The False Moon War: Chapter 24

to Title and Contents

Chapter 24.  The Ancient Conflict

The Sky Titans had once had a thriving town or city on this site.  With the impact of the warpstone comet, and the subsequent advent of the Great Maw, that city had been defiled, destroyed and abandoned.  The inhabitants had settled peacefully with their kin further west, only to be overrun and devoured by the migrating ogres from the Eastern Steppe.  Some peoples are just born unlucky.

Little of their architecture stood, but each of the dressed stone blocks was as big as a wagon.  Only the temple cities of the Old Ones were made of stones larger than this, and the secret of their construction had disappeared with the star faring masons themselves.

The jumble of masonry created a maze of passages, some with dead ends, some with pitfalls.  Delicately balanced heaps of rubble threatened to rain down with each clap of thunder.

"You won't be able to swing that spear in these tight passages.  It's useless."  Bob's opinion had not noticeably softened in the last several months.

"The spear will be fine.  Better than a hand weapon."

Bob snorted, "I'll go in front to protect you AND your pointy stick."

The sauri vaguely heard the roar of an ogre charge followed by a crunching impact.  A minute later there was some furious shrieking and a clash of metal.

"Its begun."  Joe looked up through a gap in the stones.  The moon was almost overhead.  "How long do you think before we see some action?"

There was a fierce growl.

"You had to ask, didn't you!"

The growl belonged to the mouth of a Chaos Warhound of Khorne.  The mouth also possessed dagger like teeth,  a lashing tongue and an unpleasant amount of foaming drool.  At this moment the mouth was being propelled towards the lizardmen by two hundred and forty pounds of frenzied muscle.  Bob barely had time to bring his sword up into a defensive position.

The mouth halted inches from Bob's face.  It had a new acquisition.  A flint bladed spear had penetrated its hard palate.  The point was lodged in the hound's tiny brain.  With his eyes, Bob traced the shaft of the spear back to where Joe was standing behind him.

"Excuse me, I was about to parry with my vastly superior hand weapon.  Kindly point that thing away."

Joe complied, and slung the spear over his shoulder.  At the same instant, another hound, which had somehow got onto the block above them, pounced on the lizardmen.  It impaled itself on the point of Joe's spear.  As Joe retrieved the weapon from the squirming corpse he saw more pairs of glowing eyes in the passage behind them.

"Go! That way!"  He shoved Bob forwards and raced after him, with the Hounds of Hell in murderous pursuit.

As Bob turned a corner, he saw his way was barred by a wide chasm.  He had no other option but to attempt the leap.  His legs bicycled in the air to get him a few extra inches of flight and he thudded, hard, into the opposite lip with his chest.  Winded, he scrabbled with his elbows to pull himself up.

Joe was only feet behind when he saw Bob fall short.  He jammed the toe of his spear into a crack in the floor and catapulted himself into the air, pole vault style.  He sailed over Bob's head and landed in a crouch.  The first of the slavering war hounds tried to pull up before the brink, but the two following it piled into the leader.  The trio slid, howling, into the bottomless shaft.

The last of the hounds managed to gather itself for a leap, but its graceful arc was interrupted by a flint blade.

Joe held the foot of his spear down for Bob to pull himself up, and looked at his spawnkin smugly.

"What?" snapped Bob.

"Nothing, nothing." 

The pair continued their patrol.

*****

Eventually they found themselves on top of the pile of rubble looking down over a flat strip of pavement on the brink of the Great Maw itself.  Some forty mewling daemonettes were advancing down it towards the temple, and the ogre's undefended flank.

"Joe!  Help me, this is heavy!"  Bob was straining to dislodge a sizeable boulder to crush the horde below.

           

"Lift with your knees, not your back,"  Joe advised. 

Rather than endure the withering glare that Bob directed at him, Joe wedged the butt of his spear under the rock and pressed on the lever with two mechanically advantaged fingers.

Bob snarled.

The boulder started to roll and dislodged everything around it.  Before long there was an avalanche of pebbles, rocks, boulders and lizards pelting headlong towards the hapless daemons.  Most of the screeching horde were swept over the brink.

*****

Welhung Thunderloin was torn.  He could hear the sounds of battle ebbing and flowing on three sides, but Hellun was quickly weakening.  His men would have to fend for themselves.  He turned to look back at the slann, wondering what it was like to have a cold heart and no ties to family.

The slann was still looking up at the Chaos Moon, as if judging distances and angles.  Welhung followed his gaze.  As always Morrslieb made him feel sick to his stomach.  The moon hung so low above them, it seemed to cover half of the sky.  A group of black dots slid across the orb, growing in size as they went.  The ogre tyrant became aware of a low, droning hum.

Here?  How had they found him?

He eased Hellun's head off his lap.  She emitted a deafening whimper.  "WHERE ARE YOU GOING, CUPCAKE?"

