Spume’s tentacles writhed, slipping away from the haft of his axe and about Tornus’ bow. With a guttural laugh, he jerked Tornus off his feet and sent him flying. ‘Ye butchered the rest of the fleet good and proper, but I’m made of sterner stuff than that.’ Spume raised his axe as Tornus clambered to his feet. ‘I’ll collect a tally of silver helmets, and make them into chamber pots for my crew.’
Tornus didn’t waste breath replying. He leapt backwards, avoiding the blow. He heard a shout, and saw Enyo dragged down by several plaguebearers. Her wings sliced through the nets that tangled her, but she was quickly surrounded. Spears splintered on her armour, driving her back. Tegrus and Mathias swooped to aid her.
He lost sight of them as Spume slashed at him again, nearly sending him over the rail. ‘I knew ye winged moss-brains would come first, so I planned accordingly. I’ll gut ye and hang your wings from my mast.’ He turned. ‘But first, to stop that glowing scow from getting any further. Bring out the wyrmbows, ye lubbers!’
Five massive shapes clambered up from the lower decks, grunting and slobbering. Tornus recognised the creatures as ogors, despite the malformations which afflicted them. Their pale green flesh was puffy with inflammation, and iron muzzles were hooked into the flesh of their jaws. Heavy limbed and scarred by branding marks and obscene runes, the hairless brutes wore iron collars and manacles, which bound their thick hands to their barrel chests. On their broad backs were mounted heavy ballistae. Plaguebearers crouched on their shoulders, manning the siege weapons. Heavy loops of anchor chain clattered from the barbed heads of the ballistae bolts. The loose ends of the chains were swiftly affixed to rings set in the decks by chanting slaves.
Tornus grasped the nature of Spume’s scheme immediately. ‘Talbion,’ he muttered. Memories of fire and blood surfaced, and an old guilt with them. He glanced back and saw the azure galley sweeping towards them, heedless of any threat.
‘Aye, so you’ve heard of my exploits, then,’ Spume chuckled. ‘How I hooked and plundered those flying islands for their treasures. And I’ll do the same here. I’ll drag that flying boat down and drown her crew in filth, as Grandfather wills.’ His axe thudded down, nearly taking off Tornus’ arm. As Tornus twisted aside, Spume turned and howled, ‘Fire!’
The wyrmbows fired with a great creaking. The barbed bolts flew upwards and thudded into the hull of the galley. The ogors shuffled back, pulling the chains taut. Spume laughed and spun his axe, nearly decapitating Tornus.
His laughter ceased as the galley did not stop. Nor did it slow. Instead, lightning crept down and played across the deck, incinerating daemons and scorching the rotting wood. The black galley shuddered as it was slowly dragged around by the momentum of the flying vessel. Spume stared upwards in stunned silence. ‘No,’ he snarled. ‘No – quick, ye lubberworts, up the blasted chains!’
Daemons scrambled for the chains, intending to climb them and board the vessel above. But cobalt fire spread down the chain, one link at a time. The first daemon to make the attempt reeled back, arms crumbling to ash. Spume cursed and began to shout for them to cut the chains. Tornus took advantage of his distraction and slammed his bow across the back of Spume’s head, staggering him.
Abruptly, the stern of Spume’s vessel rose out of the water as the glowing galley bypassed it. Lightning crawled across the deck, and the sails burned. Daemons and slaves slid or fell towards the prow as the deck timbers began to splinter. The mast swayed, dangerously close to snapping in two.
Spume rounded on Tornus as the latter rose into the air with a flap of his wings. The Rotbringer’s tentacles caught his leg, and Tornus was forced to carry him upwards. Beneath them, the black galley split in two with an agonised groan. ‘Took my ship, I’ll take your head,’ Spume roared, waving his axe.
A glowing arrow, blazing with celestial energies, sank into the open beak of the kraken. The star-fated arrow tore Spume free of Tornus’ leg and hurled him into one of the canal walls. The pirate struck the wall hard enough to crack the ancient stonework and fell into the scummy waters with an echoing splash.
Tornus gave Enyo a nod of thanks as she flew towards him, followed by Tegrus and the others. ‘I did not hit him clean,’ she said. ‘Even with an arrow such as that, he might yet survive.’
‘If so, we have no time to hunt him down – look,’ Tegrus said. He pointed to the archway at the end of the canal, where two massive Great Unclean Ones in heavy armour waded towards the approaching galley, weapons in hand.
