[Thanquol & Boneripper 03] - Thanquol's Doom

by C. L. Werner - (ebook by Undead)

  “Bring the thunderers to the fore,” Klarak advised Thane Erkii. The Minemaster nodded his head, conveying the order down the line. Klarak waited only long enough for the dwarf gunners to push their way through the press of warriors. They presented a grim, menacing appearance, their armour sooty and bloodstained from the fighting in the smelthall. They had lost kith and comrades in the battle, losses they were eager to avenge on the ratkin. It was only right that first blood should be theirs.

  Klarak Bronzehammer led the way, flanked by Horgar and Mordin. Running after the last of the fleeing ratmen, the dwarfs soon found themselves at the entrance to a vast cavern. From floor to ceiling, the chamber was littered with a riotous confusion of ratwalks and platforms. Skaven were scattered throughout the elevated tiers, a motley arrangement of sinister weapons clutched in their hairy paws. The armed ratmen glared down at the invaders, their eyes gleaming with a volatile mixture of hate and fear.

  Klarak gave the skaven only the briefest notice, his eyes drawn to the sinister round bulk which dominated the centre of the cavern, surrounded by wooden platforms, teams of skaven still crawling over its superstructure. The engineer felt a chill run down his spine as he gazed upon the hideous weapon. Ikit Claw had made some improvements on his previous Doomsphere. This one was easily twice the size of the last, nearly as large as a steamship, and the smell of warpstone rising from it was enough to make Klarak gag. He didn’t want to think about the kind of destruction such a weapon could unleash.

  Thunderers dashed into the cavern, coming up short as they stared in fascinated horror at the sinister machine. The skaven squeaked anxiously as they saw the massed ranks of gunmen spilling into their lair. For a moment, both sides stood frozen, gripped by shock and indecision. Silence spread across the cavern.

  Into that silence, came a scratchy voice. “Dwarf-things! Drop-leave weapons! Surrender-submit! Fight and all dwarf-meat will die-die!”

  Grey Seer Thanquol rose from behind the pile of scrap he had taken shelter behind. The onset of the dwarfs had turned the attentions of Ikit Claw’s murderous crew to more important matters. Thanquol saw an opportunity to escape, to slink away while the ratmen turned their guns on the dwarfs. It was a very tempting idea, but one that made the grey seer’s mouth taste sour. This close to achieving his wildest dreams, to attaining the destiny which was his birthright as the favoured prophet-sorcerer of the Horned One—no, he would not slink off like a wounded wolf-rat! The Doomsphere was his! All he had to do was impress that fact upon the heretic vermin trying to kill him!

  Thanquol saw the confusion and fear in the postures of the skaven as they hastily climbed into the ratwalks and prepared themselves for the attack. Ikit Claw had some talent for knocking together contraptions of steel and bronze, but the Chief Warlock was a poor leader. He could threaten and bully his subordinates, but he couldn’t instil anything like courage and valour, he couldn’t fire the ferocity of his underlings by invoking the holy words of the Horned Rat.

  Thanquol could and he would. He would snatch leadership of these maggots away from Ikit Claw, he would fire their craven souls with the fury of the Horned One and drive them to victory over the dwarfs. They would praise him as their saviour, as their guardian and protector. Then, a twitch of a whisker, and they would turn against Ikit Claw. Under torture, the Claw would reveal everything he knew about the Doomsphere down to how many bolts it took to hold the thing together. Thanquol would enjoy teasing his secrets from the Claw’s torn flesh.

  First, however, there was the annoying matter of the dwarfs to consider. Thanquol felt a flash of fear as he saw the gold-bearded dwarf from the mines leading the invaders. That insufferable animal had survived some of the worst magic the grey seer could conjure, and Thanquol wasn’t terribly happy to see the dwarf still possessed the horrible pistol that had riddled Boneripper with holes. His quick glance showed him the dwarf’s weaknesses as well as his strengths. There was an unmistakable expression of terror in the invader’s eyes as he stared at the Doomsphere. Thanquol could use that terror. He bruxed his fangs as an idea came to him.

  Stepping out from his cover, Thanquol called out to the dwarf-things in their harsh, cumbersome language. The grey seer felt his fur crawl as the eyes of the dwarfs turned on him. He appreciated just how exposed he was, but it was a necessary risk if he was going to impress the treacherous Clan Skryre skaven. They had to know he was a brave and imposing war-leader, unafraid of the things that sent yellow fear slithering down their spines.

