‘I could distract it and allow you to make a break for freedom, but it wouldn’t do us any good,’ said Neave. ‘That damned collar around its neck, it’s thick with Khornate runes. Wards against magic of every sort. I would bet my blades that’s what’s been interfering with my gifts, obscuring the beast from my sight. If we lost it here, by the time we tracked it down again it could have an army rallied behind it.’
‘I was not for a moment suggesting that one of us flee for aid,’ said Tarion, and Neave realised he was affronted. ‘I meant only that we need to come up with another way to defeat the beast.’
The cogfort shook violently, and there came a tearing of metal. Daylight spilled into the corridor as the section housing the secondary boiler room tore backwards and away. The duardin corpse slithered bonelessly out of the hole, and the daemon hound’s furious visage filled the ragged gap in the corridor’s end.
‘Move,’ urged Neave, and both she and Tarion dashed along the corridor as fast as they could go. Neave felt pain ripping up through her mangled leg. She gritted her teeth and ignored the trail of blood she left behind her as she limped along. Again, the fort shook, and another chunk of superstructure tore away behind them as massive claws ripped through it.
‘We can’t hurt it with our weapons, we don’t have the numbers to overwhelm it,’ said Tarion as they ducked through a hatchway into what looked like a destroyed map room. ‘What else do we have to work with? Did you see any weaknesses, any hints at how to bring it down?’
‘The tendons around its neck looked promising, but they’re tougher than forged steel,’ said Neave as they lurched across the shaking chamber and scrambled up a heap of wreckage and corpses to reach the hatch above. ‘Its underbelly. There are hatches in its underbelly, chained shut,’ she exclaimed.
‘What if, even after we break the chains, whatever is in there does not care to vacate?’ asked Tarion. ‘That’s a powerful second skin it’s wearing. Would you give up armour that destructive?’
They reached the top of the stairwell only to find their passage blocked by an iron hatch. It had crumpled in its frame, something huge and heavy buckling the wall beside it. Tarion and Neave gripped it and tried between them to wrench it open. The hatch started to give with a groan, but wouldn’t shift any further.
‘Damnation,’ spat Neave, thumping one fist against the wall. Behind them, they heard the shriek and groan of metal tearing. Smoke billowed up through the stairwell.
‘It’s going to flush us, then burn us,’ said Tarion.
Neave snapped her head around to stare at him. ‘Tarion, that’s brilliant,’ she said.
‘It… what?’ he replied.
‘I’ll lead the mark,’ she said. ‘You get airborne, shadow us, and when I signal–’
The wall of the corridor tore inwards, huge metal talons raking through it as easily as though it were paper. Neave ducked, snarling in pain as a talon-tip raked a furrow through the back-plate of her armour. Tarion gave a yell of alarm as he was caught up in the mangled mass of metal and wood and ripped out of the cogfort’s corridor.
‘Tarion!’ yelled Neave, scrambling up through the rent, grabbing buckled pipes and severed girders as she dragged herself onto the cogfort’s outer skin. She saw the hound had clambered halfway up onto the wreck. It had Tarion trapped within its curled talons and was raising him towards its enormous maw.
Neave hobbled as fast as she could towards the beast, mind racing as she tried to figure out a way to get Tarion free. She saw a sudden crackle of light, and then the monster’s talons were blown open in a thunderous flash. Tarion was flung away, plunging off the side of the cogfort and vanishing from sight.
Neave had no time to work out what had happened, and no choice but to hope that her comrade was alive, and that he had understood and was capable of following her plan.
She would have to trust Tarion. The thought made her uncomfortable, but at this point it was their best chance.
Neave’s darting eyes quickly picked out the best route off the side of the cogfort. She moved as fast as she could, ignoring the jarring pain that shot up her leg, clambering and slithering between the buckled plates and jutting spars before lurching along the inside of the fort’s lower rampart and dropping ten feet to the bedrock. A gasp of pain escaped her, but Neave kept moving.
‘Come on, you mindless abomination,’ she muttered as she set off up the volcano’s slope. ‘You’ve hunted down every living thing that’s crossed your path since I’ve been on your trail. Don’t tell me you’re getting lazy now.’
