by C. L. Werner
Kormak ignored the scavengers, casting his eyes across the arena, searching for new foes to vanquish. The Raven God would feast upon the souls of Khorne’s slaves this day.
From the far side of the fiery trench, Pyra watched as the orcs and humans made battle with Slaurith’s marauders. She scowled as she watched the goblin shaman Snikkit capering about his warlord, shaking his staff, waving his hands and shrieking to his gods, oblivious that the glowering skull-rune overhead made his conjurations impossible.
The sorceress had chosen a safer course, keeping her warriors near her, using their marksmanship to balance the battle. Sometimes the crossbows would send bolts slamming into gladiators, sometimes it was the back of an orc that felt their sting. Each orc that fell in battle was one less to concern herself with later. Among all that throng, the only one she needed alive was Vakaan and the magus was keeping well away from the fighting, hovering over the battle upon the back of his daemon. The magus knew things about the Spear that had escaped even her research into the relic’s past. She could not let that knowledge die on the end of some barbarian’s sword. She also made allowance for Urbaal. She couldn’t afford for the champion to lose the Spear. At least, not unless it was to the right people.
Pyra smiled as she watched the Chosen rip apart another marauder. The man’s prowess in battle was impressive, she grudgingly admitted. But once they were clear of this damnable arena and she could again use her powers, she would discover if Urbaal was as resilient against sorcery as he was against steel.
‘Beblieth,’ Pyra called out. ‘Stay close to the champion. If he falls, take the Spear from him.’ She waited a moment for the witch elf to obey, then turned irritably. There was an insolent smile on Beblieth’s face. ‘Did you hear me?’ the sorceress demanded.
‘No one listens to a toothless tigress,’ Beblieth said.
Pyra’s eyes narrowed with anger, her pretty features crinkling into a bestial snarl. Beblieth just smiled back at her, unmoved by the sorceress’s rage.
Anger fled from Pyra’s eyes as they went wide with shock and pain. Focused upon Beblieth’s defiance, she had not seen the dagger that stabbed into her side, crunching between her ribs. She spun about, staring into Naagan’s corpse-like face. The disciple pulled the dagger out with a savage twist.
‘That burning sensation you feel is the bile of the Lustrian Death Toad,’ Naagan told her, his voice as emotionless as a tombstone. ‘In a few moments, it will begin to corrode your nervous system.’ Naagan smiled as Pyra’s numbed legs collapsed beneath her and the staff fell from her hand. He tilted his head to regard the dark elf warriors gawking at their fallen leader. He dismissed them with an imperious – and annoyed – wave of his hand.
‘A sorceress without her sorcery was too great an opportunity to pass,’ Naagan explained. He prodded Pyra’s body with his foot, rolling her across the hot floor. ‘Have no fear, we will capture the Spear,’ he said and kicked Pyra’s bleeding body again. Now the sorceress felt her skin blistering beneath her gown. As she rolled, her frozen eyes saw the molten trench ahead of her.
‘I do not know if the Spear will go to Malekith or Uthorin,’ Naagan said. His smile curled into an expression of unspeakable sadism. ‘But that is a decision the Temple of Khaine would like to make for itself. I am told the toad bile makes its victim insensible to pain. I dearly hope that isn’t true.’
With a last kick, Naagan pushed the paralyzed Pyra into the trench. There was no scream from her frozen lips, no flailing of her numbed arms, only an expression of hopeless terror in her eyes as she sank into the burning metal. Naagan breathed deep as a wisp of black smoke rose from the bubbling brass.
‘Beblieth,’ he said. ‘Keep close to the human, like our unfortunate leader said. After the magus has changed the enchantment upon it, be ready to make your move.’
The witch elf nodded, hurrying across the bridge to her assignment. Naagan watched her go, then turned on the still gawking elf warriors. ‘No one told you to stop shooting,’ the disciple warned. The warriors hastily turned back to their duty, sending an enthusiastic salvo across the burning fissure.
