CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 

 

Dietz shook his head, trying to clear it. Braechen’s last punch had made his head ring and his vision was still slightly blurred, but he didn’t have time to be groggy. The daemon-possessed warrior was clearly enraged at the loss of the gauntlet—not to mention his forearm—and it was lumbering towards them, murder glinting in its glowing eyes.

“Die, Chaos spawn!” Lankdorf had been faster to recover and was already back on his feet, sword in one hand and ever-present crossbow in the other. He fired a bolt into Braechen’s head, where it protruded from the temple like a strange, feather-edged horn, and swung with his sword.

The mutated man merely laughed that chilling laugh again and knocked the blade aside with his stump. His remaining hand lashed out, slicing across the bounty hunter’s chest, the long barbed nails sprouting from the fingers carving through cloth, leather, and flesh. Lankdorf groaned and dropped to his knees.

Braechen growled, the horrible second mouth drooling in anticipation, and raised his clawed hand. Then he abruptly dropped his hand and turned away, wading into the cultists instead.

What? Dietz shook his head to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. No, the daemon really had turned away from Lankdorf, leaving the bounty hunter wounded but alive, but why? He stepped quickly to the other man’s side and knelt beside him.

The cultists, for their part, swarmed Braechen like angry bees, clearly incensed at his presence in their temple and outraged by his treatment of their high priest. Even though they wore no armour—and little clothing, for that matter—the cultists made up for their vulnerability with grace and speed, dancing around Braechen, darting in to stab him and then ducking away again before he could strike. Dietz hoped they would at least keep the creature busy for a while.

“Get off me! I’ll be fine!” Lankdorf tried to shove him away, but his injury left him too weak to resist as Dietz quickly examined it. The wound was nasty but not life-threatening. He saw a row of gashes across the chest that would probably scar, and he could see the bounty hunter’s flesh beneath the tatters of his shirt and jacket. Then he saw something else.

“What’s this?” It was a gleam of silver and emerald and as Dietz reached out to touch it he remembered—the amulet! The one Glouste had found in the tomb, over the burial chamber door. Lankdorf had taken it when they’d first met and he’d forgotten all about it. It had been hidden beneath the bounty hunter’s shirt, but the blow had exposed it. Was this why the daemon had backed away?

“You want it back?” The bounty hunter laughed weakly, and then groaned as the movement shifted his torn flesh. “Take it, then.” He bowed his head to let Dietz slip the chain free.

“Alaric!” Dietz glanced up and saw his friend nearby, clearly torn between going after the daemon, going after the gauntlet, and coming to their aid. “Look at this!” He tossed the amulet to the nobleman, who caught it, and almost dropped it when he glanced at it fully.

“That’s a mark of the Dark Gods!” Alaric said, studying the piece, and Dietz’s blood ran cold. “It’s the sign of the Lord of Pleasure,” he continued, and then glanced up at the wall hangings all around them. “Look, the same mark is on these banners!” Of course! He’d heard of the symbol—the signs for male and female combined—but had never seen it, and he’d thought that the layers of the amulet had slipped loose from age or damage.

“This has runes all around it,” Alaric continued, holding the amulet up to examine it more closely. “I wonder, perhaps this too is enchanted?”

Another enchanted item, maybe even another artefact, and Glouste had found it and brought it to him! Dietz couldn’t stop himself from groaning. Of all the times for his pet to be generous!

“It didn’t like it,” Dietz said, gesturing towards Braechen, who was still battling the cultists. He also noticed that two had helped the priest to his feet and the tall man’s eyes were glowing again, albeit weakly. Despite his revulsion for the cult and its practices, Dietz hoped the priest was capable of fighting again. They needed all the help they could get.

“No? Strange, it’s a Chaos artefact and he’s a daemon,” Alaric mused. Then he brightened. “Of course, it’s what that one cultist said, about allegiances. This is dedicated to Slaanesh and carries that god’s power. The daemon answers to Khorne. The two are opposing forces, rivals, and so their power counteracts one another, like fire and water.”

“So that thing will keep him away?” Dietz asked. He was helping Lankdorf to his feet as they spoke. The bounty hunter was a little unsteady but he’d bound what was left of his shirt around the wound and seemed to be doing better. Behind them the cultists were down to a handful, although Braechen had at least a dozen cuts that should have been mortal, mute testament to their skill. The high priest was standing unaided, and his hands were glowing again, although not green this time. They shone with a pale purple light that danced around his fingers almost like butterflies. It was very pretty, almost hypnotic, but Dietz had a feeling the effect was a lot nastier than a flying insect.

