Chapter 54
Run, Jurgen, run!
Of course, no one was shouting that to me right now, and even if they were, the roar of the artillery would have drowned it out. Nevertheless, I ran after the landship, its massive stern looming ahead. I was managing to slowly close the distance despite the weight of my armor. It was unlikely I would catch it in time; more likely, we would pull even just as we reached the Dawi-Zharr positions. That was also a perfectly acceptable outcome.
The winds of Metal and Fire sustained my strength, driving me forward. I had absorbed a portion of the charge from the Hammer of Hashut—a powerful Dawi-Zharr incantation. If any of my competent allies realized what had happened, there would be veeeeery big questions for me later. But that was for later. I had taken the only chance to save the ship, my allies, and likely my own life. I regretted nothing.
The soil beneath my feet seemed to yield with every stride. Had the wind of Metal made me heavier? Perhaps.
I no longer had a clear view of the battlefield. Everything had turned into a solid shroud of dust, smoke, and ash. Only the silhouette of the landship's hull ahead served as my guide. Cannonballs whistled over me, and flashes of fiery projectiles streaked past. The artillery duel raged on.
One minute, two, three. I ran tirelessly, as if transformed into an iron golem with a fire blazing within. I didn't even seem to be sweating. It was the most comfortable jog in plate armor imaginable.
— Above you, warm-blood, — Loom-Pia warned.
I had already noticed the massive shadow flitting over me. A monstrous Great Taurus was pursuing me. It seemed one of the Sorcerer-Prophets had descended to investigate why their hammer had misfired.
Straining to accelerate, I bolted to the side just in time. A wave of heat washed over me. A stream of fire roared past. I didn't know if it was magic or the beast's breath. I was protected against the former, but I wasn't so sure about the latter.
Unfortunately, outrunning a flying monster was impossible. A gust of wind from flapping wings buffeted me. The giant bull landed between me and the retreating ship. It was a massive creature with red hide, armored plates bolted over its flesh. Astride the bull's neck sat a comical yet terrifying Chaos Dwarf sorcerer. He had a jet-black beard adorned with gold, protruding tusks, a war-pick glowing with magic, and a tall headdress depicting a black gauntlet clutching a chain. The sorcerer bored into me with shimmering red eyes, glowing with unholy power.
Damn it! I didn't even have a sword on me. Everything was left on the ship. But I did have something. Had they fallen out during the tumble? Thank Sigmar, no.
I yanked two pistols from my bandolier—the ones I'd inherited from the Witch Hunter Waldemar. I had to make every shot count. I also had the Dawi-Zharr dagger. I needed to keep that in mind as well.
To be honest, I hoped the sorcerer would try to use magic against me. Fat chance. He had likely seen the Hammer of Hashut fail on me. With his free hand, the Dawi-Zharr pulled out a richly decorated pistol, its barrel ending in a screaming skull. The sorcerer aimed directly at me.
Fine. I really hoped that even Dawi-Zharr firearms lacked supreme accuracy. I raised both my pistols, trying to level them at the sorcerer's silhouette.
Against the backdrop of the cannonade, I didn't hear the shot. The enemy pistol spat a tongue of flame. The eyes of the skull-ornament flared. I fired back.
A sharp pain pierced my thigh. The bastard had aimed for my leg. I regretted not buying tassets. If not for the metal magic, the bullet would have certainly shattered my bone. As it was, the wound felt unpleasant and dangerous, but not fatal. It was strange that the sorcerer had aimed for the thigh. Why not the head? Did he want to study me?
Could I walk? Yes, but with difficulty. The situation was total shit. I had hit with both shots, but the sorcerer's armor had held. The Dawi-Zharr laughed and, holstering his pistol in a sheath on his throne-saddle, directed his monstrous bull forward with a sweep of his pick. Crap. You can't outrun a winged monster anyway, and now I had a bullet in my leg.
However, the sorcerer's triumph was short-lived. Before the monstrous bull could take more than a few steps toward me, an amber flash bloomed behind it. A magical projectile struck the beast. The bull staggered, turning its head back.
At the same time, I saw greenish sparks shimmering around me like weightless pollen. The wind of life, Ghyran. Healing magic. My allies hadn't forgotten me.
The pain in my thigh subsided instantly. A mixture of three winds of magic gave me the ability to recover quickly from the wound. Not a second could be wasted. I ran forward, returning the pistols to my bandolier on the move.
The sorcerer waved his pick, directing the bull to attack, but he was thwarted. Now another amber bolt slammed into the monster's flank. Roots began to rise from the ground, attempting to ensnare the beast's legs. Excellent!
I ran as hard as I could. First forward, then diagonally to the side to circle around the Great Taurus. The creature breathed fire after me, but the flames didn't stop me. I kept running even as I felt my clothes burning. Perhaps the wind of Aqshy had granted me some resistance to fire, or the Great Taurus's breath was considered partially magical.
