by Warhammer
There were more statues, carved into the bases of the columns and the inner walls of the gates. Ancient fyreslayers glowered woodenly at the thick masses of spider web that stretched curtain-like over every empty space. Even here, the infestation had taken hold. By the light of the dancing fireflies, Volker saw that these webs were occupied – hundreds of cocoons hung suspended above and around them as they entered the plaza through Grimnir’s gaping mouth. Water from the previous day’s rain cascaded in thin streams from the heights above, running along the strands of each web, to pool and stretch across the broken surface of the plaza.
Everywhere were signs of devastation. Whole sections of the web had been burnt away to nothing, and several of the gates had been charred black. Thick slabs of broken wood lay in smouldering piles, half obscured by new webs being woven about them. And among the rubble, scrawny, tattooed green shapes, as well as the broken bodies of spiders and other beasts. ‘What happened here?’ Zana murmured.
Lugash grunted. ‘A fight.’ He used the edge of his axe to lift a ragged strand of blackened web. ‘And smell that? That’s not normal fire-sign.’
The others sniffed. Volker frowned. ‘Warpfire. The ratkin have been here.’ For a moment, he imagined skaven scurrying along the network of immense branch-roads, flooding the canopy with hairy bodies.
Lugash nodded grimly. ‘Yes, and not long ago.’ He looked around and sniffed. ‘All dead, more is the pity.’
‘Yes,’ Adhema said. Lugash glanced at her, frowning. Apparently satisfied that she wasn’t mocking him, he turned back.
‘They look in bad shape, most of them. Burnt, pulverised and punctured. The ratkin are efficient, when they want to be.’ He said it grudgingly, and scraped the edges of his weapons together, making a ringing noise. ‘I’d wager that’s what the drums were about. The ratkin attacked, and the greenskins saw them off.’
‘Or were exterminated, along with anything else that got in the skavens’ way,’ Adhema said. She pointed upwards. ‘There’s at least one gargant-sized cocoon up there, in the lower webs, and plenty of grots. Looks like the spiders are playing carrion bird.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lugash growled. Fireflies swarmed about the doomseeker, their glow giving him a deathly pallor. He lifted his war-iron. ‘We are here.’ He spoke quietly, almost reverentially. He scraped his weapons together and pointed.
A larger gateway, bigger than any of the others, dominated the plaza, behind swathes of fluttering web. Unlike the smaller gates, it was not carved to resemble a face, but instead a massive, stylised flame. To either side of this flame stood immense wooden statues – one was Grimnir, but the other was a great salamander – Vulcatrix, perhaps, the Ur-Salamander – rearing up over the god. The statues faced each other, as if preparing to do battle.
And beyond this gateway was what could only be their destination. They stopped and stared at the edifice that towered above and beyond. The Heartwood of Gorch. The hearth-tree of an extinct lodge. Lugash murmured softly to himself, his voice echoing strangely in the ruin. ‘It’s amazing,’ Volker said.
‘It’s a tree,’ Lugash said, flatly.
A tree, perhaps, but one almost as large as the Spear of Mallus, a mountain of bark and branches rising inexorably upwards towards the ochre sky, its highest branches stretching outwards for leagues. Its bark had been carved and added to – battlements and gateways studded its surface, connected to the other, smaller trees by branch-paths and swaying bridges of vine.
Great plazas, similar to the one they now stood in, were visible to the north and the south. The plazas served as courtyards for the citadel, warding the cardinal approaches. Far below the plazas, the roots of the great tree had been shaped, somehow, into massive roadways the likes of which Volker had never before seen. The root-roads stretched off through the forest in all directions, spreading outwards from the lower trunk of the hearth-tree. Following the roads, he sidled towards the edge of the plaza.
The heights were not so dizzying as he’d first thought. They were no higher than the Bastion, really. From where he stood, he could also see ancient trees, survivors of fire and flood, which had been snapped in two. Their descent had warped the canopy, tearing gaping holes in the green, and shattering several of the branch-paths in their descent.
