He heard their excited voices and gruff laughter as they congratulated one another. What they said was completely meaningless, until he suddenly recognized a word, and then another. They were speaking in their own tongue, which was why he had not comprehended at first. But he had once understood some Dwarvish, he remembered — or almost remembered.
“Is it not exactly as I predicted?” said another voice.
This he understood completely. It was a human voice, using the language that had once been his own, but he was unable to see who was talking.
“All my contemporaries refuse to move away from their libraries, to get out into the real world. They are content to repeat what has been done for centuries. Where is the future in that? Ha! The future! They are the past, this is the future. I am the future!”
The speaker finally stepped slowly into view. It was the armoured figure.
“Help me off with this ridiculous outfit,” he ordered, and two of the dwarfs assisted with the removal of his silver armour.
The outfit was far too large for the man and had magnified his height considerably. He could have been no more than average size, yet seemed much taller in the company of the four dwarfs. His hair was black, streaked with silver, and hung almost to his waist; his beard was equally as long.
The dwarfs were also bearded and long-haired, although their colours were ginger and red instead of grey and black. They seemed like squashed versions of the human. Their bodies were stocky, their limbs thick and short, their fingers were stubby, their noses flattened and eyes deep-set. They wore thick garments crisscrossed by belts and straps from which hung their weapons and tools.
Their human leader gazed down at the fallen knight, and all the rider could do was stare helplessly up. He wished his own armour could be shed as easily. The bronze held him trapped. He was locked in the smallest possible prison, one exactly the size of his body, and he still could not move even a fraction of an inch.
“Now let me see what is inside here,” the human said, and he turned towards the fallen horse.
“You sure this is safe, boss?” asked one of the dwarfs.
“Safe? What is safe? You want to be safe, you get another job. Everything is a risk, and so we must risk everything.”
“We’ve come this far, Ustnar,” said one of the other dwarfs. “There’s no going back now.”
“Yeah,” agreed a third. “What’s one more bit of warpstone to us?” He laughed and moved closer to the armoured horse, pulling his heavy gloves on even more securely and reaching for the crowbar that hung from his belt.
The fourth produced a hammer and chisel and also walked up to the fallen beast. They began to work on the bronze, prising apart the armour plates. The other two joined them, hacking and probing at the metal.
All the rider could do was watch as the bronze was slowly lifted away from the animal. He could not see too clearly at first, because the dwarfs obstructed his view. Finally they moved aside, and he gazed at what he had been riding.
It was a skeleton. There was nothing left of the horse except its whitened bones. Exposed to the sunlight, the skeleton crumbled in under a minute, the bones turning to dust.
“How long till that happens to us, boss?” asked the one called Ustnar.
“The sooner it happens to you,” said another of the dwarfs, “the better!”
Ustnar raised his hammer angrily, then vented his rage by kicking at the remains of the bones. A cloud of white dust flew up from his boot.
“That’s how we’ll all end up, I suppose,” he said. “It’s just that I’m in no particular hurry.”
“The rider will be the same,” said the human. “Get the armour off the bones, collect all my apparatus, then we can load everything into the wagon and be away from here.”
One of the dwarfs came towards him, knelt down and inserted the end of a chisel beneath the edge of the helmet. That was exactly the way to kill an armoured knight, he remembered; he had done it so often. A chisel or a dagger, the effect would be the same. He would die.
Again, he tried to move, tried to speak, tried to make some signal that he was still alive, captured within the bronze. But what difference would that make? Even if they knew he was alive, they would kill him.
The dwarf raised the hammer to strike — then paused. He lowered the tool and leaned close to the visor, his eyes meeting those within the helmet. He frowned, removed the chisel. “Hey boss, I think you should take a look.”
“At what?”
“I think he’s still alive in here. I can see his eyes.”
Another head leaned down, that of the human. He was as thickly bearded as the dwarfs, but his nose was aquiline instead of flared. His pale eyes studied those below.
“I think you may be correct,” he said, after a few seconds.
“Let’s see.”
The burly figure of Ustnar shouldered the other dwarf away, and he stared down.
“I can’t see anything.”
“Eyes,” said the human. “There are eyes. If you can understand me, close your eyes.”
He shut his eyes.
“Open them.”
He did so.
“That proves nothing,” said Ustnar. “Whatever is in there, it isn’t alive. It’s a Chaos creature. We should destroy it.”
“It cannot do any harm at present,” said the human. “I wonder if I can get it out of there?”
“No, boss! We’ve got to play safe. Whatever it is, kill it!”
Ustnar raised his hammer over the helmet, but the human pushed him away and continued looking into the visor.
“This is interesting,” he said, as if to himself, “very interesting. Yes, I think I shall take this specimen back with us.” He smiled with satisfaction, although it was almost hidden behind his thick beard. “What a challenge! Put it in the wagon.”
“Boss!” protested Ustnar.
“Do it!”
“Won’t the suit dissolve him before we get back to Middenheim?” asked the dwarf who had first seen the imprisoned eyes.
“I do not think so. It is inert now. Whatever the circumstances of that unfortunate within, they will not deteriorate before we return. Unless, of course, he dies before then.”
