Night of the Daemon

by Aaron Rosemberg

  The first was the gleam in the strangers' eyes. They had the look of fanatics, men gone beyond reason, utterly wrapped up in their own obsessions.

  The second was the mark each bore on his forehead. It had been carved there, he was sure; he could still see dried blood in several places. It was a rune he recognised, and despite being cut into flesh it had a strange malleable look about it, that same skin-crawling sensation he had felt too many times before.

  It was a Chaos mark, and these men wore it as a mark of devotion.

  'They aren't bandits, or bounty hunters,' he whispered to Lankdorf, in case the bounty hunter hadn't noticed. 'They're cultists! If they see us they'll kill us... or worse!'

  Lankdorf nodded and Alaric saw his shoulders tense. 'Then let's hope they don't see us,' he whispered back.

  Unfortunately as the cultists neared their hiding place Alaric smelled a foul stench rising from them. Clearly religious fanaticism did not include an interest in bathing. The blood and gore caked on their weapons and clothes probably didn't help either.

  As good as Alaric's nose was, the mule's was better.

  The beast brayed, shaking its head to drive away the smell. The sound was impossible to miss and the cultists turned towards the rocks, weapons shifting in their hands, grins splitting their faces to reveal rotting, bloody teeth.

  'I hear meat,' one of the filthy men declared loudly, a rusty axe held high above his head, 'and meat like that does not hide on its own. That means people. We shall feast on their hearts and offer their livers to our lord and master!'

  The cultists surged forwards, several direcdy at the boulders while others curved around towards where diey met the cliff wall. Lankdorf took that opportunity to fire, the bolt taking the lead cultist through the throat and flinging him back with the force of impact. There was not time to reload and so Lankdorf tossed the weapon down and rose to his feet, drawing his sword with one hand and a dagger with the other. As Alaric watched, the bounty hunter stepped forwards, blocking the end of the trail, blades swinging, and caught one cultist's sword stroke on his dagger while his own blade darted in to gut the man. Lankdorf clearly knew how to handle himself, but would that be enough?

  After a moment it was clear that the answer was no. The bounty hunter was a competent fighter, but he was badly outnumbered. There were ten cultists in all, and several were trying to scale the boulders and climb down behind Lankdorf. Neither Dietz nor Alaric were in any shape to help, even if they'd had their hands free and weapons to hand. Lankdorf was holding his own, for the moment, fending off those who approached the trail's mouth, but it was only a matter of time before one of the weapons around him found an opening or one of the cultists made it over the boulders and cut him down from behind, and once his blade dropped they were all dead.

  'A little help would be good.' Alaric said softly. He wasn't even sure who he was talking to, certainly not any of the gods, but it seemed that one of them heard him anyway, for an instant later they heard a shout from the other end of the path.

  'By Grungni's beard!' A deep, rough voice cried out. 'Looks like a fight up ahead!'

  'Help!' Alaric responded, trying to catch a glimpse of the newcomer. 'We're under attack and badly outnumbered!'

  'Outnumbered?' A second new voice replied. 'Looks like bandits! Well, they'll soon regret their actions. Fall before Sigmar's light!'

  Suddenly the strangers came into view through a gap between the boulders. Alaric saw the dwarf first, a short, stout figure with swirling blue tattoos, a long red beard and the distinctive orange crest of a Slayer. He bore a massive war axe in each hand. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and stern features emerged behind him, wearing the armour of a Sigmarite, his bronze hammer catching the light as he called Sigmar's fury down upon the heathens before him. Behind them were two other men, one dressed in a long red robe and the other a massive white-bearded man with an eye patch, a longsword and an array of daggers and knives about him. A silver-haired woman strode with them, lovely and fine-featured even though she wore full armour and carried both a shield and a sword.

  The dwarf reached the cultists first, roaring something in his native tongue, his axes lashing out to cut the nearest cultist in half, the blades sliding past each other as they met through the man's middle. The Sigmarite's hammer shattered another's skull even as the man with the patch stabbed one through the chest with his longsword and the woman knocked another aside with her shield, following the blow with a slicing attack from her delicate but clearly sharp blade. The robed man did not use a weapon but fire danced around his clenched fists and he struck out with that, the flames licking around his target as the cultist fell, blackened marks appearing where the man's fists had connected.

