Warhammer - [Brunner the Bounty Hunter 01] - Blood Money

by C L Werner (lit)

  The bounty hunter's voice became a low, harsh whisper. 'We split the force. We give him a fight more in keeping with what he is looking for.'

  BRUNNER RODE AT the front of the small group of horsemen. Five knights and their lightly armoured squires were ranged about along the trail behind him. The bounty hunter looked over at his side, meeting the gaze of Sir Doneval. The knight swatted a horsefly away from his face.

  'How long do you think it will take?' the knight asked.

  'Not long,' the bounty hunter replied. 'We've been watched since we left the mine.'

  The killer's words brought a startled gasp from the knight. He spun about in the saddle, scanning the trees and underbrush that lined the trail. 'If they are out there, what are they waiting for?' Sir Doneval demanded.

  Brunner let a short laugh rasp from his throat.

  'Oh, the boss of this mob is indeed a rare one,' the bounty hunter said. 'He's holding them back until he is certain that Etienne isn't following us. He's making sure it isn't some sort of trap.'

  'And when he is satisfied that Etienne isn't coming?' the knight asked.

  As if in answer, a black-fletched arrow shrieked out of the undergrowth, striking the knight's armoured breastplate and bouncing from the metal. More arrows followed, some striking horses, others striking men. The knights, in their suits of metal plate, were immune to the fusillade of arrows, but the horses and squires were not so fortunate. Screams human and equine tore into the breeze.

  'Is there open ground near here?' Brunner shouted at Sir Doneval. The knight nodded his helmeted head.

  'There is a clearing not far to the north,' the knight shouted, pointing his sword towards the path. A second barrage of arrows sped from the shadows, accompanied now by the grunts and howls of the orc archers.

  Brunner lashed his horse into action, racing forward down the path, the knights and their retinue following his lead. Behind them, they left three squires, their bodies pierced by the orc arrows. One of the men, pinned beneath his maimed horse, shouted for aid. Sir Doneval did his best to ignore the squire's plea. To turn back now would mean death to them both and the possible failure of the bounty hunter's plan.

  A massive shape appeared in the road before Brunner. The orc was just over six feet in height, a double-bladed axe and a crude wooden shield gripped in his clawed hands. The skin of a bear covered his back and his body was encased in a hodge-podge of metal scraps and bits of chain and ring mail. A battered kettlehelm covered the brute's head.

  The monster snarled, and leapt toward Brunner. The bounty hunter drew the pistol from his belt and sent a bullet crashing through the orc's eye, into the tiny brain within his thick skull. The orc moaned, staggering into the middle of the road, his primitive body not understanding that it was dead. The massive shape was bowled under by the charging Bretonnian horses, their hooves smashing and crushing the thick bones underfoot.

  As the riders raced along the wooded trail, they could hear the savage cries and snarls of their foes. Brunner risked a look over his shoulder and could see massive shapes racing after them along the trail. One paused to hurl a spear at the retreating cavalry, the shaft just missing the hindmost knight.

  Ahead, the sunlight grew brighter; it was the clearing Sir Doneval had spoken of. Brunner lashed at Fiend for a final burst of speed.

  The clearing was wide, with a small mound at its centre a tomb of some long lost tribe. A small circle of standing stones, relics of the Old Faith, had once adorned the top of the mound, but had since toppled into piles of rubble. Brunner turned his horse at once toward the old barrow. The Bretonnians followed his lead once more, less concerned with offending the ancient dead that slept within the mound than with joining them.

  The hindmost knight's steed shrieked and fell just as he emerged from the trees. Three arrows had sunk into the animal's flesh and the wounds had at last overcome its strength and noble heart. The knight managed to push the dead animal off and limp away. One of the other knights wheeled about, riding back to his injured comrade. Brunner could hear Sir Doneval shout for the man to come back, but the choice had already been made.

  Two greenskinned giants loped out of the trees. Spying the knights, the orcs let savage cries of rage and bloodlust rip through their fanged jaws. The mounted knight drove his steed forward, putting himself between the orcs and the wounded man. The orcs roared with approval, standing their ground before the horseman. The knight lashed downwards with his sword, catching one of the brutes in the shoulder. The blade crunched through the orc's crude shoulder-guard and bit deeply into the flesh and bone beneath. Dark green blood spurted from the injury. The orc stumbled backwards from the force of the blow, a heavy club of metal and bone dropping from his suddenly nerveless arm.