Neave was rewarded by a tectonic thump behind her, the impact so hard it made dirt jump from the bedrock and almost spilled her from her feet. She didn’t need to look back to know that the beast was chasing her; the ominous sound of rumbling furnaces, screeching metal and iron clangour told her everything she needed to know.
Neave ran as fast as she could, accelerating as swiftly as she dared on her shattered leg. She controlled the tight fear that tried to constrict her chest and force its way up her throat, the tinge of dread between her shoulder blades where she expected the monster’s claws to smash down any second. She determinedly shut out the agony that shot up through her thigh, into her hip, then up into her spine, growing worse with every footfall. She knew by the end of this mission the limb was going to be so badly ruined that they’d be forced to reforge her anyway, even if she survived.
Neave kept running, right through pain that would have rendered a mortal warrior unconscious. She climbed the slope, up through veils of smoke and fume, and as she went a fiery glow spread before her. She was closing in on the rents she had seen in the volcano’s flanks. She just had to hope that her mark didn’t catch her before–
A shriek of warning sounded from above, and Neave threw herself sideways with a silent surge of gratitude to Krien. She rolled behind a basalt outcrop just as white-hot fire billowed around her. It blazed furiously, and Neave swore as she felt her armour heating up.
The fiery blast swept away the vapours. Just upslope from her position, Neave saw the vents yawning wide and molten hot.
‘One last effort,’ she snarled through gritted teeth, but doubts clamoured in her mind. What if Tarion was already dead, and she just hadn’t seen his soul escape? What if he hadn’t fully understood the plan? What if he simply let her down?
Neave shut the clamour down, cutting off the voices of panic as though she had dropped a portcullis before them.
‘He’s out there and he’ll do his duty,’ she told herself. ‘He’s a damned Hammer of Sigmar. Besides, if I stay here any longer my armour’s going to melt and scald me to death anyway.’
With that, Neave bunched her muscles and launched herself into a desperate charge. She pounded upslope, staying in the lee of the boulder as long as she could. The beast’s fiery breath still washed around her, but it was jolting as the hound charged up the slope to run her to ground. Expending every iota of her focus and skill, Neave wove through the firestorm, still accelerating, knowing she had to be moving fast enough or it would all be for naught.
Metal pounded on stone behind her.
Fire washed around her in a furious tide.
Pain rolled through her in a nauseating storm.
The chasm yawned suddenly at her feet and, with a scream of effort and a last burst of speed, Neave leapt. As she pushed off on her left foot she spun so that she revolved over the hellish glare of the lava below and passed through the unbearable heatwash in a pirouette. Sure enough, the hound was almost on top of her, bounding closer in vast strides.
Neave had one chance. She drew back her arm and, sighting through the blistering heat haze, she hurled an axe with all her might.
She hit bedrock beyond the chasm shoulders first, and the breath was driven from her body. At the same moment, her axe spun end over end through the air and struck the chained hatch in the hound’s underbelly. Crims
on sparks exploded as the chain was severed and Neave’s axe ricocheted away. The daemon hound, still ploughing forwards with all the momentum of an ironclad avalanche, reared to step over the rent. As it did so, the unchained hatch buckled as though struck from within, and then exploded open.
Light burst outwards, tinged in the impossible hues of insanity, and Neave gritted her teeth as a deranged howl erupted from the open hatch. Through a haze of pain and heat she saw something writhing, an ephemeral presence formed from swirling energy that seemed torn between bursting free, or drawing back into the hound’s shell like a startled sea creature.
The daemon hound’s foreclaws slammed down on Neave’s side of the rent, hard enough to send cracks radiating through the bedrock. The huge engine hesitated, its smouldering muzzle just feet from Neave, its fiery eyes flickering with the indecision of the entity bound within.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as the shimmering colours sucked back into the torn remains of the hatch, and fire billowed anew in the creature’s maw. It had been a desperate plan to begin with…
Tarion swept out of the smoke above the rent, his star-forged arrow crackling upon his bowstring. The Knights-Venator could summon these mighty projectiles only rarely, but they struck with the unleashed fury of a thousand thunderbolts.
