Fellblade

I

Eternal Damnation

Magnus' sword clashed against the beastman's blade. The Gor warrior issued a vicious roar, and the knight could see chunks of half-eaten flesh trapped between the monster's fangs. Raising his weapon, he pushed forwards, shoving the beastman back a step with brute force. Taking advantage of its hesitation, he swung low and cut through the Gor's leg. It fell to the ground with a bray of fear, and with a twirl of his blade, Magnus plunged his steel downwards into the monster's chest. There was a howl of pain as his armour was spattered.

The Red Wolves had fought their way out of the burning city, taking the road and then hacking a path through the thickets of the surrounding forest. Progress was slow, the horses were not woodland creatures, and it took time travelling in this hostile environment. In addition, Siareth insisted on bringing a packhorse, loaded with gold and relics he had long since plundered from the Glint treasury. It was slowing them down, but the warlock was adamant that the Aldenheim treasury would be expanded. Cursing the warlock to the high heavens, Magnus kept his feelings silent. There would come a time when he would be free. Gods willing, that time was near.

He looked over to his companions as they battled desperately against the beastman warband. The outlaw Kurt Waldheim was kicking out with his hob-nailed boots and laying into the beasts like a madman. Nothing could stop him in this state, it seemed. His swords flashed in his hands, a mere extension of his body. He was surrounded by a circle of dead Gors.

Merideon, the young noble resplendent in tunic, hose and feathers, was fighting well, the style of his family overpowering the blunt strength of the Gors with its cut and thrust. Magnus noted his own sister, Gabrielle, watching the noble intently from the back of his white charger. Interesting that she should fall in with Merideon, Magnus thought. But then, she always was one for romantic types. She noticed him watching her and he gave a quick nod of acknowledgement. Any man who fought to protect his sister was worthy of his respect. Suddenly, another Gor approached the horse from behind. Before it could launch its attack, Gabrielle twisted, pulling a pistol from her belt. There was a blast of smoke as the Gor's head exploded in a shower of blood. Well done, sis, the knight thought, smiling to himself as he turned his attention to Legless, the elf scout.

A shadowy figure clad in the shifting cloak of the elves, darting in and out of the dappled sunlight amidst the trees, he took shot after shot at the brutish figures of the enemy. Each arrow found its mark, pitching a Gor into the dirt. Soon the earth was covered in the corpses of the slain. A mysterious and yet intriguing figure, was Legless. Magnus didn't know what destiny lay in wait for the elf.

The only person not fighting was the warlock, Siareth. The robed man sat on the back of his black stallion, counting gold pieces. As he dropped the last of his crowns into a red pouch, a beastman warrior reared up behind him, its bloody axe raised. Grimacing, Magnus threw his throwing knife. The small blade span end over end before it caught in the Gor's throat. Blood splashed over Siareth, and the warlock looked up, as if bothered by an insect. Magnus snarled.

Sure, teamwork was what fighting together was all about, but this was ridiculous. If that man was simply going to count his profits while he did all the hard work, the fighting, the warlock had another thing coming. It was time for a change. Gold and glory was one thing, but it was something he was slowly growing tired of. Cutting down another Gor with a backhanded cut, he stabbed another in the chest just as the last Gor fell to the earth, dead.

'Good work, friends. Rest, drink, we'll be moving on within the hour.' Magnus directed a dirty look towards Siareth as he sheathed his sword and stalked off into the woods.

The flames glimmered in Magnus' eyes as he crouched by the campfire, warming his hands.

'You're ruining your night vision.' It was a woman's voice. 'Even I know about that.'

Magnus turned to stare up at Gabrielle as she stood over him, hands on hips.

'I don't care,' he sighed, turning back to the fire. 'I don't care anymore. If anyone attacks us, I'll kill them.'

Gabrielle sat down, cross-legged, and stared off into the darkness.

'You know, you've gone through a phase like this before. I know you, Magnus.'

'Do you?' Magnus twisted around to look into her eyes. 'It's different now. The things I've done…'

'What things? You've been gone a long time. Tell me what you did on your adventures.'

