Hallowed Knights: Plague Garden

by Josh Reynolds

  Arrogant brute. To torment a captive so – and for what?

  Spume caught Grymn in the chest with a kick and sent him rolling across the deck. He wheezed, trying to catch his breath. Something inside him was broken. The maggots were agitated. They squirmed from the wounds on his face and plopped to the deck. He tried to push himself up, but Bubonicus held him tight.

  Surrender, and I will see him off, Lorrus. I will take his head, and cast it at the feet of his masters. Surrender!

  ‘No,’ Grymn said. Something pressed against his eyes from behind. He was blind. Maggots filled his mouth, his lungs. His heart strained against a shroud of squirming bodies. He felt something grip his soul in iron claws and threaten to rend it to pieces.

  Surrender, damn you. I will not perish at the hands of a worthless braggart.

  More memories. A young knight, riding through a sweetly scented garden beside a lady fair, her face hidden behind a veil. Of the burning, bitter taste of the sacred waters of Nurgle’s own broth. Of the strength, and the glory of a life well lived in service to a Dark God. Vile images spattered across his consciousness like acid, but all with one common theme.

  Despair. Surrender.

  And that Lorrus Grymn could not do. ‘I am the shield of the faithful,’ he grunted, forcing the words out. ‘I am the rock upon which the faithless break.’ Whips hissed. Cudgels fell. New pain blossomed amid the old. ‘I will die before I give up.’

  You will, won’t you? Never have I met a soul so stubborn. Your very marrow aswarm with maggots, and still you fight. Still you resist. Why?

  ‘I have my honour,’ Grymn whispered.

  Bubonicus fell silent. And then feeling flooded Grymn’s limbs. A whip snapped out and he raised a forearm. The lash tightened about his bracer, and he grabbed hold of it, jerking its wielder close. Durg grunted in confusion as Grymn’s fist connected with its eye. The daemon screamed as its eye burst and Grymn’s fist continued on, erupting out of the back of its skull. He ripped his arm free and shoved the dissolving body away.

  ‘If you want me to fall, you’ll have to do better than that.’ He pushed himself to his feet. He felt feverish. His joints ached and his stomach churned. But he had control of himself again. He raised his chain, ready to meet Spume’s charge.

  You are brave, Lorrus. I am proud to know you.

  ‘Quiet,’ Grymn snarled.

  ‘Ye can barely stand,’ Spume said. He spun his axe with an easy grace.

  ‘Barely,’ Grymn said. ‘And yet, here I am.’ He pulled the chain taut.

  ‘Not for long.’ Spume stomped towards him, axe raised. ‘I’ll deliver you to the Lord of All Things in pieces, if I must.’ The axe swept down.

  Now!

  At Bubonicus’ warning, Grymn pivoted. He cast a loop of chain about the axe as it fell. He twisted aside, hauling the weapon out of Spume’s hand and sending it whirling towards the mast. The massive blade slashed through ropes and chains before embedding itself in the slime-slick wood. Spume roared and launched himself at Grymn. The Lord-Castellant attempted to wrap his chain about the Rotbringer’s throat, but Spume was quicker than he looked. His tentacles snared the chain, and jerked Grymn off balance.

  The Stormcast leaned into the fall, tackling his tormentor off the upper deck. They crashed down among the rowers’ benches, scattering the souls there. Grymn felt new strength flood him as he drove a fist into Spume’s head, denting the pirate’s helm. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.

  Helping. I cannot defeat you, so I will lend my sword to your cause.

  ‘I need no help from you.’

  Spume reached up and caught him by the head. ‘Take what ye can get, shiny-skin.’ He drove his skull into Grymn’s, knocking him back. Spume rose, shaking off bits of broken bench. Grymn snatched up a wide chunk of wood and struck the Rotbringer. Spume stumbled, and Grymn hit him again. The wood came apart in his hands. Spume roared and lunged, groping for his throat.

  The kraken, Lorrus – strike the kraken!

  Grymn ducked beneath Spume’s lunge and made a grab for the snapping beak. Tentacles entwined about him, but he caught the lump of muscle and clacking mandibles and gave it a wrench. Spume screamed shrilly. Grymn twisted the struggling mass, and hauled Spume around bodily. He caught sight of plaguebearers closing in on them, coming to aid their captain. It was time to end this.