I was catching up to the landship. Its stern was closer now. I spotted Liandra and Magg atop the tower. The elf threw down a rope, and the Ogre, with a satisfied expression on his ash-smeared face, was aiming his double-barrel somewhere behind me.
I heard those shots even over the cannonade. First one falconet roared, then the second. I didn't turn around. However, judging by Magg's grin, he had found his mark.
Reaching the landship, I grabbed the dangling rope, which had several knots tied at the bottom. I didn't even have to climb. I just held onto the knots. Magg hauled me up like a lucky catch. A few seconds later, I was on the deck. God, it felt good!
— I hit the flying cow! — Magg declared, slapping me on the shoulder. — We'll go back later and see if it croaked. Those are going to be big steaks, Jurg! Huge!
— Yeah, yeah, — I muttered, swaying slightly.
Liandra handed me my sword and the round, metal-rimmed shield. Under the magical buffs, it felt absolutely weightless to me now.
Helena came up the tower almost at a run. Her green eyes were flashing with rage. It seemed adrenaline had completely overwhelmed the girl.
She rushed to me, checking the wound on my leg. But before she could say anything, the shamaness leaped up and threw herself to the edge of the railing, casting another spell. The Sorcerer-Prophets were still pressing us with magic.
A projectile from a Magma Cannon whistled right over the tower, dousing us in heat. Dozens of small droplets of incandescent substance fell onto the deck, instantly igniting the wood. Fortunately, it didn't lead to a major fire; I personally stomped out a couple of smoldering patches.
Several crew members shrieked in pain, clutching parts of their bodies hit by the molten droplets. Erik caught one on his forearm, leaving a hole in his clothes, but the halfling only winced slightly. It seemed our chef was well-accustomed to terrible pain.
— Hold on! — came the voice of one of the officers. — We're close!
Indeed, the Daemonic train was only about two hundred meters away. The iron behemoth, bristling with gun barrels and horrific spikes, formed a massive ring. It was a defensive formation, at the center of which sat Hellcannons, some sort of self-propelled wagons, and ammunition carts. Thus, the Chaos Dwarfs protected their most valuable assets. Outside the defensive ring were Hobgoblins and slaves: chained Orcs and humans. Though there were few of the latter; the spiteful bearded ones had mostly brought out greenskin laborers to the field. The slaves were hurriedly placing field fortifications in front of the Daemonic train's defensive ring.
Our ship shuddered slightly. Large darts thudded into the sides of the Imperial machines with dull thuds. These were Hobgoblin bolt-throwers firing at us from in front of the Daemonic train. However, their projectiles couldn't cause significant damage to the landships. The Imperial machines were already beginning to climb the hill that served as the foundation for the Dawi-Zharr's mobile fortress.
Hobgoblins and slaves scattered from beneath the ships' wheels. No one tried to stop us. Abandoning fortifications and bolt-throwers, the cannon fodder tried to save themselves.
Just a little further, just a bit more.
Magical shields created by our wizards flared and exploded into sparks. The Dawi-Zharr guns were firing at the ships point-blank. Our vessel shuddered as a rocket hit the hull. Another neighboring ship burst into flames entirely, taking the brunt of the shells. The marines were jumping overboard, but the machine didn't stop. The burning landship moved to ram the train.
Our vessel let out a long whistle, venting a plume of steam from its chimney. They must have pushed the boiler pressure to the limit.
Accelerating for the final stretch, the landship turned sharply, even drifting slightly. From such an extreme maneuver, we nearly capsized, but the vessel held. Only fifteen meters remained to the Daemonic train. We had made it. We pulled up almost flush, so that a significant portion of the enemy guns could no longer fire at us. The Dawi-Zharr carriages were slightly lower than the ship, spikes and chimneys notwithstanding. Blackened steel, cast iron, bronze, and gold. The carriages were decorated with skulls, bull heads, and gaping daemon maws.
The train's armor, though scarred here and there by Imperial cannonballs, remained strong.
A firefight broke out immediately. The Nuln Ironsides fired their arquebuses and tossed grenades right over the side. From the train cars, Chaos Dwarf blunderbusses answered them. Everyone on deck was in a frenzy.
— Boarding! Boarding!
The ship dropped its ramps. Landsknechts from the Blades of Manann and our own Dwarfs were the first to rush down, falling upon the thoroughly demoralized Hobgoblins. I headed toward two of the ramps myself. It was time to join the fray.
A small queue formed at the ramps. Liandra and I followed Magg's broad back as he pushed through the ranks of Landsknechts. The Ogre reached the very edge of the railing, used it as a rest for his double-barrel, and fired both shots into a cluster of greenskins. Then Magg tossed the falconets at the feet of the nearest Ironsides, commanding:
— Reload!
And grabbing a trophy axe, he began to descend the ramp. I followed right behind him, watching as a silent Slayer-Dwarf hacked into the Hobgoblin ranks below. Judging by the bloody wound on his shoulder, he had been hit by a blunderbuss, but the Dawi warrior paid no mind to such a minor nuisance.
