Daemon Gates Trilogy

by Black Library

  Alaric turned as if to walk away, and then spun back, the axe flashing in a crimson arc, slicing across Deathmaul's already ravaged neck, armour and all.

  'No!' the Chaos champion gasped. He clamped one mailed hand over the wound, but blood welled up between his fingers. 'I will not die like this! I am the Deathmaul, chosen of my master! I will triumph!'

  'You have been cast aside,' Alaric corrected, his tone sharp enough to etch glass. With his free hand, he reached up and peeled Deathmaul's fingers from his throat. 'Now you die, alone and broken.' With one mighty blow, he smote the Chaos champion on his helm with his axe, smashing his head from his body. Deathmaul's head top­pled to the ground, a fountain of blood following it from the neck before the massive body collapsed.

  'Such a waste,' Alaric said, resting the axe easily over one shoulder.

  'Master!' The tall man Dietz had seen earlier strode for­ward, men and elves alike dying with a flick of his hands

  in a torrent of dark magic. Dietz could see the stranger was as tall as him, but thinner, almost gaunt, with long features and the bright eyes of a fanatic. He was wearing long loose robes marked with strange symbols, and jewels glittered at his ears, throat, arms and fingers. 'It is I, Varlek, your most faithful servant!'

  Alaric glanced at the sorcerer, then turned away. 'I know your heart, Varlek,' he said softly, each word a sharp knife stabbing the tall man in the chest. 'I know your true ambi­tions. You will never supplant me. I have you to thank for this fine mask, and this body, and thus I shall be lenient. Depart now, or face my wrath.'

  Varlek looked startled at first, then terrified, then resigned, and then hopeful. He did not bother to argue his own innocence. Instead, he raised both arms, uttered something, twisted sideways... and disappeared, leaving only a flickering after-image behind.

  Dietz looked around, wondering what to do next. The battle still raged around them, though in smaller clusters. There were fewer beastmen, but fewer elves and humans as well. It was still unclear which side would win. Meanwhile, Alaric was stalking about the courtyard. He seemed taller, more powerful, although Dietz could not tell if the noble had truly grown, or if it was an illusion created by the aura of power radiating from him.

  As he watched, an elf leapt in front of Alaric, sword drawn. Alaric caught the blade as it swung, ripping it from his attacker, and the sword arm with it. Then he clubbed the elf with his own arm before finally, almost negligently cutting it in half with the axe.

  'By Sigmar!' Kleiber said, stepping up beside Dietz and making the sign of his order before him. 'How can we stop such a creature?'

  'We can't,' Dietz admitted. 'That mask makes him stronger and faster than any of us, probably than all of us put together.'

  Kleiber looked at him, and nodded. 'So we remove the mask,' he said finally.

  Dietz stared at him. If only it were that simple! But maybe... he actually began to think about it. Yes, maybe they could.

  'All right,' Dietz agreed. "We get that mask off him, and it weakens the daemon's hold on him, maybe frees him alto­gether. The question is, how can we get close enough to do that?'

  'I can get close.' The speaker was an elf, and she stepped in front of them, her footsteps silent even on the rubble- strewn courtyard. She was tall and lovely, as were the others, but her beauty had a wild aspect. She wore only a brief tunic, no armour, and much of her bare flesh was covered in swirling tattoos.

  'Who-?' Dietz started to ask, but the elf woman cut him off.

  'We have little time,' she said sharply. 'I am Nelyann Swiftwing. I will help you, for this beast must not be allowed loose upon the land.' She paused, and Dietz nod­ded. 'I will distract the creature,' she assured them. 'He will not be able to touch me, but I shall touch him many times.' She raised a pair of matched swords.

  'Fine,' Dietz said. 'Play decoy. Lure him out. Then we have him.'

  Nelyann nodded, and then she was sprinting towards Alaric, a strange song bursting from her lips. Alaric heard her and turned to meet her, his axe rising to strike. She ducked, in perfect time to a dip in her song, and the deadly blow missed. Dietz blinked. Nelyann danced around the daemon-possessed scholar, her blades flickering in and out, too fast to be seen clearly, and somehow her weaving and twisting allowed her to sidestep Alaric's powerful, but clumsy attacks. Her swords danced as she did, moving to the same pounding beat pouring from her lips. Alaric was unable to block them. Cuts appeared by the handful on

  his body, although he made no noise, nor gave any indi­cation that he felt the pain.

