Brunner the Bounty Hunter

by C. L. Werner

  The horn sounded again. Brunner risked a glance around the edge of the rubble. He swore as he saw what was slowly making its way out of the shadows. He had hoped for something to distract Krogh, but not something that put him in jeopardy as well. The bounty hunter turned his head—shapes were also stealing out from the mouth of the northward tunnel. Looking upward, he saw more diminutive figures stealthily slinking across the causeways, descending towards the main hall from the upper corridors.

  They were little more than indistinct shadows, but Brunner knew all too well what they were. Each of the tiny shapes was the height of a child, and wore a black hooded robe about its scrawny frame. Brunner knew that those garments would carry the red eye of the night goblin tribes, and that, unlike the Sharp Noses, these goblins would bear no ritual scarring. Instead, they would sport mouths filled with teeth blackened by fungus-distilled pigments. Krogh had chosen to set up his ambush within the territory of the Black Fangs.

  Several of the tiny figures gathered upon the causeways, facing towards the pool. They unslung small short bows and nocked arrows to the weapons. One goblin, slightly larger than the others, lifted a horn crafted from the dried and hollowed stem of a gigantic mushroom and blew out another whiny, diseased note. In reply, more goblins began to slink forward, with spears and a motley arrangement of weapons held at the ready. Brunner could hear the monsters whispering in their thin voices, presumably relishing the prospect of adding more trophies to the halls of the Black Fangs.

  Brunner took aim, deciding that the archers were his most pressing concern. He fired his crossbow, smashing a bolt into one of the robed creatures. The goblin uttered a shrill shriek as it fell from the causeway. The goblins below abandoned their caution, and began squealing like enraged swine as they charged. The goblins above let loose their arrows. Most of the missiles fell well short of Brunner’s position, many more were ill-aimed, striking into shadowy spots far removed from the bounty hunter. Only a very few bounced from the rubble pile.

  Brunner took no satisfaction in the erratic aim of the goblins. He knew that the Black Fangs often coated their arrows in vile poisons, and that only one of them would need to find its mark to finish him.

  The bounty hunter rose from his cover once more. There were perhaps twenty goblins below, cackling and gibbering as they ran towards him. There were at least another twenty above. He weighed up his chances. Among the Black Fangs, the more capable warriors became bowmen, preferring to kill an enemy from a distance than to risk their own neck at close quarters.

  The goblins below were closer, but far less dangerous than those above. Brunner made his decision and fired again. Once more a black-garbed creature howled in horror as the bolt found its mark and the archer fell from his lofty height. Brunner smiled as he heard a second crossbow, somewhere to his left, hit another goblin archer. It seemed that Krogh had reached the same decision. Abandoning stealth, the mutant had turned to the stopping power of his own crossbow rather than the quiet of his longbow.

  Brunner emptied the remaining bolts in the repeater, hitting two more of the goblins, though one was only wounded by his shot. Another goblin fell as Krogh’s weapon punched a hole in its head. Its body fell within Brunner’s line of sight, and he watched as it exploded in a bright burst of green blood upon striking the unyielding stone floor. The bounty hunter drew his pistol and sword, bracing himself for the melee of armed goblins.

  Twenty to one were poor odds, but Brunner was determined that the greenskins would pay a heavy toll before they got him. The odds became better, however, when half the goblins broke off to charge towards Krogh’s hiding place. Above him, the archers had been maintaining sporadic fire. The arrows were more concentrated now, aimed either at Brunner’s position or that of his rival. As their kindred charged forward, a goblin arrow smashed into the back of a spear-wielding wretch. The creature gave a yelp of pain and surprise, then fell on its face. The goblin beside it snarled a curse in its own whispery tongue, and hurled its own spear back at the distant archers. The weapon fell short of its mark, but the archers replied in kind. Both the spear-thrower and a goblin bearing a spiked mace fell, shrieking and whining as black-fletched arrows sank into their bodies.

  The first goblin to reach Brunner screamed a savage war cry. Brunner blew its head apart in a spectacular discharge of his pistol. The goblin scrambling up behind it screamed in horror as the greasy brain matter of its comrade splashed across its face. The bounty hunter’s sword lashed out, cleaving the goblin’s head from its shoulders before the creature could recover.

