[Daemon Gates 03] - Hour of the Daemon

by Aaron Rosenberg - (ebook by Undead)

  They rounded another bend, and Dietz studied the cliffs before them. Back near the river, the mountains tapered off into foothills. Here they simply rose from the ground fully formed, towering above the land that ran to meet them and the occasional small valley trapped between them.

  “How well do you know beastmen?” Lankdorf asked softly, his eyes scanning the area ahead.

  “I’ve run into several,” Dietz admitted, “including two villages full of them.”

  His friend nodded. “Good, then you know what they look like. Watch for dwellings, or anything else out of place.”

  Dietz looked around. The mountains swung away, creating a wide clearing between them and the forest beyond. The massive old trees created a wall of their own, looking every bit as solid and as sinister from this distance, and between the two Dietz saw only open ground. Then he noticed something and looked again.

  Most of the mountains they’d seen in this area were smooth and sharp-edged, with clean flat surfaces and tight angles. Yet across the clearing the rock wall seemed lumpier, rougher, as if pieces of it had been chipped away, or as if the cliff had simply been scored deeply, great furrows carved into it at various heights.

  Then he realised that he was seeing protrusions, not depressions, shadows and not furrows, and the sight slipped into the proper focus.

  “Morr’s blood,” Dietz whispered, taking a step back so he could take it all in.

  “What?” Jarl asked, a hand on the heavy sword at his side.

  “Look,” was all Dietz could manage. He gestured towards the far wall, and saw both Lankdorf and Jarl stare at it, obviously confused.

  Lankdorf had the sharper eyes, and after a few seconds, Dietz heard a sharp intake of breath from his friend as the short tracker no doubt saw what he had seen. A minute later, Jarl muttered something that sounded like a curse, apparently noticing the scene at last.

  What Dietz had seen weren’t shapes carved into the cliffs, but rather piled up against them, tall shapes, far too regular and level to be natural. It was a mass of stones, most likely hewn from the mountains behind it, which explained why he had not been able to see it at first. The stone was exactly the same shade and so it blended back into the cliffs. Now that he knew they were there he could see them clearly, and the more he studied them the more obvious it was that those stones could be nothing else but a building, or several buildings.

  Dietz considered the stones carefully, trying to gauge size based upon his distance from them, and shook his head after a moment, awed. The slabs looked small, but they were still two hundred feet away if they were an inch, and possibly a good deal more. That meant they had to be massive, and he had been underestimating both the size of the stones and the expanse of the structures. He was staring at a city, or at least a small town. The stones formed high walls and gracefully slanting roofs, with smudges across the front that might have been balconies once. He caught a glimpse of similar structures along the sides and towards the back. Tall, narrow windows pierced the stone in several places, although he could see that shutters the same colour as the walls covered some of them, and here and there along the ground, doors broke up the surfaces of the walls. The ground seemed to be a matching grey, and Dietz suspected it was paved.

  “They must be in there,” Lankdorf whispered. “The tracks lead straight to it.”

  Dietz nodded, still studying the place.

  “I didn’t think beastmen were that intelligent,” the tracker continued. “I thought they were barely smart enough to handle weapons, let alone chisels and hammers. Could they have made this place?”

  Dietz was wondering the same thing. He had seen a fabulous temple carved by beastmen, but that had been in Ind, and the beastmen there were very different. All the beastmen he had encountered in the Empire were savages, barely more intelligent than animals, and lived in crude huts or rough camps. He thought about the carnage he and Alaric had seen back in Nuln, and shook his head.

  “They didn’t make this place,” he told his two companions, keeping his voice low. “Most likely they found it and claimed it.”

  “It looks old,” Jarl said, staring, and Dietz nodded. Yes, those stones looked as if they could have been carved centuries ago. He was curious what they looked like from a closer vantage, but all thoughts of investigating fled as he spotted movement among the buildings. He froze. So did Lankdorf, who had clearly seen the flicker as well, and they both gestured at Jarl to stand still. The mercenary obeyed at once, and all three of them stayed motionless as they squinted across the distance, searching for movement.

