by Dan Abnett
Then another howl came — also from the west, but this time from a different source. It sounded a bit farther away than its predecessor, but still too close for comfort. Now another barking cry — from the east -and Malus grew concerned. A pack, he thought. And they sound like they’re hunting. Spite shifted uneasily beneath him, and one of the other cold ones let out a low groan. Malus spurred his mount into a trot, his eyes straining to pick out the path ahead. Perhaps if we can just escape their path…
For a few minutes nothing broke the forest silence save the heavy pad-pad-pad of Spite’s tread, but then another howl broke the stillness, and less than a mile to the west came a splintering crack, like a tree broken by the passage of something swift and powerful. It was answered by another howl to the east, and then another. Four of them, Malus thought. And they have our scent!
They couldn’t go any faster in the darkness. The trees hung too close and the light was too poor. Malus could hear huge forms crashing through the forest on either side of the path behind them — ponderous steps of two-, four- and even three-legged gaits. And then… silence.
Malus halted the column, his senses straining to penetrate the thick shadows all around. There was nothing save the heavy breathing of the cold ones. The highborn turned to look back at Lhunara. The retainer’s face was tense, but the beastman behind her looked almost mad with fear.
We can’t outrun them, Malus thought. Perhaps we can stand our ground and drive them off. He reined Spite around and began to nose his way back down the length of the column. “Crossbows ready,” he said to each of the druchii he passed.
The warrior at the end of the column was the same druchii who had stood watch in the gatehouse the night before Malus edged alongside him. “See anything?”
The druchii peered back the way they’d come, his face pale. “No,” he whispered. “But I can hear them. They’re shifting about back there in the darkness behind the trees.”
Now Malus could hear them, too — huge shapes pacing slowly and carefully in the shadows, perhaps fifty yards back along the path. He strained his eyes to penetrate the gloom, but to no avail. The glow generated by the fungus only deepened the shadows beyond the trees, and whatever the creatures were, they were cautious and cunning.
“They’re sizing us up,” Malus said, half to himself. “Trying to decide if we’re prey.” Malus straightened in his saddle, and after a moment’s thought, put his crossbow away and drew his sword. “Time to snarl back,” the highborn said to the druchii beside him. “Keep your crossbow ready. I’m going to try to shake them up a bit.”
The druchii nodded, his eyes wide. Malus took a deep breath and spurred his mount forward. Spite, sensing the presence of the unseen creatures, let out a loud, rumbling growl.
Branches snapped and heavy footfalls echoed from the darkness ahead. Malus walked Spite forward, feeling the nauglir grow increasingly tense. The beast’s tail began to lash angrily, and the highborn caught sight of something large nosing through the thick brush almost directly ahead of him. Malus edged Spite closer to the thing. Predictably, the nauglir let out a long, furious bellow at it, a cry that was quickly taken up by the rest of the cold ones in the column. You see? Malus thought. We are not some timid deer for you to slay. Best you seek less deadly prey.
Just then Malus caught sight of a flash of movement off to his right. He turned sharply, but all he could see was a glimpse of something large slipping swiftly through the brush past him, heading for the rest of the party. They’re much stealthier than they led me to believe, Malus thought with amazement. That means the one in front of me is just a distraction!
At that moment the creature facing Malus let out a wild shriek and charged forward like a rampaging boar, the sounds answered by thunderous cries further up the path.
Brush and saplings exploded in the monster’s path as it charged the highborn, and Malus could feel the air curdle at its approach. Monstrous as it was, the creature exuded an aura of palpable wrongness that even Spite’s senses picked up on, causing the cold one to shy backwards with a startled howl. Then the monster burst onto the path, and even the highborn cried out in fear and disgust at the abomination that reared before him.
It was huge, easily as large as Spite, its body little more than a lump of cancerous flesh and muscle supported by four trunk-like legs. Long, narrow arms terminating in scythes of exposed bone lashed at Malus, severing tree limbs and tearing huge gouges from tree trunks in their path. There were no eyes nor even a face that Malus could recognise, only a round, lamprey-like mouth at the end of a thick, muscular trunk. Rings of barbed teeth pulsated in ranks down the monster’s throat as its sphincter-like oesophagus dilated and expelled a maddened roar at the highborn and his mount.