With a sinking sensation, Gardus recognised the creatures wading towards the galley. ‘Rotguard,’ he said. The armoured daemons had dealt the Hallowed Knights heavy losses in the Ghyrtract Fen, and again later, in the Athelwyrd. They were preeminent among the warriors of Nurgle’s sevenfold legions.
‘At least there are only two of them this time,’ Feros said, raising his hammer. ‘Seven was a bit many, even for us.’
Despite the apparent humour, Gardus sensed the underlying tension in the Retributor-Prime’s tone. The Rotguard had been responsible for Feros’ Reforging, crippling the warrior so badly that Gardus had been forced to grant him the mercy of death. He glanced at the Heavy Hand. They had never spoken of that moment. Did Feros even remember what Gardus had done?
The Retributor-Prime looked at him. ‘I’ll have the one on the left. He looks rambunctious.’ He thumped the haft of his lightning hammer against the deck. ‘With your permission, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ Gardus said. ‘Stay your hand for the moment.’ He turned, sword raised. ‘Solus, slow them down. Aetius, bring your shields up here.’
‘Easy enough,’ Solus said, motioning several of his Judicators to the prow. The rest of the archers continued to loose volley after volley into the inverted ramparts overhead, or at the plague drones that pursued them. ‘Aim for the visors, brothers and sisters,’ Solus continued, as he and Aetius led their warriors to the prow rail. ‘Nothing distracts better than an arrow to the eye.’
The Judicators began to loose as soon as they reached their new positions. Sizzling arrows struck the approaching behemoths, scorching their armour and blistering their sagging flesh. But the daemons didn’t slow. Instead, they hunkered behind their great shields and continued to wade towards the galley. Displaced water slopped against the walls of the canal as the daemons advanced into the volley.
‘Hnh. Tactics.’ Solus took aim. ‘I hate it when they’re smart.’
‘They’re just using shields,’ Aetius protested. ‘It’s hardly a cunning stratagem.’
‘You use a shield.’
‘Yes, but that’s different.’
‘Oh?’ Solus said, tracking the closest of the daemons. It was moving slightly ahead of its fellow, by a hair’s breadth.
‘Yes,’ Aetius insisted. ‘There’s a subtlety to it that–’
‘Shh. I’m aiming.’ Solus loosed his arrow. It struck the immense shield of the closest Rotguard and ricocheted off, to vanish behind the shield of the other. The daemon gave a bloodcurdling cry and staggered, shield dipping. For an instant, it left itself open. The Judicators loosed without prompting. Arrows pierced rotting flesh. The daemon roared again, shaking its head, momentarily deterred.
The other continued to advance. It swung its great flail and struck the hull of the galley, causing the vessel to shudder. Then it cast aside its shield and reached for the rail, as if to hold the ship in place. Gardus sheathed his runeblade, grabbed the rail and vaulted over, ignoring the shouts of Feros and the others. He dropped onto the head of the Great Unclean One, bringing his hammer down in the same instant. A thunderous crack sounded, and the crude helmet split down the centre, sliding away from the monstrous skull. Dazed, the daemon dropped its flail and groped for him. Gardus ignored it and struck again. Unnatural flesh tore and bone splintered.
The Rotguard stumbled back against the wall of the canal.
‘Fall,’ Gardus snarled, as
he batted aside its hands and brought his hammer down a third time. ‘Fall, damn you.’ Thunder rolled, and the daemon slumped with a groan of protest. The galley slipped past it. The second Rotguard had recovered, and it lurched towards its companion, flail swinging. Gardus jumped, and the Rotguard pulverised the head of its fellow.
Gardus hit the edge of the canal with a crack. Pain shot through him, but he pushed it aside and clambered to his feet. The dead Rotguard collapsed in on itself, its body venting noxious gases. The remaining daemon turned ponderously, flail swinging. Gardus threw himself out of the way as the weapon cracked down, splintering the stones of the canal. It swatted at him with the rim of its shield, trying to crush him, and he dropped to the ground. The shield slammed into the wall, sending jagged chunks of stone crashing down.
Panting, he clambered to his feet. He was at a disadvantage. The creature had size and strength on its side. But as long as it was concentrating on him, it wasn’t paying attention to the others. Out of the corner of his eye, Gardus saw the galley passing through the gateway.
