WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. READY YOUR AXES, BOYS AND GIRLS, IT'S TIME TO CROSS OUT SOME GRUDGES!
If it hasn't become abundantly clear by now, I love the Dwarfs. Those little bearded bastards are my favorite faction in Warhammer, and I'm tired of them getting shit on all the time. Their last army book said that things were starting to go their way, and then Age of Stupid—I mean, Sigmar—happened, and all that went down the crapper. This is why I like fan fiction.
Honor-Bound
Chapter 11
War of the Peaks, Part 4
"I've got mixed feelings about mountains. They can represent strength and endurance. Just getting to the top is an accomplishment. The problem, though, is that now you've got a long way to fall."—General Alexia Shepard
…
"Shields up!" Shepard yelled, angling her arm up and bracing her legs just as a trio of arrows thudded into her shield. All around her, those of her soldiers that had shields used them to protect themselves and those who didn't have them from ill-timed barrages of arrows.
Shepard lowered her shield, then waved her hammer in a tight circle over her head. "Fire!"
Handgunners stepped out from behind their defenders and fired back at the Goblins who had been perched on a cliff nearby. Those that weren't killed scattered and ran. Shepard scowled when she saw that several of her men had died from the arrows; nearly fifty soldiers had been killed since the march to Karak Eight Peaks began, and the Imperial force was getting the easy part of things. According to the last update from the Dwarf throng, nearly two hundred were dead. If the estimates were right, almost four thousand Goblins had attacked them so far.
And it was only the third day of the march.
Shepard's army had been placed in the rear of the column, keeping the valuable supplies—many of which were meant for the Dwarfs fighting within Karak Eight Peaks, not just their reinforcements—between them and the Dwarfs. The matter of supplies wasn't the only reason for the Humans' position; they simply weren't built for marching through the mountains without rest, so they couldn't be put in front, where they might slow down the entire army. With the Dwarfs leading the march at their slower pace—not that they'd admit it—the Humans were able to get short breaks that allowed them to keep up.
So far, progress had been slow; ambushes by Goblin archers forced the armies to move cautiously, and it was estimated that it would take them another five days to reach their destination. Two Gyrocopters had been sent south to find the army from Karak Azul; the hope was that they would be able to coordinate a simultaneous strike from both north and south, but it would be tricky.
Shepard had once read that many wars on Earth could have gone very differently if one side had had simple radio communication. She started to appreciate the concept now.
"Get the wounded to Parral," she ordered the nearest regiment, then felt a bitter taste in her mouth as she prepared her next command. "Gather up the armor and weapons of the dead, and give me their names. We have to leave the bodies behind."
The men nodded grimly and set about their task. Without a means of preserving the corpses, dragging the dead along with them was an unneeded liability. The best they could do was make sure that there was nothing for the Goblins or Skaven to scavenge. The Dwarfs did the same, though oaths were sworn to take dozens of Goblin heads for every one of their dead.
"This was never going to be easy, General," Felix said softly as he and Gotrek walked up to Shepard.
"Why do they do it?" Shepard asked. "Why do the Goblins and Skaven want to kill us all so badly?"
Gotrek spat off to the side. "That's the kind of wondering that'll drive you mad. The grobi and the rats have hated my people since the beginning of time; they both see themselves as the greater race, and they see everything else as prey. Asking why an Orc fights is like asking why we need to breathe—it's in our nature."
"A race that just wants to fight and kill." Shepard shook her head. "What a waste of life."
"Yes, if only people were more civilized," Felix said, crossing his arms. "Like the Beastmen, or the Dark Elves, or, I don't know, almost everything else in the world." He scowled. "If it's not the Goblins or the Skaven, there will always be something, General, that wants to kill us in very painful ways."
"Thanks, Felix, I really needed to be cheered up," Shepard said, her sarcasm so blatant that she was surprised she didn't hurt herself. As if I didn't need more motivation to go home; with the Reapers gone, things should be relatively peaceful. At least, I hope the Reapers are gone.
With those dark thoughts, Shepard turned and resumed marching.
…
Deep in the bowels of Karak Eight Peaks, a Goblin was mad. That wasn't uncommon, as Night Goblins are notoriously more prone to violence than most of their kind. However, this particular Night Goblin was angry for a reason far more important than because someone stole his fungus beer.
Skarsnik, self-proclaimed Warlord of the Eight Peaks, hated when things didn't go according to plan, and he had been dealing with that a lot over the last few years.
Getting the countless greenskins in the area to fight under his banner was a constant challenge; Orcs and Goblins were anarchical at the best of times, and making them perform strategies more complex than 'run at the enemy screaming' required Skarsnik to bash in more than a few heads. He was convinced that if his armies were more like him, he'd have conquered all of the Worlds Edge Mountains by now.
