by ich du
'Stay low,' Brunner ordered, hefting his repeating crossbow. 'There is only one of them, but it will only take one arrow to make you worthless to me.' The bounty hunter looked over the edge of the rock pile, trying to see where the attacker was firing from. Another arrow smacked into the stone, missing Brunner's head by a matter of inches.
'Give up the smuggler!' a rasping, bubbling voice called out from the darkness. 'You'll never leave here with him, Brunner.' The voice trailed off for a moment into a deep, grunting laugh. 'Not alive, anyway.'
Brunner crouched low behind the rubble, cursing under his breath. He knew that voice - it had the nightmare tone that stayed with a man to the end of his days. He had hoped to never hear it again, but at the same time, he had known that their paths would inevitably cross again.
'Think it will be that easy?' Brunner called back. 'Krogh!'
Krogh. An ugly name for an ugly thing. It had been human, once. It had been a soldier, though where and when, Brunner had never known. But something had happened to Krogh, something terrible. Something had slowly, insidiously and completely consumed his humanity. Most men would have destroyed themselves. Others would have run into the wilds, to become the beasts their bodies had come to resemble. Still others would have quietly waited for the witch hunters to cleanse them with scourge and flame. But Krogh had found another path. He had abandoned his homeland, turned to the city states, to Tilea, where decadent, corrupt men would hire the unspeakable to perform the unthinkable. He had not embraced the kiss of Chaos, but neither had he denied it. Whatever Krogh had once been, he was now only a hunter. A hunter of men.
'We can make a deal,' the rotting voice of Krogh hissed. Brunner tried to follow the sound, but it seemed to dance and echo from every crack and flaw in the walls.
'What kind of deal?' Brunner called back. He caught the look of absolute horror that had found its way onto Brega's face. It seemed he was more afraid of being handed over to the source of that ghastly voice than remaining with Brunner.
The bounty hunter smiled. Brega had good reason to be afraid.
Brunner gestured with his crossbow, making it clear that Brega would not get far if he decided to make a break for it.
'If you hand over Brega, I'll let you live,' Krogh's voice croaked. Another arrow struck the pile of rocks, just to lend a little weight to the offer.
Brunner smiled. He had a fairly good idea where his enemy was now. If he could just keep him talking, he might get a better fix. 'I'll kill him myself before I hand him over to you!' Brunner snarled. Brega's eyes grew even wider and more alarmed. The smuggler couldn't understand how things could keep getting worse.
An inhuman, bestial laughter hissed its way from the shadows. 'Kill him then! I don't need him alive to collect my bounty!' The mutant laughed again, the sound becoming a daemonic chorus as it bounced from pillar and stone.
'Hand him over, Brunner!' Krogh ordered. 'Give him up, and I spare your life. Walk away, Brunner. Cut your losses.'
Brunner risked another look over the edge of the rubble pile. He was certain now that Krogh was slowly circling in the shadows. He had slipped into a pattern. Brunner was pretty sure where the mutant's steps would bring him.
'Don't insult us both!' Brunner called back as he ducked down behind the rocks. 'I know as sure as a toad has warts that as soon as I walk out, you'll put a shaft through my face. And you know that if you let me walk away, I'll get Brega back before you can slink back to the entrance!'
Krogh laughed again. 'I'm being paid seven hundred gold ducats for the smuggler,' he boasted. 'But I'll kill you for free!'
'I'm glad you feel that way,' Brunner muttered to himself. The bounty hunter leapt from his cover, firing the repeating crossbow in a quick series of shots. The bolts hammered into the darkness behind a tall column beneath one of the causeways. Brunner was certain that he heard the shots impact against something solid, but did not hedge his bets. He rolled back into cover behind the rocks. He waited for some time, ears straining for any suggestion of sound.
'Did you get him?' whispered Brega, his voice filled with nervous terror. Brunner threw his prisoner a sour look. He flipped his crossbow around, then removed his helm, placing it over the stock. Gripping the weapon by its front, he slowly edged the stock over the top of the rocks. Almost instantly, something struck the helmet, ricocheting off into the dark.
