by Andy Hoare
Seeing that it was unlikely that any of his companions would be able to help him, Khargrim braced himself for a second attack run as the terradon banked, swept its wings back and ploughed through the air directly towards him.
But before it had travelled far, a shout of victory rang from far above as the blond-haired thrall pulled himself to his full height at the lip of the crater. Glancing contemptuously down at the rest of the party, the man spat a colourful Sarl curse and turned his back on them, abandoning his companions to the terradon’s mercy.
But before he could travel a step further, the man froze. A bloodcurdling shriek of primal fear split the air and he turned back towards the crater, his face a mask of utter horror. A dark shape appeared behind him and in the blink of an eye another terradon had swept in from behind and plucked the man from his perch between its jaws before plunging into the air above the crater.
Consigning the man to his deserved fate, Khargrim prepared himself for his own, only to see that the first terradon had changed course and was sweeping upwards to meet the newcomer, the thrall struggling in terror as the razor-sharp beak gripped his body with its vicelike grip.
The first terradon unleashed a fearsome cry as it closed with the other, and Khargrim saw that the second must have been a wild beast, for it was without both rider and saddle. It was immediately evident that the two beasts had regressed to their primal modes of behaviour, and with a wave of horror Khargrim saw what would happen next.
Deciding not to witness the thrall’s grisly demise, Khargrim bellowed for his companions to climb as quickly as they could while their attackers were distracted, and in seconds he was hauling himself upwards once more, Ghurni close behind.
As Khargrim and his companions climbed, the two terradons swooped, banked and wheeled in a lethal aerial dance that could only end in the death of one of the pair, the Sarl warrior screaming in pain and anger the entire time. The dance went on for long minutes, and as Khargrim finally dragged himself over the lip of the crater to roll onto the solid ground, he found Verdandi nearby, her Graeling sea bow tracking the duel as it swept across the skies.
Propping himself up on his elbows, Khargrim saw that the two creatures were approaching the inevitable end of their combat, and that the first was diving in upon the second, its claws outstretched to grab the flailing thrall from the other’s jaws. From his increasingly desperate cries, it was obvious that the man had seen his fate, a death Khargrim knew that no mortal being deserved.
‘Do it,’ Khargrim said grimly.
With a silent nod, Verdandi loosed her arrow, which flashed through the air and struck the writhing thrall square in the centre of the chest.
As startled as it was angered by the unexpected attack, the terradon screamed and dropped its prey. The man plummeted towards the distant ground, mercifully dead before he struck the crater floor. The object of their battle lost, the two primeval beasts clashed, claws raking leathern hide in a tangle of muscle and teeth, their savage cries splitting the air as they fought to the death.
Determined not to waste the opportunity the thrall’s death had afforded them, Khargrim dragged himself to his feet and turned to discern the path ahead. Before him was dense jungle, the twisting trees a mass of broken branches and shattered trunks, the result of the unleashing of Yngv’s prodigiously disastrous spell.
Then, Khargrim saw what was waiting for the party not three hundred yards away at the ragged verge of the jungle.
‘Grimnir.’ Khargrim invoked one of his race’s ancient gods. ‘What must I have done to anger you so?’
The jungle was filled with lizardmen of every type and size, all glowering with murderous intent at Khargrim and his companions. Swarms of writhing snakes and reptiles carpeted the open ground while cohorts of skinks lurked in the dense undergrowth. Rank upon rank of mighty saurus warriors stood ready to receive the order to charge, each taller than a man and as muscular as a black orc. Gold and bronze glinted in the midday sun and hundreds of cold, reptilian eyes gleamed as they regarded Khargrim and his fellow warm-blooded intruders trespassing into their ancient jungle realm.
‘Karra,’ Khargrim hissed urgently to the nearby Amazon, who was tensed as if on the verge of charging into the ranks of the enemy. ‘How far to the river?’
The entire party was frozen to the spot as if entranced by the gaze of so many cold-blooded lizardmen and the air itself was solid with tension. The lizardmen remained in place, barely moving, yet Khargrim knew they might burst into savage and murderous action at the slightest provocation. He had not a clue why they had not done so already, but he was determined to take any opportunity the gods might offer, no matter how seemingly insignificant.
