by Warhammer
Roche aimed a blow at the Kislevite in front of him. His mighty arm drove his blade right through the man’s leather armour and buried it deep in his guts. The man screamed as he died. Another servant for the master, thought Roche happily as he pulled his sword out. Warm ropy entrails spilled over his hand. He glanced around to see how the battle was going.
Somewhat differently than he had hoped. Well over three quarters of the master’s forces were down. The wizard stood with his back to the coach, two zombies coming for him. As Roche watched, the mage struck one in the head with his staff, stepped away from the second and spoke a word. Something emerged from his mouth and hovered shimmering in the air for a moment, a blazing pattern of light that brought tears to the eye and hurt the brain. In another heartbeat the zombie’s head exploded, spurting brains and fragments of bone into the air and covering everyone nearby in a rain of jelly and splinters. Roche licked his lips. The taste was interesting. Briefly he considered charging the wizard and trying to overwhelm him with a hail of blows. It might work, he thought. The wizard gestured and a bolt of golden light ripped through the spine of a nearby skeleton. It fell on the floor in two halves, the glow of animation fading from its eyes. Then again, it might not.
Off to his left the battle had taken another surprising turn. A small, frail-looking woman leapt amid the coven members. With one sweep of her arm, she tore off Gaius’s head. Roche knew he was strong. He could break a man’s neck with his bare hands if he needed to, but there was no way he could rip a head from its shoulders even using both hands. What sort of woman could? Instantly the answer swept into his mind: one like the master. This was not good. Why had the master not warned him? Roche dismissed the thought. Doubtless the master had his reasons.
The intruders were not having it all their own way. Many of the Kislevites were down now, and most of the Sylvanian knights were dead. By Roche’s count that left only the wizard, the fat old man, the countess, and one of the knights. A quick glance told Roche that more than a dozen of the zombies were still on the go, and a couple of the coven. It would be enough, he told himself. It would have to be.
He raced towards the old man hoping to take him unawares and then get on to the wizard. As he moved he suddenly came to a halt, anchored to the spot by a slender arm. He caught sight of long fingernails dripping red blood. He noticed a ruby glittering on one of the fingers. Automatically, he appraised its worth, even as a low, surprisingly gentle woman’s voice whispered in his ear.
‘Now, lackey, you go to the grave.’
There was a flash of pain, a terrible strain on his neck, and then the pain and the strain were gone. He watched the roof wheel and found himself looking up at a massive headless corpse tottering above him. With a shock, he realised that the body belonged to him. It seemed that a brain was capable of living for a few moments after being separated from its body. His lips formed a prayer for help to his master but there were no lungs to push air into his mouth.
Max summoned power and gestured. A bolt of golden light sheared through the chest of an animated corpse, chopping it in half like an enormous cleaver. The body flopped to the ground and remained horribly animated for a few moments. Its top half still tried to crawl towards him, while its bottom half drummed its feet on the flagstones. Max took no chances. Another gesture and another blast of power incinerated the creature.
Here and there a few knots of fighters were still locked in combat. Ivan Petrovich hacked down a pair of animated skeletons with one stroke of his sabre. The old man was covered in cuts and bled profusely from a massive wound in his arm. Rodrik fought beside the countess, guarding her back. Not that she needed much guarding. The vampire moved with phenomenal speed, rending and tearing anything that got in her way. To his horror he realised that they were the only members of their party remaining on their feet. All of the other Kislevites were down. Many cried in pain. As Max watched, a skeleton bit out the throat of one of the wounded.
Still fighting against the strange warping power of his surroundings, Max wearily drew on his magic once more. A blast of energy ignited the brittle bones of the animated thing. Molten bone splattered the corpses surrounding it.
Suddenly, all was silent, save for the cold whisper of the breeze carrying snowflakes through the open doorway. Max glanced around and realised that it was over. Only he, Ivan, the countess and Rodrik remained standing in the hall. After the terrifying din of battle, the quiet was almost as unnerving.