Magnus averted his eyes. He remained silent.

'Come on, you can tell me. I'm your sister. You can tell me anything.'

'Can I?' Magnus picked up a branch and stoked the fire. 'Hmmm…you'd probably hate me.'

There was an awkward silence.

Gabrielle moved her arm and touched his shoulder. For a moment he felt the thrill only a woman's touch can bring. Then he dismissed it and shrugged.

'Okay. But promise me you won't up and leave.'

'Merideon is a good man. I can see through him. I won't leave him, so as long as you lot stick together…'

'I don't really find that reassuring.'

'Very well, Mags, I won't leave your little band. Besides, I couldn't make it on my own.'

Magnus considered that. She had a point. She had been in Glintburg all her life…there was no way she'd survive a single week out here in the wilderness. He shifted around so that he was facing away from the fire. And then he began his tale.

'Do you remember the day I fought that lion…'

Three weeks had passed as they travelled across the plains. They were riding over green seas, a burning blue sky soaring overhead. A zephyr whispered across the grass and Gabrielle's hair shone like liquid gold. Already Magnus could see the mountains looming on the horizon, like a rocky wall; the very edge of the world. Somewhere in the foothills, by the flowing waters of the Blood River, lay Aldenheim, his new home. It would be good to be back. This adventuring stuff really takes a toll on the body, he thought.

'Time to take a break,' the knight roared, 'I'm saddle-sore. Hey, did you hear me?'

'Bandits!' Came Merideon's voice at the head of the column. 'Prepare to fight!'

There was the telltale sound of swords being released and in front of him Legless notched an arrow to his bow.

'Back on your horse, Magnus,' Kurt rasped. 'The bandits are on foot. It's time for mounted combat!'

The thunder of hooves announced Merideon spurring the charge towards their foes.

'Yar! Time to die, peasant scum!'

Magnus rolled his eyes. Another fight and he was damned saddle-sore. Grasping the saddle horn, he pulled himself back onto his chestnut mare.

'Out of the way, Siareth! Magnus is going into battle!'

The walls of Aldenheim reared up like soaring cliffs. As the Red Wolves approached the western gate, they marvelled at the architecture. It was a mixture of imperial and dwarven, strengthened by buttresses and decorated with a proud set of ramparts. The riders passed beneath the great gates and Magnus noticed a group of smiths gathering in the courtyard.

'Greetings, dwarven folk.' The knight hailed the dwarves with a raised fist. The leader, a well-built stonemason with a fiery beard, strode forwards. He clutched a heavy sledgehammer in one hand. 'Grimvarr, I take it?'

'Aye, that I be, laddie,' the dwarf replied gruffly. 'You lot would be the Red Wolves then.'

'That we are, master dwarf,' Siareth drawled, hauling on the reins and dismounting. He pulled out a small bag of coins. It was much smaller than the amount he seemed to be counting before, Magnus noted. 'Your payment, as agreed.'

As Kurt, Merideon and Legless dismounted and headed towards the stables with the horses, Grimvarr upended the purse into his brawny hand. Grimacing, he raised an eyebrow and glared up at the warlock.

'A little short, is it not?'

'The exact amount I agreed to pay you for your…magnificent alterations to our town,' Siareth snapped, glancing about the sturdy fortifications.

'I think we have a problem,' Grimvarr growled, stuffing the gold back into the bag. 'One hundred crowns, that was my…reduced price. You're thirty crowns short.'

'Well you're too short as it is,' Siareth sneered. 'Clear out of Aldenheim before sunset, or…'

'Or what, human? You'll get your minions onto me?' The dwarf issued a harsh laugh. Suddenly, he struck out with the back of his fist. Siareth crumpled and fell to the ground. Before Grimvarr could follow up, Magnus strode between the two, his sword drawn.

'Master Grimvarr, There must be some sort of…miscommunication. I'm sure we can come to an understanding.' The last thing they needed was for the dwarves to kill Siareth and knock down the walls they had spent so long building. It would deprive Aldenheim of its much needed defences. For a moment the dwarf was silent, his eyes fixed on Magnus' own.

