by Dan Abnett
The highborn took another drink and turned his face to the sky. “Well, at least the sun is shining.”
“I know. That’s what worries me the most,” the general said.
“And how is that, my lord?” Malus asked.
“Because up until now your sister has put a great deal of effort into keeping the city locked in darkness. According to Morathi, the cost of such effort is considerable, especially in the face of opposition from her and the city’s convent.”
“Morathi has been fighting against Nagaira? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Did you imagine all that lightning was your sister’s doing?” Nuarc asked. “It doesn’t make much sense when one is spending all that energy to keep things dark, now does it?”
“No, I suppose not,” Malus replied peevishly.
“So there you are. She pits her strength against Morathi and the witches for three days—and now this.” Nuarc raised his head slightly, almost as though he were sniffing the air. “Something’s up, boy. She’s changing tactics.”
That was when they heard the sound. Malus had no words for it; it was a horrible, wailing, tearing noise that seemed to reverberate through the air and yet not be a part of it. One thing Malus was certain of- it came from the direction of Nagaira’s tent.
Tz’arkan reacted immediately, its daemonic energies rippling along Malus’ skin. Your sister’s gifts are potent indeed, it hissed. She has opened a great doorway between the worlds.
“Between the worlds?” Malus muttered. Then he understood. “Chaos,” he said to Nuarc. “Nagaira is calling upon the storms of Chaos. She’s summoning monsters to send against the walls!”
At that same moment the alarm horns howled from the redoubts. The mercenaries were awake at once, scrambling warily to their feet. “We need crossbow bolts,” the highborn said. “Quickly!”
The old general nodded. “I’ll see to it,” he said, and hurried back to the nearby redoubt.
Malus drew his swords. “Stand to, you wolves!” he called to the cutthroats. The bastards are going to try their luck again!”
Hauclir came striding swiftly down the line, barking commands to his men. “What’s going on now?” he asked, his sword and cudgel ready.
The highborn gave him a bleak look. “Remember the Isle of Morhaut?”
“Oh, damnation,” Hauclir said, his face turning pale.
At the far end of the line the redoubt door opened and a pair of soldiers were all but hurled out onto the parapet by Nuarc, each one carrying a barrel full of crossbow bolts. “Load the crossbows! Quickly now!” Malus yelled. “We haven’t much time.”
And indeed, he was right. No sooner had he spoken than he heard the heavy bang of the redoubt’s bolt throwers, and something not of the mortal world screamed and gibbered just out of sight around the redoubt’s sloping flank. Everyone on the parapet turned in the direction of the sound, their faces full of dread.
Chapter Seventeen
MOVE AND COUNTERMOVE
The slithering thing that lurched into view from around the corner of the redoubt was a hideous knot of roiling muscle and misshapen bone as large as a nauglir. Mouths that were little more than muscular tubes lined with dagger-like teeth writhed and gaped like serpents above the fleshy mass, and great, scythe-bladed arms lashed and stabbed at the air, reaching madly for prey. The abomination had been pierced by a bolt from one of the redoubt’s bolt throwers, and its body was wreathed in seething green sorcerous flame. It lurched a few more steps towards the wall, shrieking an agonizing, lunatic wail, then collapsed into a shrivelling, burning mass.
The cutthroats’ cheer of relief was short-lived however, as it became clear the otherworldly creature was far from alone.
A huge pack of smaller creatures came racing around the end of the redoubt, loping, slithering, bounding and scuttling with hideous, predatory grace. They flowed past the burning Chaos creature and charged straight for the fortress wall, throwing back their bald heads and screeching hungrily at the defenders above. Behind them lurched three more of the larger, more powerful monstrosities, bellowing angrily as they dragged their bulk across the ashen ground.
Hard-bitten cutthroats screamed like frightened children as the seething pack of Chaos beasts reached the wall and began to scuttle up its sheer height like spiders. “Stand to, you dogs!” Malus roared. “Crossbows! Don’t just stand there! Open fire!”
