by Various
‘We are being watched,’ Carus said.
Gage gripped his sword tightly. ‘More acolytes?’
‘No. These are not human eyes.’
The Stormcast turned, head tilted as if scenting the wind. Perhaps he was. Carus’ senses were greater than those of a normal man, as were his strength and fortitude.
Gage looked around. ‘Daemon, then.’
Every instinct he possessed was telling him to get out of the warehouse – to find the others and run. Burn it, as Kuva had suggested, and purge the entire docklands if necessary. Some among his order would not have hesitated to do just that, but Gage preferred subtler methods of investigation. Though he supposed subtlety was no longer an option, in this instance.
‘Perhaps,’ replied Carus. ‘Perhaps something worse.’
‘There’s nothing worse than daemons, in my experience.’
Carus chuckled. There was little humour in the sound. ‘Let us hope that is the case.’
Gage shot him a glare. ‘You didn’t have to come, you know.’
Carus looked at him.
‘Of course I did. The protection of this city, the sanctity of its soul… They are my responsibility. The Hallowed Knights swore an oath – Hammerhal Ghyra will not fall while the faithful stand.’
In the dark, something laughed. The sound rose and fell in arrhythmical fashion, as if it were made by two voices, laughing out of synch.
‘HammerhalHammerhal hashas alreadyalready fallenfallen.’ Like the laugh, the words were out of synch and echoed strangely. Two voices – one impossibly deep, the other almost a screech.
Zephyr snarled and turned, scenting the air. Gage heard a walkway creak somewhere above. The logs in a nearby stack shifted. Something dripped across the floorboards with a steady sound that invaded his head and made it hard to concentrate.
‘Kuva was right,’ he said softly as he drew his pistol. ‘We should have burned this place.’
The deep voice rose again, this time in a guttural chant. Motes of greasy light danced across the stacked logs. The rough bark split and twisted into grinning faces. Zephyr screeched, and Gage turned to find the animal staring at a nearby support pillar. The flat surface of the wood had a glimmering crack running vertically down its length. As they watched, several wriggling pink shapes emerged and bent like hooks to grip either side. Then, with a rough, wet sound, the aperture widened perceptibly. The light within flared, and Gage gagged as an eldritch stink wafted from it. A bulbous, unformed head thrust out, and eyes like lanterns fixed on him with hateful intent.
Gage recognised the creature easily enough – every knight of the Order of Azyr was made to learn the many thousands of distinct, lesser daemonic manifestations. Some were more common than others, like the daemons known as horrors, and easier to draw up from whatever coruscating hell they inhabited. The pink horror flexed its too-wide hands and crouched on stubby legs as it emerged fully from the rift, which shrank back to a vaguely shimmering crack behind it. The daemon chuckled as it eyed Gage, its worm-like tongue lolling over its ramparts of teeth.
It made as if to speak, but Carus swung his staff up and lunged. The Lord-Veritant drove the staff into the daemon’s gaping mouth, shattering many of its teeth. He forced it back, pinning its fleshy form to the pillar it had emerged from.
‘Who will carry his light into the dark?’ he said, twisting the staff. The daemon gagged, clawing at it, groping uselessly for the Stormcast’s hands. ‘Who will gaze into damnation’s heart unblinking? Only the faithful.’
There was a sound like an overripe fruit bursting, and the daemon seemed to deflate, its pink form dissolving into flame. Its body split and slid from the staff, only to form into two new, smaller creatures – blue horrors.
The blue-skinned little daemons grumbled belligerently as they scampered away, trailing flames in their wake. Gage shot one before it could escape into the dark, and it splattered like hot oil. The bits of flaming flesh writhed for a moment, before a group of even smaller shapes took form, coalescing out of the fire. They scattered like burning insects, and the sound of their high-pitched giggles echoed eerily about him.
‘Daemon filth,’ Carus said.
Zephyr snarled. The gryph-hound crouched, her feathers ruffled, tail lashing. Her eyes were wide with rage. Ugly chortles rang out around them. Gage holstered his pistol and drew his second one.
‘I think they heard you.’
He heard a thump from above, and looked up at the closest stack of timber. Pink limbs were squeezing out from between the uppermost logs, followed by the rotund torso-heads of the horrors themselves. More pink horrors were oozing from the other stacks on all sides of them. Eldritch flames dripped down the logs and crept across the floor.
