by C. L. Werner
Dregruk nodded, bowing and scraping as he scrambled to pass on the warlord’s orders, overjoyed to escape without being hit again. The orc lieutenant paused only long enough to give a spiteful glance at Zagbob still lying at Gorgut’s feet.
Gorgut looked down at the scrawny squig hunter. He stabbed a thick finger at the goblin. ‘Next time you say you found some magic, there better be some magic!’
‘But there is magic here, monster,’ a mocking, chill voice spoke.
The black orc’s huge body swung about, his immense axe gripped firmly in his claws. He glared at the weird figure that stood before him, a thin, slender she-elf that was all curves beneath her tight black dress and high leather boots. Gorgut grunted in ill humour. There wasn’t enough meat on the elf’s bones to feed a snotling.
‘Where’d you come from?’ the black orc demanded, then decided he really didn’t care. He didn’t like elves. They were all thin and stringy, too sneaky to make a proper fight when it came down to it. Usually they hit you when you weren’t looking and then slipped off before you could even cuss them out. All the spleen of a goblin and none of the taste. Even a tough old dwarf was better.
Gorgut’s axe chopped out at the elf, sweeping in a murderous arc at her. The black orc put all of his frustration and anger in the blow, his enormous weight behind the axe. When his blade failed to connect with anything solid, the black orc overbalanced and crashed to the ground. A few titters rose from the crowd of greenskins that had gathered, drawn by their warlord’s angry bellow. Gorgut glared at the mob, trying to decide which were the jokers so he could stretch their necks and pull out their gizzards.
Instead he pointed a claw at the smirking she-elf. ‘Gut that witch and bring me her liver!’
A few of the boldest of the orc warriors lifted their grimy choppas and came charging at the slender elf. Like their warlord, the blows of their rusty weapons failed to strike anything solid. One orc crashed to the earth, his comrade’s choppa buried up to the heft in his ribs. The other orc looked about guiltily, then scurried away.
‘It should be obvious even to a dull brute like you that I am not here,’ the she-elf said, staring down at Gorgut. She ran one gloved hand along her side. ‘This is an apparition, a ghost if you like. My body is quite far away. Quite safe from your excitable temper.’
Gorgut got to his feet. As he straightened, he rammed his fist full into the smirking visage of the she-elf, almost falling over again when there was nothing for him to hit. The black orc spat, crossing his arms over his chest.
‘All right, so you ain’t really here. Where are you at?’
The apparition laughed. ‘I think we must reach an accord before I tell you that.’ She scowled as the black orc blinked at her. ‘Make an agreement, an arrangement.’
Gorgut spat again. ‘You speak good, for a bony little elf-sow,’ he conceded. ‘But never mind the fancy words. What’re you doin’ here?’
‘I have use for you and your army, Gorgut Foechewer,’ the sorceress said. ‘I am in need of fierce warriors to fight my enemies.’
The orcs snickered at the comment. Gorgut joined in, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he stared back at the apparition. ‘I’m not surprised. Never knew an elf was any good in a stand-up fight. Who are you tryin’ to kill?’
The she-elf’s face darkened into a scowl. ‘Does it matter?’
Gorgut barked with laughter again. ‘No. We’re ready to kill anything.’ The comment brought growls of approval from the gathered orcs. Several of the goblins cast anxious looks at their hulking comrades and began to slink away, clearly less keen to share in the orcs’ blind eagerness for carnage. ‘The real question, fairy-lady, is why we’re gonna kill what you want us to kill.’ He stabbed a finger at the apparition. ‘Why we don’t just start with you?’
The sorceress sighed. ‘Because you are looking for magic.’ She gestured at herself again. ‘This should be proof enough of my powers. Can your crude little shaman do this?’
‘No, but he’s plenty mean with a knife,’ Gorgut warned.
‘Swear service to me and I will lead you to a trove of ancient weapons from the forges of the Blood God.’ Gorgut wasn’t sure exactly what a Blood God was, but he liked the sound of it. ‘With weapons such as I will give you, none will be able to stand against you.’
Gorgut nodded as he considered the apparition’s offer. He tried to see some sign of a trick, but couldn’t. He didn’t like elves, but if this one wanted to lead him to a cache of magic weapons, he’d let her.