Galvanized by the steely tone in Malus’ voice the handful of crossbowmen stepped to the battlements and leaned over the edge and fired at the monsters rushing up the fortress wall. Two bolts struck home, dislodging a pair of the screeching fiends and sending them plummeting to the ground, where they struck hard and curled in upon themselves like dead insects. Reassured by the knowledge that the monsters could die like any other living thing, the mercenaries regained some of their lost courage and readied their weapons as the beasts drew nearer.
The heavy bolt throwers in the redoubt banged once more, and twin streaks of green fire plunged down at the shambling behemoths still crawling towards the wall. One of the dragon’s fire bolts missed, splashing a pool of searing fire along the ground, but the other struck home. The blazing monster continued to shamble forwards even as it died, its wails adding to the cacophony of noise assaulting the defenders’ senses.
More war horns blared, and cries of battle echoed all across the northern quadrant of the fortress. Cursing under his breath, Malus dashed to the inner edge of the parapet and leaned out as far as he dared, peering at the section of wall on the other side of the redoubt to his right. The next wall over was the scene of a desperate battle as the spearmen there grappled with a furious pack of Chaos beasts. On the other side of these spearmen lay the north gatehouse. Malus had no doubt that was where the monsters would go. If the gatehouse fell then the whole outer wall was lost.
Screeching and roaring, the first of the Chaos beasts came scrambling over the battlements and threw themselves at the waiting mercenaries. A druchii went down with a multi-legged monster wrapped around his torso, his sword driven clean through the beast’s midsection. Another creature crouched on the battlements and lashed at two of the cutthroats with whip-like tentacles lined with tiny, fanged mouths. Malus saw Hauclir block a lunging beast’s charge with his heavy cudgel and hack the thing open with his short sword. Ten-thumbs levelled his crossbow and shot another point-blank, the heavy bolt punching clean through the monster’s body. Another mercenary shrieked in agony as a monster drove its blade-like forelegs into his eyes.
More and more of the creatures were swarming over the wall every moment. Blood and ichor stained the parapet in equal measure. Malus saw Nuarc standing by the redoubt’s open door, slicing a charging monster neatly in half with his rune-marked sword. “We need reinforcements!” the highborn yelled over the din. “We can’t keep this up for long!”
But Nuarc shook his head. “They’ll never get here in time,” he cried, rushing forward and stabbing another beast that had fastened onto a mercenary’s throat. “We hold the wall with what we have or not at all!”
Damn those fools in the citadel, Malus thought! Their petty intrigues were doing Nagaira’s work for her.
Just then a fierce wind rushed over the top of the redoubt and buffeted Malus’ face. He smelled brimstone and old blood, and heard a vast rushing of wings. Instinct spurred Malus into motion even before the wave of flapping figures burst overhead. “Get down!” he yelled at Nuarc, crashing into the older druchii and driving him back against the redoubt wall just as a swarm of winged monsters came roaring down the length of the parapet. The creatures lashed at the struggling druchii with their long, saw-bladed tails; a few snatched up unsuspecting mercenaries in their talons and flung them screaming from the wall. Under assault now from two sides, the defender’s courage began to waver, and they started to give ground to the snarling beasts.
Malus pushed away from Nuarc with an angry snarl. “Not another step back!” he roared at his men. “You can stand and fight or run an
d die! Kill these bastards before they kill you!” To the terrified crossbowmen he yelled, “Shoot those damned flying beasts out of the air!”
Once again the defenders redoubled their efforts under the lash of Darkblade’s tongue, but Malus knew that he couldn’t keep things going for long. Another major reversal and the battle could turn into a rout.
A long, lean shape with six legs and a gaping, tooth-lined orifice in place of a head clawed its way up the body of the mercenary nearest Malus and then launched itself at the highborn. Roaring an oath, he caught the monstrosity on the point of his blade and threw it screaming over the battlements. The winged creatures came rushing in again, but this time several tumbled from the sky with crossbow bolts buried in their pale bodies. Malus sliced off another’s wing as it shot past, sending it careening full-tilt into the side of the redoubt. Another of the mercenaries was plucked from the parapet, but this time both druchii and monster went tumbling to the ground with the cutthroat’s dagger buried in the creature’s chest.
