Fellblade

VI

Catacombs of Horror

'You there, peasant!' Morgan bellowed from his horse as he cantered from the Deinste Village Stables, a packhorse in tow. 'Which way to the nearest Fiery Heart temple?'

'Uh, not sure, sir,' a small boy quailed, clutching his rake. 'But the old man does.'

'Then be a good lad an' fetch him, quickly now.'

The templar watched as the boy ran off towards a cluster of patched up buildings. With luck he'd get directions out of this backwater and return to his order. Then perhaps he could assemble a new army and bring hell to the orcs.

'You elf cur!' The man roared, smashing Legless across the face, knocking him to the floorboards. 'Stay away from my daughter, you hear?'

The disgruntled elf picked himself up from the floor and watched sullenly as the young girl exited the Black Stag tavern with her father. She didn't spare him another glance.

'Human filth,' Legless snarled. 'One day some beastman chief will raze this place to the ground. And good riddance I say.' Suddenly he found himself surrounded by angry men. They didn't look happy.

'Filth, are we?' One of them sneered. 'We'll see about that…'

Legless disappeared in the ensuing brawl.

Legless opened his eyes. He felt bruises and hurts all over his body. At least he was alive. Above he could see a dark, wooden roof, banded with rafters. The air was thick with the stench of straw, leather and horses. A whinny to his right confirmed his current location: The Deinste Village Stables.

Automatically he struggled to rise, only to find that leather straps were holding him down. What was he doing here? More importantly, how did he get here?

'Oh look, the elf's awake,' came a gleesome voice, in strong Reikspiel. Instantly his bonds were released and arms corded with muscle seized him by the shoulders.

'Let's get you to work, lad,' came another voice. His vision was bleary, but he could make out a tough-looking shape with a red beard. 'Keep him here awhile; that'll teach him a thing or two about a common man's work.'

'Aye, we'll do just that,' the first man agreed. 'Come now, wake up properly, there's work to be done!' A tankard of water splashed into his face and he jerked awake, blinking. Before him, hand on axe, stood Skurdi. Around him stood a group of grimy but nevertheless sturdy looking men.

'See you later, no legs,' the dwarf jeered. 'The rest of us are just going on a wee trip back down. Thanks for the runestone.' He waved the small elf rune Aelenar had given Legless. 'If I see any great, stinking piles of horse manure I'll bring it back for your chores.'

Legless scowled as the slayer departed.

'You know what you must do,' Aelenar, now clad in basic human-crafted leathers, told the gathered Red Wolves. He paused, narrowing his eyes. ' I notice there is only three of you. Where is Legless?'

There was an uncomfortable silence.

'Ah, he had some rather important business to attend to,' Kurt began. He felt that he needed to protect his companion's whereabouts right now.

'Business? With whom? There are no other elves in this village.'

'Well,' Merideon began, but Skurdi interrupted him.

'Just felt like he needed to molest some o' the young maidens here in Deinste.' Skurdi grinned nastily. 'Naturally, after some…persuasion, he thought it'd be better if he helped the humans by mucking out the stables, good laddie.'

Aelenar raised an eyebrow.

'Indeed? Well, I'll be back in my quarters when you return. If you return…'

'Bloody elves,' the slayer scoffed as the trio marched off towards the cleft in the rock. 'Always have to make things sound so tragic.'

Once past the iron gateway, the three adventurers advanced down a dirty tunnel, deeper into the earth. The floor beneath their boots was thick and brown with filth and grime, and the close air stank like a sewer. Before long they sensed the stench of unwashed fur and a slight tremor indicated something coming down the passage. Straining his dwarven ears, Skurdi could hear a faint braying. His raised his axe and grinned. It was time for his life's purpose: battle.

'Pull out your puny weapons, lads. The goat-beasts approach!'

From the far doorway the beastmen spilled, like a horde of fur and hooves, crowned with sharp horns. They carried a variety of rusted hand weapons and their reddish eyes glinted with daemonic light.

'Your death is here, Gors!' Skurdi shouted in Khazalid. Closing the distance, he swung out with his axe. The weapon connected with the wooden haft of the Gor's axe. Slicing straight through, the blade bit deep into the beast's chest, hurling it backwards. Leaping over the bloody corpse, the slayer swept into the next beastman, blocking an overhead strike and cutting diagonally downwards. The blow split the Gor in two and soon the dwarf was standing in a pool of black blood.