“It may do more than that,” Alaric replied. He glanced at Dietz, and then at Lankdorf, and at something at the bounty hunter’s waist. “Here!” he pitched the amulet back and Dietz caught it, though only barely. “Lankdorf!” The bounty hunter glanced up. “Can you still wield that sling?”

Lankdorf nodded brusquely. “I could use it blind and limbless and still take out a man’s eye at a hundred paces.”

“Never mind the eye,” Alaric replied. “Aim for the mouth, the lower one.”

The bounty hunter nodded. Dietz stepped back to give him some room as he freed his sling, dropped the amulet into it, and began to whirl it over his head. “Ulric guide you,” Dietz whispered as he readied himself for whatever might happen next. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, he figured, to have the Winter Wolf looking out for them. He thought he saw Alaric mouth something suspiciously like a prayer, and suspected that his friend was invoking Sigmar’s blessing.

“Your time on this plane has ended, foul beast!” the priest was shouting as the last of his cultists fell, but the air seemed thick and his words were quickly muted. “You have trespassed upon our master’s property, and for that you must pay the penalty!” He raised both hands, and the glow from them intensified, growing almost too bright to look at.

“Hey, K’red’lach!” Alaric shouted. He had backed up and was almost directly in front of Lankdorf and Dietz, between them and Braechen. The daemon-infested soldier had torn the last cultist in half, turned back to the statue and had just reached up, its remaining hand grasping the bottom edge of the sceptre despite the statue’s towering height. Had Braechen grown somehow, or did the normal rules of distance simply not apply to the creature within him?

At the sound of that word—its name? Dietz wondered—the mutated man turned towards Alaric, and spat something at him, a curse or just a shout of defiance, as he tugged the sceptre from the statue and grasped it firmly. The glowing warpstone cast a strange glow upon his twisted face. The daemon-corrupted warrior grinned in triumph, his mouths opening wide, and Lankdorf let fly the amulet at the same time as the priest hurled his magic.

The bounty hunter’s aim was perfect, and the rune-inscribed missile shot into the daemon’s mouth: its real mouth, not the one it had stolen from Braechen. Purple bursts of energy hit it, striking it in the head and chest and leaving pinpricks of light where they had pierced the skin. The daemon swallowed convulsively, threw back its borrowed head and howled in rage, a sound that changed rapidly to a shriek of inhuman pain.

“Return to your own world!” the priest bellowed, his words gaining volume suddenly as the air turned thin and cold like the air of the mountain peaks. “This body will hold you no longer!”

Braechen began writhing, his body mutating rapidly and uncontrollably, spines, barbs and tentacles, and even tiny limbs sprouting at random and disappearing just as quickly. He staggered and glared not at Lankdorf or the priest but at Alaric, and both mouths moved in unison.

“Soon,” the Braechen-mouth said, slurring the word badly, “I come for you.”

Then energy exploded outwards from the daemon, waves of light and shadow crashing across one another, the very air in the cavern flickering from their passage. Violet light lanced out from his eyes and incandescent blood gushed from his mouth as shards almost like black crystal burst from various parts of his body. The daemon-infested soldier dropped to his knees, his body shredded, and then collapsed further, as if his bones had all been splintered into tiny fragments. He was still clutching the sceptre somehow, but it too was bathed in strange light, and as he dropped, its base struck the ground. The entire sceptre vibrated from the blow, shaking free from his weakened grasp, and then the jewel at the top shattered with a tinkling sound, its glow dispersing into the cavern’s gloom. The rest of the sceptre, blackened as if by intense flames, crumbled as it hit the floor.

“Nice shot,” Dietz commented, stepping forwards just in case, the axe he’d claimed at the ready. He was too numb to register what had happened. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the priest sway and then collapse, apparently drained by the use of such potent magic. Good. Hopefully he’d stay unconscious for long enough for them to leave unnoticed.

“Thanks.” Lankdorf was right beside him, his sword in his hand as they approached the fallen daemon. The bounty hunter looked dazed and Dietz suspected he bore a similar expression. Had they really just defeated a daemon? The body before them certainly confirmed that.

Only it wasn’t a daemon anymore. They could see that right away. It was Braechen again. A shattered, torn, maimed Braechen, who shuddered and died before they could reach him.