He winced,  "I've got to go.  I've got a score to settle."  He hefted his iron bound mace and strode to the end of the bridge to wait for his most hated foes.

"Sodding bees!" he said to himself.

*****

The squadron of Plague Drones of Nurgle were attempting to bypass the battle for the temple.  Their tattered wings had carried them far out over the Great Maw to afford them a clear approach to the slann and the nexus of geomantic power which suffused his body.  Their leader, a vile Herald of Nurgle directed his wing-daemons to swoop.

Taisteslaikch'ken was aware of their approach.  From his floating throne near the end of the Maw's causeway he raised a handful of spatulate fingers into the air.  Raw magical power coalesced between them, ready to be manipulated into any one of a dozen deadly forms.

"But it is too early.  All is not ready..." he croaked.

A rough hand grabbed his outstretched arm and pulled it back down.  "They are mine. You 'ear me?"  Welhung growled at the mage priest. 

Taisteslaikch'ken gave a single terse nod and returned his contemplation to the looming chaos moon.

The squadron of rot flies plunged from the sky in a loose "V" formation and zeroed in on the lumpy figure of the ogre tyrant.  Welhung stood with his iron flanged mace coiled back behind his head in a two handed grip reminiscent of the New World primitives playing their pointless bat and ball game.

As the plague drones strafed across the bridge he swung with all his might.  Strike!

One of the enormous insects whirled into the maw with one side of its thorax crushed.  "That's for Chaarlotte!"  Welhung bellowed after it.

The squadron parted around him like a wave split by the prow of a ship.  The two groups banked and the riders levelled their filthy plague swords again.  On this pass Welhung ducked the lead fly of one group and followed it with a blow which broke the creature's back.  The momentum of the swoop, combined with the hammer blow propelled the stricken fly into the path of leader the second group.  The combined mass and closing velocity of the two rotting hulks was enough to cause a very messy collision.  The entangled remains of the pair plummeted into the void.

"And that's for Harrrison! And Samantharg!"

Three rot flies remained, twirling in confusion. 

"That's for Rriley!  And Annikarrg!"  One fell with a compound eye and the brain behind it smashed to pulp.  Welhung fluidly used the momentum of this blow to whirl about-face, and shred the fragile wing membranes of his next hapless victim with the sharp iron flukes on the tip of his mace.  He paused to watch the broken insect's tail spinning descent.

With Welhung's guard thus lowered, the last of the flies was able to strike.  With a sickening squelch, it plunged its dripping sting into the ogre's back.

Welhung sank to his knees, his mace slipping from his nerveless fingers.  Nurgle's herald stilled his hovering mount and disembarked.  He stood in front of the stricken ogre.

"You fought well, but to no purpose.  You could not have defeated me.  I serve the Lord of Flies."

"You mean 'Lord of Bees' ?"  Welhung struggled to his feet.  The herald was surprised that the ogre had not yet succumbed to the poisonous sting.  Welhung scrabbled clumsily for his mace.  The herald shook his head in disbelief and stabbed his plague-sword into the gap under Welhung's left pauldron.

Without even acknowledging the wound, Welhung grasped the poisoned blade with one hand and slowly drew it out.  Blood welled from between his fingers.

The herald gasped.  Grandfather Nurgle had blessed the venomous blade.  It should not have only cut.  The wounds should have instantly started to fester and run with pus.

Welhung pushed the filthy sword away, stood, and turned to face the multifaceted eyes of the humming rot fly.  His bloody hand joined the other on the haft of his mace.

He slammed the heavy weapon down, driving the creature onto its many spiky knees.  "That's for Joshuarrg! And Chloee!  And Dyllan, Tylerrh, Rage-chel, Jaygob, Chaarrlie, Alexxiargh, Rryan, Cindry, Dolorious, Zaraargh, Hannahbal, Axxel, Chellsea, Maddison, Deckster, Slaed, Felanie, Blaeke, Harmonie, Eathem, Atrocity, Trravis, Phoebia, Scarah, Damniel, Hateley, Rocky, Maddnison, Phlegming, Angrea, Brattney, and Chastity!"

With every name, Welhung's mace rose and fell.  The rotfly of nurgle was reduced to a purulent pulp.

He turned back to Nurgle's Herald.  "You said you were with the 'Lord of Bees', didn't you?"

The daemon chose dark oblivion over liquefaction.  Without hesitation, he leapt off the bridge and into the grinding maw.

*****

Bob was buried under the rubble of the avalanche that he and Joe had created.  With his one free hand he groped for purchase.  He found a smooth shaft and pulled himself free.  The smooth cylinder was Joe's spear.  Joe's face was beaming.

"This changes nothing,"  Bob grated.

"Come on.  We need to stop the rest of those girl daemons."


to Chapter 25  Divided We Fall

The False Moon War: Chapter 23

to Title and Contents

Chapter 23.  Welcome to Lustria

The Greater Daemon of Tzeentch did not have it in his slippery nature to lead a frontal assault without need.  His fool rivals were welcome face the wrath of the ogres and a wizard who had mastery of Light, Dark AND Heavens magic.  He would approach in stealth from the south.

