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.
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