“He wouldn’t have survived,” Alaric said, sounding as if he was trying to reassure himself. “The daemon twisted his body too much. Its magic was all that was keeping him alive. Once it left he was doomed.” Dietz could see that his young friend was shivering, not that he blamed him. It had taken them days to recover from the shock of facing a daemon back in Middenheim and that time it had only been able to peer through the gate. This time it had looked full upon them and had fought against them, even if it had only by using a man’s body for a host.

“Brought it on himself,” Dietz pointed out wearily, and Lankdorf nodded. Braechen had been offering the gauntlet to that man Strykssen when they’d spotted him. He had to have known what it was. He was probably a Chaos worshipper himself, which meant he’d given himself willingly. He had no one but himself to blame for the outcome.

Alaric started to say something but was interrupted by a shower of dust and tiny rock fragments. Glancing up, Dietz saw cracks spider webbing across the cavern ceiling. A quick survey showed similar damage appearing along the walls.

“We need to go,” he urged, taking Alaric by the arm and leading him back towards the staircase at a quick walk. The numbness was pushed aside by more immediate panic. The bounty hunter was ahead of them, limping but moving quickly despite that, and had somehow retrieved his crossbow.

“The gauntlet!” Alaric argued, trying to twist free. “We have to make sure it’s destroyed!”

A chunk of stone the size of a horse’s head narrowly missed them, triggering a small avalanche from above. The statue was hit by another chunk that shattered the right side of its face and sent a long crack down through its impressive torso. Several other pieces fell, one of them near where the priest had collapsed. Dietz thought he heard a grunt as it struck the ground, but he wasn’t sure. “It’ll be buried,” he assured Alaric, “and so will we, if we don’t move!”

Dietz half-led, half-dragged his friend to the stairs and they raced back up, taking the steps two at a time. Several more cultists had just descended the stairs, apparently intent upon aiding their brethren, but they turned and fled when they saw what was happening. Dietz and Alaric were right behind them. He heard more crashes as they neared the top of the stairs and a thick cloud of stone dust rose from the cavern, choking him for a second before they burst back onto the main level and gulped in fresh air from outside.

Lankdorf was waiting for them by one of the building’s entrances, leaning against the wall for support. “We’d better get out of here,” he said. “No telling how much damage that’ll do. The entire town could collapse into the ground.” Alaric shuddered and Dietz, remembering his young friend’s fear of enclosed spaces, knew the bounty hunter had found the perfect motivation to get him away from this place and quickly.

“Fine,” Alaric said, pulling free of Dietz’s hand and dusting his sleeve. “Let’s go.”

 

Alaric staggered out of the building and into the street, Dietz and Lankdorf right behind him. None of them could resist glancing back as they left the building, but the stairs were quiet. Even the dust had settled, and they heard nothing from below. The earth had reclaimed the cavern and everything in it, hopefully for good.

He was so thrilled to be alive that it took him a second to register the activity occurring all around them. The shouts, thuds and groans finally got his attention, however.

The walls had apparently been breached and the attacking armies had entered the town proper. As Alaric glanced around he saw soldiers from all three forces battling cultists and each other. It was the same scene they’d witnessed on the way into the town, only now it was all around them. So far they hadn’t been noticed because they were still in the shadow of the temple, but Alaric knew that it was only a matter of time before they were seen, and this time they didn’t have Braechen wading through the conflict in front of them, clearing the way.

“Great,” Lankdorf said, stepping up on his left side. Dietz was on his right. Already several shouts were aimed in their direction. “How in Myrmidia’s name are we going to get out of this?”

“I—”Alaric started to reply, but then he saw the bounty hunter stiffen. Lankdorf’s face twisted into a look of pure rage and he leapt into the combat, his wound apparently forgotten, shouting something incoherent and raising his crossbow like a club. The crowd swirled around him and in seconds he was lost from view.

“Damn and blast!” Dietz swore. “What got into him?”

“I don’t know,” Alaric replied. “Obviously something important.” He shook his head. “We need to get out of here.” A soldier, any markings he’d had torn away or covered in blood and gore, lunged at them and Dietz almost absently clubbed the man down with his axe.

“What about Lankdorf?” Dietz asked, and chuckled at Alaric’s expression. “I know, I know,” the older man said, shaking his head. “He’s a piece of work, all right, but he’s been damned useful and he’s not a bad sort to have around.”