The second problem was the Skaven. Though Skarsnik could outthink the rat-people even on his worst day, they were as numerous as the Goblins, and he could never be sure if he would be fighting their assassins, poisonous gases, weird lightning weapons, or their strange magic. Sometimes he would have to deal with all of that at once. Still, he'd managed to reduce them to a nuisance, at least until a few years ago, when the Skaven called Queek Headtaker arrived on the scene. He kept the Skaven organized—to an extent, anyway—and, more importantly, he made them aggressive. Skarsnik couldn't send entire armies running with just a few well-timed assaults any longer; more than once, he would have to spend time killing most of the Skaven, or worse, retreat.
And then there were the Dwarfs, led by King Belegar Ironhammer. The wily Dwarf was almost as cunning at underground warfare as Skarsnik and Queek, and more stubborn than both of them combined. Over the years, the Dwarfs had led sorties from the aboveground Citadel, slowly pushing into the lower depths of Karak Eight Peaks. Normally, Skarsnik would just wear the Dwarfs down with endless waves of Goblins, but the rest of the 'stunties' kept sending reinforcements, and though the Goblins or Skaven would repulse many of these expeditions, enough made it through to fuel the Dwarf invasion.
Finally, to make matters worse, he'd gotten word that not only were two large Dwarf armies headed to Karak Eight Peaks, one of them had a large group of Humans with them!
What're the humies doin' 'ere? Skarsnik thought as he savagely chewed on a rat. No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand why an army of Humans would travel so far, especially when they had no stake in these mountains.
"Bah, whatever," he snarled, then tossed the remains of the rat to the corner of his mushroom-filled chambers. The carcass was quickly devoured by a huge mass of red muscle and teeth; Gobbla, the Cave Squig that was Skarsnik's closest companion, looked at him expectantly.
"Don't worry, Gobbla, yer gonna get more," Skarsnik promised. "I know how ya like rat meat." Then his eyes went wide as he got an idea. "Rat meat… heh, 'bout time dat Queek did somethin' useful fer me."
…
Another five days passed. For the first three days of that time, the Dwarf and Imperial armies were attacked relentlessly by Goblins, along with the occasional band of Orcs, a handful of Trolls, and in one memorable case, a trio of Giants that required nearly a score of cannonballs to bring down. Shepard's army only suffered a few losses during that time, but the Dwarfs lost another five hundred fighters, and several hundred more were hurt. Still, their force was relatively intact, and the attitude was cautiously optimistic; perhaps they would make it to Karak Eight Peaks with enough strength to make a difference!
All that changed when the attacks mysteriously stopped. For two days, not a single Goblin, Orc, or other nasty thing was seen, and the only noises were those of stamping feet, shifting armor, grumbling from both Dwarf and Human alike, and the howling wind.
"What are they waiting for?" Shepard asked as the two armies made camp; since they were only a day away from Karak Eight Peaks, it was decided to let everyone get a good night's sleep, and no one knew when they'd get another chance.
"Could be something going on that we don't know about," Morgrim said, then took a long drink of ale. "The Skaven are always fighting the greens around here, so maybe the grobi think they're more of a threat than we are."
Shepard mulled that thought over for a moment. "Maybe, but maybe they're attacking King Ironhammer's forces with everything they have, trying to take them out before we get there. If we don't have a foothold, we might as well turn around now."
And I might as well get used to living here, she thought glumly.
"Or it could be something else entirely," Felix offered. "Greenskin hierarchy is a lot like that of Skaven—you take out the leader, everything falls apart. Maybe Skarsnik is dead, and no one is keeping things organized."
Morgrim smiled wryly. "I'll pledge my eternal loyalty to any of ours that manages to kill that little bugger. He's been squatting in Dwarf lands for far too long."
"That reminds me," Shepard said, "what exactly is the plan after Karak Eight Peaks is retaken? I'm guessing your people won't just stop there."
Morgrim nodded. "It'll take time, but if we can retake Eight Peaks, retaking Karak Drazh would be the next step. It would connect the southern holds with Karaz-a-Karak for the first time in ages."
"And if our allies are strong, that will only do good things for the Empire," Richter said, not looking up from his food.
"I don't think anyone will complain about us making each other stronger," Shepard said, then smiled. "Well, anyone we fight might complain, but who cares?"
"That's all just wishful thinking right now," Morgrim reminded them. "First, we need to win at Karak Eight Peaks, and that's no easy task."
Shepard nodded, her mood dampening somewhat. She was about to continue eating when a robed figure sat down next to her.
"Good evening, General," Gettmann said, his face still looking as if he'd just woken up. "And to you all."
