Fellblade

VII

Nargond

'Human filth!' Legless shrieked at the surrounding men. He was out in the yard, armed only with a hoe. The sun was burning down on him and it was only early morning. He still had the rest of the day to suffer through. While the rest of the Red Wolves prepared to leap through a magical portal, taking them who knew where, he was still stuck here doing chores. 'I give up, I'm going,' the elf spat.

'Stay where you are, elf,' a large, barrel-chested man growled. He was clad in a chainmail hauberk and carried a sheathed sword. Legless recognised him as the militia captain. 'You'll do your penance, and there'll not be a word against it.'

'Make me,' Legless snarled, raising the hoe and taking up a fighting stance. The humans had unwittingly given him a weapon. Now he'd use it to leave this dung-hole and rejoin the party. Hopefully he wouldn't be too late before they left.

The man sighed, sword still scabbarded. He rolled his eyes.

'Look, we don't want any trouble, just…'

'You asked for it,' Legless shouted, rushing forwards.

The elf span the hoe like a quarterstaff. It whirled around his head, a deadly combination of wood and iron, the light glinting from its blade. As he neared the militia captain, who remained motionless, he let out a war cry.

'For the Asur, and the lost colony of…'

Suddenly an arrow sprouted from Legless's shoulder, knocking him backwards. Before he could recover, another impaled his kneecap, bringing him to the ground, where he fell messily into a pile of fresh horse manure. A tight knot of men surrounded their leader. But it was the elf, Aelenar, who strode towards the downed elf, his face emotionless.

'You are no longer counted amongst the Asur,' Aelenar hissed. 'One such as you who would defile the virginity of human lasses, you should be ashamed.'

'What do you care?' Legless spat up at Aelenar. 'Youth, I saw the…'

'I care not how old you are. I know that you must leave at once.'

'Or?'

'There is no other choice. These good men are our friends, our allies. And this is how you repay them? With constant attempts on their daughters and wives?'

'It's been a long time, Aelenar. I long for…'

'You disgust me. You will pack your few belongings and leave Deinste before nightfall.'

'But I'm with the Red Wolves. They…'

'Care not for you any longer. You are best gone from their company.'

For a moment Legless was silent. Then he struggled to stand, but could not.

'I will not leave here. It is you, who have befriended these pitiful beings, who will leave this place!'

The hoe came up, swinging at Aelenar's head. Just in time the elf dodged, evading the blow. But in doing so he let loose the arrow he had nocked. There was a thunk as the missile embedded itself in Legless's heart. Legless's eyes widened momentarily, his jaws agape in surprise. Seconds later his body crumpled, collapsing into the manure with a wet squelch.

A shocked silence filled the yard.

'Rest well, Legless of the lost colony.' Aelenar turned away. 'Dispose of the body as you see fit. Actually, you better burn it. I leave for Altdorf, at dawn.'

Morgan stood in the Deinste Graveyard. He knelt before the tombstone, reading the engraved, golden letters.

'Here lies Amanda Keppler, beloved of Morgan,' it said. 'She shall forever bring life to where there is suffering.'

Morgan cast his mind back to when Amanda had been alive. It was true, she had brought life. As a priestess of Shallya, she had helped those in need. But that was before the incident that had so cruelly taken her own life. For a moment the knight mentally paid his respects. Then he stood again, looked once more at the grave of his wife, and left.

The grey-haired trader, Weissner, narrowed his eyes. His spectacles slid a notch down the bridge of his avian nose.

'You sure about this?'

'Just take the damned money,' Morgan spat, shoving the pouch of gold crowns into the man's feeble hand. 'And give me the book.'

Somewhat reluctantly, Weissner handed over the large, leather-bound tome. As its weight left his hands, a burden seemed to disappear from his mind. No longer would he have to hide it on his premises. He had got rid of it, forever.

'What are you going to do with such an unholy artefact?'

'Not your concern, old man,' the knight grunted, running his hand down the spine. He turned to go. 'Remember, keep quiet.'

'Your secret is safe with me, my lord.'

'Estalian dog,' Kurt snarled, reeling from where the noble had hit him. 'I accept your challenge.'

'Good, good, I look forward to seeing you at dawn.'

