Warhammer Anthology 13

by War Unending (Christian Dunn)

  ‘Don’t leave the firelight!’ yelled Luc as a wolf leapt at him. He ducked, swinging his sword in a short, brutal arc. His blade disembowelled the wolf, decaying entrails spilling from the wound. Its carcass landed on the fire, sparks and embers flying.

  Howls echoed as the wolves attacked en masse. Luc drew his dagger and thrust the blade between the fanged jaws of another hell beast. It howled and rolled away, tearing the weapon from his hand. He sidestepped and swept his sword down, beheading another wolf. Fontaine staggered from the fire, his shoulder guard torn away by powerful claws. He dropped to his knees, a wolf’s jaws snapping shut on his vambrace. The armour held and Fontaine grunted in pain as the metal compressed on the flesh of his forearm. Luc thundered his boot into his brother’s attacker, feeling ribs break under the impact. He stabbed with his sword and another beast was silenced. Luc pulled Fontaine to his feet, dragging him back to the fire.

  Belmonde swung wildly with his sword and a burning torch. The wolves snarled, wary of the flames. The three brothers regrouped at the fire, their breathing shallow and laboured. The pack mule was down, screaming as blood pumped from its torn belly. Again the wolves charged, to be met by the steely defences of the knights. Keen blades flashed in the firelight and blood splashed the rocks. Luc slashed and cut, killing wolves with every stroke. The carnage continued until the first cold, grey slivers of light began spilling over the high peaks. With a howl of defiance the wolves melted into what darkness remained, leaving their slaughtered kin behind. Belmonde slumped to the ground, his armour streaked in gore, his face lined with exhaustion.

  Fontaine sat next to him, wiping the blade of his sword clean on a dead wolf. Like his brother, he was covered in blood. Luc stared up the mountainside, grinning fiercely and raised his sword to the lightening sky.

  ‘I am Luc Massone!’ he shouted, ‘and I am coming to Blood Keep!’

  He turned to his brothers and walked to where the war-horses stood, their flanks heaving and nostrils flared. The animals bled from scores of wounds, but they were alive. It was not for nothing that Bretonnian war-horses were renowned as the finest cavalry mounts in all the realms of Man. He sheathed his sword and gently stroked each animal’s head, calming them with soft words. Finally he allowed himself to sit next to his brothers.

  ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘You fought well. I am proud of you both.’

  For long seconds no one spoke until Belmonde’s head snapped up.

  ‘Antoine!’ he groaned, standing on weary muscles and limping across to where the boy had died. The burnt corpse of the wolf lay where it had fallen, a pile of stinking ashes, the wood of the brand lodged in the remains.

  But there was no sign of the boy, just a wide crimson stain on the rocks.

  THE BROTHERS DIVIDED the supplies from the dead mule and set off with the dawn’s light. Luc knew Fontaine and Belmonde had been shaken by the wolves’ attack and he couldn’t blame them. Such beasts were feared throughout the Old World, but Luc had faced horrors a hundred times worse and prevailed. A pack of mangy wolves would not stop him from achieving his destiny.

  The journey became slower as the ground became more treacherous and icy, the path vanishing as they climbed past the snowline and the weather quickly worsened. Several times their horses stumbled on the slick rocks and the knights were forced to dismount, leading their horses over ice-covered ledges. All three were well wrapped in thick furs, yet still the wind leeched the heat from their bodies as it knifed through them. Hours passed in a white haze, swaying with exhaustion, the freezing temperature robbing them of strength.

  ‘Luc! We must turn back!’ implored Fontaine, moving alongside his eldest brother.

  Luc shook his head violently, ‘No! We go on. It can’t be far now.’

  ‘You said that two hours ago.’

  ‘I know what I said, damn you!’ snarled Luc. ‘We’re almost there. I feel it in my bones. We cannot stop now! I will not stop!’

  Luc dragged his mount onwards, ending the discussion.

