Chapter 43
I tried to kiss the Elf.
She did not pull away immediately. Our lips met for only a second. It was a pleasant moment; Liandra's lips were surprisingly soft and warm. However, before this touch could turn into a passionate kiss, the girl turned her head away.
I half-expected her to push me back or strike me, but Liandra, unlike myself, restrained her impulse. Yet, her hands clamped down on my palms like steel vises. I think three weeks ago she would have crushed my bones that way, but I had grown much tougher and stronger since then.
— This will end poorly for both of us, — the sharp-ear said distantly, but I could feel a storm of emotions sealed within her.
What exactly were those feelings? Passion, or hatred toward me for such an unceremonious attempt at intimacy?
— We are bound by duty and contract, — she added. — Let it remain exactly so. My mind has only just restored a semblance of inner harmony. A loss of self-control could spell disaster for our cause.
Her grip loosened slightly. Liandra looked away, breathing heavily. Her pale face was slightly damp from the mist. A few thin strands of black hair had escaped her ponytail. Perhaps she wanted to leave right then, but she couldn't let go of me. Without my presence, she simply wouldn't have made it out of the sorcerous fog. It seemed I had caught her in a very vulnerable position.
— The sorcerous mist affects me specifically. Its magic seeps through the barrier and makes me feel strange, — I admitted. — It stirs the senses.
— So it was an illusion? A glamour? — the Elf asked coldly.
— No. It was the release of an affection I would have otherwise kept under lock and key.
— I will remember your words, Gil, — Liandra replied.
I honestly couldn't tell if that was a threat or some other hint. It's hard enough to understand ordinary women, let alone a representative of another species, however relatively close to humans they might be.
— Let's go, — I said, leading the girl after me.
— So many extra words and a useless waste of energy, — Loom-Pia commented on the situation.
— None of your sanctimony, — I countered. — Just because you lack sexual reproduction doesn't make it bad or inefficient. It is present in almost all species of complex living beings. It's a process that helps combine inherited traits and adapt to constantly changing conditions. Evolution, esteemed Slann.
— The disorder of nature is but a raw substrate for the will and plans of the Old Ones, — the Slann replied, but he ceased the argument.
Liandra and I emerged from the mist. Returning to the darkness, the Elf made haste to break contact, but she did not push me away. She merely gestured for silence. We continued our path through the night forest, breathing in the scents of dampness and decay.
— Stay here for a moment, — Liandra whispered and vanished into the darkness.
A thought flickered through my mind: would she want to take revenge by abandoning me in the middle of a dark thicket? I dismissed the foolish notion. We were bound by duty. I had become her new chance for redemption.
Liandra indeed returned after several long minutes. We moved on together, soon reaching the edge of the woods. Ahead lay a gentle hill, its summit crowned by a ring of ancient stones. This looked nothing like Stonehenge; the stones were low but broad boulders, half-buried in the earth. Among them, I spotted the hunched figures of massive monsters. Fimir. There seemed to be about a dozen of them.
Along one side of the hill, a large procession of even more stooped but less massive sub-humans, clad in tattered cowls, was ascending. Clan Pestilens had arrived. We had to return to our unit immediately.
However, one major problem remained. How were we to lead our force through the sorcerous mist? Taking everyone by the hand would take too long. Fortunately, a simple plan matured quickly.
Hurrying back to our allies, I asked:
— Does anyone have a long rope?
— Are we taking prisoners? — one of the knights asked in surprise.
— Of course I have one, — the ever-prepared Eric replied.
He was unlikely to take prisoners in the classical sense. More likely, he intended to catch a few particularly rare specimens of game and slaughter them later to keep the meat fresh.
The unit moved through the night forest, and then Liandra and I stretched the rope for them through the mist. Holding onto it, the warriors managed to cross the magical barrier without issue. Wit against sorcery actually works sometimes.
— Oh, Sigmar, my heart is pounding so! — von Bickenstadt announced in a loud whisper. — I am drunk without wine.
— Record your impressions in silence, — Rudolf scolded him sternly.
The knights and their men formed into two lines. The first row consisted of well-armored fighters with one-handed or two-handed swords. Many bore shields. The second, less numerous line was made up of halberdiers and warriors with other polearms. Initially, they formed up very tightly, but I spoke to Rudolf.
— There is a sorcerer on their side, Mein Herr. A tight formation stretched in a line will be an easy target for him. Remember the battle at Pfeildorf.