He cast a blanket of thick fog over a unit of Pink Horrors and sent them across the marsh.  The daemons were bidden to remain silent, and to suppress the warpflame that suffused them.  Beneath the mist they would they would be able to approach and climb the narrow side stair and seize the head of the ramp.  The Changer of Ways himself would then swoop in with his vultures wings and claim the head of the undefended slann.

He heard a burbling cry and saw a flash of blue flame under the mist.  So much for stealth.

*****

The pink horrors' struggles to cross the swamp were made more difficult by their lord's gift of concealing fog.  An incautious step could plunge them into sucking ooze, spiky pits or icy waters.  The daemons alternately cursed their lord and breathed prayers of thanks to Tzeentch for their extra limbs as they dragged themselves out of yet another sinkhole.  They finally found firmer footing on a narrow isthmus of reeds with black water on either side.

The rearmost daemon began a shriek of surprise that ended with a strangled gargle.  His companions whirled to see nothing but an expanding circle of ripples.   One of their number leaned over the water to have a closer look for the straggler.

The other daemons had a brief vision of flashing teeth and claws as a huge reptile exploded from the water and snatched the searcher as well.  They reflexively released bursts of blue warpfire, but it was too late.  The monster and his prey had vanished.

"There!"

An "S" shaped row of spines snaked through the water directly towards them.  In vain they hurled more warpfire.  This dissipated on the surface.  At the last possible instant, before the monster would surely collide with their bridge, the spines disappeared below the surface.

To re-emerge behind them.  With a sweep of its crocodilian tail,  the fearsome creature smashed another three horrors into the water.  One by one, the floundering daemons were yanked into the depths.  Just one resurfaced a moment later, its broken and torn body floating face down.

"Move!  Move!  Get to that island!"  The remnant scrambled towards refuge on a more substantial island which was anchored by a rotten tree stump and a large clump of bulrushes.

Only one of the horrors survived long enough to drag itself out of the swamp and lay twitching at the Changer of Ways' taloned feet.  It had a light shaft of bamboo standing out from its back.  "There were two of them....Two two two two....."  The voice trailed off and died.

To do a job properly......

The Daemon Lord sent out another unit of Pink Horrors, who advanced as a screen.  He glided silently from hillock to island behind them.  At his back were the rest of his cohort, ready to throw themselves into battle when needed.

A few of his scouts slid screaming into concealed pits of quicksand, and yet others trod on barbed spikes which temporarily pinned them in place.  He sneered as he stooped to examine one of the plantings of bamboo stakes.  He was a master of trickery and deception.  It was an insult that someone would attempt to delay him with such a simple trap.  It would take more than distraction of attention and sleight of hand to thwart him.

He rose.  "Move forward!" he commanded.

Silence.  His screen of scouts had vanished without a trace.

With a roar of frustration he summoned a Firestorm of Tzeentch.  The tornado of warpfire twisted this way and that, burning the sedges and tall reeds all around.  Even if he had not killed his hidden foes in the conflagration, he had eliminated their cover.  If they showed themselves, he would demonstrate that a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch was a perilous danger.  They would fall.

When he had all but crossed the marsh with no further incident, he paused at the edge of a wide pool.  Opposite him was his objective, the narrow stair.  To his right was a small island with a misshapen tree stump and a clump of bulrushes.  The sausage shaped flower spikes of the cattails were smoking after his fire storm.  They smelt like....mushroom and potato?

The tree stump came to life.  Golden eyes glared through a thick crust of cracking mud.  The daemon raised his arms, but before he could complete a deadly incantation, the golem plucked one of the bulrushes and hurled it at the daemon lord.  It lodged in his thigh.  A trivial wound.

The daemon pulled out the javelin with a grunt and sniffed the blackened paste on the point.  "Poison?  Hah!  Did you not know that my god, Tzeentch, has blessed me?  I am protected by magic!”

Bubbles appeared in front of the Greater Daemon's feet.  A giant reptile surged out of the water and struck him a sparking blow with a golden hammer.

"Yes.  Actually, I did know,”  Rychek replied.

As the blow from the Rune Hammer o' Anti Magic took effect, a black stain spread like tendrils of fungus from the wound on the daemon's thigh.  The leg began to jerk and dance.  Soon the twitching spread through his whole body.  "Oh, Marlecht  lecht  lecht..."  His body stiffened and he fell like a tree trunk, face first into the pool. 

As the Changer of Ways sank from view, the remnant of his force gathered to avenge him.

Rychek spent the remainder of his javelins and dove into the water to evade the gouts of balefire which answered him.  Neither he, nor Mahtis resurfaced.

The remaining Pink Horrors warily skirted the pool and filed along the narrow strip of hard earth which led to the stair.

