Blackhearts: The Omnibus

by Nathan Long

  ‘Now?’ asked Reiner.

  Darius nodded and staggered up, hurling the rapidly growing plants at the Tzeentchists with all his might.

  ‘Come, plants!’ cried Reiner at the top of his lungs. ‘Do the bidding of thy master Slaanesh. Strike down these treacherous Tzeentchist heretics!’

  Of course, thought Reiner, as he pulled Darius down and hid, the whole plan would collapse if the cuttings grew into daffodils and cabbages. He needn’t have worried. The shoots had been cut from the mad plants of the Tallows, and under the influence of Darius’s spell and the presence of so much warpstone, they exploded in rocketing spurts of mutated growth. Creepers undulated across the floor like serpents toward the Tzeentchists, sprouting questing tendrils and dagger thorns. Roots thrust into the hard ground and shot up like trees, branches bursting from their trunks and bearing unwholesome fruit in the wink of an eye.

  Panting flowers drooled sap as they sniffed toward the cultists. Vines wrapped around ankles. Men were crushed in verdant embraces and impaled by foot-long thorns. Men who fell were instantly swarmed by the breathing flowers, which sucked at them like leeches.

  The Tzeentchists chopped at the vines and looked for the culprits. Those who had heard Reiner’s invocation pointed angry fingers at the Slaaneshi. Then an arrow shot from behind the Tzeentchists and buried itself in a Slaaneshi’s neck.

  ‘Slay the Slaaneshi scum!’ bellowed a voice that sounded suspiciously like Gert’s. ‘See how they turn on us? Betrayers!’

  Another Slaaneshi fell, clutching an arrow in his arm. His companions turned, looking toward the Tzeentchists, who were running toward them shaking their weapons. Cultists fell upon one another and the brawl began to spread. Reiner watched, gratified, as they turned from fighting the companies to fight their rivals. A Tzeentchist with an axe charged the circle of Slaaneshi sorcerers. He could not pierce their wards, but the sorcerers looked around at the confusion. The Tzeentchist sorcerers were turning as well, and the thing they had summoned began to pale. A rope of fire shot from the Slaaneshi to the Tzeentchists, burning all it touched. The Tzeentchists retaliated with a yellow cloud that caused men to choke and fall. The summoning circles broke in confusion, and with a thunderclap of displaced air, the pink horror and the purple beauty winked out of existence.

  The Talabheimers and the Reiklanders cheered and renewed their attacks on the squabbling cultists.

  ‘Well done, scholar!’ cried Reiner. ‘We’ve done it. Let’s away.’

  Darius lay whimpering on the ground, staring at his hands as if he’d never seen them before. Blood seeped from his nose and his tear ducts.

  ‘Lad?’

  Darius didn’t respond. Reiner caught him under the arm. The scholar came up like a sleepwalker. Reiner led him back toward the shacks, joining Gert and Franka, who were creeping back as well.

  ‘Good work!’ he said.

  ‘Hetzau!’ cried a voice behind them. ‘I might have known!’

  Reiner turned. Danziger glared at him from behind a pile of rubbish where he and his men had taken refuge. He called toward the battle. ‘Stop! Stop fighting! Manfred’s dogs have duped us!’

  No one heard. There was too much noise, and the cultists were fighting the plants and each other too fiercely.

  Danziger cursed. ‘Well, at least I shall have my revenge! At them!’ He charged at Reiner, his men behind him.

  Reiner turned to run with Franka and Gert, but Darius was on his knees, looking at his hands again.

  ‘Damn you, lad! Up!’ He grabbed the scholar’s arm.

  Darius shoved him, screeching.

  Reiner fell, surprised, his sword skittering away. Danziger and his men were nearly on top of him.

  ‘Reiner!’ shouted Franka.

  She turned back to cover him. Gert followed, cursing. Reiner scrabbled for his sword and grabbed the blade, cutting his palm. The rest of the Blackhearts were sprinting toward him from the shacks, but they were much too far away.

  Franka lunged for Danziger, but one of his men swung at her head and she dived to the ground. Reiner fumbled for the right end of his sword. Danziger lunged at him. He couldn’t twist away in time.

  ‘Captain!’ shouted Gert.

  Gert jumped before Reiner, slashing at Danziger with his hatchet. The lord ducked and stabbed through Gert’s groin. Another cultist gored him in the side. Gert collapsed against Reiner, clutching himself. Reiner thrust over the big man’s shoulder and ran Danziger through the throat. The lord squealed and jerked his head, trying to escape the blade, and it tore out the side of his neck. He toppled, fountaining blood.