  There; Dietz saw it beyond one of the buildings and tried to pierce the shadows there. He was sure he had seen… yes, there it was again. Something was definitely moving among the stone structures. Then it shifted, came forward, and he saw it more clearly.

  It was a beastman, and then another one, and then several more. There were at least six of them, walking towards the buildings’ front, armed with spears, clubs and axes.

  “They may be a patrol,” Lankdorf whispered. He gestured behind him, indicating that Jarl and Dietz should back away, and he followed, moving slowly and without a sound. Dietz kept his eyes on the buildings, and saw that his friend had been right. The beastmen were marching to the left, cutting in front of the buildings, and would probably turn and head the other way once they reached the far end. They were standing guard. Dietz had no doubt they would come running, weapons at the ready, if any of them spotted him or his two companions.

  It seemed to take forever, but at last Dietz backed around a bend and the buildings vanished from view. Jarl was already there, leaning against the cliff and shaking his head, and a few seconds later Lankdorf also joined them.

  “We need to get back and tell the others,” the tracker said. “We were expecting a band of beastmen, possibly a small encampment, but that place is a bloody fortress. There’s no telling how many they’ve got burrowed away in there, and we’d have to cross that clearing to reach them.”

  “They’ve probably got rifles, too,” Dietz reminded him. All three of them shuddered at the thought of beastmen using blackpowder weapons and holed up in a stone fort.

  “Keep it quiet,” Lankdorf urged, although Dietz didn’t need reminding, and he suspected Jarl didn’t either. “We don’t want them catching wind of us and coming after us before we can get back to camp.” They all turned and began stalking away, moving as carefully and quietly as possible. It was several minutes before Dietz stopped feeling like a beastman was sighting down a rifle at the back of his head.

  Alaric was writing in his journal when Dietz, Lankdorf, and the mercenary Jarl returned. They had been gone two hours or more, judging by the sun, but Alaric had lost track of time as he jotted down notes about this and that, and scribbled shorthand versions of their recent encounters. He capped his ink vial and tucked it and his quill away, as the three men approached.

  “Did you find them?” he asked, rising to his feet. Kleiber and Wilcreitz had approached as well, and it was to them that Lankdorf gave his answer, but not before Alaric saw Dietz’s answering nod, and the frown that meant the news would not be good.

  “We’ve tracked the beastmen to their lair,” Lankdorf explained. The mercenaries were all listening as well, since what the tracker had to say would most likely effect their tasks in the near future. “They are holed up in what looks like an old city or fortress, roughly an hour north of here and nestled up against the mountains.”

  “A city?” Alaric stared at them. “What sort of city? What did it look like? Did you find any markings to indicate age, or origin, or—”

  “I’m sure the beastmen will be happy to give you a tour if you ask nicely,” Wilcreitz snapped, and Alaric stopped, remembering the reason they were here.

  “Ah, right. Sorry, I just got carried away,” he apologised.

  “It’s made from stone,” Lankdorf answered, glancing over at him and then back at Kleiber, who frowned, but nodded for him to continue. “Looks to be
taken from the mountain.” He shrugged. “I’ve no idea who built it or when, or why.”

  Alaric looked to Dietz, but the older man shrugged. “We didn’t get too close,” he explained, “but I doubt they made it. It’s too finely crafted, and it looks old.”

  “Old?” Alaric was already running through what he knew of the area’s history in his head. “Could be human,” he muttered to himself, “or perhaps dwarf, though why it would be exposed and not dug in… Could they be elf ruins?”

  “How many did you see?” Kleiber asked, cutting off Alaric’s train of thought.

  “Half a dozen or so,” Lankdorf replied. “They were just a patrol, however. We’ve no idea how many more are in there.”

  Kleiber nodded. “A stone fortress or city, up against the mountains,” he repeated, “with an armed guard and an untold number of beastmen hidden within, some with blackpowder weapons.” The witch hunter glanced around, and then smiled grimly. “Sigmar has presented us a mighty challenge indeed,” he declared, “but I say if we are steadfast in our faith we will prove equal to the task.”