  He forced the pirate to his knees, and swiftly looped the chains around his throat. ‘Now… now we come to it,’ Grymn said. He twisted the chains, tightening the improvised noose. ‘You wanted a reckoning? Here is your reckoning.’

  Spume clawed at the chains, trying to free himself. Grymn drove his knee into Spume’s back. Something snapped and Spume gurgled. He flopped forwards, yanking the chains from Grymn’s grip. He writhed on the deck like a dying fish, slobbering curses. Before the plaguebearers could react, Grymn was among them.

  He barrelled towards the mast. When he reached it, he ripped Spume’s axe free and beheaded the closest plaguebearer. Whirling the axe about, he chopped through limbs and weapons alike, forcing the daemons back. Grymn fought his way back towards Spume, intending to remove the creature’s head with his own axe.

  ‘Hold.’

  The word echoed in the sudden silence. Grymn turned, panting.

  The galley’s arrival had drawn a crowd. A phalanx of plaguebearers slouched towards the ship, accompanied by something far worse than they.

  The Great Unclean One was enormous. Far larger, even, than Bolathrax had been. It sat slumped atop a massive palanquin, borne aloft by hundreds of mutilated souls. Their broken, disease-ridden forms were bound together by rusty chains and fraying ropes. They were bent beneath thick, roughly hewn logs, upon which the palanquin rested.

  The daemon wore what appeared to be robes of state beneath the dirt and mould. Its flesh spilled through great rents and ragged tears in the robes, as if it had outgrown them over time. A tarnished gorget of beaten bronze squeezed tight about its flabby neck, and it wore an ornate breastplate of the same, marked with unpleasant agricultural motifs – unnatural grains waving against bloated moons, and pockmarked scythes. Thick, scaly fingers were draped over the heavy pommel of an enormous sword, which rested between the daemon’s bandy legs. Seven crooked antlers sprouted from its round, toad-like skull. They rose up and met above its head to form the tri-part rune of Nurgle. A monocle of cracked, discoloured glass rested in the folds of one beady eye.

  Father Decay, Bubonicus whispered. The Hand of Nurgle himself. Lord High Admiral of the Plague-Fleets. Lorrus – you must surrender, now. Or both our souls are forfeit.

  Grymn shook his head, trying to focus. ‘No.’

  If you surrender now, you will live on in me. But if you do not, I – no. No.

  ‘Is that the Maggot of Chivalry I hear, scrabbling in my prize? How came you here, Champion of Worms?’

  The daemon’s voice cut through Grymn like a rusty blade. His stomach heaved, and he blinked back tears of blood.

  ‘Have you resorted to theft of another’s crop? Or is it mere happenstance?’ The daemon shrugged. ‘No matter.’

  Father Decay gestured, and Bubonicus screamed. Grymn screamed with him, for the pain was unbearable. He felt as if he were burning up from the inside out. Smoke spewed from his pores, nose and mouth, coalescing above him into something that might have been a face. The daemon chuckled. ‘Ah, Bubonicus. A handsome lad, in your day. It is no wonder my dear cousin was so enamoured of you. But all things end, save that which Grandfather wishes to continue. Your time is done, your battles won and lost.’

  The smoke began to dwindle, congealing as it did so, shrinking into a solid, smooth marble the colour of gangrene. It floated into the waiting palm of Father Decay. The daemon removed its monocle, spat on it, and returned it to its place before closely examining all that remained of Bubonicus. ‘Yes, handsome indeed. Perhaps I shall return y
ou to your sweet Lady, as a token of my esteem.’ As it dropped the marble into its robes, it turned its attention to Grymn. ‘And now for you. Long have I waited for you.’

  Grymn stumbled. The axe slipped from his nerveless fingers as the creature’s gaze pierced him to his very soul. ‘You are a riddle without an answer. A soul plucked from the grasp of its rightful owners by a thief and a coward. You are a poison cup. A prize to be claimed, but fatal to possess.’

  The words punched into him, stealing the ebbing strength from his limbs. He fell back against the mast, unable to draw a steady breath.

  ‘Aye, he is a prize – mine.’

  Spume had got to his feet. He reached for his axe. ‘I brought him to you, daemon. I have done as you asked–’

  ‘Commanded,’ Father Decay rumbled.

  Spume twitched, and pressed on. ‘Where is my reward?’

  Father Decay was silent for long moments. Then it sighed. ‘And what do you want, Lord of Tentacles? What reward will satisfy a soul as greedy as yours?’