“Dark Mother preserve us!” Malus exclaimed in horror as he hauled on Spite’s reins. The twisted monstrosity rushed at Malus as Spite wheeled around and struck it with his powerful tail. The blow staggered the monster, knocking it into a huge oak that splintered under its weight. Scything limbs lashed at the cold one, but Malus was already putting the spurs to Spite’s flanks, heading back up the path as fast as he dared.
More of the twisted creatures had burst from the woods onto the path. Malus could hear the hysterical screams of the druchii he’d spoken to only moments before. One of the monsters had leapt upon the man’s cold one, pinning it to the ground with its four clawed legs and slashing it to a bloody ruin with its scythe-like arms. Malus could see the druchii’s still-kicking legs as the monster forced the armoured warrior down its fanged throat.
With a furious cry Malus spurred his mount harder, directly at the hideous monster. I can play that game as well, he thought wildly. At the last moment he hauled on the reins and cried “Up!” Spite leapt onto the monster, taloned feet slashing and scrabbling for purchase. The monster seemed to distend beneath the cold one’s weight, flattening out as though it possessed no skeleton at all. Ichor sprayed from grotesque wounds as the nauglir’s thick talons ripped away gobbets of putrid flesh, but it was like clawing apart a midden heap.
Malus slashed with his sword, his gorge rising at the stench of rot in the air, and the creature howled and gobbled with rage, slashing wildly with its arms. Finally, Spite’s talons gained purchase and the cold one leapt over the monster, just as its packmate came lumbering up from behind. Malus sped along up the path, daring only a single backward glance to see the mortally-wounded monster pushed aside by its pack-mate so it could continue the chase.
The warband was in full flight, trying to break out of the trap. Malus could see the lashing tails of the running nauglir up ahead, past loping, gelid bodies bristling with bony scythes and talons. The highborn ducked low in the saddle, sword raised, and let Spite shoulder the monsters out of his path. The cold one crashed into — and in some cases through — the monsters’ glutinous bodies, showering Malus with evil-smelling fluids, but in moments they had broken free of the pack and were pulling away. Howls of rage and hunger shook the dark trees and seemed to fill the air from every direction.
As surprisingly fast as the monsters were, they were far from nimble, while the cold ones negotiated the twisting paths with ease. In minutes the warband had pulled away from its pursuers, but the monsters seemed tireless, never slacking their pace. Malus worked his way swiftly up to the head of the column. Lhunara rode with a stained sword in each hand, her eyes wild with a mix of terror and battle-lust. The highborn saw that the beastman was gone. “What happened to the guide?” Malus yelled.
“It leapt for the trees as soon as the ambush started. I couldn’t stop it!”
Malus uttered a blistering curse. “Keep your eyes peeled for branches off the path!” he cried. “Those things can’t keep up with us — if we can turn off we will, otherwise we’ll see if they tire and give up.”
But the minutes stretched, and the monsters refused to give up the chase. The nauglir were racing tirelessly along, but Malus knew that even the rugged cold ones had their limits. Why are they still
chasing us, the highborn thought? They can’t catch us. It should be obvious by now.
Just then Malus was startled by a wash of chaotic light overhead. The path was plunging down into a mountain hollow, the trees receding substantially on either side of a dark, narrow stream. More room to manoeuvre, at least, Malus thought. If I can direct the entire warband as a single unit, we might have a chance against these things.
Malus’ mind raced, devising tactics as he waved the column into a ragged line and continued to race up the hollow. They’d covered almost a hundred yards when howls and battle-cries erupted from the woods on either side of them, and a horde of beastmen came charging out of the shadows beneath the trees, waving axes and clubs in the air.
Hounds to the hunter, Malus realised, his heart growing cold. Those creatures were driving us down the path to their masters.
In the darkness and chaos there was no way to know how many beastmen there were, but it was clear that the druchii were far outnumbered and pressed from every side. In the thick of battle, Malus made the only decision he could. He raised his blade. “Forward!” he cried.