Many of the horrors seemed to lack the strength to manifest fully, but others had no such difficulties. Chortling daemons reached for Gage and Carus, trying to trip them up or casting flashing spirals of energy at them from their fingertips. Gage swept his sword out, trying to force them back. Steaming ichor spilled from the wounds his blade made, the blessings woven into its steel biting deep into daemon flesh. Zephyr snarled and snapped at the protesting blue horrors when the smaller daemons got too close.
‘Carus,’ Gage said, ‘I think it’s time to use that lantern of yours again!’
The Lord-Veritant drove the ferrule of his staff down, and it cracked against the floor. Holding it there, he began to intone a prayer. His words beat upon the air like hammer blows. The Lantern of Abjuration began to glow with a holy light as Carus summoned its full power. The daemons worked more frantically to pull themselves free of their wooden hiding places. They jeered and chuckled, but their eyes rolled with what Gage hoped was inhuman panic. They knew that the light of the lantern would banish them, if Carus could complete his prayer.
One of the horrors, quicker than the others, leapt for the Lord-Veritant, hoping to interrupt him. Gage slid between them, second pistol levelled. He fired, blowing a chunk from the horror’s rubbery skull. The daemon staggered, burbling in rage. Then, more swiftly than he could follow, it leapt again, blurring into a frantic streak of glowing colour.
Gage lunged to meet it. Ichor washed over him as his blessed blade pierced its form and disrupted its cohesion. It split into azure shreds, and two blue horrors tumbled away, complaining vociferously. Zephyr leapt upon one, savaging the squealing daemon into burning tatters. The other began to weave its hands in a ritual fashion, but before it could complete its spell, a heavy form trod on it, splattering it like an overripe blueberry.
The curseling thundered out of the dark between stacks, flail swinging. Carus staggered as the creature struck him a glancing blow, interrupting his prayer. The Lord-Veritant spun his staff, trying to drive the creature back, but it pressed its assault. The flail cracked down, smashing the helm from Carus’ head, exposing his dark features and a mane of wiry hair bound back in a thick plait. He dropped to the ground and rolled aside as the flail slammed down again, snapping floorboards.
‘Carus!’ Gage tried to go to his companion’s aid, but he was surrounded. The daemons seeped up out of the stacks, clutching at him and giggling like demented children. He slashed at them, hoping the blessed steel of his rapier could harm them. Outsize fists cracked against his back and shins, causing him to stumble.
Zephyr leapt onto the curseling, her beak tearing at its exposed flesh. The tretchlet chattered and struck at the gryph-hound with its staff, swatting the animal away.
‘NowNow youyou diedie, servantservant ofof thethe singlesingle pathpath,’ the curseling roared, the tretchlet echoing every word.
Its flaming sword chopped down. Carus caught the blow on his staff. The force of it drove him to one knee. The crackling flames coiled about the staff and the Lord-Veritant’s forearms, scorching his silver war-plate black.
The tretchlet waved a hand, and a bolt of sorcerous light burst
from its palm. It struck Carus and dissipated into streamers of colour. Thin strands of lightning raced along the length of his staff and crawled along his armour. The daemonic homunculus screamed in agitation and began to thrash on its roots, its fury shaking the curseling. The brute groaned and lifted its flail, ready to bring it down on the pinned Stormcast.
Gage fought desperately to free himself from the daemons. Lashing out with his fists and feet, as well as his sword, he momentarily broke loose. Stumbling slightly, he snatched his knife from his belt and sent it spinning towards the curseling. The blade sank into the curseling’s unarmoured wrist with a meaty thunk. Like his sword, Gage’s knife had been blessed by the hands of the Grand Theogonist herself, and a thick steam erupted from the wound. The curseling’s hand gave a spasm, and its flail fell to the floor. The brute turned, roaring in pain, and tore its blade loose from Carus’ staff forcefully enough to send him tumbling to the ground with a crash of sigmarite.
It lurched towards Gage, trailing blood from its wounded hand. The tretchlet screamed imprecations and pounded a thin fist against the brute’s helmet, as if trying to stop it from pursuing Gage. The witch hunter retreated, and the curseling pounded after him, smashing aside daemons in its haste. Gage backed into a pillar. The flaming sword arced out and Gage ducked aside. The blade bit into the wood and stuck, its fires crawling upwards as the pillar began to burn.
