Warhammer - [Brunner the Bounty Hunter 03] - Blood of the Dragon

by C L Werner (lit)

  Malok threw back his head, roaring with triumph. The maggot who had disturbed his sleep was no more, the vermin who thought to enslave him was destroyed. The dragon's roar shook the craggy mountains that surrounded the depression, causing tiny rockslides to trickle down their gnarled faces.

  The dragon exulted in his victory for only a moment, then swung his head downward once more. There had been others here who had earned his wrath. Now they too would join the foolish wizard in annihilation.

  BRUNNER WATCHED AS Malok hurled Rudol across the depression. In that instant the bounty hunter could see the Fell Fang locked in the death grip the wizard's hand had fastened about it. Cold ambition filled him, and the bounty hunter began to sprint across the depression, racing through the very shadow of Malok, intent on gaining Rudol's body.

  The dragon noticed the movement, once more glaring down at the bounty hunter. Brunner watched as Malok lifted one of his feet and slashed down at him like an angry cat swatting at a mouse it has grown weary of playing with. There was none of the clumsiness that had plagued the wyrm's earlier assaults, only by the merest of margins did the bounty hunter escape from beneath the smashing blow, throwing himself flat against the ground just beyond the dragon's strike. The earth behind him exploded, throwing up large chunks of rock that battered the bounty hunter's body. Brunner felt a rib crack as one jagged rock smashed into his side.

  The bounty hunter rolled painfully onto his back, fighting to block out the pain assailing him. His eyes glanced momentarily at the hilltop, and saw that Ithilweil had gone. Whatever sorcery she had worked upon Malok, the dragon was now free of her enchantment. Brunner looked back at the crimson-scaled monster, watching as death glared back at him.

  Malok hissed as he gazed at the broken man, lowering his head and flicking out his tongue to taste the sweet smell of fear rising from his prey. All the crude beasts of the world knew fear when they stood in the shadow of death, and dragons had ever been the very incarnation of that shadow, the prophets of doom and destruction.

  As Malok leaned closer, a battered figure leapt upon the dragon. With his armour ravaged and crumpled, with blood and the black filth that coursed through his veins continuing to drool from the gaping hole in his belly, Corbus lunged at the dragon. Even with his body crushed and mangled, the vampire's inhuman strength and unholy desire spurred him onward. Corbus's leap found him poised upon Malok's shoulder. The undead knight lifted his sword high above his head, then sent it stabbing down into the blackened scar beneath him.

  The dragon roared in pain as the vampire's sword bit into him, twisting his head and shaking his body in a desperate effort to dislodge Corbus. The knight held firm, however, sinking against his sword, fastening his fangs about the broken flesh torn by his blade. Like some hideous tick, the vampire began to drink. Malok continued to roar, stomping about the depression in a maddened effort to remove the sucking parasite. At length, the dragon's struggles met with success, one of the horns on his head striking the feeding vampire and ripping him free.

  Corbus struck the ground hard, feeling his shoulder disintegrate against the rocky ground. But the vampire had little concern for such injuries, his mind focused on the fiery sensation surging through his diseased body. He could feel the dragon's blood burning and gnawing at the corruption within him, feel it scouring the loathsome thirst from him. Never more would he feel the foul desire to feed, to fatten himself upon the blood of others. He would become a man once more. No, more than a man, for the strengths of the vampire would still be his, all of the power of the Blood Dragons and none of their weakness. He would be a god.

  The vampire howled his rapture into the night, but the cry of victory was short-lived. Malok's mammoth claw smashed into Corbus, crushing him back into the earth and pinning him beneath it. The dragon glared down at the trapped vampire, then drew back his head. Since becoming a vampire, Corbus had forgotten what the sensation of fear was like, but the undead monster remembered it now. His remaining eye widened with horror as Malok's head shot downward once more, jaws agape. Orange flame exploded from the reptile's mouth, engulfing its foot and the monster pinned beneath it. The scales of Malok's paw resisted the dragon's flame, the vampire trapped beneath it did not. Corbus shrieked as he was consumed, as his body was annihilated by the dragon's breath, reduced to ash in the batting of an eye.

  SLOWLY, PAINFULLY, BRUNNER tried to crawl away He knew it was a vain struggle, but perhaps Corbus would distract the dragon long enough for him to effect some manner of escape. The sudden blast of heat that washed over the bounty hunter as Malok expelled his fiery rage told him that whatever distraction Corbus might have presented, the vampire would be one no longer. Brunner looked back as Malok lifted his paw from the blackened crater that marked the grave of the vampire. The dragon's horned head swung around to stare at him, the reptile's yellow eyes narrowing as they fixed upon him. With tremendous strides that caused the ground to shudder, Malok stalked toward the wounded man.

