01 - Empire in Chaos (30 page)

A heroic death in battle? He almost laughed at the notion. It sounded fine in
grand speeches by commanders and leaders of men, and when surrounded by friends
and family, an ale in hand, far from the true ravages of war. Death wasn’t
noble. No one who had smelt the aftermath of a battle, the stink of blood and
faeces, of flesh and spilt brains, could say there was anything noble about it.
No one who had heard the screams of a man as he took three days to die from a
gut wound, or the terrified pleas of a soldier begging the chirurgeons not to
amputate his legs could think there was anything glorious about battle.

And yet here he stood, his crossbow bolts stuck into the ground beside him
for ease of loading, awaiting his own “glorious” death against innumerable
foes. He stood behind the low boulders, and fired into the mass of greenskins,
his first shot taking one in the shoulder. Swiftly he reached for another bolt.
Without a miracle, they
would
all die here, but there would be no one to
record their deaths. It was not that Grunwald feared death—far from it—but
he did not welcome it like some last great achievement. No, he would die kicking
and spitting, refusing Morr’s grasp as long as he was able.

Karl walked within the perimeter of the crude defensive wall, shouting orders
and encouraging his men with the virtues and strength of the goddess Myrmidia.
The knights stood grim and weary, waiting for the enemy to reach their lines.

They didn’t have long to wait.

The first orcs were cut down mercilessly as they scrambled over the boulders,
their necks slashed open and their limbs hacked from their bodies. Thorrik stood
resolute and fearless on the wall, his axe carving a bloody swathe around him as
he hacked the blade down onto the greenskins’ heads, splitting through helmets
and skulls alike.

Annaliese called on Sigmar as a greenskin vaulted the boulders, landing
before her with a massive blade in each hand. She almost smashed its head from
its shoulders with her attack, the orc’s skull pulverised to mush.

Grunwald fired another crossbow bolt into the enemy at close range, punching
a burly greenskin off the rock wall, falling amongst his comrades pushing
forward from behind. Dropping the black-framed heavy crossbow to the ground, he
drew his pistols, and another orc died as its head was shattered by lead shot.
Another orc lurched towards him from the left, and his other pistol swung around
and boomed, and the creature fell back, blood spraying out behind it.

Holstering the pistols, the witch hunter drew his mace in his right hand and
a hunting knife in his left. The face of an orc was crushed with a heavy blow of
his flanged mace, the sound of metal shattering bone sickening to his ears.
Eldanair continued firing his arrows at close range, the shafts sinking deep
into thickly muscled green flesh—indeed he fought with such grace and fluidity
that you would not have known he carried an injury except for the growing patch
of blood on his tunic where the arrow had struck him the previous night.

A massive greenskin, its flesh almost black, roared and jumped heavily down
off the rock wall, the ground thumping beneath it. Apart from its brutal face,
it was completely ensconced in thick metal armour plates, and it carried a giant
barbed blade in its hands, a weapon nearly as tall as the creature’s seven feet
of height.

Grunwald yelled a warning as the monstrous creature stalked towards
Annaliese, the witch hunter struggling to defend himself against a pair of
snickering, spear-wielding goblins.

Eldanair, hearing his shout, swung neatly around and fired—the arrow
punched through the metal plating of the creature’s chest, sinking deep, and it
turned its attention to the elf. Standing his ground, the elf fired again, his
shot punching through the metal at the orc’s throat, but then it was on him,
swinging its weapon in a lethal arc.

Eldanair ducked beneath the blow, stepping neatly to the side, but the
massive orc anticipated the move and its iron-encased fist swung out in a wild
roundhouse punch that almost decapitated the elf. He was thrown through the air
to smash against the inside of the rock wall, where he slumped to the ground
lifelessly.

“Eldanair!” shouted Annaliese desperately. She smashed her hammer into the
side of the orc’s brutish helmet, shattering one of the horns protruding from
it, and sending the beast reeling. It regained its balance and swung towards
her, snarling as it cracked its neck from side to side.

It towered over the girl, each of its arms the same diameter as her entire
body, but she stood defiant and unafraid. With a roar, it hurled itself at her.