‘How far, girl?’ he repeated, investing his words with as much authority and urgency as it was possible to do without provoking a reaction from the serried ranks before them.
With what appeared to Khargrim like great difficulty or reluctance, Karra tore her eyes from the lizardmen and the dwarf was struck by the depths of hatred she seemed to have reserved for them. He realised in that brief instant just how little he really knew of Karra’s people and the reasons she might have to hate the lizardmen so. When she did meet his gaze, Khargrim saw that Karra’s eyes were glazed over with impenetrable depths of bitterness, which slowly evaporated as if she was awakening from a trance.
‘What?’ she said, blinking rapidly.
‘The river!’ he repeated still more stridently, horribly aware that the unfathomable enemy might explode into violence at any moment. ‘We cannot be far from the boat!’
After another few seconds Karra’s eyes had cleared, and she nodded as she cast about for some frame of reference. ‘That way,’ she hissed as she indicated the direction with a jerk of her chin. ‘Just over that rise.’
Following her gesture, Khargrim’s heart pounded as he saw that they might just have a chance to escape with their lives, if not with much treasure. The tree-topped rise was just beyond the enemy’s left flank, and attainable, if not easily.
‘We need a distraction,’ Khargrim muttered, his mind racing. If they were to make that rise and the river beyond it the party would have to skirt the edge of the lizardmen army, and in so doing risk the attentions of several hundred of the enemy. His brow furrowing, his eyes settled on the Baersonling shaman, Yngv.
‘No, engineer,’ Verdandi hissed as she tore her gaze from the ranks of lizardmen and saw where Khargrim was looking. ‘He cannot…’
‘We have no other choice,’ Khargrim replied. ‘Yngv?’
The shaman was leaning upon his staff, his wide eyes fixed upon the enemy with a mixture of terror, madness and resignation. Nevertheless, Yngv seemed lucid, and he nodded in understanding of Khargrim’s request.
‘I really do not believe…’ said Verdandi, backing slowly away from the shaman, who was drawing himself to his full height. A low, sibilant hiss passed through the ranks of lizardmen, precious metal adornments clinking and hide armour creaking as they stirred.
‘Fear not, Graeling,’ said Yngv. ‘I now see my error. The normally diffuse winds of magic in this region are channelled into concentrated lines of power. I didn’t know that before, and unwittingly unleashed too much. Now, I know that all I need do is…’
A deep, rumbling growl sounded from the ranks of lizardmen and Khargrim felt that familiar wave of sickness that magic always brought on. Yngv raised his staff with one hand and traced an elaborate form in the air with the other, a glowing sigil appearing before him.
Now the air became charged with arcane power and Khargrim’s beard bristled wildly. Verdandi gave a low moan of despair and Ghurni swore colourfully.
‘This minor seal-sigil is a tap on this land’s power, but it is a small thing, and unable to hold such power at bay for long,’ Yngv said, his voice strained. ‘When it breaks, a great torrent of power shall be unleashed. I suggest we get moving, lest we be consumed along with the lizards.’
‘I do not need telling twice,’ said Khargrim
. ‘Is everyone ready?’
Before any of Khargrim’s companions could answer, the ranks of lizardmen took a sudden step forward as one, the heavy tread of the saurus and the larger creatures causing the earth to shake. The party took a step backwards in response, finding themselves backed right against the lip of the crater. The thought of more terradons appearing from behind came into Khargrim’s mind, but at that very moment Yngv completed his spell, his arm sweeping through the air and etching the last flourish of the glowing arcane sigil.
Time froze, and just for a moment Khargrim thought that nothing had happened. Then he realised that the lizardmen too had frozen, in mid step, as had the swaying of the branches in the jungle breeze.
‘The seal won’t hold for long,’ said Yngv, his voice strained.
‘I said I do not need telling twice,’ Khargrim growled as he grabbed the arms of the two nearest members of the party, who happened to be Ghurni and Thorkell, and shoved them bodily towards the rise. ‘Move!’