— You are right, lad, — the knight replied. — Hey, listen up! Open ranks. As soon as I give the command, break into a run.
That was a good idea. The mist blades used by the Fimir sorcerer don't strike instantly. By accelerating at the right moment, one could dodge the magic.
Von Bickenstadt's mercenaries split into two groups, taking the flanks. They stayed slightly behind the heavy infantry. The playwright himself loomed nervously in the far rear. He was armed with two pistols and a high-quality blade, but I doubted Jeremiah intended to put his arsenal to use.
Liandra and I stayed on the edge of the right flank. Magg and Eric were on the far edge of the left. My task was to reach the sorcerer as quickly as possible.
To the discordant clinking of plate armor, the loosened formation of Imperial warriors emerged from the darkness of the forest thicket. The piercing cries of night birds sounded like an ill omen of the coming slaughter. In the dark sky, peppered with jagged scraps of clouds, the green orb of Morrslieb glowed.
Of course, the enemies were already waiting for us. The monsters' sharpened senses had warned them of our approach. Between the ancient stones, the Fimir warriors took up their defense in dull armor. The one-eyed monsters were armed with absurdly heavy maces. Around them and in the rear scurried a mass of Skaven. Plague Monks in filthy green robes swung rusted cleavers.
On one of the stones, I noticed the shriveled figure of the sorcerer, leaning on a long staff adorned with bones. An ancient shaman from distant, desolate swamps. Sorcerous mist swirled around him, enveloping him like a mantle.
— You have come in small numbers, Southerners... — the croaking voice of the Fimir echoed from everywhere and nowhere. — I am Ketzak Fimdirach... The swamp shall regain its power, and we—the blessings of the Dark Gods!
Against the backdrop of his pretentious threats, the Pestilens Skaven squealed discordantly about the Horned Rat, but almost nothing could be made out.
— For Sigmar! For the Empire! For our fallen! — Rudolf proclaimed, raising his sword over his head.
Our formation surged into a charge up the hill. It was about a hundred meters away. The Fimir sorcerer immediately waved his staff, and a dark haze began to rise before the Imperial line. As soon as they stepped into it, the men slowed down.
— Aaaah! This filth is colder than ice! — one of the soldiers cried out.
Liandra, meanwhile, spotted something and shouted:
— Quickly! Forward!
I looked where the Elf was pointing and noticed movement against the dark sky. Slow at first, then accelerating rapidly.
Whoooosh!
With a sound like a howl or a dull groan, a giant spectral blade crashed down from the sky onto us along the line. The squad tried their best to dodge, but the dark mist slowed the movements of the ordinary men. Only I and Liandra, walking beside me, felt no effect from the debuff at all. It was a shame I couldn't cover the entire squad with my anti-magic field.
The mist blade sliced two lagging halberdiers in half and grazed five more, including the playwright. They didn't receive serious wounds but were knocked over.
Simultaneously, three Plague Monks stepped forward, swinging shimmering green, smoking metal censers on chains above their heads. If I remembered correctly, these were very dangerous weapons of Clan Pestilens.
— Shoot them! — I shouted. — Shoot them before it's too late!
The mercenaries hesitated at first. I wasn't their commander, after all. However, the playwright supported me as he scrambled up from the ground.
— Do as he says! Fire!
The arquebuses thundered. A dozen bullets struck the Plague Censer Bearers at once, tearing through rotting flesh. The Skaven fanatics showed resilience unusual for their kind, but the wounds were too severe. The censer bearers fell one by one before they could unleash their horrific weapon.
Some of the mercenaries began to reload their arquebuses, while others drew pistols and moved closer to put a few more rounds into the gathering of mutants. We outmatched the enemy in missile fire. In response to the bullets, only occasional stones from rat slings flew our way. However, the enemy had powerful magic on their side.
The Fimir sorcerer seemed to be performing some primitive dance upon the ancient stone. Obeying his movements, clouds of blue-grey mist and creeping shadows enveloped the advancing Imperials. Men lost their strength and fell into despair.
Eric's trophy pistol belched flame. The Dawi-zharr weapon was aimed at the Fimir sorcerer, but the thickening mist protected him. I needed to reach him quickly.
Another spectral blade appeared above us, but this time the men were already on guard. The loosened formation allowed them to dive to the sides, and the spell hit virtually no one. Only clumps of earth, shredded by magic, flew in all directions.
