by Warhammer
The standard bearer howled and fell, crushing its flag beneath its bleeding body. The other beastmen gave bleats of fright and capered back into the woods.
'That should give them pause.' the bounty hunter said. Though I don't think that leader of theirs will let them hide for long.' As if in response, ten brutes stole from the trees once more. The bounty hunter watched as several of them cried out, dropping as crossbow bolts pierced their flesh. The wounded hastened back into the trees, leaving the dead ones lying in the field. The scene was repeated on each side of the villa, and soldiers shouted down news of the monsters' advance and retreat in the face of each volley.
'What are they doing?' Alberto asked the bounty hunter, unable to find a reason for the beastmen's tactics.
'Testing us.' replied Brunner. 'They are trying to see what kind of defence we have, how many archers. Where we are strongest and where we are weakest.'
'But their probing has cost them ten of their number.' marvelled the elder Bertolucci.
'No doubt they can spare twice as many.' Brunner responded, watching the trees. 'I had the ill fortune to face the thing that leads these animals, a worshipper of the Blood God. Like its god, it cares not whose blood it sheds.'
A loud cry of savagery rose from the darkness, and the beating of drums rolled from the woods. Horns sounded, their moans low and warped. Shouts both near-human and unhuman roared into the night sky. At the edges of the trees, shapes appeared.
'Looks like our friends are done playing strategist.' Brunner remarked, raising his crossbow. Then the frenzied, inhuman mob burst from the shadows.
The battle was short, but fierce. Ten more beastmen were wounded or slain by crossbow bolts before they could reach the hill. Brunner had added his own fire to that of the Bertolucci soldiers. As the monsters reached the ruin, Brunner gave the first one to try and batter down the barricade in front of the wide entry a blast from his handgun. The monster shrieked and toppled backwards, its chest a mass of chewed meat. Others were quick to follow it. A second beast perished, its body draped across the barricade as Brunner's crossbow pistol sent a bolt slamming into its eye. Then he drew his sword and joined the other defenders.
Four of the bodyguards had descended, two of them joining Bertolucci and their other comrade in the far room to protect the stairs. The others joined Alberto and the bounty hunter in the makeshift stable. The horses whinnied in fear as the stench of blood and the mangy pelts of the beastmen reached them. One of the soldiers broke away to try and quiet the animals that were straining at their tethers.
'Leave them to their fear.' Brunner called to the man. 'If you want to help, help us drive this scum away.'
Despite the best efforts of the men, the barricades were not holding. Great holes had been chopped and clawed into the wooden debris, and at each opening a slavering monster snarled. One hound-like thing with a spider-like assemblage of legs and a single clawed hand erupting from its belly leaped through an opening. It capered wildly about in the room, and snapped at the men with its claw before a blow from Alberto's sword sent the deformed limb sailing away from its body. A stroke from the nearest bodyguard's blade detached the snapping dog-head from its body. The thing's abnormal corpse sagged, as a bubble of blood oozed from the stump of its neck.
One of the soldiers cried out. Brunner looked round to see the man's torso fly away from his legs, and land in a bloody smear against the far wall of the chamber. A massive shape smashed its way through the barricade, its goat-like head craning from side to side, scanning the room for its prey. The monster now wore the severed head of Gramsci about its neck, a length of the man's intestines tying the trophy to the monster's neck.
The sight of the gruesome ornament caused Alberto and the remaining bodyguard to fall back in fear. Brunner met the monster's gaze, his icy stare unflinching before the yellow orbs peering from the beastman's mask. As the two locked eyes, the sounds of battle died away. The other beastmen fell back, their eyes gleaming in expectation and fear. Each howled for blood, but none of the beastmen wanted that blood to be their own.
The chieftain gestured with its gory bronze axe, a crude parody of Brunner's own challenge. The bounty hunter raised his sword and closed upon the beast. He circled the monster, as it circled him, its steps uneven as it favoured its uninjured leg. Then it roared and attacked. The axe swung down in a gleaming arc of death only Brunner's quick reaction saved him from a blow that would have split him down the middle. Sparks flew as the axe bit into the tile floor.
