by C. L. Werner
Sir Corbus rose to his feet, simply tilting his body upright rather than lifting himself from the floor. The knight’s crimson armour was a ruin of twisted metal, deep and grisly wounds visible through the rents in the armoured plate. Any one of the wounds would have been fatal to any normal man, but Corbus seemed oblivious to them. He took a step forward, his mailed fist closing about the handle of the huge axe Ulgrin had left buried in his breastbone. With a single sharp tug, Corbus wrenched the axe free, dropping it to the floor with such casualness that it might have been no more than a splinter removed from a finger.
The vampire’s face broadened into a predatory sneer, the face of a cat preparing to pounce.
‘The little man has seen many of the ills of this abominable city,’ the vampire hissed. ‘Now I shall show you the true nature of horror!’
Brunner had watched the brief battle between Ulgrin and Corbus with a gnawing sense of doom. He knew what the knight was; he had seen similar creatures before and his experiences had told him that it took more than a strong arm and a sharp blade to destroy such a being. As Ulgrin had hacked away at the undead knight, Brunner had shifted his pistol into his off hand and once again removed Drakesmalice from its sheath. He had seen for himself that the enchanted blade could harm beings immune to natural steel. Had not the blade bitten deep into the daemonic flesh of the horrific Mardagg during the death elemental’s rampage in the city of Remas? Perhaps it might prove no less effective in dealing with the spectral vitality of a vampire.
As Corbus stalked forward, Brunner noted that the elf Ithilweil had fallen behind the bounty hunter. He could hear the elf muttering in the same strangely musical voice she had used before destroying the lock. Brunner hoped that whatever magic she might be conjuring, it was quick and far more potent.
‘You would cross swords with me?’ the vampire sneered as he stopped an arm’s span from Brunner. ‘I’ve killed men whose boots you are not fit to lick with but three passes of my blade! Amuse me assassin, before I cut your filthy soul from your mangy carcass.’
Brunner dodged the first thrust made by Sir Corbus, exploiting the knight’s attack to slash at him with the edge of Drakesmalice. But the bounty hunter had underestimated the unnatural speed of the vampire. With a blur of motion, Corbus recovered from his thrust, bringing his blade sweeping around in a parrying block. Such was the angle of the blow and the tremendous strength behind it that Drakesmalice was ripped from Brunner’s gloved hand, the longsword bouncing from the far wall as it was flung away.
‘Die like the vermin you are!’ the vampire snarled, springing forward, his fangs bared. The bounty hunter retreated back a space, bringing up his other hand, slamming the barrel of his pistol under Corbus’s chin.
‘Take your own advice,’ Brunner growled. The bounty hunter’s finger pulled the trigger, the pistol roaring in response to the action. The violent explosion of flame and smoke set the vampire’s flesh smouldering, the lead bullet smashing through the knight’s face, breaking his jaw and cracking his cheek before bursting through the edge of his left eye. Shards of bone and black ichor sprayed from the monster’s injury even as his strangled cry ripped across the chamber. Corbus toppled to the floor, armoured hands clutching at the smoking ruin of his face. Brunner glared down at the monster then kicked the vampire, waiting for any sort of response, but Corbus was as still as the grave he’d cheated. The bounty hunter nodded, then fingered the carved stake he had bought from an exiled Sigmarite priest months before in Miragliano. Maybe a vampire couldn’t survive with half its face blown apart, but Brunner didn’t like taking chances. Every tale he’d ever heard agreed that a vampire most certainly didn’t survive a wooden stake stabbed through its heart.
‘You can quit your spellcraft,’ Brunner said, noticing that Ithilweil had not ceased her conjuring. ‘He’s as dead as he’s going to get,’ he elaborated, fingering the stake. ‘Or at least he’s about to be.’ He glanced back at the elf, surprised by what he saw. The enchantress had ceased her conjuring, whatever spell she had worked upon Corbus now at its end. The bounty hunter had no way of knowing that it had been the elf’s spells that had preserved him, that had slowed the Blood Dragon’s unnatural reflexes to a point where a mere mortal might gain even the faintest hope of besting him. Now Ithilweil seemed oblivious to the vampire, oblivious to everything. Her eyes were focused upon the ceiling, darting back and forth as though she expected a horde of daemons to drop down upon her. The strange tongue she spoke seemed to be locked into a rhythm, repeating itself over and over. Her entire body was trembling, shaking like a river reed in a winter wind. Brunner took a step towards her, reaching out and carefully touching her shoulder. Ithilweil’s head snapped around, her fear-filled eyes fixing upon the bounty hunter. The singsong rhyme died as reason reasserted itself within the enchantress’s mind.