  A third goblin rounded the rock pile, snarling angrily. It held a great hatchet in its thin hands. Brunner struck the weapon with his sword, knocking it from the goblin’s grasp. A look of amused embarrassment overcame the goblin’s grinning face as the hatchet skidded across the floor. Brunner smashed the flat of his sword at the grinning mouth, knocking the creature away, and leaving it to choke on its broken teeth. Another goblin crawled its way to the top of the rock pile, its red eyes gleaming with sadistic merriment. Brunner roared at the little creature, causing the goblin to flinch and slide away back down the rock pile.

  More goblins were rounding the barrier. Brunner drew the short hatchet from his belt, turning his body from side to side to favour all of his wretched foes with his cold stare.

  ‘Come on!’ Brunner snarled. ‘Which of you little vermin is tired of living!’

  Krogh’s sword flashed downwards in a murderous arc. The goblin did not even have time to scream as its body was cut cleanly in two. The two goblins to either side of the brutally slain creature gave simultaneous squeaks of fright, fleeing as fast as their tiny legs could move them. The beast within Krogh wanted to pounce, and chase after them, but the mind subdued it. To chase after them would be to forsake his cover, to tempt the goblin archers above. Krogh darted aside as another group of goblins closed upon him. The mutant’s hand whipped out, grabbing the haft of the spear the foremost goblin thrust at him. The wood splintered under Krogh’s iron strength. The goblin tried to pull the weapon back, but Krogh’s hand had already released it, and was darting for the goblin’s throat.

  With a loud snap, Krogh cracked the goblin’s neck. He lifted the still-twitching body and threw it into the other goblins.

  They fell in a tangle of limbs and curses, three pairs of hands trying to push aside the weight of their dead comrade. But even as they struggled, Krogh pounced, landing amid them, his bare hands ripping and tearing. The whiny sounds the goblins made as they died rose from the blackness, and unsettled the archers on the causeway above. They were not sure what sort of intruders they were fighting. And the little monsters wondered if they really wanted to know.

  Brunner pulled his hatchet from a black-cloaked body, watching as his last adversary turned and ran. He had added four more goblins to his tally. Drakesmalice was slick with green blood and pulpy bits of goblin flesh. The bounty hunter spat, wiping his weapons clean on the cloak of the last goblin he had slain. The sickly mushroom horn sounded again. Brunner looked over the rock pile, trying to see what new mischief the goblins were planning. He snarled a curse on the heads of any gods that happened to be listening.

  A strangely clad goblin had appeared on the causeway next to another fifteen archers who were still sporadically firing their weapons downwards. A new mob of black-robed archers scurried after it, bows held in their scrawny fists, adding another score to the ranks of his adversaries. This new goblin was taller and thinner than the others, its black robes picked out by crude embroidery that looked like yellow flames. He watched the thin goblin exchange words with the horn-bearing chief, then saw the creature draw a large white object from a big leather bag. The chieftain nodded his head, his shrill laughter inciting merriment among the archers. Brunner picked up the skaven crossbow and began to quickly reload it.

  The Black Fangs had earned a fearsome reputation among the few who dared the forsaken passages of Karag-dar. It was not their skill as warriors that made them fearsome,
nor some uncanny expertise with the bow. It was their knowledge and use of all manner of poisons and venoms that earned them their sinister infamy.

  The masters of that despicable art were their shamans: twisted, depraved, maniacal creatures, hated as much as they were feared. The shamans drew their sorcery from the spirit force of their tribesmen, and turned their aggressive energies into murderous spells. The goblin gods were known for their fickleness, however, and the shamans had long ago learned not to rely solely upon their sorcery. These shaman were masters of more than magic. They cultivated deadly strains of noxious fungi unknown to even the chieftains of the Black Fangs, and cemented their power by offering death in innumerable sinister guises should their divine edicts be questioned.

  The tall goblin held the white ball in front of it and began to chant in a low, scratchy voice. The chieftain slunk away, putting ten feet between himself and the chanting shaman. Brunner fumbled to get the bolt into the crossbow’s magazine, knowing that time was running short. But even as he did so the chieftain blew on his horn again. Brunner turned his gaze to the tunnels. He was not surprised to see more black-garbed shapes pouring into the main hall. But a sick sensation gripped his stomach as he saw what was with them.