‘All right,’ the black orc grunted. ‘Me and the lads will do your fightin’ for you.’ He lifted a warning fist, shaking it in the apparition’s face. ‘But you try and trick me, I’ll skin you like… like… like something I’d skin all slow and long like.’
The sorceress wore a thin smile as she heard the orc’s threat. Disdain was too complex an emotion for any greenskin to recognise. ‘Very well, monster. Look for a purple light on the horizon. Follow it, and it will lead you to my master’s camp.’ Her directions given, the she-elf’s apparition faded away.
Gorgut stared at the empty space where the vision had stood, waving a suspicious hand through the air. He grunted with satisfaction when he was sure there was nothing there.
Zagbob rose from the ground, shaking dust from his hide armour. ‘We really going to help the she-elf?’ the goblin asked nervously.
Gorgut chuckled darkly. ‘Yeah, we’ll do the fairy-lady’s fightin’ for her,’ he told the squig hunter. ‘And then maybe we’ll do some more fightin’ she ain’t figurin’ on!’
Chapter Ten
They stood, still and silent, clinging to the frost-coated walls of the mesa overlooking the snow-filled wadi. Even the crows circling above the sunken draw failed to detect them, croaking and cawing to one another in their relentless search for carrion. The wraith-like figures, with imperceptibly deliberate motions of their slender hands, drew their sombre cloaks tighter about their blackened mail of ithilmar scales. Emerald eyes studied the wadi, watching it for even the faintest whisper of motion. Hands rested against the curved yew of heavy elven warbows, ready to fit a white-feathered shaft to the weapons in a flicker of lethal precision.
There was the slightest suggestion of movement in the snowy ditch, the little wadi writhing its way through the rocky ground. One of the shadows swung into motion, raising its bow. They had spent the better part of a day fixed upon this spot, waiting for the first sign that the dark elves were still pursuing the Grey Lancers. Now, the Shadow Warriors had their answer. Their foes were coming. Many of the treacherous druchii had escaped the ambush. The Shadow Warriors anticipated this new chance to avenge their land against their faithless kindred with vicious abandon. Only when the last of the druchii was purged from the world would the stained honour of Nagarythe be cleansed.
Emerald eyes narrowed with disappointment. The distant figures were more distinct now, moving with a purposeless lumber that was not even a shabby echo of the murderous grace of the druchii. A few yards more, and the eagle eyes of the elves could tell the creatures were orcs, the little things capering about their flanks goblins. An unworthy enemy, simple brute beasts that were an insult to the martial discipline of Shadow Warriors. Still, they could pose a threat to the Grey Lancers if the humans were not warned in time. The orcs and their goblin slaves looked to outnumber the humans quite dramatically. It would be a question of tactics and preparation to settle them.
The left Shadow Warrior turned to address his comrade, to let the other sentinel know he would remain and watch while the other high elf returned to the camp of the Grey Lancers and made his report. The elf’s face tightened with shock as he turned, however. His comrade’s body lay upon the hoarfrost, the warm blood pumping from the stump of his neck melting the ice. The elf’s head stared at him with sightless eyes, its blond locks wrapped in a leather-clad fist.
The fist belonged to a lithe, pallid shape garbed in only the scantiest suggestion of armour. She grinned at the oth
er Shadow Warrior and shook a stray lock of hair from the savage beauty of her face. A dripping dagger hung from the fingers of her other hand. Impossible as it seemed, the dark beauty had discovered the hiding place of the Shadow Warriors and stole upon them with such stealth that neither of her foes heard her approach.
‘I could have killed you as easily as your friend,’ the witch elf said, her voice a lusty purr. Her eyes winked with unrestrained malice. ‘But I thought we might have some fun before I feed your soul to Khaine.’
The Shadow Warrior did not waste words with the assassin. In a blur of motion, he spun and loosed an arrow from his bow. With the same blinding speed, Beblieth twisted and spun. There was the meaty thud of steel stabbing through bone. The witch elf licked her lips, lowering her hand and the decapitated head of her victim. From the forehead, the Shadow Warrior’s arrow still trembled.
‘Such disrespect for the dead,’ Beblieth laughed. She hurled the head full into the face of the Shadow Warrior. The high elf ducked the macabre missile, but his horrified attention was fixed upon the callous display. He did not see the thorn-like dagger leap from Beblieth’s other hand. The first he was aware of its presence was when he felt it lance through his lower leg, snapping muscle and tendon in its path.