Morgrim and the handful of nearby Dwarfs either scowled or ignored the Wizard—Shepard had learned that Dwarfs had an innate distrust of magic, and especially Wizards—but the Humans gave him warm smiles. During the ride on the ironclads and the march across the mountain paths, Gettmann had sensed danger, and his warnings had allowed them all to prepare for attacks that would have otherwise caught them by surprise. That had earned him respect from many of the Imperials, and even if Shepard didn't like his aloof attitude, she appreciated what he did for them.
The only other problem she still had with him was that he only spoke to them when he had something important to say.
"Please tell me we're not about to be attacked again," Shepard said, reaching for her hammer.
Gettmann's smile grew as he shook his head. "No, General, we are not in danger at the moment. However, I believe that we will not face Goblins tomorrow." He stared at the crackling campfire. "When I read the stars, I see hordes of rats. In my dreams, I hear them chittering in my ears."
"Skaven, then." Shepard looked at Morgrim. "I thought the Goblins had the outer edges of Karak Eight Peaks covered, not the Skaven."
"It could explain why we haven't seen the grobi for the past few days," Morgrim said, still not looking at Gettmann. "Maybe the rats turned the tide, and the Goblins had to go on the defensive."
Shepard made a noise that sounded like an agreement, then patted Gettmann on the shoulder. "Let us know if you get anything else from the great beyond."
Gettmann was silent for a moment, then turned away from the fire to look her in the eye. "There is one more thing. The shard we seek still shines brightly. I do not believe that either of our enemies have it, or even know it exists."
"Let's hope it stays that way," Shepard said, then stood up. "If there's nothing else, boys, I'm going to sleep, and I suggest you all do the same."
Felix rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother—ouch!"
Richter pulled his hand back after slapping the poet upside the head. "Be polite to the General."
Shepard laughed. "See, Felix? It pays to have friends."
Felix only scowled, but there was no heat behind it. Everyone else, even Gettmann and the grim Dwarfs, chuckled or looked amused. As Shepard headed to her tent, she looked at the groups of Dwarfs and Humans talking, sharing stories, and even laughing. She wasn't sure if it was actual friendship or just knowing that they would all be facing the same foe tomorrow, but it was still a good sign. Morbidly, she wondered if it was because many of them might not be around to laugh after tomorrow's battle.
Before she went to sleep, Shepard swore to make sure that there would be a reason to celebrate, even if she had to do everything herself.
…
"Move, stupid-fools! Great-mighty Queek Headtaker wants more fighters at enter-place!"
Hordes of Skaven scurried to obey their master; not many of them had any real desire to fight on the surface, but they feared the wrath of Queek Headtaker far more.
The infamous Warlord was not actually coming to the site of the ambush; he was busy fighting the Goblins in the tunnels. Still, when an assassin overheard several higher-ranking Goblins discussing an army of beard-things and man-things headed for the northern entrance to Karak Eight Peaks, Queek had sent one of his lieutenants and a vast army of Skaven to ambush them.
Tikk Clawscratch was only slightly bigger than the average Skaven, and his armor was nowhere near as impressive as Queek's, but he made up for his less intimidating appearance with a pair of barbed swords and a cruelty that even a Night Goblin would envy. He had earned his position by way of killing the previous lieutenant, but not showing any desire to actually replace Queek—he knew that was suicide.
What would have been just as suicidal, though, would be to try and dislodge the Goblins that camped out at the northern entrance. It wouldn't have been the first time the Skaven had attempted to claim that area, but the Goblins were dug in, and could rain arrows on any approaching enemies. However, in his great cleverness, Queek had launched dozens of attacks on the Goblins underground, forcing Skarsnik to recall his forces from the surface or risk being overrun. With the northern entrance now free of the hated Goblins, Tikk and his forces were sent to replace them; they would wipe out the Dwarfs and Humans, strip them down to the bones, and bring back the spoils.
Like all Skaven, Tikk considered taking the spoils all for himself—or at least the choicest picks—but fear of what Queek would do to him made him pause. He decided that it would be wiser to take a few smaller prizes, ones that could be easily hidden, and give Queek the lion's share.
Tikk lashed out at a Clanrat that got too close, knocking him over. While his fellows quickly killed and devoured the hapless Skaven, Tikk glanced at the imposing Citadel, not far from their position. It was possible that the Dwarfs based there would attack from behind during the ambush, but Tikk, who kept an ear out for that sort of thing, had heard that they were busy dealing with another Skaven attack, because Queek had anticipated that kind of thing. There was the southern approach as well, but it was much too far away for any danger to reach Tikk, at least before he could escape.
"Wait-watching for you, beard-things," Tikk hissed. "Tikk will watch-see you die!"
…
"Looks like your Wizard was right," Morgrim grumbled. "We're fighting the rats after all."
"Yeah…" Shepard squinted as the sun began to set; in the distance, she could see a roiling mass of rag-covered fur. "I just wish he'd told us that there was that fucking many of them!"