Now, Tarion loosed his straight down into the exposed heart of the volcano. Neave grinned wolfishly up at the looming monster, and an instant later a thunderblast ripped through the depths of the rent. Primordial wrath and celestial fury raced outwards, mingling with the natural ferocity of the Realm of Fire. In any other realm, such a plan might have come to naught, but the volcanoes of Aqshy were proud and passionate entities, and their wrath was easily triggered. Tarion’s arrow was more than enough.
The ground convulsed, and an almighty blast of molten rock and searing flame jetted up from the rent. It struck the hound’s underbelly, and Neave heard an ululating shriek of outrage as gallons of molten magma funnelled up through the hatch to spew into the engine’s heart.
The daemon hound convulsed. Neave squirmed backwards on her elbows and heels, leaving a blood trail across the rock. The monster’s eyes blazed orange-white, and for an instant it looked almost shocked, before the brass plates of its muzzle deformed and exploded outwards like an obscene flower blooming. Fire and spinning chunks of metal rained around Neave, who rolled onto her front and scrambled as best she could away from the explosion.
She heard furious blasts rippling behind her, the snap of tensed cables letting go, the scream and moan of melting metal and something unnatural and monstrous being hurled out of the mortal plains and into realms beyond the sight of living things.
She threw herself forwards as the ground shook again, and rolled over in time to see the hound’s huge claws dragging deep furrows through the rock as its gutted carcass slid backwards into the rent. There came a final blast of volcanic fury, a crashing and rending of mechanical destruction and a billowing cloud of black smoke, then the hound was gone.
Neave’s sense of her mark vanished at the same moment.
Utterly exhausted, mind swimming with pain, she slumped back on the hot, hard rock of the volcano’s flank and allowed herself to pass out.
Some hours later, Neave and Tarion stood upon the bank of Brimstone Lake, their armour battered and blackened, their flesh burned and raw. Neave’s leg was splinted with metal and bandages salvaged from within the cogfort, and they had dressed Tarion’s burns as best they could. Krien sat nearby, ripping busily into something small, furry and unfortunate that he had caught amongst the rocks of the upper slopes.
‘That could have been us,’ said Neave, nodding at the bird’s bloody meal.
‘Your plan worked, though, Lady Blacktalon,’ said Tarion approvingly.
‘Neave,’ she said. ‘I think we’re past titles, don’t you?’
‘Neave,’ repeated Tarion with a smile.
‘I’ve never faced something that was a deadlier predator than myself,’ said Neave, shaking her head. The next words left her mouth only grudgingly, but she forced them out regardless. ‘Alone, I would have stood no chance of besting it. Thank you, Tarion. We don’t make the most terrible team.’
‘High praise indeed,’ chuckled Tarion, but she could hear in his voice that he was pleased with the grudging compliment. ‘We’ll have to thank our selfless Palladors once they’re Reforged, if they all make it through,’ he said, sobering.
Neave grunted an acknowledgement, staring out over the lake. ‘We will see them beyond the anvils,’ she said. ‘Meantime, I’m sure there will be another hunt for us.’
‘Us?’ asked Tarion, smiling again.
‘You pulled a fistful of arrows out of your quiver, didn’t you?’ she asked. ‘When it had you in its talon.’
‘It was the only thing I could think of,’ he confessed. ‘When they exploded, it hurt like Reforging itself, I’ll tell you that.’
Neave shook her head. ‘It worked. Anyone crazed enough to try something like that, and sharp enough to still finish that hunt alive? Yes, Tarion, I think I’ll hunt alongside you again,’ she said. ‘But in the meantime, we should return to the heavens. All joking aside, it’s going to take time to heal this battle-damage, and the war is never done. Beat me back to the Realmgate and I might even deign to have you accompany me in the hunt for my next mark.’
‘I can fly, and you are running on a broken leg,’ Tarion said flatly.
‘Well, then that just makes it a fair race, doesn’t it, Arlor?’ grinned Neave, and set off along the lakeside. Behind her, Tarion barked a laugh and took to the air. Krien shrieked in irritation as he was forced to cast aside the last of his meal to give chase.
At their backs the volcano rumbled on, the last molten remnants of Neave’s quarry dissolving deep within its fiery heart.