The beastman recovered as Brunner lashed out at it, catching the killer's strike on the haft of its great bronze axe. The beastman spat bloody phlegm into Brunner's face, the gory drool trickling down the side of the bounty hunter's helm. Brunner replied by kicking a steel-toed boot at the monster's injured leg. The beast staggered, roaring in anger and pain. Brunner darted in once more, but the monster proved quicker than its great bulk would suggest, and the axe was slashing towards Brunner even as he began to move. The bronze blade scraped across the gromril breastplate, digging a deep scratch in the hard metal.
The bounty hunter arrested his charge; the beastman regained its feet.
Brunner glared at the monster, taunting it with his sword. The beastman snarled back and tensed itself, preparing for some brutal effort. Then it noticed Brunner's left hand, lying slack and immobile at his side. A flash of warning widened the monster's eyes and it raised both its hands to ward off the coming attack as Brunner thrust his left arm forward. This time, however, no cloud of salt enveloped the creature's face. Instead, Brunner slashed the creature's good leg, cutting through its knee with the blade held in his right hand.
The Chaos abomination screamed as it staggered from the maiming blow. It lashed out at Brunner once more, but the weight of the bronze axe overbalanced the crippled thing and it fell. The bounty hunter was quick to pounce upon his fallen adversary, slashing its right arm with his sword as his left hand stabbed a dagger across the brute's face. Thick blood streamed from the ruptured eye, and the beastman's body twitched in spasms of agony. The Tileans watched in horror as it strove to rise again. But its right arm was nearly severed, and the terrible bronze axe slipped from its slackened grasp.
As the axe clattered to the floor, Brunner darted in once more, stabbing his blade into the monster's throat, above the gruesome necklace it had crafted. The beastman's head sagged forward as the bounty hunter withdrew the blade, and it crumpled to the floor like a wilting flower.
The mutant throng at the barricade watched in silence as their champion died. Then a few loped into the room, their clawed hands empty. Brunner and the Tileans watched warily as the creatures converged on the body of their leader. Gripping the carcass under the arms and by the legs, two brutes carried it back through the doorway. A third beastman, its face almost human but for the horns sprouting along the bridge of its nose, grabbed the bronze axe with its clawed arms and followed its comrades.
Slowly, the brutish throng retreated. When the horses at last grew quiet, the men knew that the last of their foes had truly gone.
Brunner made his way to the barricade and peered down on the moonlit clearing below.
'I truly hate working for free.' the bounty hunter muttered to himself.
Brunner watched as the silent beastmen bore the corpse of their champion into the gloom of the trees. He looked over at the younger Bertolucci leaning against the doorway. The young man's face was smeared with dirt and dried bestial blood, his clothing ragged and torn, his leather tunic sporting a gash that had nearly penetrated the skin beneath.
'Think they will come again?' the merchant asked. 'Slink back into the woods and rally?'
Brunner shook his head. 'No.' he replied. 'They take their hero away for their own profane rites, which is more important to them than the prospect of man-flesh for their bellies. They will take that monster that led them and tonight, when the rot has had a chance to set in that creature's carcass, they will take their fangs and their knives to him.' Brunne
r saw Alberto recoil in horror, his face blanching at the image. 'They think that if they consume the meat of a champion like that, they will absorb his strength. There will be a great falling out as they try to determine who will partake in the feast. By this time tomorrow, that rabble will have scattered, none of them in the same pack.'
The sound of rustling cloth brought both men away from the view afforded by the doorway. Elisia stepped from the room beyond and moved toward Alberto. The youth hastened to the priestess's side.
'My father?' he asked, his voice heavy with concern. The priestess shook her head, smiling.
'No, your son.' she replied. It took a moment for the import of her words to sink in, then a light of joy and understanding gleamed in Alberto's face. He grabbed the priestess's arms.
'My son? When? How?'
