Warhammer [Ignorant Armies] (18 page)

The warhorses snorted, their huge legs working.

Erik started awake. The turtle rocked, swaying like a drunkard as it crawled on its way. The Slann sat in his bath. He clung to its sides with widespread webbed fingers. His eyes were fixed on Erik. "What is it?"

Erik pressed his ear to the metal wall. He heard voices, like girls laughing teasingly, receding from and approaching the mithril. And there were scents like fine perfumes; he felt blood pool in his loins...

"I would guess it is a welcoming party from Slaanesh," said Erik drily. "The Pleasure Lord of Darkness." He stood, rested lightly on the balls of his feet. He relaxed the strapping around his battle-axe.

The heady laughter whirled around the turtle. Erik's imagination showed him the daemonettes of Slaanesh... their stigmata - the single right breast, the green eyes... and their unbearable beauty. And all the while the subtle scents probed at his mind, stirring his thoughts.

There was a pounding on the shell. It was as if a huge fist were beating against the metal. Cotza screamed. The turtle shook. The warhorses stumbled. Their leader raised his muzzle to the roof and growled like a cat.

And now came another sound: a whirring, a grinding against the metal like a knife-sharpener's stone.

Cotza whimpered. "That's a chain-sword. They're trying to cut their way in."

Erik stared up at the armour. He grabbed a grease lamp and held it up to the roof, inspecting the seams. "It's holding," he breathed.

"For how long?" the Slann cried. He wrapped his huge face in his hands.

"Your Eagle Warrior courage is comforting," spat Erik.

Cotza stared up at the shuddering roof. "What by the emperor's teeth are they?"

"Daemonettes, probably," Erik said, recalling old battles. "They fight as if insane. Perhaps there are Warriors of Chaos, humans who have sold their souls to the Pleasure Lord - "

At that Cotza's huge eyes flicked away from Erik's face. His mouth worked and his hands spread once more over the rim of his bath. Erik noticed the sudden reticence. Now, what did that mean? What was his dubious ally hiding?

The pounding, the grinding went on and on, unceasing. But without breaching the mithril. When he was satisfied of that, Erik resumed his seat and closed his eyes.

Erik had survived many a battle. He didn't let the hammering of Slaanesh daemons, the whimpering of a mysterious Slann, stop a light sleep from stealing over him. But he kept his weapons to hand.

The days in the swaying turtle turned to a blur of noise. Erik chewed meals of dried meat. His dreams were filled with smiling women; their cheeks bore a soft down and their eyes were green -

Cotza moaned continuously. He stirred in his bath, lost in his own erotic nightmares.

Then it stopped. The turtle rocked to stability. The horses stumbled at the suddenness of it, then found their feet. The belts whirred once more over their rollers.

Cotza sat bolt upright in his bath. His skin was grey, slick with slime. Bones showed through limp flesh. "It's over," he whispered. "We're out of the reach of Slaanesh."

"I'm sure we'd be welcomed back," Erik said.

"So we're safe. The mithril worked!" The Slann's long legs flexed. Then he reached into a pile of supplies and drew out a handful of dried cockroaches. Greedily he shoved the insects into his wide mouth.

Erik watched in disgust. The scents of Slaanesh were gone. But his memories populated the silence outside with other servants of Chaos, with an infinite arsenal of silent death.

Cotza feasted. Erik kept his hands on his weapons.

Their passage became smooth. Ominously so, Erik thought. The days passed rapidly. It grew hot. Sweat steamed from the horses. Erik discarded his furs. He stood beneath the Slann's air-breathing ring; a breeze still rustled out of it, but for some reason it didn't refresh him. He wiped sweat from his face, sat again and tried to rest.

Even the Slann complained. "Why should it be hot?" he whined. "It should get colder as we go further north, not hotter."

Erik smiled. "I told you. Don't expect experience to be a guide. Not here. Take what comes. And fight it."

The obsidian mirror showed a land of darkness. Cotza held it to the roof and tried to guide their progress by the stars...

Suddenly he screamed. Erik jerked awake and reached for his weapons -

- and was slammed backwards by a punch in the chest. It could have come from the fist of that Kislevite giant. He felt the wooden floor splinter under him.

