Uncertain what plan was being enacted, Malekith split his company, sending the archers forwards to support the attack against the encampment and turning his spears to face this new threat.
Malekith’s mind was racing. How was it that they had become so easily trapped? Had the dwarf scouts not wit or skill enough to detect the ambushers?
Then a darker thought entered the prince’s mind; perhaps some greater intelligence, some malign intellect, guided their foes.
There was little time to ponder such questions, for amongst the shouts and the thunder of war machines, there came a new sound. Malekith felt it through the soles of his boots before he could hear it. A trembling of the ground, like the distant rumbling of a waterfall.
He could see nothing amongst the closely growing pines, but the growing thunder in the ground intensified and with a rising sense of unease Malekith realised that it was the pounding of thousands of feet.
A blur of darkness in the air caught his attention and he looked up to see a boulder hurtling through the skies towards the dwarfen line. Armour screeched and bones snapped beneath its weight as the stone crashed into the dwarfs, bouncing and rolling through their ranks.
At first Malekith thought that some strange dwarf machine or other had malfunctioned, or that the beastmen had mastered the use of catapults as he had seen orcs employ such crude engines. More movement drew Malekith’s eye up the valley’s eastern side and he spied a large figure. It was easily ten times the height of an elf. It was naked but for misshapen rags of tattered hide and bloody sheepskins.
As Malekith watched, the giant stooped and picked up another rock, then hurled the projectile far out over the trees into the army beneath.
From the western woods poured the beastmen, hundreds of them swarming and shouting as they burst from the trees hurling stones and other improvised missiles. They erupted from the cover of the forest close to where a battery of engines had been positioned, and the crews abandoned their machines and formed up to defend themselves. Against such numbers their resistance was brief, and Malekith watched as the bestial horde continued down the hillside towards the dwarf line.
The dwarfs moved to counter this attack, the clan warriors locking their shields together as they advanced to meet the threat. As the distance was closed, the dwarfs hurled throwing axes into their enemies, and in return unwieldy javelins were launched into their armoured ranks. Beastmen fell by the score during this exchange, but only here and there did the sturdy armour of the dwarfs fail.
On and on came the tide of twisted evil, a seemingly unending stream of bloated, frothing beasts and animalistic, howling warriors.
With a shattering clash the charging beastmen met the defiant dwarf line and vicious fighting broke out across the breadth of the army. Though the dwarfs held firm and hacked down their foes with relentless ferocity, still more came, savage and shrieking with the joy of slaying. The beastmen spread out as more and more clambered over the dead to reach the dwarfs, and Snorri sent forwards more of his followers to extend the flanks of his force lest the bestial deluge of vileness surround his army.
While his attention was drawn to the ongoing battle to his left, Malekith recalled that the first horn had sounded from the east, to his right.
He looked over towards Snorri and saw that the High King was deep in consultation with his thanes. Seeing that all the efforts of the dwarfs were directed to the west, Malekith decided the best way to draw attention to the danger from the east was through action.
“Naggarothi, with me!” he shouted, drawing his sword. As one the spearmen raised their shields with an affirmative shout. “Advance!”
Malekith led his soldiers forwards, towards the spine of the mountainside where the valley met the deep crater of the basin. At another command, they broke into a trot, jogging along swiftly to swing wide of the dwarfs’ flank. Dwarfish shouts of anger followed them, but Malekith ignored the noise, judging rightly that the dwarfs mistakenly thought the elves were fleeing.
Snarling and howls now sounded from the woods, and Malekith called his troops to a halt, remembering Aernuis’ first encounter with goblins.
Sure enough, dozens of wolves sped from the treeline, carrying goblins upon their backs. The wolves were larger than any normal beast, with foaming maws, dark fur and red eyes. The goblins carried spears and small round shields. From under fur-trimmed helmets, their pinched green faces were split by vicious snarls and hungry leers. Many carried short bows and they loosed off erratic shots as they closed in.
