02 - Temple of the Serpent

by C. L. Werner - (ebook by Undead)

  The skaven to Boneripper’s left came up short, recalling the horrific speed with which the monster could move. For a moment, however, his eyes were locked on the mangled shape of his comrade. It was a fragment of distraction that the ratman would never repeat. Boneripper sprang at him, smashing him flat with the palm of his paw and grinding his skull into the earth until it was jelly.

  Kong Krakback slashed at Boneripper’s flank, opening a great gash just above the monster’s knee. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he could see the ratman who had joined his attack turning to flee. He turned his head to snap a wrathful order to the coward, but the words never left his throat.

  Feeling the bite of Kong’s sword, Boneripper spun, swinging the crushed body he had been pounding into the ground. The flailing legs of the corpse smashed into Kong’s head, spilling him onto the ground and knocking the sword from his hand.

  Boneripper dabbed a paw to the fresh wound in his leg. He sniffed at the dark blood that coated his fingers and glared at the black skaven trying to crawl away from him. Roaring like a gold-mad dragon, Boneripper descended upon the dazed Kong. The rat ogre’s scythe-like claws closed around the squirming skaven’s body and lifted him into the air. Kong shrieked as he was held dangling before Boneripper’s hate-filled eyes.

  Slowly and maliciously, the rat ogre tore Kong Krakback limb from limb.

  While Boneripper finished with Kong and his clan-rats, a desperate Thanquol struggled against the warrior still pinning him to the ground. A twist of his body had caught the ratman unawares, knocking him down. Unfortunately for Thanquol, the treacherous wretch had the temerity to fall across his own body, effectively trapping him even more completely than before.

  Thanquol squirmed and struggled beneath the fallen warrior. The clanrat abused him mercilessly with fang and claw, just as desperate to keep Thanquol trapped as the grey seer was to be free. Fear of being withered by one of Thanquol’s spells gave the clanrat a frantic tenacity. Thanquol gored the ratman’s shoulder with one of his horns and still his enemy refused to release him. Even a lucky bite that severed a few furry fingers wasn’t enough to make him let go.

  A new menace reared up at the edge of Thanquol’s vision. Actually it was an old menace, but the grey seer wasn’t of a mind to quibble over semantics. One glance at the look in Chang Fang’s eyes told him the assassin had abandoned his ideas about killing the grey seer slowly. He’d drawn a different knife, an ugly black thing from which corrosive green drops sizzled. A weeping blade! The deadliest of Clan Eshin’s weapons! One nick, one drop of poison on his body and Thanquol would be as dead as the Grey Lords!

  Desperately, Thanquol worked his legs beneath the body of the clanrat on top of him. He ignored the bites and scratches now, keeping his eyes locked on the approaching Chang Fang. He had to time things just right or what he had in mind wouldn’t work. As the assassin glared down at him, as the weeping blade started its descent, Thanquol squealed a quick prayer to the Horned Rat and set every muscle in his body into motion.

  Legs and arms pressed against the clanrat’s body, lifting him up and pushing him forward. At the same time, Thanquol used his flanks and shoulders to slither completely under the skaven warrior. He could imagine the ratman’s confusion, but he wouldn’t be confused for long.

  A sharp squeak told Thanquol that Chang Fang’s blade had found a victim, the victim his own frantic efforts had presented it. Quickly Thanquol flung the now slack body of the clanrat forward, hurling it at the assassin. Chang Fang leapt nimbly away from the macabre missile, but in doing so he’d been forced to leave the weeping blade trapped in the body. Now he snarled at Thanquol from across the twitching corpse.

  Thanquol scowled at the murderous traitor and raised one of his paws. Green light glowed in his eyes, energy crackled around his fingers. He saw the sudden terror that crept across Chang Fang. The assassin didn’t know about the sliver of warpstone Thanquol had crushed between his fangs even before regaining his feet, not that the knowledge would have done him any good.

  “Say hello to Chang Squik, fool-meat,” Thanquol snapped as he sent a blast of lightning crackling into Chang Fang’s face.