  Another hour of frozen misery passed before they crested a snow covered rise and a vast shape emerged from the whiteness. At first Luc wasn’t sure what he was seeing as he stared into the flurries of white before him. Then, gradually, shapes began to resolve themselves from the blizzard. Jutting from the rocks, shattered walls and breached bastions loomed out of the falling snow. Smashed turrets and broken merlons, all that remained of the ruined fortress-monastery reared vast and bloated, like jagged and blackened teeth. Before them lay the rotting carcass of what had once been one of the mightiest citadels in the Old World. Splintered gates hung on sagging hinges and the air of desolation was palpable.

  A SINGLE, LONELY path wound its way over the rocks towards the broken gates and the knights directed their horses towards the remains of Blood Keep. Luc smiled, breaking the ice that sweat had formed on his skin. He was here! Nothing could stop him now. He glanced over at his brothers and his smile faltered, but as he imagined the rewards of success, he put such thoughts aside.

  ‘I dislike this place,’ said Belmonde as they entered the cold shadow of the keep’s walls. ‘We should not be here.’

  Luc said nothing, urging his mount further up the path. The walls soared nearly sixty feet above him, the stonework blackened by fire and the rubble infill spilling from holes blasted long ago by Empire cannon. A shiver passed through Luc as he entered Blood Keep and though he told himself it was the cold, he only half believed it.

  They found themselves within a wide, granite-flagged courtyard, drifts of snow piled high against the walls. Wind whistled through the stables and lean-to’s around the walls, a ghostly lament to the warriors who had once occupied this place. The main keep of the fortress squatted against the sheer rock face of the mountains, its main gateway also splintered and broken. Blackened loopholes in the wall gaped like empty eye sockets and Luc could not help but feel he was being watched.

  He gently patted his horse’s flanks. The beast was exhausted and frightened. Something about this place had the beast’s hackles raised and looking round he saw that the other horses were similarly wary. His brothers moved to stand alongside him.

  Luc turned to Fontaine and smiled in triumph. ‘Blood Keep,’ he said.

  ‘What now?’ asked Belmonde, staring at the inner keep.

  ‘We find the vampires,’ answered Luc, untying his shield from his war-horse. ‘Come on.’

  His brothers shared an uneasy glance and also took up their shields, following Luc as he walked his horse towards the inner keep. Fontaine looked into the sky as Belmonde tied the horses to a broken timber spar. He couldn’t see the sun and wondered how long it would be until nightfall.

  The three brothers stood together at the gate and drew their swords.

  ‘Come, brothers,’ smiled Luc. ‘The vampires await.’

  THE DARKNESS WITHIN was absolute, as though light itself were afraid to venture too deeply. Two skeletons lay inside the gateway, slumped against the wall and still clutching rusted spears. Luc crouched before the nearest cadaver, tearing two lengths of cloth from its tattered tunic. He snapped the shaft of the dead sentinel’s spear and wrapped the cloth around one end, passing the other half and some of the cloth to Belmonde. Fontaine dug out a tinderbox and lit the dry fabric, the light from the torches illuminating the passage with a flickering glow.

  Luc set off without a backward glance, advancing down the wide corridor with his torch held before him. Murder holes pierced the ceiling and arrow loops punctuated the walls. Luc could imagine the horrific casualties the Empire knights must have suffered attacking down this hallway. The passage ended at a sharp right turn, ascending a spiral staircase into the cobwebbed darkness. Luc swapped the sword into his left hand, knowing that the turn of the stairs would prevent him from using the sword effectively in his right. He slid along the outer wall of the stairs, his weapon extended before him, having learned to use either hand with the same deadly skill.

  The knights emerged into an echoin
g cloister, the air musty with the stench of decay. Hundreds of skeletons littered the floor, clustered around an oaken double door, their armour rusted through and bones filmed with the dust of centuries.

  ‘Do you know where you are going?’ whispered Fontaine nervously.

  ‘Of course,’ hissed Luc. ‘To find the vampire’s lair.’

  ‘Then should we not be looking for a way down rather than up?’ said Belmonde. ‘I was led to believe that vampires would make their lairs within underground crypts and sepulchres.’

  Luc shook his head. ‘The main hall will be where we shall find these vampires. I am sure of it.’

  His brothers looked unconvinced, but Luc pressed on before they had time to contradict him, stepping carefully over the skeletal warriors towards the door at the end of the cloister. The door was splintered at its centre and he pushed it open, beckoning his brothers to follow as he slipped through into the main hall.