And so Liandra and I ran down the ramp, shifting to the left flank. The Hobgoblins had recovered from the first shock—or rather, they had received a new shock, this time from their masters. The Dawi-Zharr with blunderbusses opened fire on the scattering greenskins. Several taskmasters armed with fire-whips drove the servants and slaves into an attack against us.
There were significantly more greenskins. They tried to use this advantage, taking the boarding party into a semi-circle.
Before me flitted the snarling maws, green faces, and tall caps of the Hobgoblins. I was already used to fighting such filth. Deflecting a spear thrust, I hacked at its owner's arms. Bringing the sword back, I cut another little freak's throat. A waste—his face was instantly split in half by a blow from Magg. He was swinging his axe with a laugh, fragments of Hobgoblins flying in every direction.
Liandra didn't fall behind him. Almost every one of her strikes took the life of a greenskin.
The buffs from the winds of magic hadn't faded yet, and the Blood Chalice had already begun to fill actively. Two segments in less than a minute.
Using my newfound strength, I pierced the neck of an Orc slave who was trying to crush me with a two-handed wooden mallet.
The Blades of Manann fought fiercely. Now I could forgive the Marienburg Landsknechts for all their boasting. Their bruisers with axes, boat hooks, and falchions fell upon the greenskins almost as desperately as the Flagellants, but they were far more skilled with their weapons. One of the Landsknechts raised a standard depicting a ghastly mermaid with a face like a skull. The cloth billowed and seemed to dance. At first, I thought I was imagining things—all sorts of visions can appear in the chaos of battle. However, it soon turned out that the standard was indeed enchanted. The mermaid on the cloth suddenly shrieked. I don't know if the thing had any effect other than psychological, but even that was enough. The Hobgoblins wavered.
Despite their manifold numerical superiority, the greenskins began to retreat. They hadn't run yet, but their resistance had practically vanished. Instead of attacking us, they began brawling among themselves. Those who were stronger and craftier pushed the weaker ones forward, delaying their own deaths by sacrificing their "comrades." Others drove the slaves toward us. The Orc laborers actually tried to fight. They proved to be much braver than their treacherous cousins. Despite the lack of armor and proper weapons, the Orcs went into battle brandishing tools.
I hacked at their arms and necks and slammed them with my shield. Previously, Orcs had been a serious problem for me, but now we weren't fighting proud warriors. We were fighting slaves, scarred by whip lashes. I almost felt sorry for them, but almost doesn't count.
Three segments of the Blood Chalice.
Given the buffs from the winds of magic, my strikes possessed significant power. I could even cleave through the thick spines of Orcs with a single swing. What a rush! In the past, I'd had trouble killing with one blow, but now I could hack to my heart's content!
They threw human slaves against us too. That was completely pointless. The humans either fell to their knees, begging for salvation, or even switched to our side, attacking the terrified Hobgoblins.
The only real threat remained the blunderbuss fire. The Ironsides tried to cover us, laying down suppressive fire. Bullets hissed over our heads. Dozens of shots thundered almost every moment.
I shoved aside an emaciated captive in his thirties and cut down a Hobgoblin hiding behind his back. The little freak didn't even try to resist. However, he attempted to stab the unfortunate captive in the back before dying. The Hobgoblin's foul nature wanted to take someone else to the grave with him. But I caught it with the edge of my shield, and the long, wavy knife merely struck sparks from the metal rim.
Erik popped onto the front line periodically, smashed a few green faces with his meat mallet, discharged a pistol, and then grabbed one of the captives and dragged them to the rear. There he handed the unfortunate soul over to the landship's crew, and they gave him a fresh firearm in exchange for his empty one.
The Blood Chalice was full.
The Hobgoblins turned to flight despite the efforts of the taskmasters. The greenskins collided with one another, overturned bolt-throwers, and tried to scramble onto the train carriages, but the Dawi-Zharr there ruthlessly threw them off or even killed them.
The boarding party and crews of the only two landships that reached the armored train put about fifteen hundred greenskins to flight, killing several hundred.
The easiest part was behind us, and ahead...
Metal clanked. Special gates opened in two of the carriages, and columns of Dawi-Zharr warriors in closed helms began to emerge. The Infernal Guard. Special heavy infantry. They were somewhat reminiscent of the Slayers among their light cousins—shamed, forced to pay their debt in blood. But unlike the Slayers, the Infernal Guard respected armor and did not seek their own death. Their goal was different: they strove to be the perfect weapon for enforcing Dawi-Zharr tyranny. Faceless killers, devoid of doubt or compassion.
And from the right flank, several dozen living torches were moving toward us. Daemons enslaved by the sorcery of the Sorcerer-Prophets. The K'daai Fireborn. A terrifying weapon of the Chaos Dwarfs.
Both were no longer greenskin trash, but the elite units of the dark empire of Zharr-Naggrund. Things were about to get very difficult for us.