this conflict. He knew that if anyone could build such a thing it was the Slayer Engineer.
‘Is that the last of them?’ Felix asked.
‘Snorri doesn’t think so!’ said Snorri peering into the gloom. Snow, melted by the heat of the burning buildings, was starting to puddle round his feet. Blood mingled with the water. The reflected flames looked odd in the ruddy mess.
‘Where have they all gone then? There seems to be less of them than there was a minute ago.’
‘That’s coz we killed so many, young Felix,’ said Snorri. Felix shook his head. Was it really possible for any creature to be as stupid as Snorri Nosebiter and still live he wondered?
‘The manling is right,’ said Gotrek. ‘Something has drawn them off, and it’s not just the Spirit of Grungni.’
‘What does Makaisson think he’s playing at?’ asked Ulli. ‘One minute he was overhead, bombing the Chaos lovers, and the next he’s vanished.’
‘We just can’t see him from here,’ said Felix. ‘My guess is that he headed for the citadel. Must have brought some warriors or some weapons.’
‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Bjorni said. ‘Come on. Let’s go and see if we can find some more beastmen to kill.’
‘Snorri thinks that’s a good idea,’ said Snorri.
‘And if ye pull this lever,’ Malakai Makaisson said, pulling the lever, ‘it drops alchemical fire on the wee basturds. Like so!’
Max knew enough to understand what was going on. It was the same stuff the siege engines on the walls had used, the ever-burning fire of the ancients. Not even water or snow could put it out. It would burn for days. Screams rising from below told the wizard that the beastmen were discovering this the hard way.
‘Malakai, isn’t it dangerous to carry alchemical fire on an airship? You are always talking about the fire hazard and it’s one of the most inflammable substances known to magecraft.’
Malakai tugged at another control lever, and swung the wheel, bringing the Spirit of Grungni around for another pass over the Chaos horde. ‘Aye, weel… ye’re right, ye ken, but ah thocht, joost this yince, it would be worth the risk. Ah coodnae think o’ onythin’ else that would even the odds. Except maybe this,’ he added, pulling another lever.
‘What is it?’ The sound of enormous explosions rose from beneath him.
‘Bloody big bombs. Gunpooder an’ lots o’ it. Cost a fortune tae make but the Slayer king was footin’ the bill so why no?’
‘Malakai, you are insane,’ Max said, shuddering. Alchemical fire and tons of gunpowder on an overloaded airship, flying through a storm. It was a miracle that they had arrived at all. If he’d known, he would never have volunteered to come aboard and brief the Slayer as to the situation. This was quite possibly the most dangerous place in the battle right now.
All it would take would be for one fireball spell to break through the wards he’d placed on the machine before it went off into the Chaos Wastes, and everyone on the airship would be blasted to Morrslieb by the power of the explosion. No wonder Malakai was flying with a skeleton crew. It was a wonder anyone had elected to remain on board at all.
‘Ah’ll tell ye somethin’ though, Max, there were a few times this past flight when ah damn near cacked ma britches. Ah will never dae this again. No if ah live tae be five hundred.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Max. He wondered how Ulrika was doing. Was she fighting down there in the city even now? Malakai pulled the lever again. There was a long whistling sound and then a huge explosion.
‘Excellent,’ said Malakai peering backwards and downwards. ‘Got yin o’ those big siege towers.’
‘Sounded like an explosion,’ said Felix. ‘A big one. What new deviltry is this?’
‘If you ask me it’s that Malakai Makaisson up to his tricks,’ said Bjorni. They had all seen the airship go sailing overhead a few minutes ago, and they all knew what the Slayer Engineer was capable of dreaming up.
‘Sounds like lots of explosions,’ said Snorri. He was right too. It sounded like a continuous rumble of thunder in the distance. The ground shook, and some of the blazing buildings threatened to topple. As they ran for an open plaza, a strange chemical stink assailed their nostrils. Gotrek sniffed at it loudly.
‘Alchemical fire. Only a maniac like Makaisson would think of taking that on an airship.’
He sounded almost as if he admired the engineer’s insanity.
Kelmain and his brother watched the huge airship passing over the Chaos horde as it poured from the blazing city.
‘Protected,’ he said. To his mage
senses, the runes protecting the flying machine blazed like beacons.
‘Powerfully,’ Lhoigor agreed. ‘Given time we could overcome them though.’