  Gert fell as Franka sprang up, and she and Reiner stood over him, back to back in the centre of Danziger’s six remaining men. Swords thrust at them from all directions. Reiner parried two and turned so another took him in his wounded shoulder instead of the heart. Franka dodged one blade, beat aside another, and raked a man’s chest with a lunge, but took his riposte in the forearm.

  But then the cultists were turning at the Blackhearts’ thundering boot steps and they went down like straw before Jergen’s sword and the spears of Pavel, Hals and Augustus.

  Reiner glanced to the battle to be sure no one else was coming for them, then squatted beside Gert. The crossbowman’s breeks were crimson to his boots, and stuck wetly to his legs. ‘All right, lad?’ he asked, though he knew the answer.

  ‘It’s bad, I think,’ said Gert. His face was paper-white. ‘Captain, I—’

  ‘Not here,’ said Reiner. ‘Too open. Jergen. Augustus. Get him to the shacks.’

  Augustus and Jergen hauled Gert to his feet and put their shoulders under his arms. The big crossbowman looked like the stuffing had been pulled out of him. His face sagged. He moaned with each step.

  Reiner touched Darius on the shoulder. He was still staring at his hands. ‘Scholar.’ Darius didn’t look up, but allowed himself to be led away.

  They had just reached the shacks when Scharnholt screamed behind them.

  ‘Stop them!’

  Reiner turned, cursing, but amazingly, Scharnholt wasn’t pointing at them, but at a cluster of grey-robed figures who were creeping around the edge of the chamber toward the bridge that crossed the chasm. Two in front led the way. The others carried the waystone casket.

  ‘Oh, now who are these?’ Reiner groaned.

  The thieves stepped onto the bridge. Franka fired an arrow after them. It hit the shorter of the two leaders in the upper arm. The figure stumbled and cried out in a voice Reiner thought he recognised. But the procession didn’t slow.

  Scharnholt’s voice was rising, crying strange words. He thrust his hands forward and a column of fire shot from them and exploded on the bridge. The thieves were enveloped in a blossoming ball of fire.

  As it dissipated Reiner and the others saw the casket bearers, mangled and on fire, tumbling into the chasm as their leaders ran into a dark tunnel on the far side, their cloaks smoking. The casket was aflame too, and teetered on the edge of the bridge.

  The entire cavern gasped in horror. Tzeentchists, Slaaneshi and Empire men all rushed forward, but before any had taken five steps, the flaming casket tipped up like a sinking ship and slid off the bridge. There was utter silence among the combatants, as the object of the battle disappeared into the depths.

  ‘Sigmar bugger a troll,’ said Hals softly.

  The tableau broke as a white light shot from the Empire ranks and Scharnholt screamed. He was held in a flickering penumbra of light, his back arched in agony. His skeleton glowed through his skin like phosphorus, brighter and brighter, and then with a blinding flash and thunderclap, he was gone. The Empire troops roared in triumph and fell upon the disheartened cultists.

  Augustus and Jergen laid Gert down among the shacks. He was barely conscious. His boots spilled blood. The others gathered around him.

  ‘Scholar!’ barked Reiner. ‘Darius! Patch him up!’

  ‘I know no spells,’ Darius mumbled.

  ‘I’m not asking for spells
,’ said Reiner. ‘Doctor him, curse you!’

  ‘I know no spells,’ Darius repeated.

  ‘Forget it, captain,’ croaked Gert. ‘Too late. Listen…’

  ‘None of that,’ said Reiner, kneeling and unbuckling his sword belt. ‘We must tie off that leg. Help me.’

  The others knelt as well, but Gert waved a feeble hand. ‘No! Listen, damn you, Hetzau!’ His eyes flashed. ‘Let me speak!’

  Reiner turned, surprised at the use of his proper name from a common soldier.

  Gert glared up at him, grey and sweating. ‘You were right. Manfred had a… spy.’ He tapped his chest. ‘He didn’t trust you. ‘Spected you would try some… trickery.’

  Reiner’s heart was pounding, shaken by a score of simultaneous emotions. The Blackhearts exchanged glances.

  ‘Thought I was minding a villain.’ Gert shook his head weakly. ‘Yer less a villain than he, though we was comrades once.’ He tapped his chest again. ‘Captain Steingesser. Time was I would’a died for him, but he’s changed. Now I…’ He chuckled and looked up at Reiner. ‘Well, seems I died for you, eh?’