Three armoured shapes intercepted the massive orc, as Karl and a pair of his
knights raced in to cover the breach in the defence. One of them died instantly
as the massive cleaver of the orc carved down through his shoulder with a squeal
of metal, the blade cutting all the way through to the hip. The two parts of the
knight fell to the ground amid a torrent of blood, even as Karl drove his blade
into the orc’s chest, and his comrade smashed his own blade down onto the
beast’s arms.

Covered in blood, Karl turned from the dead monster to see if Annaliese was
hurt, but the girl was looking towards the fallen figure of Eldanair. Her hammer
sang through the air as she hurled herself through the melee towards the elf.
Swearing, Karl was a step behind her, desperately fending off attacks thrown
towards the girl. He slammed his shield into the face of an orc as it slipped to
one knee in a pool of blood, and lunged to intercept a blow from a cleaver that
would have killed Annaliese from behind.

The girl threw herself to the ground at the elf’s side, checking for a pulse,
as Karl stood defensively over her, his sword flashing out at any greenskin that
drew near.

Grunwald rammed his knife up into the throat of another foe, and heaved with
all his strength to knock the dying creature to the side, where it flopped onto
the ground. A fist cracked against his chest, and he saw a blade flashing
towards his throat, but it was intercepted at the last moment by an axe.

Nodding his thanks to Thorrik, he swung back into the attack, which was now
devolving into little more than a deadly brawl, as more greenskins vaulted the
boulders. They would be surrounded within minutes, and then they would be
massacred.

“Pull back to the cave!” came Karl’s shout, and Grunwald realised that the
knight too had seen the danger.

“Come, Annaliese,” shouted the preceptor.

“He lives! We must take him with us!” shot back the girl, and she began
trying to drag the elf back from the battle. Grunwald ducked through the fray to
aid her. A blade hacked into his shoulder and he winced, stumbling. The killing
strike did not come, however, and he saw a knight surge past him, ramming his
sword through the orc’s throat, the blade sliding in deep. Before he could offer
his thanks, the knight was impaled upon a barbed spear from behind, lifted up
into the air by the strength of his killer.

Grunwald half ran, half stumbled through the battle to Annaliese’s side. He
gripped one of the elf’s legs and began to drag him back, Karl walking backwards
before them, protecting them as best he could.

“Thorrik!” shouted Grunwald as he saw the dwarf still battling furiously on
the stone wall. “We need you!”

Karl was deflecting blows aimed at him with his now battered shield, but it
was clear the knight was tiring.

“Knights of the Blazing Sun!” he roared. “Back to the cave!”

A blow smashed into his shield, knocking the preceptor back a step, though
his return blow ripped the throat from the savage greenskin, who died with dark
blood bubbling from its throat.

Then Thorrik was at his side, lending the strength of his arm, and they
fought a retreat inside the dark cave mouth. The entrance was wide, but it
narrowed sharply. They would make their stand here, and fight to the last.

The echoing of the feral roars of the greenskins reverberated around the
cave, bouncing off the sloping, natural walls.

Dropping Eldanair’s leg to the ground, Grunwald leapt back into the fight.
But just as any forlorn hope of victory seemed to fade, the orcs began to pull
back. Their faces were fearful, and they seemed indecisive and unsure of
themselves.

A massive greenskin roared its fury, and violently shoved the orcs forward,
but they resisted. Alone the orc chieftain stomped forwards, and its warriors
edged forwards at his back.

Karl and Thorrik stepped out to meet the orc head on. The monster swung a
pair of huge cleavers, and Karl was knocked to his knees from the power behind
the blows. Thorrik lashed out at the orc’s legs, but his blow was deflected and
the orc kicked out, knocking the dwarf back.

A shot rang out and smoke spewed from the barrel of Grunwald’s pistol. The
orc staggered back, blood pumping from its neck, and Karl and Thorrik surged
forward. A blow from the chieftain sent the preceptor reeling, but Thorrik’s
blade found its mark, sinking deep into the greenskin’s groin. It roared in fury
and slammed a cleaver down onto the dwarf’s shoulder, bashing the super-hard
gromril metal out of shape, driving the dwarf to one knee. Surging upright,
Thorrik’s axe hammered up into the orc’s chin. The giant orc staggered, and his
warriors faltered.