'Apparently not,' Brunner sighed, recovering the crossbow. He stared for a moment at the new dent in his blackened helm, before replacing it on his head.
'Hand him over now,' Krogh's rasping voice commanded. 'I'll not ask again!'
AWARENESS SLOWLY ROUSED the monster from its slumber. Heavy, leathery lids snapped open. Crescent-shaped pupils narrowed and expanded as they adjusted to the meagre light. The monster shifted its weight, working stiffness from its muscles. After a moment, its tiny mind considered what had disturbed its slumber.
For many thousands of years had the monster's kind prowled the darkness of Karag-dar. Even in the time when the halls had been ruled by the dwarfs, had they been there, slinking through the shadows. The monsters had some slight intelligence: over the centuries, they had learned to equate the slightest vibration in the rock with the presence of prey lone miners and craftsmen toiling in the darkness.
It did not concern the monster that its lengthy tail was already fat and bloated with so much digested nourishment that it could safely sleep for months without needing to hunt. Indeed, the world was very simple for the monster; it was reacted by only two stimuli: danger and food.
The monster began to creep through the dark tunnels, drawn by the slight vibration its incredible senses detected: the impact of an arrow upon a pile of stone.
BRUNNER CONSIDERED HIS situation. In his previous encounters with the mutant bounty killer he'd been lucky to escape with his life, and it seemed luck would have to play a part in his survival this time. Krogh had him pinned down, and his attempt to shoot the mutant with his crossbow had been his best chance of outsmarting his rival. Now, he knew, Krogh would be twice as wary, his inhumanly keen senses and reflexes ready for Brunner to try again. That would be a mistake, and Brunner knew that he had already used up his quota of mistakes in this deadly game. No, if he was to regain control of this situation, Krogh would have to make the next mistake.
Brunner looked over at the cowering Brega. The bounty hunter drew a deep breath. He was reluctant to do what he was now considering, but it had become a matter of his own life, and no matter how much gold Judge Vaulkberg was offering, it would do him no good if he could not collect it.
The bounty hunter removed his helm. His cold eyes met his prisoner's. Brunner held the helm before his gaze for a moment, then looked back at Brega.
'Ever thought about becoming a bounty hunter?' Brunner's icy voice asked.
Brega wailed in horror as he realised what Brunner was planning. The smuggler began to scramble away, crawling from his captor. Brunner pounced upon the man, rolling the struggling Tilean onto his back. The bounty hunter smashed a fist under Brega's ribs, knocking the wind out of him. The smuggler's struggle became a boneless pained twitch. Brunner did not give the man time to recover. He held the helmet over Brega's head, and slowly lowered it.
A sudden noise caused him to stop. His head whipped about, eyes seeking out the source of the sound. It came again, a sickly, hollow trumpet note. Brunner replaced the helm on his own head, rising from his groaning captive.
'Change of plan,' Brunner said in the same frigid tone.
KROGH SPUN ABOUT in the shadows, a bestial snarl rumbling from his twisted frame. He sprang away from the column he had been hiding behind, lest Brunner heard the sound and trained his crossbow on him. Krogh had been taken by surprise by the other bounty hunter's earlier attack one of the hastily fired bolts had skinned his leg. Krogh had no desire to tempt Brunner's aim a second time.
Now the situation had become decidedly more complicated. Sullen rage built up within Krogh as he heard the horn sound again. Given
enough time, he could have worked his way around to Brunner's position and come upon him from behind. When the need arose, Krogh could move so quietly that even an elf would be hard pressed to hear him. But such stealth would take time, and time was something Krogh no longer had.
The mutant bounty hunter hissed again, a soft, angry sound, and crouched behind the toppled head of some forgotten dwarf king. The interlopers would pay dearly for intruding upon his business this day. The beast would slake its thirst for blood on these foolish things. Then it would be Brunner's turn to die.
THE HORN SOUNDED again. Brunner risked a glance around the edge of the rubble. He swore as he saw what was slowly making its way out of the shadows. He had hoped for something to distract Krogh, but not something that put him in jeopardy as well. The bounty hunter turned his head - shapes were also stealing out from the mouth of the northward tunnel. Looking upward, he saw more diminutive figures stealthily slinking across the causeways, descending towards the main hall from the upper corridors.