Once more, skink and kroxigor sprang from the water and planted their feet in front of the steps, as if to say, "here we stand or fall."

With no space for more flames, the horrors plunged into combat.  Sandwiched between the wall and the deep pool, they could not gain advantage from their weight of numbers.  One by one they were given a lesson in mixed unit combat.

The bond the spawnkin shared was beyond that of comradeship.  In battle, their ability to anticipate each other's movements verged on telepathy.  If a daemon chose to direct a blow against the greater threat of the monster, he would find the darting skink would strike him with an ugly headed club.  The distraction of having an orcish idol shoved up his nose would give the larger beast time to complete his hammer blow, crunching through magical wards as easily as flesh and bone.

Even if the next daemon struck at the skink, the nimble lizard's superior speed allowed it to parry or evade the blow before it could land.  The daemon itself might dodge one or two swings of the kroxigor's great weapon, but a stomping claw or lashing tail had equal efficacy against the soft pink flesh.

Although Rychek and Mahtis had each received minor cuts and burns, the growing heap of twitching  pink bodies seemed to indicate that they had this battle won.

However, Tzeentch, the God of Chicanery, had one trick left up his deceptive sleeve.

The last remaining Pink Horror hurled itself suicidally at Rychek and grappled with him.  Mahtis had a brief impression of a faceless hooded robe as a bright flash blinded him.  When his vision cleared he saw TWO Rycheks wrestling over the orcish club.

"A Changeling!" one of them gasped.

"Kill it!" yelled the other.

Mahtis held his hammer high and looked from one Rychek to the other in confusion.

"Don't take the risk, Mahtis!  Kill us both!"

"But him first!"

Mahtis lowered the hammer.  His brows crumpled in concentration for a moment.

He raised the hammer again. 

"One question.  Which one of you is Da Bloo Shaman of Mork?"

One of the Rycheks released the sceptre as if it was red hot.  The other yelled, "I am!  I am Da Bloo Shaman of Mork!"  He held the sceptre triumphantly in the air.

"Swear it!"

"What?"

"I won't believe you unless you swear it."  Mahtis raised the hammer a little higher.

"Yes, yes!  I swear I am Da Bloo Shaman!  I swear it in the name of Mork!"

With a roar of supernatural rage, Gork-on-a-Stick sprouted a pair of colossal green feet.  It stamped repeatedly on the false shaman until he was a bloody paste.  Then Gork's image returned to its normal shape and size and the sceptre thudded back to earth.

Mahtis shrugged.  "I always get those two mixed up."


To Chapter 24  The Ancient Conflict

The False Moon War: Chapter 22

to Title and Contents

Chapter 22.  The Battle for the Ramp

When the wards at the polar gates fell, the first wave of Chaotic beings to manifest themselves slithered, galloped, hopped or flew from the polar gates like a tsunami of dreadful intent.  Given time they would roll like a wave over the entire world.

After them came Greater Daemons and Princes of Chaos who stopped and drew breath.  They enjoyed the tangy scent of mortal life in the air and did not want their harvest of this world to be cut short.

They had felt and recognized the cold wills and magical strength that had sustained the wards in the months since the Great Vortex had started to gutter.  They had also felt the enormous volume of raw energy that dripped like honey from the Geomantic Web.  They reasoned that the Slann Mage Priests of Lustria held the only power that was capable of banishing the hordes again.

The Slann were their true enemy, the delicious power their true prize.

When the storm broke, those with the power to do so gathered minions to their side and winked out of material form and into the form of chaotic energy.  They rode lightning from cloud to cloud, crossing vast distances in minutes.  Like moths drawn to a flame, they each materialized with their forces within striking distance of one of the hated slann.

The False Moon War had begun.

*****

The tales of heroism in the jungles and temple cities of Lustria are not recorded here, but suffice it to say that the Daemons did not find the lizardmen unprepared.  Although the Slann mage priests remained entranced and linked to the Geomantic Web, the feast of magical energy surging through the clouds was easily channelled and deployed to devastating effect by the skink priests.  Even the wettest acolyte discovered the full potential of his powers.

Temples were ransacked of their scrolls of binding, and every kind of monster was summoned from the wild to bolster the legions of Lustria.  Once again, the expatriate vampire lord, Count Renliss was compelled to throw his unholy army into the fray, no matter that it was against his will.

On the diametrically opposite side of the globe to Tlaxtlan, one lone slann might hope to remain concealed, but the threads of geomantic web which connected him to his brothers encircled the earth like four meridians.

"X" literally marked the spot where he could be found.

*****

Between the light of the Chaos Moon and the near continuous lightning, Caneghem could make out pockets of movement among the boulders below the concourse.  Shrill voices whooped with vile glee.

Caneghem was perched beside the solar engine on Bessie's back, anchoring the left side of the battle line.  On the far right, Rodekhil sat astride Rudolph, with four stout ogres ensconced in the spiky battle wagon behind them.  The other sixteen ogres formed a cordon between the monsters, with Argsplat at their head.