‘Given time, and a period of recuperation, you mean, brother,’ Kelmain said, grinning wickedly at his twin.
‘Do you think we should try?’
‘No. Whatever happens, Arek’s army is doomed. The fool should have listened to our advice. Why waste our strength trying to stave off the inevitable? We will need it to get ourselves away.’
‘You are correct, I fear,’ said Lhoigor.
‘There’s always next spring,’ said Kelmain. ‘Once the paths of the Old Ones open we will be able to do what we wish. We can unite the other warlords and move the great plan forward.’
‘Arek might win yet.’ Kelmain laughed.
‘Do you really think that’s likely? I suspect the old powers oppose him here. I am starting to feel the daemons fade.’
‘Then perhaps we should be going – before we get caught up in the rout.’
The two sorcerers gestured. The air shimmered and, in a moment, they were gone, leaving behind the dozen or so corpses of the apprentices they had drained of their power.
Arek led his beastmen along the street. He was filled with a seething annoyance. He could sense that somehow things had turned against him, and he was not where he ought to be. Right now, he should be leading his army against the Kislevites. Looking at the massive airship raining death down on his army from above, he knew they would need someone to hold them together in the face of the assault.
Where were the magicians, he asked himself again? Surely they should have blasted it out of the sky by now. He cursed again. If only he had not thrown away the harpies in the earlier assault, they might have swarmed over the airship and torn it from the sky despite its deadly armaments. As it was, they were just too few to get past those deadly cannons. Well, live and learn, he thought. Next time he would know better.
Ahead of him, he could see a massive ruck. Beastmen were fighting with humans and dwarfs. He braced himself for the coming combat. He was enjoying the slaughter. It had been some time since he had indulged his taste for carnage and he had almost forgotten just how pleasurable exercising his physical superiority could be. There was something primal in the hack and slash of battle. It was at times like this he could understand why men followed the Blood God, Khorne.
A human warrior wearing the winged lion tabard of Praag charged at him. The man’s face was pale and his eyes were wide and mindless. Froth erupted from his lips. It was obvious to Arek that the man was berserk, near mindless with rage and fear. He charged at the Chaos warrior, howling barely coherent challenges. Behind his helmet, Arek’s face twisted into a grim smile. This was almost too easy.
The human guardsman aimed a blow straight at Arek’s head. He parried it easily with his runesword, chipping away bits of steel from his opponent’s blade. A blow from Arek’s axe separated the man’s head from his shoulders. Arek leapt forward into the fray, hacking as he went. Every blow struck home, pruning away limbs, shearing heads from necks, leaving twisted torsos dripping blood and entrails onto the cobblestones.
He gave himself up to the joy of combat, fighting with the icy precision characteristic of the followers of Tzeentch. This was a game to be enjoyed. Every blow was a move, every parry a counter-move, every footstep and every shift of weight a thing to be calculated precisely. He evaluated the situation around him with lightning speed and mathematical precision. He moved like a whirlwind of death through the melee, sweeping away the tiny motes of flesh and blood and life surrounding him. He reaped souls with each passing heartbeat.
He felt almost grateful to the chain of convoluted circumstances that had brought him to this out of the way place, in the darkest heart of the battle. He had stayed in his command throne too long, he thought. He needed this baptism of blood to remind him that he was a warrior as well as a worshipper of Tzeentch.
Nearby he sensed something; a mighty mystical force he knew was inimical to him and his kind. Suddenly the vision of the Slayer and his axe passed through Arek’s mind. Was it possible that the dwarf had survived and was somehow back in the combat? If so, it was too late to do anything about it.
Part of him warned him to shy away, to get away from whatever it was, knowing that here was something that could end his immortal existence. The part of his mind that had enabled him to live so long and rise so high knew that it was not worth taking a risk, that small though the probability was of his being defeated, it was still there. He had not reached where he was today by not listening to this part of his mind. Immortality, after all, was reached in part by playing the odds, and minimising the risks. If you lived long enough, even a one in a million chance was bound to come up some day.
At the same time, part of him recognised the fact that here was a foe worthy of being overcome, a challenge greater than these puny mortals represented. The part of him that had lain so long dormant, and which had woken to the thrill of combat, wanted to face the threat, and overcome it. And Arek was wise enough to realise that the challenge appealed to another facet of his personality too. Part of him, more deeply buried than all the rest and yet still there, was sick of his long life, weary of eternal warfare, bored with the eternal repetition of his daily struggle. He recognised this part of himself for what it was, the true enemy within, the weak human part that still sometimes felt fear or guilt, and which simply wanted an end to it all.
