by Dan Abnett
Two more hours of hard travel saw them perhaps a quarter of the way up the wooded mountainside. A horn sounded mournfully up ahead, accompanied by faint cries — Malus suspected that they had reached the sentries guarding the beastman camp. Ten minutes later the warband reached a sprawling encampment of crude shelters formed from limbs and pine branches, arranged around the mouth of a large cave that gaped from the mountainside. Malus could just see the back of Kul Hadar disappearing into the cave when their guide grunted and barked, pointing them off to the right.
The guide led them to a reasonably clear area near the edge of the camp, and with gestures and grunts conveyed to them that they were to remain there. Near the centre of camp someone had got a fire going, and a chorus of voices were raised in an eerie, barking chant.
“Stand,” Malus commanded, and slid wearily from the saddle. Every part of him from the neck down ached, and he was covered in dried blood and less savoury fluids. The rest of the warband followed suit, silent and stoic as ever. “Dalvar,” the highborn called, “if these beasts have camped here there must be a spring somewhere nearby. Go see if you can find it. I smell like a dung heap.”
“Indeed, my lord? I hadn’t noticed,” the rogue said with a mocking grin, then quickly slipped from sight. Malus threw a half-hearted glare at the retreating man, then started fumbling at the buckles of his armour.
“Are you certain that’s wise?” Lhunara asked, checking her mount for injuries a few yards away.
“I’ve had this cursed harness on for three days,” Malus growled. “If the beastmen wanted to kill us they’d have done it three hours ago. At this rate, the stink might do the work anyway.” His pauldrons clattered to the ground, then his vambraces, then a moment later his breast and backplates. The highborn straightened with a sigh, savouring the cold air on the sweat-soaked sleeves of his robes. He ran a hand through matted and crusty hair and scrubbed bits of gore from his cheeks. Not a bad look for social occasions or the odd negotiation, he mused, but I wouldn’t recommend it for days on end. “What’s our situation, Lhunara?” he asked as he tried to untangle his hair.
“One dead. Minor wounds for everyone else. The nauglir are in good shape, but they’re getting thin again. A pity we couldn’t have fed them back at the hollow.”
“Kul Hadar probably wouldn’t have cared, but I didn’t think to ask.”
“Ammunition is running low for the crossbows, as well as food and water. Also, we appear to be camped in the middle of an entire mob of beastmen.”
“I’d noticed that last part myself,” Malus answered darkly.
“What, then, are we doing here, my lord?”
“We’re here to see Kul Hadar,” the highborn replied. “It appears that when Urial wrote to take the skull to ‘Kul Hadar in the north’, he was referring to the beastman sorcerer. How he knew of Hadar is a mystery. Perhaps Hadar himself can enlighten me, or perhaps not.”
“Well, what are we going to do now?”
“I’m going to talk to Hadar, of course,” Malus snapped. “Obviously he’s interested in negotiations of some kind, or he wouldn’t have brought us to his camp. I suspect he’s after the skull, but we’ll see. In the meantime, rest the men and the mounts. I expect we’ll know something before long.”
As it happened, Kul Hadar kept them waiting for another three hours, while the flames in the centre of the camp grew into a bonfire and the smell of roasted meat filled the air. Dalvar found the spring quickly enough, and Malus took the opportunity to get himself and his warband cleaned and fed. By the time the beastman guide came and beckoned for Malus to follow, Vanhir and Dalvar were standing watch over the camp while the rest of the warband — druchii and nauglir alike — slept on the rocky ground. Once again buckled into his armour, Malus trooped up the slope to the cave.
Pale, greenish light flickered fitfully at the cave entrance. The highborn expected to find more colonies of glowing fungus, but was surprised to find the stone walls bare of life. Just beyond the cave entrance was a small chamber carpeted with rubbish and stinking of rotted meat. Bitter smoke hung near the cave ceiling, and the hulking shapes of beastmen slouched near the walls, eating noisily or swilling wine from huge leather skins. They eyed Malus with barely veiled hostility as the guide led him through the chamber and down a rough, twisting passageway.
