Why could she not kill this man? She had fought in countless battles and slaughtered her way without compunction across the north. She had ruined all before her with blade and spear, casting down chieftains and warriors alike. Some had claimed to bear the favour of the Four, sporting marks and tokens of the gods upon their flesh. All lies and trickery for they had died to a man, their sundered skulls added to the racks of trophies that lined the entrance to her tent.
Why could she not kill this preening fool?
Locephax danced in, his sword pliant and an extension of his own body. He sliced through the air and she felt warm wetness on her face. He had cut her across the cheek and drawn her blood. She howled in inarticulate rage and lunged after him again, her vision filling with blood and focused utterly on the retreating form of Locephax.
Time ceased to have any meaning as Valkia pursued her foe beyond the boundary of the circle and into the camp. She was oblivious to her people as they struggled with one another, overcome by their base desires. They traded blows again and again, Locephax staying just beyond her reach, but closing in to nip and cut at her, inflicting dozens of tiny wounds until her body ran red with her own blood.
Flames spread among the camp as cook-fires were trampled and kicked over, trapping heaving, sweating people in the burning confines of their tents as they gorged themselves in the pleasures of the flesh or feasted on any meat they could lay their hands on. It was an orgy of excess, but here and there a warrior of iron will held back the madness, fighting off or executing those that had given way to their own weakness of spirit.
It was only when the fiery stain of sunrise creased the horizon that Valkia became aware of her own leaden movements. She was caked in blood, soot and filth and the camp had grown eerily silent, as though the Schwarzvolf had abandoned their mad revelry and fled to the hills. She glanced around, gasping for breath and saw shadowy figures moving furtively through the detritus. Her people were there, but they were keeping their distance and in that moment the fires of her rage began to gutter and die. Valkia glared at Locephax through eyes dull with fatigue and to her disgust saw that not only was he unharmed, but that there was not a trace of dirt upon him. Her skin prickled and burned in humiliation and frustration.
Why could she not kill this man?
‘You could concede defeat to me now, girl.’ Locephax, by the light of cold day, was nowhere near the mysterious creature he had been by torchlight. The silvery hair sapped all of the colour from him and he seemed, to Valkia’s eyes, almost insipid. ‘Admit that I am your better and take your place at my side. Your days will be filled with all you desire and your nights will be spent in pleasurable ecstasy.’ His eyes narrowed to slits, the purple glow of them disappearing beneath his lids and long lashes. ‘I am offering you so much more than the snows of the north and the ingratitude of these barbarous people. If you come with me now, you will be a true queen.’
‘I will be your slave. That was what you said.’ She finally found her voice. ‘And that will not come to pass. Ever. Now still your tongue and fight me.’
‘I admire your courage and tenacity, Valkia,’ Locephax said with a cruel sneer on his face. ‘But I think you should know that I can maintain this for as long as necessary. And I can use many of my master’s gifts to help me. For instance...’
The man turned slightly and cast an expert eye around the carnage. Over the sound of her wheezing lungs, Valkia could hear that there were still struggles going on amidst the chaos as her people sought to master themselves once again. Bodies lay everywhere, some clearly unconscious from their exertions while others lay in bloody disarray, their limbs and heads hacked away by frenzied hands. The Schwarzvolf were broken. The thought sent a new shock of anger through the exhausted queen. Her people, the tribe she had lifted from the dust and forged into the mightiest power of the steppe were broken. In the space of a single night this foppish stranger had undone the work of years.
Locephax was talking again and gesturing to the figures slinking through the shadows, but Valkia could no longer hear him. A fury was filling her, stiffening her tired muscles with a strength she did not know she possessed. She blinked the blood from her eyes and stared with naked hatred at the creature that had invaded her home. The man, if he truly was a man, was beckoning to someone. He still wore that disgusting grin on his face, clearly enjoying the destruction he wrought. She needed to kill him. It felt as though there was a colossal pressure building behind her eyes. It crackled along her limbs and filled her heart to bursting.