The skink priest didn't bother to look for Rychek and Caneghem.  They would be virtually invisible in their swamp.  He imagined that any daemons who came that way would get a very Lustrian welcome.

Likewise, Caneghem could not see Bob and Joe in their maze of ruins, although he occasionally heard their arguing voices during brief lulls in the thunder.  He shook his head.  If they used half the animosity they showed towards each other on their enemies, the right flank would be secure.

Argsplat had his customary meat axe in his left hand.  He pointed with his hook.  "They're gathering.  Charge them yet?"

Caneghem saw a collection of slimy green gibbering daemons clamber over each other to ascend the broad ramp.  "They're nurglings.  Not heavy enough to pose a threat from a charge, but they have a poisonous bite.  They can attack faster than your ogres can swing their weapons.  Get Rodekhil to move halfway down the ramp and spread your troops from here to there at an angle.  Maximize your impact when you charge."

The carpet of rotten creatures moved like a school of fish.  Those on the right shied away from Rodekhil and his rhinox and squeezed the other flank forward along the edge of the concourse.  By the time they had flowed halfway up the ramp, their daemon formation had changed from a broadly advancing wave to a narrow wedge.  Rodekhil had been slowly heading further down the ramp, pulling the ogre line with him until they faced more across, than down the slope.  The trap was ready to be sprung.

"Now!"

The ogres charged into the nurgling flank.  The weight of their charge alone was enough to  scatter practically the whole swarm off the side of the causeway.  They barely had use for their weapons, as they kicked and stomped the stragglers, for only a few minor bites and scratches in return.

"Return to position!"  The ironguts jogged back to the top of the ramp, but Rodekhil could not reverse or pivot.

As he turned his battle wagon through a broad arc its flank became exposed to the foot of the ramp.  A half dozen lithe female daemons with scorpion like claws bounded out of the haze with shrill cries.  The agile Daemonettes of Slaanesh were able to strike with their claws before the ogres were even able to swing their weapons back.  The daemons were repelled, but not before they had caused deep wounds to the ogre crew and Rudolph's steaming flank. The rhinox shied nervously but Rodekhil was able to pull his head around by main force and goad him back up the ramp.

"Are you okay?" asked Caneghem as Rodekhil drew level with Bessie. 

He glanced at his passengers, two of whom had gouts of blood pouring from ugly wounds.  Their armour had provided almost no protection from the shear like claws.  "Nothing to worry about.  Except Rudolf is now faced the wrong way.  'E'll 'ave to come out of the 'arness so we can turn the wagon around."

"You can't afford to get caught like that again.  Chock the wheels of the wagon and leave it here.  Bessie can anchor the next charge while you turn Rudolph.  An check your troops.  Any ogres wounded by the nurglings will have been poisoned."

Rodekhil surveyed his foot troops.  A number sported scratches and bite marks.  None looked unwell.  "Been there, done that.  Nothing's got poison like Cathayan style Lustrian snake stir-fry."

"Nurgle and Slaanesh already."  Caneghem thought to himself.  "Would followers of the other two Chaos Gods show themselves as well?"

He knew that the heavier minions of Nurgle were tough, but they were even slower than ogres.  Not a great threat.  The speed and agility of the other breeds, particularly Slaanesh would be a problem.  He would need to neutralize the daemonettes before they cut the ogres to ribbons.

Nurglings gathered again.  The defenders set their trap, this time with Bessie approaching the base of the ramp.  The swarm behaved predictably and strung itself out. Once again the ogres smashed the nurglings off the edge and fell back.  Caneghem turned Bessie across the ramp.

He lazily dismounted and stepped several paces down from his mount.  He was aware of scores of leering eyes measuring his intent.  When he was absolutely sure that he had the full attention of his foes, the unkillable skinklord slowly and deliberately pulled the Pendant of Khaeleth over his head and carefully placed it on the ground beside him. 

He was a tempting target.  A horde of daemonettes could restrain their thirst for blood no longer.  They surged towards him.

For months, his proximity to Taistelaikch'ken's geomantic node and the dark magic amulet had blocked him from channelling the magical Wind of Azyr.  Released from these constraints, and with a storm of magic in progress, it took only the slightest effort of will to summon chain lightning from the roiling clouds.  The daemons were incinerated as they charged.

It was, however, beyond Caneghem to put the lightning back where it belonged.  Bolts of purple fire started dancing unpredictably around him.  He had lost control of the spell.

Just as a calamitous detonation seemed inevitable, the skink priest seized the dark magic pendant from the ground and held it skywards.  He was briefly wreathed in lightning and then by a fountain of black sparks.

Power drain.  Through a combination of luck and skill, he managed to dissipate most of the spell's excess energy, leaving him with a splitting headache and pervading amnesia.

When he returned to his senses, he still had the pendant clutched in his hand.  He was cradled in Rodekhil's arms.