  Then, abruptly, the monster froze, Malok's eyes becoming unfocused, almost dazed. Brunner could see the dragon's muscles twitching beneath his scaly hide. The bounty hunter also became aware of a light, a fiery brilliance emanating from where Rudol's body had fallen.

  Ithilweil was standing above the wizard's broken remains, the Fell Fang clutched in her hands. Waves of heat and light were pulsing from her body as she blew into the hollow crescent of ivory, a strange and ghostly melody rising from the ancient artefact. Brunner watched in morbid fascination as the elf strove to increase the pitch of the haunting music, as she blew ever more deeply and forcefully into the Fang. As she did so, the waves of heat boiling from her increased as well and the bounty hunter could see her clothing and hair begin to catch flame, as though ignited by a fire emanating from within her. The bounty hunter recalled the words she had spoken long ago, warning him that only the strongest of wills could effectively use the Fell Fang, that any lesser spirit trying to employ it would be destroyed, consumed by the very power they tried to wield.

  Brunner began to crawl toward the elf enchantress, knowing as he did so that he would be too late. Ithilweil's clothes had burned away completely now, exposing a body that had become blackened and charred. Brunner could see the scaly skin that now clothed the woman split, could see tiny wisps of fire and smoke rising from the cracks in her flesh. The magical energies the elf was drawing upon were consuming her as surely as a lamp consumed oil.

  Above him, the transfixed bulk of Malok stirred. The dragon uttered a low growl, then unfurled his wings. The bounty hunter covered his head as the dragon fanned the air with his mighty pinions and rose into the darkened sky. The immense crimson shape rose into the night, circling the small depression once before turning, flying off towards the south. Brunner watched the dragon depart and as Malok faded from view, so too did the awful heat and light pulsating from Ithilweil. The bounty hunter saw her smoking body collapse to the ground, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Brunner forced himself to his feet, ignoring the pain in his side and ran to the fallen enchantress.

  She was no longer recognisable as the beautiful elf woman who had journeyed with the bounty hunter from the cursed city of Mousillon. Her skin was burnt and blackened, and her eyes had had all the life and vision seared from them by the intense heat of the energies she had tried to command. Only the faintest spark of life clung to the ruin of her body.

  As Brunner reached her side, Ithilweil spoke to him. 'I had to use the Fang,' she gasped. 'It was the only thing left to do. I knew the rituals, the proper way to make it work.' She groped desperately at Brunner's hand, her blind eyes seeing only darkness. Brunner reached down and gently took her charred hand in his own. 'I knew it would destroy me.' she said. 'I knew that I was not strong enough.'

  'But you were,' Brunner told her. 'The dragon is gone.'

  The ruin of Ithilweil's once beautiful face twisted into a thin smile. 'All I did was to heighten a desire that was already within Malok's mind. The dragon wanted to retu
rn to his home, and that is where I sent him. If the desire had not already been there, I could not have placed it there.' A shudder shook the dying woman and her grip upon Brunner's hand tightened. 'It has consumed me, Brunner. I had to feed my soul into the Fell Fang, had to use my life to fuel its power, to overcome Malok's will.' Ithilweil shuddered again, then lifted her other hand. Brunner could see the Fell Fang, unmarred amid the burned flesh. The elf held the artefact out to the bounty hunter.

  'I cannot destroy it now,' Ithilweil told him. 'You must do it for me.' The enchantress seemed to sense the doubt that flared up within the bounty hunter. 'Don't let your hate rule you Brunner, or it will destroy you. That is the lesson my people learned far too late. Your pain has taken enough from you, don't let it take everything.' The elf was gripped by another shuddering convulsion. 'Promise me you will destroy the Fell Fang,' she begged, her words fading into a whisper.

  'I will destroy it,' Brunner told her as Ithilweil's body grew slack, as her last breath sighed past her charred lips. The bounty hunter held onto her hand a moment longer, feeling the strength fade from her tortured flesh, then he rose to his feet, pausing to remove the Fell Fang from her slackened grasp.

  Brunner stared at the carved ivory tooth, studying the runes and inscriptions crawling across its surface. He thought again of Malok, of the dragon's sinister gaze and awful power, of a rain of fire and of castles falling into dust. Brunner's fist tightened about the artefact and with a savage motion he thrust the fang beneath the loop of his belt.

  'I will destroy it,' the bounty hunter told the uncaring night. 'When I am through with it.'