Flames leapt to the logs and grew merrily. Oily smoke billowed. Past the curseling, Gage saw daemons leap on Carus, their laughter tinged with something that might have been hysteria. The Lord-Veritant lashed out with staff and sword, pulping unnatural flesh or separating groping hands from gangly arms. Sorcerous fire washed across his armour, leaving greasy stains on the silver but doing no real damage. More daemons joined the fray, hurling themselves at the towering Stormcast Eternal, trying to drag him down through sheer weight of numbers.
The curseling left the sword where it was stuck in the pillar and groped for Gage. Its bloody hand, the tip of his knife still jutting from its palm, stretched towards his face. Gage fell back, thrusting his rapier at the brute in a vain attempt to hold it back. Its hand missed him, but only just. He scrambled upright.
The broken body of a daemon tumbled past, crashing into a stack of wood and momentarily diverting the curseling’s attentions. Gage saw Carus bulling towards them, despite the daemons attempting to restrain him. Their limbs smoked where they clung to him, and he brushed the creatures aside, or crushed them beneath his feet. Daemons scattered before him, yelping in dismay.
‘Gage!’ Carus cried. ‘Leave this creature to me!’
The curseling roared and turned, catching hold of the blade of Carus’ sword as the weapon arced towards its head. It forced the Lord-Veritant back a step, even as ichor poured down its wounded palms. Carus cursed and managed to kick the brute in the chest, knocking it against the pillar.
‘I have killed stronger foes than you, beast,’ Carus growled. The curseling grunted and reached around to wrench its sword free in a gout of burning splinters. Their swords connected, and the curseling’s burning blade exploded into a thousand shards. The two warriors reeled away from each other as chunks of fiery metal scattered in every direction.
Gage took the opportunity to slash at the distracted curseling, but his blade merely scraped its armour. The tretchlet screamed and thrust the bladed tip of its staff towards Gage’s face, trying to drive him back. The metal glowed white hot. Gage parried the blow and rammed his sword into the tretchlet’s torso. It stiffened, a screech dying on its lips. Black ichor burst from its mouth, and the staff fell from its slack grip. It folded backwards, pulling itself off his blade.
The curseling moaned in agony and clutched at its parasitic passenger, as if trying to wake it. At that moment, Carus rose up behind it, his armour all but black with daemonic blood. His sword crunched through its back-plate. He ripped the weapon free in a welter of ichor.
‘Avaunt,’ Carus said flatly. Daemons edged away as the Stormcast Eternal flicked ichor from his sword blade.
The curseling staggered away from the Lord-Veritant, groaning.
‘F-father,’ it grunted. ‘F-f-father, h-help me! H-help!’
It turned, stumbling, reaching for something Gage could not see. The tretchlet slumped down its back, body flopping limply as the curseling sank to its knees. It fell onto its hands, wheezing. Gage felt sick. He stepped up to the beast, blade gripped in a trembling hand.
It looked up at him. Its gaze was empty of its previous malignity. Instead, there was only brute incomprehension there now, like an animal that could not conceive of its own destruction. ‘H-help,’ it wheezed.
‘Yes,’ Gage said. He raised his sword, and thrust it cleanly through the slitted visor of the curseling’s helmet, silencing its groans for good. It crashed to the floor and lay still. He jerked his blade free.
‘Well struck,’ Carus said.
Gage had no time to reply. Even with the curseling dead, the daemons were still coming. They seeped from the logs and rose up from the floor, their forms twisting and expanding as they burst through the multi-coloured smoke that was beginning to fill the warehouse. They laughed and clambered over the curseling’s body, as if its death meant nothing more to them than a momentary amusement.
Carus lifted his staff, and his voice echoed like thunder as he completed the prayer of banishment that had been interrupted earlier. He slammed the ferrule down with an echoing crack. The azure glow within the Lantern of Abjuration brightened, then speared out to blinding brilliance. Shadows were burned away, and the half-formed daemons with them. In the sudden silence, Gage could hear the clash of weapons and Bryn’s deep bull-bellow. He hesitated.
Carus caught his shoulder. ‘We cannot tarry, Gage. These are delaying tactics. They are trying to hinder us.’