'Very well, Magnus of the Red Lion.' He turned to glare daggers down at Siareth, who was struggling to his feet, nursing a bloody nose. 'I'll take this seventy crowns, plus you will carry out a mission for me.'

'What sort of mission?'

'You will travel to Mount Gunbad, which is north of here. There you will recover an amulet that once belonged to the Orc warlord, Azhag. Azhag's skull is also there. I want them both, do you hear me, human?' Grimvarr's eyes were ice cold.

Magnus nodded. There was no use denying the dwarf's request. Who knows what friends he had? For all they knew, a dwarf army could be sent to destroy the entire town.

'Good. I shall await your return. I'm sure the best quarters will be made available to me and my smiths while you are gone.'

'Indeed they are, Master Grimvarr. We will, uh, set out in two days' time.'

'What on earth were you thinking?' Siareth spat at Magnus, as they rode north along a path that led through the Worlds Edge Mountains. 'This venture could well get us all killed.'

'The last venture could've done that,' Magnus retorted. For a moment he expected a slight hum of pain in his head, but nothing came.

'The last venture was almost completely unprofitable,' Kurt spoke up. He held the Star of the West in his hand. He gave it a good rub, so that it glittered in the sunlight. 'Almost.'

'Well, you think that trinket was worth it,' Merideon chuckled. He glanced behind him. Aldenheim was already lost on the horizon, but he knew who awaited him back there. 'My prize was the greatest of them all. The Spirit Blade and the Star cannot compare…'

'Whatever you think, Merideon,' Kurt scoffed, his eyes remaining fixed on his gemstone.

'Back to the topic,' Legless sneered, 'how did you expect to cheat a dwarf of his gold, warlock? They care so little about anything else.'

Siareth set his face in a grimace. Spurring his stallion, he galloped off up the path.

'What's up with him?' Magnus asked.

'Who cares,' Kurt replied. 'He doesn't win any of the treasure anymore.'

The doors yawned wide, the blackness between them ready to consume the unwary traveller. All around the entrance skulls had been impaled on stakes, and human skeletons littered the roadway. Huge clusters of greenish fungus huddled just inside the rockface, feeding on the dead flesh.

'The lair of the Orc Lord Gorgut, apparently,' Kurt said gleefully.

'Here we go again,' Magnus moaned.

'If you don't want to enter, go back,' Siareth snarled.

'Out of the way, bickering fools,' the outlaw snapped, drawing his swords and pushing past. 'Hurry up, I need a light here!'

The t-junction made them pause, their lamplight flickering in the eerie darkness.

'We split up,' Legless volunteered. 'It's not so dark, I can use my vision to penetrate the gloom.'

'I'll come with you,' Merideon said uneasily. 'If we're going to split, it'll be safer this way.'

'Very well,' the elf nodded. The noble slipped a metal circlet around his brow and there was a brief flash of energy. 'You can see in the dark with that relic?'

'I can,' Merideon confirmed. 'We'll see you lot later. Coming, elf?'

'Then we'll go this way,' Kurt gestured with his orcish blade. 'Let's hope there's some gold.'

Siareth grunted something unintelligible and he, the outlaw and the knight started down the dwarven road.

The deep roar of the greenskinned monsters echoed throughout the caves. The elf and the noble looked out from behind a rocky outcrop into a large, abandoned hall. Small windows high up let in a minimal amount of light, in wide, blue-white beams. A crude platform stood in the centre, cluttered with barrels, tables and other junk, all of it the primitive design of orcish hands. A shaman was chanting in the goblinoid tongue, surrounded by his brutish bodyguards.

'There,' Legless pointed, 'on the platform. Can you see it, human?'

'What is it?' Merideon squinted. Something glinted in the pale light. 'Is it the amulet?'

'Indeed. Here's the plan. You distract the orcs, I'll handle the shaman, and get the amulet.'

'Very well, I can do that.' Merideon unsheathed his rapier. 'Ready?'

