by C. L. Werner
Prince Gambini was almost at the base of the stairs when a low, solemn note echoed along the marble halls. The nobleman and his soldiers looked down the passage, wondering if they had indeed heard what they thought they had heard. The note sounded again, confirming their first impression.
‘I’ll wring the neck of whatever dolt is ringing the alarm gong!’ snarled Prince Gambini, racing off down the hall, all thoughts of riots and bridge guards momentarily pushed aside.
The alarm gong was located within the palazzo’s great hall, the room in which the prince held court and strove to impress petitioners and enemies alike with his wealth and authority. The floors were covered in expensive Arabyan rugs, the walls covered in tapestries depicting great moments in the history of the Gambini line. At the centre of the chamber, upon a small dais, stood a throne of dark wood, supposedly brought from the forests of Ulthuan, the scrollwork upon the carved armrests and back detailed in silver. Beside the throne, the heavy bronze gong was still vibrating from the final blow struck against it.
Others had heard the sound and when Prince Gambini arrived, he found a large number of servants and mercenaries already gathered there. He also saw the smiling figure seated upon the throne, one leg dangling over the armrest, swinging in the air, one hand idly toying with the hammer with which the gong had been struck. Seeing the beautiful woman sprawled at the base of the chair, the outraged nobleman surged forward, only stopping when a powerful grip took hold of his arm and restrained him.
‘No, my lord,’ Manfred Zelten spoke into the prince’s ear. ‘He’ll kill her if you try to approach him.’ The prince stared angrily into the mercenary’s face, then tore his arm free of Zelten’s grip, but did not try to advance toward the throne.
‘Ah, there you are!’ crowed Corvino, tossing the hammer away over his shoulder as he sighted the nobleman. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never get here!’ The fool shook his head. ‘I don’t think we’ll be able to make anything of someone with such poor notions of timekeeping. I don’t think you’d even make a good fool!’ Corvino laughed, a soulless, grating sound devoid of reason and humanity.
‘You scum!’ bellowed Prince Gambini, drawing his sword and once more advancing on the throne. With a speed even an elf might have envied, Corvino whipped out a long copper dagger, aiming its point downward at the throat of Juliana, lying sprawled and unconscious at his feet.
‘Don’t force me to do something I’ll regret later,’ Corvino threatened. ‘I have other plans for the princess, I’d hate to have to change them.’ Prince Gambini lowered his sword, meeting the mad gaze of the fool.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, his voice filled with defeat.
‘What do I want?’ repeated Corvino. He looked around the room, then back at the prince. ‘Why, everything, right down to the fleas in the kennel.’ The fool’s jovial tone slipped into a murderous growl. ‘But for now, all I want is for everybody to just stay where they are, like nice little statues.’ The death’s head grin spread across Corvino’s face once more. ‘I am expecting company.’
At that instant, a soldier from the gate rushed into the chamber. The man stopped short when he saw the curious scene, but soon recovered from his surprise. Putting his questions aside, he ran to the prince.
‘Prince Gambini!’ the man exclaimed. ‘There is a daemon loose in the streets! It is herding the people towards the bridge, cutting them down like wheat!’ The man’s voice dropped into a frightened whisper. ‘My lord, they say it is the Mardagg!’
Brunner rushed toward the gate of the Great Reman Bridge. The sounds of horror, madness and death rising from the streets behind him had been growing louder and more terrible the farther he had run. Ironically, the sounds were drawing more and more people from their homes and onto the streets. A single scream might not disturb the people of Remas, but this sort of clamour was entirely unique in a city where the Solkanites kept things peaceful and quiet. And because it was so unique, curiosity, not fear took hold of the people, at least until they saw the source of the panic for themselves.
