by Nathan Long
The Blackhearts angled into the side street and set the heavy casket down with groans of relief.
‘Don’t get any ideas I’ll share,’ said Dieter. ‘I stole ‘em fair and square.’
Reiner threw open the casket and flipped aside the blanket where von Pfaltzen had poked. Rolls of stiff canvas had been tucked down next to the stone. Reiner pulled them out.
‘Easy, easy!’ said Dieter, sharp.
Reiner uncurled the rolls and found that they were four paintings by famous masters, cut from their frames, which had been stacked with the others in the vault. There was a hole at the same spot on each painting.
‘There!’ said Dieter, disgusted. ‘Cursed jagger ruined them with his poking. That was a fortune that was. Now they’re worthless!’
‘They saved our lives,’ said Darius. ‘I don’t call that worthless.’
Dieter snorted.
Reiner re-rolled the paintings and stuffed them back under the blanket. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘One more gate and we’re free. Off we go.’
THE BLACKHEARTS PASSED through the Manor district gate with no difficulties, and made their way to the sewers and then the catacombs below them. It was a slow, silent trip. Slow because Reiner wanted to give Augustus as much time to get to the authorities as he could. It was quiet because, except for participating in the occasional argument about which was the right path, Reiner didn’t care to speak for fear of saying something which might give away their ruse.
It seemed the others felt the same. Franka stumbled along like a sleepwalker, staring blankly ahead. It broke Reiner’s heart to see her. He wanted more than anything to let her in on the trick, but he couldn’t. His greatest fear was that she would run, but she seemed too stunned. His second greatest fear—after they had made several wrong turnings and had had to double back—was that Augustus would not remember the way either and lead their rescuers in circles in the catacombs while the dark elf destroyed the stone.
At last they came to the huge, glittering cave with the bridge over the chasm at one end, and the cyclopean arch at the other. The mutants came out of their hovels to surround them, even more deformed than before, and carried them, like a sea carries a bottle, into the chamber with the cages and the stone circle.
Valaris was waiting for them. In the days since they had left him he had built a home for himself. Beautiful if mismatched tables and chairs, vases and tapestries, all scavenged by his twisted slaves, were arranged against one wall. He had even managed to find a magnificent canopied bed in which to sleep.
To the right of this was a grand oak throne, and from this he rose to greet them, a wry smile on his cruel lips as they set down the casket.
‘My friends,’ he said. ‘Your adventures have provided me with more amusement than a year’s worth of blood sport. And had the success of your enterprise not meant so much to me, and the news that I had failed to kill Teclis not angered me, I would have laughed all the harder.’
He looked at Reiner with something akin to fondness. ‘You in particular, captain, twisted more prettily than a snake pinned by a spear. So many times did I give up on you, so many times did I come within a hair’s breadth of allowing your master to murder you before murdering him in turn, when suddenly you would pull an escape out of thin air and I would relent in order to see what fresh comedy was in store.’ He chuckled. ‘Never have I seen a man more torn between following his conscience or saving his own skin. For though you protest otherwise, I know you are not entirely the rogue you play, and your internal struggle was as entertaining as your fight with the Imperials. Thankfully your venality has won out at last, as I knew it would, and I was treated to the high drama and low farce that was the murder of your comrade. Beautiful. I almost wish…’ He looked wistfully at them, then shrugged. ‘But no, it is impossible. Khaine needs strong, pure blood in order to unmake the waystone.’
‘Khaine needs… blood?’ said Reiner, the brief flash of triumph in the knowledge that he had fooled the elf dying as he realised the elf had tricked him too.’Our blood?’
‘Yes,’ said Valaris. ‘The mutants are too diseased. Their blood would be an insult.’
‘But, Lord Valaris,’ said Reiner, though he knew it was hopeless. ‘You promised us our lives. You promised that we would go free with Count Manfred if we procured you the stone. It is the only reason we agreed to do it.’
‘Naturally, I promised,’ said Valaris, shrugging. ‘Would you concern yourself with a promise made to a dog, no matter how clever its tricks?’ He motioned to his slaves. ‘Bring out the prisoner and tie them all to the stones. We will proceed at once.’
‘Ye fish-belly cozener,’ snarled Hals. ‘Ye twist-tongued cheat!’