  Golden sunlight filtered in through high windows, partially blocked with rotted velvet drapes, revealing a long banqueting hall with a gigantic wooden table running its length. Shields and suits of blood-red armour lined the walls, below crossed lances, unlit torches and faded tapestries.

  Belmonde and Luc passed down one side of the table, Fontaine the other, lighting the torches set in the sconces as they went. Their armoured boots echoed loudly in the deserted hall.

  ‘The table is set for drinking,’ said Belmonde, nodding towards empty goblets placed before every seat.

  ‘But not eating,’ pointed out Fontaine. ‘Where are the plates?’

  ‘The vampire does not take sustenance as we do, brother,’ answered Luc.

  Fontaine grimaced and advanced towards the massive fireplace, bending his head towards the grate. He turned back to Luc and said, ‘This smells of woodsmoke, a fire has been lit here recently. And look, there is fresh-cut wood here. Why would the undead require heat?’

  Luc joined his brother at the fireplace. He shrugged. ‘I do not know, Fontaine. Perhaps other travellers have passed this way recently.’

  ‘And stopped for the night in Blood Keep?’ blurted Belmonde. ‘They must have been desperate.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ agreed Luc, watching as the thin strips of light filtering into the hall from behind the velvet drapes slowly crept across the floor as the sun descended behind the peaks. Fontaine caught Luc’s gaze and also noticed the dimming light.

  ‘Luc!’ he exclaimed, ‘the light is going! It must be later than we thought. We must leave this place!’

  ‘It may already be too late for that,’ answered Luc, hearing the rustle of dry bones from the cloister they had passed through and noticing armoured figures cloaked in shadow on the balconies above them.

  ‘Lady protect us!’ prayed Fontaine as the oaken door burst open and the previously lifeless skeletons marched relentlessly into the banqueting hall, spears and swords raised before them.

  ‘For the Lady!’ screamed Belmonde, launching himself forward, his sword smashing the first skeleton to fragments. Dust billowed around the skeletons as they attacked. Flesh and blood fought dry, withered bone, the air filling with the crack of ancient skulls and ribs. Luc hacked a skeleton apart at the waist and smashed his shield into another. Fontaine kicked the legs out from under his assailant, breaking its skull open with his boot heel. Belmonde’s sword rose and fell, the blade as much a bludgeon as a cutting weapon. The skeletal warriors were no match for the knights, but no matter how many the brothers killed, there were more to take their place.

  Slowly but surely they were forced back towards the fireplace, the shadowed figures above them silently watching the battle. Fontaine screamed in pain as a spear point stabbed into his unprotected shoulder, where the armoured plate had been torn away by the wolves. The thrust pitched him off balance and he fell to his knees. A sword smashed into his temple, tearing the helmet from his head. His vision blurred as blood streamed down his face.

  ‘Fontaine!’ shouted Belmonde as his brother struggled to rise.

  Bony fingers grasped at Fontaine’s wrists, the press of numbers preventing him from rising. He roared as the skeletons held him down, struggling to free his sword arm and kicking out desperately. He had a fleeting, horrified glimpse of a wide spear-point plunging towards him before it was rammed deep into his belly below his breastplate. It tore upwards into his heart and lungs, bursting from his back in a flood of gore. His screams trailed into a bloody gurgling as an axe split his head apart.

  Belmonde hacked his brother’s killer down, screaming a denial. Luc was at his side, sweeping aside the undead with brutal sword blows, but it was far too late for Fontaine Massone. Backs to the wall, Luc and Belmonde kept the skeletons at bay with desperate skill, tapping reserves of courage neither knew they possessed.

  As he destroyed another skeleton, Luc felt his fury building. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end! He spared a glance up at the dark balconies and the warriors watching the furious battle.

  ‘Cowards!’ he yelled as he smashed his dented shield into the grinning face of another opponent. ‘Where is your honour? I am Luc Massone and I slew one of your kind! I demand you come down and face me!’

  Almost as soon as he had spoken, the skeleton horde ceased their attack and took a single backward step. The hall was silent, the sudden absence of noise more unnerving than the clash of arms. Belmonde rushed to Fontaine’s side, cradling his dead brother’s head in his arms. Tears streaked clear trails in the dust coating his face.