A voice in the distance roared in defiance and a detached part of her recognised Hepsus as he bellowed in denial. Every bone, every muscle, every sinew, every part of Valkia filled with the terrible need to tear Locephax apart, to cut the head from his shoulders and bathe in his blood. Nothing could stop her. A flurry of cinders gusted past her on the breeze, the dancing motes of ash and sparks seeming to crawl past in slow motion.
‘Blood...’ Valkia growled, though it was the voice of a stranger.
Locephax’s perfect, violet eyes widened fractionally in surprise and he started to turn. He moved so slowly she wondered how she had been unable to strike him before.
‘Blood... for the Blood God.’
The tension broke and Valkia exploded into violent action, her berserker fury raining down on Locephax like a storm. She was a whirling, screaming cyclone of destruction, her spear weaving a lethal design through the air that cut and stabbed at her enemy again and again. Someone or something rushed at her from the side, but their attack seemed ridiculously slow. She knocked the blow aside with contempt and struck the assailant’s head from his shoulders before continuing her pursuit of the retreating Locephax.
Though pressed, the Reveller’s chosen defended himself with surprising skill, though he no longer wore his self-assured smile. All trace of smirking superiority had vanished in the face of Valkia’s renewed assault, but she was too consumed by her fury to take any satisfaction from his discomfort.
From the outside the battle was a blur of blades and violence. Hepsus cradled the broken, headless body of Aric, his eldest son, in his arms and groaned in anguish. The boy had stood firm throughout the long night despite the desire etched clearly on his face, yet when Locephax had called, he had answered. The man had simply beckoned and the boy had come, blade ready to strike his queen down.
Hepsus watched the raging duel through dulled eyes and saw the same madness repeated again and again as the pair fought across the camp. Loyal men and women snatching up weapons and charging to the aid of the silver-haired stranger. One after the other, they died. It was hypnotic. Valkia never so much as broke her stride as former friends and allies assailed her. They would run screaming into the mêlée, there would be a flash of silver, a gout of blood and their bodies would tumble headless to the ground.
The Warspeaker wondered if they could recover from this. Even if Valkia triumphed over this hellish interloper, the Schwarzvolf were badly wounded. Of the thousands that had filled the valley of the Vale, maybe a third lay dead or dying and another third had fallen victim to other wild vices. There would be punishment for such weakness, though the tribe could ill afford more deaths. So the Schwarzvolf waited as their queen fought. They waited and they saw to their wounded and they kept their distance from the raging battle.
For Valkia time had long since ceased to have any meaning. She was sustained by her rage which burned like liquid fire in her veins. It was a rage that could only be satisfied through violence and the death of the hated enemy before her. Locephax was sporting dozens of cuts on his naked torso, but where Valkia was drenched in a mantle of gore, he did not bleed. He gazed at the warrior woman through hate-filled amethyst eyes.
‘Was the boy a little too easy? Yes, I think so, too.’ He taunted. His silver hair streamed out behind him as he spun and parried. ‘Still, it was an amusing diversion. And your Warspeaker is most displeased.’
Valkia managed nothing more than a snarl and pressed her attack. Ha
d she killed Aric? She did not know. She had killed so many people in the past few hours that it was impossible to tell one from the next. Lost in the purity of her rage, she also realised that she didn’t care. If he was dead it was because he had been weak, and there was no place for weakness in battle.
Almost as though he could pick up on her thoughts, Locephax grinned. ‘Do you yield to me yet, Valkia? I can carry on throwing your own people at you for days if necessary. What will it take to make you surrender to me? Another headstrong youth? Your daughters, perhaps?’ His tongue ran lasciviously across his lips. ‘Such beauties. They would be a delightful addition to my harem.’ He glanced over at the tribespeople who still lingered cautiously near the battle, but neither Eris nor Bellona were to be seen. The mention of her daughters sent a shock of recognition through Valkia’s rage-clouded mind and a scream of unfettered fury erupted from her lips. The tip of her spear smashed Locephax’s slim sword aside and impaled him through the gut.