Khargrim’s words broke the impasse and in an instant every one of his companions was dashing for the rise and the river beyond. With Yngv’s spell in effect, the air itself seemed thick and electrified, and the adventurers felt as if they were pushing their way through water. Soon, they were running perpendicular to the ranks of lizardmen and as they approached Khargrim realised that the saurus were straining against the effects of the spell as if they could break the invisible bonds with a combination of bodily strength and raw determination.
As he ran, Khargrim became aware of a fierce glow from behind him, its light visible even in the blazing midday sun.
‘Do not turn to look, Khargrim,’ shouted Yngv from nearby. ‘It’s the seal-sigil, and it’s about to fail!’
As if he needed any more encouragement, Khargrim redoubled his pace, his feet pounding across the open ground. In moments he and his fellows had plunged into the tree line and were forced to slow down lest they stumble on the twisted roots and vines choking the jungle floor. The leafy jungle canopy blocked out most of the blazing Lustrian sun, but that only served to intensify the white light burning from behind. Khargrim knew that to turn and look upon Yngv’s sigil would be to lose his eyesight for all time, so fierce was the mystical illumination.
The ground beneath Khargrim’s feet became suddenly steep, and he realised that he and his companions were climbing the rise and that the river, and their means of escape, was not far beyond the crest. That thought might have been Khargrim’s last though, for as he rounded a corner in the jungle path he almost slammed straight into the form of a huge, scaly lizard, its serpentine form snaking along the ground and its head surrounded by a multicoloured and wickedly-spiked crest.
Khargrim stumbled to a halt, Ghurni and Thorkell doing the same just behind him, then he realised that the creature was frozen in place, though its eyes were fixed savagely upon him and its muscular legs were shaking, so hard was it straining to break the entrapment.
At that very moment, the sigil-seal broke and the limitless reserves of arcane power backed up by its warding erupted forth. The sigil detonated, the resulting explosion hurling Khargrim and his companions to the ground as the air at their backs seethed with blazing mystical power.
Great arcs of raw magic spat outwards from the boiling white explosion, each earthing itself in the soul of the nearest mortal being. The lizardmen, suddenly freed of their magical bonds, powered forward, unable to halt as they stumbled into the blazing light. Arcs of power lashed through the air, striking the lizardmen and destroying them utterly in a second. Flesh seared from bones, leaving nothing but blackened skeletons silhouetted against the light. Moments later, the skeletons collapsed to ashes to be scattered on the raging winds of magic.
All Khargrim and his companions could do in the face of the howling torrent of energy was grit their teeth, clamp their hands tight over their ears, and pray to whatever gods they could that they would be delivered safely from the raging storm of magic. The serpentine beast that had blocked Khargrim’s path was evidently bereft of any such guardian deity, for even as it burst into sudden movement a snaking white arc of power lanced through the air, burned through the jungle canopy and seized the creature in its lethal embrace. The beast was reduced to ashes, which carpeted Khargrim, Ghurni and Thorkell’s bodies as they sheltered in the undergrowth nearby.
As Khargrim opened his eyes and raised his head, his face was struck by the hot wind raging from behind, which carried upon it thick, gritty ash. Spitting to clear his throat of the remains of the magically incinerated lizardmen, Khargrim struggled to his feet, the wind almost toppling him straight away.
As that gale thundered through the jungle it parted the trees in front of Khargrim, and his face was split in a wide grin as he caught sight of the river, its waters churning with the fierce storm. Upon those waters lay his wondrous steam-powered vessel, straining at anchor yet holding firm in the tempest.
‘There you are,’ Khargrim mouthed as his companions rose from their hiding places amidst the thrashing undergrowth. All bar one of the thralls, whose body was now ashes upon the arcane wind, were unscathed, though all were visibly shaken by the awesome power Yngv’s spell had unleashed.
‘I told you!’ the Baersonling shaman crowed as Khargrim started down the slope towards the riverbank, the desire to put as much distance between himself and the Tomb of Destiny driving him forward despite his weariness. As he stumbled to a halt at the river’s edge, he saw with indescribable joy that the handful of Norse thralls he had left to guard the vessel had kept the engine tended and that the great iron funnel was belching steam into the air. The huge paddle wheels were primed and ready to power into motion at Khargrim’s order, and to carry the party to freedom.