“We can’t go taking Chaos infection back to Middenheim,” Ustnar protested.
“Why not?”
“Er… we’ll be caught. We’ll never get past the watch.”
“Ustnar, we both know that you dwarfs can get in and out of the city any time you wish. If you won’t reveal your secret tunnels to me, then at least you can take my new specimen in with you.”
“It’s the carnival next week, boss,” the other dwarf said, quickly.
“What is that to do with anything?” said the human.
“The festival is in the autumn this year, boss. Only a few days away. Thousands of people will be arriving. We can easy smuggle this thing in amongst the crowds, could pretend he’s already dressed for the masquerade if we want.”
The human nodded thoughtfully, then with more emphasis as he came to a decision. “Fetch the wagon. Dismantle all my equipment.” He leaned down and stared in through the visor, his eyes only an inch from the metal. “You blinked a minute ago, although that may have been of no significance. It is my intention, however, to try and get you out of there. This not through any altruism on my part, I assure you. I have my own motives for what I plan to do. Do you understand?”
He closed his eyes, then opened them again.
He was still a prisoner within the bronze armour; that much had not changed. For several days and nights he lay at the bottom of a wagon, completely unable to move — and he was in pain.
This was not the kind of pain he had endured for so long, an awareness of being hurt, of being subtly devoured by the armour that enveloped him. The bronze may have become lifeless metal, but now he was in torment, real agony. His skin burned wherever it was in contact with the armour, which was everywhere. He was in total contact, totally aflame. There was no
release from the torture, because the armour still held him absolutely immobile, unable to move a muscle, unable even to scream.
There was no cessation, even for sleep. He never slept; his punishment would not permit it. Nor was there any hope of final oblivion, because his captors seemed determined to keep him alive. He was still trapped within the same prison, although he had exchanged one jailer for another — and the result was infinitely worse.
He burned forever in eternal, infernal pain.
While he burned within the armour, he shivered and trembled. It was the only movement he could make.
There was the light, the darkness, the days, the nights, the times when the wagon was moving and the times when it was not.
There were the voices of the human and the dwarfs. He tried to concentrate on what was said in order to maintain his sanity, but he was soon distracted by the agony which was his entire being.
After a century, they pulled him upright and sat him at the front of the wagon, next to the dwarf who had first noticed his eyes. Two of the others laughed and joked as they bent his hips and knees to make him sit upright; one did not.
“This isn’t going to work, boss.”
“Ignore him,” the dwarf by his side said. “He’s only happy when he’s complaining. Give him a purse of gold, a tankard of ale, a beautiful maiden, and Ustnar’s the most miserable bastard this side of the World’s Edge Mountains!”
He and the dwarf rode in the wagon, the other four were on horseback. For the past aeons, all he had seen was the sky. Now he was sitting up for the last part of the journey to Middenheim.
Ahead, he saw the towering pinnacle of rock upon which the second largest city of the Empire had been built — and he wondered how he knew it was the second largest city, how he knew about the Empire. A lifetime ago someone had spoken to him about Middenheim, he recalled, someone who had visited the city of the white wolf. Wolf? That seemed familiar, but what wolf…?
The peak loomed high above the surrounding forests, and even through the tears which forever burned his eyes he could make out distant buildings carved from the hostile rock. Far ahead, the road twisted and turned as it wound its way up to the looming city, borne upon a series of stone bridges, an elaborate viaduct.
“We built that,” said the dwarf. “Well, not us exactly. Our ancestors. My ancestors. Couldn’t get any humans to construct anything that would last as long as that, huh? The humans reckon they found this place; but they would, wouldn’t they? The mountain was called Fauschlag — ‘Fist-strike’ — although of course we had our own name for the pinnacle. I’m not boring you, am I? Just tell me to shut up if you want.” He turned his head and grinned, then his smile turned to a frown.
“I hope Litzenreich knows what he’s doing,” he continued, his voice low. “Or else we’ll all be in the shit. And not just us, I suppose. I wish I hadn’t mentioned the carnival, but I suppose he’d have persuaded us to get you into the city another way You know about the Middenheim carnival? You must do, everyone in the world knows about the carnival!”
“Can’t you ever stop talking, Varsung?” said Ustnar. “If he isn’t already dead in there, you’ll talk him to death.”
“It’s nice to have a civilized conversation with someone who doesn’t keep complaining.”
Ustnar returned to the rear of the wagon, where the other dwarfs rode. The human called Litzenreich led the way, while Varsung drove the vehicle and kept on talking to the silent armoured figure by his side.
The two horses pulled the wagon up the long winding viaduct towards the city. There was plenty of traffic on the road, wagons and coaches, people on horseback, far more on foot, and their pace slowed and finally halted as they neared the gates. Ahead, guards checked everyone who wished to gain admittance to Middenheim.
Finally, Litzenreich reached the head of the queue. Varsung halted the wagon behind him, in the shadow of the high city walls. There were two guards. One was waving traffic out through the massive gates. The other cast his eye idly over the wagon, stared at the armoured figure sitting by the driver, then glanced at the riders surrounding the vehicle.