The Rotguard loomed over him, flail swinging. Arrows sprouted from its helmet, distracting it. A moment later, a winged shape dropped down onto its head. A warblade sang down, piercing the helmet and the head within. Tegrus gave the blade a twist, and ripped it free. The Rotguard toppled into the canal with a grumbling sigh.
‘Lord-Celestant, do you require aid?’ the Prosecutor-Prime said, the body of the daemon settling beneath him. Foul gases spurted from its folds of fat as it dissolved. Overhead, the remaining Prosecutors, as well as Enyo and Tornus, circled.
‘A lift would be appreciated,’ Gardus said, waving the miasma aside.
‘Then be taking my hand, Steel Soul,’ Tornus called out, as he swooped low. Gardus reached up and was yanked off his feet by the Knight-Venator. They sped after the galley. Behind them, what was left of the enemy fleet was in disarray, unable to pursue.
They caught up with the galley a few moments later. Past the archway, the canal spilled into an enormous amphitheatre. The air reverberated with the sound of plague-bells and the thudding of drums. Swarms of flies spun lazily overhead in an infernal dance. Hordes of daemons were arrayed before them, armed for war. Their droning chants duelled with the noise of the bells for prominence. Behind the serried ranks, black smoke billowed upwards from the mouth of a cistern.
The galley shuddered in its flight. The cobalt fires flickered, flared and began to dim. Morbus’ spell was fading. The galley dipped, its prow crunching into the ground with a booming crack. Lightning roared out, ricocheting amongst the ranks of daemons. Ancient statues crumbled as the power of Azyr washed over them. The galley bulled forwards, smashing aside anything in its path as it carved a smouldering trench through the stonework. A Great Unclean One staggered away, body aflame. Plaguebearers were incinerated mid-chant. The massive beams that rose against the walls cracked and splintered as lightning played across them.
Gardus said a prayer for those still aboard, even as Tornus carried him in pursuit. The galley came to rest at the edge of the cistern. A conflagration of sapphire flame roared up, swirling into the air. Tornus dropped Gardus to the ground as Morbus led the survivors out of the inferno. The fire had burned their armour clean of filth, and as Gardus and the others approached, it did the same to theirs.
Morbus alone remained alight after leaving the fire. Even his reliquary staff was aflame. The blue fire flickered and snapped and, as it did so, Gardus felt the light within him respond. He had been glowing since they’d entered the citadel, but now it blazed as brightly as it had the day of his Reforging. He looked around, counting the survivors. Barely twenty left now. It would have to be enough.
He let his hand fall to the hilt of his runeblade. ‘Who will dare walk through the fire?’
‘Only the faithful,’ Morbus intoned, his voice echoing within itself. The souls of all those within him spoke as he did. He struck the ground with his staff. Lightning shimmered along the stones.
‘We are the faithful, and the light of Azyr shines upon us, wherever we make our stand.’ Gardus turned. The daemons were massing anew, regrouping in the wake of the galley’s passage. ‘Any sign of him?’
‘His soulfire is close,’ Morbus said. ‘He is here.’
‘Good. I would hate for this to have all been for nothing.’ Gardus surveyed the forces arrayed against them. ‘Was this a mistake, Morbus?’
Morbus was silent, for a time. Then, ‘No. I think – I know – this was meant to be.’
Before Gardus could ask him what he meant, a commotion among the ranks of the enemy drew his attention. The ranks of daemons parted, allowing a massive palanquin, borne by hundreds of chained souls, to pass through. On the palanquin, a singularly enormous Great Unclean One lolled, clad in filthy robes of office and rust-splotched ceremonial armour. Seven antlers sprang from its round, batrachian skull. They met above its head to form the tri-part rune of Nurgle. A monocle of stained glass rested in the folds of one swinish eye. A large sword lay across its knees, its sheath made from the shaggy hide of some great beast.
Worst of all, however, was the silver shape that hung crucified from the front of the palanquin. Lorrus Grymn was shrouded in chains, his head bowed, his body limp. Nurglings clung to him with almost affectionate possessiveness, their giggles audible even at a distance.
