Chapter 55
— Hold the line, you sons of bitches! — one of the Landsknecht commanders bellowed. — These aren't green manure-eaters! Get ready for a real fight!
And we prepared.
The landing parties from the landships pulled back to form up and reload. Another two dozen Nuln Ironsides descended to join us, forming two ranks on the flanks. The Marienburg Landsknechts raised their shields or leveled their long-barreled pistols.
I took my place in the first rank on the left flank, positioned closest to the K'daai Fireborn. I wasn't certain if my presence would disrupt the sorcery binding them to this world, but it was worth the attempt. Liandra and Erik stood behind me, with Magg to my immediate left.
The center of the formation was held by the Dwarfs from Nuln, while the right flank was manned by the Bretonnians. The core of the line was composed of the Landsknechts from the Blades of Manann.
The Infernal Guard did not hurry. After exiting the defensive perimeter of the Daemonic train, they calmly formed into a solid block. How many were there? No more than two hundred, I estimated. Nearly the same number as us, if you counted the crews. However, I seriously doubted the odds were even.
— Your ancestors tremble with rage and shame! Traitors unworthy of your beards! You are worse than Grobi and more treacherous than Elgi! — the eldest of our Dwarfs shouted.
The Infernal Guard offered no reply. Only an officer in the front ranks—his axe glowing with fiery runes—gave a guttural command. The enemy line began its advance. They marched in silence, moving as a single, unstoppable entity. Simultaneously, the Fireborn began their approach.
How far away were they? Forty meters, perhaps. We backed up closer to the ships. From the decks above, the Ironsides continued the exchange of fire, though their position had worsened. Chaos Dwarfs armed with blunderbusses were gathering on the nearest carriages of the Daemonic train, and some had already begun raining fire down upon us. Several Landsknechts were wounded or killed before we even locked horns with the Infernal Guard. The situation was rapidly approaching the "clusterfuck" threshold.
However, the Imperial forces attempted to answer. A swirl of gray-steel mist erupted over the ranks of the Infernal Guard. From it, iron spikes resembling sharpened rebar rained down, each the length of my forearm. This was the work of an allied Metal Wizard. I didn't know if the sorcerer was on another landship or soaring somewhere on a Pegasus, but the Magister's help was timely.
The Infernal Guard bore the rain of magical rebar with surprising resilience. Some were shielded entirely by their plate, while others, despite iron spikes piercing their armor joints, continued to march as if nothing had happened. The magical spears vanished quickly, dissolving back into the Wind of Chamon. Not a single Infernal Guard was slain by this mass incantation.
The Dawi-Zharr line was twenty meters away when they halted. The front ranks of the Infernal Guard simultaneously leveled their Fireglaives. These weapons were capable of shooting.
— Fi... — the Landsknecht commander began to bark, but his cry was drowned out by the thunder of a hundred shots.
The Chaos Dwarfs fired a synchronized volley. The Landsknechts, Ironsides, and our own Dawi answered in kind.
Clang!
A heavy slug from a Fireglaive punched through my metal-plated shield and lodged in my cuirass. I thanked my quality armor, though perhaps the lingering infusion of the Wind of Metal had helped as well.
My allies fared much worse. Many Landsknechts fell dead or writhed from horrific wounds. Our line wavered.
— Filthy beard-lings! — Magg grunted, spitting blood. — Should've brought my big gun!
The Ogre had been hit by several bullets. One had knocked off his tricorn and cracked the helmet beneath it.
I searched for Liandra. She was unharmed, having managed to take cover behind me.
Erik was also safe. Biting his lip in concentration, he discharged one pistol after another toward the advancing Dawi-Zharr.
And what of the Chaos Dwarfs themselves? Dammit! I only saw two killed or severely wounded. The enemy line closed immediately, sealing the gaps, and continued its relentless march.
A massive blast roared behind us. The crew of one landship had dismounted a prow cannon and fired it point-blank into the Infernal Guard's formation. Another pair of faceless warriors went down, but the others barely slowed. They closed ranks again, moving forward.
Green sparks of the Wind of Life danced around us. This was Magister Gerard's work. His sorcery quickly knit together even serious wounds. Our line steadied and took heart. However, the enemy spellcasters were not idle. A spectral image of a bull's head manifested over our formation. it was black, as if carved from a single piece of obsidian, with red eyes glowing like molten metal. I expected the thing to crash down on us, but instead, it rained black ash. Its touch seemed to sear and instill terror in ordinary men.
— Here we have a combination of the Wind of Death and the Wind of Fire, — my Hypnotoad continued its critique of the Dawi-Zharr spells. — Mixed with a significant amount of Chaos corruption, naturally. I suspect they worship a specific daemon or deity. Their sorcery is too uniform.
— Thanks for the lecture. Got any actual advice?
— Retreat, warm-blood. The creatures allied to you here are, I believe, doomed.