  Dietz shook his head. 'Come on!' he urged Kleiber, run­ning towards Alaric. He still did not understand why an elf, who had so recently threatened their lives, was now trying to save it, but this was not the time to ponder such things. If Alaric hit her, even once, she would most likely die. That meant they had to take advantage of her help as quickly as possible.

  Dietz veered off to the side as he approached, gesturing to Kleiber to do the same, but from the opposite side. Sensing their plan, Nelyann stayed in front of Alaric, hold­ing his attention. They converged behind Alaric. The question was, now what?

  Dietz looked over at Kleiber, and the witch hunter shrugged. Then he threw himself at Alaric's back.

  'Sigmar grant me strength!' Kleiber called out. He wrapped his arms around Alaric's neck and his legs around Alaric's waist, and began tugging and twisting, and shoving at the mask.

  Dietz shrugged. He didn't exactly have any better ideas, so as Nelyann twisted to one side, he stepped up and reached for the mask's right edge. His callused fingers clamped onto the thin stone of the mask, and he began to tug with all his might.

  You wish to rob me of my treasure?' Alaric asked, rage throbbing in his voice. You will die for such blasphemy!' He swept the axe in a massive arc all around him. Dietz leapt backward, just avoiding the weapon's glittering blood-red edge. Kleiber simply hung on, shifting his grip to Alaric's neck in order to retain his perch and prevent Alaric from reaching him. Nelyann leapt up instead of away, the axe skimming through the air just below her feet, and arcing back just before she began falling to earth again.

  'Grab it!' Kleiber hissed at Dietz, his hands rising from Alaric's throat to tug at the mask.

  Dietz ran back up and grasped the mask with both hands, trying to pull it free.

  The mask fought him. It clung to Alaric's face as if it had been nailed down, but Dietz refused to let go, except when Alaric tried to attack him, and then he simply returned and tried again. Glouste emerged again, saw what he was doing, and lent her own help. The agile tree fox leapt from his jacket onto Alaric's head, anchored herself by clinging to his scalp, and planted her sharp hind claws along the edge where the mask met Alaric's forehead. Then she started digging furiously. Nelyann did her best to keep Alaric busy by attacking him constantly and daring him to attack her, and Kleiber hampered Alaric's movements and helped Dietz work at prying up the mask's edges.

  It seemed like hours, but might have been only minutes. Dietz had several burning cuts where he had not been quite fast enough to avoid Alaric's blows completely. Kleiber's grip had slackened and he was starting to slip off Alaric's back. If he fell, the noble would simply turn and chop him in half. Fortunately, Nelyann showed no signs of slowing down, and Dietz felt like he was making progress. He could now get the tips of his fingers under the mask's outer edges, wedging his flesh between the accursed stone and the flesh of his friend.

  Then Nelyann apparently misjudged. She skipped in, her blades leaping forward in time with her song, and Alaric growled and hacked at her. The female elf spun lightly back and away, but in the instant that she turned, Alaric flipped the axe over suddenly, so its head was near his right hand instead of his left. That meant that Nelyann twirled right into the heavy blade, her momentum slam­ming the crimson edge deep into her chest and halfway through her torso. Her song faltered and died as blood bubbled up between her lips.

  Alaric snarled, and tugged the blade free. He reversed his grip a second t
ime, and chopped off her head. The elf

  woman fell, her body toppling one way and her head another, her two blades clattering to the ground.

  'Morr's blood!' Dietz knew it was now or never. Without her as a distraction, Alaric would turn on him next, and he lacked the dead elfs grace or training. What he did have, however, was pure stubbornness, and strong hands and arms from years of manual labour. He latched onto the mask again, shoving his fingertips as far under it as he could get them, gouging Alaric's flesh in the process. Then he pulled with all his might.

  'You will perish!' Alaric warned him, laughing as he raised the axe and let the elf s blood soak into its surface. 'You will all die, and your death cries will feed me, just as your souls will slake my thirst!'

  'Never, foul creature!' Kleiber replied from his perch. The witch hunter drew his blackpowder pistol, and levelled it, not at Alaric's eye, but at his temple, right where flesh met stone. 'Sigmar protects us, just as he protects our friend whose body you have usurped. Release him!' And he fired.