He frowned as he studied the destruction below, in the dim radiance of the swarming fireflies. The ground had been visibly carved and gouged, as if by immense, trundling wheels. It had been burnt black, too, as though by some great heat. The trail led across several crushed root-roads, and right up to the base of the huge tree. Then it veered away, heading west, to judge by the fallen trees and gouged earth. He’d seen several skaven war-engines of the sort that might accomplish similar sorts of destruction, but none so large as this one must have been.
It made sense, however. The skaven, in his experience, rarely went anywhere without war-machines of some sort. If they’d brought one that size into the forest, especially one that caused such devastation, it was no wonder the Spiderfang tribes had been provoked, and were still agitated enough to be on the hunt.
‘I noticed that trail before,’ Roggen murmured, from behind him. ‘It crossed our path at several points. A few days old, at least. As are the signs here.’
‘Your eyes are impressive,’ Volker said, glancing up at the knight. Harrow had a limp, green arm hanging from her beak. As he watched, the demigryph swallowed her meal with avian satisfaction.
‘I am used to spotting trails among the green. Especially ones that look as if they were made by daemons of iron and flame. They entered the forest to the south, and vanished west.’ Roggen frowned and turned in his saddle, studying the web-choked branches above.
Volker followed his gaze. Hundreds of small dark shapes wrapped in thick, gooey cocoons hung there, suspended above the plaza. Occasionally, one of the cocoons would twitch. He couldn’t repress a shiver. If it had been the skaven, they hadn’t won their battle without cost. ‘What were they looking for, I wonder?’
‘Perhaps the same thing we are,’ Roggen said softly. ‘They came with purpose, and recently. That cannot be a coincidence.’
‘Of course it can,’ Lugash growled, loudly. ‘This is not a saga, beast-rider. We are not the heroes of some vainglorious song. I–’
He was interrupted by a thunderous snarl from below. The plaza shook slightly as something clawed at it from below. The duardin turned, eyes wide. A broken section of rubble shifted and burst upwards as a massive shape hauled itself to its feet. A giant face, like a stretched and swollen parody of a man’s, pierced the thick webs that had covered it, and roared in anger.
Fingers like barge-poles slammed into the surface of the plaza, gouging deep canyons. Lugash dived back, out of reach of a groping paw. The gargant heaved himself up, until he loomed over them. Blood caked his gangly limbs and barrel chest. Burn marks dotted his torso, and the stink of infection wafted from him. The tiny eyes bulged with the madness of a wounded animal. Thick strands of webbing clung to the gargant’s body, and spiders skittered along his shoulders and gut. Volker realised that the spiders had likely been in the process of cocooning the brute, until they’d woken him.
The creature wore a crude harness of leather and wood, much of which had been melted to his flesh by some intense heat. On his back was something that might once have been a primitive howdah, but was now nothing more than a blackened ruin. Burnt bodies, small and scrawny, flopped and tumbled in the ruin, or else were fused to the gargant’s skin like blackened scabs. Jagged arachnid tattoos and scarified markings decorated the gargant’s flesh, beneath his many wounds.
The gargant gave a simian roar and slammed his fists down, shaking the plaza. Volker lifted his rifle, wondering if he could put the beast down. The gargant started forwards, propelling himself by his knuckles, swiping webs and spiders from his flesh. Bellows shook the webs, and eyes glittered in the hollows of the high branches
and beneath the leaves. ‘That’s torn it,’ Volker muttered, swinging his rifle around. He fired, killing a spider even as it prepared to pounce on Nyoka. The priestess whirled, and then nodded her thanks.
‘We need to get out of here,’ Zana barked, as more spiders poured into view.
‘Not with that brute in the way,’ Adhema said, spitting a spider on her blade. The gargant was closer now, shaking the branch, his big feet flattening any spiders that got in his way. Roggen lifted his helmet and set it on his head.
‘Now you will see why I brought her,’ he growled. He leaned down, and murmured something to the demigryph. Harrow shrieked in challenge. Roggen straightened and drew his blade. ‘Glory and death,’ he roared, thudding his heels into Harrow’s flanks. ‘Phoenicium stands!’
The demigryph leapt down the trunk of the tree, bounding towards the gargant. The gigantic brute bellowed and spread his long arms. Harrow struck him like a mortar round, knocking the gargant backwards, into the crumbled remains of the nearest gatehouse.