Malus sensed that the tide of battle was starting to turn in the defenders’ favour. No more of the swift creatures were appearing over the battlements, at least, and the mercenaries were rallying themselves and ganging up on the monsters that remained.
Then he heard the wailing cry from the other side of the wall and his heart lurched in his chest. He’d forgotten about the two behemoths.
Malus dashed to the battlements and peered over -then ducked his head back just as quickly. One of the monsters was almost within arm’s reach, trailing a slick of yellow slime as it slithered its way up the wall. The second creature had flattened against the wall of the redoubt to avoid the punishing fire of the bolt throwers and was nearly to the top of the wall as well. Malus pounded on the edge of the battlements in frustration. He couldn’t imagine anything less than a dragon’s fire bolt being able to destroy the huge creatures.
His gaze drifted to the open redoubt door. Maybe he didn’t need the bolt throwers at all.
Malus dashed inside the redoubt. The two sentries who normally stood watch at the door had evidently fled, or perhaps been killed out on the parapet when the Chaos beasts first attacked. He ran down the long corridor for another few yards, until he came to a water barrel holding a pair of the long, glass-tipped dragon’s breath bolts. He pulled the long, spear-like bolts from the water, taking great care not to knock them together, then turned and hurried back the way he came.
Nuarc was waiting for him just as he emerged from the doorway. The general recoiled from the highborn with a startled hiss. “What in the name of the Murderer are you doing with those!” he exclaimed.
“Taking care of some pests,” Malus replied, just as the first of the behemoths appeared at the edge of the battlements with a wailing roar.
“Get back!” Malus yelled at the mercenaries nearby -who were already falling over one another trying to escape the monster’s thrashing limbs. Then he hefted one of the long bolts like a javelin, took two quick steps and hurled it at the monster’s side.
The bolt wobbled in the air as it flew the short distance to the target. Faster than Malus thought possible, the beast saw the projectile coming and smashed it out of the air with the sweep of a scythe-like arm, breaking the glass globe at the bolt’s tip and showering itself with liquid flame. Shrieking and flailing in agony, the monster sizzled like fat dropped in a fire, then fell away from the battlements and tumbled like a comet to the ground.
Even as the first monster was plummeting to earth Malus took up his second bolt and peered cautiously over the battlements. Instantly a pair of scythe-arms lashed at him, missing his face by scant inches. The behemoth was only perhaps a dozen feet below, clashing its multiple jaws and undulating inexorably upwards. With a cruel grin the highborn held his ground and took deliberate aim. All he really had to do was drop the bolt onto the creature, and within moments it too was burning in a greasy heap at the base of the wall.
The last of the smaller Chaos beasts took another of the mercenaries with it when it died—farther down the wall one of the druchii fell from the battlements with a scream, still stabbing at the beast that was burrowing its way into his chest. Malus watched beast and victim fall to their deaths and said a silent thanks to the Dark Mother that it was the last of them.
Leaning against the battlements, Malus took in the scene of carnage that stretched the entire length of the long wall before him. Bodies and pieces of bodies lay strewn everywhere, amid puddles of congealing blood and stinking ichor. The mercenaries were pulling their wounded comrades to their feet, but there were too few of them. Not three minutes ago there had been sixty-five mercenaries fighting alongside him, and now he was hard-pressed to count more than thirty that were still breathing. He scanned the battered cutthroats for a glimpse of Hauclir, and found the former guard captain at the far end of the line, working hard to get the mercenaries ready in case of another attack.
Nuarc stood just a few feet away with his back to the redoubt wall, wiping dark fluid from the length of his blade with a coarse piece of cloth. “A near run thing,” the general said, That was an inspired piece of lunacy, fetching those dragon’s breath bolts. Never seen that done before.”
Malus grinned tiredly and was about to reply when a warhorn wailed a shrill, insistent note from the gatehouse. Nuarc stiffened, and Malus saw the briefest flicker of fear in his dark eyes. “What is it?” he asked.
Cursing under his breath, Nuarc dropped his cleaning cloth and dashed a few yards down the wall. Malus joined him, following the warlord’s gaze to the scene of slaughter unfolding along the neighbouring wall.