‘Coward!’ shouted Pavel. ‘Tell yer dirty pets to stand off and face me sword to spear. I’ll gut ye where ye stand.’
‘But, lord,’ said Reiner desperately. ‘Our blood is tainted as well. Will Khaine accept poisoned blood?’
Valaris smiled. ‘Khaine’s sacrifices often die by poison.’
Manfred was led, blinking, out of one of the cages. He was gaunt and wild looking, his hair and beard matted and his clothes bedraggled and grimy.
His miserable expression changed to one of joy as he saw Reiner. ‘By Sigmar,’ he said, amazed. ‘Have you done it? Have you freed me at last?’
Reiner laughed as the mutants dragged the Blackhearts to the tall basalt stones. ‘No, m’lord. You have doomed us. The elf does not honour his bargain.’ He wanted to add ‘unless Augustus brings our rescue,’ but even now he didn’t dare speak, for fear of giving the dark elf warning.
‘What!’ cried Manfred, looking at Valaris. ‘You devious deceiver! How dare you! I am a count of the Empire!’
Valaris was directing his slaves as they took the waystone from the casket, and ignored Manfred.
‘Come, m’lord,’ said Reiner. ‘You of all people should not be surprised by treachery.’
The mutants began to tie the Blackhearts tightly, if inexpertly, at chest and waist in coils of filthy rope, trapping their hands. Manfred was tied to the stone to Reiner’s right. Franka was tied to his left.
‘Franka,’ Reiner whispered, but she only stared ahead.
When his slaves had raised the waystone on the central altar and withdrawn to the walls of the chamber, Valaris drew his dagger and approached Reiner. Reiner tensed, thinking this was the end, but instead of plunging the knife into his chest, instead Valaris gripped his wrist and cut out the sliver of crystal, flicking it carelessly to the ground. Instantly, the whispering warpstone buzz filled Reiner’s mind again.
The dark elf moved around the circle, removing the crystals from each of them. When he had finished, he stripped to the waist, revealing a dead white, whipcord torso, and a blue crystal—mother to their slivers—on a chain around his neck. He began a chant, harsh and sibilant, while cutting himself at seven well-scarred points on his chest. He touched a finger to each of the wounds, then began to daub strange symbols across his chest and down his arms.
As he wrote the last symbol, Valaris’s chant became a song, high and beautiful and terrifying. He moved around the waystone in a slow, sinuous dance, and with each move, it felt as if all Reiner’s blood was being pulled to the front of his body. His pulse pounded behind his eyes and in his ears. His heart pounded as if he had run a ten mile race. His fingers and toes throbbed.
The song grew wilder, as did Valaris’s movements, and the pressure increased inexorably. Dieter and Gert cried out. Darius vomited. Spatters of blood appeared on Valaris’s chest and back, partially obscuring the symbols. Reiner thought at first that they came from the dark elf’s seven wounds, but as he looked down at himself, he saw that the blood from his wounded wrist was dripping, not to the floor, but sideways toward Valaris. Drops flew at the elf from all the Blackhearts, as if he had become the centre of gravity.
That gravity was getting stronger. Reiner’s whole body was being pulled forward. The ropes cut into his flesh cruelly. It felt as if hi
s heart would burst from his chest, and it came to him with a nauseous shudder that this was exactly what was meant to happen—a tenfold coronary explosion that would bathe Valaris in heart-blood and give him the power to crack the waystone. Reiner suddenly knew he was going to die. Augustus would not arrive in time. This was the end.
He turned his head to Manfred. ‘Valdenheim! For your pity, who was the spy?’
But Manfred had lost consciousness, his head bobbling at the end of his neck.
Reiner turned to Franka. ‘Franka!’
She looked up. Her mouth drooled red and the whites of her eyes were flooded with blood.
‘Franka!’ he called. ‘I beg you, beloved, before we die! Forgive me! Say you forgive me!
Franka’s face twisted in disgust. ‘Before we die?’ she choked. ‘I am already dead. You killed me when you killed Augustus.’
‘No, listen!’ He opened his mouth to tell her the truth, but with a jerk, the pressure increased violently. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth to splash on Valaris’s torso. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. The pain was incredible, but the agony of his mind was greater. He wanted to weep. It was so unfair. How could he die with Franka thinking him a cold-blooded murderer?
