As the terradon took wing, Hiltrude noticed the patch of scaly blue skin clinging to its back. Only when the blue scales started to move on their own did she realise that there was a skink clutching the winged monster’s back, riding the flying reptile as a man might ride a horse! The skink bore a long stabbing spear in its claws and with a deft motion of the weapon, it brought the terradon hurtling even faster upon the two fugitives.
Hiltrude cast about her for the golden sword Schachter had given her. She rose to her knees, huddling close to Adalwolf, flailing the sword in a desperate arc before them, trying to place a barrier of biting metal between them and the flying reptile.
The woman’s frantic efforts caused the terradon to shriek in surprise and rear back from the flashing blade. Its skink rider, however, had more intelligence than the beast. A single expert jab with its spear and the Lizardman tore the sword from Hiltrude’s fingers, sending it flying across the clearing.
Hiltrude’s first impulse was to run after the sword, but Adalwolf grabbed her ankle before she could move, pulling her down before the skink could run her through with his spear. The mercenary rose to his feet, shouting and leaping, waving his hand over his head in an effort to grab the attention of their attackers. Seeing the terradon fix its eyes on him, he ran across the clearing, intent on drawing the reptiles away from Hiltrude.
The terradon shrieked and dived after the mercenary. Hiltrude could see the skink on its back pull on the bony headcrest that jutted from the back of the reptile’s head, causing it to veer away from Adalwolf before it could sink its talons into him. The terradon croaked and snarled in frustration, but the skink did not release its headcrest until it was sure it was back under control.
By that time Adalwolf had drawn his own sword and was bracing himself for the terradon’s second attack. Hiltrude watched the man trembling with the effort, his arm shaking as though with an ague. The terradon hovered above him, making its grisly croaking sounds, snapping at the skink on its back with its fanged beak.
Finally the terradon was allowed to dive at the man once more. The skink’s spear lashed out again, tearing the sword from Adalwolf’s fingers with the same precise, expert twisting motion that had disarmed Hiltrude so effectively. The courtesan cried out, expecting to see the skink impale Adalwolf with a second thrust of his spear, as he had nearly done to her. Instead the crest on the skink’s neck fluttered open and it shifted its grip on the spear, driving at Adalwolf with the blunt end of the weapon rather than the jagged tip.
Cold horror rushed through Hiltrude’s body as she understood the skink’s intention. The lizardman wanted to take Adalwolf alive, to use the flying steed to carry him back to the Temple of the Serpent and its waiting altar!
Hiltrude’s cry didn’t faze the skink as it struck out at Adalwolf with its spear, but the sound was enough to distract the hovering terradon that it shifted its position and foiled the lizardman’s aim. The jabbing thrust of the spear’s blunt end, instead of crashing into Adalwolf’s head and stunning him instead passed harmlessly over his shoulder.
Martial instincts honed in hundreds of battles made Adalwolf grab the end of the spear without thinking. Savagely he pulled at the weapon, ripping it from the hands of the skink and nearly causing the lizardman to lose its grip on the terradon’s back.
Confused and enraged by the conflict around it, the terradon dived back at Adalwolf, its talons spread for slaughter. The mercenary awkwardly fumbled with the skink’s spear, trying to turn it around so that he might stab at the reptile with the weapon’s edge. The one-armed man looked up, his eyes wide with horror as he saw the reptile nearly upon him.
Hiltrude screamed again, hoping to draw the terradon back away from the helpless Adalwolf. The sound wasn’t effective as it had been before. Quickly she unslung the pack of skaven provisions she carried. Gripping the rotten bag by its straps, she spun her body around and flung the pack at the winged reptile.
The provisions splattered across the terradon’s back, covering it in unspeakable bits of wormy meat and rancid fruit. The reptile shrieked in alarm, rising high into the air. Its eyes shifted angrily, studying the clearing and narrowing when they focused upon Hiltrude. Screaming its warbling cry, the terradon dived towards Hiltrude.
Again, the skink rider pulled at the crest of its almost brainless mount. The terradon hissed in protest, snapping at its master. The skink had nearly turned the beast about when suddenly its body was pierced from behind. The barbed head of its own spear erupted from its chest. The skink released the terradon and pawed futilely at its mortal wound.
