Overlords of the Iron Dragon

by C. L. Werner

  It was my magic that conjured these daemons to carry your raiders, Khoram warned. What I have conjured I can easily dispel.

  ‘Only a little more and they are ours,’ Tamuzz insisted. He tried to make Khoram understand, to appreciate how close victory was. The sorcerer made no argument. His answer was the bursting of another daemon beneath the feet of a rider.

  It was the warlord’s turn to cajole and plead. Tamuzz could see the confusion the abrupt dissolution of the daemons had wrought upon his followers. Soon their morale would break and then victory would slip through their fingers. Already he could see the pressure against the duardin faltering, giving them the space they needed to rally. The captain in the wheelhouse had even managed to dispose of the brimstone horrors that plagued him, the imps so diminutive that when they were vanquished there was not sufficient energy left to coalesce into still smaller monstrosities.

  The pleas and entreaties went for naught. Another disc blinked out of existence, sending its rider to his doom.

  The attack has already accomplished its purpose, Khoram declared. Tell your followers to withdraw while you still have any left to command.

  ‘Very well,’ Tamuzz relented. He brought the curled horn to his smoke-wreathed mouth and blew the note that would draw his followers out of the fray. There was a bitter undertone to the call, put there by the foul taste in his mouth. ‘I will not forget this insult,’ he told the sorcerer.

  The cheers of the duardin as the raiders withdrew was like a whip across Tamuzz’s ears. He watched them fire departing shots at the Chaos warband, picking off a few stragglers. Lewd insults and mocking gestures chased after the cult as they fled beyond the range of the Kharadron guns. It was an ignominious display, and one that Tamuzz wouldn’t forgive.

  ‘You will answer for this humiliation,’ Tamuzz vowed. ‘The reckoning will not be quick. It will come later. It will come when you think your victory is assured. Then you will know how it feels to be cheated of your triumph.’

  Tamuzz made no effort to hide his intentions from Khoram. Let him stare into the orb and try to steer things another way. Tamuzz knew that there was one personage who failed to appear directly in the orb’s prophecies, whose fortune could only be interpreted by that of his followers. He was that personage, the one who had been blessed by Mighty Tzeentch to be freed from the weave of doom, to possess the power to guide his own destiny from moment to moment.

  Let the sorcerer ponder that, Tamuzz decided as he directed a last baleful look at the Kharadron ships. Let Khoram try to factor the Fatemaster’s wrath into his arcane calculations. Let the sorcerer try to foresee the exact moment when his usefulness was at its end.

  Chapter VI

  Gathered in the captain’s cabin, the officers of the Iron Dragon paid close attention to the list of damages tabulated by Horgarr and Vorki. Beside each item Horgarr had listed an estimate for how much it would cost to replace or repair, as well as a notation as to whether the repairs were critical or not. Brokrin listened to the catalogue of injury suffered by his ship, mentally adding up the sums involved. More expenses incurred by a voyage that had yet to produce anything of note.

  There were some losses, however, that could not be recovered. As Horgarr reached the end of the list, Brokrin motioned for the endrinmaster to hand it across to him. He coughed to clear his throat, his eyes roving across the final items on the inventory. He looked up from the page and let his gaze sweep across the gathered duardin.

  ‘Into the keeping of their ancestors we entrust the names and honour of fallen comrades.’ He reached out and grabbed the silver chain that hung down from the ceiling beside his chair. The cord connected to the bronze bell mounted to the side of the forecastle. In better moments it was rung to announce the conclusion of a trade or a successful business negotiation. The bell had another role and it was that duty it now performed. ‘We name Ragniff Modrinsnev and claim grudge against the beastkin archer who sent an arrow through his eye.’

  In naming the slain duardin, Brokrin gave the chain a sideways tug. From the deck above a dolorous note sounded, the bell’s clapper muffled by a mourn-cloth so that its tolling was suitably dour. ‘We name Fulgri Gornsson and claim grudge against the propagator of the witchfire that consumed him. We name Ulfirr Hawknose and declare him avenged by Sergeant Drumark Scrapbelly against the daemon-beast that brought him death, may its spirit ever be accursed by the gods.’

  The listening officers took their beards in their left hands and ran their fingers down their length, each duardin whispering a solemn hope that their fallen companions would be welcomed as worthy into the company of their ancestors.

