Fellblade

III

Rat Hunt

'So, instead of leading us into this next adventure, like the would-be "hero" that he is,' Kurt spat, 'he pulls out at the last minute and says he's doing things with Gabrielle?' The outlaw's facial expression was one of complete disgust. 'It's bad enough that Magnus is unable to accompany us because of his head. But Merideon…he's clearly smitten.'

'That is humans for you,' Legless murmured, equally dismayed. 'No real commitment when their women are involved.'

The Wild Wolf Tavern crouched between the smoky furnaces of the Black Wolf Hammersmiths and the renovated ruins of the Merchants' Guild. Visited regularly by the city's outlandish, independent adventurer population, it had recently been overwhelmed by a steady stream of freeblades, mercenaries and treasure hunters. Ever since the fall of Krudenwald, a place that had served as home to many footloose, young rogues as well as dwarf Trollslayers and the occasional Questing Knight, Middenheim had become the prime settlement for explorers and enterprise. Rumour had already spread of the infestation beneath the city, and many were eager to travel deep into the heart of the Ulricsberg in search lost treasure, glory, and the standing bounty on Skaven heads.

The Wild Wolf was a control centre for mercenary companies in Middenheim. Its reputation was fast growing for the best place in the city to recruit bodyguards, caravan escorts, bounty hunters, soldiers for hire and even assassins. Overflowing with gold-hungry mercenaries, even the grim, rough bouncers were ex-sellswords: the remnants of the landlord's old mercenary company. Regular troops generally avoided the Wild Wolf – this was where men fought for money, not some fool's perceptions of honour or personal power. Here men valued cold steel and the glint of gold over such things as the favour of the gods.

The walls of the Wild Wolf were worn and stained by years of ale. The paint had long since peeled off and hadn't been replaced; leaving a cold, stone look that suited the sellswords who cared nothing for décor. A roaring fireplace dominated the common room, and two spectacular, crossed swords were fixed above the mantelpiece, each one's hilt finely engraved with running wolves.

Legless was casually sipping his glass of wine when the door slammed open and a brawny figure strode through the entrance. He was clearly a dwarf, with massive, muscled arms covered in tattoos and an impressively plaited beard. In one hand he carried a double-headed axe, its blades decorated with angular runes. But the most prominent feature of the newcomer was his mohawk: a stiff, orange-dyed affair that stood at least a foot above his head.

'Beer!' The slayer roared, shouldering his way through the crowded room. Shoving Legless aside and nearly knocking the elf from his stool, he leaned his axe against the bar and banged his fist down viciously. 'Did you hear me, man! Beer!' He tossed the landlord a gold piece as the tankard was filled. 'And keep 'em coming till that's used up!'

Downing his drink in a single swing, the trollslayer found Legless staring at him with distaste.

'You got a problem, elf?' The dwarf's gaze was a flinty one. 'What's an elf doing in Middenheim anyway? Isn't it a bit "rough" in here for your kind?'

'Watch yourself, dwarf,' Legless snarled. 'You are addressing none other than Lord Legless of the Asur.'

'Am I indeed,' the slayer scoffed. He belched, loudly. 'Well, Skurdi Kilgdar is no elf friend.' He turned away and picked up his next tankard.

'Typical dwarf scum,' Legless muttered, shifting away from Skurdi. He was about to ask Kurt if he'd like to move to a table when he was grasped roughly by a beefy arm and hurled forwards. Other patrons stepped back, expecting a brawl.

'My hearing isn't that bad, elf swine,' Skurdi bellowed, beer sloshing from his tankard as he slammed it down. Getting up, he approached Legless and the crowd parted, forming a rough semi-circle around the elf and the dwarf.

'I want no trouble with you, Kilgdar.'

'Bit late for excuses, No Legs or whatever your pansy name is.'

'Enough!' The landlord shouted angrily. 'I want no brawling here! Take it outside!' He motioned to the bouncers.

Skurdi eyed them up and down, as if considering whether or not it was worth starting with them. Then, thinking better of it, he sat back down.

'I haven't finished me beer yet, elf. You'll have to wait.'

'The only thing you'll get from me is a glorious death in battle,' Legless spat, pushing his way through the crowd towards the door. 'Come, Waldheim, we've a dragon to kill!'

Skurdi nearly choked on his third beer. Spluttering, he seized up his axe and rushed after the retreating adventurers.

'Wait! Wait, did you say something about a dragon?'

The Red Wolves were trudging through a low-ceilinged tunnel that had connected with a wine cellar beneath one of Middenheim's less reputable taverns. They had already encountered a host of giant rats, pouring from disused ale barrels and in doing so had revealed the location of the secret door. The rats had been bloated and mutated individuals, certainly creations of the skaven menace. A dozen or so rat heads hung from Kurt's belt. The bounty would be grand: one gold piece for each skaven head returned.

'So where's this dragon you spoke of?' The slayer was impatient. He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his gleaming axe, drawing forth a bright bead of blood.