Max looked at his companions, and smiled without warmth or any sense of triumph. It was the weary smile of a man who had remained alive while most of his companions had fallen, and the other two men mirrored it. The countess did not smile at all. Instead she stood with her head cocked in the attitude of one listening, although what it was she listened for, Max could not begin to guess.
Max saw that Ivan Petrovich was staring at the countess, as if contemplating driving his blade into her back. The old boyar must have seen the carnage she had wrought and doubtless he now wondered exactly what had travelled with him to this place. Perhaps like Max he was searching his memory, trying to remember if any of the Kislevite casualties had been her work.
Max could not recall any, but in the heat of battle he might have missed some. He regretted his bravado and his threats from earlier. Manipulating the powers of magic had cost him dearly. Overcoming the resistance of this place had taken almost as much of his strength as working the magic itself. He felt as tired as if he had walked for days without sleep. He took a deep breath and calmed his mind. He was not about to let any of this show.
Instead he strode across to Ivan Petrovich. ‘Let me see your arm,’ he said gently.
Absent-mindedly the boyar stretched out his arm, but his gaze never left the Countess Gabriella. ‘Did you see what she did?’ he asked.
Max nodded. The Kislevite nobleman’s expression mingled awe and horror in equal parts. ‘What evil have you brought here?’ he asked.
Max ran his fingers over the wound and concentrated. A gentle golden glow passed from his fingertips to the boyar’s arm. The flow of blood stopped. The flesh knitted beneath his touch. The boyar winced at the pain of the procedure but made no sound. The countess turned to look at them. Max saw her gaze at the blood on the closed wound as if hypnotised. She licked her lips. The gesture reminded the wizard of the flicker of a serpent’s tongue.
‘He is close,’ she said after a moment of silence. ‘And so is the talisman. I can feel its presence gnawing at my mind.’
‘Where?’ Max asked.
‘Somewhere above us.’
Max was about to summon his golden eye for the third time that day when she winced. ‘He is moving away from us.’
‘He has seen what we have done here and flees in fear,’ said Rodrik stoutly.
‘Then we will follow him,’ said Ivan Petrovich.
‘First we will burn these bodies,’ said Max. ‘I would not have him draw them back to life. I do not want to have to face the corpses of those who fought so bravely alongside us.’
‘How will we burn so many?’ Rodrik asked.
‘Cover them with lantern oil,’ said Max. ‘I will do the rest.’
From behind them came the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh mingled with aromatic lantern oil. Max walked beside Ivan Petrovich. Ahead of them walked the countess and then Rodrik. He was sure this was a deliberate gesture of bravado on her part, turning her back to them, letting him see that she trusted them enough to leave herself vulnerable, even if they did not trust her. Or perhaps, thought Max, she was simply contemptuous of them. Weak as he currently felt that contempt might well prove justified. Max prayed that the wounded would be all right until they returned. He would have healed more, but he knew he needed to conserve his remaining power.
‘Be very careful,’ the countess said, in that deceptively gentle voice. ‘There could still be ghouls and worse in this place, and not a few of his coven fled the battle before it was over. Adolphus Krieger is not the only foe we might have to face, al
though he is doubtless the worst.’
Max glanced around. This had never been the most reassuring place and now, without the troops, with only Ivan Petrovich and the vampire and her minion for company, it was even less so. Every shadow seemed to conceal some hidden threat. Every open doorway was a gaping maw that he expected to spew forth a horde of undead monsters.
What now? Were they going to have to search this whole horrid place to find Krieger or would he come to them? What other nasty surprises did this place hold?
‘No!’ shouted Felix. ‘Don’t!’
For a moment everyone in the chamber froze. Ulrika stood legs flexed, ready to strike. The two Slayers had covered half the distance between them and her.
‘Surely we can settle this sensibly.’ Felix was not sure how, but they had reached an accommodation with the countess – surely they could do so with Ulrika, surely she had not changed that much.