'Yes, a boy, as healthy and wonderful as any I have seen.' Elisia responded. 'He arrived during the night.' A dour look came upon her. 'Battle or no, he had decided this was his time.' A smug smile replaced her dour look. 'As to the how of it, perhaps you might ask your wife about that, if you have forgotten. She is with your son in the far room.'
With hardly another look at either Brunner or Elisia, Alberto hurried from the chamber.
The priestess watched him go, recalling for an instant the many hundreds of times she had seen men, great or poor, react in the same manner when she bore such tidings.
'And what of the elder Bertolucci?' the cold voice of the bounty hunter intruded. Elisia turned and stared into the emotionless face beneath the mask of steel.
'He is down in the kitchen, warming some porridge. He was injured, but his wound is not serious, and I have taken precautions so that infection should not set in,' she answered. A sudden questioning look entered her eyes. 'You have not troubled yourself about anyone else in the brief time since I have met you. Even when you rescued me from the beastmen, it seemed more for your own convenience than any concern for me. Why does Bertolucci interest you so?'
The bounty hunter made no reply, leaving the priestess's question unanswered as he strode into the inner chambers of the ruined villa.
The old kitchen was a shambles. Its tiled floor was cracked and broken, and grass peeped from between broken squares. Dead, ragged brambles were strewn in the corners where Bertolucci and his men had cast them hurriedly away. From dozens of places, sunlight shone down into the chamber, bringing light into the shadowy ruin, but also the chill of the dawn dew.
In the old hearth, a small fire smouldered, heating a large black cauldron. It was an original implement of the villa, a relic of the old days that neither time, nor weather, nor looter had touched. And it had served the exiled merchant well; he boiled a mash of grain and vegetable into something that might feed his retinue after their long, hard night of battle. But Bertolucci was not so altruistic as to think only of his men. He sat before a cracked, leaning wooden table, on an even more feeble bench, and noisily slopped the contents of the wooden bowl with a jagged piece of brown bread.
The sound of armour caused the merchant to look up from his meal. His eyes focused upon those of the man who had entered the kitchen.
Bertolucci stared into the helmed visage of the stranger who had arrived with the priestess. A premonition of dread froze him for a moment, but he soon recovered, reaching forward and ladling some of the porridge into a second bowl.
'I hope that you do not mind",' the merchant apologised, 'but I felt I should do something useful if I could not be at the wall. And, since I did make it...' Bertolucci finished his statement by biting down on the dripping bread.
Brunner stepped towards the table.
I'll eat later,' the bounty hunter said, the eyes behind the visor of his helm burning into Bertolucci's. The merchant finished his mouthful of food and rose from the table.
'I should have guessed,' the man said, the dread once more crawling down his spine. 'Couldn't you just tell Volonte you didn't find us?' His look was resigned; he already knew the killer's answer before it was spoken.
'I have a commission,' Brunner explained. 'The only thing in this world I honour. But Volonte only wants you. Your children are not my concern.'
Bertolucci was thoughtful for a moment, some measure of relief and hope filling him even as fear gnawed at his guts. 'I saw you fight,' the man said. He placed a hand on his wounded arm. 'Even whole, you would have made short work of me.' The merchant reached into his tunic, noticing the bounty hunter's grip tighten about the hilt of his blade. He continued anyway, drawing a leather purse from his clothing.
'Tell me, what is the market value of a swine in the streets of Miragliano these days?' the merchant asked, his eyes returning Brunner's icy gaze with a hateful flame.
'Eighty copper pieces, when last I passed the swineherd's lane,' the bounty killer responded. The merchant carefully counted out an equivalent measure of gold and set the coins on the table. He sighed and set the leather pouch beside them. Brunner nodded at the man, and drew his sword.
Bertolucci never saw the blade that sliced through his neck, so swift were the bounty hunter's movements. As blood spread from his cloven neck, the last thing the merchant's eyes saw were the gloved hands scooping up the coins he had placed on the table, never disturbing the leather purse beside them.
The sound of booted feet brought Brunner up from his gory labour. He spun about, seeing the joy fade from Alberto's features. He had rushed here, after tearing himself away from his wife and child to usher his father upstairs to see his grandson. Now a different purpose filled the youth.