'Foolish dwarf,' Legless chuckled. 'The dragon isn't literally a fire-breathing beast.'

'WHAT?'

'I was metaphorically speaking. But of course, you stunted folk only talk in actions involving drinking and fighting.'

'Listen here, no legs, if I didn't need you lot to record me glorious death, I'd…'

'Shhh!' Kurt snapped from up ahead. 'The lair of a great beast lies up ahead.'

'A beast?' Skurdi shoved the elf aside roughly. 'Time to die, rat-beasts!'

Before Kurt or Legless could do anything, the trollslayer charged through the narrow opening into the cavern beyond.

The ear-splitting roar shook the walls as the rat ogre's left leg was cut from its body, like a tree being hewed down by a woodcutter. Skurdi grinned, his blood-slick axe glinting menacingly. As an arrow thudded into the beast's back, he raised the weapon again and chopped downwards, severing the neck with a gory splatter of blood.

'That one counts as mine,' he growled.

Kurt's swords slashed at the massive bulk of the creature before him. He dodged a huge paw as it swiped at him but the monster's other fist grabbed one of his blades. Black blood ran down from between its monstrous fingers, and then there was a loud crack as the sword broke.

'Take this, rat bastard,' the outlaw shouted, throwing his other blade. It span, end over end until it came to rest in the rat ogre's skull, the end jutting bloodily from the other side. Grimacing, Kurt unsheathed his orcish blade. 'This sword will serve me now. It'll cut the head better anyway.' He knelt down to his grisly task.

'Primed and loaded.' Kurt aimed with both his flintlocks at the advancing patrol of Skaven soldiers. Clad in pieces of scrap metal armour, their fur was black as night. These were no ordinary ratmen. These were Stormvermin.

'Are you going to shoot or not?' Skurdi was itching to get into the fight.

'He's waiting for them to get into range, oaf,' Legless sneered.

'Out of the way, I'm going in!' The slayer shoved the elf bodily aside.

Before Skurdi could charge forwards, Kurt fired. Two blasts echoed around the corridor, black smoke issuing from his pistols. The two front skaven were pitched backwards as the metal balls punched through their weak bodies. Two arrows followed the devastation, taking another two Stormvermin in the throats.

'Leave the rest to me,' the slayer snarled, 'and I mean it!'

As Skurdi held off the increasing number of Stormvermin, hewing all around him with his axe, black blood splashing his torso and running in the cracks between the flagstones, Legless scouted ahead. Feeling that this was where his own skills lay, he narrowed his eyes as he strode down the corridor. Two pit traps lay across the passage, blocking the way. Without a second glance the elf crossed in a single bound and booted open the large door on the other side, flourishing his longsword. Instantly dozens of glinting red eyes blinked into existence in the darkness. He could hear the scrape of metal as weapons were drawn and the telltale snicker of skaven laughter. The stench of unwashed fur was overpowering.

'Why am I not surprised?' With an Asur warcry, he bounded across the room and up onto a wooden table at its centre. The Stormvermin guards closed around him, anticipating a quick kill.

Kurt heard the clash of halberds and the deathcries of rats up ahead. Rushing down the corridor, the lantern swinging from his left fist, he didn't see the pits until it was too late. Giving a startled cry, he stumbled and fell headfirst into the hole.

'Bloody Skaven bastards!'

It didn't take long for him to climb out, but boy was he pissed off. He should've realised there'd be Skaven death traps everywhere, especially in this warren.

Skurdi hacked and chopped Stormvermin bodies. He stood in the doorway, blocking their way forward and using their numbers against them. Here only two could come at him at any time, the rest crushing against their fellows in the narrow passage behind. The walls were painted blacker than they already were as skaven lifeblood drenched it in great swathes of sticky foulness. Heads rolled upon the floor and bones were crushed underfoot. Skurdi knew his death would not be here.

These were no real challenge.

Dodging numerous fierce jabs and slashes from the cutting blades of the Stormvermin halberds, Legless grinned, slicing another's halberd in two and kicking the wielder's head back. He heard the satisfying crack as its brittle neck snapped and took the opportunity to slam his boot into its chest, throwing it back. As soon as the gap had opened, another rat warrior stepped forward to fill the fence of vile stench. He was surrounded on all sides, but he didn't care. These vermin were nothing to him. They were less than scum; they didn't stand a chance.

Smiling mysteriously, the elf somersaulted over the claw leader's head, twisting in mid air and landing to face the beast as it span around.

'Be de-sexed, rat filth!'

A swift kick to the Stormvermin's nether regions demolished the claw leader's privates and a rapid blow to the neck severed it in a spray of bloody gore. With their leader dead, a shrill cry filled the air and the rest of the skaven turned to flee.

With Legless standing near the far doorway, they scuttled like vermin towards the first door only to find a grimacing human and a vicious-looking dwarf blocking their retreat.