"Impressive," observed the ogre.  "Can you do that again if we need you to?"

"Do what again?"

*****

Rodekhil described what had happened before Caneghem's rescue.  "Bessie stood over you swinging 'er tail as three monstrous beasts charged in.  They were the fastest things on legs I've ever seen.  They looked like monster aardvarks.  What do you say, Argsplat?"

Argsplat was sucking the flesh out of a large blue claw which he had cracked open with his hook.  "They looked like aadvarks.  They taste like shellfish."  He wandered off in search of a finger bowl with lemon water in it.

"Fiends of Slaanesh?  How did you defeat them?"

"They were fully occupied with Bessie's tail.  Rudolph..."  he patted the rhinox's neck, "got away from me as soon as I got 'im out of the traces.  'E skewered them on his 'orns as 'e hit their flank.  Me and Argsplat had to run after him and collect you.  Bessie wasn't leaving without you, and Rudolph wasn't leaving without Bessie.  If those two become any closer, it could get very... educational.

"The daemonettes you didn't zap moved off to the north with something bigger.  Couldn't make out what it was.  And the nurgle things are growing," he nodded down the ramp.

Instead of nurglings, there gathered a shambling mass of Plague Bearers clutching filthy weapons.

"Their lines are too deep for you to break them on a charge.  Let them advance.  I will give them Chotec's greeting."  Caneghem carefully aligned the lens of the solar engine to focus at an angle across the ramp.  "Hold still, Bessie."

When the rotten smelling mob were almost within charge range Caneghem placed his hand in the imprint on the back of the engine.  The hand print was oversized, and had too many fingers, but the result was satisfactory nonetheless.

The cube at the heart of the contraption flared and clear yellow light streaked out.  For the first time in their miserable existence, the ranks of Plague Bearers were cleansed of corruption.  Soon afterwards they were cleansed of flesh as well.  The formation was broken, and the ogres mopped up.

The solar engine flickered and died.  "That's it.  We don't have any more tricks left."  

"Just muscle and iron."

"When you say it like that, brother Rodekhil, you give me hope."



To Chapter 23 - Welcome to Lustria

The False Moon War: Chapter 21

to Title and Contents

Chapter 21.  The Calm Before the Storm

Several things happened simultaneously.

The sun set in the west.  (Not bad).

In the east, Morrslieb rose, bigger and closer than ever before.

The tidal forces of the Chaos Moon irretrievably disrupted the laminar flow of the Winds of Magic in the Great Vortex over Ulthuan.   The Vortex collapsed into chaotic eddies.  The energies that were previously collected and channelled through the Geomantic Web began to accumulate in the atmosphere.  (Bad).

The magical wards at the polar gates, which had for so long barred the essence of Chaos from spilling into the material realm, evaporated.  When the resistance disappeared, the Chaotic beings pressed against the wards tumbled over each other and into material existence like a billion evil slap stick comedians (Is there any other kind?).  (Bad).

During this lunar cycle the Chaos Moon's orbit would decay catastrophically.  It would eventually plunge into the earth in a cataclysmic release of energies which would destroy all life on the globe and tear a vast and permanent rent in the veil between the material universe and that of Chaos.  (Very Bad).

The Great Slann Lord, Taistelaikch'ken's eyes opened.  (Long overdue).

He opened his mouth and croaked inaudibly.  Rodekhil shrugged and looked enquiringly at Caneghem who had trotted up beside him.  The slann coughed and cleared his throat.

"The Enemy come.  Prepare."

Caneghem bowed quickly and sprinted back toward the temple.

"Which enemy?  We've got a few to choose from..." asked the puzzled Rodekhil.

"Daemons!" Caneghem, called over his shoulder, without pausing.

"What?  Where?"

"Everywhere!  But we shall make our stand here!"

Rodekhil followed. As he passed his general he said, "Me and the lads will 'andle this."  Welhung didn't even hear him over the loud moaning of his wife.

*****

Just as there is a calm before a storm, the winds of magic lulled.  Magical pressure began to build.  Caneghem could feel that a worldwide storm of magic would break, possibly within the next few hours.  When that happened, daemons, who were confined to the polar areas by the relative slowness of their earthbound forms, would be able to ride the wild clouds and take physical form anywhere.

They would be attracted to places of magical power like ants to a picnic.  Caneghem knew that they would feel the tendrils of geomantic energy which connected Taisteslaikch'ken to his brethren, half a world away in Lustria.  The question was not if they would come here, but how soon.

His head throbbed with the rapidly rising magical pressure.  Unnatural clouds were piling up almost everywhere.  The exception was the Great Maw.  Above that aggregation of earth-power the sky was clear.  As the first stars of dusk began to glint coldly, they witnessed an unusual war council through their window in the clouds.

*****

Caneghem, Rychek and Rodekhil planned the defence.

"We could barricade ourselves in the chamber with the dinner gong."  Rychek suggested.