  Lankdorf did not miss his opportunity, either. As the surviving cultists turned away from him to deal with this new threat his sword arm snaked out, catching the nearest cultist around the neck. A quick tug backwards and a slice with his dagger and the man fell dead at his feet, blood spurting from his cut throat.

  The dwarf had already taken down another foe, his blades shearing one of the man's legs off and then lopping off his head as he toppled. The one-eyed man also killed another, and the Sigmarite battered down the final cultist before either the woman or the robed man could reach him.

  'Thanks for the help,' Lankdorf called out. He seemed to be directing his speech towards the Sigmarite, which made sense, since a man like that was not likely to take orders from anyone else, so he was most likely the leader of the strangely assorted group.

  'I could not in good conscience let you battle alone against such vermin,' the Sigmarite replied, his manner of speech reminding Alaric of their witch hunter friend Oswald Kleiber. Why did religious fanatics all speak the same way, he wondered? Or at least why did Sigmarites? The cultists had certainly not bothered with such careful diction.

  'Are you injured?' The robed man asked, stepping over the bodies towards the trail entrance. He had wild red hair and a flowing beard, and a flame tattoo around his left eye. Alaric noticed that the man's robes also bore flame patterns at the cuffs and a set of silver keys hung prominently around his neck.

  'Nothing important,' Lankdorf answered. He had a few small cuts where blades had nicked him, but none of them seemed to hamper him.

  The robed man glanced up and saw Alaric and Dietz behind the bounty hunter. His eyes widened, clearly surprised to see anyone else there, and then narrowed as he noticed their bonds. His companions had approached and stood arrayed before Lankdorf. For a second Alaric thought

  this might be their chance to escape, but the bounty hunter was no fool.

  'I'm a bounty hunter,' he explained. 'These two are wanted for crimes in Akendorf.'

  'A misunderstanding,' Alaric corrected, keeping his tone light, 'nothing more. Why the prince felt the need to take such extreme action for so minor a disagreement is beyond me.'

  'Doesn't matter,' Lankdorf countered, turning slightly and cuffing Alaric on the cheek. 'They're my prisoners and that's that.'

  The strangers stood for a second without speaking, but then the Sigmarite stepped forwards.

  'We have no wish to interfere,' he assured Lankdorf, who visibly relaxed. 'Yours is a rightful task and we will not impede you.'

  Thanks.' Lankdorf nodded and sheathed his blades. 'Merkel Lankdorf,' he introduced himself.

  'I am Alaric von Jungfreud, at your service,' Alaric interjected, bowing carefully from his seat to avoid aggravating his wound, 'and this is my companion, Dietrich Froebel.' Dietz nodded. Lankdorf glared at him but didn't try to strike him again.

  'Jurgen Heim,' the Sigmarite responded, 'and these are my companions.' He gestured at the dwarf, the robed man, the lady, and the one-eyed man in turn. 'Urrel Two-Axe, Otto Enbar of the Bright Order, the lady Kera of Ostermark, and Gorge von Oswald.'

  Dietz gasped when he heard the last name. The Butcher of Middenheim!' he blurted out, and then looked embarrassed as the man in question scowled. 'Sorry, it's
just... I've heard all about you! I'm from Middenheim myself. My father was a wheelwright there.'

  'Oh?' von Oswald brightened. 'What did you say your name was? Froebel?' He thought for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. 'Not Denholm Froebel?'

  'That's my father!' Dietz straightened. 'My older brother Dracht runs the shop now.'

  'Ah, a fine man, your father,' von Oswald said. 'Yes, an excellent craftsman. I bought from him more than once.' His face clouded, as if remembering that time in his life had led to other, less happy thoughts, and he fell silent once more.

  'The Bright Order?' Alaric asked the robed man, trying to fill the uncomfortable pause. He'd heard that somewhere, but where? After a second he had it. 'You're a fire mage!'

  'Yes.' Enbar seemed pleased at the recognition. You know of our order?'