The weight of the skink on the end of the spear pulled the weapon from Adalwolf’s hands. The terradon rose into the air again, the lifeless skink tumbling off its back and crashing to earth. Adalwolf rushed to recover the spear before the winged monster could turn on him again. He did not count upon the single-mindedness of the beast, however. Instead of turning upon him, the terradon dived straight at Hiltrude.
This time there was no guiding intelligence to curb the terradon’s predatory instincts. The reptile came hurtling at Hiltrude like a leathery thunderbolt. Its talons slashed through her soft skin, linking deep into her flesh. Fluttering its wings, its warbling cry all but drowning out Hiltrude’s screams, the terradon lifted its prey into the sky.
Adalwolf rushed after the fleeing monster, shouting and waving his arm, trying anything to get it to take interest in him again. But the terradon could not be tricked into releasing its catch. The mercenary could only watch helplessly from the ground as the terradon settled into the branches of the tallest tree bordering the clearing. He made a desperate cast of the spear at the reptile as it landed, but the shaft fell well short of its target. He looked desperately at the tree, but knew he could never climb it with a broken arm.
By then, it was too late. The screams had stopped.
Desolate, Adalwolf stumbled away from the clearing. He no longer cared where his steps took him, only that they took him away from the grotesque slobbering sounds descending from the terradon’s perch as it feasted on its prey.
Grey Seer Thanquol peered through the branches of the mangroves, studying the swamp. He wrinkled his face as the stagnant, sour reek of the place smashed against his senses. His first instinct was to avoid this place, to detour however many leagues were necessary to avoid setting one paw on its slimy ground. That was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Chang Fang had come this way, Boneripper’s insistence that the assassin’s trail led here was proof of that. The rat ogre couldn’t communicate how long ago Thanquol’s enemy had been here, but it didn’t really matter. He was still ahead of the grey seer, still well on his way to getting to the ship before Thanquol.
Sidestepping the swamp wasn’t an option. There wasn’t the time to go around. Thanquol’s second instinct was to tuck his tail between his legs and scurry across the bog as fast as his feet would carry him. This too he dismissed with an effort of self-control. There was no way to tell where the decayed zombies might be lurking, waiting for fresh meat to rend with their rotten claws. The undead might be lying in wait under the mud or hidden beneath the scummy water. There was no telling and no way to pick their scent out from the rancid stink of the swamp itself.
Thanquol squinted as he stared at the crumbling fort the human pirates had built long ago. There was no sign of activity there, but last time there hadn’t been any sign either. Not until festering corpses had lurched out of the ruins to attack the skaven.
The grey seer bruxed his fangs and tugged at his whiskers. Caution was a good thing, but it wouldn’t help him if Chang Fang sailed away in the ship.
Screwing up his courage, Thanquol dropped down from his perch in the branches of a mangrove tree. He scurried over to Boneripper, swatting the rat ogre’s flank with his staff and pointing a claw at the swamp. “Go-quick!” he snarled. “First-lead, I will follow!”
The rat ogre wrinkled his face in distaste as he turned and drew a lungful of stagnant swamp smell into his lungs. Fo
r an ugly moment, Thanquol thought Boneripper was going to defy his commands. Then the hulking beast’s body rumbled as a sigh shook through him. With an air of resignation, Boneripper loped off into the mud.
Thanquol waited a few moments to see if anything rose up out of the slime to attack his bodyguard, then quickly scurried after Boneripper. He glanced at the scummy water to either side of the sand bank, unsettled to see the cold eyes of crocodiles watching him with a predatory regard. Fumbling at the clasp, Thanquol thumbed open the little ratskull box that held his snuff. He inhaled a noseful of the warpstone powder, feeling a thrill of warmth and vigour rush through him. The snuff didn’t make him like the crocodiles any better, but at least his mind found it harder to focus on them as a tide of contrasting emotions flittered through his brain.
Of course, even the warpstone snuff wasn’t enough to make Thanquol forget about the zombies. Every step closer to the tower he expected to see the undead rear up out of the muck. His first encounter with the things had been bad enough.