'Assassin!' he hissed, ripping his sabre from its scabbard. Brunner did not wait to trade words with the boy, but met Alberto's first strike with a parry. The youth did not fully recover from the fended-off attack, but turned the deflection into a sideways swipe at the bounty hunter. His mind clouded with rage, Alberto had forgotten all his schooling in the art of swordplay and duelling. It would have been easy for Brunner to kill him.
The bounty hunters sword licked out, penetrating Alberto's almost non-existent guard, and lashing upwards towards the boy's head. At the last moment, however, Brunner adjusted his strike, smashing the flat of his blade into the boy's shoulder, rather than the edge. Alberto dropped to his knees, staggered by the blow. Brunner smashed the pommel of his sword into the stunned man's head, rendering him insensible. Under the care of the priestess of Shallya, he knew, the boy would recover. But not until long after he had gone.
The sound of more running feet announced the hurried advance of the remaining retainers. The men cast murderous looks at the bounty hunter when they saw the two bodies lying behind him. They drew their blades as one.
'It is the elder I came for,' Brunner stated in a voice like a chill winter wind. 'Alberto Bertolucci will recover.' One of the men sheathed his sword and cautiously manoeuvred his way around the bounty killer. He reached the prone form of Alberto, clasped its wrist and nodded at his fellows.
'If you wish to die for your former master, I shall oblige you,' Brunner declared, his piercing gaze meeting each of the guards in turn. 'But it seems to me that your duty lies with your living master now.' It took but a moment for the men to reluctantly return blades to scabbards. They too had seen the contest between the bounty hunter and the beastman.
Brunner strode down the hall^ towards the cavernous entry chamber where the horses were stabled. As he passed the stairs, he met the accusing glare of Elisia.
'You never cared about any of us,' she snarled. Brunner smiled at her and stalked away.
'Only about Bertolucci, and the price on his head,' the bounty hunter said, making his way toward his animals. 'Pray to your goddess that I never have cause to care about you.'
The bloated figure stood before the slowly mildewing painting of nymphs and satyrs, studying the painting, and its creeping corruption. A pity, the money-lender thought for a moment, for it had been a very vibrant and arousing piece, in its day. He had accepted it in exchange for not breaking the owner's hands for missing a payment t
hough that rendezvous with mutilation was only deferred by a few months, when the man again fell behind in his debt.
Volonte sucked at his teeth. Yes, soon he would have to see about having this one replaced. It never occurred to him to actually see to the care of his possessions. The acquisition was all that mattered to him. And now he wondered which of his debtors might be the owner of something of equal style and quality.
A sound in the shadowy room caused the massive man to turn. He could dimly see a figure standing in the flickering candlelight, light dancing upon a helmet of steel.
'Who's there?' the money-lender choked, fear seizing him. As the bounty hunter stepped more fully into the light, Volonte breathed a deep sigh of relief. 'Brunner,' he laughed. 'My servants did not announce you.'
'I found my own way in,' the bounty hunter explained. He lifted his hand, showing Volonte the leather-wrapped object he had carved from Bertolucci. The money-lender's piggish eyes settled upon the gruesome thing, a smile widening across his face.
'You have it!' he chortled. 'Bertolucci's heart!' He held out his hand, gesturing for the bounty hunter to give him his grisly trophy. Brunner stepped forward, dropping the leather-wrapped object in the fat-man's swollen paw. Volonte hurriedly unwrapped it, revealing the gruesome, blood-soaked organ within. The fat man laughed deeply.
'Your daughter was there as well,' the bounty hunter said. 'She has just given birth to a child, by Bertolucci's son.'
'Ha!' the money-lender laughed. 'With that old thief dead, the slut will come crawling back to me soon enough. Her husband can keep their bastard whelp for all I care.' The fat man leaned over the disembodied heart, sniffing at it with flared nostrils, and savouring the stench of the butchered flesh. He snapped his head about, reaching into the table, withdrawing a cloth pouch, his hand trembling with the weight as he lifted it.
