by Warhammer
Beastman after beastman fell before his blade. Felix fought as he had never done before, reaching a new peak of skill, speed and fury in his bloodlust. Barbaric tribesman after barbaric tribesman went down under his lightning-swift blade. He saw fear enter men’s eyes moments before they died, and cut them down with no hint of mercy. All sympathy he might have felt had been burned out of him. His mere presence started to fill his foes with fear. The expression on his face was enough to make hardened warriors back away. The moment of panic was often enough to cost them their lives. They froze rather than parried as he struck at them, and an instant of advantage was all a swordsman of Felix’s skill needed.
He noticed that his ferocious onslaught had attracted the attention of a motley band of humans: guardsmen, militia and citizens armed with pickaxes and rakes and household implements. The men threw themselves into battle at his side, cheering and groaning as they came.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of red. A howling dwarf battle cry reached his ears, and he saw Gotrek wading through the mass of beastmen, axe held high, as unstoppable as the sea. There was a better rallying point than himself, Felix realised.
‘Follow me!’ he bellowed, and began to cleave his way through to the Slayer’s side. With a ragged cheer the embattled defenders followed him.
Ulrika looked down from the walls, searching for targets. There were certainly enough of them. The Chaos horde rampaged through the burning city, killing and maiming as it came. She drew the string back to her cheek, loosed a shaft and was rewarded by seeing a burly, bearskin-cloaked marauder fall to her shaft. Automatically, she drew another arrow, nocked and searched for another target.
She was not sure where she had gotten the bow. Snatched it from the hands of a wounded defender perhaps. It did not matter. What did was that she had the weapon and could kill the monsters defiling the streets of Praag. She intended to make them pay for this sacrilege in blood.
As her body responded to its long years of training, part of her mind wondered where Felix was, and where Max was. She even would have been glad to see Gotrek or Snorri or any of the other Slayers. They would have provided familiar points of reference in this world gone mad. She had never quite experienced anything like this. Her whole world and her whole life seemed to have shrunk to just this moment, and just this place. It was as if everything that had gone before was just a dream. There was no future. There was no past. There was only this crazed inferno of death and destruction.
The strange thing was that she did not care. It was exhilarating, oddly liberating, to have no cares other than those of the moment, not to have to worry about anything other than the now. She could understand now with perfect clarity why some men loved combat more than they loved wine or women or any other pleasure. She along with everyone around lived now only a heartbeat away from death, and she held the power of life or death in her own hands, wielded it with every arrow she loosed. It was a sensation that could only be described as god-like.
Perhaps this was why some of those evil men down there followed Khorne, she thought. Perhaps they were no more evil than she, merely addicted to the thrill of mortal combat. Perhaps this was the lure of the Blood God. Even as these thoughts flickered through her mind, she wondered if they were part of some strange spell laid on the battlefield, meant to lure mortal warriors to the side of Chaos.
She dismissed the idea. Right now it did not matter. She had her bow. She had targets. While her heart beat and her eyes could see there was work for her here.
Somehow Arek realised he had fought his way out into the main streets again. All around bodies were pressed close against each other. He could smell sweat and blood and burning. It was impossible to tell who was winning from here. The beastmen and the northern tribesmen sounded trapped and panicked. That meant nothing. Arek knew all too well that warriors in one part of a battlefield responded differently from those in another. It was perfectly possible that overall the forces of Chaos were in control of the city even while this small group of them were cut off and surprised. Arek knew he could change that.
‘To me!’ he shouted. ‘Stand firm! We will prevail!’
Such was the confidence and power in his voice that hundreds of eyes swung towards him. He saw the Chaos warriors take heart and fight with renewed vigour. They knew him by sight and by reputation and had every confidence in his awesome power. Just his simple presence made them feel as if victory was once again within their grasp.
Even as those around him gained heart, Arek felt himself losing it. He felt somehow that things were slipping out of his control, that events had turned against him. It was a sour feeling, a sense that his gods had turned their face from him. He did not quite know how or why things were like this, but he felt it was the case. He tried to tell himself that it was all in his mind, but he knew that it was not. His sense of the flow of events had been made keen by his centuries of experience, and he knew he perceived the ebb and flow of battle with senses other than human.
For himself, he would have felt no real fear, had he not still been aware of that terrible inimical presence nearby. He knew his armour was all but unbreachable by mortal weapons, and such was his strength and power that no ordinary warrior could stand against him even without it. But there was something disquieting about the power he felt close by. It was the same feeling he had felt when he saw that dwarf on the walls of the city. A long forgotten sensation started to work its way into his brain. It took several heartbeats for Arek to recognise it.
It was fear.
Side by side, Gotrek and Felix fought their way to the very heart of the battle. Killing as they went, they hurled themselves wherever the fighting was heaviest. Wherever they appeared, their presence gave heart to the defenders, rallying them as they wavered, inspiring them to ever fiercer assaults where they were confident. Sometime during the desperate melee Felix became aware that Snorri and Bjorni had joined them. Both dwarfs looked as if they had been working in a slaughterhouse. Blood painted their faces and arms. Matted filth covered their torsos. But they smiled as they fought, and laughed as they killed.