The Shadow Warrior crumpled on his maimed leg, feeling the venom on the druchii blade pumping through his system. He kicked out as the witch elf dove towards him, a fresh pair of daggers in her murderous hands. Beblieth threw herself back, dancing away from the sweep of his boot. She laughed as the Shadow Warrior tore his sword from its sheath. She cast a brief look over her shoulder at the wadi below.
‘The greenskins will be a long time marching through the canyon,’ Beblieth said. Her smile grew coy, almost impish. ‘Don’t disappoint me, cousin. I have a lot of time to kill.’
Swaggering through the snow, Gorgut Foechewer gnawed on the leathery husk of salted pony in his fist. Nagdnuf had done an enthusiastic job of preparing the horseflesh and without any of the usual attempts at sneaking poison into the food. Gorgut was almost annoyed by his cook’s lack of petty treachery, it was irritating to give his food tasters a free meal. There was nothing so depressing as a fat goblin. Unless of course the fat goblin was squealing from the bottom of a pot.
‘I don’t like it, boss.’
Gorgut shook his head and glowered at the speaker. His meaty fist was half-raised to bash some courtesy into the goblin that had startled him out of his thoughts, but the black orc thought better when he found he was staring down into the painted face of Snikkit. You could never be too sure about abusing a shaman. Sometimes they turned you into a toad for doing that.
‘What don’t you like?’ Gorgut growled, slowly lowering his clenched fist.
Snikkit lifted one of his scrawny hands, weaving it through the air, crumbly bits of dried mushroom falling from his fingers. The flakes twinkled as they fell, smouldering like bits of ember before they fell to the snow. ‘There is magic in the air,’ the shaman warned.
The black orc snorted with ill humour. ‘That’s a good thing, you twit. I want magic! It’s the reason you lot are up here. To find me some magic!’
Snikkit bared his long fangs. ‘Not the good sort of magic,’ he hissed. ‘Not like the kind Mork and Gork make. Not the kind that you trap into a sword or an axe. This is the bad kind, the kind turns your bones to jelly and your spine to puddin’.’ He tapped his long, knife-edge nose. ‘Smells like elf-work, boss.’
Gorgut nodded as though understanding every word. ‘Well, if the fairy-lady is up to somethin’ we’ll just have to make her sorry she ever crawled out of her mammy.’ The orc looked across at the marching mob of his warriors, all bulging muscle and foul-temper. He snorted again as he thought what his boys would do to any weedy little elf.
‘They can rub us out with their magic,’ Snikkit protested. ‘Elves is sneaky and don’t fight fair!’ he added, a sliver of fear in his voice. ‘Trust me, boss, this ain’t good what I smell!’
Gorgut sucked a stray bit of meat from between his tusks and spat it out. He turned his beady eyes away from the shaman and studied the terrain. The wadi the orcs had been following was a shallow trench through the rocky plain. It was tough going, slugging through the thick-packed snow, especially for the goblins, but he appreciated the natural defence the draw offered. Their advance would be hidden from any casual observer lurking on the plain. He wasn’t afraid of a fight, but rather that any enemies would choose to flee before the orcs could close with them. Especially if the elves were playing games with him.
He could still see the purple fire dancing up in the bruise-coloured sky. It was something that had grown increasingly annoying to Gorgut. He could see it, but none of his lads could. He’d cracked more than a few heads before he understood it was some trick of the fairy-lady’s magic. Only he could see the fire, even Snikkit didn’t know it was there. Gorgut scowled at the thought. He didn’t like the idea of someone putting things in his brain.
Staring at the witchfire, Gorgut’s wits considered the cliffs rising over the plain. For the first time he appreciated the danger they presented. If there were any spies up there, then they would be able to see his mob as it marched along the wadi. Far from protection, if somebody knew the greenskins were down in the trench, the wadi could become a bad place to be very quick. Gorgut mulled the possibility over for a few moments, then roared for Zagbob.
‘Get your smelly damn squigs and go scout the high ground,’ the black orc snarled.
The squig hunter looked at his warboss through squinty eyes, trying to ferret out Gorgut’s intention. The black orc punctuated his order with a slap that knocked the goblin off his feet. ‘Yeah, I means you, you stupid git! Now get on with it!’