  Reiner’s throat constricted. ‘Gert, if you’d just shut up, you might not…’

  ‘How did you kill Halsteig?’ asked Hals, bluntly. ‘Yer no sorcerer. You never said no spell.’

  ‘Hush,’ said Augustus. ‘Let the man die in peace.’

  ‘Ye weren’t there,’ said Pavel. ‘Ye didn’t see. We might have all died like that.’

  Gert grimaced. His gums were white. ‘Phylacteries,’ he said. ‘Made by Manfred’s magus. Carry ‘em in my pouch. Throw one in a fire and…’ He made to snap his fingers but could barely raise his hand.

  Reiner’s blood chilled at the thought of the risks Gert had taken while wearing that pouch. But he said nothing, only clasped his hand. ‘Thank you, captain. Sigmar welcome you. You’ve… eased our minds.’

  When he let go, Gert’s hand sank to his side. The crossbow-man, or captain, or spy, or whatever he had been, was dead. Reiner wasn’t sure when he had gone.

  Hals and Pavel made the sign of the hammer. Augustus muttered a prayer to Taal. Franka made Myrmidia’s spear. Reiner closed Gert’s eyes and took his pouch. He opened it. At the bottom he found a rolled length of leather, sewn with nine little pockets. Inside each was a glass vial labelled in florid script. Reiner pulled out the one with his name as the others watched. Inside a lock of hair floated in a red liquid. Around the hair was a strip of parchment inscribed with arcane symbols. He shivered and slipped the vial back into its sheath, then put the roll in his pouch.

  ‘Be careful with that, captain,’ said Pavel.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Reiner. He looked beyond the shacks. The battle was over. The companies were chasing down the last cultists and cutting the throats of their wounded. ‘Right, we’ll take the old fellow back to Manfred. But we don’t let on we know what’s what, aye?’

  The others nodded in agreement, but as Hals and Pavel began making a litter, Darius tugged on Reiner’s sleeve.

  ‘Captain,’ he said. ‘Captain.’ He spoke with a feverish intensity.

  ‘Have you returned to us, scholar?’ asked Reiner.

  ‘The gate lets in as well as out.’ Darius said.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I cannot close it. I cannot close the gate. The wind.’ His voice rose. ‘It howls in me. It whispers through my skull. Whispers. Captain, the whispers. The whispers, captain.’ There were tears in his staring eyes. The others watched him, uncomfortable.

  ‘I’m here, lad.’

  Darius crushed Reiner’s wrist. ‘Kill me, captain. I beg you. Kill me before I listen.’

  ‘Come, lad,’ said Reiner, his heart sinking. ‘Is it that bad?’ He didn’t want to believe Darius had gone mad—didn’t want to believe it was his fault.

  ‘Captain, please,’ said Darius. He held out his hands in supplication.

  Reiner stepped back involuntarily. In the centre of each of Darius’s palms was a mouth like a vertical slit, filled with sharp little fish teeth. It was ‘that bad.’ Reiner moaned and cursed himself for ever thinking he could be a leader of men. He’d forced the boy. Forced him.

  ‘Please, captain,’ said all three mouths. ‘The gate is open. I cannot close it. I cannot.’

  ‘Captain,’ said Jergen, drawing his long sword. ‘Let me.’

  Reiner shook his head, though he wanted more than anything to pass the responsibility. ‘No. I caused this.’ He drew his sword. ‘Bow your head, scholar. I’ll stop the wind.’

  The mouths in Darius’s hands were jabbering at him, telling him to run, to attack, to drink Reiner’s blood, but with a great effort, Darius clenched his fists and lowered his head, exposing his neck.

  Reiner raised his sword over his head with both hands, praying he would make a clean job of it. Franka turned her head. Reiner chopped down, felt the jar as his sword hit Darius’s spine, and then he was through, and Darius’s body fell forward onto his head.

  ‘Well struck,’ said Jergen.

  Reiner turned away, hiding his face. ‘Right. Leave him. The priests won’t bury him with those hands. Let’s go.’

  As Hals, Pavel, Jergen and Augustus walked Gert’s body back to the companies, Hals tried to catch Reiner’s eye.

  ‘Ye did what y’had to, captain.’

  ‘Did I?’ asked Reiner angrily. ‘Was there a need for the spell? We might have accomplished the same thing with arrows and shouting.’

  ‘And we might have not,’ said Hals.

  Reiner stepped ahead. He didn’t want to speak of it.

  There were less than fifty Talabheimers and Reiklanders left. In their centre Manfred, Boellengen, and Schott and Keinholtz stood around Teclis, who leaned against the cave wall as if he could not have stood without it. They were the only commanders left.