The Naggarothi raised their shields to head height as one, and the small arrows clattered harmlessly aside, lacking the punch of a true elven bow. Still, the goblins made up for in numbers what they lacked in quality and more arrows rained down in wavering and corkscrewing fashion, many falling short. Even as their comrades closed, the goblins paid no heed to the risk of hitting their own kind and continued to shower the elves to little effect.
“Spears to guard!” shouted Malekith.
The Naggarothi lowered their shields just as the first of the wolves raced forwards and leapt to the attack, to be skewered on a spear point, its diminutive rider shrieking as it leapt clear. Another elf thrust forwards his spear, lancing its tip through the goblin’s throat. With a twist, the warrior pulled his weapon free and returned to the guard position.
More of the wolves tried a direct attack, seeking to jump amongst the elves to wreak havoc, yet the wall of spears held firm and they and their riders suffered the same fate as the first.
A second wave attacked more cautiously, turning at the last moment to ride in front of the regiment hacking at spear tips, but the Naggarothi pressed forwards a few paces and caught them unexpectedly, slaying many on the points of their spears.
The wolf riders ran back and forth, darting in to attack when they thought the elves’ guard was down, but not a single greenskin nor their lupine mounts landed a wound upon the Naggarothi. For all that their attack did no direct harm, Malekith could see more goblins leaving the woods on foot, and saw that his small company would quickly become encircled.
With a snarl, he reached out to the winds of magic and drew power into himself. He felt it writhing within him, crawling under his skin, pouring through his veins. With a chant to focus the unwieldy energies, the prince moulded the coiling magic with his mind.
A golden spear dripping with sparks formed in his left hand, and with a curse upon his lips Malekith hurled the spell at the wolves. The magical spear tore straight through three of the creatures and exploded with a shower of yellow flame. Panicked, the wolves yapped and yelped and turned heel, urged to flee even faster by their cowardly riders.
None too soon, Malekith reorganised his troops to face the goblins now marching out of the woods. The greenskins attempted to circle around the elves, jabbing their weapons towards them and screaming jibes and curses in their foul tongue.
The Naggarothi turned and expanded their formation with ease, spreading out into a semi-circle that presented no flank to the enemy, their backs secured by the outcrop of rock at the valley’s entrance. Hissing and spitting, the goblins did not attack at once, and they eyed their slaughtered kin and the dead wolves, the corpses of which lay in heaps about the elven regiment.
“I think they have reconsidered their position,” laughed Alandrian from beside Malekith.
The prince’s eyes did not leave the goblins, as more of their number flowed from the woods. Soon there were several hundred of the spiteful little creatures, shouting and taunting, but approaching no closer than a stone’s throw.
Something immense crashed through the trees behind the goblins, smashing through branches and splintering trunks.
With a bellow the giant strode out into the valley, having evidently grown bored of hurling rocks from above. In its right hand it held a tree limb studded with shards of broken armour, blades of axes and swords, and bent pieces of shield. Buoyed by their gigantic companion, the goblins began to run further forwards, beating their wea
pons upon their wooden shields and shouting in their shrill voices.
Above the cries and the clamour of battle, Malekith heard a sudden whistling of air. Turning, he saw a great metal shaft arcing over the dwarfen army, from the direction of Wolfspear. The engine’s crews had turned the gigantic bolt thrower about upon its hillock in the midst of the dwarf army, much to Malekith’s relief.
He followed the trajectory of the massive bolt until it struck the giant full in the chest, smashing through its monstrous breastbone, heart and spine. With an astonished gurgle, the giant lurched forwards two steps and then crashed to the ground, flattening a dozen goblins beneath its bulk. Wails of dismay flooded up from the horrified greenskins, who looked at each other in their panic.
“Kill them,” snarled Malekith, breaking into a run.
Needing no further encouragement, the Naggarothi surged forwards, running hard and fast towards the foe.
Like some small animal frozen with terror as the hawk swoops down, the goblins remained unmoving for several heartbeats. With pitiful shrieks they turned to run as the elves came within a few dozen strides, heading for the safety of the woods.