— Hold the line, Umgi, damn you all! — the voice of our lead Dwarf came from the center.
The dark curse of the Dawi-Zharr and Gerard's healing charms fought for dominance. The Infernal Guard was upon us. I could see every rune and every horned skull on their plate.
Run? Hell no. If things turned sour, I would try to retreat, but for now, it was better to raise the shield, grit my teeth, and hold the blow. Even now, there was a chance. Perhaps not to win, but at least to stall the enemy while the center was still fighting.
The Dawi-Zharr spell reached its conclusion, and the Infernal Guard attacked instantly. They did so with terrifying professionalism. I focused all my attention on the guard directly in front of me, but he struck off to the side. Instead, a blow came at me from the flank. Even with my buffed reflexes, I failed to react in time. Liandra saved me, parrying a Fireglaive thrust aimed at my face.
Shit!
My opponent wasn't trying to hit me; his neighbor was. It was my first time fighting a perfectly coordinated formation. After dealing with greenskin trash and Chaos barbarians, it was hard to shift my mindset. Thankfully, our squad had experienced fighters like Liandra. At least someone could stand toe-to-toe with the Infernal Guard.
Following the first strike, I was attacked by two: the opponent in front of me and his comrade to the right. I ducked, covering myself entirely with the shield. Both attacks were exceptionally powerful. Then I stepped back with my right leg, braced myself, lowered my head, and lunged forward to ram the enemy with my shield. I hoped to stagger him. Not a chance. I might as well have rammed a granite cliff. However, I managed to lock the enemy's movement. Instead of using his glaive, he tried to shove me back with the haft. I didn't fail there; I held my ground.
The Dawi-Zharr was likely surprised, though you couldn't tell behind that solid mask.
Taking advantage of the moment, Liandra tried to thrust her blade under his helm, where a jet-black beard protruded. It seemed to connect, but I didn't have time to see the result. An axe from the second rank of the Dawi-Zharr slammed into my head. The blow wasn't at full strength; the helmet held, but my head rang. If not for my high-quality gear, my skull would have had to tank the impact. I wasn't sure it would have survived.
Several more blows landed on my armor from different directions. The Dawi-Zharr in front of me tried to shove me again with even greater effort. I barely kept my footing.
The situation was beyond grim. In such a brutal, tight engagement, we couldn't overpower the Infernal Guard. You might as well try to outswim a shark. This format of combat was their element.
A shot cracked right beside me. The smell of black powder hit my nostrils. The pressure from the Dawi-Zharr noticeably slackened. He... screamed? Or rather, roared. The sound was hard to distinguish through the closed helm.
Glancing down, I saw Erik's face. The halfling had literally crawled on all fours between me and Magg, discharging his pistol... directly into the Infernal Guard's groin. Not into the armor, but right under the plated skirt. Small wonder the enemy roared like that. Even if he survived the battle, he'd have to commission a prosthetic scrotum from the daemonic smiths.
I almost felt a surge of hope, but the Infernal Guard roared again and shoved me back with monstrous strength. He immediately tried to take my head off, but I managed to intercept the blow with my shield. The Dawi-Zharr struck again and again, swinging his glaive in a fit of pure rage. His blows grew stronger, but now they were predictable. I managed to defend myself, each attack drawing sparks from my shield. I wasn't sure how much longer it would hold. I didn't have to wait long.
Taking advantage of the opponent's loss of focus, Liandra finished him with a thrust to the neck under the helm. The Dawi-Zharr delivered a few more spasming blows and collapsed at my feet. Damn!
I felt joy and horror simultaneously. It was good we managed to put him down, but the sheer effort it took to kill just one Infernal Guard was staggering. It took three of us to handle him. And there were dozens more around us. I seriously doubted the Landsknechts would hold out much longer. When they broke or died, the Infernal Guard would roll over the rest of us in seconds.
More shots? No, explosions. Many of them. One, another, a third. A whole cannonade. There was no time to figure out what was happening. An Infernal Guard from the next rank stepped right over his dead comrade and brought down a monstrous axe-blow upon me.
Hold on... just hold on a little longer...
---
INTERLUDE. Drazoath the Ashen.
Drazoath the Ashen, leader of the Legion of Azgorh and Lord-Castellan of the Black Fortress, sat upon the back of his Great Taurus, watching the battle. The events stirred a cold, violent rage in the sorcerer-prophet's dark soul. And oh, what a rage it was!
Just as an ordinary man cannot best a Dwarf miner in a tunnel-digging contest, so too is an ordinary man incapable of understanding the depth of the burning malice of the Dawi-Zharr. Perhaps only the most insane Champions of Chaos who have peered beyond the veil of the Immaterium can approach such a feeling.
When the ugly wooden coffins resembling giant boats launched an attack on his army, Drazoath felt a mixture of disgust and curiosity. Were these truly the famous steam tanks of the southern humans? If so, the sorcerer-prophet would be very disappointed. He beheld clumsy, fragile machines incapable of enduring a long march.