His head began to fill with screams and shrieks. At first he thought it was the others dying, or the mad whispers in his head calling to him, but then he heard the ring of steel above the shouting. Was Valaris striking the waystone with his knife?
He forced his eyes open. Valaris was looking over his shoulder. The pressure eased. The roaring in Reiner’s brain faded.
As Valaris stopped altogether, Reiner and the others sagged in their ropes, sucking in great ragged breaths. Now Reiner could hear it—the clamour and clash of battle. The mutants were running into the huge cavern, waving their makeshift weapons.
Valaris stared after them, then turned burning eyes on Reiner, knife raised. ‘You… you deceived me!’ Reiner flinched and twisted in his ropes, but the dark elf paused as he drew back the knife, and raised his head like a wolf scenting blood on the wind. ‘Teclis!’ A leering smile spread across his face. ‘You have brought me my prey, captain. For that, you shall die correctly.’
He crossed to his strange bedchamber and snatched up his sword and bow, then called to the few mutants that remained in the chamber. ‘Come, slaves. There is blood to be spilled!’ He strode into the big cavern at their head.
Hals laughed wearily. Blood ran in rivulets from his eyes, nose and mouth. ‘So Augustus comes through at last.’
‘And not before time,’ said Pavel, spitting crimson.
‘Au… Augustus?’ said Franka, looking up, wide-eyed.
Reiner coughed blood. ‘It was a trick. Dieter only pretended to kill him.’ He swallowed. ‘I couldn’t tell you without telling Valaris. I’m sorry.’
Franka gaped at him, then looked away with a sob, trying to bury her face in her shoulder.
‘You mean,’ said Manfred groggily, ‘you mean we are saved?’
‘If Augustus brought enough troops,’ said Reiner.
At that moment, Danziger came through the arch with his men. He smiled as he saw the Blackhearts’ predicament. ‘How convenient,’ he said. ‘We will be rid of your meddling once and for all.’
TWENTY
Spears To The Front
DANZIGER ENTERED AND motioned his men towards the waystone. ‘Put it in the casket and hide it. We’ll return for it when the others have gone.’ He turned toward Reiner, grinning evilly. ‘I reserve this pleasure for myself.’ ‘Lord Danziger,’ said Manfred. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Danziger turned sharply, seeing Manfred for the first time. ‘Count Manfred! We… we believed you dead.’
For a moment, Reiner thought Danziger would try to dissemble his earlier words, but then a cunning smile curled his lips and he looked back at the door.
‘And why shouldn’t you be?’ He turned from Reiner to Danziger. ‘What a coup this will be for Slaanesh! A count of the Empire.’
‘You filthy cultist,’ spat Manfred. ‘You reveal yourself at last. You will burn for this.’
Danziger put his dagger to Manfred’s chest and cut through the top button of his doublet as, behind him, his men waddled the waystone to the coffin. ‘And who will know it was I? I will run out weeping that the elf has slain you, and—’
‘Spears ready!’ roared a voice from the door. ‘Talabheimers, attack!’
Danziger and his men spun, groping for their swords. The waystone crashed down, smashing the coffin and crushing the legs of two of the men. Out of the shadows ran, not a company of spearmen, but a single man, his spear levelled. Augustus!
The pikeman ran past Danziger and the confused cultists, straight for Reiner. For a terrifying second, Reiner thought Augustus was coming to kill him, but then he saw the mad laughter in his eyes a realised he meant to cut him free.
‘Not me, you fool!’ Reiner shouted. ‘Jergen!’
Augustus veered right and chopped at Jergen’s ropes. The spear was an awkward tool for the job, but fortunately the ropes were rotten and Jergen’s strength immense. He heaved mightily at the partially cut cords and they popped and hung slack.
‘Behind you!’ shouted Reiner.
Augustus whirled about, swinging his spear like a sword and fanning back Danziger’s men, who had run up behind him.
Jergen drew his dagger and slashed at the ropes around his chest.
Augustus took a sword across the back of his breastplate and dodged behind Jergen’s stone. The cultists followed him.