The cold ones put their heads down and charged deeper into the hollow. The beastmen closed in behind them and took up the chase, and the wall of foes ahead rushed at the druchii in a ragged line. The charging knights met the beastmen with a crunch of bone and the whickering ring of steel against flesh.
A beastman disappeared beneath Spite’s taloned feet with a hoarse scream. Malus slashed at another howling rams-head nearly as tall as himself, severing the horned head from its thickly muscled neck. Blood splashed across his armour, but Malus welcomed its bitter taste after the horrid ichor of the Chaos-spawned monsters in the forest. A heavy blow rang against the left side of his breastplate, and Malus slashed at the head of another beastman, hacking away part of one curving horn. Another foe leapt at him from the right, swinging an axe that missed his thigh and bit into the cantle of his saddle instead. The highborn responded with a backhanded slash across his attacker’s eyes. The foe dropped his axe and reeled backwards, his hands reaching for his ruined face.
Malus spurred Spite forward, bowling over the beastmen in front of him and breaking bones with the nauglir’s lashing tail. A clawed hand grabbed for the reins and Malus severed it at the wrist. An axe blade glanced from his armoured thigh and a club smashed into his backplate, knocking him forward against the saddle. Then Spite leapt free of the press and charged farther up the hollow, momentarily leaving the beastmen behind.
A quick glance showed that the rest of the warband had fought their way clear as well, staggering up the hollow in a rough line alongside him. Skill, experience and heavy armour had won through, but the enemy was far from finished. Malus pointed to a scattering of boulders up ahead. “Form a line there and ready your crossbows!” he ordered. The druchii raised their swords in acknowledgement and spurred ahead for the rocks.
They had gained perhaps thirty yards on the beastmen. Malus glanced back over his shoulder and saw that there were close to a hundred left, loping along in a disordered mob and howling at the sky. Worse, he could see the pack of scythe-armed monstrosities shambling up the hollow in their wake. He thought they could break the beastmen with a few sharp volleys and another charge, but even the cold ones were frightened of the misshapen creatures. Still, if we hurl the beastmen back upon their hounds, it might buy us some manoeuvring room, he thought. Though even then, our prospects look grim.
Malus reached the rocks beside his warriors. “Make ready to fire,” he said. “Three volleys, and then we charge. We’ll try to break the animals and slip past their monsters in the confusion.”
Just then a horn wailed from the bottom of the hollow, a deep, banshee-like howl that echoed through the trees. Malus stood in his saddle and saw another dark knot of beastmen break from the trees to the west, waving torches over their heads. Another fifty, perhaps, he thought grimly. We’re going to pay dearly for this one.
Then, to Malus’ surprise, he saw the newcomers hurl large sacks or bladders at the backs of the shambling monsters. Torches followed, and suddenly the pack was wreathed in leaping blue flames. An angry shout went up from the beastmen farther up the hollow and confusion reigned as the torch-wielding beastmen charged up the hollow at them.
Several of the druchii cheered in relief. Lhunara turned to Malus. “What in the Outer Darkness is happening?”
Malus shook his head. “I have no idea, but I’ll thank the Dark Mother for her gift.” Below, the two mobs of beastmen had crashed together, and sounds of battle filled the air. The highborn turned to his warriors. “Check your crossbows and make certain they’re fully loaded! We’ll advance at a walk and fire into the melee!”
Lhunara frowned. “Who do we aim at?”
“Who cares? They could all be foes. We’ll kill as many as we can and worry about the rest when the time comes.” Malus sheathed his sword and reached for his crossbow. “Ready… advance!”
The cold ones made their way slowly back down the hollow. The druchii raised their crossbows, choosing targets. “Fire at will!” Malus ordered, and the slaughter began.
Crossbows thumped and bolts hissed through the air. In the darkness and the swirling melee, it was difficult to see the effects of their fire. The druchii reloaded and fired again. At the third salvo, the ranks of beastmen seemed to waver. Then suddenly a ripple of cold curdled the air around the creatures, and Malus felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. Sorcery! the highborn thought. Battle cries turned to wails of despair, and a large knot of beastmen threw down their weapons and ran — heading straight for Malus and his warband.