  The other orc gave vent to a savage cry of murderous fury. The knight turned his head to see the cleaving blade of the orc's axe swinging towards him. The butchering blow caught the knight just below the knee, the awesome power of the orc's muscles punching the axe-blade through the metal armour, through the leg within and into the side of the knight's charger. Horse and man screamed as one. The orc tugged at his weapon, trying to wrench it from the meat of the steed. The maimed animal whickered shrilly, then toppled onto its side, crushing the greenskin beneath its weight and snapping the neck of its rider.

  The dismounted knight saw the fate of his valiant comrade and limped back to the animal. He stared down at the orc, its head and shoulders sticking out from beneath the slain charger. The orc snarled up at him and tried to push and wriggle his way free. The knight raised his sword over his head and stabbed it into the orc's skull with a downward thrust. Then he turned his armoured head to face the howling mob that burst from the trees. The rest of the pack had arrived. Several of the brutes raced forward to see the defiant knight standing over the dead orc, but a towering figure dressed in piecemeal armour and sporting steel-capped fangs pushed and punched his way to the fore.

  Gnashrak roared, the sound booming across the clearing. Then he charged, bringing the giant blade of his cleaver hurtling toward the knight. To his credit, the knight did not flinch, but brought his own sword up from the skull of the dead orc to meet and parry the warboss's attack. The crude, massive bulk of the orc's weapon slammed into the knight's elegant steel, sparks flying.

  The knight staggered backwards, his blade now sporting an inchdeep notch from where the orc's cleaver had met it. Gnashrak tensed his powerful frame backward, ready for another strike. The other orcs momentarily grew silent, watching in awe as their fearsome champion demonstrated his incredible strength and power. Across the field, Brunner and the remaining knights and squires did the same; all eyes were drawn to the uneven contest unfolding only a few dozen yards away.

  It ended the only way that it could. With another booming roar, Gnashrak slashed at the knight once more. Again, the man tried to meet the orc's crude metal weapon, but this time the notched blade snapped before the orc's massive blow. The cleaver continued unhindered, smashing into the mail standard about the Bretonnian's neck. Chain links snapped apart before the blow and a crimson fountain erupted as the cleaver passed clean through the neckbone. The knight's helmet flew ten feet from the man's body, rolling into the long grass, blood spurting from the head within.

  Gnashrak pulled his cleaver back towards him, his beady eyes examining the gory metal. A long, dog-like tongue dropped from his ponderous jaws and licked at the blood. Then the orc fixed his gaze on the small band of men clustered amongst the ancient stones atop the mound. He took a step forward, his foot smashing through the ruin of the fallen orc's skull.

  The warboss raised the cleaver again, and pointed it at the Bretonnians. His jaws opened again and he roared at the watching soldiers. Though they could not understand the orc's crude language, its meaning was clear the Bretonnians could expect no mercy from their attackers.

  Like hounds loosed from the leash, the orcs under Gnashrak's command howled and began charging across the clearing, swinging their weapo
ns overhead. A few, remembering the bows they carried, sent some black feathered arrows ahead of them, the ill-aimed shots bouncing harmlessly from the stones. The squires nestled among the rocks were more effective with their own longbows; each of their arrows found its way into orcish flesh, but none had enough stopping power to drop their hulking targets. orcs closed their monstrous paws about the shafts that stuck from the flesh of arm, leg or breast and ripped them free, seemingly immune to the pain. Neither did they heed the meat clinging to the barbed arrowheads that they discarded with contemptuous snarls.

  The figure of the bounty hunter emerged from behind the rocks, the long steel barrel of his gun held before him. He set a match to the flashpowder, then braced his legs as the explosive discharge of his weapon shook his body. A huge orc suddenly spun about, green blood bursting from the smoking hole in his chest. The orc slammed into the ground, his body shuddering for a long moment.

  The beast pressed his hands to either side of his prone body, and started to lift himself, but then he shuddered and dropped once more, his body bleeding out from the gaping crater where his heart had been.