  GOBINEAU CONTINUED TO make his way through the narrow, jagged valleys. The outlaw was under no illusions that his situation was desperate. Alone, lost within the goblin-infested Massif Orcal, his hands bound, the rogue decided that his situation was just about as bad as any he had ever faced. Still, he knew that things could have been much worse. He could still be back at the depression with Rudol and Corbus and the dragon Malok. None of them were creatures Gobineau cared to be near, much less all three at once. The roars and screams and rumblings sounding from behind him told the thief that flight had indeed been the wisest course to pursue. Let them kill each other; when it was all over there would be a decided drop in the number of Gobineau's enemies.

  As the bandit rounded a corner in the narrow fissure, he suddenly felt his breath flee his body as the solid mass of a steel axe slapped into his mid-section. Gobineau fell to his knees, wheezing with pain. Through tear-stained eyes, the outlaw watched as his attacker glared down at him.

  'Well, well, well.' Ulgrin grinned. 'This must be my lucky day. The notorious Gobineau, and all trussed up like a birthday present. I'll have to remember to thank my ancestors for favouring me with good fortune.'

  Gobineau opened his mouth to speak, but Ulgrin drove the flat of his axe into the man's stomach again, spilling him to the ground.

  'Be a good boy and keep quiet,' the dwarf told him. 'We have a long ride ahead of us, and I intend to make it in record time. There's a purse of gold waiting for me and a piece of old rope waiting for you when we get to Couronne. It would be a shame to waste them.'

  Ulgrin Baleaxe kicked the outlaw until he regained his feet, then pushed him towards his mule. The dwarf hesitated a moment, glancing from one side to the other, then smiled again. No sign of Brunner. Ulgrin allowed himself to imagine his erstwhile partner resting in the belly of the dragon and his smile broadened. He was hardly going to split the reward with a dead man, was he? And if Brunner did turn out to still be among the living, well, he'd just have to hope he could catch up to Ulgrin before he reached the Bretonnian capital.

  The dwarf started to whistle an old miner's work song as his mind began to spend two thousand pieces of gold.

  EPILOGUE

  ELODORE PLEASANT QUIETLY withdrew from his masters presence, his head nodding vulture-like as he retreated back towards the heavy oak doors that loomed against the entryway. He had served the Viscount Augustine de Chegney long enough to read the volatile nobleman's dark moods and knew when the man's temper was about to explode. At such times, it was healthy to be as far away as possible.

  The viscount sat upon his throne, scowling down at the object the messenger had brought him, fury and fear striving for mastery of his features. It had been several weeks since the wizard Rudol had come to him, fuelling his ambitions with wild tales of dragons and the power to command them. Since that time, there had been no word from the sorcerer and the soldiers de Chegney had sent with him. Then, Sir Thierswind's horse had returned to the castle riderless. Within one of the animal's saddlebags had been found the object that was the cause of de Chegney's ill humour.

  It had been wrapped in the bloodstained black cloak Rudol had been wearing, a large flattened object roughly the size of a soup bowl. As soon as he laid eyes upon the leathery, crimson plate de Chegney knew what it was. Rumours had already reached him of a monster, a gigantic dragon ravaging the lands to the west, decimating entire companies of knights and leaving dozens of villages burning in its wake. At first the rumours had excited him, as he connected them to the wild tales Rudol had spun and he had seriously begun to believe the wizard might be able to deliver what he had promised. Now they filled him with dread.

  The object was a reptilian scale, such as might be plucked from the hide of a snake, only far grander in size and toughness. That it had come from the dragon, de Chegney did not question for a moment. But it was the symbol carved into the tough leathery scale that caused fear to gnaw at the Bretonnian's stony heart. De Chegney had not seen that sign in many years, but it was as familiar to him as his own coat-of-arms. It was a crude representation of a drake rampant, rendered in the stylised manner of the Empire. When de Chegney had last seen that symbol, it had been upon the coat-of-arms of his vanquished adversary, the Baron von Drakenburg.

  He'd thought the baron long dead, worked to death beneath the hot desert sun by Arabyan slave masters. Such was the fate he had condemned his old enemy to in the aftermath of his victory. But as he stared down at the symbol carved into the dragon scale, de Chegney knew his enemy had survived. He could feel it in the very pit of his soul. The horse, the wizard's cloak, and the scale were all part of a message:

  I live. I know what you were hunting. The power you sought is mine now and it will come for you.

  De Chegney rose from his throne, letting the scale fall to the floor. The nobleman began to pace the empty expanse of his great hall, his footfalls echoing from the stone walls. He realised now what it must be like for the prisoners rotting within his dungeons, certain they were doomed to die but never knowing the hour when the executioner would call their name.

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