  Before Spume could speak, the daemon raised a hand for silence. A plague drone hummed around Father Decay’s head and its rider leaned close to whisper in its master’s ear. When the message had been delivered, the greater daemon leaned back and laughed, low and long.

  ‘You want a reward, do you? Well then, here is your chance to double it, corsair. Our guests have arrived at last. Much diminished in number, but still shining with the light of their cursed faith. Go, Spume – bring them to me, and I shall reward you more handsomely than even you can conceive.’ The daemon flung out a hand, indicating the gateway.

  Grymn laughed, though it hurt. Spume’s hand tightened on the haft of his axe. The kraken beak in his side snapped and squalled, and his tentacles thrashed. But only for a moment. Then they stilled, and Spume straightened.

  ‘So ye say, daemon. But fair warning – I can conceive of a great deal indeed.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE INEVITABLE CITADEL

  The ancient bronze gates burst from their hinges with a scream of tortured metal. The azure galley passed through the fire and smoke, propelling itself on stalking bolts of lightning. Where the ship passed, it left a trail of destruction behind it. Daemons burned in its wake, their dolorous cries echoing down the length of the canal. Rot flies fell twitching from the air, their wings burnt to cinders by the holy radiance. The sludgy waters boiled away to a foul mist, and the walls buckled as lightning played across them. The water-spewing gargoyles toppled from their perches, and water spewed through the walls.

  Arrows fell from the inverted ramparts above, and the Stormcasts responded in kind. Explosions rocked the noisome air as crackling skybolt arrows met those of the daemon-archers. The balefire engines on the vertical bulwarks vomited streams of green flame, which dissipated as they splashed across the cobalt vessel’s hull.

  Crouched by the mast, Tornus braced himself as another burst of green flame washed over the hull. The ship rocked slightly, but did not falter. Tornus sought out Morbus, standing atop the stern, his staff planted before him. Head bowed, the Lord-Relictor took notice of nothing save his prayers.

  A sapphire radiance shone from him, almost blinding in its intensity. The shapes of fallen Stormcasts stood arrayed about him, as if warding him from harm. Tornus saw Cadoc among them, his soul burning as brightly as the beacon he’d carried. Someone caught his arm, startling him. He turned and saw Enyo.

  ‘It is time, brother. They are coming, and we must clear the way.’

  Tornus nodded and glanced down at his quiver of arrows. It had refilled itself upon Torglug’s second demise, but slowly. And not to its fullest capacity. If one was connected to the other, he did not know, but he was glad that the enchantment had been restored. He had a feeling he was going to need all the arrows he could get.

  He followed Enyo to the prow, where they were joined by Tegrus and his Prosecutors. Mathias and Azar were the only two of the winged Stormcasts remaining, besides the Sainted Eye. They both carried heavy shields, claimed from the bodies of fallen Liberators. Tegrus had a warblade strapped to his back, its hilt rising between his wings, and a hammer in each hand. A filthy bandage was tied tight about his thigh, where the sigmarite had been broken by a blow from a plaguebearer’s blade. ‘Let us be about it,’ Tegrus said. ‘I grow weary of the scenery here.’

  Enyo laughed. ‘Your forbearance is impressive. I was weary of it not long after we arrived.’ She gestured to her star-eagle. ‘And poor Periphas hasn’t stopped complaining.’

  Tornus glanced up at his own companion, perched on the rail above. Ospheonis screeched and flapped his wings, as eager in his own way as Tegrus was.

  Gardus was waiting for them on the forward deck, Tallon by his side as ever. ‘We cannot stop. Not now. So give them something to worry about.’ He spoke confidently, though Tornus noted there was tension there as well. They were close now, they could all feel it. To fail here would be worse than to have never come at all. ‘Act swiftly. Morbus cannot keep us in the air for much longer. We must reach the inner sanctum of this place soon.’ He unsheathed his runeblade. ‘Who will be victorious?’

  ‘Only the faithful,’ Tornus said. The others echoed him. Gardus nodded.

  ‘Only the faithful. Now, go.’ He swept his sword out, and pointed.

  Tornus and the others advanced to the tip of the prow, breaking into a run as they drew close. As one, they leapt into the air and sped away from the galley. A single flap of Tornus’ wings was enough to carry him out ahead of the ship. Azar kept pace, if barely. Enyo shot past them, already nocking an arrow.