'Wait,' Kurt mused, 'I've got a better idea.'

Before the noble knew what Kurt was doing, the outlaw had his blade in hand. There was a burst of bright blood as the orcish sword ran the noble through.

'What…you coward,' the man spluttered, reaching for his own blade but knowing it was too late. He stumbled, and fell, his gear crashing to the ground.

'Better to get it over with now,' Kurt growled. 'I leave at dawn.'

'But you can't go!' Gabrielle pleaded. She was kneeling at Merideon's feet, looking up at him. She looked so forlorn, her golden hair spilling down around her shoulders.

'I must,' Merideon sighed. He sheathed his rapier and checked his gear. 'You must stay here for I cannot guarantee your safety where I'm going.'

'But…'

'My dear Gabrielle…please, stay for yourself, for me, for us. I will return, of that there is no doubt. And when I do, perhaps I will have the key to unlock our destiny.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean perhaps I might find the book I am searching for, that which will allow me to reclaim my ancestral home. Then we can have our very own kingdom. How does that sound?'

Gabrielle was silent. Her eyes were wet and he could see she was going to cry. But he had no choice. What was he to do – abandon the Red Wolves and the quest to find the Soulstone? He wasn't about to let the others get all the action. He needed to do this, to prove that he was worthy of Gabrielle's affections. And if anything, to prove that he was above and beyond the like of his companions. After all, they were nothing but renegades and outlaws. Kneeling down, he took Gabrielle's hands in his.

'I swear now that I will return to you. You have your training, your pistols and enough gold to get by. I must go, you must not stop me – the future of the lands of men could be at stake.' Making up some lie would most likely persuade her, he thought bitterly. But the Red Wolves were waiting, he had to go.

'Okay,' she replied. 'I'll wait for you.'

'Good, my sweetheart,' he said coolly. He raised her to her feet and hugged her close. 'Be safe, my Gabrielle, be safe.'

Skurdi slammed his tankard down on the bar top.

'Where in Grimnir's beard is the damned human? That portal could be closed!'

Kurt and Morgan looked away, both silently agreeing with the slayer. Suddenly the doors banged open and the noble stood in the entrance.

'What are you waiting for? The Gateway of Blood awaits!'

The four companions stood around the large, wooden chest. It was a heavy-looking affair, bound in bronze and locked with a large, brass mechanism.

'Do you think it's trapped?' Merideon drawled, his eyes narrowed.

'Hmmm…I think it is,' Morgan rumbled, chewing on a strip of tobacco. 'Kurt, use those lock picks of yours and get it open.'

'We have to disable the trap first,' the outlaw snapped. 'Stand back, all of you.'

The Red Wolves had passed the Gateway of Blood and fought various battles against beastmen patrolling the caves and tunnels of this strange underworld. Finally, after many hours of getting lost in the darkness, they had arrived at a small, square room adorned only with the treasure chest.

The two other men and the slayer took a cautious step backwards, gripping their weapons tightly. Kurt cast around and found a rock the size of his fist. Taking a deep breath, he threw it at the chest's lock. There was a metallic clunk as the projectile collided, bouncing off. Nothing happened.

'What in the name of Grimnir was that supposed to do?' Skurdi snarled.

'Just testing, master dwarf,' Kurt responded not too lightly. 'Patience…'

'Is a waste of time, manling. Now get on with it.'

Kurt sighed, cursing the impatience of fools. Taking his tools from his belt, he edged closer to the chest. It looked like just a battered, old trunk, but he knew that looks weren't everything. Kneeling, he gritted his teeth and prepared to roll aside, take his hand away or whatever it took to prevent himself losing a body part. Then he slipped in the wire and twisted. There was a sudden click, then nothing. Kurt frowned. He pushed slightly, and the lock snapped open. He shut his eyes. Nothing happened. Breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled off the padlock and yanked open the chest.

There was an apocalyptic explosion of white light, blinding all present. Kurt staggered back, clutching at his eyes.

'It's temporary, don't panic, manlings,' the slayer muttered.

After a while the light faded, and sight returned. The chest lay open, and in it was a suit of gleaming armour.