Then again, he didn’t have Chang Fang around trying to feed him to the things either. Thanquol could be happy about that. Or at least he would be if the assassin’s absence didn’t mean he was probably on the ship getting it ready to sail away and maroon the grey seer in this lost world of lizards and snakes!
“Fast-quick!” Thanquol growled, striking Boneripper’s back to encourage the brute to greater speed.
The chirps and barks of the lizardmen sounded around him once more after Adalwolf fled the clearing. There was a frantic quality to the sounds now. Perhaps the lizardmen were asking each other what they should do now that he’d killed their chief and their flying monster was only interested in filling its gullet.
The mercenary thought about just sitting down and waiting for the skinks to come for him, but he didn’t think they would. They were watchers, sent to monitor him, to herd him to their masters. Even if the reptiles stood and fought, they would soon overcome him. His thoughts weren’t about escape now. That idea had died with Hiltrude. Now the only thing that goaded him on was the hope of revenge. He would make the lizardmen suffer. Killing the lower creatures wouldn’t hurt the reptiles greatly, but if he could find the toad-creature…
Adalwolf ignored the common sense that told him it was madness to think he could kill the toad-creature. If even a man who knew less about wizardry than a street sweeper could sense the aura of magic surrounding the amphibian, then surely it was more than capable of using that magic to protect itself. But he was far beyond reason now. It was something to keep him going.
He didn’t think finding the toad-creature would be a problem. Adalwolf had noticed the way the lizardmen seemed hesitant to kill him. Even the skink chief on the terradon had made every effort to keep his beast from hurting the mercenary. The reptiles wanted him alive, to bring him somewhere. He was certain that wherever that was, the toad-creature would be there.
It would do no good to fall into the claws of the lizardmen though. He had to keep out of their clutches, to force the toad-creature to come to him, to meet him on his own terms and on ground of his own choosing. That was his only hope now. His only hope for revenge.
Thrashing sounds in the brush ahead announced a new effort by the skinks to capture him. Adalwolf sprang behind the cover of a fallen log just as an armoured reptile the size of a lion thrust itself from where it had buried itself in the ground. The burrowing monster was a dull brown in colour, its body heavy with big thorn-like spikes that covered it from the tip of its snout to the end of its club-like tail. The reptile hissed menacingly at him as it shook the earth from its back.
Before the razordon could lunge at the man, however, a skink came scrambling around its flank, jabbing it with a short spear. The bigger reptile’s fury ebbed and it just stared at Adalwolf, content now to simply block his way.
The ground behind the mercenary now rose up and a second razordon emerged, blocking the way back. Like the first reptile, this one too had its entourage of skink tenders. Goading the armoured reptile with their spears, the skinks moved their monster towards Adalwolf, trying to trap the man between the beasts.
Crying out in challenge, Adalwolf threw the bladder of foul water into the face of the beast behind him. The creature was blinded for an instant, its horned body heaving as it sent spikes shooting out of its skin in every direction. Skinks dropped flat to the earth to avoid the deadly missiles.
Already turned to face the first razordon, Adalwolf did not see the unexpected reaction the one behind him had when the black water splashed in its eyes. Unfamiliar with the creatures of Lustria, his first awareness of the razordon’s ability to throw its spines was when six of them came stabbing into his back.
Screaming in pain, it took every last piece of willpower for Adalwolf to stay on his feet. He reached behind his back, frantically trying to pull the spines from his flesh. His skin throbbed where the spines had hurt him, a stinging burn as though he had backed against a hot stove.
A skink rushed at him with a club, but Adalwolf drove his boot into the lizardman’s belly, pitching him onto the ground. The mercenary could see more of the wiry lizardmen emerging from the jungle, surrounding him on each side. One of the razordon tenders encouraged the beast to shoot a volley of spines into the ground near Adalwolf. The meaning was clear. He was to stay where he stood.
Adalwolf glared at the skink and spat on the little line of spines. Gritting his teeth, he threw himself off the trail, crashing into the undergrowth. Vines slashed his face, thorns cut his skin, but he would not relent. If the lizardmen wanted him, they were going to have to work for their prize.