Kurt held his orc blade in two hands, for more control. While the beastman rushed towards him, waving a crude scimitar over its brutish head, he prepared for the impact. Then the scimitar came slashing at his head and he parried. Continuing his sweep, he brought his sword down to cut into his foe's neck. The next Gor came at him, curling horns like a ram's adorning its brow. The outlaw ducked beneath a swing from its spiked mace and struck out at its leg. The blade cut through sinew, flesh and bone, bringing the monster down. Standing over the felled Gor, Kurt smiled nastily before twirling his blade and stabbing downwards.

Merideon stood back from the fighting, trying to get a clear shot with his pistol. When he got one, he didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger. A cloud of black smoke erupted from the gun as the shot slammed into a Gor's forehead. It ground to a halt, killed outright by the pistol ball, before keeling over. Another Gor, distracted by the blast, changed its charge direction past the slayer towards the noble. Calmly, Merideon holstered his weapon and pulled out the other pistol. As the braying fiend came raging towards him, its axe raised threateningly, he kept his cool and aimed. If the shot was a good one, he could take it down before it reached him.

The shot cracked into the beast's skull, and the corpse crashed to the ground in front of Merideon's boots. He smiled smugly.

'Now that's the way to use blackpowder weapons.'

'Ah, a ruby. I'll be keeping this then,' Kurt sniggered, pocketing the gemstone and kicking the chest closed with a snap. Other than the stone the chest had been empty.

'Let me see that, human,' Skurdi demanded, palm outstretched. By the look on his face, Kurt knew the dwarf was serious. Begrudgingly, he took out the gem and handed it over. For a moment the dwarf inspected it, turning the small stone over in his hands. Then he raised his head and glared at the outlaw critically.

'This is no ruby, Waldheim. This is a bloodstone, a rare gem useful for certain tasks. I'll be hanging onto this for a while.' He tucked the bloodstone away.

'But…' Kurt started.

'Enough, manling! The passage continues on yonder. Come! I smell beasts…'

With more experience fighting against beastmen, ogres and trolls under their belts, the trio of Red Wolves came to a door resembling a metal-barred jail door. It stood slightly ajar, the flickering light emanating from below accompanied by a low rumbling, like that of a hungry animal.

'Finally, some more trophies,' Kurt mumbled, kicking open the door and standing at the top of the stone steps. He looked down into a prison pit, the floor of which was covered in straw, furs and filth. The room stank of dung. But what attracted his attention most was the horned beast staring back at him, its axe clutched in both hands. Giving a bestial roar, the Minotaur challenged the human. Gladly accepting, Kurt rushed down the stairs and into battle.

The Minotaur's eyes gleamed redly as it brought its axe down in a double-handed swing. Kurt raised his sword to parry, but the impact smashed the blade from his hand. The orcish weapon went spinning across the floor and Kurt was forced to roll aside as the Minotaur struck again. Lashing out with his boot, he managed to trip the beast as it thundered forwards on massive hooves. As it crashed forwards into the foot of the staircase, he circled the monster and scrambled over to where his sword lay.

Unleashing a hail of lead into the Minotaur with his repeating pistol, Merideon clambered down the steps and unsheathed his rapier. Slashing and stabbing in a whirlwind of pinpricks and bloody swordplay, he danced back and forth as the beast righted itself and howled in defiance.

'For the might of Grimnir!' Skurdi threw himself from the top of the stairs onto the second Minotaur. His axe cleaved into the beast's neck, sticking fast with the slayer clinging onto it. With an angry bellow, the Minotaur shook Skurdi free. Rolling to his feet, the slayer brought his axe up just in time to block the huge club that was descending on him. A hoof kicked out and the slayer was sent flying against the wall. Charging back at the beast, he engaged in a series of rapid hacks as both dwarf and Minotaur exchanged blows. Breaking apart, the Minotaur roared, revealing a set of decaying fangs. Skurdi roared back and shook his axe meaningfully. The combatants rushed back into combat, the club smacking Skurdi across the head. In return his axe skimmed the Minotaur's shoulder, releasing another trail of blood. Letting go of its club with one hand, the monster backhanded the dwarf in the face. Skurdi shook his head, spat blood and rammed his axe into the Minotaur's chest.

With Merideon occupying the Minotaur's attention, circling around it and daring it into the attack, Kurt grabbed a handful of fur and hacked a gouge in the beast's back. Climbing up, he held tight as the yowling Minotaur tried to shake him off. Merideon took this as an opportunity to step up his own attack, lacerating his foe's shins in a flurry of steel. Finally, with the Bloodletting Sword plunged deep between its shoulder blades, the Minotaur gave one last howl of pain and fell, Kurt riding the body down. Quickly, he knelt and began sawing off one of the beast's horns.