Rested and ready, the Dwarfs and Humans marched to the northern passage that led into the heart of Karak Eight Peaks, under what the Dwarfs called—in a poor choice, in Shepard's opinion—Death's Crossing. There, leading into the basin that linked the mountains that gave Karak Eight Peaks its name, were thousands upon thousands of Skaven.
The first group was clad in rotted scraps of cloth and armed with little more than daggers; these were the Skavenslaves, the lowest of the low in Skaven society. They weren't much of a threat, unless a dozen of them attacked a single target at once, but their purpose was to soak up bullets and arrows, as well as wear down the enemy through sheer numbers. Once the slaves were wiped out or had fled, the Clanrats would attack; they were slightly better than Skavenslaves, but again, they relied on numbers instead of skill.
That was only what Shepard could see, though; it was very likely that many more dangerous things were behind the first lines.
"What's our plan?" Shepard asked; when it came to fighting Skaven, Goblins, or in the mountains, she deferred to the Dwarfs' expertise.
Morgrim studied the enemy position for a moment. "We'll set up our artillery on the low ridges, along with our gunners; that'll keep the rats' heads down while I lead my best fighters into their ranks. We'll push through and open a path for your army; I want you to keep going, then circle around and hit them from behind. By the time you reposition, the rest of my lads will be hitting them from the front."
"And we'll crush them between us," Shepard finished. She liked the idea, but it was risky for both the Dwarfs and Humans.
"We'll have to be fast," Morgrim said. "If we slog it out, more of them will come to bog us down, and we'll never get past. We need to start fortifying our hold on the entrance as soon as it's ours."
Shepard glanced back, where Skorri and a dozen lesser engineers were gathering tools and supplies. "That's what they're for?"
"Exactly." Morgrim chewed on his bearded lip for a moment. "I'll have my Gyrocopters cover you from above. That should give you some room to breathe."
Shepard smiled gratefully. "Thanks."
"Well, your cannons and gunners are covering my advance," Morgrim pointed out. "It's only fair."
Shepard nodded. "Let's get to work."
Morgrim went to finish his army's organization, while Shepard explained the plan to her officers, a group that also included half the Sergeants, who would pass the orders on to others. Of the senior officers, only Michael was absent; he was leading prayers just before the battle, but Richter would inform him of anything he needed to know.
"This seems risky, General," Richter said; the only sign of anxiety from him was a tighter grip on his sword.
"It's bold, it's audacious, and it could mean the success or failure of the entire battle." Locke grinned. "It will be glorious!"
"Glad to hear it, because you're leading our charge," Shepard told him. "You and your cavalry need to give the rest of us room to spread out. Don't get killed."
While Locke sputtered, Shepard felt a hand tap her arm and saw Gotrek and Felix behind her.
"What about us, General?" Felix, who had tapped her, asked. "We're not exactly part of your strategy."
Shepard nodded, conceding the point. "You two can join up with me and Richter's men. We'll be getting in the thick of it, which I assume you're happy with, Gotrek?"
"Absolutely," the Slayer replied.
"I'm not," Felix muttered.
"Too bad, now shut up," Shepard said, with just a hint of teasing, then addressed the others. "Anyone want to add anything?"
"General, I would request that I and the other Jade Wizards be placed among the men," Parral said. "Our magic will keep more alive if we are on the field than if we wait for the battle to be over."
Shepard nodded; normally she would be reluctant to place her healers in the thick of it, but with so many enemies all around, the healing magic would be far more valuable. Besides, they had healed enough men for the soldiers to welcome their presence.
"Gettmann, I want you with the artillery," Shepard said. "If you can manage it, try to soften the Skaven up a bit."
"I will do my best, General," Gettmann said with a short bow.
Shepard looked each man present in the eye. "I know this is risky, but we really don't have a choice anymore. If we're going to accomplish our mission, we need the Dwarfs, and if we're going to get their help, we need to help them win. Besides, we're allies, and I'm not one to turn my back on alliances. So today, we either win, or we die, and I don't plan on dying." The officers, Wizards, and comrades began to nod, and Shepard grinned. "Let's send these bastards to hell. Who's with me?"
The officers cheered, and Shepard dismissed them all to finish preparations. Before she walked off, Gettmann stopped her.
"General, there is one more thing I must caution you about," he said. "I have been looking at the signs once again, and I have seen something regarding you."
Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"It was not… very clear," Gettmann admitted. "However, there were signs that you would be in danger. Beware of teeth. That is all I know."
"Teeth?" Shepard blinked. "Okay… I'll keep it in mind."
As the Wizard walked away, Shepard grimaced. The Skaven have lots of teeth. Am I supposed to be scared of every single one of them? I hate it when people are vague.
Pushing the warning aside for now, Shepard put on her helmet and readied herself. She would deal with whatever danger came her way, but for now, she had a battle to fight.
