When it came, the explosions were strangely muffled. There was a great boom, and the ground shook underneath them. The rock seemed to buckle, and some of the men briefly staggered. Lines of rock particles cascaded from the roof, making the torches flicker and gutter. But Thorgad’s mining skills had been superb. The tunnel held.
From ahead of them, a wall of hot air and blackpowder-laced dust rushed upwards. More crashes could be heard rumbling deep within the earth. The dwarf’s network of charges was going off, tearing down the remaining stone, blasting its way through the mountain like an animal. Only after several more detonations did the last of the crushing explosions die away. That was it. Now they had to trust to fate.
Magnus looked around his men one last time. In the flickering torchlight, their faces were tight with fear. But there was something else. Eagerness. The wait had been long. Now they needed to release their aggression.
‘Remember your orders,’ he said simply. He’d never been one for battlefield oration. ‘Keep together. Sigmar be with you. Let’s go.’
Magnus set off down the tunnel at a loping run, keeping his torch low against the ground and watching out for rubble in his way. The route was tight, and he had to stoop as he went. Behind him, he could hear Hildebrandt’s heavy tread and the clatter of Thorgad’s iron-shod feet.
They went down the winding corridor quickly, stopping only to squeeze past obstacles where necessary. The air was thick with dust and the stench of blackpowder. Magnus stifled a coughing fit as he went. There was no time to stop and cleanse his lungs. Everything depended on speed.
They arrived at the rock face. The air was hot. The final few yards of standing stone had been utterly destroyed. Thorgad’s last chamber, lovingly hewn from the mountain bones, lay in ruins. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, blocking off a large area to their right. The torches had been blown out by the blasts, and the only light was from their own flaming brands. The air was thick with floating dust. It was hard to make anything out. For a terrible moment, Magnus thought that the blast had done nothing but close the end of the tunnel off for good.
Then, he saw it. High up on the left-hand side, there was a gash in the rock. A jagged slope of tortured and broken stone led upwards steeply. At its summit, the uneven surface of the mountain’s innards gave way to the regular outline of walls. Thorgad had been right. The explosion had shattered the foundations of a storeroom right at the base of the citadel. The gap was narrow, but just wide enough for a man to slip through. They had their way in. The dwarf had been as good as his word.
‘Follow me,’ said Magnus, keeping his voice low. The enemy was sure to have been roused by the explosions, but there was no harm in keeping their presence hidden for as long as possible.
Magnus scrambled up the loose pile of rock. It was awkward work. He slipped several times, sending scree down behind him onto the heads of those following. Curses, and the sounds of men losing their footing, followed him up. Some of the rocks were still hot from the blasts, and Magnus felt the savage aftermath of Thorgad’s fireworks even through the soles of his boots.
He crested the summit. The hole was dark, and there were no sounds from beyond. There was little time for caution. Magnus thrust his torch through the gap, and took a quick look. He’d emerged into a narrow room, walled with bare stone and piled high with crates of salted provisions. Some had burst open from the force of the blast, and there was a jagged crack in the wall on the far side of the chamber. Flagstones had been pushed upwards, and the footing looked treacherous. There was no sign of any resistance. The plans had been reliable. Either that, or they’d been very lucky.
Magnus pushed his way through the gap, and turned to haul Hildebrandt up. In a few moments, the raiding party had all squeezed into the chamber. From above, Magnus could hear footfalls. A bell was ringing far away, and its chimes resounded through the stone. The alarm had been raised. They only had moments.
‘Come,’ he said, and ran towards a doorway on the far side of the room. The door had been blown from its hinges and hung to one side. Magnus kicked it away, and burst into the corridor beyond.
There were torches still lit against the walls, and it became easier to see what was happening. The stone inside Morgramgar was dark and smooth, just like the exterior. Despite the noises from above, there was still no sign of any guards. For a moment, Magnus felt his nerve fail. This was too easy. Why weren’t there any soldiers?
He pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind. The corridor led away in both directions. At the far end of the left branch, a narrow doorway led to a spiral stair. Just as the map had said it would. Magnus ran towards it, keeping his torch low and his sword raised. Once inside Morgramgar, the noise of the machinery was everywhere, making the walls vibrate with its constant presence. It was oppressive, and jarred his senses. No normal fortress should house such monsters.
The men came on behind him, keeping tightly together. Magnus reached the doorway, and plunged into the dark stairwell beyond. It was narrow and tight. He ran up the steps two at a time, hoping against hope he wouldn’t meet a defender on the stairs.
A forlorn hope. He turned a corner, and ran straight into a soldier coming the other way. The endless grinding of the machines had hidden the sounds of his approach. For an instant, Magnus could see the staring eyes of the soldier, white in the darkness. The man fumbled for his sword. With a savage swipe, Magnus slashed across his neck, more by luck than judgement, spraying blood across the stairway. With a gurgled scream, the soldier collapsed, tumbling down at Magnus’s feet, clutching at his pumping wound.
Magnus kicked him away with disgust. In the narrow space, he had to clamber over the still-hot body to keep going. Beyond him, the stair opened out into a larger room. He climbed up. Behind him, he could hear the rest of the men shoving the body of the guard unceremoniously down the spiral.
The room at the top of the stairs was large and better lit. The stone was black and as smooth as glass. It had a strange sheen to it. No wonder Messina’s baubles had failed to kindle. There was nothing for them to latch on to.
Doorways led off in three directions. There was no sign of any more guards. Despite the rapid ascent, they were still down in the depths of the citadel.
‘That one,’ said Thorgad, pointing to one of the doors.
Magnus didn’t wait to ask him how he knew. With the dwarf at his side, he ran towards the empty doorway. Hildebrandt and the others were hard on his heels. As they reached it, finally more guards emerged. One charged at Thorgad.
‘Khazuk!’ cried the dwarf, and hurled himself forward. Glamrist glittered as it was swung. Before he’d time to react, the soldier had his legs hewn from under him. He screamed horribly before Thorgad’s second swing ended his agony. Magnus thrust his torch into the face of the other, briefly blinding him and sending him staggering back. The engineer stabbed his sword into the man’s stomach. When he withdrew it, the blade was slick with blood. The guard slumped, his lips a red froth.
‘There’ll be more!’ cried Magnus. ‘Keep going!’
He and Thorgad raced through the doorway and up a second wide flight of stairs. These led to more corridors and more ascents. As they went, there was more sporadic resistance, but it was clear they’d surprised the enemy. The soldiers were disorganised, and came at them in twos and threes. They were all Hochland regular troops, just like the ones who’d attacked them in the mountains, and just as poorly prepared for a close fight.
After helping dispatch a scared-looking patrol of three more startled defenders, Magnus ran around a final corner and found himself in a long, wide gallery. They were making good progress. The company had climbed quickly, and was now well above ground level. There were windows high above them now, carved deep into the walls. From their narrow panes, starlight filtered down into the interior. Deep below, the machines continued to growl ominously.
‘There,’ said Thorgad, gesturing towar
ds a narrow door. ‘That’s the way to the gunnery level.’
Magnus rushed over to the door. It was bolted. A heavy iron padlock hung from the latch. He shook the door on its hinges, but it remained fast.
‘Stand back,’ said Thorgad. Behind them, the rest of the raiding party clustered, looking over their shoulders nervously.
The dwarf swung Glamrist easily round his shoulders, building up momentum. He swung it hard against the bolt. With a flash of sparks, the metal severed cleanly. The door shivered, and swung open.
‘Come on!’ said Magnus, and plunged into the gap. He could feel his brand begin to flicker. They would not have light forever.
The band of men followed close behind. The door guarded another narrow winding stair, and soon their serried boots were thudding against the stone steps. As he sprinted up them at the head of the party, Magnus turned briefly to Thorgad.
‘That’s some blade,’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘Magic?’
Thorgad snorted a laugh.
‘Not as you reckon it,’ he said. ‘Just sharp.’