‘The Fang!’ she gasped. ‘The fool used the Fang! He’s called death down upon us all!’
The mention of ‘the fool’ caused Brunner to forget his interest in the elf woman. He spun back around, eyes scouring the room. He saw Ulgrin rising from the ruin of the curio cabinet, the dwarfs meaty hand rubbing at his bruised head. He saw Drakesmalice lying near the wall. But he saw no sign of Gobineau. The rogue had taken advantage of the vampire’s attack to slip away once again. Brunner cursed under his breath. Forget taking the man’s hands, when he caught up with the outlaw, he was going to take his legs to make sure the scum didn’t run off again.
The bounty hunter shook his head. Ulgrin was right, catching this vermin was more work than it was worth. A cold smile flickered on Brunner’s face. At least he’d be able to repay Corbus for the fun times he and the vampire had shared. But as Brunner turned back toward the vampire’s body, he cursed again. The red armour was still there, but it was now empty. Looking past the spot, the bounty hunter saw a great black rat with a mangled face pause at the mouth of a crack in the wall to glare malevolently back at him. Brunner reached for a throwing knife, but as he started to move, the rat scuttled away down the hole.
‘The Fang,’ Ithilweil was beside him once more. ‘We have to get it back! Before it’s too late.’ Brunner ignored her, walking to the wall and retrieving Drakesmalice. He looked back at Ulgrin, watching as the dwarf stumbled groggily away from the ruined cabinet. He’d be just as happy to leave the dwarf, but he needed to know where the tunnel entrance to Marimund’s castle was.
The bounty hunter grabbed the dwarf, pushing him toward the door.
‘I only care about catching that scum,’ Brunner told the elf. ‘That nick nack he stole from you is your concern.’ The bounty hunter cast a worried look at the rat hole. ‘You help us find Gobineau, you help yourself.’ He did not wait for Ithilweil’s reply, but strode out into the hallway, leaving her to make her own decision.
The elf hesitated a moment, then hurried after the departing bounty hunters. She’d made her play, now she had to see it through.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The quartet of men-at-arms standing watch in the guardroom behind the ponderous gates that fronted the massive keep of Duc Marimund’s castle were more attentive than those who had been charged with guarding their masters private chambers. The threat of an intruder was not much greater, but the chance of a sudden inspection by one of Marimund’s knights was, and not a man among them did not bear some scar to remind him that any deficiency in their duty would be harshly rewarded. So it was that the four men turned as one when they spied a ragged-looking figure race around the corner of the wide corridor that communicated between the gates and the keep’s innards. The four men hurried into the hallway, spears at the ready, blocking the path of the runner, standing between him and the open gates.
‘Hold,’ the ranking soldier commanded, his hand lifted in an imperious gesture. The ragged man came to a skidding halt before the trooper and his comrades. He gazed at the menacing spearpoints, then at the glowering, scarred countenances of the men who held them. A smile crawled onto the man’s handsome features.
‘Who?’ the leader asked, the tip of his spear lowering slightly as it responded to the soldier’s distraction. ‘Who’s not gotten this far?’
‘The prisoners,’ the ragged man declared, a note of superiority and disbelief in his voice now, as though he could not believe his interrogator would need to voice such a question. ‘There was a riot in the dungeons. Many of the prisoners have escaped and are running loose through the castle! His lordship is even now leading the hunt to track them down.’ The man nodded his head once more in relief. ‘But it seems none of them have made it past your vigilance.’
‘No,’ the leader said, his tone still displaying the confusion that filled his squinting gaze. ‘You are the first person we’ve seen since two bells.’