  ‘We were fortunate,’ Brokrin declared when he finished. ‘The Chaos filth must have expected the Dron-Duraz and Grom-Makar to abandon us and make a run for it. When the frigates turned back to help us it scared the scum off. Otherwise the damage could have been much worse.’

  ‘Much worse,’ Horgarr emphasised. The endrinmaster turned a grim gaze across the other officers. ‘The witchfire that was used and those exploding arrows… The marks they left behind are too similar to what we found on the destroyed sky-vessels from Barak-Urbaz to be coincidence.’

  Drumark stepped away from the wall he had been leaning against and gave Horgarr a reproving look. ‘All respect to the grey in your beard,’ he told the endrinmaster, ‘but I can’t believe that rabble could down an entire fleet. They might have been from Barak-Urbaz, but they were still Kharadron.’

  ‘How could they damage the endrins and hulls the way we found those ships?’ Gotramm wondered. ‘Some of them looked like they were almost pulled apart. As though they had run into…’ He stopped himself before he mentioned the name of Ghazul, but not before his meaning was clear to everyone in the cabin.

  ‘They must have had the help of some big beastie,’ Arrik declared, his voice ringing with excitement. ‘When they hit the fleet they must have herded them into the territory of some immense monster. Something big enough to swat a frigate around like it was a songbird.’ He looked over to Brokrin, a hopeful expression in his eyes. ‘That might be what they thought they could do to us. Their beastie might be ­hiding around here somewhere.’

  ‘All the more reason to put the engines at full speed,’ Skaggi demanded. The logisticator gave Arrik a sour look. ‘The expedition’s backers are expecting a return on their investment. I don’t think a trophy for your wall is going to impress them when they have nothing to show for what they have spent.’ He turned towards Brokrin. ‘That list of expenses Horgarr tabulated, even if we ignore the damage that is mostly cosmetic…’

  ‘Yes,’ Brokrin sighed, ‘and to that we can add the wergild for Kero’s son. And restitution to the clans of the crew we’ve lost. I’m well aware of what the chances of making a profit from this voyage have become.’

  Skaggi leered across the table at the seated captain. ‘Then what are you going to do about it? This is pretty much your last chance, you know. If this voyage turns into a fiasco you will have nobody willing to gamble on you again.’ He stamped his foot against the floor. ‘You will have to sell this tub to settle your debts and there isn’t anyone crazy enough to buy a ship with a curse on it. You’ll have to break her up and sell her off as scrap.’

  ‘That is enough of that,’ Mortrimm growled at the logisticator. ‘Anyone can have a run of bad luck. There isn’t an admiral in all the sky-holds who has not had his share of disasters.’

  ‘How many of them had the dragon’s share?’ Skaggi sneered. ‘Speaking of shares, how much do you think we are going to get from this? Enough to buy you a new brace for that gimp leg? Enough to keep Drumark’s brain soaked in booze? Enough to pay for Gotramm’s little rinn?’

  Crimson rushed to Gotramm’s cheeks. He stepped towards Skaggi, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him down in his chair. ‘Mortrimm said that was enough and he was right.’

  Skaggi squirmed in the arkanaut’s grip
. When Gotramm increased the pressure he winced in pain. ‘Go ahead, shut me up. But it doesn’t change the fact that we are all thinking the same thing.’ He pointed at Brokrin. ‘You and this ship have a hoodoo on you and it isn’t fair you expect the rest of us to suffer for it.’

  Brokrin spread his hands on the table and leaned forwards, staring into Skaggi’s eyes. ‘What is your advice?’ He already knew what the logisticator would say but he wanted the others to hear it and know what Skaggi was really after.

  ‘That coffer,’ Skaggi said, tapping his finger against the table. ‘Now, none of us here knows what’s in it.’ He grinned up at Gotramm, as though to imply that perhaps the statement was not exactly true. He shifted his gaze and glanced at the other duardin. ‘We can infer the contents are valuable by how frantic the survivor was about finding it.’

  ‘The box belongs to him,’ Brokrin said. It was the same rebuke he had given Skaggi a dozen times before. He didn’t think it would be any more successful now than it was earlier. ‘We are not pirates. We do not steal from other Kharadron.’