Locephax looked down at the blade puncturing his perfect flesh and back up at Valkia. There was no gush of arterial blood or wail of agony, he simply sniffed in annoyance and grabbed the haft of the weapon.
‘As I told you, you cannot best me with your little spears and knives. You know nothing of real power. And to think you came so close...’
‘Reveal yourself, daemon.’ Valkia barked. Cords of muscle bulged from her shoulders and arms as she attempted to push the spear deeper into Locephax’s body while the creature held fast to the weapon, holding it in place.
‘You should be careful what you wish for woman, I could... ‘
‘I said reveal yourself!’ Valkia cut him off with a bellowed curse and the rune etched into the spearhead flared a terrible, fiery red.
For the first time since their battle began, Locephax screamed.
He tore the spear from his body and flung it and Valkia away with hideous strength. She tumbled across the muddy ground, managed to get her feet under her and sprang up in time to see the form of the silver-haired man bulge and split.
The fabric of his breeches stretched to bursting point and Valkia could do nothing but stare as every seam on his meticulous outfit split simultaneously. The man who was her sole focus was swelling and stretching; all dimensions filling out at the same time. He grew taller, wider and more monstrous in appearance by the second.
Those few tribesmen who still lingered, those whose hearts were not as hard or whose stomachs were not strong as others were fleeing, screaming in terror at the horrifying creature that was taking shape before them. And yet... even in his true form, there was something oddly exquisite about Locephax, Daemon Prince of Slaanesh.
He was clearly inhuman although his body had a humanoid shape to it. There was a discernible head, a face and long, powerfully muscled legs. Arms – yes, there were those too – indeed, they were one of the more obvious things about him. The creature possessed at least six of them, two of which ended in cruel-looking pincers that snapped hungrily at the air.
His skin was a uniform shade of silver – the same colour as his hair had been in human form – the only hints of colour about him were the iridescent purple scales that flowed over his back. He was reptilian. He was human. He was both and he was neither.
The warrior queen stared at the thing before her. Repulsive... attractive... how could something so freakish in appearance be so strangely beautiful? Snakes had always held a fascination for Valkia and this, she reasoned, was no different. That something which moved with such sinuous grace and ease could kill a man with a single bite... this was no different.
She took Slaupnir in hand and steadied herself on the ground, rooting herself to the spot.
‘I am Locephax,’ the creature hissed in a sibilant voice. ‘And I will be your undoing.’ His face elongated slightly; the eyes lost their amethyst shine and became completely black. Horns sprouted from his head, curling forwards and as he opened his mouth to speak, she saw the needle-pointed, razor sharp teeth that lined his jaws. Locephax might once have been human, but that day was long since past.
She raised the smouldering spear to the heavens and screamed out her god’s name. And this time, he heard her and acknowledged her cries. Unholy strength flooded her battered frame, filling her with killing rage and a singular determination to destroy the abomination that had violated the Schwarzvolf.
She was a dervish; a maelstrom of violence. Slaupnir flashed wickedly in the afternoon sunlight. The sun had passed its zenith and she had never even noticed. Valkia landed blow after blow on Locephax and the daemon returned the attack with equal ferocity. She was bloodied and wounded, but if she felt any pain from the countless lacerations on her body, she gave no sign that they impaired or inconvenienced her in any way.
The daemon was covered in similar wounds, a lattice-work of injuries that had been sketched across his body by the sharp point of the spear. Every time the blade made contact with his flesh, there was a searing flash of light and the smell of burning meat. The rune of the Blood God etched into its depth was more damaging than the weapon itself – but the two combined had the potential to bite deeply into pale, daemonic flesh.
Concentrating on the battle, the fug of glamour that he had projected cleared. All around the camp, those who could still stand were watching the battle in silence. Even Hepsus, whose grief at the death of his son was great, could do nothing but stare as the warrior queen battled the inhuman creature.