At first, the crowds had kept ahead of the daemon quite easily, and its slow, steady gait had been easy to distance. But as the crowd fled, they increasingly came into the unyielding bodies of other citizens, ones who had not seen the monster and wondered what the commotion was about. They stubbornly refused to move, and in their desperation to get past, the frightened crowd had come to blows with those who stood in their way. The flight had degenerated into a desperate brawl. And as the conflict grew in violence and vigour, the daemon had hastened its steps. The Mardagg struck the rear of the terrified herd of human cattle, lashing out with its scythe, cutting men in half with every sweep of its weapon. The image was like some diabolic parody of a farmer harvesting his crop as the Mardagg cut its way through the field of struggling bodies filling the street before it.
Those who by chance or design managed to get out of the line of the Mardagg’s path did not entirely escape the daemon’s horrible presence. Many were driven mad by such close proximity to a being of such timeless malevolence and terror. Others suffered an even more virulent madness, as drops of sizzling blood fell from the daemon’s body, burning into their flesh. All who were so marked became ravening beasts, falling upon those around them with clawing hands and gnashing teeth, only the urge to kill left within their maimed minds. In the wake of the daemon, mobs of crazed killers loped off into the streets of Remas to spread terror and death throughout the city.
Brunner was certain that he knew where the hideous abomination was heading. The stairs the bounty hunter had seen the three cult leaders escape by had led downward, the very direction from which this nightmare horror had emerged. Brunner suspected that it was one of them, in a desperate effort to destroy Bocca’s men, who had summoned the daemon. And if a creature summoned by any of those men was now heading toward the bridge, there could be only one place its destination could be. Perhaps it was even, in a twisted sense, going home. The black robe hanging about the monster’s upper body was all too similar to the robe of a priest of Morr. That seemed to confirm Brunner’s suspicions as to what the daemon had once been. The prospect of bringing Scurio to Pavona did not look very feasible now.
Brunner rushed to the iron bars of the gate between the towers that blocked the entrance to the bridge. The fleeing mob was not so far from him now, only a few dozen yards. The guards at the gate were barring the portals against the seeming riot. The bounty hunter hastened his gait, slipping through just as it was closing. The guards on the other side closed upon him, spears aimed at his chest.
‘I bring a report on the cause of the riot for Prince Gambini!’ Brunner declared as he recovered his breath. The guard captain cast him a suspicious look, but at that instant the foremost of the fleeing citizens crashed into the gate, clawing at it and screaming for entrance. The captain was too busy snarling demands at the frightened wretches and orders to his men to trouble himself any further with the bounty hunter. As Brunner resumed his sprint, he could hear new screams sounding from behind him. The captain, fearing that the panicked citizens would topple the gate by sheer weight of numbers, had ordered his spearmen to begin stabbing their weapons through the bars. If the Mardagg had hastened its stride to indulge in the violence of a duel, Brunner did not want to consider how much more eager it would be to reach the site of this atrocity.
The bounty hunter sprinted across the bridge, trying to ignore the sounds of death and terror rising from the distance. The bridge was alive with activity. Soldiers were pouring out of several of the palazzos, some hurrying toward the towers and the iron gate, others forming up around the families of their noble lords as the merchant princes hurried toward the opposite side of the bridge. Dozens of servants, their arms burdened with chests, sacks, and all manner of other containers filled to bursting with the valuables of their masters scuttled across the bridge, sometimes beside the entourage of their masters, other times doing their best to put distance between themselves and some shout
ing nobleman.
Brunner saw a dozen men trying to run towards the far shore while straining to carry a massive bronze sculpture, some art treasure their master was not willing to leave behind, even with a horrible daemon stalking ever nearer his door.
Other palazzos were being sealed shut, armed soldiers forming up within the gates, marksmen leaning from every window. At least some of the rulers of Remas were not going to abandon their homes without a fight. A small band of mercenaries was even removing a small cannon from one of the guard houses scattered across the bridge, moving it into the centre of the span, in anticipation of the monster’s breakthrough at the gate.
The gunners did not have long to wait. The screams had risen to a hellish din, wailing sobs of mortal terror that could be heard even on the opposite side. Then the screams faded and in their place there came a dull, echoing thump, a tremendous blow struck against the iron gate. Brunner could hear the frenzied shouts of the guards at the gate and the mercenaries who had run to their position to support them. Every back was straining to hold the gates before that which knocked upon them, the mortal strength of scores of men pitted against the power of the daemon.