'For the Fighters' Guild,' he said to Merideon by way of explanation. 'I'll take the horns of the other one, too.'

Skurdi cut through the leg of the Minotaur, toppling it like a tree. With a cloud of dust and straw, the beast fell heavily, its club rolling away across the floor. Taking advantage, Skurdi dodged the pool of blood and clambered atop the beast's back. As it struggled to rise, he kicked it savagely in the spine.

'This is not my death,' he snarled, ending the Minotaur's life with a single blow. 'Do you think cow manure will do instead?'

'This time, I will triumph!' Verag, daemon of chaos, had found another statue to possess. His unique power was at hand, and he had no intention of holding back this time. He motioned with his jagged sword. 'Destroy the slayer!'

With a dull moan, the dragon ogre bodyguard lumbered towards Skurdi. Verag grinned, his elongated fangs protruding from his stone face. His stone eyes gleamed with red light and his whip lashed the air. Crackles of energy burst from its length. As the noble and the outlaw entered the room, he flapped his wings, stone splinters and rubble flaking from them as he rose into the air and flew towards his foes.

Once again, Skurdi was faced by a giant daemon-lizard armed with a weapon as tall as an ogre. But this time he had experience on his side. He knew the dragon ogre's strengths and weaknesses; knew its lumbering bulk would only work against it; knew he could easily roll aside from its sweeping blows and duck beneath the flashing blade. Attacking the monstrous titan from in close, near its four, draconic legs, he was able to slash numerous cuts in its heels and ankles. While the dragon ogre turned this way and that, looking for its dwarfish opponent, its weapon taking chunks out of the wall and floor in its frustrations, Skurdi kept up his rain of blows, spilling a steady stream of black blood around him. Moving agilely between the legs, he lashed out, the runes glowing brightly upon his axe. As one of the legs lifted up to crush him, he leapt aside and hacked into another, like a berserk woodcutter working savagely amidst constantly moving trees.

Merideon closed his eyes and activated his Doomfire Ring. Energies began to gather around him, bright red pustules from the wind of fire. Gathering them into his ring, he unleashed them upon the approaching gargoyle with all the force he could muster.

'Take this, you daemonic scum!'

A column of scarlet flame enveloped Verag as he drew closer. He threw back his head in agony; his dog-like jaws open in torment. Before the beast could retaliate, Kurt rushed forwards and hacked at the creature with his sword. The blade clanged off stone skin, but cracks emerged in Verag's stony hide. Laughing insanely, the daemon threw Kurt across the room with a gesture.

'You'll have to do better than that, human!' The daemon's eyes glowed like balefires in a harsh wind.

'Have a taste of shot!' Merideon sneered, pulling out his pistols and opening fire. The bullets rocketed into Verag's chest, punching him back onto the ground. Lashing his whip and sword, he snarled evilly and thundered towards the humans. His body was decaying, and now he would have to finish them before the statue was destroyed.

The jagged sword cut through Merideon's defences and slammed into his body. The shadow armour didn't save him and he was knocked down, the sword wrenched from his body. Rolling away, he avoided the next blow as it crashed into the flagstones, leaving a smoking crater where it hit. Chasing the struggling man across the floor, Verag laughed, each stroke of his sword leaving a glittering path through the air. Getting to his feet, Merideon did what he could but the stone skin seemed too tough for his weapon. Dancing out of reach, he glanced over to where Kurt was slowly rising, rubbing his back.

The outlaw rolled his shoulders. Suddenly, he realised where he was and raised his sword. That bastard Verag, he thought. His face twisted into a savage mask of hate and he ran towards where the gargoyle was battering the noble.

The jagged sword drew blood from Merideon's arm just as Kurt thudded into Verag's side, causing the gargoyle to stagger slightly. Turning to face the new threat, Verag bared his fangs as the Bloodletting Sword skewered his throat.

'Take that,' the outlaw shouted, 'and this!' He twisted the sword, opening a hole in the statue. Rubble crumbled and stone split as Verag was destroyed. With a howl of rage and frustration, Verag disintegrated into a pile of smoking rubble and dust.

'Well done, manling,' came a gruff voice. It was Skurdi, covered from head to foot in Dragon Ogre blood. Behind him lay the massive corpse, a stinking pile of scales, claws and flesh.

