Extremus Fors Chapter 20

"You are sure you can do this?" her ghostly companion asked.

"I am sure," Rebre replied confidently.

"Don't overestimate yourself," the voice chided, "These louts may have nothing, but they think themselves proud lords. Their wills are unyielding and their feuds bitter. Your little trick with the glamour won't work this time, not on all of them at once."

"I can sway them to my cause without sorcery Rebis," Rebre sniffed, "I was always better at this than you."

"You better be sure, you have only one shot at this."

Rebre's nose crinkled at the suggestion she was not up to the job. Since they had returned to the camp of the Sunsider clan she had ensconced herself in her quarters, preparing for the next phase of her plan. Four days of intense study and ritual spellcraft, learning of the Technobarbarian's ways and honing her mannerisms to seduce them. The combined chiefs of the major clans had agreed to meet in a conclave, an act unseen in living memory. It seemed word of her victory and rumours of her legend had spread faster than she could have hoped. All wanted to see her and judge whether the legend was true.

Rebre turned from her mirror and saw the corpse laid out on her bed. A young buck of the clan, his mind blasted to shreds by the experiences she had wrought upon his flesh, his life expended to fuel Rebre's incantations. Rebre had drained three more like him since the battle, but the clan didn't seem to care. The snares of Slaanesh were taking hold of their souls, slowly due to the shallowness of their desires, but the Prince of Excess could take the smallest embers of imagination and inflame them into a beacon of obsession. She could sense revels growing more ardent with every day that passed. Chaos' hold would only grow as time passed.

A soft cough from the door attracted her eye and she saw Millic and Goresh dutifully waiting. The pair had begun their transformations too. The woman had begun to pierce her flesh with needles. Sharp points lanced through her skin and out the other side. From the flesh at her thighs, up her pelvis and abdomen, over her sternum and up her neck to the jaw. She must surely be in pain with every motion, yet the look on her face was one of constant thrill and her eyes had changed to the vertical slits of a feline. Goresh was less visibly changed, his form and manner constant and yet he had begun to absently lick at his face and his tongue was far longer and more sinuous than a human's had any right to be.

"Is it time?" Rebre asked languidly.

"Yes, beauteous queen," Millic replied, "The clans await you."

"Good, escort me," Rebre commanded.

"Yessssss," Goresh slathered around a wet mouth, "Queeeeeeen."

Rebre checked her image in the mirror one last time, seeing a majestic figure of regal poise within. Every aspect of her manner fit to cow the proudest lord. She cast a glance at the chest containing the hated sword, still spitting silent threats against her soul, and was satisfied it was secure, then stepped out of her room. The pair led her from her room, heading up the derelict Forgefane towards Lugdac's court. Rebre was pleased to note the entire structure was changing. The walls glimmered with frosty light and moans of pleasure and pain echoed in her ears. The ever-present smell of algae had become laced with soporifics and hallucinogens, Dreamwurst to conjure visions of glory and Passoar to stoke a frenzy of frantic energy. The workshops continued to implant warriors with augmetics but now their blades were vicious and serrated, many bearing spikes and lashes, weapons designed to inflict delightful pain. Truly the Dark Prince gripped these people tight.

Rebre continued her climb, until she reached the throne room. Little had been done to alter this place, but the banners on the wall bore strange runes and icons that shifted when one was not looking. Lugdac hadn't outwardly changed but his bearing was haughty and arrogant, sitting in his ruined cogitator like an Ecclesiarch in his throne. He cared little for pleasures of the flesh but Rebre sensed his lust for glory had been stoked into a raging narcissism. He no longer wanted to be the greatest warlord this moon had ever seen; he was starting to believe he already was. Good, Rebre could build on that.

Rebre faced the chief and Lugdac glared, "You do not bow, my queen."

"As your queen I bow to none," she replied.

"Some might take that as an insult."

"Only fools," Rebre countered, "The greatest king deserves the greatest queen. All must know I am superior, so they will understand your majesty in winning me to your side."

"How true," Lugdac quipped with a humourless grin, "Come, stand with me."

Rebre mounted the step and stood at his right hand, as Werrey drifted forward. The tech-shaman sported numerous augmetic alterations, enhancing perception and cognition. Yet her voice was unchanged as she hissed, "They grow impatient."

"Then by all means, show them in."

Werrey signalled to her attendants to usher in the visiting chiefs, and they hurried away. Rebre had been studying them intently over the last four days and could name them all as they approached. They came in one at a time, lest old feuds flare and they knife each other in the back. No two were alike, some big and bound with piston limbs, others wiry and sly. Their colours were varied and bright, their attire flamboyant and bold. Some had guns for hands, others massive blades across their backs, but all were equally angry and suspicious.

Rebre named them one by one in her head. First to enter was Veretta Mistress of the Firevents, a tribe who boasted the hottest territory in the land. She took a seat carved out of an old cogitator, proudly refusing to bow. Incra of the Highstriders and Nuttes of the Depsiders stalked in, their ancient rivalry plain to see. Ollikan of Bouldakru entered with head held high, followed by Beel of Wata-clan, a tribe much envied for having hot-water springs in their territory.

Gruu of Whiptails dragged a long pelt behind as she took her seat and Sesea of Steelkru was close behind. Then came Herrar of the Redmanes followed by Bertaw of the Sharptusks, Yintux of the Coldknives, Kilka of the Longclaws and last of all came Xelia, lord of the Icefield-clans. These then were the lords of Sinew and Steel, masters of the greatest clans in the land. Not a complete tally by a long stretch, but those mighty enough to draw attention and close enough to travel here.

They settled into their seats, eying each other warily as Rebre declared, "Mighty lords, the great Lugdac thanks you for attending his summons. He is prepared to accept your fealty and tributes with gracious mercy."