It was not enough. The thunderous boom sounded once more as the Mardagg beat upon the metal portal with its bony, club-like fist. The soldiers were pushed back as the gates sagged inward. The men desperately reasserted themselves, pushing the portals back, stark terror now giving them an impossible strength. Still it was not enough. When the daemon knocked a third time, the gates broke open, spilling soldiers onto the flagstones of the bridge. The Mardagg stood for a moment framed in the gateway between the two towers. The guards and mercenaries stared up at it, every man shuddering with horror.
Then the daemon ducked its hooded head and stepped onto the bridge.
Some of the soldiers tried to fight, jabbing at the Mardagg with spears, pikes, halberds and swords. A small group of hackbut men fired on the abomination with their rifles, though more of their shakily aimed shots struck fellow mercenaries than found the unnatural flesh of the daemon. Other soldiers ran at all speed away from the monster, cutting breastplates free of their bodies with knives and daggers as they fled, that they might run all the faster. Some dove from the bridge, all but a few of them sinking like stones to the bottom of the lagoon in their armour. Still others simply cringed before the daemon, sobbing and crying, their minds broken by the Mardagg’s aura of death and blood.
The daemon was pierced in dozens of places by bullet and pike, yet it gave no sign that it had felt any of the injuries. Before the horrified eyes of the soldiers, the Mardaggs red, bubbling hide closed up behind each wound shortly after it was inflicted. Then the daemon swung its scythe, hewing down ten of its adversaries in a single sweep. What resistance remained broke at once, the surviving mercenaries fled before the skeletal apparition. The Mardagg pursued, cutting down any that were too slow to escape its lengthy stride.
Brunner found the gate before Prince Gambini’s palazzo standing open, several soldiers standing outside it on the main path of the bridge to observe the scene unfolding between the towers, still undecided as to whether they should try to secure the palazzo’s gate or simply join the frightened exodus fleeing the bridge. The sound of the cannon crew firing on the daemon boomed across the waters as the bounty hunter entered the courtyard. Brunner grabbed one of the sentries, a man he recognised as belonging to Zelten’s regiment.
‘Where is your captain?’ the bounty hunter demanded. The mercenary, taken aback by Brunner’s fierce tone, simply pointed back at the palazzo. The bounty hunter relieved the man of his crossbow and hurried across the courtyard. Within the palazzo seemed to be deserted, at least until Brunner heard raised voices sounding from the direction of Prince Gambini’s throne room. He hurried in that direction.
‘It seems my friend is quite near now,’ Brunner heard the laughing voice of Corvino boast. ‘You did not think you were the only one with powerful friends, did you?’
Brunner stopped at the entrance to the great hall, spying out the scene within.
At an instant, he observed the stand-off: Corvino leaning before the throne, crouched above the prone form of Princess Juliana, a wavy-bladed dagger in his hand. Prince Gambini, Zelten and a large number of servants and guards stood in a circle around the madman, chafing at their helplessness. From behind him, Brunner could hear shouts and screams, much nearer now than before.
‘You’re insane, Corvino,’ Prince Gambini stated. ‘Give this up now and I promise no harm will come to you.’ The nobleman couldn’t quite manage to get enough anger out of his voice to make the offer sound convincing.
‘I have told you already!’ roared the fool. ‘I am Umberto Gambini ! And why would I trust the word of a man who treated his own father like a pariah, who turned against his own brother?’ Corvino began to giggle, a weird, unnerving sound. ‘Mad? Perhaps, but in the land of the blind, the madman is king!’ He puffed out his chest proudly as he made his declaration.
Horrified screams sounded from outside the palazzo, perhaps originating from as near as the courtyard. All heads within the great hall turned toward the sound. Upon the dais, Corvino stood, laughing once more. ‘My friend is here!’ he cackled. ‘I called him up from the abyss and now he is here!’
‘That’s all I needed to hear,’ a cold voice said from the shadows near the doorway. Corvino turned his head toward the voice. As he did so, a steel crossbow bolt punched into his chest, throwing him from the dais.