…
The sun was almost behind the mountains when the Skaven were attacked. Dozens of cannonballs, bolts the size of a man, and chunks of rock obliterated hundreds of Skaven in a single barrage. As devastating as the attack was, only a small fraction of the rat-men were killed. Skavenslaves were roughly shoved in the direction of the Dwarfs, now seen advancing down the path, while Clanrats were a short distance behind them. In the very back, Tikk Clawscratch readied his more potent assets.
The first wave of Skavenslaves was just beginning their charge when Handgunners, Thunderers, and crossbow-wielding Quarrelers opened fire. The bullets and arrows killed ranks of Skaven, and more than a few turned tail and ran, only to be butchered by the Clanrats behind them. Still, nearly two thousand Skavenslaves crashed into the Dwarf line.
It wasn't enough; Morgrim had picked the finest of his fighters to lead the advance, and the Skaven were met with impervious lines of gromril—an extremely durable metal that was coveted by Dwarfs—and shields, held by Ironbreakers. Swinging hammers and axes, the Ironbreakers swept aside the Skavenslaves with ease. Pushed back by the Dwarfs, the Skaven not in arm's reach were blasted apart by the ranks of Irondrakes that stood behind their brethren. Though each Dwarf in the front rank was outnumbered five to one, they were a united, unbreakable machine; in minutes, the last of the Skavenslaves were dead or running away.
The first round had gone to the Dwarfs, but it was just a warm-up.
Hordes of Clanrats were seconds behind the Skavenslaves, and though some were brought down by another barrage of bullets and arrows, the Dwarfs had plenty to deal with. Once again, axes and hammers rose and fell, and the ground became drenched in blood.
The Dwarfs weren't simply withstanding the charges, however. For every strike they made, the Ironbreakers would take a single step forward; Skaven were packed together as they tried to halt the grinding advance, but the Dwarfs refused to give up ground. In the back, the ranged units continued to pepper the rear ranks of Clanrats, as did the artillery. With dead bodies behind them and impenetrable defenses in front, many Skaven were simply crushed, but they had the numbers to afford it. Eventually, even the implacable Dwarfs would tire, make a mistake, and then the Skaven would roll over them. Already, Ironbreakers were starting to die.
And then clouds gathered overhead; an instant later, a massive bolt of lightning struck the center of the Skaven hordes, blasting apart dozens, stunning many more, and sending some into a panicked retreat. In the back of the army, Gettmann leaned on his staff; he was tired, but his usual sleepy smile had a satisfied edge to it.
With the Skaven in disarray, the time came for the true offensive. The Dwarf line split down the middle, allowing a line of Pistoliers and Outriders to charge; guns blazing and horses kicking about, the cavalry drove deep into the Skaven, then fought their way out through the left flank.
Shepard led the next charge, her hammer turning a Skaven skull to mush as the infantry poured out from the Dwarf lines. Spearmen herded Skaven into smaller groups, where they were slaughtered by Halberdiers who swung their weapons in wide arcs. Swordsmen unbalanced Clanrats by hitting them with their shields, then finished them off with their blades. In particular, Michael and his 'flock' were terrifying avengers; more Skaven fled their furious onslaught than any other unit. Alongside Shepard, Richter and the Greatswords became like threshers, killing Skaven by the dozen, while Gotrek and Felix took on rat-men with ease. Flying over the fighting, a flight of Gyrocopters dropped small bombs into the Skaven, strafed them with fiery Brimstone Guns, or swooped in low to wipe out large groups with steam guns.
The Skaven might have still overrun the massively outnumbered Humans, had it not been for the Slayers. Though their number was small, barely two hundred in total, they were some of the best fighters in the army. Like Gotrek, their hair was shaped in a great crest, and their hair and beards were dyed orange; they carried only their axes and wore trousers, disregarding any attempt at defense. Uncaring of wounds they suffered, the Slayers drove even deeper into the Skaven hordes, slaughtering them in droves as they tried to find a worthy death. Some died from lucky blows, and others fell after being literally buried in Skaven bodies, but most fought on. With the Imperials backing them up, the Clanrat waves were shattered.
But just because they were gone didn't mean the same for the rest of the Skaven.
"What in Sigmar's name are those abominations!?" Michael pointed his gore-covered hammer deeper into the pass.
Shepard saw what was headed towards them, and her eyes went wide. A long line of monstrous things loped towards them; each was easily twice the size of a man, with the head of a rat and bulging with muscles. Most had pieces of machinery bursting out from their flesh, but if they felt pain, they didn't show it.
"Rat Ogres," Gotrek spat. "I hate these things."
"At least they're not like the ones Thanquol used," Felix pointed out.