  ‘We could lower men into the chasm.’ Keinholtz was saying as the Blackhearts approached. ‘Then fix ropes to the waystone and raise it.’

  ‘If it isn’t shattered,’ said Boellengen.

  Teclis raised his head. ‘The waystone would not shatter.’

  ‘But we know nothing of the chasm’s depth, or what might be down there,’ said Schott. ‘It might be a river, or a lake of fire.’

  ‘Then we will have to mount another expedition,’ said Manfred with a weary sigh.

  ‘We must return to the surface before any new venture,’ said Teclis. ‘I must restore myself.’

  Manfred groaned. ‘Days if not weeks.’ He saw the Blackhearts setting Gert’s body down and turned to them. ‘Is… is he dead?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Reiner casually. ‘As is your witch.’ He smiled to himself as he saw Manfred looking for Gert’s pouch.

  ‘Did he have…’ Manfred started, then thought better of it. ‘Well, I’m sorry to hear it.’

  ‘As am I,’ said Reiner. ‘He stopped a blade meant for me.’

  ‘Did he?’ Manfred looked uncomfortable. ‘Well—’

  ‘Quiet!’ said Teclis. He looked around sharply. ‘Listen.’

  Manfred, Reiner and the others listened. At first Reiner heard nothing. Then came a vibration in the ground and a sound like far off rain. It grew steadily closer until Reiner recognised it as the rumble of an army on the march.

  Manfred and Schott and Boellengen shouted to their troops to form up. The Blackhearts went on guard with the rest, looking from tunnel to tunnel, waiting to see from which this fresh menace would come.

  It came from all of them—three endless columns of ratmen in green-grey jerkins armed with spears, swords, and long guns, spilling out in a silent flood that filled the enormous cavern from wall to wall. There were thousands of them. The fifty men huddled together, all facing out. The ratmen surrounded them entirely, staring at them with glossy black eyes.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The Hero Of The Hour

  ‘WELL, LADS,’ SAID Hals. ‘Nice to know ye.’ ‘See ye in Sigmar’s hall,’ said Pavel. ‘Lord Teclis?’ said Manfred nervously.

  ‘I am
at the end of my strength, count,’ said Teclis. ‘I can kill many, but not all.’

  Manfred firmed his jaw. ‘Then we will sell our lives as dearly as we may.’

  The other commanders nodded and their men dressed their lines, but still the ratmen stood motionless. ‘Why don’t they attack?’ asked Franka. A disturbance began at the rear of the vermin army, and out of the tunnel beyond the chasm came a cluster of ratmen. They crossed the bridge and pushed slowly toward the front. There were at least twenty of them, led by a tall, snow-white ratman who carried a long, verdigrised staff. The front line parted and the knot of ratmen stepped forward. The companies gasped. The vermin carried the waystone.

  The white-furred ratman pointed imperiously at Teclis. ‘You, sharp-ear,’ he said with a voice like a knife on a plate. ‘Fix elf-thing. Make good. Seer Hissith say!’ Manfred, Schott and Boellengen exchanged baffled glances. Teclis frowned at the rat-mage. ‘You wish me to reset the waystone?’

  ‘I command!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No why!’ spat Hissith. ‘Do!’

  ‘Why?’ asked Teclis, calmly.

  The rat-mage trembled with rage, and Reiner expected him to order his troops to attack, but at last he spoke. ‘We Greenfang clan! Warpstone only for us! Then elf-thing break. Other clan smell warpstone. Come stealing. Crippletail Clan. Deadeater clan. We fight.’ He pointed to Teclis. ‘You fix elf-stone. They smell no more. Warpstone only for us again!’

  Reiner exhaled, relieved and amazed. They weren’t going to die. As insane as it sounded, the ratmen needed them.

  ‘Lord Teclis,’ said Schott, aghast. ‘You cannot do this. The Empire does not treat with evil! We must fight them!’ He looked to Manfred. ‘Is it not what the Emperor would wish, count?’

  ‘Er…’ said Manfred. He looked like he wished to smash Schott in the face.

  ‘Fortunately,’ said Teclis. ‘Your emperor does not rule me.’ He nodded to the rat-mage. ‘I will do this.’

  ‘M’lord!’ cried Schott, outraged.

  ‘Silence, Schott!’ hissed Manfred. ‘Would you lose Talabheim and the stone for a point of honour?’

  The rat-slaves set down the waystone and backed away as the rat-mage pointed at Teclis. ‘You trick, you die! We come! Kill all! Hissith say it so!’