  'Only a little,' Alaric admitted. 'I've heard of the various magical orders but not in detail.' This was actually the first time he'd met a Bright Wizard in person and he had several questions to ask, but the way Lankdorf was looking at him he knew he'd best not push his luck.

  'Lucky our paths crossed when they did,' the bounty hunter commented, forcing attention back away from his prisoners.

  Yes,' Heim agreed, 'particularly since we will not stay on this road long. Our path lies somewhere within the mountains, through less travelled routes.'

  'Assuming we can find the damned thing at all,' Enbar muttered.

  'We'll find it,' the dwarf, Uriel, growled back. 'I can find anything buried in the ground.'

  'Anything belonging to your people,' Enbar agreed, 'but what do you know of the ancient Nehekharans?'

  Alaric's ears pricked at the name, and he resisted the urge to see if Dietz had caught the mention as well.

  'Stone is stone,' Urrel was insisting. 'If it's here, I shall find it.' His grip tightened on his two axes as if daring anyone to contradict him again. No one did.

  'Which way did you travel?' The lady, Kera, asked them. Her voice was smooth and soft, her speech delicate, and Alaric knew at once that he was dealing with a fellow noble. Yet she wielded a blade and wore armour and shield, more like a guard or man-at-arms than a lady. I le wondered what her story might be.

  'We came from the north,' Lankdorf told them grudgingly. He indicated the peaks behind them.

  'Did you see anything... unusual?' Enbar asked, his eyes bright.

  The bounty hunter seemed unwilling to yield information. 'A lot of rock,' was his only reply.

  'Unusual in what way?' Alaric asked, unable to stay quiet.

  'Oh, strange formations, carvings, that sort of thing,' Enbar replied as casually as he could.

  'You mean like a pair of massive doors, carved in the image of a dead Nehekharan king?' It was the first time Dietz had spoken since mentioning his brother, and several of the newcomers started at his comment, their eyes widening as his words sank in. Dietz grinned at them.

  'Aye, that's what I thought,' he said slowly. 'You want the tomb.'

  'Shut up!' Lankdorf struck Dietz in the stomach, hard enough to double him over. 'You speak when I say you speak!'

  'I would hear what they know of this tomb,' Enbar announced, stepping forwards. Perhaps Alaric was imagining it but the air around the man seemed to shimmer, the way it did around a strong fire.

  'Aye, so would we all,' Heim agreed. He studied Lankdorf soberly. 'It would be a great aid to us if you would allow them to speak, friend.'

  'Fine.' Lankdorf spat the word out. 'Talk, then.' All eyes turned back towards Dietz, who suddenly looked less thrilled about that.

  'We've been there,' Alaric interjected, drawing the newcomers' attention away from his friend. Now he had all their attention. 'Karitamen the Death Scarab, his tomb, we've been there.'

  'You carry no treasure,' von Oswald pointed out, his one eye piercing. 'The tomb is said to be filled with gold and other baubles.'

  'It is,' Alaric admitted. 'More than ten men could carry.' He shook his head and winced at the motion. 'We were in a bit of a hurry.'

  'And inhabitants?' Heim asked, his hands tightening on his hammer.

  'Undead,' Dietz told him, 'skeleton warriors, mummified cats, living statues... oh, and the king himself.' He shuddered, clearly remembering the fight in the burial chamber. 'He's like a skeleton but much worse, more alert, for one thing, and much stronger.'

  'A liche!' The way the Sigmarite's eyes lit up, Alaric might have thought the man had found a treasure beyond value, and perhaps the idea of killing such a creature was that valuable to him.

  'Go due north for three days,' Dietz told them, 'head between the cleft that resembles a bent fork tine and aim for the peak that looks like a hawk's beak. Look for a valley with a flat wall along the west side.' His expression shifted. 'You'll see bodies there as well.'

  'Bodies?' Urrel asked.

  'Some of our recent companions,' Alaric explained, 'and several local soldiers fought over the treasure.' When Heim's gaze shifted to them and to Lankdorf, Alaric felt compelled to admit, 'he wasn't there. We were wounded and he found us afterwards.'

  Lankdorf spoke up. 'What about the way you came?' he asked, clearly bored with all this talk of the tomb. 'Anything we should watch for?' He dragged the mule down into the pass proper, and then hauled Dietz along as well, leaving the way clear for the adventurers.