The green light came from deeper in the complex of caves. The illumination grew stronger the deeper they went. Finally, the passage opened into another, larger cave. As Malus crossed the threshold, he felt a wave of coldness pass through his body, as though he’d stepped through a ghostly wall of ice. He looked down and saw that the floor was covered in crude symbols etched with pale chalk. The sorcerer’s wards, he thought.
The shaman sat on a broad ledge at the far end of the cave, his large staff close to hand. The sorcerer’s dark eyes were studying him with intense curiosity. Something’s surprised him, Malus realised. Could it be Nagaira’s talisman? Perhaps his magic doesn’t work so well against it.
Unlike the previous cave, this chamber was surprisingly clean. Symbols were etched into the walls and ceiling of the space, and several collections of jars, pots, bones and feathers were arranged on rocky shelves around the cave. The chamber was lit with a powerful greenish light emanating from what looked like an enormous, faceted crystal growing from the floor of the cave.
Kul Hadar dismissed the guide with a broad, clawed hand. Up close, the beastman sorcerer was a fearsome sight. He was large and powerfully built even for a beastman — had he stood, his horned head would have scraped the cave’s seven-foot ceiling. Necklaces of bone and feathers hung from his thick neck, as well as a number of brass medallions etched with crude sigils. Malus was shocked to realise that they looked strikingly similar to the runes carved on the surface of Urial’s relic.
The sorcerer’s black eyes studied him dispassionately, his long snout and huge, glossy ram’s horns lending him an aura of otherworldly menace. Power reverberated through the air, vibrating against Malus’ bones.
“Hu’ghul says you have come to the Wastes seeking me by name, and bearing a skull in your hand,” Kul Hadar said.
Malus considered the beastman’s words for a moment. It was disconcerting to hear intelligible druhir rumbling from that bestial snout. More sorcery, Malus thought? Perhaps. Finally, he nodded. “That is so.”
The highborn caught the slightest tremor in the beastman’s powerful frame, and there was no mistaking the fevered gleam in his black eyes. Ah, Malus thought. Interesting.
“And how did a lord such as yourself learn the name of Hadar?” the shaman inquired, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Malus affected a shrug. “I took the skull and some papers from a druchii sorcerer,” he replied. “The papers spoke of many things I did not understand, but they also mentioned you.”
Hadar considered this. “And what do you want of me, druchii?”
“I want the power locked in the temple — the same as you.”
The shaman studied him for several heartbeats, then chuckled deep in his chest. “I have been the Kul — the shaman-lord — of my herd for many years, druchii. I took this mountain for my own and studied the temple when other lords took their herds to pillage the soft kingdoms of men. I know the way past the Gate of Infinity, and the Skull of Ehrenlish is the key. Long have I searched the Wastes for it, making pacts with many dark powers for clues to its whereabouts. At last, I learned of its resting place in an ancient city by the sea, but when I reached the ruins, a band of druchii rogues had got there before me and spirited the relic away.” The shaman’s gaze glittered with thwarted ambition. “But now the Ruinous Powers have brought you -and the relic — back into my grasp.” Hadar chuckled again, savouring some private amusement. “The gods are fickle beings, Lord Malus. I will help you past the gate, druchii, but my aid does not come without a price.”
And now we get to the heart of the matter, Malus thought. If the skull was all you needed, we wouldn’t be speaking to one anothe
r right now — you’d be roasting me on that fire outside. “What do you wish?”
Hadar leaned forward, propping his elbows on his furred knees. “At first, my herd obeyed my will and served me faithfully as I struggled against the magical defences of the temple. Aside from the great power contained within, the inner sanctum of the temple is heaped with treasure, or so the legends tell it. For a time, the promise of wealth was enough. But as the years went by without glorious raids or the sweet taste of foemen’s flesh, my herd drew restless. They began to think me weak and foolish.”
Malus nodded, permitting himself a thin smile. “I know too well what you speak of, Kul Hadar.”