  Skaggi pounced on the statement like a buzzard swooping down on carrion. ‘Ah, but it would not be stealing, cap’n.’ Wearing a smug look, he again tapped his finger on the table for emphasis. ‘There is a clause in the Code that says any duardin not a member of the company who is rescued from conditions in which his continued survival is deemed impossible shall forfeit all claims upon any share in the proceeds of said company.’

  ‘The coffer is his property,’ Gotramm said.

  ‘Is it?’ Skaggi asked. ‘It was not with him when he was brought up from the hold. We’ve only a few disjointed ramblings to connect him with it at all.’

  ‘If not for him, we would not have known it was there at all,’ Gotramm pointed out.

  Skaggi nodded. ‘A point that is not in question,’ he said. ‘What I contest is the assumption that the coffer is his own property and not something that belonged to the Stormbreaker. That is to say, something that belonged to the ship’s company.’

  ‘And therefore falling under the terms of salvage,’ Drumark scratched at his beard. ‘The coin-shaver might have something there. That coffer could be rightful salvage. I am not saying we cut the fellow out completely, but we may have a right to split up whatever is in that box.’

  There was a loud cough from the doorway. All the duardin turned their heads to see Lodri peeking inside. ‘You might want to postpone the rest of this discussion,’ he announced. ‘The fellow in question just woke up.’ He looked at Brokrin. ‘He has been asking to see you, cap’n. Most insistent in fact. Couldn’t quiet him down until I promised to fetch you.’

  Brokrin rose from the table. ‘Well, if he is that insistent, let us not keep him waiting. There are more than a few questions I would like to have answered myself.’

  Grokmund sat at the side of the cot, sipping from the snifter of strong ale the healer Lodri had provided him. His eyes were fixed on the coffer resting across the room from him. He made no move to reach for it, relieved simply to know it was there. When the cabin door opened and Lodri led a party of other duardin into the small room, he bowed his head in respect.

  Lodri gestured to a blond-bearded duardin with a stern look about him. ‘This is Captain Brokrin,’ he said by way of introduction.

  ‘I am told you are the one who found me,’ Grokmund addressed Brok­rin. ‘I’m Grokmund,’ he thumped his hand against his chest. ‘Late of the Stormbreaker.’

  ‘Can you tell us what happened?’ Brokrin asked.

  Grokmund was silent a moment, averting his eyes and staring down at the floor. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Before he tried to speak he took another sip of his ale, letting its warmth flow through him. ‘I cannot say how many days and nights I was trapped alone in the hold. It is a pleasure merely to hear the voices of other duardin.’

  This was something of an understatement. Grokmund savoured each word spoken to him as though listening to an orchestra of the Skald’s Guild. ‘I despaired of ever hearing another Kharadron.’ He shuddered, his fingers tightening about the mug of ale until his knuckles shone white. ‘All I heard while I was down there was the clack of fangs tearing at meat, the crack of bones being splintered, and the bestial growls of ghouls squabbling over their meal.’ Grokmund upended the mug, draining it to the bottom. The warmth of the ale could hardly contend with the chill of his memories.

  ‘I heard them eating my shipmates,’ Grokmund stated, staring into Brokrin’s eyes. ‘That cannibal frenzy was the only thing I had to listen to for night after night.’

  A duardin much younger than Brokrin came forwards and nodded in sympathy to Grokmund. ‘I went down into that hold to recover your box,’ he said. ‘I saw for myself what went on down there. I cannot imagine what it was to endure such an experience.’

  Grokmund managed to smile at the young duardin. ‘To whom am I indebted for rescuing my coffer?’ he asked, setting a protective hand upon the small box.

  ‘His name is Gotramm, mine is Skaggi,’ another of the duardin interrupted, pushing his way past the others to stand directly between Grokmund and his box. ‘This vessel is the Iron Dragon, bound on a trading expedition for Barak-Zilfin.’ He couldn’t quite keep his eyes from straying away from Grokmund to glance at the coffer. ‘We learned of your distress from a tribe of manling nomads who took salvage from your ship.’ A thin smile curled the logisticator’s lips. ‘Looking for you has involved considerable inconvenience for us and jeopardised the profit we planned to reap from the tribes. If other clans should engage the tribes first–’

  Brokrin cut him off abruptly. ‘We can discuss financial inveiglements later,’ he said. ‘For now it is the safety of my own ships that is of the most concern to me.’