Lord Slaurith’s mummified face twisted into an angry leer. The Chaos warlord glared down into the glowing eyes of Urbaal. Angrily, Slaurith swept his clawed gauntlet down in a chopping motion. Once again, hidden gears groaned and shrieked. This time only a single gate set into the wall rose; the largest of the portals, easily five times the height of a man. Even with such a massive opening, the thing that emerged into the arena was forced to crawl from the tunnel.
As it stood, silence descended upon the arena, even the orcs awed by the enormity of this new foe. Fifty-feet tall, the bloodgiant towered over the battlers. It was more than a grossly oversized human, though there was a gruesome resemblance. Great horns sprouted from the brow of the giant’s manlike face, where it should have had feet there were immense hooves. One arm, for all its size, looked human. The other was a great black claw, the skin scaly and peeling. The giant wore a great belt about its middle, from which hung cages and baskets, little rotting things flopping grotesquely inside each. A pair of huge Skulltakers with bulging muscles gripped chains fastened to the collar about the bloodgiant’s neck, leading the enormous brute into the arena.
The giant’s nostrils flared as it smelled the blood of the dead. Its fanged face split into an idiot leer of amusement. It tugged at one of the chains about its neck, sending one of its keepers flying. The other handler released his chain before he could receive the same treatment. Drool splashed down from the giant’s immense fangs as it studied the awestruck ants staring up at it.
‘Kill them!’ Slaurith snarled at the dull-witted brute. The giant swung about, his face level with the warlord’s balcony. ‘Kill them all!’
The bloodgiant turned away. The brute studied the arena floor, then threw back its head in a savage bellow of excitement. Mammoth arms pounded against its chest, the drumbeat of its fists making the arena walls echo with thunder.
Then it was moving. A hoof the size of a Kurgan hut came pounding down, an orc exploding beneath the impact. The giant reached down with its hand, scooping a Skulltaker gladiator from the floor, squeezing the screaming man in its fist until the dripping wreckage slid from its grip like crumpled tin. The giant’s claw slashed down, hurling another orc into the far wall of the arena, the pulped corpse sticking obscenely to its own impact crater.
Terror reigned. Orcs scrambled about, jabbering excitedly to each other, jostling and pushing as they struggled to reach the bridge. Surviving gladiators clawed at the now-closed gates, pleading to be let back in. Vakaan’s disc whirled away, flying across the arena and well away from the giant’s reach. Goblins scrambled everywhere, shoving and punching each other in their mad race to find refuge from the gigantic brute.
Urbaal swung about, staring up at the bloodgiant. The Chosen closed his eyes, calling upon the power of his god. The sword in his hand suddenly erupted with a blinding glow, a devil’s tooth in his fist. Kormak could feel the power of Tzeentch flowing through the blade, defying the wards and barriers of the arena. The marauder checked his own flight, turning from the bridge to rejoin Urbaal. There was no shame dying with courage.
The bloodgiant was oblivious to Urbaal’s challenge, its dull brain struggling to decide which of the screaming, fleeing shapes to stomp next. But if the giant was oblivious, its handlers were not. The hulking Skulltakers rushed Urbaal from each side. The Chosen did not see them, focused upon his titanic foe. Kormak shouted a warning, rushed to protect Urbaal from the slinking attackers. He closed upon the rightmost of the handlers, chopping at him with his axe. The Skulltaker caught the blade with his sword and soon the two men were locked into a struggle of strength and fury, each seeking to break loose first and drive his steel into the other.
The other Skulltaker cracked the broken strip of chain in his hand at Urbaal. The chain, strong enough to hold a giant, coiled about Urbaal’s sword. The links began to melt as the divine energies of th
e blade began to corrode it, but it stayed whole long enough for the barbarian’s purpose. With a sudden tug, he ripped the sword from Urbaal’s grasp, sending it skittering across the arena. It landed, teetering upon the edge of the moat. Urbaal turned to race after it, but even as he began his sprint, he was dashed to the floor as the Skulltaker tackled him. The handler smashed his spiked fists into the metal face of Urbaal’s helm, as though trying to punch his way to the head within.
