Daemon Gates Trilogy (16 page)

The warning stopped him from punishing the rest of the herd, but it did little to staunch the beastlord's anger and shame. 'We failed,' Bloodgore snarled, his massive clawed hands clenching and unclenching, desperate to rend some­thing. 'They escaped!'

'What of it?' Varlek asked softly, turning to look out along the river. The boat's stern was just visible in the dis­tance. They were simply a convenient target, that is all.' He smiled, an unpleasant expression. 'Your beastmen per­formed admirably.'

'The boat was undamaged,' Bloodgore insisted, glaring at his herd as if he could flay them with his gaze.

'But we hit it' Varlek pointed out, 'and that was our goal.' He shrugged. 'Even a boat that size could not be sunk by mere rifle fire, unless we were exceedingly skilled, or blessed by our master. It was a moving target too far away for spears or even bows to do much damage, and moving rapidly.' He nodded. 'I counted at least two successful hits, and there may have been others, and that was from a sin­gle rifle.' His eyes gleamed. 'With more practice we will hit every time, and then we can destroy our enemies before they can even reach us.'

'None of them were even wounded' Bloodgore mut­tered, although his rage had been replaced by petulance. 'I saw no blood.'

'Nor did I' Varlek admitted, frowning. 'They reacted quickly to our attack, and were able to take cover. I thought we had taken them by surprise, but perhaps one of them saw something just beforehand' He shrugged again. 'No matter; we know we can hit such a target, and that was all I wished to test at this time.'

Bloodgore shook his massive horned head. He did not understand the idea of attacking something if not for food, for power, or for protection. What now?' he asked the sor­cerer.

'Now we return to camp' Varlek replied. "We may find more targets along the way, which will provide good prac­tice.'

Bloodgore turned and began barking orders at the other beastmen, as the sorcerer waited impatiently. He hated tak­ing orders from this strange man with his long robes and gleaming jewellery. It was bad enough that he had lost control of the herd to the armoured one, but now it was as if he had two masters, and they often fought for control, with Bloodgore and his herd trapped between them. Then a thought occurred to him, one that split the beastlord's scaled face into a broad, nasty grin. Perhaps the two would finally come to blows, the Chaos champion and the Chaos

sorcerer. It did not matter which one survived. The victor would be weakened, and then Bloodgore would challenge him. That might be his only chance to finally defeat the armoured human or the strange sorcerer and regain con­trol of the herd.

Bloodgore's grin widened, showing his long fangs, as he thought on that. Yes, he would watch the two leaders closely upon their return, perhaps even find a way to has­ten their confrontation, and deepen their anger at one another. The more vicious their eventual battle, the weaker the victor would be. Then Bloodgore could step in, fresh and powerful, kill the survivor, and rule the herd once more.

He laughed, a hoarse snorting sound, and turned to make sure the other beastmen were ready to start the long trek back. It would take them several days to reach the ruins, even at their pace. That was good, it would give him time to think upon this plan.

CHAPTER TWELVE

'This is Dotternbach
.' Widmer coughed and swung the wheel hard, and the Flying Trout did a strange sideways skip across the water, coming to rest against a long rough-hewn pier. He tossed a thick rope, the loop at the end passing neatly over the nearest raised piling, and then nodded towards the collection of rough shacks, huts, and small hovels clustered just beyond the pier. 'This is as far as I go.'

Dietz peered at the village suspiciously, but that didn't stop him from leaping onto the pier the second the boat stopped moving. His legs buckled slightly, trying to com­pensate for a roll and pitch that was no longer there, which surprised him, since he never would have expected to grow accustomed to being on the water. Accustomed and accept­ing were, of course, two very different things. He was delighted to be back on solid ground once more, or at least on a row of thick planks leading to solid ground.

'Not very big,' he said finally, scanning the village again. That was an understatement. Under other circumstances,

Dietz would have called the rude collection of buildings an extended hamlet, and moved on without a backward glance. Alaric nodded behind him, clambering onto the pier. They had little enough to carry, just a pack each, and had gathered those things up this morning when Widmer had announced they'd soon be reaching their stopping point.

'It's not,' the captain agreed, stepping onto the pier beside them. 'Not much up this far to make people want to settle here.'

'You're sure you can't take us any farther?' Alaric asked, and Dietz stared at him, wondering if his employer were addled again. Did he actually want to get back on that watery deathtrap? Fortunately, Widmer shook his head.