Shepard was waving her troops to reorganize while the Dwarf army marched to catch up, though she wondered who this 'Thanquol' was. Maybe he was a character in a book she hadn't read yet. With her helmet on and the sound of shouting and stamping feet ringing out, no one heard her giggle.
I'm in the middle of a war and I'm worried about spoilers, she thought.
Then she was back in the present, and she noticed that the Slayers were gone, already charging to meet the Rat Ogres.
"What the hell are they doing?" Shepard demanded. "They're going to get killed… oh."
That was the point, she realized. The Slayers' purpose was to find a worthy death, and what better than to buy time for their allies by fighting giant monsters?
Shepard wanted to look away; she didn't want to see those she had fought alongside sacrifice themselves. She had seen too much of that. But she didn't turn her head; to do so would diminish the Slayers' sacrifice.
The Slayers fought like champions; even as they died, they buried their axes in the arms and chests of the Rat Ogres, or sometimes even taking the monsters with them. The problem was that the Rat Ogres were tough, and they were good at killing Dwarfs. The battle between Slayer and monster lasted only a few minutes, but it bought the other Dwarfs and Humans time to get reorganized; when it was over, neither Slayer nor Rat Ogre lived.
"They reclaimed their honor," Gotrek said with gruff softness; for a moment, Shepard thought she saw jealousy in Gotrek's remaining eye.
Even if she had wanted to comment, Shepard was cut off by Morgrim, who lifted his axe high. "Prepare to charge! If we take out the reserves, we can take this pass!"
Dwarfs and Humans alike raised their weapons. Shepard led her army down the left side of the pass, while Morgrim led his warriors down the right; thankfully, the pass began to widen, allowing both armies to walk next to each other, rather than in a single mass.
The Skaven didn't plan to let them just march into their territory. Dozens of Doomflayers, large spherical devices covered in spikes and blades, were loosed. Some veered wildly off course, others exploded before they reached their targets, but those that hit were devastating; even the heavily-armored Dwarfs were shredded by the weapons. Easily a hundred Dwarfs were killed, and many more were wounded or taken out of the fight; a score of Halberdiers were caught in the path of one Doomflayer and turned into so much shredded meat and armor.
Their charge might have been blunted by the Skaven weapons, but the survivors were filled with righteous fury, determined to avenge their comrades. Artillery fired once again, as did the Handgunners, Thunderers, and Quarrelers. Though many Skaven died, the ones now facing them were Stormvermin, elite shock troops that wore heavier, if rusted, armor that kept many more safe.
The Stormvermin, armed with rusty halberds, stabbed forward just as the Humans and Dwarfs barreled into their line. Dozens died, but when they saw that the charge would not be stopped so easily, the Stormvermin hesitated; that was all their attackers needed to get in close, stabbing and swinging with all their strength. Axes and hammers, blades and spears, all punched through Skaven armor, carving flesh and breaking bone.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Skaven began to fall back. The Stormvermin were made of sterner stuff than most Skaven, but they were still only Skaven; only the elite who fought alongside Queek Headtaker had any real bravery. Faced with enraged Humans and Dwarfs, the Skaven began to retreat en masse; the allied army made sure they kept running when their ranged units put one more volley into their retreating backs.
"That's it, then," Shepard said, looking around as both armies cheered.
"For now," Morgrim said gruffly. "Let's gather our dead and kick theirs out of the way; we have to get ready for the next fight."
…
All Tikk could smell was the musk of fear; the hated beard-things and stronger-than-anticipated man-things had pushed through everything he had. His Clanrats had been slaughtered, his Rat Ogres torn apart, and his reserves of Doomflayers had not performed as well as they should have. Even his vaunted Stormvermin had broken and ran, though Tikk had wisely begun retreating before they had.
It wasn't his fault, he reasoned. Clearly, his troops were of poor quality, as were the Rat Ogres—blame could be leveled at Clan Moulder, which would help Clan Mors, and himself—and the Doomflayers were obviously faulty—maybe he could blame Clan Skryre, while he was at it! Yes, this loss could be turned into an opportunity for him!
Then the wind changed, and the smell of musk was replaced with another scent, one that Tikk knew well.
"Green-things!" he hissed. "What are they doing now-here!?"
His question was answered by the swarms of Night Goblins that poured out of the tunnels ahead. Clad in black robes, armed with barbed weapons—and if the frothing mouths were any indication, some were clearly on mushrooms—they charged the Skaven with savage fury.
With no way out, Tikk fought like a trapped rat, tearing apart a dozen Goblins in a shower of blood and torn robes. But for every Goblin he killed, there were five more; in minutes, the panicked Skaven were overrun. The last thing Tikk saw was a massive ball of red flesh and giant teeth.
He never knew that Skarsnik himself had joined the battle.
…
"Those aren't Skaven," Shepard observed in a voice that was far calmer than she felt.