In the furious berserker joy of combat they seemed to have forgotten all about seeking their doom, and set out to kill as many of the enemy as they could. Almost as much as the appearance of Gotrek the sight of them dismayed the superstitious tribesmen, and seemed to cause even the beastmen unease. The Slayers stopped for nothing, feared nothing, were undaunted by superior numbers or size. Nothing slaked their thirst for killing. They seemed like avatars of their ancient gods brought back to life to slaughter the ancestral enemies of their kind.
Felix followed them, feeling like he was moving in the wake of a whirlwind of destruction. His earlier fury at the death of Ulli had passed to be replaced by a cold calculation. He fought now as much to stay alive and witness the Slayers’ deeds as to kill his enemies. All fear had passed from his mind. It was not that he did not want to live. If he thought about it, he would have said that the fear was still there, but he had become so used to it that it seemed normal. It was simply something that sharpened his wits, and speeded his reflexes.
Ahead of him now, he sensed the resistance of the daemon worshippers stiffening. He saw black-armoured forms moving amid the masses, and realised that there were Chaos warriors present, and it seemed most likely that Gotrek and the others were about to meet foes more worthy of their steel.
Briefly Felix wondered how the battle was going, before losing himself again in the howling sea of battle.
Ivan Straghov watched bombs and alchemical fire rain down from the airship, turning the oncoming wave of beastmen into a mass of fiery flesh. Their screams were horrifying even to the ears of the men who hated them. Only the daemons continued to move closer, ignoring the flames that blazed around them.
As the first wave of creatures emerged from the inferno, the Ice Queen gestured and a searing wave of utter chill blasted towards them. Ivan sincerely hoped it was enough to stop them. He was getting too old
to face daemons.
Arek saw the Slayers coming towards him through the gloom. The snow had started to fall heavily again. Footing was treacherous. Dead bodies lay partially buried where they fell. He recognised the scene at once. It was the same as the vision his mages had showed him. No. Not quite the same. Some elements were different. There were more dwarfs, and he was surrounded by more of his own people.
He recalled what the twins had told him. The future was not certain. They dealt only in probabilities. He knew then that there was a chance. The mocking foresight the Lord of all Change had provided him with need not come true. Already things were different enough for him to change the vision. He hoped so.
Looking at the Slayer he felt less fearful. Unlike in his vision the dwarf was already wounded. He did not move with quite the brutal ferocity Arek would have expected. The Chaos warlord knew he had faced more dangerous foes. He did not see how one lowly warrior could possibly stand against him.
As though he felt Arek’s gaze upon him, the Slayer looked up. An electric spark of recognition passed between the two of them. Arek knew that they both knew who was their true foe in this battle.
Shouting his war cry, Arek strode towards the demented dwarf.
Felix saw the Chaos warriors coming towards them. He recognised the one in the lead. It was the warlord who had shouted such a brutal challenge on the first day of the siege, the one who had told the whole city that he was going to kill them all.
Felix had to admit, Arek had made a fair effort to make good on that promise. The dead lay all around, only slowly being concealed by flurries of fresh snow. Here and there the white was stained with the red of blood, the black of bile or the brown of piss. Not even the fury of the gathering storm could entirely conceal the stench of death.
Felix took a deep breath, wondering if he was already dead and in hell. Buildings still burned. In the distance he could hear the sound of titanic explosions and smell the reek of alchemical fire. White flakes evaporated as the wind carried them into flames. All around men screamed and wept and died. And not just men. He could see daemons and beastmen and other things he did not want to look at too closely moving through the murk. Overhead, patches had appeared in the clouds and the hellish glow of the Chaos moon glared down, eclipsing the feeble stars.
The Chaos warriors were moving towards them now, the massive warlord in the lead. It was all the provocation that Gotrek needed. Howling madly he raced to meet them.
Oh well, thought Felix, where else have I got to go? He charged forward following the Slayers towards what he felt was certain death.
Max Schreiber looked down from the airship. He watched as the Ice Queen’s spell smashed through the oncoming units of daemons. He doubted that under normal circumstances even so potent an onslaught could have held them, but the daemons were weakened, the dark magic saturating the area was draining away swiftly, and the spells binding them to this plane had unravelled. Max could no longer sense the presence of the mages that held the intricate skein of power together. Was it possible they had fled? Was it possible that the men of Kislev might yet, against all odds pull off a victory here?
Certainly the airship had wreaked terrible havoc on the Chaos horde. Huge craters spoke of the power of Malakai Makaisson’s bombs. Glowing pools filled with melting corpses testified to the sheer destructive power of alchemical fire. Looking at the Slayer, Max realised that in his own way Malakai Makaisson wielded as much power as any mage, perhaps more. If a fleet of these airships could be manufactured they could change the course of history. Not that the engineer intended to do that. He did his best to share his secrets with no one. In their way magicians and engineers were perhaps not all that different. They were all jealous of their lore. And why not, thought Max? After all, knowledge is power.
He realised that he was only trying to distract himself from the destruction raging below. He could see the Kislevite cavalry surging through the remains of the horde. The airship’s attack had levelled the odds. The horse warriors had a chance now, but only a chance. The battle was still in the balance, and Max knew that the least little thing could tip it one way or the other.