'Go, before the shaman finishes his spellcasting.' Legless unslung his bow and fitted an arrow to his bowstring. 'I fear this fight will be no challenge to my skills.'

'Oh don't worry, my friend. It hasn't been challenging in a while.'

Lord Merideon strode calmly out from behind the rocks. He smiled nastily, flicking his hair back and swishing his blade expertly. He was experienced enough to take on six orcs by himself now. Of that there was no question.

'Orcish peasants!' He called, giving a laugh. 'You fools. Did you really think your foul gods would allow you to complete your loathsome ritual here? Let us celebrate your demise!'

Orc Lord Gorgut stared down from his fur-covered throne at the intruders into his realm. There was a humie dressed in robes, carrying a staff. Probably some weak wizard fool. Another humie, strangely enough armed with an orcish sword. The thief would have to die! That was orc property, not for the likes of the filthy humies! Swearing inwardly to get it back, Gorgut turned his attention to the third human. The man was tall, and solidly built, and clad in armour. This would be a worthy opponent, he thought. Opening his fang-lined maw, he issued a warcry and thundered down the first set of steps that lined his high dais. The sword in his hands writhed.

'Waaagh! Kill da humies!'

In response to his command, his Big Un warriors charged towards the invaders.

The greenskin monsters rumbling towards them were like nothing Magnus had ever seen. These were bigger, more heavily muscled and obviously more powerful than any other orcs he had fought. They were blocks of solid strength, their arms corded with sinew and their weapons massive. One successful hit from one of those weapons could end his life right here.

'Siareth, get back! I'll handle these beasts!'

'Like I need telling,' the warlock hissed, stepping back through the doorway as the Big Uns approached like raging titans.

Kurt twirled his swords. Without a word, he rushed forward to meet them. A huge axe cleaved the air and he dodged aside, slicing across the orc's leg. With a howl, it turned to meet him, but he had already twisted and skirted around the beast, sinking his orcish blade deep into its back. Pulling the sword free, he unleashed a fountain of blood and lashed out with his boots. He smashed the orc onto its face, but the beast was tough. Rolling aside, it clambered up and seized Kurt in its meaty fists. Letting go with one hand, it pummelled the outlaw bloodily, snapping Kurt's head to one side. Snarling as blood dripped from his nose, Kurt dropped his swords and thrust out with his gauntlets.

'Eat dwarf runes you scum!' His two fists crashed together on the orc's head, sending shockwaves of agony through the creature. It released its grip and rolling his shoulders, Kurt dropped and picked up his swords. Then he went to work again, slashing blindly at the orc's body. Gouts of blood stained the flagstones. As the Big Un recovered, a second orc took an opportunity to engage Kurt. The outlaw grinned. As the cleaver swept through the air, he ducked just in time. The notched blade missed him by inches and with limited space, it slammed into the wounded orc, slaying it with a howl of pain. Snarling in anger, the orc turned on Kurt as the outlaw thrust his blades upwards towards the beast's chest.

Magnus was locked in bloody battle. One might say that it was perhaps…his time. He weaved a gold web around himself as the orc warlord's minions surrounded him. Blood sprayed messily as his sword flashed, painting his armour and the cavern walls alike. Axes and cleavers hacked and cut their way around him, making it seem that he fought in a forest of steel and iron. The edge of a blade cut through his pauldron, hurling him to the ground. Quickly, he rolled aside as another axe imbedded itself where he had just lain. Smashing his shield into the orc's face, he chopped with the Blade of Leaping Gold, nearly taking the other orc's head from its shoulders. As he pulled desperately, trying to dislodge the blade from the spurting orcish filth, partially blinded by the gushing blood, a cleaver came arcing towards his sword arm. Just in time, he bent his arm to save it being severed. But the blade still made contact. It nicked his forearm, cutting through the chainmail and Magnus let out a howl of pain. Instinctively, he kicked out, knocking the offending orc off its feet. The cleaver fell to the ground with a clang. Letting go of the gold sword, he leapt upon the downed orc, bashing it repeatedly with his shield. Then he felt himself being removed from his foe as another Big Un picked him up and threw him aside. He collapsed to the floor with a rattle of metal and a painful gasp. The orcs were tough, but he was tougher, he told himself. Struggling to his feet, he cleared the blood from his eyes, pulled off his helmet and hurled it spitefully at the standing orc. It cracked as it hit the beast, its soiled feather coming loose and falling to be trampled beneath the monster's iron-toed boots.