  The bullet struck with enough force to send Alaric reel­ing, and Dietz planted his feet, and yanked at the same time as his friend staggered back. With a terrible wet tear­ing sound the mask ripped free. Glouste followed, leaping from Alaric back onto Dietz's shoulder, where she chit- tered proudly about her contribution.

  'No!' Alaric reached for the mask, his face a bloody ruin, even as Kleiber's hold weakened and he dropped to the ground behind the noble. 'Return my mask!'

  Dietz held the thing up so he could look at it. It was still as lovely and as terrifying as when he had first seen it in that temple, even though its inner surface was now coated with blood, gore and flesh. He could almost feel the power radiating from it, and a dull force pushed at his mind, try­ing to sway him into wearing the mask. Dietz set his mind against it, and poured all of his rage and fear into resisting. 'No,' he replied.

  'Give it to me!' Alaric shrieked, hefting his axe. 'Now!'

  Dietz backed away, out of swinging range.

  Then he saw something change. Behind the blood, he saw the strange light fade from his friend's eyes.

  'Dietz?' The voice was different, smoother, less powerful, and filled with pain and confusion. The axe dropped from his hands, and he staggered.

  'Alaric?'

  'Sigmar be praised,' Kleiber announced, making the sign of his order. 'The daemon has fled your body.'

  Dietz saw the frown on his friend's lips. 'No,' Alaric admitted hoarsely, his voice raw, but recognisably his own. 'It's still inside me, still gripping me. Weaker, though. Tak­ing my - its - face helped.'

  'What can we do to get it out of you completely?' Dietz asked.

  Alaric started to shake his head. 'I don't-' Then he stopped, a gleam in his eyes. It was a gleam that Dietz knew all too well, and had often cursed. 'Destroy its face!'

  Dietz looked down at the mask in his hand. 'Are you sure?'

  His friend giggled. 'It's calling to me, Dietz. It wants to get back inside my head.' His hands flew to his head, tug­ging at the hair at his temples. 'Its whispers are drowning out all my thoughts.'

  Worried by the way his friend sounded, Dietz tossed the mask onto the paving stones. Glouste, startled by the motion, returned to her usual place in his jacket.

  'Grind it beneath your feet!' Alaric urged, his voice a pain-filled whisper. 'Stamp it into the earth. Shatter it with your heel.'

  Dietz cursed. Clearly, Alaric wasn't going to be much more help, but he thought he could manage on his own. Seeing Deathmaul's axe, he ran to the massive blood­stained weapon, gripped its heavy handle with both hands, and heaved.

  The axe did not move an inch.

  'Morr's blood!' Dietz glanced around. Most of their friends were still battling the remaining beastmen, and Kleiber was doing something in front of Alaric, most likely blessing him to hold the daemon's influence at bay. Dietz wasn't sure that would help, but he didn't want to risk dis­rupting it. Lankdorf was nearby, however, and Dietz shouted at the tracker. 'Lankdorf! I need your help!'

  The former bounty hunter dispatched his latest foe and came running. He saw at once what Dietz was doing, nod­ded, and joined him on the weapon. Together, they managed to lift it off the ground, but only just.

  'Kleiber,' Dietz yelled, 'help us!'

  The witch hunter turned, about to argue, and then saw what they were attempting. He immediately stepped up beside them and gripped the axe just above the handle, gasping as he felt the Chaos taint imbued in the weapon.

  Left on his own, Alaric crumpled to the ground, and began crawling towards the mask.

  'All together!' Dietz shouted. He, Lankdorf, and Kleiber all strained, and raised the axe to head height. Dietz stretched, feeling muscles protest and even tear, and just managed to hook his boot tip into the mask's left eyehole. He tugged it towards them, eliciting a whine of protest from Alaric, and nudged it until it was right beneath the axe.

  'Now!' he yelled. They brought the axe down, although it was more a matter of dropping the heavy weapon than of actually striking anything with it.

  Whatever the cause, the double-bladed axe slammed down on the mask, smashing the thin stone face into the hard granite beneath.

  Dietz heard a definite crunch, followed by a shuddering wail. For the second time, he was swept off his feet by an explosion of air and sound, and smell.