The river narrows just past here,' he explained. '1 could sail the Trout up another hour or so, but then I'd have no way to get her back without beaching her and turning her by brute force.' He grinned. 'And she's heavier than she looks.'

'Of course.' Alaric reached into his purse and extracted five gold coins. 'Five gold crowns, as promised, and our thanks.'

Widmer took the coins carefully, his expression showing he was not used to dealing with such sums, then extended a callused hand. 'You've been decent enough, lads,' he told them gruffly. 'If you ever need to sail this river again, I'll take you.'

That'll never happen,' Dietz assured him, but he shook the man's hand anyway. Widmer was a crazy old man, and Dietz, for one, couldn't wait to get away from the grizzled old river captain. Still, despite its strange appearance and bizarre locomotion, the Flying Trout had got them this far safely, even if he still felt as if he'd never slept properly or been able to keep food down for long. 'Good luck to you.'

'Where will you go now?' Alaric asked, clasping the cap­tain's hand after Dietz had released it.

'Oh, back down towards Nuln' Widmer replied, scratch­ing at his beard. 'Mayhap I'll stop off and see Gerta again on the way, for food and sleep.' He smirked at Dietz. Tell her ye survived, aye?'

Dietz nodded. 'Thanks.' Glouste popped her head out of his jacket, and chattered a farewell of her own to the griz­zled captain, who nodded and scratched her head fondly. Leave it to Glouste to make friends wherever she went.

There was little else to be said, so they turned and headed into the village. Widmer didn't follow, and by the time Dietz glanced behind him, the Flying Trout was already bouncing over the water, dancing its madcap way back down the river.

'The trip could have been worse/ Alaric said as they stepped off the pier and onto real dirt for the first time in a week. 'A bit bracing, really.'

Dietz glared at him, knowing his friend was deliberately goading him. 'Oh yes, bracing/ he agreed finally, letting his tone convey that he would find being stabbed by a thou­sand poisonous insects and then torn apart by a team of horses and devoured by rabid bears to be equally pleasant.

The river journey appeared to have done Alaric some good, at least. His colour had returned, and his sense of humour.

But their journey was not finished yet. 'Where to now?' Dietz asked, eyeing a handful of villagers, most of the inhabitants, judging from the number of buildings, as they emerged to stare at them. The grubby men, women, and even children looked caught between surprise, curiosity, and fear. He guessed Dotternbach did not have many visi­tors.

Alaric was looking around as well, a faraway cast to his gaze, and Dietz knew his friend was searching for the strange signs that only he could see. Dietz still didn't know why they appeared to Alaric and not to him, although he wondered if their previous encounters had anything to do

with it. Alaric had been exposed to many hideous things over the course of their adventures. Had those events left him more susceptible to receiving portents? More aware of traces normally unnoticed? The cultists and the beastmen were all Chaos-tainted, and if Alaric was able to see or sense that taint it would explain how he was able to follow their trails. Dietz was half-glad he could not see such things, but he wished he could help Alaric shoulder the burden. Unfortunately, all he could do was provide sup­port and not press him too much for explanations.

'Into the mountains,' Alaric replied after a moment, wincing at something. 'They didn't pass through here, but they were not far away, and the trail continues to go west.'

Dietz nodded. 'Couldn't have escaped notice here,' he pointed out, glaring at a man who was staring longingly at Alaric's fine rapier.

'No, they'd probably have killed everyone,' Alaric agreed, turning his gaze to Dotternbach at last. 'Instead they went around this village, which means they were more con­cerned about getting past unnoticed than about indulging any bloodlust or hunger.' He frowned. 'I'd have expected such caution from men, but not from beasts.'

'It might be men we're after,' Dietz suggested, stopping before the largest building, a square wooden structure that leaned to one side and had holes filled with tar. Heavy benches and a few low, crude tables were scattered before it. A stout man was standing in the open doorway as they approached and, at Dietz's nod, disappeared within, returning a moment later with two heavy clay mugs. Dietz accepted them, passing one to Alaric, and handed the man a brass penny. Apparently that was sufficient, because he disappeared back inside without a word. 'Could have taken it from the beastmen at some point,' he continued once they were alone again, settling onto the nearest bench. He took a wary sip from the mug, but while earthy the ale was thick and fresh, and surprisingly good.