Karl’s blade buried itself in the chieftain’s chest, and the massive orc
fell. With one downward sweep of his axe, Thorrik decapitated the beast and
raised the severed head above his own, roaring his defiance to the horde of
greenskins. Their will to fight was broken, and they turned as one and fled from
the cave.

It was then that Grunwald once again noticed the stench on the air. He had
thought it was rotting carrion at first, and there certainly was something akin
to that deeper within the darkness, but there was something else, something that
niggled at the edge of his mind.

The power of Chaos.

“There is something here,” he said, his voice deep and sepulchral in the
sudden silence.

As ancient as the mountains themselves it awoke in the depths of cave, roused
from slumber by the sound of steel on steel, the screams of the dying, and the
delicious taste of blood on the air. It had once been a normal creature, but it
had long ago been twisted and corrupted by one of the great gods of Chaos, and
its nature altered. For millennia it had slumbered, waking occasionally to kill
and feed. It had grown powerful and strong over the years, and its furred hide
was stronger than steel.

It felt the presence of the great god, the feathered lord that had given it
strength, and it could feel that the power of Chaos was strong—far stronger
than it had ever experienced before. The creature could taste the coiling winds
of magic on its long tongue, and it breathed in deeply, inhaling the luxurious
scent deep into its lungs.

It was called many things—among the dwarfs it was known as the
Dum
Thaggor,
though the mountain kin had no records of it having awoken for
countless centuries, and its existence was all but forgotten. Before the coming
of Sigmar, in the times before the Empire, the local tribesman had dubbed it
Tefalbar,
while to the orcs and goblins it had no name, but they believed it
was some primal aspect of one of their deities, and left it offerings of corpses
and gold.

The sounds of battle came again, echoing down through the darkness, and the
mighty creature lifted itself up on massive clawed feet. Lips drew back from its
huge jaws, exposing a fearsome array of teeth, and eyes and smaller mouths
pushed through the flesh of its muzzle, rippling the skin, blinking soundlessly
open before merging back into the living flesh once more. Its own eyes blinked,
irises black and ringed with flickering blue flame.

Lifting itself onto its hind legs it roared, the sound deafening and making
the air ripple with change. It dropped down to all fours, and began climbing up
to face the intruders of its realm, claws ripping great chunks of rock from the
cave walls as it ascended towards the surface.

“What in the name of Sigmar was that?” said Annaliese, her face pale as the
sound of the ungodly roar echoed through the cave.

“Something that the greenskins feared to face,” said Karl, turning around
warily with his sword in his hand, looking into the darkness surrounding them.
The other knights too circled warily, licking their lips in uncertainty. “I
don’t think this is the safest of caves to rest in,” the preceptor added.

“You don’t think?” snapped Grunwald.

“How is the elf?” said Karl.

“Not fit to travel,” said Annaliese. Eldanair had regained consciousness, but
was clearly unable to stand.

“Perfect,” said Karl. “So we just sit here and wait for the beast of the
underworld to appear then?”

“I will not leave Eldanair here,” snapped Annaliese, “and it lessens you to
even think it.”

Karl swallowed hard, but had the grace to look shamefaced. “I’m sorry,” he
said, “I spoke out of anger.”

“Of course we cannot leave him. But could we not carry him?”

“The orcs have set up camp below,” said one of the knights, walking back into
the cave. “They have sentries watching the entrance.”

“Well I guess that answers that,” said Karl.

“Have you ever heard of any beast haunting this area?” Grunwald asked
Thorrik.

The dwarf shook his head. “But I do not know this place, manling, and do not
know its local legends.”

“Let’s get a fire banked,” suggested Grunwald. “If it is any natural beast,
it will fear the flames.”

“There wasn’t anything natural about the sound of that roar,” muttered Karl,
but the preceptor organised his men swiftly to do as the witch hunter said.
Doing
something
was better than just sitting waiting for whatever was
coming for them.