He knew that this part of him would have to be destroyed. It was a weight holding him back, anchoring him to his mortality that made failure and destruction a temptation. He knew that he should walk away from this battle, avoid the power that was coming ever closer. And yet he could not. The deeply hidden part of him, the weak, mewling pathetic thing that he despised still had some strength, so did the lure of combat, so did the desire to prove himself worthy. They all conspired to keep him moving forward, killing as he went, when the wisest part of him knew that he should be doing his best to get away.
Felix Jaeger wiped sweat from his forehead. As he did so he noticed his sleeve was red. Blood, he thought. The question was: did it belong to him or someone else? He did not know. He could not feel anything. There was no pain. This in itself meant nothing. Many times before, he had endured wounds in battle without even realising that he had taken them till after the fight was over. He wanted to reach up and touch his forehead to see if he felt torn flesh or exposed muscle or bone, but he did not dare. All around him was the howling madness of battle, and it would be suicidal to allow himself to be distracted for even a split second.
Off to his right, he saw Ulli surrounded by a squad of beastmen. The young dwarf was covered in a hundred nicks and cuts. His jerkin was torn. Somehow he had lost one boot, and there was a long gash on his exposed leg, pumping a slow flow of blood onto the stones. Nonetheless he fought on. His hammer smashed the skull of a beastman, sending splinters of bone and gobbets of brain flying everywhere.
‘Take that, beast!’ he bellowed, even louder than usual. ‘What are the rest of you waiting for? Come on and die!’
The beasts did not need a second invitation. Howling with bloodlust they threw themselves forward at the young dwarf, who kept himself alive only by dint of desperate parrying. Felix could see that he was not going to last much longer. Not caring whether the dwarf would thank him or not for interfering with his heroic doom, Felix launched himself into the fray. His blade took one surprised beastman in the side, the creature lashed out reflexively as it coughed blood and died, and only ducking swiftly kept Felix’s head on his shoulder.
A low blow hamstrung another beastman. A swift stab in the throat killed it as it fell. A hail of blows aimed in his direction told Felix that he had gotten the beast’s attention. Suddenly it did not seem like such a good idea. He fell back parrying desperately, praying to Sigmar that no beastman would attack him on the blindside as he had just attacked them. Where was Ulli, he wondered? Now would be a good tim
e for him to repay Felix’s help.
The beastmen were far stronger than he was, and it was only his speed and experience that were keeping him alive in the face of their multiple attacks. He blocked another blow and the force of the impact almost took his sword from his hands. Cursing, he returned the stroke, and was rewarded with the sight of two of the beastman’s fingers being sheared away. It dropped its huge bludgeon in surprise, and Felix took advantage of the moment to spear it in the groin, before continuing his fighting retreat.
He felt like he was caught in a raging sea now, being tossed around by waves of furious combat, and dragged away from his comrades by the currents of the battle. Sweat almost blinded him. He felt curiously disengaged from his body now. He fought mechanically, knowing that weariness was slowing him down, and that there was nothing he could do about it. He knew that if he lived, and kept on fighting, the weariness would pass, and his strength would return. It was curiously reassuring knowing this. Once he would have been terrified at being in the middle of this storm of blades, but somewhere along the line in his long travels with Gotrek, he had become a veteran.
Suddenly two of the beastmen ahead of him toppled forward, and he had to stay his hand before he chopped down Ulli. A look of ferocious joy was in the young Slayer’s eye. It was the sort of expression Felix had only seen on the face of dwarfs lost in the contemplation of gold. At this moment, however, he doubted that coin was what was on Ulli’s mind.
‘Got two more of the bastards!’ he bellowed and spread his arms exultantly, brandishing his weapon at the sky, as if challenging the gods themselves. ‘Come and get dead!’
They were the last words he ever spoke. A beastman’s axe descended on his head from behind. Fragments of bone and flesh splattered Felix’s face.
A red rage descended on Felix Jaeger. He leapt forward into the fray, fighting with renewed energy and a desperate desire to slay. He had not particularly liked Ulli but they had shared a desperate adventure together. Seeing someone he had known killed before his eyes was far more personal than watching the death of a stranger. It was a terrifying reminder of his own mortality, one that he could only blot out in a furious quest for vengeance.