For all their fright-driven speed, the goblins’ small legs carried them across the ground much more slowly than the loping run of the elves, and Malekith overtook the slowest of the greenskins with ease. Striking out to right and left, his sword cleaved through heads and spines. Then the Naggarothi caught up with the bulk of the fleeing rabble, and the butchery began.
Malekith felt the Khaine-fever taking over as he slashed and cut, caring not for the acrid blood that spattered on his lips nor the gore splashed across his golden armour.
His warriors were likewise filled with battle-lust, having spent many long days in the hold of the dwarfs without vent for their energy. Heads and limbs were scattered in the orgy of death, and with rage fuelling their steps the elves chased down the goblins and killed every last one of them.
Only when nothing but entrails and bloodied remains were left did they stop, panting hard not from exhaustion but excitement.
Finally tasting the bitter filth upon his face, Malekith wiped the blood clear of his mouth and looked around. The dwarfs were still fighting hard with the beastmen, and were falling back towards the valley basin, drawing them further from the elves.
Malekith did not know if there were more goblins in the woods, or any other loathsome creature for that matter, and turned the company around to head back to the main battle. From this direction they would drive into the rear of the bestial horde.
Malekith could see the four standards of Snorri White-beard above the melee, and chose a line of attack that would see the elves cut through the Chaotic filth to meet up with the High King in the melee.
Now calmed by the bloodletting of the goblins, the Naggarothi advanced steadily, cutting down the beastmen in their path. The largest of the beasts were now fighting hard at the front, leaving the smallest and most cowardly to face the attack of the elves. Most ran before they could be hewed down, though some did not see their peril until it was too late. Their lives ended spitted upon spear shaft or cleaved in twain by Avanuir.
As he cut his way through the beastmen, something disturbed Malekith’s concentration. There was shifting in the magic around him. It was dark and heavy and hugged the ground, but something was causing it to sluggishly swirl into the air.
Stopping for a moment and waving his warriors to advance further, the prince focussed his attention on the mystical energy. It was definitely being drawn somewhere else. Following its flow, he looked out over the sprawling battle. Like an eagle seeking its prey, Malekith allowed the magic to guide his eyes, until his gaze alighted upon a peculiar beastman.
Its skin was a pale green, blotched with strange mosslike growths amongst mangy patches of fur, and it wore a tattered cloak of what looked like skin. It was hunched over and a grasping hand protruded from its back. Its horned head was covered with a thick hood of rough, mucus-encrusted cloth. In its gnarled, clawed grip the thing held a long piece of wood to which were bound shards of evilly glowing stone. They scorched into Malekith’s magical sense, burning with dark magic.
The shaman lifted its staff and pointed the end towards the elves. Too late, Malekith realised what was happening.
Exerting his will, Malekith tried to seize back the magical power being leeched by the shaman, but he could not stop the vile spell. A thick black cloud of flies erupted from that staff, its buzzing deafening, blotting out all other sound. The swarm lifted above the beastmen and flew straight for the Naggarothi, but it was not the sight of the droning cloud that so disturbed Malekith. He could sense the dark energies writhing within the living fog; like the stench of rot or soured milk the magic flooded Malekith’s unearthly senses.
The fly cloud descended on the elves with an ear-splitting hum. Where each fly landed, it brought decay. Armour began to spot with rust, and wooden spear shafts grew weak with mildew. Malekith saw an elf flailing at the swarm with his shield, but within moments it had split and disintegrated into orange dust. Plates of armour cracked, leather split and frayed, and scale links turned to a rusted mass.
Suddenly, like a great inhalation, the magic disappeared. Like a cleansing wind blowing through thick smoke, something new disturbed the mystical flow of energy, dissipating it. The swarm dissolved in the air, leaving the Naggarothi swinging rusted gauntlets and broken spear staves into thin air. The breeze became stronger and then grew into a consuming immaterial whirlwind, like a great gulf that had opened up under the sea to swallow all the waters.
A blazing light caught the attention of the prince, and over the bobbing heads of the embattled beastmen he could just about see a dwarf wielding a metallic globe, stood beside the king. White light poured from runes engraved into the strange sphere, and it was to this that the magical winds were being drawn.