  “Faith isn’t the problem,” Dietz muttered as he stepped over beside Alaric, speaking softly, so that only Alaric heard him. “It’s bullets and claws and good shelter that concern me, and how all three are on the wrong side.”

  “What sort of place was it?” Alaric asked, still focusing on the idea of an ancient ruin. “Describe it to me.”

  The older man sighed, used to his requests, and closed his eyes. “Tall buildings, with balconies and walkways,” he recounted after a moment. “Sloping roofs. Narrow windows. Paved streets. It was close enough together so that it could all be one building, or it could be a city or town built compact.”

  “You didn’t see any writing?” Alaric pressed.

  “Never got that close,” Dietz replied. “They had guards,” he reminded Alaric.

  “Well, there’s nothing for it,” Alaric decided. “You’ll just have to show me.”

  His friend gave him a familiar look, the one with the single raised eyebrow, the one that said he was both amused and puzzled. “You do realise we’re probably attacking it?” he asked.

  Alaric nodded. “Yes, of course,” he answered. “I knew that.” He frowned. “I just hope I have time to have a look round before Kleiber’s men destroy the place.”

  “You haven’t seen the place yet,” Dietz commented. “I’m more worried about staying alive long enough to take a leisurely look at the architecture.”

  Alaric smiled and gestured towards Kleiber and Wilcreitz, who were speaking with Lankdorf and the mercenaries. “Weren’t you listening?” he asked his friend. “Sigmar is on our side, how can we possibly lose?”

  Dietz didn’t bother dignifying that with a reply.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “What of the humans?”

  “Leave them. They are unimportant.”

  “They have desecrated the forest. The woods must be cleansed of their foul touch.”

  “Do not lecture me on what the woods demand, Cellomir,” Lasalnean snapped, turning and glaring at the other elf. “I can feel Athel Loren’s displeasure as keenly as you, and perhaps more so.” He took a breath to calm himself. “We will deal with the humans soon enough, but they will keep. We must first clear the ruins of the filth that has occupied them and stained them for far too long.”

  The others of the kinband murmured their agreement, and Cellomir nodded, his head bowed to acknowledge the correction. Lasalnean had already shifted his attention back to the ruins, and the stretch of open dirt between them and the forest, where he and his kin lay hidden and watching.

  “We lost the element of surprise last time,” Lasalnean said softly, although whether to himself or to the other elves was unclear. “The beastmen spotted us, and thus we surrendered any advantage. That must not be the case this time.” He glanced at Ulmael. “You know what to do?”

  The other elf nodded. “I do.”

  “If it works, Athel Loren will laud you,” Nelyann assured him with a quick grin. She looked towards Lasalnean. “It is a good plan,” she confirmed, “and with it we shall slaughter the creatures and reclaim the sacred ruins, but you should not be part of the charge. Your wound—”

  “Is healing,” Lasalnean interrupted her. “I am fully capable, and I will not send others on such a task if I am not willing to go myself.”

  “Willing, yes,” Nelyann agreed, “but able? I don’t—”

  “I am able,” Lasalnean replied, “and that is that.” His tone made it clear that the discussion was over. “Do it now,” he instructed Ulmael.

  Ulmael nodded and started to build a fire from twigs and leaves. He carefully called forth a tiny wisp of smoke, followed by an almost invisible flicker, and then, suddenly, fire.

  Lasalnean and the others watched as Ulmael added more tinder to the fledgling blaze. He had been careful to select green leaves and twigs, and the fire began smoking almost immediately, sending a thin trail of dark grey smoke aloft. He added more material, and the flame expanded, the smoke thickening and beginning to billow. Soon the fire covered a narrow strip as long as a tall elf, and the smoke formed a curtain flapping in the wind: a curtain that was blocking them from sight of the ruins, and was wafting closer to the stones and their foul inhabitants.

  “Not yet,” Lasalnean said quietly, extending a hand to block Ridsitil as the latter moved to slip past the trees and into the clearing, “another moment or two.”