Morgrim peered into the distance, made harder by the fading sunlight. "By Grungni's Sacred Hammer, it's the grobi! Night Goblins!"
Shepard glanced back at their own forces. Troops that had been in the back ranks had rotated to the front, to let the previous fighters rest a bit. Artillery had been moved, reloaded, and reset. There hadn't been much time to set up a real defensive position, but Skorri and the other engineers had placed wooden spikes, angled at precise locations, to funnel at least some of the attackers—Night Goblins, rather than Skaven—into a kill-zone. Those areas that couldn't be fortified were defended by Flame Cannons and Irondrakes.
They had artillery, guns, and most of them were experts at defensive, grinding warfare. Still, although it was dark, Shepard estimated that they were outnumbered ten to one. It made the fight against the Skaven look like a skirmish.
Shepard realized that this had all been planned. "This was a trap," she said out loud. "The Goblins were waiting for us to fight the Skaven, so that they could finish us off while we're tired!"
"For a grobi who's supposed to be smart, Skarsnik doesn't know my people that well," Morgrim snarled. "We've taken this ground, and we're not giving it up!"
The Dwarf's statement was a combination of stubbornness and realism. If they tried to retreat, they would be going uphill, and would be caught by the faster Goblins. Their only choice was to stand and fight; they would win, or they would die trying.
"I hope the army from Karak Azul attacked already," Shepard said as she adjusted her grip on her hammer. "Otherwise, we're on our own."
Morgrim huffed. "They'll be here; we just have to hold out long enough for them to catch the grobi from behind."
Shepard smiled at that. "Good luck."
"To you as well," Morgrim said with a nod, then went to join his warriors.
"This should be fun, eh, General?" Richter asked, leaning his blade against his shoulder.
"We're heavily outnumbered, on the defensive, and fighting in the dark." Shepard grinned underneath her helmet. "This is going to be awesome!"
Someone laughed, but with the shrieking Night Goblins getting closer, she couldn't tell who it was.
"Arrows coming!" someone yelled.
Immediately, anyone who had a shield raised it to defend against the thousands of arrows falling towards them. However, seconds before they hit, a powerful gust of wind whipped about, sending most of the arrows into wild spins, where they became no more harmful than normal sticks.
Shepard turned around to see Gettmann, swaying on his feet, but smiling as he lowered his staff. "It seems the stars still favor us, General," he said weakly.
"Or at least the wind does," she replied; the magical display had caused the Night Goblins—those not high on mushrooms, at least—to hesitate in their charge. "Go get some rest now. You've earned it."
Gettmann didn't have the strength to respond, but allowed several men to guide him near the cannons, where he immediately passed out.
Thankfully, the Goblins didn't know that the one who countered their arrows was out of commission; if they did, they would have fired another volley. Instead, they leveled crude spears and brandished serrated blades and charged the Dwarf and Human line.
Cannons fired and Grudge Throwers were loosed, wreaking havoc among the Goblins. The rifles and crossbows killed even more, but it was the Helblasters, Organ Guns and Flame Cannons that stole the show this time. Packed so tightly, the Goblins were unable to avoid the waves of fire and clustered shots; it was as if the arm of a god swept through the first wave, obliterating almost all of them.
Shepard estimated that at least two thousand Goblins were killed in the opening barrage. She also realized that such losses wouldn't even faze them.
The artillery fired again and again, as did the Handgunners, Thunderers, and Quarrelers. As the Goblins inched ever closer, the Irondrakes unleashed their fury, but there were just too many of the greenskins. After nearly half an hour of shooting, the first Goblin crossed the fortifications, only to have his head crushed by Shepard's hammer.
More and more Goblins came within arm's distance. Weapons rose and fell, killing Night Goblins by the score, but there were always more to replace them, and it wasn't just normal fighters crashing into their lines. Some of them, high on mushrooms or just plain crazy, rode into battle on the backs of Squigs, large ball-like creatures with clawed legs and too many teeth. Some of the defenders were killed by the weapons held by the crazed Goblins, but most of the Squig Hoppers' victims died from being bitten and torn apart. Other Goblins, even crazier than the Squig Hoppers, jumped out of groups armed with a heavy metal ball attached to a long chain; these Fanatics swung their weapons in wide arcs, killing enemy and ally alike.
Grimly, the Dwarfs and Humans fought on with all the certainty of a last stand. If they were going to die, they would die memorable deaths. In the Dwarfs' case, they were helped by heavy armor and the endurance of the very mountains they lived under; for the Humans, they stayed alive by working as one, each man a cog in a well-oiled machine. It didn't hurt that the Jade Wizards were healing wounds as they came, or enchanting the bodies of soldiers to make them strong enough that weapons had trouble breaking their skin. Parral was particularly impressive; he had conjured a throne of vines that walked where he willed, and used it to boost his already considerable power. Whole regiments found themselves healing faster than they were being hurt.