‘Excellent,’ the stranger clapped his dirty hands together in pleasure. ‘Then we may be certain that none of them have escaped this way.’ He smiled again, stepping closer to the leading soldier. The other men-at-arms hesitated, uncertain whether they should continue to guard against the man’s advance. ‘I’ll need to spread the alarm to the guards posted on the outer wall,’ he told the sergeant. The leader cocked his head to one side, hostility dispelling the confusion in his eyes.
‘Are you saying that me and my men can’t keep a bunch of halfstarved dungeon rats from taking this portal?’ the soldier growled. He looked up and down his accuser, studying his grimy black leather garments and filthy skin. ‘For that matter—who, by all the Dark Gods, are you? I’ve never seen you before!’
‘Nor have I,’ chimed in one of the other soldiers, his spear poised for a quick thrust into the ragged man’s kidneys.
Gobineau sighed, then met the suspicious stare of the commanding soldier. ‘I am Percival, assistant torturer,’ he announced with a note of pride. Around him, he heard the uneasy shifting of feet that his pronouncement caused. It would explain his dirty garments and unkempt appearance, and unless Marimund had changed vastly over the years, Gobineau knew that his men-at-arms were not exempt from being victims of his dungeons should they fail in their appointed tasks. The threat that they might one day be victims of the evil toys kept in Marimund’s torture chamber tended to keep even the most sadistically curious of his soldiers far from the place. He doubted if more than a handful of men within the castle knew what Marimund’s torture master looked like, or if the man had assistants. If Ranald were still being gracious, none of the soldiers he now faced would be one of them. He’d already been lucky in the fact that none of them had been involved in his capture in Marimund’s throne room.
The leader looked somewhat taken aback by Gobineau’s statement, but one of the other soldiers suddenly had a stroke of inspiration, probably the only idea that had entered the lout’s head in a fortnight. ‘How do we know that you ain’t one of the prisoners?’ the man-at-arms demanded. Gobineau maintained his smile, while inwardly cursing the god of thieves. Ranald certainly wasn’t going to let him get out of this easily.
‘If I was one of the prisoners, would I run up to a group of armed soldiers telling them there had been an escape from the dungeons?’ Gobineau put a withering amount of arrogance and contempt in his tone. The accusing soldier could not maintain Gobineau’s stare, glancing down at the floor.
Gobineau turned back toward the leader of the guards. ‘Now, I must spread word to the outer guards. Not as any lack of faith in your ability to hold this portal, which I have the utmost confidence you shall do, but because there is always a chance in their desperation that these wretches might try to climb down the walls from one of the windows.’
The explanation satisfied the sergeant, who moved aside, allowing the outlaw to stride past him. Gobineau paused beneath the archway.
‘Close these behind me, and be vigilant,’ he told them, addressing the guards as though he were some mighty general and they a vast horde of local militia. ‘The prisoners may have armed themselves, and they are quite desperate. Don’t take any chances with them. His lordship will be just as pleased with them dead as alive.’ A sudden thought occurred to Gobineau and he grinned. ‘Beware of the elf witch,’ he told the soldiers. ‘She is the one who freed the prisoners. Don’t give her a chance to place a spell on you! If you see her, cut her down as swiftly as you can!’
The outlaw turned to withdraw, but the sergeant rushed up beside him. Gobineau bit down on the sudden horror that seized him. Turning, he was surprised to see the soldier proffering him the sword that had formerly rested at the sergeant’s side.
‘You are unarmed and if, as you say, some of the prisoners have circumvented our post, you may have need of a weapon,’ the sergeant told him. Gobineau accepted the weapon, bowing his head in gratitude.
‘You are a quick thinker, sergeant,’ the rogue told him. ‘The duc could use more men of your penetrating intelligence and wisdom.’ Gobineau allowed the man to bask in the compliment a moment before resuming his sprint across the courtyard. He heard the heavy doors of the keep slam shut behind him.
If the guards on the outer wall were as easily duped, he’d be quit of this place in only a few minutes. Of course, now he had something to fall back upon should his glib tongue not work its magic twice. Gobineau adjusted his grip on the guard’s heavy broadsword. Truly, Ranald provided all things in his own devious way.