Brunner stepped into the light, dropping the crossbow. ‘You cost me ten thousand gold ducats,’ he spat.
Zelten and Prince Gambini rushed the dais, both men reaching the unconscious form of Juliana at the same time. While the mercenary supported her, the prince slapped her face, trying to rouse her from her stupor.
‘You might want to wait on that, gentlemen,’ Brunner called to them. ‘There’s a damn big daemon heading this way!’
Screams erupted from the gathered servants and many of the soldiers and for an instant, Brunner wondered at the reaction to his words. Then the unforgettable stench of spilled blood, the chilling aura of dread and death washed over him. The bounty hunter turned his head, leaping further into the room as the hulking shape of the Mardagg lumbered down the corridor. The daemon’s bloodscythe lashed out, cleaving through the marble wall and missing the bounty hunter by the merest fraction.
Brunner drew Drakesmalice, the sword blazing white hot in the proximity of a being so steeped in the ruinous energies of Chaos. The daemon seemed to take note of Brunner’s weapon, turning from its path to glare at him with its eyeless sockets. Now, closer to the monster, Brunner could see that where before the daemon’s flesh had simply resembled running blood, now there were tiny faces within the monster’s liquid skin, small screaming images of those who had fallen beneath its scythe. The Mardagg was not merely killing its victims, it was collecting them, gathering them to present before its master, Khorne. Brunner froze as he considered the enormity of the horror the daemon represented. Then the murderous scythe was lashing toward him once more, the daemonic weapon glistening in the light.
It was instinct, not thought, that saved the bounty hunter’s life. As the gore-hued blade swept toward him, he lifted Drakesmalice upward to block the blow. Indeed, had Brunner considered the action, he might have remembered the ease with which the Mardagg had sliced through Inquisitor Bocca’s plate armour and never have trusted his own steel against the daemon’s might. But Bocca’s armour had not been guarded against the dire energies of Chaos, and the blade of Drakesmalice held against the Mardagg’s scythe. But even if the cleaving blow was thwarted, the awesome strength of the daemon was not. Brunner was lifted from the floor by the sweep of the Mardagg’s weapon and cast aside like a gnat. The bounty hunter crashed against one of the walls, the heavy tapestry cushioning the impact.
The daemon stared for an instant at the bounty hunter lying on the floor, then its skull-like face came around to regard the other occupants of t
he chamber once more. The daemon glared at them with its empty sockets and slowly began to advance again, drawn to the wriggling finger hidden within the slain fool’s tunic.
Manfred Zelten was the first to react to the monster’s steady, silent advance. Ripping his pistols from their holsters, the mercenary stepped away from Prince Gambini and his unconscious bride.
‘Get her out of here!’ the mercenary snapped at his master. ‘We’ll try and hold this abomination while you escape!’
Umberto Gambini did not need any further encouragement, rising to his feet and hurrying toward the far door of the chamber, Juliana draped across his arms. Those servants who had still not fled hastened after their master.
The Mardagg lumbered closer, the murderous scythe held in its bony clutch. Zelten stood in its path, casting a sidewise glance at the soldiers to either side of him. There were a half dozen of them whose loyalty to Prince Gambini had overcome their inclination to flee. Many of them held hatchet-headed halberds in their hands, and grim fatalistic expressions on their faces.
Zelten gave voice to what he hoped was a stirring war cry and fired one of his pistols at the daemon. The shot blasted into the skull-like face, disrupting the oozing, bloody substance, until it flowed back into place a few seconds later, filling the wound as though it had never been struck. At the same time, the halberdiers rushed at the daemon, thrusting and slashing at it with their weapons. As the Mardagg reacted to the men slashing at its legs, Zelten ran forward, firing his last pistol into the monster’s bony chest. Once again, the bubbling, oozing substance closed over the wound almost as soon as it had been dealt. The skull-face of the Mardagg glared down at the Reiklander. Zelten dodged back as it swept the scythe in his direction.