A counter-current formed in the ethereal energy of the magical winds as the shaman tried to fight the power of the dwarfen globe. Something went wrong, though. Malekith could feel the magic becoming barbed and dangerous, like a mellow beast suddenly enraged and revealed to have razor-sharp fangs.
For a moment, Malekith fancied that he saw something on the edge of his vision, a shadow of a shadow not unlike some great daemon in form. It appeared above the shaman and seemed to reach into the beastman with an indistinct hand. Then it was gone, and Malekith fancied that perhaps he had simply imagined it.
With a detonation of magical energy that shredded beastmen and dwarfs for many yards in every direction, the shaman exploded. The ground cracked beneath its falling corpse and the air churned with invisible force. Malekith felt the expanding magical field buffet him as surely as any storm or wave, but the prince gritted his teeth and allowed its gnawing energies to pass him by.
Though Malekith’s magical blade and Vaul-forged armour were untouched by the horrifying spell, his warriors were now in poor shape. Some were stuck in their rust-seized armour and rolled upon the ground trying to free themselves; many were pocked with boils and lesions left by the horrific biting of the daemon-flies. Most were now weaponless, amongst them Alandrian, and Malekith could see no option but to order a retreat, much as it bit deeply at his pride to do so. Before he had a chance to issue the command, a new horror emerged for them to face.
* * *
There was a rumbling of thunder overhead and storm clouds gathered with unnatural speed above the valley. Lightning crackled across the dark canopy and shot to the earth in blinding bolts. A wind from nowhere began to howl down the gorge, bending the trees and whipping grit and droplets of blood into the air.
Pines were sent hurtling in every direction as a terrifying monster erupted from the woods to the east. In form it was not unlike a dragon, though perhaps a little lesser in size, with the scaled legs, body and tail of such a creature. Its hide was a deep crimson, but its talons were of a black as dark as coal. The gigantic centaur-like monster had a red-skinned torso and a pair of arms where the dragon
’s neck and head would have been. Its head sat upon broad shoulders that were encased in plates of studded armour. Two serrated horns coiled out of its skull and its mouth was little more than a fang-filled slit.
It wielded a pair of identical swords, larger than anything Malekith had ever seen, but true-forged blades rather than the improvised weapons of the beastmen. Energy flickered and crawled upon those cruel swords, whose hilts and crossguards were fashioned from fused spines and whose pommels were made from real skulls. The gigantic beast’s eyes were wide and filled with the energy of the storm.
“Shaggoth!” cried one of Malekith’s soldiers, and the prince knew it to be true.
The oldest legends of the dragons spoke of such creatures, but Malekith had considered them to be myths from before the rise of the elves; before even the coming of the Old Ones and the banishment of the elven gods. Cousins to the dragons who had ruled the world before the coming of the gods, the shaggoths had bartered their souls to Chaos long before the Dark Gods had arisen to claim this world. If the dragons were to be believed, they had warred with the shaggoths for an eternity until finally the dragons had triumphed and driven their foes into hiding.
With the coming of Chaos, Malekith guessed, the shaggoths had been roused from their lairs, and now one of the titanic creatures stared down at Malekith with death-filled eyes. Lightning arced down from the storm clouds above, striking the shaggoth full on the chest. The creature was invigorated rather than harmed, as coruscating energy rippled across its gnarled skin.
“Our allies watch!” cried Malekith to his elves as those that could move backed away in terror from the apparition. “Do not shame yourselves! Show no fear! Strike without hesitation! Slay in the name of Nagarythe!”
With lightning still flickering across its flesh, the shaggoth lunged forwards and snatched up one of the Naggarothi in a foreclaw, splintering rusted armour and crushing bones and organs. A sweep of a sword carved through three more warriors, sending their remains spinning through the air. With Malekith’s command still ringing in their ears, the Naggarothi closed ranks and attacked, but even those whose weapons had not been undone by the shaman’s curse could find no weakness in the scales and hide of the beast.
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