"You have gall," Gruu spat, her face filling with anger.

"What makes you think we will bow to you?" Kilka spat.

"Surely you have heard of the great victory over the Nightsiders," Rebre declared, "With this triumph the Sunsider's reign supreme!"

"Or you've spent your strength," Incra hissed, "Left overstretched and weak."

"Not so weak that you dared attack outright," Rebre countered, "Lugdac is so secure in his position he is willing to discuss grants of Nightsider lands, to the worthiest of vassals."

Incra shut up and Nuttes took on an avaricious look. Both their lands abutted Nightsider territory, the thought of expanding their ranges was a potent bribe to any chief. Sesea however leaned forward in her throne and hissed, "I would hear more of you, is it true you are the Star Queen?"

Rebre inclined her head and said, "By the grace of Lazar I am, sent to steer you to the final victory and bring you back to the heavens."

"Liar!" Bertaw barked, "This is a lie!"

"Not so," Werrey interjected, "I have seen her power, learned from her teachings. She is the one!"

"I should gut you for your lies," Bertaw spat.

But Ollikan barked, "Stay your hand bitch, we need her. The Undying are on the move!"

That brought up everyone and Veretta gulped, "The Undying?"

Ollikan bowed his thick head and said, "A wave of destruction sweeps over the land, whole clans going missing overnight. No mere raid for flesh, no ambushing our hunting parties. Clans disappear without a trace. Stonekru are gone, the Hoar-Giants, Frostriders and Verglaskin are no more."

"It is true!" Herrar cried, "The Sabretusks were wiped out by an enemy who left no trace. The whole clan obliterated!"

The whole assembly burst into frantic chatter, fearful talk of what this meant. Rebre felt their fear and it was good, she could twist this terror in the dark against them, promise them salvation from their greatest terror. As to what had actually eradicated the lost tribes, she gave no thought, their deaths were but a means to an end.

Rebre was about to speak but then Xelia barked, "This is very convenient." The lord of the Icefield clans was a hirsute brute, his gland-stimmed arms covered in matted hair. His eyes were beady and his jaw broad, and he glared with the manner of one who would die before admitting to making a mistake.

Rebre faced him and said, "Death stalks your lands and Lazar sends me to save you."

"Or you arrange those tribes' destruction to make yourself look better," Xelia growled, "No good being a saviour if there's nothing to save us from."

"I assure you..."

"Shut it you! I didn't come here to listen to a slip of a girl prattle on. Does Lugdac let you clean his arse too?!"

Lugdac stirred, his hands drifting to the pommel of sword propped upon his throne, as he said, "I do not waste words, unlike you Xelia."

"Words," Xelia hissed, "Too many words, too much chatter for my tastes. I thought you a man of action Lugdac."

"You want some?" Lugdac retorted, "Bring it."

"Fair lords, let us not..." Rebre uttered.

But Lugdac spat, "Challenge is made and accepted. Let us settle this in blood and steel!"

He sprang to his feet and grabbed his blade, as Xelia surged upright. The rest dove behind their chairs, backing up to make room. Rebre was stunned by the sudden change, events spiralling out of control. She backed up hastily and her hands moved in ritual fashion but Werrey grabbed her wrists and hissed, "Challenge is made, you cannot interfere! Lugdac must win for all to see, else lose all respect."

Rebre cursed at the primitive custom as the two chiefs charged at each other. Xelia' fists closed and metal spikes tore out of his knuckles, bloody points reaching for Lugdac's head. Yet the master of the Sunsiders bent low and skidded across the floor, moving with sinuous grace. Those meaty fists passed harmlessly over his head as he rolled past. He was too close to bring his blade to bear effectively but his pommel crashed into a knee and made Xelia stumble.

Lugdac sprang to his feet, only to have a piledriver of an elbow slam into his back, sending him staggering away. Rebreg gasped at seeing her champion hurt. She was powerless to intervene, left helpless to await her fate. Everything she had built would collapse if Lugdac died. She was dependent on him winning, and she hated the feeling.

Xelia swung about, fists reaching to grab Lugdac in a bear hug, yet they touched nothing but air. Lugdac pivoted around the arms, almost dancing between those hands. Something about his motions was not quite human, not anymore, too slick, too fast and too fluid. His movements reminded Rebre of another warlord, one who's name hovered just outside of clarity. A grinning face lingered though, and a litany of evil hung over him that made even Rebre shudder.

Xelia roared in anger and tried to grab Lugdac but the grey sword flashed and one of those hands fell to the ground. Xelia bellowed in outrage and swung again, but another flash truncated the other arm. Xelia was left staring at the stumps of his arms, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Lugdac however promptly stepped forward and drove his sword into the neck, spearing Xelia through the larynx. The lord of the Icefield-clan stared in mute dismay, then Lugdac whipped the blade back and he collapsed and moved no more.

Silence reigned and then a loud thump rang out. It was Incra, slamming a fist to the chest. The chief was acknowledging Lugdac's victory and was soon joined by the others. All the Lords of Sinew and Steel joined in, slamming their chests loud to cheer the victory. Lugdac had won, his power and skill was proven and with it came the allegiance of the other clans. Whether by martial respect, bribery or fear of the outsider Lugdac had claimed sovereignty over the land. He was now king over all.

It was a heady moment but Rebre was far from pleased. That had been far too close for comfort and the thought that her fate rested in the hands of another chafed. Lugdac had nearly ruined everything with that brute display, the gifts of Slaanesh too subtle by far. Rebre was not about to lose everything to a foolhardy oaf's blundering, especially if he planned to repeat that display. Silently she decided to hedge her bets. It was time to upgrade her champion, and get rid of a pernicious thorn in her side to boot. It was time to hand off the Daemonsword.