Alaric nodded. He still didn’t quite trust the bounty hunter, at least not where money was concerned, but he had fought beside them without hesitation, and he certainly hadn’t been the worst travelling companion they’d had in recent months.

“He’ll turn up,” Alaric assured his friend, turning away for a second to parry a sword thrust from a cultist and stab the woman in reply. His point took her between bare breasts and he glanced away as he yanked the blade free. “He’s a survivor. The smart thing is for us to get out of here and wait for him somewhere beyond all this fighting.”

Dietz nodded, hefting his axe and pulling his mace from his pack to use in his other hand. “Right, let’s go.”

They turned and made their way towards the town’s outer wall, figuring there had to be one or more breaches that they could use for an exit. Soldiers attacked them, as did cultists, and Alaric and Dietz found themselves forced to advance back-to-back, sidling like a crab while using sword, dagger, mace and axe to fend off blows. Fortunately the fighting was so confused that most of their opponents got swept away after only a quick flurry of blows. Many of their assailants were cut down from behind, by foes who then attacked Alaric and Dietz before also being targeted. This was not a war anymore, Alaric realised. It was mere carnage. Most of these people were no longer thinking about anything, just fighting on instinct. He and Dietz had a plan and a purpose, however, which gave them the advantage.

Another cultist charged him, and Alaric defended himself, but the man fell before Alaric’s blade touched him, a heavy sword point sprouting from his chest amid the ribbons and straps. The cultist toppled, a surprised frown on his lips.

Alaric found himself staring at a familiar face.

Levrellian was still dressed in finery, but at least this version was more practical. The prince wore a suit of glittering mail and wielded a golden broadsword that flashed in the sunlight. A crown had been worked into his gleaming helm but the faceplate was open and Alaric saw at once that the man’s eyes were wide and a little dazed as he tugged his sword free of the cultist’s back. Several men in the border prince’s livery fought nearby, presumably Levrellian’s personal guard, but the melee was too confused for them to stay at his side, and for the moment the prince was alone.

“I know you!” the prince shouted upon seeing him. “You were in my throne room!”

Alaric nodded. He didn’t think it would help to remind the prince why they’d been there.

“Ah, yes, the travellers!” Levrellian glanced over at Dietz, whom Alaric noticed had his axe at the ready. “You killed my nephew!”

“You never liked him much,” Alaric pointed out, leaning to one side to stab a soldier who’d been approaching with a mace held high to strike. Then he quickly changed the subject. “Will you win this battle?”

“Hmm? Yes! Ah, of course!” Levrellian glanced around again, taking in the confusion. “Although I don’t remember why I wanted this place so much.” A wave of warriors crashed through before Alaric could reply, carrying the prince with them.

“A little confused,” Dietz commented as they continued on, fending off a cultist, one of Levrellian’s soldiers and one of Haflok’s in rapid succession. They had crept past the main square and the fighting around them lessened slightly, although they still had to keep their backs together and their weapons ready.

“I suspect Strykssen manipulated him,” Alaric said, parrying a surprisingly skilful attack by a cultist wielding a rapier. A stray blow from a hammer took out the duellist before they could cross blades again and Alaric consoled himself by stabbing the hammer-wielder instead. “He was the one who wanted the map, so he could get the gauntlet, and he wanted this town so he could get the sceptre.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen that before, counsellors who take control, but Levrellian let him. He’s no one to blame but himself.”

They continued to fight for several minutes, both of them feeling the strain. The initial adrenaline had worn off and fatigue was setting in, as well as the effects from the numerous small wounds they’d each received. There were fewer opponents now that there was also less confusion, which meant those who did attack them were less likely to get distracted a moment later. Alaric was starting to wonder if they would escape alive when Dietz nudged him.

“There,” the older man said, pointing with his mace. Alaric looked and felt his spirits lift slightly. Somehow they had arrived before the town’s main gates, and they were open! Well, battered apart was more accurate, but the wide portal stood open, and with much of the fighting inside the town, the gates and the field beyond looked almost empty by comparison.

“Right,” Alaric said, nodding. He took a deep breath, batted aside a longsword, and raised his own blade in reply. “Let’s not keep the horses waiting.”

 

“Who do you think will win?” Dietz asked, gesturing at the town below. They were back at the ruins, peeking out from behind the still-standing corner and watching the last gasps of the battle they had just waded through. Large parts of Vitrolle were in flames, but they could still see small patches of fighting through the smoke.