He moved between the dwarfs and the woman and turned arms open wide to beseech Gotrek and Snorri Nosebiter not to attack. ‘Nobody here need die.’
‘That is not true, Felix,’ he heard Ulrika’s voice whisper in his ear, as a very strong arm looped around his neck. He struggled but he was like a mouse caught in the jaws of a cat. Gods, she had become very strong. His feet were off the ground. He found himself being held as a shield between her and the dwarfs.
‘So you’re going to kill me then,’ he said, relaxing completely. He felt resigned to his fate. If he was going to die here, so be it. It was ironic that it would be at the hand of the woman he had come so far to rescue.
Snorri and Gotrek had moved apart, one on either side, flanking Ulrika. One or the other of them was going to get a strike at her, or him, if she chose to interpose his body between herself and the blow.
Suddenly, the world tipped and he was hurtling through the air towards Gotrek. From the corner of his eye, he saw a blurred figure leaping between the two Slayers towards the door. Gotrek leapt to one side to avoid him. Felix hit the flagstones rolling. Pain slammed through his body with the impact. He kept rolling hoping to absorb the impact and slammed into the wall. Stars danced before his eyes.
He pulled himself erect and glanced around to see the two Slayers gazing mournfully out of the door. ‘She was too quick for us,’ said Gotrek. ‘She has got away – for the moment.’
A bewildered expression flickered across his brutal face. He shook his head annoyed and spat on the ground. Felix looked at the Slayer. For a moment there he had been certain that Gotrek was not saddened by Ulrika’s escape and that fact shamed him. Now did not seem a good time to check his observation.
‘What now?’ he asked instead. Snorri shrugged. Gotrek glared at him.
‘The next time we meet her, don’t talk, manling, strike!’ Felix remembered how he had felt in Ulrika’s grasp. He was certain that he had come very close to death. He knew that the Slayer was right. Next time, there would be no attempts to negotiate and no mercy.
Ulrika fled through the vast maze of the keep. She shook from reaction. The thirst was on her now. She was not sure how she had found the willpower to avoid burying her fangs into Felix’s neck and draining him dry.
She stretched her legs and bounded up a flight of stairs, boots soundless on the moth-eaten red carpet. Perhaps it was some residue of the feeling she had once felt for Felix that had saved him. She would have liked to think so but she was not certain. It seemed equally possible that it was a deep buried instinct for survival. If she had allowed herself to be overcome by the thirst just then, she would have given the Slayers a clear shot at her. Many mortals might flinch and flee from the sight of one of the Arisen in full feeding frenzy but she knew that neither Gotrek nor Snorri Nosebiter could be counted among that number. She was certain that allowing the Slayer one clean stroke with that axe of his would have been the end of her, and horrified as she was by her new condition she was not yet ready for the final death. For one thing, she intended to repay Adolphus Krieger for what he had done to her, if it took all eternity.
She might be bound to him now by her need for knowledge and the power of the talisman, but she would find a way to slay him. She knew it had to be possible. After all, if she were cautious, she had all the time in the world, and over the centuries surely anything would eventually become possible.
The question was, what was she to do right now? She needed to avoid her pursuers and find Krieger. Failing that, she ought to get away from here, and then see what happened next. It was not the best of plans, but she could think of no other. For many conflicting reasons, she was not about to stay and fight with Felix and the Slayers.
Why had Krieger not told her they were here? Why did he keep it a secret from her, and what other secrets was he keeping? These were other scores to be settled with him when the time came.
Some instinct told her to head to the right, taking a long corridor into a massive dining room. Why? Could it be the talisman still called to her? Would the call lead her eventually to Krieger? It was possible. She decided to trust the feeling, and follow her instincts. What else was there to do? She raced along the path leading to the throne room.
‘He went this way,’ said the countess. She paused at the junction of two corridors and indicated the one to the left.
‘How can you be so certain?’ Max asked. The walk had left him feeling a little worse. The castle was covered in spells of mazing and warding intended to confuse anyone but the undead and their servants. Using his magesight to overcome them had left him feeling queasy.