Gage shook off the Stormcast’s grip. He was right. It had been a trap, and they had walked into it. They’d stumbled on more than just a cult. This was something bigger. A sick feeling grew in his gut.
‘The airship.’ He looked at Carus. ‘The airship, Carus – we have to get to the airship.’
He turned, and started in the direction of the quay-side doors of the warehouse. The fire started by the curseling’s blade was beginning to spread, leaping from log stack to stack. Smoke choked the air, blotting out even the daemon stink.
‘Why? What is it?’ Carus asked as he loped smoothly in Gage’s wake.
‘You’re right – this trap wasn’t meant to kill us. It was meant to delay us, to buy time for the airship to slip its mooring and cast off. I only pray there’s still time to stop them!’ He hoped Bryn and Kuva would have enough sense to get out before the warehouse burned down around them. ‘There – the doors!’
He pointed. The huge double doors were meant for moving heavy logs through. At the moment, they were closed and barred with an immense square beam. Carus put on a burst of speed.
The Lord-Veritant’s blade slashed down through the beam, splitting it moments before his shoulder struck the doors. They slammed open with a deep boom of abused wood. Smoke flooded out into the open air. Gage ran after Carus, and saw the Hopeful Traveller in all its glory.
The airship resembled one of the low-slung galleys that plied the waters of the Verdant Bay, save that its masts bore no sails. Instead, they connected to several great green gasbags. These were marked with magical sigils, bought at no small cost from the mages of the Collegiate Arcane. The Hopeful Traveller was slowly moving from its berth. Crewmen bustled on the quay, throwing off the anchor chains. They scattered as Zephyr darted towards them, screeching.
‘We have to catch it!’ Gage shouted. Carus nodded.
They raced along the quay as the airship slid from its berth. The ship was picking up speed as the anchor weights were cast off, and it edged ahead of them. Gage had a moment of vertigo as he reached the edge of the quay and saw the vast green sweep
of the city spin out below him, but he forced it aside long enough to jump. Heart in his stomach, he crashed against the hull. Flailing blindly, he caught hold of the bottom of the deck rail and hauled himself up, muscles straining, heart thudding.
The rail shuddered, cracked and burst as Carus struck it. The Lord-Veritant crashed down onto the deck, staff in hand. Gage fell after him. He scrambled to his feet, kicking his way free of the broken rail. Behind him, he heard Zephyr shriek in frustration as the ship left its berth, leaving the gryph-hound standing on the quay. Gage glanced back as the animal turned away and darted back towards the warehouse. He turned around to see Carus drawing his blade.
‘What now, witch hunter?’ the Stormcast rumbled.
Carus stood tall, blade in one hand, staff in the other. Gage drew his rapier. The crew ringed them, weapons ready. They clutched a mix of belaying pins, knives and back-alley blades. They were hard-looking, and all bore the ever-shifting sigil of Tzeentch somewhere on their person – as a tattoo, a scar or a badge pinned to their scarf.
‘Drop your weapons,’ Carus growled. ‘Your souls are forfeit, but your lives might yet be ended in a merciful fashion.’ The Stormcast thumped the deck with his staff. Lantern light washed outwards, casting strange shadows across the dark wood.
‘And when have you ever shown mercy?’ The words echoed over the deck. Gage glanced aft. Two figures now stood at the rail, looking down at the lower deck.
One was a heavyset man, richly clad and wearing a golden mask similar to those worn by the acolytes, though more ornate in design, with proportions that seemed to twist and change as he looked down at them. One gloved hand rested on the pommel of the sword sheathed at his side, and he held a gold-topped staff. The staff seemed innocuous at first glance, no different to what any wealthy citizen might carry, but the strange runes that gleamed and crawled along its length were anything but innocent. The sight of them stung Gage’s eyes, and elicited a feeling of deep revulsion in him.
The other figure was tall, abnormally so, and clad in strange, faceted armour that caught the light in odd ways. He wore brightly coloured robes of rich silk beneath the shimmering war-plate, and balanced a long two-handed blade across his narrow shoulders with a studied insouciance. His helm was archaic in fashion, tall and featureless save for a thin slit for vision and a multihued crest of horsehair which rose over it. The light of the lanterns hanging from the masts seemed to bend and shift strangely about the macabre warrior, and Gage found himself unable to look at the being directly. Even so, he could feel the warrior’s fell power beating upon the air.