“Fire at will!” Malus ordered. He sighted on a running beastman and put a bolt in the centre of his chest. The druchii worked their weapons with quick, brutal efficiency, loading, firing and loading again. They’d killed nearly a score of the beastmen when they realised the peril in front of them and scattered, running for the safety of the trees to the east and west.
Malus sighted on a running beastman and fired, punching a bolt into the creature’s back. “Cease fire!” he ordered as the beastman crashed to the ground. Farther down the hollow, the torch-wielding beastmen had finished off the last of their opponents and were now advancing uphill. In their lead, Malus could see a huge beastman bearing a massive staff and wearing a heavy robe draped over his sloping shoulders.
The highborn studied the advancing mob carefully. They seemed wary, but not overtly hostile. On impulse, he put his crossbow away. “I think they’re coming to talk,” he said to Lhunara. “Hold the men here. If something goes wrong, come and get me.”
“Yes, my lord,” Lhunara said, but the choked expression on her face spoke eloquently of her real opinion of Malus’ plan. The highborn put the spurs to his mount and trotted across the corpse-strewn ground to meet the newcomers.
The beastman sorcerer grunted a command to his fellows as Malus approached, then he and one other continued their advance. The pair worked their way among the fallen beastmen until they stood approximately ten yards ahead of the torch-wielding mob.
Malus stopped within easy hailing distance and showed his empty hands. “Well met, stranger,” he called, realising, too late, that the beastman probably didn’t understand a word he was saying. “It appears my enemy is your enemy. Do you have a name?”
At that, the second beastman stepped from behind the sorcerer, and Malus was shocked to see that it was his former prisoner. The beastman raised itself up to his full height and pointed dramatically at the towering sorcerer.
Malus’ eyes went wide. He’d been wrong all along. Kul Hadar wasn’t the name of a place at all.
The sorcerer tossed his horned head and smiled. “Hail, druchii,” the sorcerer rumbled in guttural druhir. “I am Kul Hadar.”
Chapter Sixteen
BONDS OF BLOOD
Malus’ mind was a-boil as the warband followed the beastman pack through the forest. Kul Hadar, the great sorcerer, had offered little in the way of information
at the battlefield in the hollow, saying the time for talk would come once they had returned to his camp nearby. The very idea had set the highborn’s teeth on edge, but he was hardly in a position to refuse. The sorcerer’s warband had suffered few losses in the battle, and they seemed more than ready for another fight, and Malus had no way to counter Kul Hadar’s magical prowess. If the beastman lord lost patience with the druchii, Malus did not relish the thought of open battle.
Kul Hadar’s beastmen set quickly to looting the bodies of the dead, and then with swift efficiency began butchering the healthiest and fattest of the corpses. Within an hour, the pack was ready to move, and quickly set off west. On the way out of the hollow, Kul Hadar made a point of leading the warband through the spot where he and his pack had fought the enemy beastmen. In the centre of the piled corpses, Malus saw a ring of pale, withered bodies, their once-muscular forms withered by the sweep of an unseen power that reduced flesh and bone to brittle ash. The bodies collapsed into dust at the heavy tread of the cold ones. The highborn took note and remembered the wave of chill that had curdled the air and broken the enemy ranks. Kul Hadar was giving him a message.
The pack moved overland, disdaining the clear paths, and the nauglir were forced to pick their way slowly through the wild terrain. Their former guide now walked alongside them, pointing out the way with infuriating smugness. Time and again Malus found himself hoping that the creature would wander too close to Spite and lose an arm for his clumsiness, but the opportunity never arose.
After almost an hour the pack turned north, and the warband found itself climbing the mountain’s steep slope. The air was cold, but no wind stirred the dark trees. There was a sound — almost like a humming -in the air, so deep as to be almost undetectable. Spite felt it, and occasionally shook his head to try to free himself from the sound. If their beastman guide noticed it, he gave no sign.