'So where do these Bloodstones go then?' Kurt stood in front of the shimmering, crimson portal on the far side of the room. Bordered by snarling, daemonic heads, it stood twenty feet tall and reeked of chaos energy. Beside the gateway, in a small hollow in the wall, were five depressions. 'It looks pretty obvious to me.'

'We're not putting them in, not yet.' Skurdi was grim faced. 'Who knows what lies beyond this gateway of blood?'

'But surely this is the way to the Soulstone?' Merideon raised an eyebrow.

'It could be, lad, but it could also unleash hordes of daemons. I'd rather live for at least another day.'

'What chance is there of that happening?' Kurt was sceptical. 'There isn't any other way out of here except…'

As he stepped backwards his boot caught against a metal rod in the floor. There was a flash of blue light and a swirl of wind ruffled the companions' hair. When the breeze had gone, a shimmering azure portal had materialized opposite the red one.

'What in the name of…'

'I say we go through that one,' Merideon suggested. 'It could be a way out.'

Skurdi spent a moment considering the two portals. The blue one certainly didn't feel hostile to his dwarven senses. They needed to return to Deinste.

'Okay, we chance the blue one. And pray it gets back to the village.' He held up the handful of bloodstones. 'These…we'll keep for next time. Assuming this thing stays open.' He gestured at the blue portal. 'Come on then, manlings.'

The Black Stag echoed with the clamour of brawling and smashing bottles. The fighting was tense and bloody, and broken furniture littered the common room. Soon the fighting spilled out into the street, bringing the local militia around to investigate. They hung around the edges, not willing to break it up in case they themselves suffered a broken nose or worse, a smashed face.

Skurdi swung the splintered chair leg with all his might. It broke the man's jaw with an audible crack and the slayer followed through with a kick to his stomach.

'That's for insultin' my family, scum,' he spat, 'and this is for insultin' me!' He brought the chair leg crashing down on the back of the fallen man's head.

While the brawl raged inside and outside the tavern, Kurt ducked and weaved about the combatants, taking opportunities. A dropped purse here; a tumbled bag of coins there. He was able to procure a tidy sum. He was just about to make off back to his quarters when a sturdy hand clasped itself onto his shoulder.

'You'd better come with us, son.' Turning, he matched eyes with a broad-shouldered man flanked by two of the militia. This was their captain. How could he be so stupid? He cursed himself for his own greed. Seeing no avenue of escape, he had no choice this time. Panic soared through his mind as he was led away. If they found out who he was…

Merideon gave the drunkard a good kick even though the stinking man had already collapsed. The noble had suffered a few minor cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. This brawl had simply been an inconvenience. After fighting against beastmen, trolls and the like the last thing they'd wanted upon their return was another damned fight. Huffing in exasperation, he adjusted his clothing and swept away to find Gabrielle.

The militia hurled him roughly into the cell. Stumbling on the floor, he tripped and sprawled onto a filthy, straw pallet in one corner. The door slammed shut and he heard the jangle of keys, indicating that he was locked in. Naturally, this was a jail.

Cursing his luck, he eyed his new surroundings. Might as well get used to this place, he thought. After many adventures and wanderings, daring escapades and glorious discoveries, explorations, trials, a risky return to the Empire and masterful disguises to avoid capture, he had finally been arrested. But surely he had to be able to get out of here? This was no Barak Varr, no Altdorf and no Middenheim. This was simply Deinste, a small village on the Middenland-Nordland border. A plan began to form in his mind…

Three hours later, Kurt Waldheim slumped down against the wall. The stars were shining down from a midnight blue sky outside, as seen from the small, barred window of his cell. He had tried everything he could, but it was hopeless. Nothing could be done, it seemed. The walls were too strong, the door was unusually well constructed and the lock had nearly broken his lockpicks with the effort. The flagstones were immovable and the ceiling was too high to reach. There was nothing he could stand on to reach them either to search for a secret door.

He was stuck, completely helpless. And he hated it.

Suddenly, he heard a commotion outside the jail door: a crashing and banging, followed by several shouted oaths and swearing in Khazalid. There was the clink of gold coins on the stone floor.

'There, take ye money and be done with it,' a gruff voice growled. It was followed by a bright clang and Kurt jerked his head up as a familiar figure shouldered its way into the cell. His eyes widened in disbelief.

'Glad to see you too, lad,' Skurdi grunted. 'Now, let's be off, we've a drinkin' session to get back to…'

7