Muttering through his fangs, the goblin skulked off, the bloated shapes of his squigs capering after him like a gaggle of deranged puppies. Zagbob stalked to the wall of the wadi, struggled to climb it for a moment, then barked at one of his squigs. The animal bounded over, crouching as Zagbob hit it with the butt of his spear. The goblin stepped onto the squatting monster, then hit it again. Straightening up, the squig lifted Zagbob over the lip of the hole.
‘What do you expect him to find, boss?’ Dregruk asked.
Gorgut didn’t even look at his lieutenant. ‘I’d say your brain, but I don’t think you ever had one.’
Zagbob gave a shrill shriek and tumbled back down into the wadi, an arrow shivering from one of the clawed liliripes dangling from his squigskin helmet. He rolled across the snow, pawing at his body to ensure no other arrows had struck him. An over-eager squig bounced atop the goblin, snapping at him with its huge jaws. Zagbob cursed the beast, delivering a savage punch that nearly popped one of its leprous eyes. The chastened squig howled and bounded away again.
Gorgut gave only passing notice to Zagbob’s antics. Instead the black orc drew his gigantic axe and lifted it over his head. An arrow whistled through the air, glancing off the rusty blade. The warlord’s monstrous face split in a feral grin. ‘Ambush!’ he roared, a cry of delight rather than alarm. The orcs in his mob took up the brutal howl. ‘Somebody wants a fight, lads! Let’s give ’em one!’
A single savage bellow thundered through the wadi as the orcs lunged at the snowy walls. The muscles of the monsters bulged as they pulled their bulks up onto the rocky plain. Arrows came fast and furious, slashing into the surge of barbarian beasts. Orcs grunted with pain, some slipping back into the wadi as shafts sank into necks and hearts, but it was not enough to dim the blood-crazed roar.
‘WAAAGH!!!’
Gorgut’s grin grew into a fanged rictus as he saw the ranks of human soldiers cowering behind the snowdrift, hastily nocking arrows to their bows. The thunder of hooves did not diminish his feral enthusiasm, nor the sight of dozens of horsemen galloping towards them as they leapt their chargers over the bulwarks of snow. The black orc relished meeting the cavalry charge head on. If the stupid humans thought they were going to drive the orcs back into the wadi like a
pack of slinking grots, then the humans were daft. Orcs died with their wounds at the front and the blood of enemies on their claws!
‘Na priznaz!’ Gorgut bellowed in debased Reikspiel so that the humans would understand and tremble. He was reasonably sure that their armour was like that of the southern humans, they had a south smell about them anyway. ‘Na priznaz!’ he repeated. ‘Na mercy!’
The archers had relented in their fusillade as the horsemen came nearer. Now the only arrows flying across the battlefield were the crude shafts loosed from goblin shortbows. The smaller greenskins were peeping just over the lip of the wadi, loosing with a reckless abandon, giggling with equal glee when their arrows sank into an orc or a man’s steed. A few injured orcs spun about to reprimand the goblins for their slovenly marksmanship, caving in faces with each kick of their iron-shod boots.
The horsemen were only a few lengths from Gorgut’s mob when the black orc heard a shrill voice ring out from the wadi. ‘Cover your eyes, boss!’ Snikkit shrieked.
Gorgut turned to bark at the interloping shaman. The motion spared him the blinding glare that blossomed between cavalry and greenskins. Like a wall ripped from the sun, the brilliant light dazzled the orcs, burning their beady cave-worm eyes. What the oncoming thunder of hooves and lances could not do, the brilliant wave of light accomplished. The fighting spirit of the orcs crumbled, shattered like glass upon stone. The brutes tore at their eyes, howling with pain. They broke before the unaffected cavalry, dashing blindly for the wadi.
Gorgut raged at his fleeing warriors, then spun to decapitate the charger of a knight trying to ride him down. The headless animal smashed into him, crushing him to the earth. The black orc roared, heaving the bulk of the dead animal off him, then smashing the head of its trapped rider with his fist. Another rider came charging at him, his lance stabbing down. Gorgut seized it in his paws, twisting his body in a display of primordial strength. The armoured knight was torn from his saddle and flung through the air to land in a broken tangle of steel and flesh.