  Brunner did not spare the orc a second thought. He dropped the spent handgun, and reached beside him for the loaded crossbow he had leaned against a stone. He raised the weapon to his shoulder, sighted, and sent a steel bolt slamming through the helmet of a second orc as the brute was pulling a Bretonnian arrow from his chest. The orc's head snapped about, with an even more angry leer on his face. His little eyes focused upon Brunner, and widened as they saw the crossbow in the man's hands. The orc snarled, bellowing like a maddened steer. Then the green blood seeping from his helmet blurred his vision.

  The orc raised a paw to his head. A clawed finger probed the hole in his helmet and the skull within. The orc's legs suddenly gave out and he fell onto his rump, his finger still lodged within the wound in his head. A slight whimper hissed from the orc's jaws, as the massive body fell onto its side. Then the greenskin was still.

  A third orc was nearly at the base of the mound when he dropped, succumbing to the three arrow wounds in his chest. The orc behind him hurdled the body, and then fell as another Bretonnian arrow transfixed his throat. But a full twenty of the marauders reached the mound. And behind them loped the massive steel-toothed figure of their leader, his gory weapon held over his head as he bellowed war cries in his own harsh tongue.

  The remaining knights met the charge of the orcs, two of the squires drawing their own swords to stand beside their lords and masters. The third squire let a shriek of terror escape his lips as he sprinted from the cover of the rocks, and raced for the nearer edge of the clearing. Three orcs loped after the fleeing man, their swift gait quickly closing the distance between man and pursuers.

  Brunner sent the bolt from his smaller crossbow into the face of the first orc that closed with him, the dart sticking from the monster's cheek like a steel pimple. The orc clutched at the bolt, his clawed fingers working to pull it free. So intent was he upon the bolt, that he did not react as Brunner brought the cleaving edge of his falchion sword slashing through the brute's forearm. The severed limb still had claws locked about the bolt protruding from the orc's face. With the severed arm dangling, the orc snarled, and raised his remaining arm that clutched a savage length of sharpened steel. But the reaction was too slow already Brunner's falchion was slashing downwards, splitting the orc's skull open like a melon. Green blood and snot-like brain matter bubbled from the ruin and the orc slumped against the side of the toppled stone plinth beside him.

  A second orc leapt forward, crying in savage triumph to find a worthy adversary in the bounty hunter. The orc's axe bit down, glancing along the heavy gromril breastplate that encased Brunner's chest. The bounty hunter staggered under the impact of the blow, the dwarf metal resisting the cleaving edge of the orc's weapon.

  The orc, unbalanced by the strike, began to recover both his stance and his weapon. Leaning before the shaken but unharmed Imperial warrior, the orc began to rise. With one hand, Brunner plunged a knife into the orc's neck, while his falchion sliced through the beast's backbone. The orc let a whimper of agony sigh from his enormous lungs and fell prone before the bounty hunter. The greenskin twitched for a moment, hands clutching at the knife buried in the back of his neck. Brunner turned away from the dying creature, looking for that next monster to challenge his blade.

  The battle was faring badly for the Bretonnians. Both squires and one of the remaining knights were down, and there were only two orcs lying beside the corpses of the men. As the bounty hunter looked, he could see the huge warboss attacking Sir Doneval, the bulky knight dwarfed by the enormous orc's twisted form. The knight dodged the orc's awkward blows, so the orc's huge cleaver sparked each time it bit into the old plinths. The knight slashed and thrust at the beast each time it recovered, and the orc was bleeding from numerous cuts in arms and chest. But the monster was hardly slowed, his inhuman vitality and resistance to pain carrying him forward.

  Sir Doneval at last misjudged the sweep of the orc's cleaver, slipping to the left when he should have dodged to the right. The warboss's cleaver mashed the knight's arm, splitting the metal and tearing the flesh beneath. Dark blood oozed from the wound and Sir Doneval staggered away from the triumphant roar of his hulking adversary.