'That's true,' Alaric replied, sitting across from him and tasting his own ale. "You saw those beastman tracks outside Nuln, but we've only been paralleling them since, not actually following in their footsteps. So the beastmen could have handed the mask off to men, either voluntarily or under duress.' He shook his head. "We've no way of knowing until we see fresh tracks.'

Dietz nodded, and took a healthy swallow of his ale. 'We'll need food,' he told Alaric, scooping Glouste out of the way when the over-curious tree fox emerged from his jacket to sniff at the mug. She chirped her annoyance at being deprived, but settled down, and began burbling hap­pily when Dietz scratched her head.

'I doubt there's much to spare here,' Dietz continued, looking at the other buildings. Most of the villagers had grown bored with watching them, and had disappeared back indoors, or returned to whatever tasks they had been handling before the boat had arrived. 'We should buy whatever we can. No telling how long it'll be before we find another town.' He frowned. 'Best to get out of here before nightfall, though,' he decided. 'I don't like the way that man was eyeing your gear.'

Alaric nodded. 'Agreed.' He finished off his ale and set the mug back on the table with a heavy thunk. 'I'll go see what there is to be had, shall I?'

Dietz sighed and swallowed the last of his ale before ris­ing to his feet. 'No, I'll go,' he answered. 'You'd wind up trading our last coin for a single mouldy turnip.' He thrust out a hand. Alaric wordlessly placed his coin purse in it, and Dietz extracted another penny, which he placed on the table. Glouste took the opportunity to skitter up his arm and onto her usual perch across his shoulders and around his neck.

'Have another ale and some food if they have it, and stay out of trouble,' Dietz instructed his employer. 'That means don't talk to anyone.'

Alaric grinned in reply. 'I think I can handle that.' As Dietz turned away he realised that his friend hadn't even pretended to get up. He'd known perfectly well that Dietz would never let him handle the bargaining.

'Damn,' Dietz muttered to Glouste.
'I
've been had yet again.' His pet chittered as if agreeing with him.

Dietz had been
right in thinking Dotternbach wouldn't have much to offer, but he'd managed. He'd bought what he could and traded for other things, swapping extra rope and flint for food, ignoring fresher fare for dried goods that would last them longer. True, they might not taste as good, but he was more concerned about survival than flavour. He had also learned of a hunting trail that led from the village into the foothills, right to the feet of the Grey Mountains, and of the creatures that sometimes stalked it, destroying traps, devouring prey, and even slaughtering the unwary. Alaric was where he'd left him, and soon they were walking through the village and beyond. They found the trail easily enough. Whatever hunters used it had made no effort at concealment, and Dietz was able to follow their footprints up to a worn dirt path that wound its way into the hills. Alaric confirmed that their quarry had also gone this way, after another of those distant looks and a faint shudder. Dietz decided that was good enough for him, especially when he saw a mark on the ground that was both familiar and clearly not human.

'Beastmen, all right,' he said after studying the prints. 'A few days old, maybe.'

'Anyone with them?' Alaric asked, staring at the ground as if hoping it would speak to him in any of the dozen lan­guages he understood.

'I can't tell,' Dietz was forced to admit. 'Plenty of boot- prints, but they're all mixed in. Can't say if they're from before, after, or during.'

Alaric nodded. 'It doesn't matter, really,' he mentioned as they resumed their trek. The trail was wide enough for them to walk abreast easily. 'As long as we're following the mask, I don't care who has it.'

Until we reach them and try to take it back, Dietz thought grimly. Then I suspect it'll matter a great deal.

The trail took them through the hills and into the base of the mountains, changing from worn dirt to rough stone. At times it formed a channel carved or chipped through the peaks, at other times a mere ledge running over a crevice, but it continued clearly on, and so they followed it. Dietz didn't much care for mountains, never had except for Middenheim, which was different, but as in the Border Princes he found that walking a path between cliffs was far better than trying to scale them. They still had a few ner­vous moments, negotiating a narrow outcropping over a deep gap, or walking the channel as it wrapped around a peak for a time, leaving them exposed and glancing down at the ground far below. There were wild beasts as well, and once a pair of rangy, half-starved goblins, who thought the travellers might make suitable food. Alaric's rapier and Dietz's knives quickly dissuaded them. The rest of the trek was dangerous, but no worse than expected, and a week later the two men were looking down on a wide valley, between several low peaks, an impressive stretch of rolling grass, trees and distant rivers.