‘You imbeciles!’ shrieked Danziger. ‘Don’t kill the free one! Kill the trapped ones before they’re freed!’
And putting action to his words, he started toward Manfred again as his men tried to get around Augustus to the bound Blackhearts. Haggard as Manfred was, there was some fight in him. He kicked Danziger in the stomach.
Danziger cursed, and dodged aside to cut Manfred’s throat from behind, but he was too late. Jergen was free and leapt at him, sword drawn. Danziger shied away and Jergen slashed through Manfred’s bonds with a single stroke, then spun and did the same for Reiner before running to defend Pavel and Hals from three cultists. Augustus jumped before Dieter and Gert, fending off two others.
Reiner staggered forwards and fumbled out his sword, his arms numb and weak. His mouth and nose were still filled with blood and it was hard to breathe. On his right, Manfred wrestled Danziger for possession of a dagger. On his left, two cultists were approaching Franka’s stone.
‘No!’ Reiner shouted. He lunged at them, but as they turned, he found he had little strength to fight them. Valaris’s ceremony had left him trembling and sore. He managed to parry the left one’s thrust, but the other nearly took his ear off.
Elsewhere, however, the tide was turning. Jergen had freed Hals and felled another cultist, and Hals was freeing Pavel. Now in possession of Danziger’s dagger, Manfred circled the cult leader, who jabbed at him with his sword.
Reiner wiped his nose and flicked the blood in the eyes of his left-hand opponent, then drove the one on the right back toward Franka. She raised both feet and kicked him in the spine. He stumbled forward, yelping, right into Reiner’s out-thrust blade, and then Reiner faced only one.
As he saw Jergen cut down another of his men, Danziger finally had enough. He sprang back from Manfred shouting, ‘Fall back! This is foolishness. We will win another way!’
His men danced out of their engagements and raced with him for the door. Hals and Pavel gave chase.
‘No! Regroup!’ Reiner shouted over the battle beyond the door.
Pavel and Hals stopped and turned back, then helped Reiner and Augustus cut down Franka and the others as Dieter slit the throats of the men crushed by the waystone.
‘Thankee, lad,’ said Reiner to Augustus. ‘Wasn’t sure you’d come back.’
Augustus’s face darkened. ‘I came for the stone.’
‘Could ha’ done that without cutting us down,’ said Hals. ‘We’re
obliged.’
Augustus snorted and glared at Reiner. ‘Couldn’t let the captain die. I owe ‘im a kick in the eggs.’
‘You have all done well,’ said Manfred as they bound their wounds and gathered their weapons. ‘If we survive this adventure, you shall all be richly rewarded.’
‘Never mind that, jagger,’ said Hals. ‘Just free us like ye promised. That’s all we ask.’
Manfred smiled. ‘You need have no fear about that. Now, are we ready?’
Reiner frowned as the Blackhearts fell in behind Manfred. What had he meant, exactly? Gert also seemed to be wondering, for he was staring hard at Manfred’s back.
Blinding flashes of blue and white light illuminated the door, and through it they could see the battle only in brief silhouetted flickers of seething bodies and glinting blades. The mutants surged around a square of men in a thick, undisciplined horde, more pouring into the cavern from the tunnels.
At the fore fought von Pfaltzen and the countess’s guard, blood and black fluids staining their green and buff uniforms. On the far side of the battle Boellengen shouted orders at his handgunners as they emptied a volley into the churning mass. Scharnholt’s men and Totkrieg’s Hammers supported the handgunners, cutting down the mutants who survived their fusillades. A hundred Talabheimers under Hunter Lord Keinholtz defended the near side of the formation, spears in front, bowmen firing over their heads. Danziger, now returned to the main body of his men, encouraged them from the rear, shouting and waving his sword. Nearer the main entrance, Lord Schott’s greatswords and Raichskell’s Templars were doing butcher’s work among the madmen. They were red to the elbows and mutants lay in waist high drifts around them.
But though the mutants died in droves, having only the crudest armour and weapons, they also fought with suicidal abandon, throwing themselves at the men without any regard for safety, and many a throat was torn out and gut ripped with their dying breath. They impaled themselves on swords and spears solely to drag them down so their brothers and sisters could rush over them and overwhelm their slayers.