He struggled to his feet. There was nothing to see in the flickering light of the grease lamps. But something was smashing its way around the turtle, like an invisible bird. Heaps of supplies were blasted open and scattered around the cabin. The horses reared; their harnesses snapped.

Cotza was picked up bodily, tubes dangling, and slammed face-first against the ceiling. Then he was dropped with a splash into his bath. "Norseman! Help me!"

The lamps blew out. Now the only light came from the fire under Cotza's bath.

"Erik, what is it?"

Erik struggled to keep his feet. "It's an elemental. A daemon of the air."

"Our armour is breached - "

"No." The elemental shoved past him; he felt a meaty slap to the face. "It's your breathing ring, Slann. It's got in that way, bit by bit."

"Then we're doomed."

"What?" Erik staggered to the bath and grabbed the Slann's shoulders. "What in hell are you talking about, Cotza? You Slann are supposed to be great wizards. Use magic. Fight it off with a spell!"

The Slann struggled out of his grasp and curled into a ball. "I can't," he moaned. "I have no magic. Save us, Norseman."

Erik stared at him, unbelieving. Then the elemental hit him in the back and knocked him flat on his face. The creature pounded at his spine, roaring like a gale. Erik gritted his teeth, arms trembling. He howled, arched his back, pushed the hard pads of his paw-hands into the floor. The fur on his face stood erect.

For a few seconds Were fought elemental. Then the daemon slithered from his back. Erik struggled to his feet, fighting the impulse to snap and howl. He had to control the Were, think clearly, find a way to drive out the elemental...

Cotza's fire.

Erik grabbed the rim of the metal bath and pulled it off the fire, tipping out the wailing Slann. Then he rummaged through their piles of supplies until he found a block of lamp grease. He pulled the sticky stuff apart and flung it at the fire.

Flame roared up; heat blasted into his face. The Were flinched; the man stood his ground. The Slann scurried into a corner. Smoke poured through the cabin, making Erik's eyes sting. The horses stamped in complaint. Erik hurled more grease into the blaze.

Hot air blasted up. The atmosphere became a mass of smoke and turbulence. It was as if a second elemental had been released into the cabin.

But this one was controlled by Erik. The elemental slapped at his legs and back. Erik heard it slam into the walls...

But it was weaker. Erik grinned, wiping soot from his face. As he'd hoped the elemental was beginning to lose its cohesion in the disrupted air.

There was a wail that filled the cabin. Then air began to rush out of the breathing ring. In a few seconds it was over.

The fire burned steadily now. Erik, coughing, began to relight the lamps. He found Cotza buried in a pile of furs. Erik poked with one booted toe. "Come out," he said. "It's over."

The Slann uncovered one eye.

"Take down your breathing ring," Erik growled. "It was the only breach in our defence. And it almost killed us."

"But we'll suffocate."

"We keep it down until we have to. Understand? Now, help me fix this damn mess."

He walked to the warhorses and began to calm them with firm words.

Cotza hissed like a snake. Erik started awake. Painfully he pulled himself to his feet. His head pounded. In the days since they'd closed off the feed the air in the turtle had become thick and stinking.

Automatically he looked to the horses. The huge beasts laboured at their treadmill, their coats matted with sweat. The Slann was hunched over his obsidian device. His lips popped together, mouthing words unknown to Erik. Then he said quietly: "Erik. We have succeeded."

Erik strode through the swaying cabin and snatched up the plate. It showed the usual murky scene, a sky of loops and whirls over a formless land. But there was something new, a sharp image about the size of Erik's thumb.

"It's the star boat," breathed Cotza. "See how clear it is? It was designed to travel to other worlds. And so it has survived the centuries of degradation in this forsaken place. It shines in that plate like a pearl in mud - "

The star boat was a spindle, its prow and stern trailing to needle-fine points. Erik judged the boat to be about five times the length of the turtle - perhaps a hundred paces in all. He could see no sails, no oars.

"I can't see any clinkering," he said. "And... it seems to be closed over, all around. More like a house than a boat. Why should that be?"

"How would I know?"

"Why would you roof over a boat? Suppose... suppose it was to move under water as well as over it - " Erik shook his head.

"Or," said Cotza, "instead of keeping something out, the closed hull was to keep something in."

"Like what?" Erik said.

"Air? Suppose the ocean this boat sailed is as empty of air as the air is empty of water."

"That's crazy."

