Daemon Gates Trilogy (7 page)

Ersomir and Ellsamar ran on his other side, along with Riellyan, each with their bows strung, and he could hear the zip of the arrows as they leapt towards the waiting foes. Lasalnean felt the same surge of pride he always did when he led his warriors into battle. They were a good, tight unit, his kinband, every one of them proven in combat time and again. He'd trust any one of them with his life and gladly, and he knew they trusted him.

This time, however, he feared their trust was misplaced. A spear slammed into Riellyan, piercing her clean through the torso, the force of the blow knocking her back and pin­ning her to the ground. Lasalnean did not pause, nor did the others. They had heard her last breath rattle from her chest as she fell, and had seen her eyes glaze over before she went limp. There was nothing they could do for her, save collect her body and accord it the proper rites, pro­viding they survived this battle.

Lasalnean knew that it was a matter of position. He and his warriors were the stronger fighters by far, and he would stand them against far larger numbers and not fear the out­come, but the creatures held the ruins, and that gave them a clear advantage. If this battle was taking place in the for­est proper, it would barely be a contest. Not only would they have more ease of movement than the beasts could ever hope to possess, and the ability to move silently between the trees, but the forest would also rise up to aid

them and to devour the interlopers. The creatures would never have been able to enter the ruins, much less spread their foul touch through it, if it stood within the forest.

Unfortunately, the buildings stood on the very edge of the forest, where the trees trailed off and the mountains began. It had been a different time then, and the settlements's builders had felt that such a location would be favourable, both to them and to those with whom they had begun trading goods and knowledge.

Changes had been made since then, however, by the creatures that now dared to occupy it. The trees had once marched gracefully up to and even into the ruins, the for­est's way of embracing the fallen city as its own. It had been too great a distance for the forest to cover completely, but still there had been a grove, and over time the trees would have grown stronger, their branches interlinking, until the forest was able to assert itself fully and absorb the ruins.

Those trees had been cut down, their brutally hacked- apart stumps still dotting the landscape, their trunks and branches shattered and tossed every which way, until the space between forest and ruins was strewn with wood chips and splinters, bark slivers and leaves. The forest had recoiled from such violence, leaving the ruins to the intruders, and allowing the space between them to grow barren. The grass had shrivelled and died, the vines had retreated, and all that remained were the tree remnants and what rocks had been uncovered as their roots had bur­rowed through the earth.

There was no shelter. The beasts held the high ground and had cover as well as superior numbers. The kinband's only hope had lain in speed and surprise, and they had already lost the latter.

More spears rained down upon them, and though Lasal­nean and his fighters all fired back it was difficult to tell if they had actually accounted for any deaths. Certainly, the

onslaught did not lessen. Ersomir fell. A block of stone the size of his head collided with and shattered his skull, leav­ing a pulpy mass of bone, blood, and brains to ooze from beneath his caved-in helmet. Ellsamar fell next, with one spear through the leg and a second through the arm, nei­ther of them fatal blows, but enough to pin him down and leave him unable to dodge the heavy rock that smashed into his chest a second later.

Lasalnean gritted his teeth and fired another arrow, catching one of the beasts through the throat. He was reaching back to draw another, when he heard a strange whizzing, growing louder and louder, and saw something heading towards him in a blur of grey and brown. He twisted to the side, trying to avoid it, but he lacked Nelyann's speed. Then pain blossomed in his chest, and the breath was knocked from his lungs as he stumbled and fell backward, all his forward momentum removed by the heavy impact. He glanced down and stared at the heavy spear haft protruding from his side, blood already seeping from the wound to soak his tunic and drip down towards his belt and breeches.

'No!' Nelyann broke off mid-song and grabbed him, somehow sheathing her swords in time to keep him from falling to the ground. 'How bad?' she demanded, her eyes flashing in the dim light.

'Bad enough,' Lasalnean managed to gasp. 'I cannot fight like this.' He pushed at her arm, although his own had no more strength. He felt cold, even though he had broken out into a sweat. 'Leave me here and go on. Take the oth­ers and reclaim the ruins.'

Nelyann shook her head. 'Not without you to lead us,' she replied, ignoring his feeble attempt to order her away. 'Besides, we have lost enough this night.' She commanded the other elves to halt, and they stepped back to group around her. Then she lifted Lasalnean's arm over her shoulder, her arm around his back to provide additional

support, and, turning, broke into a run once again, forcing him to run with her. She ran back towards the safety of the forest, each pounding step sending fresh jolts of pain through Lasalnean as the spear shifted within him. His head swam and his vision grew dim, each breath a labour to produce, his legs leaden but somehow maintaining the rhythm Nelyann had set for him. The forest welcomed them, rustling its branches to distract their foes. The rest of the warriors covered them, retreating as they fired arrow after arrow to keep their foes busy, until they were once more deep within the forest's embrace.