The stair led out into a long, low chamber. It stretched off into the darkness, its far end hidden in shadow. More starlight filtered in from narrow windows. Magnus suddenly realised they were high on the south-facing walls, the ones that dominated the valley beyond. They’d come further up than he’d thought. They must be just below the level of those terrifying guns. There were no guards around, though the noise of commotion throughout the citadel was growing. They’d be discovered soon.
‘Now where?’ he said to Thorgad.
The dwarf grinned, and pointed upwards. Magnus followed the gesture, lifting his torch high. About six feet above their heads, massive gantries had been constructed. Mighty beams of steel-bound wood thrust themselves forward. Dimly, Magnus could see the dark barrels of guns laid over them. There were what looked like iron rails, wheels and chains looping below the huge mouths of the guns. Beyond the silent maws of cannons, there were hatches in the walls.
They were standing directly under the gunnery-level platforms.
‘Majestic,’ breathed Magnus, despite himself. The construction was awesome. To balance cannons that large over such a fragile-seeming mechanism was a truly marvellous feat. No doubt, when some signal was given, the doors in the walls would be opened and the huge weapons slid along the rails. Then the carnage would begin, just as it had done before.
‘We don’t need to climb up there,’ said Hildebrandt, coming up alongside Thorgad. ‘Destroy those rails, and the guns will come down sure enough. We can turn this chamber into a firestorm.’
Magnus drew a charge from his belt, and fingered the leather strap. A sudden, strange feeling had come over him. The artistry was too good. He could see the dull glint of hydraulic workings in the tangle of beams and ironwork above. It was a crime to demolish such finery. There were secrets here, secrets worth the lives of many men.
He hesitated. The bell continued to chime from far above. At the base of the stairs, he could hear the clatter of steel against stone. They were coming.
‘Spread out!’ he barked at the men. ‘A charge under each gun, un-primed. Leave the rest in the chamber. Then get out! We’ll have some fighting before we’re done.’
The men ran down the chamber, torches held aloft, spreading out down the long, eerily silent space. As they went, their tread echoed strangely from the heavy iron frames above. It was an odd sensation, to have so many tons of metalwork hanging over their heads. Soon, if Sigmar so willed, it would be lying in a pile of twisted rubble and wood on the stone floor.
Thorgad, Hildebrandt and Magnus stayed at the near end of the chamber, guarding the entrance. No men came up the stairs. The dark was still their friend, and the soldiers were hunting in the wrong places. But it could only be moments before someone saw the broken doorway.
After just a few moments, the men came back. The charges had been laid, hurled up into the gantries and lodged against the bearings and hauling cables. Now they lay like eggs, nestled in the ironwork.
‘Down the stairs!’ yelled Magnus. ‘Back the way we came! It’s time to go.’
As he shouted the orders, he could hear the door being slammed open below. The guards had come at last. Without pausing, Thorgad charged down the steps ahead of the others, Glamrist whirling over his head, shouting curses in Khazalid. Hildebrandt followed close behind, his sword glimmering menacingly.
Magnus hung back, a blackpowder charge cupped in his palm. He unbuckled the remainder of the bombs from his belt, and sent them skittering across the stone floor. With one last regretful look up at the engineering above him, he tore the leather strip from the charge in his hand. The flint caught, and the wick sparked into life. This was the one, the flame that would ignite the rest in a frenzy of immolation.
‘Burn well, little destroyer,’ he whispered, and hurled it into the darkness above.
Then he turned and fled. From behind, Magnus heard the charge clang off the barrel of a cannon and come to rest somewhere in the gantry. He tore down the steps at the end of the chamber, knowing he had only moments. Before he hit the bottom, the bomb went off. There was a deafening crack, and the stairway behind him filled with flame and light.
That was just the beginning. One by one, the rest of the charges were kindled. Crushing booms blossomed, shaking the stone around them. There was the sound of tortured iron and snapping wood. The guns were falling. There were more explosions, and the acrid stench of blackpowder caught in Magnus’s nostrils. Masonry fell down the stairwell after him. He was nearly caught by a heavy piece of stone tumbling down the steps. The blasts continued.