About the Authors
David Annandale is the author of the Horus Heresy novels Ruinstorm and The Damnation of Pythos, and the Primarchs novels Roboute Guilliman: Lord of Ultramar and Vulkan: Lord of Drakes. For Warhammer 40,000 he has written Warlord: Fury of the God-Machine, the Yarrick series, several stories involving the Grey Knights, including Warden of the Blade and Castellan, as well as titles for The Beast Arises and the Space Marine Battles series. For Warhammer Age of Sigmar he has written Neferata: Mortarch of Blood. David lectures at a Canadian university, on subjects ranging from English literature to horror films and video games.
Andy Clark has written the Warhammer 40,000 novels Kingsblade, Knightsblade and Shroud of Night, as well as the novella Crusade and the short story ‘Whiteout’. He has also written the novel Blacktalon: First Mark for Warhammer Age of Sigmar, and the Warhammer Quest Silver Tower novella Labyrinth of the Lost. Andy works as a background writer for Games Workshop, crafting the worlds of Warhammer Age of Sigmar and Warhammer 40,000. He lives in Nottingham, UK.
Evan Dicken has written the short story ‘The Path to Glory’ and the novella The Red Hours for Black Library. He has been an avid reader of Black Library novels since he found dog-eared copies of Trollslayer, Xenos and First and Only nestled in the “Used Fantasy/Sci-fi” rack of his local gaming store. He still considers himself an avid hobbyist, although the unpainted Chaos Warband languishing in his basement would beg to differ. By day, he studies old Japanese maps and crunches data at The Ohio State University.
David Guymer wrote the Primarchs novel Ferrus Manus: Gorgon of Medusa, and for Warhammer 40,000 The Eye of Medusa, The Voice of Mars and the two The Beast Arises novels Echoes of the Long War and The Last Son of Dorn. For Warhammer Age of Sigmar he has written the novel Hamilcar: Champion of the Gods. He is also the author of the Gotrek & Felix novels Slayer, Kinslayer and City of the Damned and the Gotrek audio drama Realmslayer. He is a freelance writer and occasional scientist based in the East Riding, and was a finalist in the 2014 David Gemmell Awards for his novel Headtaker.
Guy Hal
ey is the author of the Horus Heresy novels Wolfsbane and Pharos, the Primarchs novels Corax: Lord of Shadows, Perturabo: The Hammer of Olympia, and the Warhammer 40,000 novels Dark Imperium, Dark Imperium: Plague War, The Devastation of Baal, Dante, Baneblade, Shadowsword, Valedor and Death of Integrity. He has also written Throneworld and The Beheading for The Beast Arises series. His enthusiasm for all things greenskin has also led him to pen the eponymous Warhammer novel Skarsnik, as well as the End Times novel The Rise of the Horned Rat. He has also written stories set in the Age of Sigmar, included in War Storm, Ghal Maraz and Call of Archaon. He lives in Yorkshire with his wife and son.
Nick Horth is the author of the Age of Sigmar novels City of Secrets and Callis & Toll: The Silver Shard and the novella Heart of Winter. Nick works as a background writer for Games Workshop, crafting the worlds of Warhammer Age of Sigmar and Warhammer 40,000. He lives in Nottingham, UK.
Robbie MacNiven is a Highlands-born History graduate from the University of Edinburgh. He has written the Warhammer Age of Sigmar novella The Bone Desert, as well as the Warhammer 40,000 novels Blood of Iax, The Last Hunt, Carcharodons: Red Tithe, Carcharodons: Outer Dark and Legacy of Russ. His short stories include ‘Redblade’, ‘A Song for the Lost’ and ‘Blood and Iron’. His hobbies include re-enacting, football and obsessing over Warhammer 40,000.
Josh Reynolds is the author of the Horus Heresy Primarchs novel Fulgrim: The Palatine Phoenix, and two audio dramas featuring the Blackshields: The False War and The Red Fief. His Warhammer 40,000 work includes Lukas the Trickster and the Fabius Bile novels Primogenitor and Clonelord. He has written many stories set in the Age of Sigmar, including the novels Shadespire: The Mirrored City, Soul Wars, Eight Lamentations: Spear of Shadows, the Hallowed Knights novels Plague Garden and Black Pyramid, and Nagash: The Undying King. His tales of the Warhammer old world include The Return of Nagash and The Lord of the End Times, and two Gotrek & Felix novels. He lives and works in Sheffield.
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