'In the name of Sigmar!' Morgan roared, rushing over and seizing up the breastplate. 'This is…this is incredible! The armour Valour, from the time of Sigmar himself!'

'I suggest you put it on,' Skurdi sneered, as the knight turned the various pieces in the light, adoring the small rubies and glinting gold. 'It'll be a lot better than that junk you're wearing right now.'

Morgan turned and was about to object, but then thought better of it.

The portal of shimmering, golden light reared in front of them at the top of the steps. It was a giant oval, sparkling like sunlight on the surface of the water.

'This is it, chaps,' Merideon said slowly, his jaw set in determination. He took of his hat, and held it to his chest. 'Any last words…'

'Get through the damned portal,' Skurdi growled. Shoving the humans aside, he leapt through. There was a shimmer as the slayer vanished.

'To riches,' Kurt muttered, his eyes alight with wonder at the portal's magnificence. Then he stepped forward and disappeared.

'Coming, Magnus?' Merideon's eyes never left the portal as he donned his feathered hat, whirled his cloak, checked his gear, and strode confidently through.

'I'll be damned by Sigmar if I don't,' Morgan spat. He looked left, right and then charged through into the golden splendour, a war cry on his lips.

'For the glory of Sigmar!'

Automatically he felt elated, thrilled. A vast plain of whiteness surrounded him, and he felt as if he was flying. Was this how the eagles felt as they looked down on the Empire from above? The motion brought him downwards slightly, and he felt as if he was being borne by something. His wounds were healed, he realised, and he smiled as he descended towards an area of greyness.

There was a mighty crunch as the three men and the dwarf hit the flagstones. Groaning, they struggled to their feet. Before them stretched a dark stairway, its end crowned with an elaborate door.

'What in the name of Sigmar just happened?' Morgan rubbed the back of his neck.

'Some sort of magical transportation device,' Skurdi replied, hefting his axe. 'Come, I smell daemons.'

The passage ran off into blackness, lit only by a series of braziers. As Magnus' boot caught a trip wire, a bunch of armed, thuggish men burst from behind them.

'You lot are trespassing 'ere,' one of the men scowled. 'Now, get ready to pay the price.'

'The only price we'll be paying is the time it takes to kill you bastards,' Skurdi muttered.

Several sweeps of a rune axe later, the slayer stepped over the bloodied and dismembered remnants of the thugs to examine a brass brazier on the wall. Taking hold of it, he gave it a good tug. There was the rumbling of stone on stone, and a secret door opened.

'Ah…I knew this was dwarf workmanship. Come, lads, let's get something to drink!'

The room was obviously a guard room, stocked up with barrels of good, dwarven ale. Skurdi pulled out his personal tankard and filled it up, and before long the party were gathered around one of the wooden tables, drinking to their heart's content.

'We'll spend the night here,' Merideon slurred, 'and then move on. I need a good sleep after those few…'

The four beastmen leered at the men, waving a motley collection of rusting weaponry. The four companions knew what to do. This sort of thing was far from new to them. Merideon gestured with his rapier, assigning one beastmen each. As the monsters bellowed and charged forwards, stampeding with heavy hooves, the Red Wolves moved to attack.

Morgan flinched as the axe collided with his armour. There was a burst of sparks and then his blade of leaping gold hacked into the beastman's neck. A burst of black blood fountained from it before it collapsed in a greasy pool.

'You will have no chance to strike!' Merideon sneered as his rapier slashed across his opponent's face. The cut left a diagonal line, weeping blood. Snarling bestially, the goatman raised its sword. True to his word, the noble darted back, his rapier flashing. A bloody figure of eight was carved on the beastman's chest. Then Merideon whipped out his pistol and put an iron ball in the creature's skull.

The orcish blade of Kurt Waldheim parried the wild attack and he rolled aside as the sword slashed the air. Kicking out, he knocked the legs from under the beastman, spilling it to the floor. As it made to rise, the outlaw came from behind and stabbed upwards through its gut. The blade burst through the front of its stomach as Kurt grinned nastily. Twisting his sword, he wrenched it out.

'What's taking you manlings so long?' Skurdi stood on top of his beast's corpse, his axe buried in its head.

After a thorough search of the room, they couldn't find any way out. Kurt kicked the wall, stubbing his toe.