‘He is using the talisman to summon all of our kind here. Perhaps he has not thought to cease the summoning. Perhaps it is something he has overlooked.’
Or perhaps, thought Max, he is luring us into yet another trap.
Things could have gone better, thought Krieger. The vanguard of his invincible undead army was gone, defeated by the enemies who still roamed free in his castle. All of his careful preparation had gone for naught.
On the other hand, things could be worse. Ulrika was still free, as he could sense through their bond. And the countess was here. Foolish of her, really, to put herself in his power like this. It meant that potentially he still had two very powerful pawns within the building.
All it would take now would be to arrange matters as he wished, and choose a spot where he would dispatch his enemies. Where better than his throne room? He would gather what were left of his forces in the building and draw matters to their inevitable conclusion there.
‘Ah, Ulrika, I am so glad you could join me,’ said Adolphus Krieger.
Ulrika entered the throne room. It was a hideous place, dominated by a massive ebony throne inlaid with skull motifs. Each of the skulls had rubies for eyes. The walls were covered in tapestries depicting the great triumphs of the wars of the Vampire Counts. The floor was tiled in black and white, save for a mouldering carpet that lay around the base of the regal dais. Adolphus Krieger lounged in the throne. As she had suspected, she had been drawn to him by the power of that evil talisman blazing at his throat.
‘I did not have much choice,’ she said bitterly.
‘True, but that in no way lessens my joy at seeing you.’
‘Why did you not tell me Felix was coming here?’
‘Would it have made any difference? You would still have had to do as I wished.’
‘I wish you had told me anyway.’
‘Why? You sound regretful. Did you kill him?’
‘No.’
‘A pity.’
‘He and Gotrek almost killed me though.’
‘I would have been sorry about that. The Slayer and his cohorts are still alive, then?’
‘When I last saw them they were, very much so.’
‘I suppose they will have to be dealt with too then.’
‘Too?’
‘Your wizard friend also came here with some Kislevites, and a former associate of mine. I think they seek what I now have.’
‘Kislevites?’
‘Your count
rymen, my dear. Led by a fat old man.’
A spasm of fear and guilt passed through Ulrika’s mind. It could only be her father. Of course, if Max and Felix could find her here, he would have come with them. He would ride into the gates of hell themselves to save her. In a way, he had.
‘Are they dead?’
‘Who?’
‘The wizard and the Kislevite leader.’
‘Regrettably both were still alive when I last saw them, but don’t worry, that will soon change. Did you know the old man?’
Ulrika considered for a moment. She could see nothing to be gained by denying the truth. And perhaps if worst came to worst she could see her father’s life spared. ‘He is my father.’
‘Ah… That would explain why he came all this way to find you then. I should have suspected as much.’
‘You are not going to kill him, are you?’
‘That certainly was my intention, my dear. Why? Do you have something else in mind?’
‘Spare him!’
‘Such sentimentality, Ulrika. He is no longer your father. I am. I doubt that he would spare you if he finds you.’
Ulrika had to admit there was truth in that. Ivan Petrovich’s upbringing on the marches of Kislev left him little room for compromise with the powers of darkness, to which she now undoubtedly belonged. He would have come all this way to make sure his only daughter was truly dead, as much as to rescue her. It was the only honourable thing to do, and Ivan Petrovich Straghov was a man of honour. Even so, even if he would kill her, she did not want that to happen to him.
‘Nonetheless, I ask you to spare him.’
Adolphus Krieger leant forward on his throne and stroked his chin with the fingers of his left hand. ‘He came here to try and slay me. I am not inclined to show mercy.’
Overhead, in the shadows of the vault, massive things moved.
Max blasted the last of the animated corpses. It flew apart as if sited atop a keg of exploding gunpowder. The stench of charred flesh filled the air. Max was too used to it by now to feel nauseated. He glanced around and saw that there had been no casualties among his comrades.