Scrambling over the side of the Black Mary, Grey Seer Thanquol flopped to the deck. His heart was pounding like a drum, electrified by the terror that had gripped him during his frantic swim from the beach. With every stroke he’d relived the awful horror of the landing in Lustria, smelling again the tang of skaven blood in the water as the sharks feasted, knowing that at any moment he might be the next to fill their jaws.
Thanquol cursed Chang Fang as he shook the sea from his dripping fur. It was just like the slinking murderer to take all of the boats back to the ship, forcing Thanquol and Boneripper to make the dangerous swim if they would gain the Black Mary in time. Every instant the grey seer had expected a shark to drag him under, for all of his magnificent ambitions and schemes to end in the belly of a hungry fish.
But the favour of the Horned Rat was still upon him. His god would not suffer the most brilliant genius in all skavendom to die in such a senseless way! Thanquol had not seen a single shark, not even a suggestion of a dorsal fin splitting the waves. Even Boneripper, with his torn body still dripping blood, had been able to make the swim safely. The grey seer had watched most carefully for the slightest sniff of a shark when he had sent the rat ogre to test the waters.
Perhaps the sharks were all asleep, digesting the feast of skaven flesh they’d enjoyed when the Black Mary landed. It was just like Thanquol’s return to the swamp. There hadn’t even been a whiff of any zombies about. Surely the Horned Rat was bestowing his protection upon the grey seer, striking fear into the craven hearts of his enemies and making them cower in their holes until he had passed!
Thanquol pinched the folds of his robe, wringing a stream of water from the soaked garment. He hated the salty stink of the sea, but at least it was better than the humid clinging heat of the jungle. And it was a smell he knew meant he was going home, so he couldn’t completely despise it. Soon he would be sailing back to civilization, to stalk once more through the streets of Skavenblight. He would return in triumph, victoriously presenting himself before the Nightlord and humbly relating the magnificent destruction he had brought upon Xiuhcoatl and the Temple of the Serpent! Clan Eshin would be indebted to him, and Thanquol would use their favours well! He would send their spies and killers to look after his many enemies. Those he could not threaten into submission would die, and their deaths would make all skavendom tremble. Tisqueek and the o
ther seerlords would learn their place and then it would be time for him to turn his attentions to that incompetent fool Seerlord Kritislik. With the strength of Clan Eshin his to command, Thanquol would arrange an accident for the decrepit Seerlord and then there would be a new scent in the Shattered Tower—the scent of Seerlord Thanquol!
Vengeful thoughts reminded Thanquol of something he’d left unfinished. He clapped his paws together and rubbed them eagerly. It was so kind of Chang Fang to take so much time getting all the boats back to the ship. Without that delay, the idiot might have succeeded in his plan to strand Thanquol in Lustria. But, of course, the fool had pitted himself against a force of destiny when he set his puny brain against the genius of Thanquol!
“Chang Fang!” Thanquol cried out. “You can come out now, you turd-sniffing dung-licker! I won’t hurt-hurt you!” As he spoke, Thanquol tucked a small piece of warpstone into his cheek pouch. He thought he’d start by burning off one of the assassin’s legs with a bolt of warp-lightning. Then he’d see where the mood took him from there.
Only the sound of the ship’s creaking hull and the waves rolling against the shore answered Thanquol’s call. The grey seer lashed his tail in annoyance. He didn’t like the idea of setting sail with an assassin hidden somewhere aboard. He almost wished that Shiwan Stalkscent had left guards behind to keep cowards like Chang Fang from sneaking back onboard. Then again, he had to grudgingly concede that Shiwan had a point when he decided any skaven he left with the ship would be tempted to head back to the Under-Empire as soon as their leaders were out of sight.
“Chang Fang, you cringing whelp-chewer! Your mother was a he-mouse and your sire was an asthmatic bat!” Thanquol snarled, shouting so that his voice would carry to the quarterdeck and the cabins below. He glared angrily at the ship around him, trying not to jump every time the shadow of a sail moved. The assassin might be anywhere, waiting to sink a knife in his ribs!
[Thanquol & Boneripper 02] - Temple of the Serpent Page 29