'Time to die, you greenskinned bastards,' Magnus roared. Flexing his arm, he grasped the Blade of Leaping Gold and gritting his teeth, he wrenched it out from the orc's neck. The pain was immense, but he could take it. He could suffer it, as long as he killed these daemons.

The Big Un thundered towards him like a god. Every detail stood out to his eyes as its huge axe came scything down. His sword leapt up to parry. There was a burst of sparks as the two weapons met, and then Magnus rolled his forearm and stabbed the orc in the gut. Droplets of blood sprinkled from his own wound, but he didn't care. The orc laughed and backhanded him, sending him sprawling. He could feel broken teeth in his mouth. Pain flared all across his body. Get up, his mind screamed; get up before the orc kills you. The beast reached down with one hand and threw him against the wall. Its axe came up and smashed into his shield with a metallic clunk. Giving a cry, he dropped it, realising he had just lost a part of his defence. As he slumped, the axe was raised again for another strike. His body didn't respond. The axe bit into his breastplate. It cleaved through the metal, chain and leather and cut an inch into his chest. Gritting his teeth constantly, he forced his body to move as the axe was withdrawn. Move, you idiot, his mind told him. Move or die. That was how it would be.

As the axe came again, he summoned up his inner reserves of strength, hoping it would save him. The orc was laughing, in that hated, goblinoid tongue. Its weapon was aimed at his neck.

He ducked.

The massive blade took a chunk out of the rock, sending splinters of stone flying everywhere. Dust and rubble clouded the air as Magnus launched himself away from the wall. In the confusion, he stumbled towards Kurt as the outlaw battled with another Big Un. Together they'd stand more of chance. They were supposed to be a team.

But before he could get there, he was thrown to the ground again. Above, the orc burst into laughter as it stood over him, holding is axe in two hands. Swearing inwardly, he pulled out his throwing knife.

'Take this, you bastard,' he murmured as the knife span and sank into the orc's throat. The beast keeled over and Magnus sighed in relief. His body felt broken in a dozen places, and he knew it probably was. But there was still the warlord on the dais. He had to be killed if they were getting out of here alive. As if to confirm the point, Gorgut bellowed with terrible rage.

'No, not yet,' Magnus breathed, but it was too late. Gorgut rampaged down the steps and attacked the knight. The stench of blood, death and unwashed leather assailed Magnus' senses.

The orc was bigger than the Big Uns. He was colossal, a huge beast with arms like tree trunks. His helmet was crowned with horns and his eyes glowed with an insane, inner light. But it was the monster's sword that captured his attention. The sword gleamed evilly. It was clearly an enchanted weapon, one that exuded evil and had been forged by some devilish sorcerer eons ago. It stank of darkness, of tainted energy, of the promise of certain destruction. And there was something else about the sword. He couldn't tell what it was…it was more terrifying than anything he had ever encountered. There was something chaotic about its blade, a blade that shifted with countless bright colours and lights. They had a hypnotic effect, dazzling him.

His mind was brought back to reality as the massive sword slashed down into his body. Nothing resisted its path of destruction. Then he was kicked savagely from the warlord's weapon. He was thrown backwards, crashing to the floor. The Blade of Leaping Gold flew from his hand. Pain flooded his entire being. He could feel broken ribs and a crushed lung. His throat was wet with blood. Before he could get up, an enormous boot planted itself on his chest. He coughed up crimson. Through hazy vision, a dark form loomed above. He could hear laughter.

'You dare invade Gorgut's lair, humie? Now you will pay with your soul!'

'What?' Magnus tried to speak through lips crusted with blood. 'Orc bastard…'

Gorgut laughed again.