Above the fray, the bloodgiant howled its delight. For a moment, it watched its handlers fight, then it started to raise its hoof, staring maliciously at Urbaal and his adversary. The giant’s foot didn’t come smashing down, however. At that instant, a ragged barrage of bolts slammed into its skin. The giant brushed its hand against the injury, sniffing in confusion at the blood staining its finger. Then the repeating crossbows sent another volley into their huge target. Now the giant seemed to appreciate the pain. It glowered across the arena, glaring at the dark elves. Another barrage peppered its chest. Across such distance, the bolts were able to do little more than break the skin, but they had achieved their main goal. They had distracted the bloodgiant.
The giant roared, stomping across the arena. It did not use the bridge, its stride wide enough for it to step across the moat of boiling brass. The dark elves fired a last desperate volley. At close range now, the bolts punched deep into the giant’s flesh. As pain flashed through the giant, distraction turned to rage.
The dark elves were scattering now, ignoring Naagan’s shouts for them to fire again. The giant’s claw slammed down, pulverizing two of the armoured elves. The giant lifted its dripping limb and licked the mash of shredded flesh and bone from its scaly skin. Its face split in a vengeful grin and it lumbered after Naagan and the survivors. The disciple pushed one of the warriors towards the giant, then joined the others as they fled to the portcullis. The abandoned dark elf jabbed at the giant with his spear. The brute caught hold of the weapon with his hand, snarling as the sharp point cut his palm. The giant lifted spear and elf into the air, then began to shake its hand from side to side. The elf screamed, tightening his grip on the spear. It was a desperate effort, but one the elf was doomed to lose. The giant’s blood flowing down the shaft made it impossible for his armoured hands to hold. Wailing, the elf was thrown, crashing against the roof of the ceiling, then hurtling back to the floor in a tangle of broken bones.
Arrows now whistled at the giant. Desperate, unable to squirm through the bars of the portcullis with their burdens of loot, the goblins turned to fight. They had the terrified tenacity of cornered rats, and the bloodgiant presented a target so immense even their slovenly aim could not fail to hit. Poison sizzled into the giant’s veins as Zagbob added his arrows to the barrage, but the goblin’s venom was only a drop in the ocean. It would take quarts of poison to have any impact on the brute’s system.
The bloodgiant snarled again, thundering towards the portcullis. Goblins, elves and orcs scattered as it approached, only one tiny figure holding fast. Snikkit lifted his staff, shouting at the top of his shrill voice. The shaman called down all the vengeance of Gork and Mork upon the bloodgiant, spittle flying from his fangs.
The giant paused, seeming to listen to the shaman’s malediction. Then it brought its hoof smashing down, exploding the goblin’s body in a spray of greasy green blood.
‘Oh, that’s done it!’ Gorgut roared. The black orc checked his own retreat and grabbed hold of the closest warrior. ‘Look what that thing done! Now we got to find a new shaman!’
Dregruk tried to pull free of his chief’s grip.
‘Come on!’ Gorgut snarled. ‘We’re going to settle for that git!’ Half pulling, half dragging Dergruk, the black orc stomped back towards the giant, anger over-riding common sense.
Before the orcs could reach the giant, the brute was moving again. A lone goblin, half-through the bars of the portcullis, had drawn the giant’s attention. The huge hand came down, closing about the goblin’s legs. With a wrenching tug, the giant tried to pull the goblin free. Instead, both the goblin and the barrel of ale on his back were ripped apart. The bloodgiant stared dumbly at the dripping legs, then its nostrils flared wildly. A huge tongue pushed between the giant’s tusks and licked the gory wreckage. The giant grinned as the sting of ale struck its taste buds.
Enemies, arrows and elves were forgotten. The giant swung away from the portcullis, its eager eyes now hunting for more goblins. Its dull brain now associated the scrawny greenskins with ale. There was only one thing that could excite the giant more than battle and carnage, something all the psychotic madness of the Blood God could not drive from it. The giant wanted drink.
A goblin shrieked as the giant’s hand closed about it, wresting it from the floor. The brute held the shrieking goblin over its mouth and squeezed its captive as though it were a wineskin. The keg on the goblin’s back shattered, its contents mixing with the blood gushing into the giant’s mouth. Laughing, the giant tossed the squished goblin away, swinging its head from side to side in search of more drink.