They were little more than indistinct shadows, but Brunner knew all too well what they were. Each of the tiny shapes was the height of a child, and wore a black hooded robe about its scrawny frame. Brunner knew that those garments would carry the red eye of the night goblin tribes, and that, unlike the Sharp Noses, these goblins would bear no ritual scarring. Instead, they would sport mouths filled with teeth blackened by fungus-distilled pigments. Krogh had chosen to set up his ambush within the territory of the Black Fangs.
Several of the tiny figures gathered upon the causeways, facing towards the pool. They unslung small short bows and nocked arrows to the weapons. One goblin, slightly larger than the others, lifted a horn crafted from the dried and hollowed stem of a gigantic mushroom and blew out another whiny, diseased note. In reply, more goblins began to slink forward, with spears and a motley arrangement of weapons held at the ready. Brunner could hear the monsters whispering in their thin voices, presumably relishing the prospect of adding more trophies to the halls of the Black Fangs.
Brunner took aim, deciding that the archers were his most pressing concern. He fired his crossbow, smashing a bolt into one of the robed creatures. The goblin uttered a shrill shriek as it fell from the causeway. The goblins below abandoned their caution, and began squealing like enraged swine as they charged. The goblins above let loose their arrows. Most of the missiles fell well short of Brunner's position, many more were ill-aimed, striking into shadowy spots far removed from the bounty hunter. Only a very few bounced from the rubble pile.
Brunner took no satisfaction in the erratic aim of the goblins. He knew that the Black Fangs often coated their arrows in vile poisons, and that only one of them would need to find its mark to finish him.
The bounty hunter rose from his cover once more. There were perhaps twenty goblins below, cackling and gibbering as they ran towards him. There were at least another twenty above. He weighed up his chances. Among the Black Fangs, the more capable warriors became bowmen, preferring to kill an enemy from a distance than to risk their own neck at close quarters.
The goblins below were closer, but far less dangerous than those above. Brunner made his decision and fired again. Once more a black-garbed creature howled in horror as the bolt found its mark and the archer fell from his lofty height. Brunner smiled as he heard a second crossbow, somewhere to his left, hit another goblin archer. It seemed that Krogh had reached the same decision. Abandoning stealth, the mutant had turned to the stopping power of his own crossbow rather than the quiet of his longbow.
Brunner emptied the remaining bolts in the repeater, hitting two more of the goblins, though one was only wounded by his shot. Another goblin fell as Krogh's weapon punched a hole in its head. Its body fell within Brunner's line of sight, and he watched as it exploded in a bright burst of green blood upon striking the unyielding stone floor. The bounty hunter drew his pistol and sword, bracing himself for the melee of armed goblins.
Twenty to one were poor odds, but Brunner was determined that the greenskins would pay a heavy toll before they got him. The odds became better, however, when half the goblins broke off to charge towards Krogh's hiding place. Above him, the archers had been maintaining sporadic fire. The arrows were more concentrated now, aimed either at Brunner's position or that of his rival. As their kindred charged forward, a goblin arrow smashed into the back of a spear-wielding wretch. The creature gave a yelp of pain and surprise, then fell on its face. The goblin beside it snarled a curse in its own whispery tongue, and hurled its own spear back at the distant archers. The weapon fell short of its mark, but the archers replied in kind. Both the spear-thrower and a goblin bearing a spiked mace fell, shrieking and whining as black-fletched arrows sank into their bodies.
The first goblin to reach Brunner screamed a savage war cry. Brunner blew its head apart in a spectacular discharge of his pistol. The goblin scrambling up behind it screamed in horror as the greasy brain matter of its comrade splashed across its face. The bounty hunter's sword lashed out, cleaving the goblin's head from its shoulders before the creature could recover.