  Thanquol’s heart pounded against his ribs as the eyes of Klarak Bronzehammer fell upon him. The grey seer cast a covetous gaze at a stack of timbers close by. They would make a convenient shelter. A sidewise glance at the Doomsphere made him dismiss the thought. The dwarf was more afraid than he was. That made him the stronger.

  “Surrender-submit!” Thanquol hissed. “Or I start-begin Doomsphere! Destroy-kill all dwarf-burrow!” The grey seer gestured imperiously towards the weapon. It looked complete. There was no way the dwarfs could know it wasn’t. He could see from the way the colour drained out of Klarak’s face that the dwarf understood the havoc the machine was capable of.

  A scuffle broke out among the dwarfs. A shaven-headed maniac tried to charge Thanquol. The grey seer spurted the musk of fear when he saw the ginger-furred dwarf and the hate gleaming in his eyes. Thanquol quickly jerked his gaze across the rest of the throng, looking to see if the slayer had a human pet tagging along with him.

  The threat was quickly subdued, a big dwarf with a curious metal framework supporting his body grappling the slayer in a fierce bearhug. Thanquol chittered maliciously to see the frustrated fury on the slayer’s face. After the dwarfs laid down their weapons, that fanatic would be the first one to die. Thanquol might even do the job himself, if it looked reasonably safe.

  “Drop-leave weapons!” Thanquol cried out, pointing impatiently at the ground.

  Klarak glared back at the grey seer. “No,” the dwarf spat.

  Thanquol lashed his tail angrily. Why was it that dwarfs were never as stupid as they looked? He pointed his staff at the Doomsphere, reminding Klarak of its menace. “Start-start Doomsphere! Kill-kill all dwarf-meat!” he threatened.

  The engineer shook his head. “No,” he repeated. His gold-flake eyes became as cold as the black aethyr itself. Thanquol instinctively cringed under the gaze. “I have been warned that you are my doom. But perhaps, I am yours.” Klarak raised his steam pistol.

  Fixated upon the menace of the dwarfs, Thanquol did not hear the shot until the bullet went zipping through his robes. The grey seer leaped into the air, landing on all fours, shivering in terror. A sharp squeak of agony sounded from nearby, punctuated by the discordant clatter of a bell striking the ground. Thanquol swung his head around to see Nikkrit topple to the floor, a bloody hole gaping in his chest. The grey seer fumbled at his robes, noting with horror the blackened burn marks where the bullet had passed, missing him by the width of a whisker.

  Thanquol’s would-be killer snarled, hurling the spent warplock pistol at the grey seer’s head. Ikit Claw’s eyes gleamed with outraged fury. Twice frustrated in his efforts to kill the grey seer, the warlock gnashed his fangs and spun around to retrieve Storm Daemon from where it leaned against the side of the Doomsphere.

  Ikit Claw’s shot threw the cavern into pandemonium. The tense standoff was shattered in a deafening din of gunfire and the hideous whoosh of warpflame. Skaven shrieked as dwarf bullets smashed into their bodies, pitching them headlong to the cavern floor. Dwarfs screamed as their armour was gouged by warpstone missiles, the poisonous stones searing through their bodies. A swath of the entrance became an inferno of green fire as a ratkin warpfire projector doused it in flame.

  Where lesser foes would have broken, the dwarfs remained steadfast. The thunderers returned the erratic fire of the skaven skirmishers while squads of axe-bearing warriors rushed into the cavern, climbing into the ratwalks and taking the fight to their cringing foes.

  Klar
ak watched Thanquol scramble across the floor, seeking shelter behind a pile of timber. The engineer started after the fleeing grey seer, then stopped himself. His own peril wasn’t important. The greater threat to the whole of the dwarf kingdom had to be confronted first. He lowered the goggles over his eyes, smiling coldly as he saw the engravings shining out from the Barrazhunk plates that formed the Doomsphere’s shell. Most of the engravings had been scratched out, obliterated by Kurgaz’s burin when he failed to complete them. One plate, however, had not been defaced. Standing out bold and bright, it bore the Master Rune.

  Activity at the base of the Doomsphere drew the engineer’s attention. Klarak felt his heart go cold with hate as he saw Ikit Claw throw away his pistol and reach for the black length of Storm Daemon. Here was the killer of Kurgaz and Azram and so many other dwarfs. Here was the monster who had built this hellish machine, the fiend who would destroy the mountains themselves in his obscene lust for power.