Chaos beasts were swarming over the battlements in a glistening flood, racing over the torn corpses of the defenders and pouring down the long ramps into the city beyond. At the far end of the wall where it met the gatehouse, two of the huge Chaos monsters were hammering and prying at the iron door leading into the gatehouse proper.
Behind the monsters, bloodstained swords in hand, stood Nagaira’s Chaos champion.
The armoured figure was surrounded by lesser Chaos beasts, which circled his heels like hunting hounds. Worse still, more than a dozen armoured Chaos warriors stood ready on the battlements behind the champion, waiting for the door to come down. As Malus watched, a half-dozen of the winged nightmares flapped heavily up from the base of the wall, each one clutching another armoured warrior in its talons.
Malus’ heart sank. The attack on their wall had just been a feint, aimed at keeping them occupied so that they couldn’t come to the gatehouse’s defence. They’d outsmarted him again! “Hauclir!” he barked. “Form up your wolves! Now! We’ve got to get to the gatehouse—”
“There’s no damn time,” Nuarc said, his voice tight with anger. Your men are spent and the enemy has a secure foothold. You’d be pulled apart before you even got close to the gatehouse.”
“I can get more of the dragon’s breath—”
“And do what? Throw it at the enemy and then advance into the flames? Use some sense, boy!” Nuarc snapped. “Remember what I said about the inner wall being easier to defend? We have to fall back now, before those bastards get the outer gate open, or we’ll never make it at all. Come on!”
Without waiting for a reply, Nuarc broke away and hurried down the length of the wall, calling for the mercenaries to follow. The harbour rats, already at the limits of their endurance, were all too eager to escape. Malus took a moment to glare hatefully at the enemy champion, who wore the one thing the highborn needed to reclaim his soul and seemed capable of thwarting him at every turn.
As he glared at the armoured fiend, the champion straightened, and as though he were able to read the highborn’s thoughts, the helmeted head turned and looked his way.
Malus raised his sword and levelled it at the champion. “This isn’t over yet,” he said to the baleful warrior, then he swallowed his bitter fury and turned to follow quickly in Nuarc’s wake.
“First he costs us ten thousand men, and now he’s cost u
s the fortress’ outer wall!” Isilvar shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Malus. “I tell you, he’s in league with Nagaira, somehow. How else can one explain such incompetence?”
The vaulkhar and the three drachau were seated in high-backed chairs with velvet cushions, in a lesser audience chamber than the grand court chamber at the base of the Black Tower. A large, marble topped table before them was set with the remains of a sumptuous lunch, now all but forgotten in the wake of the day’s disaster. Lord Myrchas studied Malus coldly, rolling a Tilean grape between his pale fingers. The Witch Lord, Balneth Bale, made a show of studying the parchment map of the inner fortress laid out on the table, but how much of it he could see amid the platters, goblets and bits of food was open to discussion. Lord Jhedir of Clar Karond chuckled at Isilvar’s tirade and took another sip of wine.
Sitting in the shadows behind the four lords sat Malekith himself, fingers steepled and red light seeping from the oculars of his horned helm. The Witch King hadn’t said a single word since Malus had been called to make his report. The highborn stood defiantly beyond the end of the long table, with Nuarc standing close behind him. Retainers and servants shuffled quietly about the room’s perimeter; on the north end of the chamber stood a high, arched entryway that opened onto a narrow balcony which looked down over the inner wall and the city beyond. Hauclir stood by the open archway, idly cleaning his nails with a small knife and dividing his attention between events without and within.
“I wasn’t aware that I’d been placed in personal command of the outer wall defences,” Malus hissed. Unlike the richly attired nobles, he’d come to the audience chamber after finding a place in the citadel for the surviving mercenaries. He was still clothed primarily in steel, blood and black ichor. “Perhaps that explains why no one along the outer wall had the faintest idea what was happening, nor were they given any leadership or direction once the north gate fell. It would certainly explain why my section of the wall received no food, ammunition or medical orderlies in the entire two days I and my men stood guard there. Why, if only I’d known, dear brother. Perhaps I could have saved the wall and the Dark Mother only knows how many of our men!”