‘Welcome, Garradan, welcome,’ the Great Unclean One boomed. ‘Long have I desired to meet the soul who ran Bolathrax to his doom, and banished poor Pupa Grotesse.’ The daemon heaved itself up on its palanquin, causing the enslaved souls beneath to moan in agony. ‘Both of them dear friends, it must be said. Brothers of boil and bubo, if not blood.’ One great yellow eye narrowed in a conspiratorial wink. ‘Still, bygones, eh?’
Gardus did not reply. Instead, he sank to one knee and began to pray. As one, the Stormcasts fell into battle formation. Liberators moved to the fore to shield the remaining Judicators. Feros and his warriors surrounded Gardus. Morbus stood apart from them all, silent and watchful. Molten sigmarite dripped from his hands and torso, forming a smoking puddle on the stones.
The daemon cupped a hand to its head and said, ‘Are those… pleas, I hear?’ It slapped its belly and laughed jovially. ‘Too late for that, my friend. Far too late. You have well and truly wedged yourself into this mire. And all of your free will.’
Gardus closed his eyes. He continued to pray, letting the words layer over one another. Let the creature talk. He was building a wall. One prayer at a time. As he prayed, he wondered if Morbus was right. Had this all been preordained? Was this Sigmar’s will? But to what purpose? Was it simply a show of defiance, or something more?
The daemon was still talking. ‘I have been remiss. Allow me to introduce myself. I am called Father Decay. I am a lord of the Court of Ruination, and the Hand of Nurgle. And I am the architect of your destruction.’ The daemon waited, as if expecting applause. When it received no response save silence, it removed its monocle, rubbed it on its robes, replaced it and leaned forwards on its palanquin. ‘Well? Have you nothing to say, Garradan? From the very first moment you dared set foot in the garden, I have teased you and tweaked you, drawing you further into my grasp. I had my poppet draw you in, and away from the Gate of Weeds. Even now, my servants attack through that portal you so obligingly left open.’
Still silence. The daemon said nothing Gardus hadn’t already known. If it thought to dishearten him, it had severely misjudged him. The remaining Stormcasts stood like statues, arrayed for battle along the rim of the pit. Then Tornus stepped forwards. His steps rang like a hammer strike on an anvil. He drew an arrow from his quiver as he walked. Gardus made to stop him, but a look from Morbus stilled his protest. This too was meant to be.
‘He is having nothing to say to you, monster. But I am.’
‘And who might you be?’ Father Decay grumbled, all trace of its former good humour gone. ‘I do not wish to waste wo
rds on some little soul. Wait.’ It made a show of sniffing the air. ‘You smell… familiar.’
‘We are meeting once, in another life.’ Tornus lifted his arrow.
Father Decay squinted. ‘And what is that?’
‘It is being the weed in Nurgle’s garden.’ Faster than the eye could follow, Tornus nocked and loosed the star-fated arrow. It shattered the daemon’s monocle and pierced the eye behind it, eliciting a deafening shriek of agony. The creature bucked on its palanquin, overbalancing it. Souls were crushed as the daemon was dumped onto the ground. An enormous fist slammed down, shaking the ground and crushing several unlucky plaguebearers as the daemon continued to bawl.
Gardus’ head snapped up, and he lunged to his feet. Behind him, the remaining Judicators loosed their own arrows, sending the volley into the packed ranks of daemons. ‘Enyo, retrieve our Lord-Castellant,’ Gardus said, as he started towards the wounded Great Unclean One. ‘Solus, Tornus, keep them off our backs. Feros, Aetius, with me.’
Daemons tried to interpose themselves, but Aetius and Feros smashed them aside, clearing Gardus a path. Father Decay heaved itself up, an oily ichor spilling from its ruined eye, and clawed for its sword. ‘You dare?’ it snarled. ‘You dare strike the seventh son of Nurgle?’ Its blade swept out in a murderous arc. Gardus twisted aside and summoned the enchantment in his war-cloak. A barrage of glowing hammers struck the daemon, punching steaming craters in its flesh.
The sword slammed down, chopping through the ground. It became lodged in the mouldy stones, and Gardus leapt onto it, swiftly scaling Father Decay’s arm. The Great Unclean One’s remaining eye widened as Gardus lunged, runeblade slashing out. The creature screamed as the blade opened the flesh of its face. It reeled, clutching at Gardus. He dropped to the ground and spun, hammer cracking against the daemon’s knee. Spongy bone ruptured, and the creature sprawled across the ground.
Hallowed Knights: Plague Garden Page 34