“Where you all from?” he asked.
“Middenheim. I am Litzenreich. These fellows are in my employ.”
The guard nodded. “I recognize all of you,” he said. “Except him in the fancy suit. Who’s in there? Why’s he hiding away?”
“Who?” asked Litzenreich.
“Him. The one in armour.”
“There is no one in armour. Only you.”
The guard looked puzzled. He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them, shook his head rapidly, and stared at the bronze figure. “I’ve been on duty too long,” he muttered. He gestured for the group to proceed, and they entered the city of the white wolf.
“Nice one, boss,” remarked Varsung.
“It was nothing,” said the human. “I hope that no one from the guild sees what we have here. Pull in as soon as you can find a quiet alley, and then we can hide my guest.”
“Home at last,” Ustnar said. “I’ll be glad to get off this bloody horse. Never thought we’d make it.”
“You never do,” Varsung replied. “I sometimes think you’d be happier if we didn’t get back.”
“Watch it, you little—”
“Little! Who’s talking, shorty?”
“Stop arguing,” commanded Litzenreich. “We all have work to do. This is only the beginning.”
The wagon turned into a narrow entrance and halted. The prisoner within the armour felt himself being moved to the back of the vehicle, then everything became dark. The wagon began to move again, its iron-rimmed wheels rattling over the cobbles.
After a period of time, all motion ceased. He was picked up and carried out from the vehicle. It stayed dark; he remained completely covered, masked from the view of the people of Middenheim.
He heard boots on steps, much cursing and arguing, doors being opened, then shut, the echoing of footsteps along narrow passages and stairways, more doors opening and closing, and finally there was stillness again. Stillness and then light, narrow bands of illumination shining in through the helmet. He was lying on his back, staring at a distant dirty ceiling.
He was still afire, had not yet been totally consumed by the flames which seemed to engulf his entire being; and he was still trembling, frozen by the ice which held him in its merciless grip.
A face loomed above him, that of Litzenreich. He peered in through the visor.
“Blink your eyes.”
He did so. That was almost the only movement he could make, opening and closing his eyelids; that and moving his eyes to either side.
“Anything, boss?”
“I cannot tell. It is too dark. Pass me a lantern and a mirror.”
Bright light was reflected within, and he blinked, and kept on blinking to let the man know he was still there, still alive, still a prisoner. He thought he saw his own eyes gazing back at him from the mirror, and that almost reminded him of something. He tried to grasp the memory, but it was too elusive and was gone.
“Yes. He is in there.”
“It, boss, that’s what you mean.” Ustnar leaned over the helmet. “And if we do get it out of there, then what? We’ll only have to kill it. Might as well do that now, boss, save us all a lot of trouble later.”
“This is going to take a lot of warpstone,” said Litzenreich, ignoring the dwarf. They both moved out of sight. “I will need all the stuff we brought back with us.”
“All of it, boss?”
“Don’t worry, Ustnar,” said Varsung. “We can always get more from our regular suppliers.”
The other dwarfs laughed, but Ustnar did not.
“To work,” ordered Litzenreich. “To work!”
He heard the human and the four dwarfs moving around the chamber, heard the sound of metal being sharpened, smelled the charcoal as a fire was lit, listened as they spoke in lower voices, as though afraid of being overheard. He tried hard to concentrate on ever
ything that was happening, to draw his attention away from the eternal agonies which tore him apart.
Some of his senses were still active, he realized, as the time slowly passed by. He had not considered this until now. He could see and hear and smell. The suit of armour had not been able to destroy him totally. And he could think.
A few words were spoken in the Dwarven language, and he wondered why he understood the words. He had known dwarfs in the past, one in particular. But who? What was so significant about mirrors?
He had almost seen himself reflected in the glass held above the visor.
Himself?
“As I said previously, I intend to free you from the Chaos armour in which you are trapped,” Litzenreich told him, gazing down.
Chaos? Another word which seemed familiar, yet whose meaning he could not begin to comprehend.
“If there were any way that I could administer some kind of soporific in order to ease your inevitable torment, then I would. But that seems impossible. I should warn you that this experiment will hurt you more than it hurts me.” He smiled and then leaned away. “Let us proceed.”
A strange odour had been assailing his nostrils, a smell that he did not recognize. He saw shadows on the ceiling, the outlines of the occupants in the room as they moved around him. He heard scraping sounds as something was dragged close to where he lay, and the illumination seemed to decrease slightly. He had been enclosed in some way, but it was beyond the limit of his restricted vision.
There was more noise, and he saw a huge metal device being lowered towards him from the arched roof. It appeared to be some kind of insect, made of metal. It was held by a series of chains and ropes, and various levers jutted out from its lower edges. They looked like metallic claws, and they came to rest a few inches above him.
The dwarfs began inserting a series of rods into the side of the strange device, and with these they were able to make the artificial claws move: the levers bending like arms, the claws opening and closing like fingers. The thing was like a spider, eight-legged, suspended in a web of chains.
When everything appeared to be working to their satisfaction, there was a rattling of chains and the steel spider glided to one side and vanished.
[Konrad 02] - Shadowbreed Page 10