Magnus reached the bottom of the stairs, his breathing heavy and thick with dust. In the confusion, he’d lost his brand. He had his sword, and that proved well. The corridor at the base of the stairs was heaving with men. The citadel’s defenders had found them, and now the raiding party was locked in a furious fight to escape.
‘Sigmar!’ bellowed Magnus. He launched himself into the press of men. His charge knocked a soldier from his feet. Magnus stamped on his neck and plunged his sword into his midriff, ignoring the strangled cry of agony.
Around him, the fighting was vicious. The raiders and citadel guards were locked together, grappling furiously at close quarters. Some had fallen already, though it was hard to make out from which side. Hildebrandt was in the thick of it, wading through the tangled mass like a giant, hammering at the hapless figures around him. Thorgad’s voice echoed from the stone walls. The dwarf was clearly busy.
Magnus smashed his pommel into an attacker’s face. He followed up quickly, ramming the man against the wall. The soldier had lost his helmet in the fray. His face was full of fear. In the flickering light of the torches, he looked young. Just a boy, like Herschel. Probably his first fight.
Magnus head-butted him savagely, and watched him slide down the wall, blood trickling from his ears. He didn’t finish him off. There was little room for sentiment, but he was not quite lost in savagery yet.
He whirled round quickly, sword held high. Hildebrandt and Thorgad had turned the tide, and the fight was ebbing. The few remaining defenders were being driven off. Some of them were being pursued.
‘Come back, you dogs!’ yelled Magnus. ‘Let them go! There’ll be more. We need to get out!’
He set off at once, retracing the way the company had come just moments before. From above, the last few remaining charges were going off. A series of thuds shook the ceiling of the corridor, and a long crack snaked across it. The whole section of the citadel was being shaken. It could go down at any moment.
Aware of their plight, the company ran back hard through the network of corridors and stairways. Any resistance they met was swept away like chaff. A feral mood had kindled in Magnus’s soul. His breeches were caked in blood. He could almost taste it. As he ran, he could feel his old heart pump powerfully within his
breast. There were so few guards. They were going to do it. They were going to get out.
He ran down the last of the spiral stairways before the exit. The storeroom was just ahead, around the corner. Magnus made to cry out, rallying his men for one last dash, but the shout died in his throat. The corridor ahead was blocked with men. Enemy soldiers, standing in ranks of three deep. From behind them, there was the sound of more coming. At the last, they had been caught in a trap. The defenders had found the breach. It had been too good to be true.
Thorgad looked up at Magnus darkly as he loped along, not missing a stride.
‘We nearly made it,’ he said, dryly.
Magnus didn’t stop running. He cast his flaming brand to one side. There was enough light from the wall-torches. He drew a long dagger from his side.
‘We’ll take some of them with us,’ he replied, grimly.
Magnus and Thorgad ran headlong into the waiting rows of guards. The clash of steel echoed from the narrow walls. Hildebrandt was close behind, and he mowed his way into the combat like a harvester. One soldier was lifted from his feet and slammed into the wall. Magnus squared up to his opponent, blocking a hesitant sword thrust with his blade and stabbing back with his dagger. Thorgad was soon at his side, spinning and hacking away with Glamrist.
They were hemmed in. The corridor allowed no more than four men to stand shoulder to shoulder. The guards pressed against them, a wall of steel between them and the way out. When one fell, another took his place. Agonisingly close to the tunnel entrance, Magnus and his men were pushed back. There were too many of them.
With a cry of frustration and rage, Magnus smashed aside the man before him. Too slowly he saw the blade flicker at him from the side. It pierced his flesh, digging deep just below his outstretched arm. Pain flooded across him, and he staggered, his vision cloudy. He had a dim impression of Thorgad at his side, and the blade was withdrawn suddenly. There were shouts and screams all around. In the half-light, it was hard to make out what was going on.
The Empire Omnibus Page 19