  The grey seer recoiled as a blinding flash of light exploded before him. When his vision cleared he could see Chang Fang tearing into the jungle, his tattered cloak smoking but otherwise unharmed. Thanquol had a moment of horror, wondering if he’d nibbled a bad piece of warpstone and his body had internalised too much of its energies. After a few heartbeats without bursting into a ball of fire, Thanquol decided his fear was unfounded. He stared and saw a molten blob of metal lying on the ground where Chang Fang had been standing when he unleashed his spell. Apparently the assassin had carried an amulet to protect him against the grey seer’s magic. An intelligent precaution, Thanquol conceded. But it wasn’t going to save Chang Fang now.

  “Boneripper!” Thanquol shouted. He pointed a claw at the jungle into which the assassin had fled. The rat ogre stalked towards the trees, absently tossing aside the last shreds of what had been Kong Krakback. “Fetch the traitor-meat!”

  Boneripper growled an inarticulate acknowledgement and began to smash his way through the small trees that barred his path. Thanquol grinned as he watched the monster make short work of the trees. Without his weeping blade, Chang Fang was as good as dead when Boneripper caught up with him. And the rat ogre would. The skaven hadn’t been weaned who could match the endurance of Clan Moulder’s creations.

  The grin faded on Thanquol’s face as a troubling thought came to him. He’d used a spell just a moment ago. His glands clenched as he considered what he had done.

  “Boneripper, you stupid dolt!” Thanquol raged, rushing up to the rat ogre and smacking him with his staff. “You’re supposed to protect me!”

  The rat ogre blinked at him in confusion, then hung his head in guilt and moved away from the trees.

  Thanquol tapped his claws against the head of his staff and lashed his tail nervously. Maybe the frog-mage hadn’t noticed? That was certainly possible. Surely anything that powerful must have better things to think about. What kind of flies it was going to eat, for instance.

  Then an uglier thought came to Thanquol. Chang Fang was getting away. He might be able to live with that fact, except for another fact that went with it. Chang Fang knew where their ship was! Denied any other chance to kill the grey seer, the assassin could still set sail and strand him in this green hell!

  Panic in his eyes, Thanquol smacked Boneripper with his staff and turned the rat ogre back towards the jungle. “Hurry-quick, whelp-licker! Fetch-find traitor-meat!”

  Boneripper just stared at his master for a moment. Then, with what might almost have been a sigh, he began tearing his way through the thick growth of the jungle once more.

  Thanquol watched the rat ogre make rapid progress. In no time at all, Boneripper was out of view. The grey seer stroked his whiskers, quite pleased with himself. His bodyguard would catch up with Chang Fang and once Boneripper was through with him, the only boat the assassin would need was a funeral barge.

  The grey seer stopped stroking his whiskers as he glanced at the jungle around him, listening to all its strange sounds, breathing all of its strange smells. He thought about the frog-mage and its army.

  Hiking up his robes so he wouldn’t trip on them, Thanquol rushed down the trail Boneripper was making.

  “Wait for me, you moron!”

  “Wait for us, you moron!”

  Hiltrude’s cry brought Schachter to a halt. The sea captain took the delay to set down his bag and wipe the sweat from his forehead. Though he wouldn’t admit it, lugging the heavy sack of plunder was taking its toll on his strength. When they had first set out, trekking across the silent, crumbling streets of Quetza, there had been a real chance he might have left his companions behind in his eagerness to catch up to Thanquol. Now, after hours creeping first through the ruins and then into the humid hell of the jungle, Hiltrude’s peevish scolding was more so she could vent her o
wn frustration at their progress than any threat he would get too far ahead.

  Adalwolf ground his teeth and cursed under his breath. Something was certainly wrong with his arm. He didn’t dare to look at it, but he could feel it throbbing against his body. It felt cold, as if there wasn’t a drop of blood in it. He had to keep from laughing at the irony of the sensation. Here they were sweating in the damp heat of the jungle and his arm felt as cold as a piece of Norsca. He knew if he started laughing, he might never stop.

  Hiltrude stuck by him, letting her strength compensate for his. The mercenary considered the strange sort of courage she possessed. There were different kinds of bravery, he knew. His kind was the steel backbone of battle. Hers was the quiet tenderness that refused to abandon a friend in need. Stromfels’ Teeth! She hadn’t even been able to abandon Schachter when she had every reason to leave him to the lizardmen!