  Brunner drew the reloaded pistol from its holster and fired at the orc leader's back. The weapon spat a flare of flame, and emitted a sound like the crack of thunder. An acrid stench wafted from the weapon. The warboss turned his head slightly at the sound, then returned his attention to the reeling knight. Brunner stared in disgust at the Nuln-made weapon, casting the pistol into the face of the horn-helmed reaver closing upon him. The weapon crashed into the monster's face, smashing his nose and splitting his lip. The orc paid no attention to the injury, but swept his massive sword at the bounty hunter. Brunner ducked under the sweep of the orc's blade, stabbing out with his own sword and piercing the crude leather that covered the orc's breast. Dark green liquid bubbled from the wound and the orc fell, his heart cleft by the bounty hunter's blade.

  Gnashrak chopped down at the knight. Sir Doneval raised his shield, blocking the blow yet again, but this time the orc was in a position to put his whole weight behind the blow. The knight's arm broke under the impact. Sir Doneval let out a cry of pain from behind his helm. The orc grinned at him a toothy, comfortless steel smile. Then the orc's massive cleaver was swinging downward in a two-handed strike.

  The metal of Sir Doneval's breastplate was cut to shreds by the cleaver's impact, as was the ribcage beneath. A final scream of agony bubbled from the knight's mouth as the orc raised his weapon from the gory husk of the knight's mangled torso. Gnashrak's beady eyes considered the carnage all around him. Then his red eyes found the black-helmed bounty hunter rising from the corpse of one of his orcs.

  Gnashrak let a bloodthirsty leer spread across his leathery face. He remembered him, cowardly trying to shoot him in the back with the fire and smoke weapon. But Gork and Mork had protected their savage child, and the magic of the backshooter's weapon had failed. Gnashrak ran a clawed finger through the gore dripping from his cleaver. He would teach this snivelling cur how a proper fight was conducted.

  Brunner watched as the hulking warboss rose from Sir Doneval's body and advanced towards him with heavy, thudding steps. The bounty hunter drew a throwing knife from the belt at his chest and waited, turning his body to present the orc with his side and the blade in his other hand. He doubted if the orc would recognise the purpose of the knife, but he didn't want to take any chances.

  The orc shuffled forward, his enormous weapon held across his chest. Brunner let him take a few more steps, then threw the knife. The orc grunted in surprise as the knife streaked across the distance between them. The blade sank into the corner of the orc's eye socket. The huge brute howled in pain, letting go of his cleaver, and closed his hand about the knife. Brunner scrambled to reload his crossbow pistol while the orc paused. He looked up as the war
boss gave vent to a wild cry of pain. The massive paw came away with the knife, dark green blood flowing from the wound. The orc fingered the knife for a moment, then bent and lifted the huge cleaver with his other hand. The orc stared into Brunner's eyes and uttered a deep growl.

  'Come try it,' the bounty hunter snarled. The orc roared again, displaying his enormous steel-capped fangs and charged forward like a blood-mad Estalian bull. Brunner fired his crossbow pistol at the oncoming avalanche of greenskin flesh, but the shot was hasty and the bolt smashed into the beast's knee. The orc did not seem to feel the impact of the bolt as it charged onwards. Brunner dropped back, letting the monster crash into the boulder he had been standing before. The stone cracked as Gnashrak struck it. Not even winded by the bone-jarring impact, the orc lashed out with his steel cleaver, missing the bounty hunter's body by mere inches.

  Brunner struck out with his own weapon, dealing the orc's arm a deep gash that severed tendons in his hand. The huge cleaver dropped from the suddenly useless hand. But Gnashrak's other hand was already in motion, feeding Brunner's left shoulder the point of his own knife. Brunner twisted from the injury, a cry of pain ringing out from below his helm. The orc grinned back, his massive paw closing about the armour on the bounty hunter's injured shoulder.

  Brunner screamed again as the orc's hand crumpled the steel and bruised the bone beneath. As though tiring from the sound of the man's shrieks, the orc clubbed the black-steel helm with his useless arm. The metal rang and an indentation formed in the sallet helm. Brunner shook his head against the bludgeoning blow.

  The bounty hunter's sword sank to the hilt in the meat of the orc's thigh. The monster released his grip on the bounty hunter's shoulder to wrench it free. Given the momentary respite, Brunner spotted the bolt protruding from the orc's knee. With a roar as savage as any the orc had given voice to, the bounty hunter kicked his steel-toed boot into the bolt. The steel spike sank through the orc's kneecap, and the monster toppled onto his side.