  Amongst the rabble of armed night goblins there were four hulking shapes, great greenskinned giants, crude armour lashed about their bodies, massive blades clutched in their monstrous paws. These new monsters squinted beneath their helms as their eyes adjusted to the light, their massive, tusked faces snarling. Beside them, a goblin with its hood drawn back capered, gripping a small staff with jawbones dangling from its tip. Like the teeth of the goblins, the jawbones had been dyed black, and the symbol of the Black Fangs was carried on in the large tattoo that covered the goblin’s bare scalp.

  It tittered wickedly, gesturing with its staff. The lumbering monsters beside it snorted in contempt, but strode forward just the same. Brunner shook his head, his eyes straying to the shaman above. The tall goblin had finished its chant and Brunner could see that the round white ball had turned yellow—whatever magical preservation the shaman had worked upon the puffball was dispelled. The fungus was active now, a lethal spore bomb.

  Taking courage from the four orc mercenaries in their midst, the goblins were charging forward, twenty strong. Brunner swore again. They would be on him far too soon, and orcs, he knew, would not go down as easily as their smaller kin. Against four orcs, the bounty hunter did not favour his chances. But they would still be better than the certain death the shaman held in its claws.

  The monster scuttled forward. It was not able to detect sounds very well, but it could sense the impact of running feet; it could see the warm bodies racing about in the darkness ahead. Warmth, like the gentle vibration in the rock, was also a sign of food. The monster increased its pace.

  Its heat-based gaze settled upon the nearest warm body. The monster prepared to attack.

  The goblin shaman cackled, a dry rattling sound. It was enjoying the fear and awe of its fellows on the causeway. The creature paused for an instant to let the terror of its fellows, and the absolute dread of the terrible weapon invigorate its black heart. Suddenly, the warm feeling coursing through the shaman’s veins was interrupted by a powerful force that smashed into its ribs. The shaman twisted about, spun by the force of the impact. Even wounded, with a death-dealing bolt in its lungs, the monster maintained a careful hold of the spore bomb, its own fear of the weapon greater than that of its impending death.

  The shaman’s thin shriek caused the orcs to look upward. The goblin mystic was lost in a cloud of white gas as a red-fletched arrow pierced the puffball. The white explosion engulfed ten of the nearest archers, their shrill screams echoing across the great hall. The dust drifted outwards, catching a dozen other archers. The goblins shrieked as the caustic spores dissolved their flesh, ate away their eyes and liquefied their bones. Still screaming and pawing at their crumbling forms, the archers collapsed into their black cloaks, the garments filthy with the lethal white powder.

  Two more goblins leapt from the causeway, preferring to topple to their deaths than brave the deadly spores. The other archers scrambled to race back into the upper tunnels.

  The horn-bearing chieftain blew furiously on his instrument, trying to stem the rout. But even as he tried to assert his authority, a well-aimed shot from one of the archers silenced him. An arrow transfixed his throat.

  Some of the goblins were charging toward the rubble where Krogh had fired his deadly shot. The black fanged creatures tittered frenziedly as they advanced, spears held before them, swords and clubs waving wildly above their heads. The goblins were trying to incite a maniacal courage in their craven hearts, trying to convince themselves that they would overcome their foe and take long, bloody pleasure in avenging their fallen shaman.

  A black shape lunged out of the shadows, landing on the foremost goblin, and crushing the creature beneath its feet. The broken warrior squealed in agony as green blood exploded from its mouth. Krogh did not spare a thought for the writhing form beneath him; he lashed out with his sword, cutting the arm from another of the startled would-be attackers. The goblin went down, thin screams replacing its earlier howl of retribution. Krogh turned from the maimed greenskin and lashed out at another of his adversaries, opening the neck of a club-bearing goblin. Only the cloth of the creature’s hood prevented the head from flying from its body.