'Even when you're dead, you humies are proud scum!' Gorgut raised his sword above his head. 'Now, give me, give me your soul!'

'No,' Magnus roared, trying to move aside. His body did not respond. 'Not like this!'

Soul Edge came sweeping down.

From the darkness beyond the doorway, Siareth watched, unmoved and unemotional. Kurt, wiping the orc blood from his face, stood stunned as Magnus Glint was slain by Gorgut.

Before Magnus lost consciousness, he felt one last agony. Dark whisperings echoed in his mind.

'The time is ripe, you shall become a part of me.'

With an infernal shriek, the evil sword dragged his spirit from his mortal shell. It was a strange feeling, as his soul was sucked out of him and dumped into the blade alongside the many others already imprisoned. Bodiless, he shifted and swirled amidst the brilliant colours and dazzling lights. Was this it? Was this how it ended, his soul trapped forever with the sword? Evil laughter surrounded him, penetrated him, filling him with an all-consuming despair.

This was the end.

'No!' Kurt shouted, his voice screaming with a mixture of pain and confusion. 'No!'

Gorgut roared with laughter, Soul Edge still wedged in Magnus' body. He was invincible. There was no way the other two humies could defeat him. He would reclaim that orc sword and kill them both. And then he'd take their souls.

He was about to lift Soul Edge from Magnus when several arrows sprouted from his chest. Pain flared where they had stuck in his spine, like needles. Surprised, he looked down, even as another volley impaled his throat. He faltered, his grip on Soul Edge failing.

'What? Treachery! Humie scum…'

There came another shout, accompanied by a pistol shot.

'Orc peasant! Know your place in this world!'

Gorgut's head exploded with a shower of blood and brain matter.

As the orc lord's corpse swayed, then pitched backwards, Soul Edge clattered to the floor. Its blade, however, remained in Magnus' body.

'Quick,' Kurt gasped, almost to himself. He tore open his pack, digging around until he unearthed a small gem that glowed with the light of dawn. Kneeling down by Magnus, he held the Dawnstone over the knight's forehead. 'Come on, come on, work, you bloody thing…'

Inside Soul Edge, Magnus felt a powerful spirit stirring. It was ancient, at least a thousand years, and was not unlike himself. It was the soul of a templar, a knight pledged to Sigmar's wars against the goblinoids. A strange light began to shimmer near him, and suddenly there was a blinding flash that seemed to last for eternity.

When he came to, he was lying on the ground. Was he dead? No, he was alive. Thank the gods he was alive. He couldn't believe that Kurt had used his Dawnstone on him. A burning heat rushed through his veins. It travelled the length of his entire body, healing him, revitalising him. His broken bones were mended, his body strengthened again and the gashes in his body were closed up. As the energy restored him, he realised he would owe his life to Kurt Waldheim.

He wanted to shout with joy, but he couldn't. He opened his mouth, but his mouth didn't open. It was then that he felt a presence, another soul, suppressing his own within his body.

He opened his eyes. Kurt, Siareth, Merideon and Legless were standing around him. They seemed generally relieved that he was alive. The elf was clutching an amulet and an orc skull in his hands. He wanted to talk to them, but instead he heard another voice that was not his own. It was deep and rich, the voice of someone noble and strong. It was a voice that held authority, power and influence. It was not his voice.

'…Took a blow to the head,' he heard himself say. 'That sword…it did something to me. My voice may be a little different, but…it's me, Magnus. I see you got the artefacts…'

Suddenly he knew. It was the templar. The name flashed into his mind. Morgan Keppler, Templar of the Fiery Heart, had been slain by Soul Edge long ago. He had waited for a chance such as this, a chance to escape. When it had been presented to him in the form of a new body, Magnus' body, he hadn't hesitated.

Magnus was then confronted with a horrible truth.

He had been resurrected, given another chance at life. Only this time, he would have no power whatsoever over anything. He was completely helpless, a trapped soul, little better than one captured within the evil sword, Soul Edge.

His entire existence would depend on someone else.

He was damned, within his own body. Forever.

7