  Klarak aimed his pistol at the Chief Warlock. Destroying the Doomsphere was only a half measure. While Ikit Claw lived, there was a chance the monster could build another.

  Thanquol scrambled behind the pile of timbers, clapping his paws against his horns as bullets whistled around him. He wasn’t certain if the shooters were dwarfs or ratmen, but at the moment he didn’t much care. Things had spiralled out of control, beyond his ability to recover. It was all that traitorous weasel Ikit Claw’s fault! There was a time for disputing leadership positions, but to do so in the face of the enemy! Any decent skaven would set aside such petty squabbles and form a common front against their foes! What Ikit Claw had done was tantamount to treason against the whole of skavendom!

  A thrill of satisfaction swept through the grey seer’s body as he heard the distinct discharge of Klarak’s steam pistol and saw Ikit Claw struck by the dwarf’s marksmanship. The Chief Warlock’s iron frame deflected most of the bullets, but a few struck spots not protected by his magic armour. The Claw wilted to the floor of the platform, blood gushing from wounds in his legs and shoulder. Only his grip on his halberd kept him from collapsing completely.

  Good! Let the faithless maggot die! The dwarf-things were welcome to him. Thanquol might even help them if they looked unable to finish the job!

  The grey seer’s nose twitched as a horrible realisation came upon him. Finish the job! Ikit Claw still had to finish the Doomsphere! It was worthless without him! Fishing a tiny piece of warpstone from his robe, Thanquol frantically ground the pebble into dust between his fangs, drawing its energies into his body.

  Hastily, the grey seer formed the energy into a spell, evoking a sorcerous shield to stand between the brave Ikit Claw and his murderous persecutors. A shimmering haze of yellow fog formed in front of the wounded warlock. The hail of bullets coming from Klarak’s pistol struck the fog but went no farther, stuck like flies in amber.

  Thanquol grinned at the success of his spell. Ikit Claw would be grateful for his rescue and his gratitude would place him even more firmly under the grey seer’s control. Now he’d freely offer up the secrets of the Doomsphere and then…

  A fierce dwarf war-cry brought Thanquol whipping around. Ikit Claw, Klarak Bronzehammer, the Doomsphere, all of these were forgotten as a crazed, half-naked dwarf came screaming across the cavern. The dwarf’s eyes blazed with maniacal fury. Thanquol was surprised to note that the creature had a familiar smell about it. Again, he glanced nervously for any sign of a human tagalong.

  “Thanquol!” the slayer howled, brandishing the axes filling each of his powerful hands. “I am Mordin Grimstone! You killed my brother! For that, you die!”

  Chapter XVI

  Thanquol felt raw fear squirming through his innards as the crazed dwarf dived at him. Mordin brought both of his axes slashing down, their sharp edges shining in the green warp-light. In a panic, the grey seer threw all of his magical energies into erecting another shell of aethyric force to repulse his attacker. The yellow haze leapt into existence between himself and the slayer. Mordin struck the barrier as though it were a solid wall, rebounding from it and crashing to the floor.

  Any hope that the dwarf maniac had broken his own neck vanished a few moments later when Mordin lurched back onto his feet. The dwarf’s face was a mask of blood, his nose squashed into an unrecognisable mush, but the slayer’s eyes continued to burn with the raw fury of unbridled hate. He crashed his axes together and rushed towards Thanquol, slashing his blades against the magic barrier, as though he might cut his way through the grey seer’s sorcery.

  Such unreasoning insanity made Thanquol’s glands clench. What had he done to warrant such obsessed hate? Killed the dwarf-thing’s litter-kin? Surely the deranged beast had plenty of others! Why did he have to get so emotional about it?

  Thanquol realised with horror that the slayer was doing the impossible. He was making progress. Step by step his axes were cutting through the barrier. For the first time, Thanquol noticed the faint smell of magic about the axes, his eyes spotting the runes gleaming in the axe blades. Cursing all dwarfs and their sneaky magic, the grey seer summoned his fading energies for another spell. He’d have to be a good deal more proactive about destroying his would-be killer.

  A crackling stream of green lightning erupted from the head of Thanquol’s staff, snapping around the slayer’s body. Mordin howled in agony, electricity dancing across his axes and blazing about his teeth. Smoke rose from the dwarf’s beard and headcrest, blood boiled about his open wounds. The grey seer chittered with amusement as his enemy crumpled to the ground. So would fall all who opposed the might of Grey Seer Thanquol and the Horned Rat!