‘Not without me, you don’t,’ Lugash snarled, scrambling towards the fray. The gargant screamed and thrashed, trying to pry the demigryph off. Harrow’s talons had sunk deep, and it was all the brute could do to keep the demigryph’s beak from reaching his throat. Lugash’s war-iron sank into the gargant’s knee, and the doomseeker hauled himself up, waving his axe.
Volker crushed a spider with the stock of his rifle, and turned, batting a second out of the air. They weren’t much larger than stray cats, but then it might take the bigger ones time to make their way up the web. He didn’t want to be around when they arrived. They needed to end this quickly. He started towards the brawl, reloading as he walked. It was tricky, especially with spiders swarming everywhere, but he had done it under more difficult circumstances. He sidestepped a scuttling arachnid and kicked it over the edge of the plaza.
Behind him, he could hear Zana and the others keeping the spiders away, with boots, blades and bludgeoning. The gargant’s thrashing would make their efforts moot, however. The brute twisted, trying to dislodge Harrow, who now clung to his back, her beak embedded in his neck. Roggen stabbed at the gargant’s head, as Lugash continued to chop the creature’s leg. Even wounded as he was, the brute refused to fall. Instead, he knelt on hand and knees, free hand pawing at the demigryph, his blood raining down across the trees below.
Eventually, they would kill him. But by then, the plaza would be crawling with spiders. The gargant moaned loudly, garbling words in his own tongue. Threats, perhaps. Or maybe pleas. There was no way to tell, and no time to figure it out. No time for mercy, or hesitation. Only time to pull the trigger, and pray.
Volker got as close as he could, lifted his rifle, and pressed the barrel to the gargant’s skull. In the moment before the hammer snapped down and the powder flashed, the creature rolled its agonised eyes towards him. He saw only animal suffering there. And then, nothing at all, as the echo of the shot faded and the gargant slumped with a disgruntled sigh. Harrow continued to tear at the body, screeching.
‘You killed it,’ Lugash roared. He waved his bloody axe in anger. ‘Who asked you to interfere, manling?’
Volker snatched his artisan pistol from his belt and shot a spider off the doomseeker’s shoulder. He put the weapon away and began to reload his long rifle. ‘What did you say before? This isn’t a saga, remember? We don’t have time for this.’ He turned. ‘Let’s go – move, now!’
Zana and the others raced along the branch, pursued by a horde of spiders. As they began to clamber up the gargant’s carcass, Volker slung his rifle and reached into his satchel. He extracted a small clay pot capped with wax, and a scrap of fuse soaked in oil. Scratching the wax, he quickly inserted the fuse and turned to Lugash. ‘Lugash – make a spark.’
The doomseeker scraped his weapons together, creating a spark. The fuse caught and began to burn. Volker turned, gauged the distance and lobbed the pot. It crashed down, just past the gargant’s out-flung hand, and exploded into fire. Spiders retreated as the fiery liquid contained in the pot splattered across the plaza and began to spread.
Volker turned and chivvied Lugash up onto the gargant. ‘Go, that won’t hold them back forever. The wyldfire doesn’t burn for long.’
‘What was that stuff?’ Zana demanded, as she caught Volker’s hand and helped him up. ‘I’ve never seen anything burn that fast.’
‘You wouldn’t, this side of Aqshy and the Cauldron.’ Volker didn’t look back as he clambered past the ruined howdah. ‘There’s a type of water there that bursts into flame when exposed to an igniting spark. We tried using it in greater quantity, but it’s too unpredictable. Even for the Ironweld.’
‘And you just carry it around with you?’ She sounded horrified. Volker shrugged.
‘It’s not that dangerous.’
Zana glanced back. The flames had caught at the webs now, and were steadily creeping outwards, claiming anything the skaven warpfire hadn’t.
‘Bad luck, to burn healthy trees,’ Roggen said, as Harrow loped ahead of them, her beak still wet with blood.
‘It won’t burn for long. It’s too hot for that. Even with a ready source of fuel, it’ll go out in a few moments. Another reason we don’t use it.’