“When I learned at last of the skull’s resting place, I gathered my champions and journeyed to the lost city, but while I was gone, my lieutenant, Machuk, rose up and claimed the herd for his own. When I returned, empty handed, he hunted me through the forest like an animal. The hunting party you fought in the woods was one of several searching the mountain for me.” The shaman indicated the sigils carved into the walls of the chamber. “My magics and the power of the warpstone here have been enough to conceal myself and my band, but it is only a matter of time before we are found.”
The highborn nodded thoughtfully, folding his arms. He could guess where the conversation was headed. “You want me to help you regain control of your herd.”
The shaman grunted in acknowledgement. “Yes. Your numbers are few, but you wear hard shells and have weapons that kill from far away, as well as fearsome beasts that carry you into battle. Machuk has ways of defeating my magics, but he has no defence against you. If we strike swiftly, we can kill him and his champions, and I can regain my control of the herd. More importantly—” Hadar pointed out, raising a clawed finger for emphasis- “I can regain access to the sacred grove at the heart of the herd’s camp. I will need the power contained there to unlock the secrets of the Skull of Ehrenlish and learn how to open the Gate of Infinity.”
At which point you’ll throw me to your herd and claim the temple’s power for yourself, Malus reasoned. Of course, I am no stranger to treachery myself.
“Very well, Kul Hadar. We have an agreement. I and my warriors will gain you access to the grove, and you will reveal to me the secrets of the skull. And then?”
The shaman smiled, a slow revelation of cruel teeth. “Why then, the power in the temple will be ours.”
“This is madness,” Lhunara said, leaning against the flank of her nauglir with arms folded and a defiant look in her eye. The rest of the warband had circled the nauglir and now clustered around to hear the news from their lord.
A chorus of guttural shouts went up from the bonfire near the centre of the camp. Evidently Hadar had passed word of his newfound alliance down to his champions. With all the noise, Malus could feel confident that they weren’t being overheard.
“The plan is not without risk,” he conceded, “but we need Hadar to unlock the gate, and he won’t turn on us until he’s pacified his rebellious herd. They aren’t simply going to bow their heads the minute we’ve killed this Machuk and go on as though the rebellion never happened. Until Hadar has cemented his authority he will still need us, and there are ways we can keep the herd restive until we’ve learned what we need to know about the skull.”
Vanhir shook his head. “We’re not dealing with other druchii, my lord. It’s not as though we can play one lord off against another with promises of succession, or stoke buried feuds to keep this herd at one another’s throats.”
“No, but we can keep them angry at Hadar, enough that he remains uncertain of his authority,” Malus replied. “From what he told me, the herd has resented him for years. They won’t be happy returning to his rule, no matter how many warriors he has on hand.”
“But this time he can promise them the treasures of the temple,” Dalvar pointed out.
“He’s promised them that in the past. They won’t be convinced until he’s shown them the treasure — and by that point we’ll have learned what we need to know and beaten him to it.”
“And how exactly are we going to do that?” Lhunara inquired. “None of us are sorcerers.”
“The skull is not leaving my possession,” Malus replied. “I’ll be there every moment Hadar is examining it. What he learns, I’ll learn. I’ve already discovered that his protective wards don’t work against me, thanks to Nagaira’s talisman—” Malus tapped his breastplate over the spot where the magical orb rested, “—so it’s possible I can kill him the moment I’ve learned what I need. Then we can escape.”
“With a horde of vengeful beastmen howling for our skins,” Vanhir muttered.
“Once I have the power within the temple, they’ll have ample reason to howl, believe me.”
“My lord, do you actually know what this great power is?” Lhunara asked. “Does anyone know?”
Malus fought a surge of anger. “It’s a power that two great sorcerers have spent years of effort and substantial wealth to acquire,” he said coldly. “What more do we need to know? Great power finds a way to make itself felt, Lhunara. It will obey me as much as it would Urial or Hadar, and I will not hesitate to use it on my enemies. And besides that—” the highborn spread his arms to encompass the warband, “think of the riches the temple holds. Wealth beyond your dreams. Enough to make each of you a lord in your own right. Think of that. When we make it inside you can take as much as your nauglir can carry. You have my oath on it.”