  The tattooed goblin noticed that the attack on Krogh had begun to falter. Snarling at the top of its voice, the goblin gestured at the tattered figure of the bounty hunter, and shook his staff at his enemy. The biggest of the orcs favoured the goblin with another sneer, then barked a brutal string of grunts at one of his fellows. The orc broke off and charged toward Krogh. The others, still supported by a dozen goblins, sprinted toward the other adversary.

  Brunner spat on the floor, shaking his head angrily. ‘Sure, send only one of those bastards for Krogh,’ he hissed. Raising his crossbow, he sighted at the oncoming brutes. The bounty hunter fired, and the bolt smashed into the helm of one of the orcs. The bolt bit into the metal, and Brunner could see a thin trickle of green ooze running into the orc’s face. But the bolt had not punched its way deep enough into the brute’s skull; it had not ruined the orc’s tiny brain. The orc kept coming, barely affected by a shot that would have instantly slain a human foe.

  Brunner swore. Noticing the laughing goblin boss dancing about behind its orc mercenaries, Brunner fired again. The laughter was silenced as the bolt smashed through the goblin’s forehead and the tattooed monster was thrown across the floor. The bounty hunter knew that he should have at least tried to bring one of the orcs down. But knowing that the snivelling vermin that had led them to battle was carrion made Brunner feel a great sense of satisfaction.

  He lifted the crossbow again, sighting on the biggest of the orcs. The brute was at least six feet tall, built like a brick privy. It wore a necklace of teeth about its thick neck, fangs and molars dug from the mouths of past victims. In its massive paws was a crude axe, like a great butcher’s cleaver. It was pitted and rusted, crumbly flakes of dried blood crusting its edge.

  If he could kill their leader, it might make the orcs forget their bloodlust and flee. Brunner knew that the goblins would have no stomach for the fight if the orcs were to break. Disdaining to offer a prayer to any god, he took aim.

  The goblin stared for a moment at the splattered remains of the archer. It was one of the night goblins that had decided to jump rather than face gruesome death by the shaman’s ruptured spore bomb. The goblin was not bothered by the ugly sight—its red beady eyes were focused on the weapon still clutched in the paws of its dead fellow. It reached down, and pulled the bow from the rigid fingers. Cackling happily, it tested the string, then reached down once more to remove the quiver of arrows from the corpse. With a bow of its own, the goblin would be one of the great warriors of its clan. The goblin had been close enough to the shrouded mutant to know that it never wanted to be near
such an enemy again.

  The goblin looked upward as its keen ears caught a sound. Its first thought was that the archers had returned to the causeway and were going to strike down the shrouded beast with their deadly arrows. But it froze in terror as it realised its mistake. The sound had come from beneath the causeway.

  A monstrous creature was gripping the underside of the causeway. It was larger than a bull; its body covered in shiny brown and black scales where its skin was not pale and peeling. The upside down monster maintained its hold on the causeway with eight powerful legs—the sharp black claws of each foot sunk deep into the stone. A bloated, fat tail drooped from the monster’s body.

  As the horrified goblin watched, the creature’s horned, reptilian head turned towards it. A membrane snapped into place over the monster’s eerie yellow eyes as it focussed on its prey. As the goblin tried to run, a bright flash of searing energy passed from the eyes of the basilisk to those of the goblin. In an instant the transforming Chaos energies spread from the goblin’s eyes to the rest of its body. The goblin’s terrified paralysis became permanent as its skin was turned to stone. The basilisk’s scaly jaws opened in a hungry yawn.

  The bright flash of light spoiled Brunner’s shot. The bolt went wide, speeding off into the dark of the hall. But his misfire was not noticed by his enemies, for their attention was drawn to the source of the unnatural light. The orcs and goblins gawped at the stone goblin, with Chaos energies steaming from its body. A huge shape dropped from the underside of the causeway, falling to the ground with a meaty thud. The basilisk righted itself with a quick roll, then lumbered toward the stone goblin. A powerful blow from its long, fat tail shattered the statue, casting fragments about the hall. Steam rose from the super-heated meat within the stone shell. Once again the giant lizard monster smacked its scaly jaws, and a jagged, barbed tongue flitted from its mouth. It closed upon the nearest of the fragments and began to scrape the steaming meat from the stone shell with its barbed tongue.