"Only as a last resort."  Caneghem had not fought daemons himself, but he had studied their kinds, tactics and abilities.  "We have no long ranged weaponry to keep them back, and we would be packed in like sardines.  If they have Flamers of Tzeentch, we will be toast."

"Sorry.  That was a half baked idea." agreed Rychek. 

Caneghem surveyed the open area in front of the temple.

"This concourse is as flat as a pancake.  If the daemons gather here in numbers, we will be in a pickle.  There is enough room at the bottom for them to assemble ranked units or cavalry.  If they can get the charge, they will make mincemeat of us."

"Charging downhill is bread and butter for the ogres."  Rychek observed.  "Any unprepared formations at the bottom of the ramp will be serving themselves up on a platter."

"Don't you think the ogres would be biting off more than they can chew?  They will have a lot on their plate."

Rychek shook his head,  "Even if they don't cut the mustard, Bessie and that rhinox, Rudolph, can charge into the flanks and save their bacon."

"We've been forgetting Chotec's Engine.  Any daemons we can fry will be icing on the cake."

"What about our flanks?  Our goose would be cooked if they got behind our lines."

"There is a marsh to the south, and a jumble of Sky Titan ruins to the north.  They can't get heavy troops through on either flank."

"Even light units or flyers could potentially make us the meat in the sandwich.  We don't want to put all our eggs in one basket."  Rychek chewed over the situation.    "The ogres and the monsters wouldn't be worth beans in the marsh or the broken terrain to the north.  It's just not their cup of tea.  But, it will be a piece of cake for Mahtis and I to upset the apple cart if the daemons cook something up."

"What about the ruins to the north?  It would be a fine kettle of fish if the enemy slipped past."

"Bob and Joe are full of beans.  They'll give any skulking daemons some food for thought."

Caneghem summarized the rough plan.  "Okay.  The ogres, monsters and Chotec's engine batter and fry any frontal attackers.  You and Mahtis go make the marsh mellow, and the sauri give any other enemy flankers their just desserts.  What if the any of our units crumble?"

"No use crying over spilt milk.  We all fall back to the temple.  If anyone wants to break in there, we will give them the whole enchilada!"  Rychek grinned savagely.

Caneghem nodded slowly.  They would not be able to hold out indefinitely against the numberless hordes of chaos but, before the end, they would ensure that the four Chaos Gods understood that this world would not be bought cheaply.  He turned from Rychek to his other companion.  "Rodekhil?  What do you think of the plan?"

The ogre jumped as his name was called.  "Whatever.... I mean.... I don't care.  You can sort out the plan."  He shook his head.  "It's weird.  For some reason I feel really 'ungry all of a sudden."

*****

Rychek and Mahtis explored the marshland they planned to defend.  Tussocks of sedge grew between pools of murky water.  The pools were connected in places by narrow leads.   Footing for land troops would be unreliable.  The final approach to the narrow stair leading to the temple gate was reasonably firm, but it was surrounded by deep water.

They made a lucky find of a large clump of black bamboo some hundreds of yards to the south.  With a borrowed falchion, the pair harvested many armfuls of the long stems and ferried them back to the temple.

Rychek busied himself cutting the thinner stems into five foot lengths and sharpening them to barbed points.  When he had fashioned a large bundle of the improvised javelins, he tested one out on a rotten tree stump standing alone on an island of moss.  The sharp stick flew true and stood quivering with its point buried in the wood.

Rychek sighed.  Accuracy was fine, but the light javelins would not reliably cause fatal wounds.  He missed his pouch of jungle poisons, left behind in his haste to pursue the ogres so many months ago.

This was no Lustrian swamp.  It didn't naturally make an effort to kill or maim any visitors.  Rychek and Mahtis laboured for another two hours to make it feel more like home.

They covered sucking pools of quicksand with thin mats of moss which looked like dry land.  Where paths  dipped, they studded the ground with sharpened bamboo stakes which hid beneath the shallow water.  Where possible, they undermined the firmest trails.  Each of their engineering works served to funnel attackers into a killing zone near the lonely tree stump on its bare island.

*****

Rodekhil and Argsplat gratefully accepted the remaining bamboo staves.  The wagon which had carried Welhung and Hellun received a battlefield makeover.  The finished product was a heavy, rhinox drawn chariot which bristled with defensive spikes.  Rudolph's harness received the same treatment, to make his flanks less vulnerable.  His thick skull received no such protection.  It had already proven itself to be impervious to harm.  There was room atop the battle wagon for four ogres to hurl rocks or swing with their great weapons.

Bessie needed no enhancement of her natural armour.  Under Caneghem's direction, Bob and Joe unloaded the sacks and barrels of supplies and stacked them carefully in the gong chamber.

"Why did we bring all this stuff?  Food is okay, but why herbs and spices?"  Joe whined.  "What does this one say?"