We closed the distance to about forty meters.
— Aim for the big ones! — the mercenary leader urged his men.
The arquebuses thundered again, joined by pistols. The Fimir were unpleasantly surprising in their durability. Out of the ten monsters, only one fell, and even he got back up almost immediately despite the wound. In the end, only a few Skaven became victims of the volley.
Whoooosh!
Another sorcerous blade crashed down diagonally toward us. The men scattered, but a mercenary reloading his arquebus hesitated. He was turned into bloody scraps. A few more men were knocked off their feet by the residual wave. I saw the magical blade leave long, deep furrows in the earth.
The knights and squires were confused; the mercenaries panicked.
— Into battle, warriors of the fens and tunnels! — Ketzak Fimdirach commanded. — We shall feast upon the ruins of the man-cities!
At the wave of his staff, the heavy Fimir warriors charged, followed by a squealing and screeching rat-wave.
— Stand fast! To me! — Rudolf Hoch shouted. — Close ranks!
It seemed the position of the Imperial warriors was catastrophic. The lines were broken, and a powerful enemy supported by sorcerous power was attacking from the hill. However, there was something Ketzak Fimdirach had not accounted for. The most powerful units of our force were on the flanks.
— Let's go! Let's get him! — I shouted to Liandra.
Circling around the monsters rushing into the charge, we surged up the hill, where only the Fimir sorcerer himself and likely the Pestilens rat-boss remained, accompanied by just a pair of Skaven.
While the magical miasmas had weakened other men, they only invigorated me. The magic of the Lore of Shadows inspired a sense of an approaching secret and the fulfillment of desires. I threw myself into the fray with a smile on my lips.
Ketzak Fimdirach did notice the danger when we were already close. At first, he tried to solve the problem with magic. A tentacle of shadow lunged toward us, but I shielded Liandra with my body, boldly walking into the sorcery.
The concentrate of Ulgu burned my face with an unnatural cold, but overall, it wasn't half bad. Certainly better than Chaos energy.
It was unpleasant to admit, but Ketzak Fimdirach did not falter when faced with my anti-magic defense. He stopped trying to attack with sorcery and instead directed a shadow tentacle to call back two Fimir warriors.
The lumbering monsters in heavy armor turned toward the hill. If ignored, they would strike us in the back.
I turned to meet the nearest Fimir. I drew both trophy pistols, pointing them directly at the monster. The accuracy of local firearms isn't great, so I tried to aim for the monster's head. He understood immediately, ducking his head and curling up like an armadillo. He hoped I would hit his armor. The monster slowed down as a result. I decided to take advantage of this, approaching at point-blank range. I waited. I didn't fire immediately. I intended to put a bullet exactly into the enemy's vulnerable spot.
The monster decided to punish me for my insolence. He lunged suddenly, trying to bring down blows from both of his massive maces. An ordinary man likely wouldn't have dodged in time, but the mist magic had already enhanced me. I stepped back coolly, then forward again, pulling both triggers. The pistols bucked in my hands. Thunder! White smoke enveloped the Fimir. One bullet caught him in the face, the other in the neck.
The Fimir reeled. Thick dark blood gushed from his neck. I had to finish him.
Shoving the pistols back into their holsters, I drew my sword. Going at such a monstrosity with a one-handed blade seemed like a fatal mistake, but besides the magical buff, I already had a segment of the blood chalice.
I lunged forward, stinging the monster in the neck with a long thrust. The Fimir endured. The Fimir continued to resist, as hardy as all of his foul kin.
I tried to strike him in the eye with the next lunge, but the monster swung his maces, forcing me to retreat. No matter. The more blood he lost, the more strength I gained. I only had to wait for the right moment.
Meanwhile, on the other flank, Magg fell upon the Fimir and Skaven, swinging his Dawi-zharr axe. Rat-bits flew in all directions. Eric had already reloaded the trophy pistol and blasted it point-blank into a one-eyed creature. Then he followed up with his own pistol and finished the job with a meat mallet. A Fimir warrior fell at the hands of the Halfling.
My opponent began to weaken. I easily dodged several of his attacks, intending to deliver another thrust to the throat, but Liandra beat me to it. The Elf had already dealt with her own opponent and, attacking from a blind spot, lopped off the cyclopean monster's beaked head.
Two segments of the chalice filled, plus the bonus from the magical infusion.