  She used Schachter’s delay to inspect Adalwolf’s arm. She tried to hide it, but he saw the grim flicker that crossed her expression. That bad, he thought. If it wasn’t for her, he’d just lie down and wait for Morr to open the gates for him.

  But she was here. Just as she wouldn’t abandon him, he couldn’t abandon her. Not to Schachter, not to the jungle. Not to Thanquol, if they ever found that slinking rat.

  The blood trail was still easy enough to follow. Adalwolf was certain now it was coming from Boneripper. There was no way Thanquol could have leaked so much and kept going. He didn’t like the idea of running into the monster again. At every turn in the trail he kept hoping to see the rat ogre’s huge body lying on the ground. It would be one less thing to trouble his mind.

  Myrmidia knew there were enough of those to occupy his thoughts. When they’d managed to escape into the jungle, he thought they’d been quick enough to make it before the army of lizardmen completed their ring around the ruins. Now he wasn’t so sure. There was something sinister about the frequent rustling they heard rising from the jungle around them. He almost wished he was one of the underfolk when a faint, musky reptile smell wafted its way out of the jungle. The ratmen would know if the smell belonged to simple beasts or something more sinister.

  His thoughts drifted to his glimpse of the toad-creature and the aura of awesome power he had sensed surrounding it. Somehow, he could not overcome the idea that the terrible creature had been aware of him as much as he had been aware of it. Adalwolf didn’t know what interest such a being could have in a mere man. He thought about an alchemist he had once had dealings with, back when his wife was with their first child. The alchemist had a grisly hobby. He would collect molluscs and pull them apart in a desire to understand how they could function without any bones to support them.

  Adalwolf felt an icy chill run through his body, a chill that had nothing to do with his broken arm. He didn’t like the idea that the toad-creature thought of him like the alchemist had thought of his snails and slugs.

  “Break time’s over,” Hiltrude declared, not quite keeping a slight groan out of her voice. Adalwolf stared at her in confusion, unable to remember when she had set him down at the side of the trail. He did his best to help as she lifted him back to his feet.

  “I didn’t fancy this spot anyway,” Schachter said, grunting as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “In fact, I’m not even going to put it in my memoirs.”

  The poor joke brought smiles to the faces of his companions. Adalwolf’s expression darkened an instant later. Schachter’s friendly humour was meant to get them off their guard. He’d already seen the captain’s true colours. Nothing was going to make him forget the kind of man he really was.

  Nothing except maybe fever from an infected arm.

  Schachter had only taken a few steps when he held up his hand in warning. The captain turned his eyes to either side of the trail. An instant later he dropped his bag to the ground and drew two of the swords thrust beneath his belt.

  Before Adalwolf had a chance to think Schachter was himself developing a fever, the bushes seemed to burst apart as two scaly blue bodies leapt onto the trail.

  These weren’t the scrawny skinks they had fought in the temple. They were the big warrior-lizards Adalwolf had seen from the top of the pyramid. Each of the reptiles was taller than a man, though much more lean. Powerful talons tipped their muscular legs and their thick tails looked strong enough to break a man’s bones. The lizardmen wore chequered loinclouts and necklaces of animal fangs looped through gold wire. Each of the monsters held a saw-edged golden sword that made the weapons Schachter brandished look like paring knives.

  The saurus warriors stared at the humans, their thick tongues flitting between jaws filled with long fangs. For the space of a heartbeat, the lizardmen didn’t move, they simply stared, almost as though they were studying the strange intruders.

  Then both of the reptiles bobbed their heads in a weird, somehow threatening gesture. Adalwolf could actually see their scaly hands tightening around their weapons as the lizardmen came stalking towards them.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rat Hunt

  Adalwolf drew the ungainly sword from his belt and shuffled in front of Hiltrude, trying to place himself between the courtesan and the advancing lizardmen. His arm trembled as the weight of the blade taxed his weakened muscles and a sheen of sweat began to rise on his forehead.

  “Get her out of here,” he told Schachter. The mercenary took another staggering step towards the reptiles. A cry of alarm rose from behind him and his advance was broken. Hiltrude’s arms wrapped about his waist, pulling at him, trying to drag him back.