‘Get back here you craven scum!’ Gorgut raged. The black orc swung his axe at the bloodgiant just as the brute lumbered off to seize another goblin.
‘Careful, boss,’ Dregruk warned. ‘You might catch up with him!’
Gorgut gave his underling a black look, then ran after the giant.
Urbaal gripped the horns of his enemy’s helm and twisted, snapping the Skulltaker’s neck. The barbarian slumped across the Chosen. Urbaal rolled the corpse aside. He stared up at the balcony and the sinister figure of Lord Slaurith, then turned to see where the giant was. The huge brute was across the fissure stuffing a goblin into its mouth, its teeth grinding greenskin and ale barrel into mush. Urbaal’s eyes narrowed. Much closer at hand was his sword, the flames of Tzeentch still rippling about it. The Chosen glared back at Slaurith and made a dash for his sword.
Slaurith saw Urbaal racing to recover his sword. The Chaos warlord’s eyes narrowed with hate. ‘Send in my champions!’ he snarled, stabbing a claw in the direction of the gates. ‘Send in Chorek!’
The hidden gears groaned, lifting a half-dozen of the rusty gates. Black-armoured warriors emerged from the darkened tunnels, their eyes glowing with the madness of Khorne. They fingered their axes and clubs, turning towards Urbaal. From the centre gate, a huge beast emerged, a thing of bronze and brass. It was as much ox as it was wolf, as much panther as it was boar. It was not a living thing, but a daemon wrapped in a metal shell with molten steel for blood and raw hate for a brain.
Upon the juggernaut’s back rode a monstrous warrior. Clad in bronze armour adorned with the skulls of his victims, his face lost behind the mask of his horned helm, the warrior hefted his bone-handled sword, pointing its butcher’s blade at Urbaal. The skull-rune set into the forehead of Chorek’s helm glowed as the champion made his silent challenge.
The other champions stood back as Chorek walked his juggernaut towards Urbaal, none of them willing to interfere in this contest between the Chosen of Khorne and the Chosen of Tzeentch.
The juggernaut pawed the bloody flagstones, its bronze paws churning the rock like mud. Chorek drove his boots into the daemon’s flanks and the metal monster charged through the arena, hurtling towards Urbaal in an unstoppable avalanche of daemonic fury.
Urbaal dove from its path, snatching the discarded weapon of a gladiator from the floor. He glared at the Khorne champion, now between himself and his proper weapon. Urbaal struck at Chorek with the flail he had scavenged. The steel chains clattered against the mounted warrior’s shield, an immense rectangle of bronze and brass. Chorek laughed behind his helm and drove his sword at Urbaal. He blocked the blow, but was thrown back by the force behind it. Chorek laughed again and spurred his daemon after the staggered Urbaal.
Suddenly Chorek’s laughter fell silent. He looked up in alarm as the bloodgiant staggered back across the molten trench. The drunken giant’s gait was sloppy, its hoof nearly slipping into the moat as it lumber
ed across the span. The brute swung its bleary gaze about the arena, searching for more goblins. It grinned stupidly and reached down for one of Slaurith’s champions. The gladiator did not cringe before the giant’s sloppy grab, but struck out, his glaive slashing through one of the immense fingers. The giant howled in pain, then brought its wounded hand slamming down, smashing the gladiator beneath its palm.
Urbaal seized the distraction offered by the bloodgiant’s antics. The Chosen flung his flail into the face of Chorek, then threw himself in a long dive beneath the very belly of the juggernaut. Man and daemon were surprised by the boldness of Urbaal. Chorek wasted precious moments regathering his wits. Angrily he spurred the juggernaut about, roaring for the other champions to stop Urbaal from recovering his sword.
Poisoned steel sprouted from the eye socket of the juggernaut. The venom was incapable of harming the daemon, even the steel did no damage that the creature could not quickly heal. But the juggernaut was blinded just the same while the dagger was embedded in its bronze eye socket, preventing it from regenerating. The daemon snorted its anger, twisting its head and trying to scrape the obstruction free. Chorek glared at this new attacker, lifting his shield as Beblieth hurled a second dagger. The weapon glanced off the blocking armour. Chorek snarled at the witch elf.