We charged up the hill. Ketzak Fimdirach climbed down from his stone, retreating in the opposite direction. You won't get away. The Skaven were running too.
Liandra threw a dagger on the move, but it didn't do much damage to the thick-skinned monster.
Pursuing the leaders of the enemy unit, we ran further. We had already descended the hill and approached the forest thicket. We were catching up. The Pestilens leader turned to us and croaked:
— They are few-few! Let us fight, Fimir-thing. Kill-kill!
Ketzak Fimdirach also turned, raising his staff.
— Stay close, — I told Liandra.
The Elf understood perfectly well that without my protection, she might fall victim to the enemy's spells. Together, we began to advance on the Chaosites.
Now the Skaven plague priest decided to try and extinguish us with sorcery. The rat croaked menacingly, hopping in place. He raised a staff topped with a glowing warpstone above his head and sent a wave of pale green light toward us, within which swarming spectral flies were visible.
I blocked the path of the magic again. The plague sorcery proved to be less pleasant. My skin began to itch. I'll be a regular connoisseur of spells at this rate.
— Rotten luck, there goes the clothes again... — I sighed, watching the threads on my new shirt rot away and pull apart at the chest.
At this, the Skaven priest was absolutely floored.
Emitting a stifled sound, he took to his heels, and we turned our attention to Ketzak Fimdirach and two rat monks.
In vain, the Fimir sorcerer tried to entangle us in threads of mist. Now he could rely only on his staff and the bone club on his tail. He tried to catch my knee with it. Liandra slashed him in the neck while I dodged. The Fimir didn't have time to block the Elf's strike with his staff. His blood turned out to be caustic and greenish. Likely the consequences of friendship with the Nurgelites.
I slashed the enemy's tail. Meanwhile, the Elf easily took the head off a Plague Monk. Fanaticism doesn't always work against skill, and the Pestilens rats had lost heart after their leader fled.
Ketzak barely avoided my thrust to the eye, and the Elf hamstrung him. With three segments of the chalice active, I sheared off a piece of the second monk's snout, sending him fleeing, and finished him with a strike to the nape from behind. Why not? It's not just Skaven who can strike in the back.
Ketzak's fate was sealed.
Blow after blow, life left the ancient sorcerer's carcass.
— The power of the swamps still... — he began, wheezing and spitting blood, but a masterful strike from the Elf lopped off his head.
I had thought of leaving the Fimir to Rudolf's mercy, but the sorcerer was too dangerous, and I couldn't linger by the fallen shaman. There was still business to attend to. The task of the master-lord Gottri had to be fulfilled. Kill the Pestilens stinker.
— Help the others, — I threw to Liandra, while I myself plunged into pursuit of the rat.
Letting a witness to my anti-magic resistance escape alive was too reckless.
I ran after the rat and wasn't at all worried he would get away. The Wind of Shadows, besides the sense of approaching secrets, had granted me something else. I noticed that I began to see quite decently in the dark. The contours of individual trees stood out in black-and-white lines from the gloom of the forest thicket. Among them was a noticeably receding, hunched figure.
Stretching my legs, I gave chase. I flew through the night forest like a rider of the Wild Hunt. The thrill of the pursuit seized me.
Closer, closer still...
The Skaven tried to hide, darting into a niche between the roots of a giant oak, but this simplest of tricks did not fool me. Soon, I was face to face with the rat. Or rather, face to rotting snout.
— I am great... — the plague priest began, holding a staff in one paw and a rusted cleaver in the other.
— You're finished-fucked, — I replied in Skaven, slashing the priest's cleaver-hand.
He kept the weapon but lost fragments of his fingers. I doubted he would be able to attack properly now. The cleaver would simply slip away.
— The Horned Rat... — the priest tried to embolden himself.
— Is a rat-fink! — I replied, delivering a kick to the priest.
The Skaven spat a caustic cloud of sorcerous miasma, but it only made my nose itch.
— You will die-die, man-thing!
— No, you, — I countered, finally hacking off the priest's cleaver-arm.
And then I had to land nearly a dozen more strikes to finish off the hardy adept of decay. Poking through the shredded robes of the plague priest with my blade, I noticed a bright green glow. Here, it seemed, was the big warp-thing Gottri wanted.
A shame about those who died, of course, but my night had been a roaring success. I kissed an Elf (a little), and I hacked up some Chaosites (a lot). In both cases, I remained safe and sound. If only it were always like this.