Flakes of snow whirled across his field of vision. The airship shuddered in the turbulence. The wind keened through the struts and hawsers binding the cupola to the gasbag. Makaisson turned the nose around and Max caught sight of the city.
It was an eerie sight. Towers and temples blazed. Huge tenements collapsed as fire ate away at their innards. Gusts of snow obscured everything for moments at a time. The citadel of Praag still rose above the inner city unassailed as yet and holding the promise of safety for some. Fiery arcs and explosions spoke of siege engines still being used from within.
‘Weel, weel,’ Malakai Makaisson said, ‘that’s the last o’ the bombs. Ah suppose we’d better haid back and git doon tae some serious fightin’.’
Max looked at the dwarf with something like wonder. This maniac had done as much as an army to turn the course of the battle. His genius might just have saved the city, and perhaps the whole of this part of the world from the threat of Chaos – and now he wanted to risk himself in the maelstrom of battle below. He regarded that as the real struggle! Max grinned at him and Malakai Makaisson grinned back.
‘I suppose you’re right, Malakai! I might as well come with you and see what I can do myself.’
‘Rightie oh! Enough talk. Time for killing!’
Arek grinned as his first blow sent the dwarf reeling backward. The Slayer seemed sluggish. He had barely managed to get that fearsome axe in the way. Arek told himself not to be overconfident. It was still a weapon of enormous power. If anything was capable of breaching his invincible armour, this was, and he had no wish to put that particular theory to the test.
He strode on, confident now. The Chaos warriors and beastmen at his back chanted loudly, certain of victory. Arek realised how much they had come to fear the Slayer over the past few days. Certainly the sight of him doing his bloody work on the walls had not been good for morale. He had become a symbol of the city’s stubborn resistance, as well as a deadly killer to be feared by all who crossed his path. Well, that was going to end now, Arek thought. He had never lost a fight against any foe, and he was not going to start today.
He stepped forward calmly, and decided where to place his next blow. A feint with the sword, he thought, should leave his foe open to a killing blow from the axe. He aimed a cut directly at the Slayer’s head. The dwarf ducked at the last moment, and Arek’s razor-sharp sword chopped off a large swathe of his dyed crest of hair. His follow-up blow, intended to cave in the dwarf’s ribs and place his axe blade in his heart, was met by the Slayer’s axe. Sparks flew as hell-steel smashed into ancient starmetal.
The dwarf was a better fighter than he had given him credit for, Arek thought, calmly stepping back and parrying two thunderously powerful blows with his sword.
The Slayer was fighting on instinct and reflexes but was nonetheless deadly as a wolf at bay. Arek was pleased. It would make his inevitable victory all the sweeter.
Felix caught a glimpse of the duel out of the corner of his eye. The two combatants were moving almost too fast for him to follow. Their weapons were merely flickers of light, whose contact ended in sparks and the ring of steel on steel. It was like watching gods fence with lightning bolts, he thought, and then gave his attention back to the beastman who was trying to chop his head off.
Felix ducked the blow and lunged forward, driving his blade into the beastman’s stomach. With a flick of his wrist, he altered the angle upwards to seek the heart or some other vital organ. In the long run it would not matter much. A gut wound like this was inevitably fatal unless magic was used. In the short run though, an instant kill might save Felix’s life. Many a wounded man had dragged his foe down to hell with him. Felix wanted to avoid that, if possible.
He stepped back as bile and blood fountained outwards, and turned just in time to block a blow from a massive Chaos warrior armed with a spi
ked club. Felix saw that the man was off-balance, and took advantage of it to kick his legs out from beneath him. Once the warrior was on his back, Felix brought his blade smashing down through the chink in the warrior’s visor. He felt bone crunch, and hot blood spurted from the gap in the helm.
Felix saw Snorri and Bjorni battling side by side, trying to hack their way towards Gotrek and the Chaos warrior. Felix was sure that Gotrek would not thank them for interfering in his doom, but he was currently in no position to object. After all, the warlord of this horde was a prize for any Slayer. Falling in combat with him would be a doom they would all prize. Frankly it was one that Felix would be happy to avoid, but he knew if the three Slayers fell it was one he would most likely share, unless he was spectacularly lucky.
He risked another glance back at the duel. It was not going well for Gotrek as far as Felix could tell.
Arek had the measure of his foe now. The Slayer was fast and the weapon was powerful. More than that, to Arek’s altered senses, it was obvious there was some sort of link between the dwarf and the weapon. It fed him strength and vitality in some arcane manner. He guessed that, as the twins had surmised, over the years the Slayer had wielded it, the weapon had altered him, making him stronger and more resilient even than a dwarf would normally be. Arek had plenty of experience with weapons like that. Chaos had gifted them to many of his foes.
Only this was not a weapon created by the followers of the Dark Gods. It was something else. Something old and something potent had created it. The runes that blazed on its starmetal blade augmented its power, guiding perceptible flows of magical energy into it, adding keenness to its edge and swiftness to its wielder. More than that, it seethed with a baneful power, something inimical to Arek and all his kind.