'Self-inflicted hurt isn't going to help, Waldheim,' Skurdi chuckled.

'Now, if I were king,' Merideon mused to himself. He leaned forward in the throne atop the dais, chin resting on hand. Suddenly his boot touched one of the throne's legs and a hidden mechanism began to move. Rising quickly, the noble stood as the throne slid away to reveal a rectangular opening in the wall. 'Genius.'

'I am Rastin,' the sorcerer intoned, 'and my master said you would come. Now it is time for you to die.'

'And who exactly is your master, manling filth?'

'That is for you to find out, halfling.'

There was a moment of silence.

'Halfling?' Skurdi's face was aghast. Then he composed himself. 'Right, you're dead.'

The slayer rushed forwards, his axe raised. In one blow the table standing between the sorcerer and the dwarf was smashed to splinters. The next blow cut the man from neck to groin, blood spewing from the dying man's body. But even as he was killed, fell energies began to gather in the room.

'What is this, new devilry?' The slayer breathed. Suddenly, with four huge flashes of pink and blue sparks, a group of Horrors materialized. Instantly the slayer was locked in combat, battling against the foul minions of Tzeentch.

With the slayer busy, and Merideon and Magnus riffling through the bookshelves, Kurt kicked open the large, gargoyle adorned doorway.

A long room, cloaked in eerie half light greeted him. It was lined with more bookshelves, their interiors infested by scrolls, tomes and dusty bottles. Towards the end, a shadowy figure hunched at a large, ornate desk. Turning, the man pushed back his hood and glared at the intruder. His eyes glowed with a familiar, green light.

'Siareth?' Kurt was astonished. 'What are you…'

'It's been a while since you broke with me, traitors. Now you will pay for that treachery.'

'But wait! What's going on here?' Kurt didn't get an answer as a fiery bolt of flame flew from Siareth's staff. The warlock's evil laughter filled the air. The magical fire burned his face. Kurt gritted his teeth but the pain was too great. He cried out in agony, dropping his sword and collapsing.

'Finish him,' Siareth snarled. Stepping from the shadows, an armoured figure raised its deadly axe above the prone man.

Morgan and the others heard Kurt's cry. Toppling the bookshelves onto the slimy mess of purple daemon blood, the knight held out the warpjump spell jewel to Skurdi.

'Take hold of it, and together we can hand out justice.'

The slayer grinned wolfishly and there was a crimson flash as the knight and the slayer were transported.

'What!' Siareth stared, raising his staff defensively. The two menacing figures in front of him were more than capable of taking him down. And they were too close for him to unleash another spell. 'You scum…'

'For the blood of the fallen,' Skurdi roared, his axe carving through the staff and into Siareth. Blood exploded from the red robes and then the slayer was trampling down on empty cloth, the body vanished. Morgan's sword hovered above what was once his body's master.

'He's gone,' the knight hissed. 'Dead or not, he's gone. And good riddance.'

'Now, prepare to die, chaos warrior,' Skurdi bellowed at the armoured figure standing over Kurt's body.

In a flurry of blows, amidst the clash of steel, the chaos champions was felled like an iron tree trunk, crashing to the ground in a quake of metal.

'Quick,' the slayer panted, kneeling by the outlaw. 'He's still breathing.'

Merideon heaved Kurt's body onto the table. After ministering to the wounded man, he pulled out the scrap of parchment he had snatched from the book. As his eyes flickered over the scribbling, it dawned on him what it was. He smiled inwardly.

With the grinding of stone, Morgan and Skurdi heaved the desk back from its niche. Beneath was a trap door.

'The way out,' Merideon said softly. 'But first, we make camp here. Get some sleep. We continue in ten hours.'

By the flickering light of the fire, Morgan shared a pint with Skurdi.

'You slew Siareth,' Morgan said gratefully. He clasped Skurdi's shoulder. 'For that you have my gratitude and respect.'

'It was nothing,' the slayer responded, taking another swig. 'You would've done the same.'

'It means much to Magnus though,' Morgan said, 'me though,' he corrected. But Skurdi had caught his slip up. He raised his eyebrow, but said nothing.

'Get some rest now, manling. You'll be needing it.'

7