They fought on, neither seeming to gain the upper hand. Two perfectly matched opponents and neither of them could defeat the other. It didn’t seem possible; Locephax had the size and speed advantage. He had long since abandoned any pretence at keeping his form remotely human and his lower torso had warped into a snake’s body, silver and purple scales gleaming. He moved across the arena floor on the looping coils, a terrible, beautiful thing from another world.
He was superior in every respect – but Valkia had determination and the wild abandon of the Blood God on her side. She thrust Slaupnir repeatedly towards Locephax, but the scales on the daemon’s body were as hard as any armour she had ever fought against. Penetrating his hide was nigh on impossible. Her eyes roamed the creature in an effort to locate any obvious weakness, but she could see none.
Every bone in her body was aching as she pushed herself further, screaming for the chance to rest. Adrenaline kept her going but the fury that had sustained her through the gruelling battle was beginning to ebb, her mortal frame stressed beyond its limits. She knew that realistically she could not sustain this for very much longer. She needed an opportunity and she needed one to present itself soon.
‘You look tired, Valkia,’ said the Locephax-thing, smirking his inhuman smile at her. The needle points of his teeth were bared and the daemon’s forked tongue darted in and out. The eyes were filled with hunger. ‘I can help you rest... eternal rest. Wouldn’t you like that?’
His tone was hypnotic and tired as she was, Valkia almost fell under his spell. With a scream to the Blood God, she jumped back, hurling a torrent of abuse at him in the guttural language of her people. Locephax threw back his head and screeched with laughter. And it was then that she saw her moment; the golden opportunity that she had waited for.
It all happened between one heartbeat and the next, a flash of silver faster than the eye could see. With his head thrown back the way it was, the soft part of his lower jaw was exposed. If she got the strike right...
She sprinted the short distance that separated them and leaped upwards, jabbing Slaupnir up towards the daemon. The spear tip entered the unprotected flesh of his throat and passed through his neck. His six arms flailed wildly as he reached out to return the attack, the pincers snapping furiously and two of his other arms struggling to pull the spear free.
‘I cannot die, Valkia!’ His voice was a bubbling gurgle, but she could see that her strike had mortally wounded him. ‘I am a champion of my master and he will not confine me to his domain! I will return, he will grant me a new body...’
The creature slumped, its head against its torso and the arms went limp. The coils on which it sat sagged and crumpled until Locephax was no longer towering over the warrior queen. She reached up and wiped a hand across her face, smearing blood and soot over it. Leaning forward, she snatched the sword from Locephax’s hand.
‘I know nothing of the ways of the Four, creature,’ she said. Her voice was strong and powerful despite her bone-aching weariness. ‘But I am going to carry your head as a trophy to the very feet of Kharneth, and all who look upon it will know the weakness of the Reveller and his pawns.’
With those words, she spun around with deadly accuracy. Locephax’s blade was keen; she knew it well. The lacerations on her body were testament to that fact. She wielded it with enough strength and swing to cleave straight through his neck, just below the spear that still protruded from it and sever the head from the body.
Just as she had promised she would.
The head fell to the arena floor, rolling several times before coming to a stop. The body wavered a moment or two and then collapsed, blood flowing unchecked from the gaping stump of a neck and pooling on the ground.
Hoping that her shaking hand did not give away her exhaustion too much, Valkia reached down and snatched up the severed head of the daemon.
‘Thus all followers of the Reveller end,’ she said. The head in her grip writhed and twisted, taking on a life of its own. It was a grisly thing to witness, particularly when it spoke with a voice it should no longer have had.
‘You cannot kill me, warrior bitch,’ it snarled, trying its utmost to bite at Valkia. ‘All you will do is infuriate my master. He will not let this transgression go unanswered...’
Kneeling down in the dirt, Valkia dipped her finger in the blood from one of the many injuries on her body. She daubed the rune of the Blood God on the daemon’s forehead.
Valkia the Bloody Page 14