  Chittering laughter died in a squeal of fright. The dwarf raised his head, his hateful eyes glaring at Thanquol. Painfully, Mordin gained his feet, spitting a blob of blood onto the floor. “You killed my brother,” he growled. “Now you die.”

  With a lunge, the slayer hurled himself towards Thanquol. Desperately, the grey seer raised his staff, pouring his fading magical energies into strengthening its wooden substance, rendering it tougher than steel. In his panic, Thanquol dissolved the sorcerous shell protecting Ikit Claw, channelling the reclaimed energies into his own defence. The Chief Warlock would have to fend for himself now, Thanquol had more pressing concerns to worry about.

  Mordin’s axes rebounded from the strengthened staff, sending the dwarf stumbling backwards. Thanquol swung the heavy metal head of his staff at the slayer, the sharp edge slashing across the dwarf’s breast. Satisfied that he’d gained at least a few seconds, the grey seer scrambled onto the pile of timbers, trying to reach one of the overhanging ratwalks. Behind him, he heard the slayer’s angry voice. The timber pile shuddered as Mordin used his axes to hack away at Thanquol’s refuge.

  The grey seer made a frantic leap for the lowest of the ratwalks, his flailing claws missing the edge of the platform by inches. Squeaking in fright, he crashed to the floor, his staff knocked from his hand, the breath crushed from his lungs. Thanquol rolled onto his back, his terrified gaze turning back towards the timber pile. Mordin stood there, crashing his axes together, vengeance burning in his eyes. Uttering a savage war-cry, the slayer leapt down upon his foe.

  A frightened squeal rose from the grey seer as he rolled away, scurrying across the floor on all fours. Mordin’s axes gouged the earth as he landed. The slayer roared with frustration when he found there wasn’t a furry body beneath his blades. Ripping the axes free, he rounded on the cringing Thanquol.

  “Run, vermin! You won’t escape death, and you won’t escape me!”

  Thanquol fingered another shard of warpstone. So soon after drawing upon the aethyric energies trapped inside it, he wasn’t anxious to take the risk of taking any more. The image of his body disintegrating into a puddle of twitching flesh wasn’t a pleasant one. Then again, the image of being hacked to ribbons by a crazed dwarf-thing wasn’t appealing either.

  “Boneripper!” Thanquol cried out in desperation. “Save-guard your master-lord!”

  Mord
in’s axes came slashing down, one of them ripping the sleeve from Thanquol’s robe, another glancing off the side of his horn. The embattled grey seer kicked out with his legs, his claws slashing across Mordin’s belly. The dwarf grunted in pain, but the feeble attack wasn’t enough to stop his relentless assault.

  The immense shape that loomed up behind him, however, was. Boneripper’s skeletal claws closed about the dwarf’s body before he knew the rat-ogre was there. Mordin cried out in rage as the mechanical monster lifted him from the ground. His axes chopped at the brute’s arms, chipping the bone and denting the steel. Boneripper gave no notice of the dwarf’s frenzied attack, oblivious to the hurt being inflicted upon it.

  “Grimnir!” the slayer shrieked, hurling one of his axes full into the face of his attacker. The gromril blade bit deep into Boneripper’s fleshless skull, catching fast in its mechanical brain. For an instant, the rat-ogre shuddered, its body freezing. Thanquol cursed the stupid contraption, allowing itself to be destroyed before it had disposed of his enemy. Mordin laughed, a cruel sound filled with murderous mirth, and turned his remaining axe against the rat-ogre’s claws. One of the bony digits went spinning away, followed soon after by a second. In a matter of moments, the slayer would free himself.

  Then Boneripper suddenly lurched back into motion, its mechanisms recovering from the trauma of Mordin’s axe. Savagely, the rat-ogre lifted its victim into the air and began to twist the dwarf’s body. Blood cascaded down the monster’s claws as it wrenched the slayer apart.

  Klarak Bronzehammer raced towards the Doomsphere, determined that this time Ikit Claw would not escape. The bullets from his steam pistol clattered against the warlock’s armour, but a few shots managed to strike the gaps in his defences. Unfortunately, the Claw had more than his insidious technologies to protect him. Before Klarak could finish him off, a magic barrier sprang up between the engineer and his enemy, trapping the bullets that would have ended the monster’s evil.