It was too dim to read in the gong chamber, so Bob held a flaming torch close to the cask Joe was holding.  "It says 'Black Pepper.'  Or at least it does now.  Someone crossed out the letters 'O W D E R', and then wrote 'E P P E R' in their place."

"Do we really need six casks of it?"

"I think I remember loading them.  That Swedian Chef fellow helped out by handing them up to me.  Then he said something like 'Gersh gurndy morn-dee burn-dee, burn-dee, boom-boom!  Hurdy hur hur hur!' " 

Joe put down the cask he was holding and prised off the lid.  He scooped up a handful of the black granules and sniffed them.  "Its lost its flavour anyway.  Useless!"

He tossed the handful at Bob who was still holding the torch.

*****

Caneghem was polishing the lens of the solar engine when he was surprised by a loud bang, a cloud of smoke and a wailing sound bursting out of the gong chamber.

After Bob and Joe had been stamped out, they showed Rodekhil the remaining casks.  He grinned evilly.  "Argsplat.  Did you know about this?"

"No boss.  In fact I 'ad a good serving of the tasteless stuff on my dinner last night."

" 'Mmmm.  Best you don't take a torch with you to the latrine."

*****

With the unloading completed, Bob and Joe were sent to reconnoitre the ruins to the north.  The stubs of wall and piles of fallen masonry created a labyrinth of false trails and dead ends.  However, enough passages connected through to make it a somewhat porous defence.  If the defenders were to wait for the enemy to come to them, they risked being attacked from several angles at once.  Their best option was to stay mobile and patrol aggressively.

If they could hit suddenly and decisively, they could ghost away back into the maze and choose their next skirmish.  The enemy would be left off balance, not knowing from which direction the next attack would come.

At the third watch after sunset Morrslieb slid above the clouds ringing the Great Maw.  His baleful green light cast eerie shadows.  Caneghem and Rodekhil signalled their fighters to return to the temple.  Last to return were Bob and Joe.

"It's a funny thing,"  said Joe, "but we found a whole lot of these in a cave back there."  He held up a large glowing mushroom.  It's cap was covered in square mirror-like facets which caught and reflected points of light.  "Is this the same kind of mushroom that Rychek ate?"

Caneghem's jaw dropped.  "That's a disco-cap!  No one eats one of those and survives."

"He didn't eat a whole one.  It was more of a nibble."

Caneghem shook his head,  "Even in trace amounts the toxin has..... unusual effects.  Did you notice any strange symptoms?"

Rychek examined at his toes in embarrassment.  "Nothing worth telling a long story about...."

"It is a lucky find anyway, thank the Old Ones.  Go get me some more."

Bob and Joe returned soon after.  Caneghem got Mahtis to grind the deadly mushrooms into a powder.  The skink priest needed some kind of paste as a medium to stick the poison to the barbs of Rychek's javelins.  He rummaged through his kitchen supplies and came up with a large sack of root vegetables.  Perfect.

He boiled them in a large pot of salted water until soft, then drained off the liquid, which he retained for later use as a soup base.  Then he added a generous knob of butter and a splash of milk.  He mashed the ingredients together carefully to ensure a smooth creamy consistency, and then added salt and black powder to taste.  Last of all he stirred in the powdered mushrooms.

It was to become his most famous dish.  Lustrian Mashed Potatoes of Death.

The mash was moulded into sausage shapes on the tip of each bamboo javelin.  The deadly payload increased the weight of the point, giving Rychek's projectiles greater range and accuracy.  The poison, once delivered, would do the rest.

With the front and flanks as secure as they could be, Caneghem and Rodekhil inspected the rear.  Welhung had remained where he was, comforting Hellun.  His lieutenant pressed the tyrant's mace into his hands.  "Just in case."

Welhung nodded in gratitude.

Caneghem stood at the brink of the deck and bowed low.  His master hovered a few yards away staring at the Chaos Moon. 

"My Lord Taisteslaikch'ken,  we have prepared for a frontal assault on the temple, but we can spare none to guard you.  I trust you will be able to defend yourself."

The slann turned his unearthly gaze on the priest.  "I commune with my Spawnkin, Tecciztec of Tlaxtlan, and with the great convocation of my brother slann.  The moon can be defeated, but it will take all of our powers, and some luck.  We... I.... will be vulnerable.  I will summon you when you are needed."  He returned his contemplation to the green orb which was halfway to its zenith.

Caneghem was buffeted by a sudden gust of the winds of magic, and Taisteslaikch'ken's palanquin wobbled and dipped.  A lurid bolt of purple lightning was quickly followed by a peal of thunder.  The storm had broken.

From horizon to horizon lightning flashed and thunder rolled.  Caneghem could hear a new sound above the din.  It was a deep metallic clash, repeated at intervals.  He returned to the temple to find Mahtis striking the dinner gong with the huge beater.

The kroxigor lowered the huge beater.  "They are here," he declared.

To Chapter  22: The Battle for the Ramp