  'Aye,' von Oswald replied, his face twisting into a snarl of disgust. 'That town, the one we heard of. What was it again?'

  Vitrolle,' Enbar reminded him.

  'That one,' the one-eyed man agreed. 'Steer clear of it.'

  'It stands at the head of the Howling River, where it splits in twain,' Kera explained. 'We heard strange stories of that place and its people. They say all there are fanatics, all worshipping the same god. They say many who enter that region disappear, never to return.' She shuddered slightly, although she masked the tremor almost immediately.

  'Good luck, and may Sigmar be with you,' Heim told them, raising his hand in benediction. Then he gestured ahead of him with his hammer and the others followed as he passed Alaric and Dietz, and Lankdorf began climbing the trail up the cliff side.

  The other four said goodbye, each in his or her own fashion, and marched past them and up the winding trail. Before long Heim had reached the top and disappeared over the peak, the others following behind him.

  'You meet the most interesting people,' Alaric murmured as Lankdorf gathered the mule's reins and led her down the pass. None of them spoke much for the rest of the day as they followed Mad Dog Pass, but Lankdorf kept his crossbow close at hand and his eyes peeled, and all of them started every time a rock fell or the wind howled through the mountains.

  IT TOOK THEM two more days to reach the path's end, walking down out of the mountains, out of the foothills, and finally to the edge of rolling green countryside. They hadn't seen anyone else along the way.

  They were still camped on the third day, enjoying the shift from hard rock to dirt and trees, when they heard a strange rustling noise. Before any of them could react, the bushes erupted, a flurry of leaves and branches rising into the air around them. Then the steady drumbeat reached them, shaking their feet, making them want to die. The pounding increased, someone drawing closer, until suddenly the shadows around them burst into life as a trio of horsemen emerged. The men wore studded leather armour with wine-red sashes across their left shoulders, and carried shields and longswords. The shields were deep red, with a brown horse rearing upon them. The riders closed in around Alaric, Dietz and Lankdorf, leaving no path for escape.

  Who are you and what is your business here? the lead horseman asked, addressing Lankdorf. His hand rested on his sword hilt, but he didn't draw it.

  'I'm a bounty hunter,' Lankdorf replied, carefully keeping his hands away from his weapons. He didn't sound very concerned. 'I'm taking these two criminals back to Akendorf.'

  'Under what authority?' the rider demanded.

  'My own,' the bounty hunter replied. 'What else is there?'

  One
of the other riders laughed. 'In these lands, you must have our ruler's permission to engage in such activities.'

  'I didn't know that,' Lankdorf admitted. 'I didn't mean to break any laws.'

  'Yet you have,' the first horseman informed him. He frowned. 'You will come with us,' he said after a second's pause, 'all of you.'

  'Is that really necessary?' Lankdorf asked. He let one hand rest on his belt pouch and shifted it slightly, causing a clink that could only come from coins rubbing together. 'Isn't there some fee I can pay instead? I don't like long delays.'

  "You will delay for as long as necessary,' the rider informed him. He studied the three of them carefully. 'I do not trust your presence here,' he said finally, 'especially at such a time. We will take you to our ruler and let her decide your fate.'

  Alaric noticed the pronoun shift. The local ruler was a woman? He'd never heard of a female ruler here, and he was curious to meet her. Not that they seemed to have much of a choice.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  APPARENTLY THE RULER'S camp was nearby. One of the three horsemen removed Lankdorfs weapons, tied his hands behind him, and pulled him up onto the horse in front of him. Another hoisted Dietz up onto his horse, leaving the wrist manacles but taking the key from Lankdorf and removing the anklets. The third clearly considered treating Alaric the same way, but after seeing his bandages the rider decided it was better to leave Alaric where he was, and so it was three horses and a mule that rode away from the last sight of the pass and plunged back into the Border Princes.

  The land was not as heavily forested as it was to the north, although there were trees aplenty. The copses were smaller and further apart, however, creating small plains and valleys in between. Tall grass covered the ground between the trees, but Dietz also saw cultivated fields bordered by sturdy wooden fences.