The gleam of naked avarice thawed the masks of uncertainty on many of the druchii’s faces, Vanhir and Dalvar in particular. Lhunara gave a loud snort. “Gold’s not much use to a corpse,” she growled. “But it’s not as though this is open to a vote. You’ve decided, and that’s that, and the Dark Mother be with us all. When do we ride?”
“We ride out tomorrow night, and strike at dawn,” Malus said. “Until then, sharpen your blades and mend your armour. There’s hard fighting ahead.”
Chapter Seventeen
SWORDS AT DAWN
The sentry walked a predictable path, shuffling almost invisibly through the undergrowth from east to west and back again. Sloppy, Malus thought. He should be sitting somewhere with a good field of view and using those long ears of his instead of moving. It was clear that the herd felt it had little to fear from Kul Hadar or anyone else on the mountainside.
The druchii crouched low as the sentry approached. It was nearly dawn, and the attackers had been working their way through the woods for hours surrounding the herd’s permanent camp. Already they had intercepted and killed a handful of Hadar’s former followers; hunters returning with food for the following night and small packs of scouts hunting for Hadar and his exiles. Now it was the sentry’s turn, and after that, the real fighting would begin.
The attacking force was split into three smaller, mixed groups of druchii and beastmen. This allowed the force to move more stealthily and cover more of the camp’s perimeter, and provided each column with two or three druchii crossbows to silence unexpected threats. Malus, Vanhir and one of Dalvar’s men marched with fifteen of Hadar’s champions, led by a massive beast named Yaghan. Unlike the other beastmen Malus had seen, Yaghan and his warriors were all clad in knee-length coats of heavy bronze scales and greaves, and each wielded a huge, double-bitted axe. Surprisingly, for all their size and bulk, the champions moved silently and nimbly through the woods.
Hadar had pulled aside Yaghan shortly before leaving the exile camp and grunted a series of orders at the beastman. The champion followed Malus’ hand signals and relayed orders to the rest of the champions without hesitation, but never without a burning glare of resentment in its small eyes.
The sentry’s movements made little more than a faint rustle among the ferns and bushes beneath the tall trees — someone less alert might have mistaken the sound for the furtive movements of a fox. Malus kept himself still and watched the spaces between the trees carefully. Within a moment he caught a glimpse of the beastman’s silhouette as he crossed from the
shadow of one tree to the next. He was exactly where the highborn thought he would be. Malus raised the crossbow to his shoulder and waited.
The highborn listened to the scuff of hooves along the forest floor, following the invisible presence of the sentry with his eyes. The beastman crossed Malus’ field of vision, almost to a large bramble bush some five yards away. The sentry took another few steps and stopped. For a moment, there was only silence. Then Malus heard the beastman sniff the air suspiciously.
Suddenly the bramble bush thrashed and shook, and Spite lunged at the beastman. In less time than it took to draw a breath, the nauglir snapped up the sentry and bit through his torso with a muffled crunch of bone. An arm and a head thumped softly across the ground and the cold one settled back on its haunches.
Malus grinned. “All right. That’s the last of them,” he whispered to his men. “Get to your mounts. We’re moving forward.”
The two druchii nodded and slipped silently forward to where their own nauglir waited. Malus turned to Yaghan and waved him ahead. The beastman glared at him and motioned its champions forward with a nod of its horned skull. We can only hope you’ll come to a glorious and messy end here in the next few minutes, Malus thought coldly. Otherwise, you might be trouble later.
The attackers worked their way forward through the woods, drawn by the light of the bonfires now burning low in the centre of the camp. The habit of the herd was to eat and drink heavily towards the end of the night and sleep it off during the day. Already Malus could hear groans and low growls as tired, drunk beastmen staggered off to their tents or one of the caves that pocked this part of the mountainside.
According to Hadar, Machuk’s tent was surrounded by those of his own champions farther up the slope, near the opening of the great cleft that Hadar called the sacred grove. That was where the attackers would find him just at dawn, and it was the job of the druchii to pave the way for Yaghan and his champions to reach the tents and take the usurper’s head in Hadar’s name.