As his companions stumbled after him, halting at his side by the bank, Khargrim saw that the thralls on his beloved ship were waving. With a bark of mad laughter, Khargrim raised his arm and waved back, but the crew continued to wave, their gestures becoming ever more animated.
‘If they’ve been drinking my ale…’ Khargrim growled, then stopped in mid sentence as he became aware of a low, rhythmic tread shaking the ground beneath his feet. He turned, his heart filling with a mixture of dread and bitter resignation. Glowering into the tree line from which he and his fellows had just emerged he saw nothing but the leaves trembling with every unseen impact.
Swallowing hard, Khargrim tracked upwards, through the canopy, to the churning air above the jungle. A massive, blackened form… Twisted horns the size of trees, iron-hard skin steaming from numerous magically inflicted wounds…
Khargrim took a step backwards, stumbling into the shallows behind him as he craned his neck to take in the impossible form as it reared above the jungle rise. Whatever it was, it must have been created by the lizardmen or their long-lost gods, for it resembled some reptilian behemoth from the very darkest of prehistorical nightmares. Its head was like that of a lizard and surmounted by a huge, bone-armoured crest while from its snout at least five spiralling horns sprouted. Its eyes were tiny, yet radiated godlike, unreasoning malice. As it reared higher it crushed entire trees beneath its massive, hoofed feet and its vast body toppled still more as it shouldered them aside. With a final thrash of its massive, spined tail it huffed through its flaring nostrils then issued a deafening roar that could only be a primal challenge.
‘Everyone in the water,’ Khargrim mouthed, his voice little more than a croak. When no one moved, he coughed, then bellowed, ‘Everyone in the water! Make for the boat, it is our only…’
As his companions waded into the shallows, their faces twisted with fear, Khargrim saw that Ghurni remained on the bank, his axe raised two-handed as he looked up towards the huge beast.
Khargrim was just about to curse his friend for a fool once again, when the Slayer lowered his axe and started walking backwards. In a moment he was beside the engineer, his eyes wild and his lips frothing.
‘The oath calls for your death to have purpose, Ghurni!’ Khargri
m called out, knowing the Slayer had no hope of victory against the monstrosity bearing down upon him.
The light of reason returning to his eyes, Ghurni nodded. ‘You are right, my friend,’ he said.
‘Never mind your thanks,’ Khargrim replied, shoving his friend into the water with as much force as he could muster. ‘We are not clear yet!’
Then Khargrim was swimming towards his beloved boat. All he could see was churning water as he and his desperate companions swam madly for safety, the sound of thundering hoofs at his back. Even as he sensed the shadow of the mighty beast pass over him, Khargrim was propelled forward by a bow wave, caused, he knew, by the creature ploughing into the river.
Gritting his teeth, Khargrim powered onwards, hating the water as only a dwarf could. His stinging eyes caught sight of his boat’s huge paddle wheels and the iron funnel rearing above them, and he heard the familiar, beloved growl of her steam-powered engine as it idled. Then he saw the slick form of Karra Lakota climbing effortlessly up the paddles and disappearing towards the engine room. He grinned insanely even as he swam desperately on, knowing that Karra was one of the few members of his party he had entrusted with the knowledge of how to operate the machine. A hand was thrust towards him and he grabbed it firmly, to be hauled up roughly onto the deck, another taking hold of Ghurni.
Khargrim collapsed onto the wet deck as he drew a deep ragged breath of air, but he knew he had not a second to spare. Hauling himself to his feet, he turned to the railing, only to see that the massive beast had entered the raging waters and was even now bearing down on Khargrim’s beloved boat. Its cavernous maw was opened wide and its beady, hateful eyes were fixated upon him, ready to swallow him whole and smash his vessel to so much driftwood.
‘No!’ Khargrim growled, the thought of his vessel being abused in such a manner filling him with bloody-minded strength and determination. In a single step, he was at the cannon mounted at the boat’s prow, and with a single motion he had yanked hard on its lever, a great gout of steam venting from a pressure valve. Hauling on another lever he armed the cannon as he hauled on its breech, swinging it around and bringing it to bear on the gaping maw that was descending through the air towards him.