  Grokmund thought he saw an almost haunted look enter the captain’s eyes. ‘From what we found, it seemed your fleet was destroyed by some mighty beast.’

  The statement surprised Grokmund. ‘I saw no single great beast, but many lesser ones. The filthy slaves of Chaos in all their loathsome shapes.’ He extended his empty mug, prompting Lodri to refill it with ale. Taking a gulp, he sat back and tried to gather his thoughts. ‘They seemed to come at us from everywhere at once. No warning. Some witchery must have hidden them from our lookouts until they were ready to attack.’ He slapped one hand against his head as though trying to shake the confusion from his thoughts.

  ‘Some were manlings… Evil-looking men wearing crazy masks. Others were horned brutes with the faces of bird and beast.’ Grokmund shook his head. ‘There… there were things with them. Infernal things that flew through the air like fish swimming in the sea. There was fire… but not from any clean flame. Daemon fire, and they used it to burn our fleet.’ Grokmund leaned forwards, recalling a detail he had failed to relate. ‘They rode on those things. Great fleshy shields with mouths underneath them. They skipped through the clouds like stones across a pond.’

  ‘Those sound like the raiders who attacked us,’ Gotramm said to Brokrin.

  Grokmund gave the young duardin a sharp look. ‘These were led by a misshapen human with some kind of feathery goitre bulging out of his neck. It was… it was him who sent me crashing down into the hold.’ Again, Grokmund slapped the side of his head. ‘I… I don’t remember how, I only know I was going to help Admiral Thorki fight one of their champions when this one came at me…’

  ‘You didn’t see the end of the fight?’ a grizzled duardin with the look of a harpooner asked. ‘Then you have no way of knowing what it was that finished off your ship. The marks we found on the Stormbreaker, indeed on many of the wrecks, indicated some immense beast.’

  ‘I saw no such colossus,’ Grokmund said. ‘That much I can say for certain. If such a monster attacked, it did so when I was in the hold. Whether it was in league with the Chaos scum or something that chased them off to claim their prey for its own, I cannot say.’

 
Skaggi set his hand on the top of the coffer. ‘Do you have any idea why these raiders targeted your fleet?’ he asked, insinuation in his tone. ‘Some treasure they learned of and coveted for themselves?’

  Grokmund gave the logisticator a hard look, then glanced at the other duardin. The confusion of his recollections gave way to anger. ‘So that is why you rescued me. Looking to put some treasure in your holds?’ A disgusted laugh bubbled up from his throat. ‘“There is no charity in a thin purse”,’ he bitterly recited an old parable.

  ‘If we were so miserly, we would have left you on the wreck,’ Gotramm said. ‘We would have cracked open that coffer without waiting to see if you’d recover.’

  ‘But as you say,’ Skaggi inserted, ‘a thin purse can’t afford charity.’ He turned towards Brokrin. ‘Isn’t that right, cap’n?’

  Brokrin shook his head. ‘The spirit of the Code is as valuable as the letter of it,’ he stated. ‘I will not scavenge off your misfortune, Grokmund, however legal such a claim might be.’

  ‘The box may not even be his,’ Skaggi said. He glared at Grokmund. ‘Who does that coffer belong to? Is it your property or does it belong to your ship?’ He tapped his finger against the lid. ‘What is inside here that is so valuable you sent one of your rescuers back into a ghoul-haunted hole to recover it?’

  Grokmund’s ire mounted with each word Skaggi thrust at him. He shifted his grip on the mug, ready to break the logisticator’s nose if he kept pressing. ‘It is mine,’ he said. ‘Admiral Thorki put it in my keeping. What is inside it is also mine.’

  Skaggi drew back, holding a hand towards Gotramm. ‘You feel no debt to those who saved you? No inclination to share your good fortune with those who risked their lives to find it?’

  The logisticator’s words were still hostile, but the track he laid down with them was such that it gave Grokmund pause. He slumped back, feeling a sense of shame. ‘I… I do owe you something,’ he said. ‘Let me think. Give me some time.’