They moved quickly across the plaza towards the main gate, Lugash leading the way. Volker could hear the thump of drums, echoing through the trees. The fireflies swarmed in agitation, and the webs above them shook with the weight of scuttling bodies. ‘They’re beating those cursed drums again,’ Zana said. ‘I think we woke up more than that gargant. We’d best get out of the open, and swiftly.’
‘Too late, I think,’ Nyoka said. The priestess pointed her hammer at the sudden flurry of movement that was occurring within the main gateway. A moment later, a flood of spiders burst through the ragged curtains of webbing, the hunched forms of feather- and bone-bedecked grots clinging to their backs. The creatures urged their eight-legged mounts forwards with shrill screams. Volker’s heart sank. There were too many of them.
‘We need to find a place to fight it out, or we’ll be overwhelmed,’ Zana said. She looked at Volker. ‘Unless you’ve got another firebomb in that bag of tricks?’
‘Just one,’ he said. In truth, he had one or two, but that wasn’t going to stop them. There were too many, and they were too fast. He reached into his satchel for the pistol-like device Brondt had given him, and fired it into the air. It burst into a cascade of multicoloured lights, momentarily throwing back the shadows and dismaying the grots. Then, as the light faded, the grots urged their spiders up over slanted slabs of rubble and along the strands of webbing, closing in on the group from all directions at once.
‘Was that it?’ Zana asked, glaring at him.
He tossed aside the smoking device. ‘Hopefully. If Brondt’s managed to get his ship moving, we might just survive…’
‘That doesn’t get us inside, or had you forgotten that, manling?’ Lugash snapped. ‘I’ll not be stopped here, and certainly not by any poxy grots.’ He raised his weapons. ‘I’m going in, even if I have to chop my way through every spider in this blasted forest.’
‘And get yourself killed in the bargain,’ Zana said. The doomseeker glared at her, but before he could reply, Roggen beat him to it.
‘Leave it to me, my friends,’ the knight said. ‘Stupid beasts, to think we can be stopped so easily, hey girl?’ He patted Harrow’s neck. ‘We have tilled tougher fields than this.’ He leaned forwards in his saddle, his ironoak armour rustling softly. ‘I will clear the path. Do not wait for us.’ Harrow snarled and tensed, tail lashing. Roggen snatched up the heavy mace from his saddle with his free hand, and raised his sword in the other. He thumped Harrow’s flanks. ‘Hup-ya! Time to earn your keep, lazy beast.’
Harrow sprang forwards, moving far more swiftly than any animal that size ought. The demigryph shrieked, and her claws gouged the wood of the plaza,
sending up a cloud of splinters and torn webbing. She sprang towards the closest spider, beak wide. The grot on its back stared up in wide-eyed horror as the demigryph crashed down, splattering both spider and rider. The other scuttling arachnids wasted no time, racing to attack.
Roggen bent and swayed in the saddle, lashing out at the grots and their monstrous steeds as they scurried towards him from all directions. His mace slammed down, pulping a green, feather-bedecked skull, even as his sword lashed out, slicing through hairy limbs. The grots uttered shrill, clicking cries as they urged their arachnids forwards.
Harrow did not wait for them. The demigryph pounced, cat-like, rending and tearing. Slowly but steadily the brawl spun away from the path, as Roggen’s efforts drew the attentions of the grots from the others.
‘Come on,’ Lugash growled, darting towards the yawning gateway. He raced through the chaos, striking out at any spider or grot that sought to bar his way. Volker followed, repeater pistol growling. Spiders juddered and fell, torn apart by the volley of lead. He slung the weapon and reached for its twin without pausing.
Zana and Nyoka followed him, their own weapons dispatching any foe that avoided his shots or Lugash’s bull-charge. A moment later, they passed through the gateway, leaving their companion to his lonely battle.
They floundered slightly, caught up in the strands of webbing that the spider-riders had so easily navigated. Volker thrust the stock of his rifle through the webs, tearing them aside. He and the others chopped or tore their way through, until at last they reached the entry hall. From behind them, Volker heard the crash of weapons and Harrow’s snarling screeches.