  A wedge of enemy galleys sailed down the canal towards them. Among the ships was a familiar vessel, the one they’d been chasing since they’d arrived. That it was here now was a good sign. It meant the Lord-Castellant was somewhere nearby as well. The black galley hung back slightly, letting the others pull ahead.

  Above the galleys, a swarm of plague drones spread, blanketing the air. Tornus banked and pulled up short, trusting in his wings to hold him aloft. He drew, nocked and loosed in a blur, filling the air with death. Enyo did the same, clearing space for the two Prosecutors to use their shields to bash themselves and Tegrus a path towards the lead galley. At the last moment they broke apart, rolling away and allowing Tegrus to hurtle downwards. His hammers spun and tore gaping wounds in the deck.

  The Sainted Eye swooped upwards and away, having made his pass. The galley wallowed, smoke gushing from below decks. The Prosecutors moved to repeat their tactics on the next vessel, trusting in the two Knight-Venators to watch over them.

  Tornus twisted and spun through the air, loosing arrows as fast as he could. As the azure galley drew close, many of the plague drones broke off and plunged towards it, like moths to a flame. Tornus let them go, turning his attention to the ships below. Balefire arrows sped upwards, but fell back uselessly, unable to reach the flying warriors. The Prosecutors didn’t have to get close to employ their celestial hammers, and they reaped a heavy toll on the ships below.

  But the black galley yet remained, as if waiting for something. Pox cauldrons had been set up on its decks, and a foul smoke rose into the air above it. Enyo swooped by, picking off the crew of a wallowing vessel one by one. Tornus sped after her. ‘There – that one,’ he cried. ‘It is being the one we are chasing.’

  ‘I see it,’ she said. They flew towards it. Plague drones dropped towards them from above, the daemonic riders thrusting at them with wide-bladed spears. Tornus caught a spear just behind the blade and jerked its wielder out of the saddle, sending the daemon plummeting to the canal below. More rot flies closed in, the plaguebearers on their backs waving festering blades enthusiastically.

  Enyo dipped away from a darting proboscis, and sent an arrow thudding into the insect’s bulbous eye. Tornus lost sight of her as another fly slammed into him, its serrated claws scrabbling at his war-plate. Osph
eonis shrieked and tore at its head, eliciting a high-pitched buzz of agony. Tornus snatched an arrow from his quiver and rammed it into the insect’s brain, silencing it. Its rider hewed at him, even as the creature fell away, carrying the plaguebearer with it.

  The galley was just below them, attempting to nudge its way past two other wrecked vessels. Whoever its captain was, he seemed determined to reach his goal, regardless of the consequences. The poison smoke from the pox cauldrons on deck had forced the Prosecutors to fly lower than they intended, and a fusillade of arrows rose to meet them. A moment later, Tornus realised the strategy at work.

  Several of the daemons on the deck carried heavy nets, weighted by chunks of stone. Azar, forced to swoop low by a volley of arrows, became tangled in one of the nets and plunged to the deck.

  Tornus dropped after him without hesitation. As the Prosecutor slammed into the deck of the ship, plaguebearers converged on him with chortles of glee. Tornus reached him mere moments before the daemons did. He clubbed one from its feet with his bow and whistled for Ospheonis. The star-eagle streaked down, talons spread. Tornus swung his bow in a wide arc, driving the crowd of daemons back.

  Arrows sprouted from the deck in a circle about them, and several daemons fell. Enyo struck the mast of the ship and perched there, an arrow nocked. ‘Cut him loose,’ she shouted, as she sent a plaguebearer tumbling over the rail, an arrow transfixing its throat. She pushed away from the mast and shot away, out over the deck. Tornus followed her advice while the crew was otherwise distracted.

  As Tornus tore away the net, Azar uttered a muffled warning. Tornus spun, bow raised. An axe slammed down against it. A familiar, hulking figure was behind it. ‘Quicker than lightning, aren’t ye?’ Gutrot Spume gurgled. ‘Or so ye fancy yourself. But even lightning can be bottled, with a bit of skill.’

  ‘I am being quick enough,’ Tornus said, straining against the weight of the axe. Torglug had confronted Spume more than once during the many wars that ravaged the Jade Kingdoms. The pirate had been a braggart even then, boasting of conquests beyond the stars and beneath the seas. And, unfortunately, he had the strength to back up those boasts, and a certain raw cunning.