For her part, Shepard fought at the front with the Greatswords; the latter's sweeping strikes cleared out a space that was free of living Goblins, while the former seemed to be everywhere at once, driving off clusters of Night Goblins wherever they looked to be overrunning her part of the line. Alongside them, Michael and his Swordsmen were another immovable force, slaying Goblins with zealous fury that was tempered by martial discipline. Behind the first ranks, Locke and his riders rode back and forth, reinforcing weaker areas with storms of bullets or trampling foes with their horses.
Shepard sensed movement next to her and whirled, but it was only Felix; he and Gotrek seemed to go wherever they wanted, though anywhere they did go soon became free of Goblins.
"We'll be overwhelmed soon," Felix commented; though Shepard could hear a note of worry in his voice, there was an almost feverish light in his eyes as he hacked apart another Goblin.
"Never wanted to die lying down anyway," Shepard replied calmly. As a soldier who had gone through the worst her galaxy had had to offer, she had long been at peace with the idea of her own mortality.
The Night Goblins pressed in, and soon Shepard and Felix were fighting back-to-back. Shepard deflected blows with her shield, or turned enough to let attacks slide off her armor; Felix moved like quicksilver, dodging and parrying with ease. Still, even though they killed dozens of Goblins in moments, thousands more were charging in.
Then, in the distance, there was the sound of thunder, and a now-familiar, rapid thumping noise, the sound of Dwarf flying machines; seconds later, great swathes of Goblins were killed, but it wasn't by the artillery on Shepard's side of the field.
The army of Karak Azul had arrived.
Columns of Dwarfs marched with shields held in front, all gleaming with runes of protection, while their weapons glowed with runes of vengeance. Behind them, dozens of war machines fired into the rear of the Goblin host, while flights of Gyrocopters escorted larger Gyrobombers overhead, dropping bombs that lit up the night with fiery explosions.
"They're here!" cried the Imperials, while Dwarfs raised their weapons in tired salute, shouting "Hail to Karak Azul!" and "Death to the grobi!"
Though they still greatly outnumbered the Dwarfs and Humans, the Goblins began to retreat; they had been caught between the hammer of Karak Azul and the anvil of Barak Varr and the Empire.
But Skarsnik had one more card to play. He unleashed a trio of enormous Cave Squigs, each nearly three times the height of a man, into the smaller force. The monsters smashed apart formations and threw the defenders into chaos.
Thankfully, the carnage was ended soon after it began. In the back ranks, Skorri carefully adjusted the aim of a pair of Organ Guns and riddled one Squig with shots. Another was brought down by the combined efforts of a score of Irondrakes, Ironbreakers, and Morgrim, who finished off the beast with a flurry of axe-blows. The third was killed by Gotrek; the Slayer swung his axe with such strength that it cleaved off the creature's left leg, then tore open its belly as it collapsed on the ground.
Though damaging, the Squigs hadn't broken the defenders, and Skarsnik knew it. However, he had observed smaller army and noted that the Humans fought with unusual vigor; it was almost like fighting weaker Dwarfs. He still didn't know why they were at Karak Eight Peaks, but he knew that their efforts would probably be hindered if their leader was gone. With that in mind, he loosed his best weapon.
Shepard saw the Squig heading towards her and Felix; from its angle of approach, she thought it was targeting the poet, and acted on instinct.
"Move!" she shoved Felix out of the way, intending on bringing her hammer down on the Squig's head as it got close.
But just as Felix stumbled clear, Shepard tripped on the body of a Goblin. Unbalanced, she couldn't properly brace herself, and the Squig bowled her over. Her hammer was knocked from her hand, and then something clamped down on her legs and waist.
To the horror of all who saw, Shepard was swallowed whole by Gobbla.
"NO!" Richter leaped towards the Squig, sword raised, but the red-skinned monster bounded away, bouncing up and down as it returned to its master.
Dozens of soldiers tried to move forward to rescue their General, or at least avenge her, but the Squig, and the rest of the Night Goblin army, had retreated back into the lower levels of Karak Eight Peaks.
The Dwarfs from both Barak Varr and Karak Azul were cheering for their victory, despite their many dead, but to the Imperial soldiers, the battle felt more like a loss.
Richter shared a worried glance with the other officers as they gathered together. "What do we do now?"
Yeah. That happened. Put the torches and pitchforks down, she ain't dead. What kind of stupid thing would that be if I killed off the main character?
Anyway, writing greenskin dialogue is fun, though it makes Word hate me. It's practically screaming 'type real English, you idiot' at me. Writing the mindset of a Skaven who's losing (which is most of them, most of the time) is hilarious. Not going to further into anything else.
Next Chapter: The battle on the surface may be over, but the dangers under the mountain remain…
May the Ancestor Muffins guide you.