Four of these wretched boats, accompanied by cavalry, were attacking the Legion of Azgorh. Drazoath did not perceive them as a serious threat, but then the unpleasant surprises began.
Though the wooden structures lacked durability, they were shielded by human wizards. This, combined with the massive fire from the enemy's artillery, prevented the wheeled boats from being destroyed on the approach. Even the Hammer of Hashut failed—a spell that should have easily crushed two or three ships at once. Likely, the humans had used some artifact to disrupt the spell's structure.
The wheeled boats reached the position of the Iron Daemon—the Dawi-Zharr war train. This powerful engine, composed of many carriages, stood firm against the enemy bombardment. It seemed the fragile wooden constructions would pose no threat to it. The humans upon them were only capable of scattering the wretched servants.
When the Hobgoblins predictably fled, a detachment of the Infernal Guard emerged from the defensive perimeter to finish off the insolent wretches. The very first volley of Fireglaives killed dozens of humans. The crews of the wheeled boats were doomed, yet the unpleasant surprises continued.
The southerners' light cavalry, seemingly incapable of harming the Dawi-Zharr defense, began to circle the Iron Daemon from all sides. And then, the explosions began. First, the riders started firing hand-mortars. Grenade launchers—that was what the humans called these weapons. The light bombs couldn't damage the machines, but the shrapnel wounded the crews. Furthermore, a significant portion of the Dawi-Zharr had shifted to where the landships were attacking. This gave the enemy riders a free hand. They moved in close to the Iron Daemon under the cover of grenade fire and...
— Bombs!
First, one sufficiently destructive explosion. Then another. The enemy riders were equipped with powerful hand bombs. You couldn't throw those from a distance, but the blast was enough to damage the priceless sorcerous engines.
Drazoath the Ashen ground his teeth as he watched the bombers attack the Daemonic train from all sides. The wheeled boats had been a diversion. The real threat was the light cavalry.
Of course, even such a cunning plan would not guarantee the humans victory, but...
— Curse them!
The mere thought of how many resources and priceless sorcerous engines would be lost forever caused Drazoath's rage to flare a hundredfold. No amount of loot would cover such a loss.
Drazoath could personally slaughter this entire cavalry. He could hunt down every human to death, skin them alive, and place their hearts on the altar of Hashut, but...
He simply wouldn't be in time. The humans had split into small groups and attacked the Iron Daemon from all sides. Every minute of waiting cost a fortune.
But then, a spark of a new opportunity flared in the darkness. Drazoath noticed a band of Dolgan riders near the Iron Daemon, brought so far from the main tribal mass by the will of some unknown god. About three hundred mounted marauders. They could distract or even drive off the enemy riders while the Infernal Guard finished the wheeled boats.
Yes. This plan had to work. Without a doubt, Hashut himself had directed these pathetic puppets of the Four Dark Gods here. Now the humans must serve the sorcerer-prophet's designs.
Drazoath saw the leader of the mounted band clearly. It was a repulsive-looking barbarian dressed in a fur coat stolen from the southerners. Likely a woman's coat. His face was painted red. Baubles and ornaments were braided into his long blonde hair. The coat was thrown open over a bare chest, upon which the symbol of the Dark Prince Slaanesh was etched.
The sorcerer-prophet reached out to this insignificant barbarian with his mighty will. Through thoughts and images, he conveyed the command: strike the rear of the southerners' light cavalry. Kill, die, and pillage for the glory of Darkness.
The barbarian received his message. He raised his painted face to the heavens, looking toward where Drazoath sat upon his Great Taurus. The barbarian stared at him, and the sorcerer-prophet could have sworn a smile appeared on the pathetic insect's face.
The Dolgan chieftain raised high a spear decorated with women's scalps and waved it, indicating the direction of attack to his band. Only...
— Damnation!!
He did not point toward where the light cavalry was bombing the Iron Daemon. The Dolgan riders raced toward the enemy's artillery redoubts. They chose as their targets those that were already nearly destroyed by Dawi-Zharr fire. They intended to attack the easiest possible target. To butcher the gunners.
Drazoath tried to use magic to crush the rebellious barbarian's will, but the man was too far away, and his soul was tainted by the gifts of madness from the Dark Prince. All this prevented the quick subjugation of the wretch.
Grief, rage, and disappointment boiled within Drazoath. Flame erupted from the sorcerer-prophet's maw, followed by a single word:
— Treachery!
Then Drazoath the Ashen, leader of the Legion of Azgorh and Lord-Castellan of the Black Fortress, ordered his warriors to move into a defensive stance and then begin an organized retreat.
Tamurkhan had failed the Dawi-Zharr. He had broken their deal, and Drazoath no longer saw a reason to honor his part of the contract.