  They waited impatiently, clutching their weapons, as the smoke spread, casting a pall across the clearing and even back among its creators. Then the elves’ sharp ears picked up raised voices from the beastmen, and soon they heard footsteps, heavy, clumsy ones, drawing closer.

  The beastmen had sent a scouting party out to investigate the smoke.

  This was what the elves had been waiting for, and Lasalnean smiled, a cold quiet expression that brought shivers to those that saw it. He nodded, and his kinband took up their positions, each elf poised behind a tree or perched atop a low branch. When the beastmen stepped through the smoke curtain, they barely had time to realise that the smoke began just within the clearing and was deliberate rather than accidental. Then the elves were upon them.

  Knowing the need for silence, Lasalnean bit back his customary battle cry as he rose to confront the first beastman. His long, silvery sword leapt forward, its blade angling down to glide past the creature’s upraised club, and the tip pierced the beastman’s throat, turning its emerging cry into a soft gurgle. Lasalnean continued the thrust, the blade emerging a second later from the back of the creature’s neck, and then twisted and tugged sideways, slicing the beastman’s neck open and freeing his blade. The next beastman stumbled upon its dead comrade, eyes widening at the sight, and Lasalnean’s blade took it through the mouth before it could scream. Nelyann had already carved a third beastman open with her twin blades, and spun gracefully to behead another even as she blocked its axe with her second sword.

  The smoke effectively cut them off from those within the ruins, preventing anyone from aiding those battling within the smoke or beyond it, and it took little time to dispatch the eight beastmen, who had not been expecting a full ambush by determined elf archers and warriors.

  “They will be wondering what became of their comrades,” Nelyann reminded Lasalnean, kicking the nearest body.

  Lasalnean nodded. “They will send a second wave to find out,” he replied. “We will kill them as well, and each band they foolishly let pass through our curtain. Once the creatures learn their mistake, once they no longer let scouting parties dare to enter the smoke, then we will use this smoke for cover and take the fight to them.”

  The others in his kinband grinned at the thought, and Lasalnean bowed, acknowledging their support.

  Then the elves settled in, alert for the sound of additional beastmen approaching their hiding places. Lasalnean suspected they would not have long to wait.

  “Charge?” Alaric asked, his blue eyes w
ide. “That’s your plan, your strategy? This is what a full night of contemplation has led you to decide? To charge?”

  “From two directions at once,” Kleiber corrected. “This will confuse the defenders, and they will be forced to split their attention, thus allowing one or even both groups to reach the ruins safely.”

  “It still boils down to a charge, just a two-pronged one,” Alaric argued.

  Sitting across the small fire from him, Kleiber shrugged. “It has the virtue of simplicity,” he replied, perhaps a touch defensively.

  “So does ‘run headfirst into a wall’,” Dietz muttered, low enough for only Alaric to hear him. “I still don’t see many people trying it, and never more than once.”

  Alaric laughed, but quickly smothered the reaction, which Dietz thought displayed unusual common sense for his employer. Kleiber was without a doubt the most open-minded witch hunter they had ever encountered, but Dietz knew that only went so far, and most people didn’t like being laughed at.

  “They may have rifles,” Dietz reminded Kleiber.

  The witch hunter nodded. “Indeed, friend Dietz, they may have rifles.”

  “So they’ll shoot you down before you can get anywhere near them,” Dietz explained further.

  “Only if we allow them time to spot us, convey that information, and take aim,” Kleiber corrected, “and I have no intention of granting them such an opportunity.”

  Alaric was still too amazed to even consider being tactful. “So your strategy is actually ‘Charge from two sides, very fast’?”

  “That is the essence of it, yes,” Kleiber admitted.

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Lankdorf offered. He and Jarl were also sitting there. Wilcreitz was speaking with the rest of the mercenaries. “We have to get across that clearing and to the ruins quickly. There isn’t any cover or any way to approach from another direction.” He shrugged. “So if we’ve got to charge, we should do it fast and take them by surprise.”