“Who cares?” Alaric replied absently, tending to a cut along his side, fortunately not the side where he’d been stabbed before. They had managed to cut and bash their way through the gates and across the field to the hill but it had not been easy and neither of them was exactly unscathed. He frowned. “Levrellian doesn’t care anymore,” he pointed out, now that he thought about it, “and Haflok only wants it destroyed. I suspect they’ll both back off after the town is gone, leaving the land to Fatandira.” He shrugged. “Not that it matters to us.”

Dietz nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer, and Alaric lapsed into his own thoughts again. He had so many questions. Why had Karitamen had that gauntlet? How had it got into his tomb? Had it been interred with him, or smuggled in later? And if the latter, by whom? What about the wards and the amulet, both of which might have stopped the liche from leaving his burial chamber? Who had put them there?

How had the daemon known about all this? And about the warpstone in the sceptre?

“I don’t get it,” he said finally, throwing up his hands and wincing as the motion tugged at one of the wounds he’d just clumsily bandaged.

“Looks like you were right,” Dietz said over his shoulder, still watching the town. He was absently stroking Glouste, who had hidden within his jacket throughout the battle and had only emerged, chattering a sharp rebuke, when they’d collapsed onto the stones of the ruin. “Haflok’s gathering his men. So is Levrellian, and they’re both facing away, as if they’re about to leave. Fatandira’s got the town, or at least what’s left of it.” Then he turned, Alaric’s comment apparently just registering. “Don’t get what?”

“Any of it,” Alaric replied sharply. He shook his head. “None of this makes any sense.” He gestured towards Vitrolle. “The daemon wanted the warpstone, correct?” His friend nodded. “So why not go and get it?”

Dietz frowned. “He did. Or he was about to.”

“No, why not go get it before the battle? He waited until the battle had started. Why?”

“Maybe the bloodshed made him stronger?” Dietz suggested.

“Maybe.” Alaric thought back, trying to remember the sequence of events. They entered the ruins, Strykssen died, Braechen put on the gauntlet, the attack on the town began, the daemon laughed—

“That’s it!” he said softly. “It was excited when the attack began!”

“Like I said, bloodshed.” Dietz nodded.

“No, that’s not it,” Alaric corrected his friend. “If it was that, the daemon would have stayed on the battlefield longer. Instead he made straight for the town, and for that hole in the wall. That’s when he laughed, after he heard the stones break.” He pounded one hand against the old stone beside him. “He didn’t go in before that because he couldn’t!”

Dietz didn’t have much education but he was quick on the uptake and he had a good memory. “Fire and water?” he asked.

“Exactly,” Alaric replied. “The cultists held the town in… in the name of their god. The daemon serves a different god. The town must have been shielded against him, but once the attackers broke through he could use that gap to enter.”

He frowned, his mind racing. “Strykssen manipulated Levrellian into attacking,” he said out loud, working through the ideas as they hit him, “so he knew the town would be attacked. That’s why he was waiting here, but he also needed that gauntlet, and we found it for him.”

“He’d have found it anyway,” Dietz pointed out. “He had your map.”

“Maybe,” Alaric agreed, but he wasn’t convinced. The original map had been less detailed than the one he’d drawn, supposedly from memory. Where had those extra details come from? Without them he couldn’t have found the valley, which meant he wouldn’t have found the gauntlet. Had someone helped him? If so, why?

Alaric didn’t much like the idea of anyone else manipulating his thoughts or actions. He tried to tell himself it had simply been bad luck, but something in his gut told him that wasn’t true.

Something was toying with him.

He shuddered as he remembered what the daemon had said down in the cultists’ temple. “Mine now,” it had said, meaning the gauntlet. “Soon you will be, as well: body and soul.” Right before its borrowed body had been destroyed, the daemon had proclaimed, “Soon I come for you.” Alaric shivered, suddenly covered in a cold sweat. He gulped desperately at the wine that Dietz had pulled from one of their saddlebags when they’d reached the ruins and found their horses still here.

The daemon wasn’t gone. He knew that somehow. It had been banished, yes, but it was not destroyed. That meant it was still out there, and he had a feeling he would see it again. Their fates were intertwined, and he worried that, the next time they met, the daemon might be right. Next time it might claim him utterly, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to resist it.

 

 

Scanning, formatting and
proofing by Flandrel,
additional formatting and
proofing by Undead.