Even as he saw the outer gatehouse drawing closer, Gobineau turned his thoughts back to what must be unfolding within the castle. He’d studied the elf’s secret passage mechanisms well enough during his brief travel through them to use them to effect his own escape—after some judicious tampering with the door mechanisms to ensure that the two bounty hunters would not be following him, even if they did survive their battle with the vampire. The rogue had almost been caught himself when he’d emerged from the passage, nearly running headfirst into a large group of men-at-arms and knights with a furious Marimund at their head, heading toward the room Gobineau had recently quit. Fortunately, they hadn’t seen him. He imagined that even in the unlikely event that Brunner did best the vampiric Sir Corbus, the bounty hunter would hardly be able to fight his way through the force Marimund was bringing.
All things considered, Gobineau did not think he’d have to worry about Brunner following him around any more. The only thing that still puzzled him was the absolute terror the elf witch had shown of the musty old artefact. She had regarded it as though it were the knife of Khaine. Gobineau hadn’t seen that it possessed any strange powers or the ability to work dark miracles, unless of course it had been responsible for Corbus’s timely arrival.
Yet even as his thoughts turned in this direction, a strange sound impressed itself upon the outlaw, not unlike the soft roar of ocean waves washing upon a barren shore. The night seemed to have grown strangely warm as well, and Gobineau imagined that the air had gained a curious, acrid odour to it.
‘We’re close now,’ Ithilweil gasped as she led the way down yet another narrow corridor. Brunner turned his head in her direction for only a moment, then returned his attention to the hallway behind them, his crossbow held at the ready. The bounty hunters could hear their pursuers cautiously advancing to the last corner they had turned. With two of their number already having been rewarded for their zealous pursuit with one of Brunner’s crossbow bolts sprouting from their chests, the remaining soldiers of Duc Marimund were playing things more carefully. Unfortunately, Brunner didn’t think they’d stay careful for too long, and if the score or so men chasing them decided to rush them all at once, even if he brought down a man with every shot, it would hardly stem the charge.
‘By Grimnir!’ Ulgrin snarled from his position beside Brunner, a gleaming hand axe in each grubby fist. The dwarf’s huge battle axe had been left behind in Marimund’s private chambers, the dwarf having been too disoriented to think of recovering it until the duc himself and two dozen of his men stood between him and his belov
ed weapon. But if Ulgrin’s spirits had been volatile, they were fanned into flames when Ithilweil announced that she knew where the old escape tunnel was located, making the route he had charted superfluous. ‘What did I get myself covered in this filth for if we aren’t even going to use the tunnel?’ the dwarf spat.
‘Maybe I just don’t feel like paying you extra to kill more frogs,’ Brunner directed the withering comment at the dwarf, keeping his eyes fixed on the hallway. An armoured head briefly darted around the corner, making certain that the persons they were hunting were still in sight. The observer lingered just a second too long and had his bravery answered by the steel bolt that punched into his forehead. Unseen hands dragged the body back behind the corner.
‘Time to move,’ Brunner told his companions. He gave Ithilweil a hard look. ‘If this escape route of yours isn’t close, we’re dead. They won’t let me pick them off one by one much longer. Pretty soon now, they are going to decide risking a massed charge gives them better odds.’
Ithilweil nodded her understanding. ‘Only a few turns more and we will be there,’ she replied. It would have been much easier on them if they’d been able to employ the secret passage again, but Ithilweil had been unable to reopen the hidden door, stating that someone had sabotaged the mechanism. Gobineau, without question, ensuring that he’d gain time on any pursuit the bounty hunters mounted. The real fiasco had been Ulgrin’s insistence that he could get the door open again. A few moments of waiting for Ulgrin to manage this small miracle had seen Marimund and his soldiers storming down the corridor toward them. Even the stubborn Ulgrin had relented and abandoned his labour when he sighted the armed company racing toward them.
The elf witch led the pair around several more twists and turns in the corridor. As they passed a narrow flight of stairs that wound deep into the foundations of the castle, Ulgrin hesitated and pointed a stubby finger at the gloom below.