  ‘Oh my brother, what have we done?’ he wept.

  ‘Belmonde!’ hissed Luc. ‘Stand beside me. Now!’

  His brother ignored him until Luc grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Belmonde’s face was twisted in grief, his sword held limply at his side. Luc smiled weakly at him. ‘Fear not, brother. This will all be over soon.’

  He looked towards the balconies, watching as the armoured figures slipped out of sight. The metallic rasp of armour sounded as the watchers descended to the banqueting hall, emerging from concealed alcoves either side of the fireplace.

  Three powerful warriors, clad in suits of exquisitely fashioned crimson armour stood wordlessly before the two brothers. The Blood Dragons wore no helmets, their pale, aquiline faces regarding the exhausted knights before them with expressions of faint amusement. Each carried a black bladed sword, its surface seeming to shimmer with an oily iridescence.

  The knight on the left tilted his head to one side and raised his sword.

  ‘You say you have killed a Blood Dragon?’ said the vampire. ‘You will forgive my scepticism, I hope?’

  Like a striking snake, his sword lashed out at Luc’s neck. Luc had been ready and swiftly parried, his riposte slashing towards the vampire’s groin. The Blood Dragon barely had time to react, his sword flashing down to block the blow. Fast as quicksilver, Luc altered the direction of his cut and hacked off the vampire’s head in a single, powerful sweep. The Blood Dragon toppled backwards, his body ashes before the armour hit the stone floor.

  Luc pulled his sword back to the guard position.

  ‘Anyone else?’ he asked.

  The dark haired vampire with deep violet eyes who faced Luc glanced at the empty suit of armour beside him and said, ‘You are fast and skilful for a mortal. There are few alive who could have even scratched Grigorij, let alone slain him.’

  Luc nodded. ‘My skill with a blade is great.’

  The vampire smiled. ‘Where is your humility, knight? You are arrogant.’

  ‘It is not arrogance if it is the truth,’ pointed out Luc.

  The Blood Dragon laughed. ‘Here, in this place, you are a child amongst your betters. I could kill you in a heartbeat. You cannot hope to vanquish me. Surely you must know that?’

  ‘I know that,’ nodded Luc.

  ‘Then why are you here?’ asked the vampire. ‘You have not come to slay me?’

  ‘No,’ admitted Luc as Belmonde stared at his brother in horrified fascination.

&
nbsp; ‘Then why?’

  Luc altered his grip on his sword and shouted, ‘Because I have come to join your order!’

  His blade slashed and blood geysered as Luc Massone spun round and beheaded his brother. Belmonde’s corpse swayed for a brief moment, then slowly crumpled to the floor, slumped across Fontaine’s lifeless body.

  Luc faced the Blood Dragon and planted the sword, point first, on the stone hearth, his face alight as he met the vampire’s stare.

  ‘The blood of innocents is on my hands and I am a warrior beyond compare. Where in the mortal world can I find my equal?’ hissed Luc. ‘I bring you this offering of my own flesh and blood as proof of my desire. I am one of you and I demand you grant me the boon of immortality!’

  Hot excitement pounded through his veins. Luc’s skin flushed red, his scar a livid white line across his face. It was done. He had reached the point where all mortal laws ceased to bind him. He would become one of the ever-living, destined never to die, destined only to become the greatest warrior of the age!

  The Blood Dragon watched the blood pump from Belmonde’s neck and raised his eyebrows in puzzlement.

  ‘Demand…’ he said as though he had never heard the word.

  ‘Aye,’ snarled Luc. ‘It is my right. I deserve this.’

  The vampire knight grinned, exposing razor sharp fangs.

  ‘Very well, you shall have what you deserve,’ he promised.

  THE VILLAGE OF Gugarde echoed to screams of pain and fear. Dark horses with red eyes carrying crimson armoured knights stalked the streets. No one had really believed the three knights boasts of defeating the vampires of Blood Keep when they had passed through the village some six months ago, but perhaps there had been tiny embers of hope stirred in a few hearts. That hope was now ashes on the wind as black armoured skeletons dragged the screaming inhabitants from their beds to the slaughter.