Cotza laughed. "The ways of the ancient Slann aren't going to be comprehensible to us for a long time. Perhaps not ever."

He took back his obsidian plate and wiped it over. The boat's image began to slip below them; Cotza had to tilt the obsidian to trap it. "We're passing over the boat," he said. "It's buried in the ice..."

"We're nearly over it." Erik hurried to the horses and pulled at their bridles. The turtle shuddered to a halt. Erik gathered armfuls of hay and scattered them at the feet of the panting animals.

Cotza scampered over the floor of the turtle, scanning the buried boat with his obsidian plate and making crude sketches on a parchment. He showed Erik glimpses of detail: plates of buckled metal, panels covered with obscure rectangular designs. "What a treasure!" he crooned.

"Don't get excited, Slann. We haven't worked out how to reach it yet."

Cotza snorted and continued his studying. At last he spread out the results of his labours. It was like a sketch map of the star boat. "Here," he said, tapping with a thumb. "See how the plates are breached, torn apart? There's a hole wide enough to let in a man. Even one as broad as you, Norseman," he added jovially.

Erik studied the map, then paced around the turtle. At length he selected a spot and cleared away clutter from the floor. "The hole's here," he said.

"Yes." The Slann nodded excitedly. He stood and clambered into a purple cloak. "Well, Erik? Let's see this boat for ourselves."

Erik touched his weapons. He felt reluctant to breach the protecting mithril shell...

But he'd come a long way for this. And you can only die once. He grinned fiercely, raised one booted leg, and stamped down on the deck.

The wooden flooring splintered and broke up. Then his boot reached the clinkered armour beneath. Iron seals cracked and fractured. Soon two plates were loose enough to prise aside. "That's enough," Erik growled, lifting the loosened plates. "Let's keep the breach small."

Ice gleamed dully in the hole. Erik probed at it with one finger - and jumped back with a yell as ice flashed to steam. The Slann laughed. "The normal rules don't work here, remember?" he taunted.

Erik glared; then, with the butt of his battle-axe, pushed at the popping ice until it had all vapourized. Tendrils of steam filled the cabin. The Slann sniffed contentedly.

Under the ice the earth was greyish and dead, like fine sand. Erik used the blade of his axe to scoop it out. Then his blade clanged on something hard, metallic.

Erik looked up. The Slann stared into the hole, tongue wriggling out of his lips. Erik bent into the hole and brushed away the remaining layer of dirt.

The hull-metal of the star boat gleamed like polished bronze. The Slann sat beside Erik and touched it in awe. "It's perfect, after so many thousands of years," he whispered. "But look how it's crumpled."

Erik searched through the dirt until he reached the breach in the hull. The last few grains of earth fell into a circular patch of darkness. It was about an arm's length wide. Erik stared into it, saw nothing. "Give me a lantern."

Cotza brought him a simple candle in a clay bowl. Erik lowered it cautiously into the boat. The flame flickered but burnt on.

"So the air's not foul," Cotza hissed.

Erik made out a floor of metal, perhaps ten feet below him. He looked up at Cotza and shrugged. "We can't learn anything from out here. I'm going in."

"Let me hold the lamp."

After checking his weapons Erik swung his feet into the hole. His waist passed through easily, his axe bumping against the lip of the hole. Then he lowered his body until he was dangling from his fingertips.

He let go. His feet hit the metal with a soft thud. He landed at a battle crouch, sword in hand.

Silence. Darkness, broken only by a disc of yellow lamplight above his head. The Slann's silhouetted head appeared. "Erik?"

"I'm safe. There's nothing here. Give me the lamp."

The Slann's bony arm extended into the boat. Erik reached up, took the lamp, turned with the light in his hand -

A white face loomed at him, jaws wide and gaping. Erik yelled. He grasped his sword and smashed, smashed again -

"Norseman! What is happening?"

Erik stepped back, breathing hard. There was a chair before him, large and fine enough to be a throne. Now it was covered by fragments of smashed bone. Bone dust drifted in the musty air.

"Nothing," Erik said. "There's no danger. It was a skeleton, a thing of bones in this seat, facing me."

The Slann's nodding head reappeared in the hole. Erik laid his lamp on the floor, then reached into the chair and pulled out a shard of a skull. The head had been large, flat. "What do you think it was?"