'Time to die, sewer scum!' Kurt roared. He raised his dark blade and launched himself into his foes. The sword drank deeply, glistening with ratman blood as it sliced and hacked its way through the Stormvermin ranks. Skurdi also began a new butchery with gusto, smashing a bloody path towards the elf, each wide swipe of his axe leaving another rat a broken ruin.

The walls and ceiling of the room were spattered with blood.

It was a slaughter.

'About time, dwarf.'

'Speak for yourself, no legs. While you were lap dancing I was doing all the work.'

'Really?' Legless raised an eyebrow. 'At least I could move fast enough to avoid a dishonourable death at the hands of those scum.'

'Watch it or you might find a dishonourable death in the next chamber.'

'Brave words, slayer. Perhaps if you were more fighter and less talker…'

'Enough!' Kurt snarled. 'Legless, scout ahead. Skurdi, you're with me.'

'Very good, Waldheim. I see you're warming to this leadership role.'

The outlaw gave Legless a dirty look as the elf disappeared through the doorway.

'Well, man?' Skurdi motioned with his axe. 'Glad that you're here, otherwise I and that elf person might've killed each other hours ago.'

'Well, isn't that a good thing.' Kurt rolled his eyes and started gathering heads.

The corridor beyond was a death trap. No sooner had Legless stepped onto the first flagstone a spear came hurtling from a gap in the wall. He rolled beneath it onto the next stone, only for another spear to come flying out. Dodging that one, he leapt and dodged, ducking and weaving down the passage. A host of spears were released, one for each flagstone he crossed.

'Balls of Khaine,' he swore as one of the spears grazed his cloak. Luckily though, he emerged unscathed and reached the far archway. The spears stopped.

Kurt and Skurdi were about to enter but Legless held out his hand.

'Stop! There are spear traps…you'll have to…'

'Bah!' Skurdi grunted. He turned around and trudged back into the guard chamber. When he returned he was carrying a rusty halberd. He then proceeded to walk into the corridor, setting the traps off as he went. Each spear flew out in front of him, allowing him to pass each one unharmed.

Kurt was not so lucky. He gasped in pain as a spear slashed past him, opening a shallow cut in his arm. Although the blood ran freely, he gritted his teeth and ran. A hail of spears burst from the wall, falling to clatter against the flagstones behind him.

The cavern stretched out around the trio. Ahead crouched a giant, stone dais, atop of which stood a hideous idol. In front of this effigy was a hunched, hairy figure, flanked by two Stormvermin and a strange, arcane device. It was manned by two skulking ratmen. An evil sniggering filled the air as the warlord gestured with his halberd.

'Man-things! Kill-kill!'

Once again the darkness was lit up by many pairs of red eyes, glinting like tiny lights. Kurt's lantern illuminated the Clanrat warriors, their chisel-like fangs jutting from their jaws and their clawed fists grasping jagged knives and rounded shields. On the sides of the chamber, more skaven poured in through small doorways.

'Right, Skurdi! This is your demise!' The elf grinned, nocking an arrow to his bow.

'You've got to be kidding, no legs. Be cleansed, vermin!'

There was no stopping the trollslayer as he hacked his way into the skaven. Heads were tossed left and right as Skurdi Kilgdar went to work. Suitably impressed, Kurt drew his Bloodletting Sword and joined in. The Clanrat warriors were no match for the man and the dwarf, and soon the floor was slippery with black blood. Arrow after arrow sped through the dank air, pin cushioning the warlord. But the beast didn't fall, and ordered the Warpfire thrower to engage. Kurt and Skurdi were oblivious as the deadly war machine turned its wide muzzle in their direction.

'Shoot-kill! Man-dwarf things die-die!'

There was an almighty explosion as a massive blast tore through the chamber. The skaven manning the Warpfire machine were incinerated, as were the warlord's bodyguards and the remaining Clanrats in a torrent of burning Warpfire and ash. Kurt and Skurdi were hurled to the floor as they were struck by the horrid liquid. Fortunately the vile fluid burned itself out and, slicking back his hair, Kurt pulled out his flintlocks. Taking aim, he pulled the triggers and fired. The balls slammed into the warlord's body, which went up in flames as Skurdi's magic ring of lightning fire engulfed him. His shrill deathcries were quickly silenced.

'Nice axe,' Skurdi rumbled, polishing the dust from the shining, double-headed blade of the axe he had found. 'It's well forged, the runes are sharp.'

'Finally I find a sword worth keeping,' Legless murmured. He turned the elven-forged blade in his hands. 'Here, Waldheim, you can have this.' He tossed a small, amber-coloured amulet on a leather thong to the outlaw.

'Shiny,' Kurt breathed, rubbing the treasure. He would add it to his collection. 'I'll wager Magnus and Merideon would've liked this quest. One gold piece for every Skaven head…'

The man, the elf and the dwarf hefted their bundles of grisly trophies and began the climb to the surface.

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