  “They’ll kill you!” she yelled at him, her voice cracking with emotion.

  Adalwolf tried to twist out of her grasp. “I can still buy time for you to get away,” he growled at her as he struggled to get free.

  “Take your own advice, sell-sword,” Schachter’s grim voice declared. The sea captain gave Adalwolf and Hiltrude a hard stare. “I’ll hold them as long as I can.” He didn’t wait for any argument. With a last wistful look at the bag of loot he’d left on the ground, Schachter charged the saurus warriors.

  The reptiles weren’t alarmed by the charging human and the shrill battle cry that rose from his lips. They didn’t so much as blink as the desperate, ragged figure stormed down the trail at them. Waiting with eerie, emotionless patience, the saurus warriors met Schachter’s attack.

  Schachter chopped at the first of the unmoving lizardmen with an overhand swing of one of his swords that should have opened it from belly to groin. Even as his sword-arm was lashing out, however, the saurus snapped from its seemingly imbecilic lethargy. The reptile twisted its body in a writhing, undulating spasm that should have snapped the spine of a human. Schachter’s golden sword slashed through only emptiness as it made its butchering sweep. The saurus continued the sinuous motion of its scaly frame, rolling along the back of Schachter’s arm as the sea captain’s momentum caused him to overextend himself. The lizardman raised its own sword, bringing it crunching down into Schachter’s body.

  Screaming in agony, Schachter crumpled to the earth, his sword-arm cut through nearly to the bone. Doubled over in pain, he cringed away from the lizardman as the reptile hacked at him again. The slashing blow missed him by a hair’s-breadth.

  Desperately, he thrust the sword clutched in his good arm at the saurus, forgetting in his fright that the blades of the lizardmen were made for cutting rather than stabbing. The blunt head of the sword smacked ineffectually against the thick scales of the reptile’s body. An instant later, the saurus pivoted and brought its powerful tail cracking around. The blow crashed into Schachter’s legs, spilling him onto the ground.

  The other saurus left Schachter to his comrade and continued its menacing advance. Adalwolf locked eyes with the reptile, trying to find anything he recognised as thought or intention in the slitted inhuman orbs. The lizardman paused only a few feet from him, crooking its head in a gesture of curiosity, studying him with keen interest.

  Without warning, the reptil
e suddenly sprang. Adalwolf raised his weapon to parry the sweep of the lizardman’s sword. The two blades clanged sharply as they crashed against each other. Adalwolf was thrown back as the momentum of the saurus nearly threw him off his feet. The reptile’s scaly muzzle hissed at him, inches from his own face, the monster’s eyes fixed on him with a weird, almost fascinated intensity.

  The lizardman pressed in close, using its greater strength to push Adalwolf back. The saurus knew its strange foe was weak, could feel the vigour in the mercenary’s good arm faltering with each backward step. It would be easy for it to finish the fight quickly, but killing the warm-blood was not an option. Lord Tlaco needed the strange creature alive and alive was how he would be brought to the slann. Using its entire body as a bludgeon, the Lizardman surged against Adalwolf, forcing him back several steps. The human’s sword grated along the edge of the lizardman’s blade as his arm shivered with the strain of holding the reptile back.

  Hiltrude’s wailing cry split the air and the saurus shuddered as its hip was gouged. Like an Arabyan harridan, the woman had come from behind Adalwolf and charged at the reptile. Concentrating on the mercenary, the Lizardman was too slow to react. Hiltrude swung the golden blade Schachter had given her in a clumsy, overhanded fashion, but with enough momentum to drive the edge deep into the scaly hip of the monster.

  Hissing in challenge, the saurus rounded on its attacker. The woman retreated before the violent savagery of the reptile, the bloody sword falling through her slackened fingers. The Lizardman shoved Adalwolf, sending the mercenary staggering away. Bobbing its head in a threat display, the reptile turned towards Hiltrude. It took only one stalking step, then nearly fell as the deep wound in its hip caused its leg to buckle. The pain of its injury was something it would take a few minutes for his primitive nervous system to transmit to its brain, but the saurus could not ignore the damage that had been done. It stared at the bleeding gash, clapped a clawed hand to the injury to keep the bone from poking through the skin, then coldly returned it attention to Hiltrude.