  A voice shrieked in rage, the sound echoing and build­ing, and shaking the very stones with its rage. 'I will not be

  denied!' But with each word it was weaker, the echoes longer, as if it were farther away, and then it faded com­pletely, leaving only a faint ringing in the ears.

  When he picked himself back up, Dietz saw that the mask was shattered into a thousand tiny slivers. The axe had fared better. Much of its haft remained intact, but the twin blades had crumbled away like rotted wood, their particles already scattered across the courtyard.

  Unfortunately, the haft had been propelled backward by the impact, and was jutting from Lankdorfs chest. The bounty hunter dropped to the ground, his face white, clutching at the broken wooden haft as a dark stain spread across his chest and belly.

  'Lankdorf!' Dietz dropped to his friend's side. 'Lankdorf, can you hear me?'

  The former bounty hunter glanced at him and half- smiled. 'Don't... worry,' he managed to whisper through the blood that was welling out of his mouth. 'I'll... leave a... trail for you... to follow.' Then his eyes glazed over and his last breath rattled in his throat.

  'I know you will,' Dietz assured his friend, reaching out to close the tracker's eyes. 'May Morr treat you with the respect you deserve, Merkel Lankdorf.'

  He stood, shakily, and glanced around. He saw Alaric just beyond them, unmoving.

  'Alaric!' Dietz leapt over the remains of the artefact, and knelt by the noble. Kleiber, who had also been knocked down, roused himself and moved to Alaric's other side.

  Alaric was a mess. His face had been torn to shreds when the mask had come loose, and Kleiber's bullet had burned his temple, although it had not pierced his dae­mon protected skin. The wardancer had inflicted a score of cuts upon his arms, legs, and torso, and he bore sev­eral new burns and cuts from the recent explosion. Despite all that, his eyes flickered open, and he smiled at Dietz.

  'It worked' Alaric whispered through torn lips. 'It's just me in here.'

  'Good' Dietz said. 'I wish we'd never seen that bloody mask!'

  Alaric coughed. What, and miss all this adventure?' he asked. Then he passed out.

  Dietz glanced at Kleiber, who nodded. The daemon has fled' the witch hunter assured him. 'It could not withstand the destruction of the items that bound it to this plane.' He glanced down at Alaric again. 'He is weakened, but our friend will live.'

  Dietz nodded, and looked around. 'Provided we survive the battle.'

  Someone ran out of one of the buildings along the courtyard. It was Wilcreitz. 'Get back!' the short witch hunter shouted, running towards them. 'Take cover!'

  Dietz responded
without thinking, dropping back to his knees and twisting so that his back shielded Alaric, and just in time, too. He had just squeezed his eyes shut when he felt a powerful blast of hot air across his cheek and all along his back, and heard a massive explosion. This one sounded different to the others he'd already endured, and Dietz glanced back. This explosion was more mundane. Flames were rising from the building that Wilcreitz had just exited, and as he watched, the roof collapsed, sending chunks of stone and clouds of dust flying. One chunk struck Dietz a heavy blow to one leg, sending pain shoot­ing up along the limb and all through his side. Smaller fragments tore at his face, leaving streaks of fire there, but he counted himself lucky that he hadn't fared worse.

  'What was that?' Kleiber demanded, rising to his feet and dusting his hat off against his leg.

  'The blackpowder' Wilcreitz answered, walking towards them. 'They had it all stashed in that building. There was too much to carry back, and the beastmen were getting more aggressive about fighting past us to

  get to it again. I could not risk them seizing rifles again, so I set fire to it.'

  Kleiber considered this for a second, and then nodded. 'A wise choice,' he complimented his assistant, who looked pleased. 'Now we may depart, knowing that no other will misuse those weapons.'

  'We should make sure the last of the beastmen are dead,' Wilcreitz pointed out, but Kleiber shook his head.

  'Look around.' Dietz did too, scanning the courtyard again, and he saw what Kleiber meant. Some beastmen remained, but they were clearly outnumbered by the elves and the humans, and looked confused. Their leaders had been killed or fled, the blackpowder weapons were gone, and they had nowhere left to turn.

  'Let the elves pursue the last of them. They hate the beastmen far more than we do, and it will keep them occu­pied. No, our task here is done. Gather the men and regroup in the clearing.'

  Wilcreitz nodded and turned away, and Kleiber stepped up and placed a hand on Dietz's shoulder. 'Come,' he said, 'let us leave this place.'