A third goblin rounded the rock pile, snarling angrily. It held a great hatchet in its thin hands. Brunner struck the weapon with his sword, knocking it from the goblin's grasp. A look of amused embarrassment overcame the goblin's grinning face as the hatchet skidded across the floor. Brunner smashed the flat of his sword at the grinning mouth, knocking the creature away, and leaving it to choke on its broken teeth. Another goblin crawled its way to the top of the rock pile, its red eyes gleaming with sadistic merriment. Brunner roared at the little creature, causing the goblin to flinch and slide away back down the rock pile.
More goblins were rounding the barrier. Brunner drew the short hatchet from his belt, turning his body from side to side to favour all of his wretched foes with his cold stare.
'Come on!' Brunner snarled. 'Which of you little vermin is tired of living!'
KROGH'S SWORD FLASHED downwards in a murderous arc. The goblin did not even have time to scream as its body was cut cleanly in two. The two goblins to either side of the brutally slain creature gave simultaneous squeaks of fright, fleeing as fast as their tiny legs could move them. The beast within Krogh wanted to pounce, and chase after them, but the mind subdued it. To chase after them would be to forsake his cover, to tempt the goblin archers above. Krogh darted aside as another group of goblins closed upon him. The mutant's hand whipped out, grabbing the haft of the spear the foremost goblin thrust at him. The wood splintered under Krogh's iron strength. The goblin tried to pull the weapon back, but Krogh's hand had already released it, and was darting for the goblin's throat.
With a loud snap, Krogh cracked the goblin's neck. He lifted the still-twitching body and threw it into the other goblins.
They fell in a tangle of limbs and curses, three pairs of hands trying to push aside the weight of their dead comrade. But even as they struggled, Krogh pounced, landing amid them, his bare hands ripping and tearing. The whiny sounds the goblins made as they died rose from the blackness, and unsettled the archers on the causeway above. They were not sure what sort of intruders they were fighting. And the little monsters wondered if they really wanted to know.
BRUNNER PULLED HIS hatchet from a black-cloaked body, watching as his last adversary turned and ran. He had added four more goblins to his tally. Drakesmalice was slick with green blood and pulpy bits of goblin flesh. The bounty hunter spat, wiping his weapons clean on the cloak of the last goblin he had slain. The sickly mushroom horn sounded again. Brunner looked over the rock pile, trying to see what new mischief the goblins were planning. He snarled a curse on the heads of any gods that happened to be listening.
A strangely clad goblin had appeared on the causeway next to another fifteen archers who were still sporadically firing their weapons downwards. A new mob of black-robed archers scurried after it, bows held in their scrawny fists, adding another score to the ranks of his adversaries. This new goblin was taller and thinner than the other
s, its black robes picked out by crude embroidery that looked like yellow flames. He watched the thin goblin exchange words with the horn-bearing chief, then saw the creature draw a large white object from a big leather bag. The chieftain nodded his head, his shrill laughter inciting merriment among the archers. Brunner picked up the skaven crossbow and began to quickly reload it.
The Black Fangs had earned a fearsome reputation among the few who dared the forsaken passages of Karag-dar. It was not their skill as warriors that made them fearsome, nor some uncanny expertise with the bow. It was their knowledge and use of all manner of poisons and venoms that earned them their sinister infamy.
The masters of that despicable art were their shamans: twisted, depraved, maniacal creatures, hated as much as they were feared. The shamans drew their sorcery from the spirit force of their tribesmen, and turned their aggressive energies into murderous spells. The goblin gods were known for their fickleness, however, and the shamans had long ago learned not to rely solely upon their sorcery. These shaman were masters of more than magic. They cultivated deadly strains of noxious fungi unknown to even the chieftains of the Black Fangs, and cemented their power by offering death in innumerable sinister guises should their divine edicts be questioned.
The tall goblin held the white ball in front of it and began to chant in a low, scratchy voice. The chieftain slunk away, putting ten feet between himself and the chanting shaman. Brunner fumbled to get the bolt into the crossbow's magazine, knowing that time was running short. But even as he did so the chieftain blew on his horn again. Brunner turned his gaze to the tunnels. He was not surprised to see more black-garbed shapes pouring into the main hall. But a sick sensation gripped his stomach as he saw what was with them.