'I failed,' Lasalnean whispered as Nelyann helped him lower himself to the ground behind a fallen tree trunk and began the slow, agonising task of cutting the spear haft off before drawing it from the wound. 'We have lost.'

'Don't talk that way,' Nelyann all but hissed at him, her face scrunched in anger. 'This isn't over yet, and neither are you. I will see to your wound, and then we will fall back and regroup deeper within the forest. Now we have encountered their defences firsthand. Next time we will know what we face, and can prepare better to overcome them. We will reclaim the ruins.'

'I hope so,' Lasalnean agreed, trying not to cry out as she began rocking the spearhead back and forth within his side, loosening the blade so she could yank it free. 'They befoul that place, and the forest, with their continued pres­ence.'

'We will find a way,' Nelyann assured him. 'The beast­men will know our wrath. They will regret the day they defiled the sacred place.'

Lasalnean nodded, but he was barely conscious, which was just as well, since Nelyann chose that moment to give the remaining haft a sharp, hard tug, pulling the spear tip free of his body with a single smooth motion. The pain made him gasp, but he was only barely aware of it. His last thought as he drifted off into unconsciousness was that

they had not even managed to engage the beastmen up close. All they had seen of the hated creatures were distant glimpses as the beastmen readied weapons to drive them back. Lasalnean decided hazily that he would have to rec­tify that. Next time, he would face the beastmen in person, close enough for his daggers to pierce the creatures' flesh, and they would not be able to hide behind the sacred walls and hurl stones at them.

Any other plans Lasalnean might have made faded away as he drifted off into a fitful sleep, with Nelyann watching over him.

CHAPTER SIX

'Greetings, sir. Sigmar
be with you.'

'And with you,' Kleiber replied. He nodded perfunctorily, touching the brim of his hat in salute. 'See to the men,' he told Wilcreitz as he stepped onto the Nuln dock beside the harbourmaster. 'I will be at the headquarters. Find me there when you are finished.'

He strode away, allowing no time for debate, and barely suppressing the smile that threatened to spring to his lips as he heard Wilcreitz's strangled gasp of a reply. The shorter man was foul-tempered enough already, and being treated like a servant would only increase his ire, but Kleiber couldn't help it. His associate's constant sniping and complaints had grated on him the whole way from Altdorf, as had his exaggerated displays of piety. Didn't the man realise that following Sigmar was less about show than about true belief? But perhaps he did not. Wilcrietz had spent most of his years training, studying and praying. This was his first mission in the real world, and no doubt

it had shaken his faith in himself if not in their order and in Sigmar. That was natural. It would wear off soon enough... he hoped.

Taking one of the many bridges that linked the various portions of Nuln, Kleiber walked quickly, but without hurry, towards the local headquarters. He had been here several times before and knew his way, but still he found the city fascinating. Such a contradiction! The waters of the Reik and the Aver shone in the sunlight, broad expanses of rippling silver and gold, and many of the buildings here, including the Royal College of Engineering, were tall and slender, their graceful walls rising up to sleek roofs of pol­ished slate that sparkled throughout the city's broad expanse. Squat, ugly buildings like the Gunnery School stood elsewhere, heavily shaped from rough planks or crude stone blocks, and palls of smoke hung over portions of Nuln, a by-product of the forges that made it so famous and so wealthy. Smoke and sunlight, grace and ungainli- ness, clean water and dirty stone. It was a strange place, and though he enjoyed looking at it, Kleiber had never felt completely comfortable here.

Fortunately, he did not plan on staying long. Cannon fire marked the hour, a dull report that echoed across the city as Kleiber walked. He could see the local witch hunter headquarters ahead of him, and increased his pace as he crossed the broad courtyard and jogged up the wide, shal­low steps. Guards stood to either side of the massive double doors, and they nodded at him as he approached, making the sign of their order, which he returned without slowing down.

Entering the headquarters, Kleiber paused to let his eyes adjust to the sudden dimness. He was in a wide, low- ceilinged room, a fairly typical hall of their order. Tables and chairs were scattered about, many of them with other witch hunters seated, eating, writing, reading or sharpen­ing blades. By the time he could see clearly again, Kleiber

found someone before him, a middle-aged man slender as a rod with an air of quiet importance.

'Sigmar be with you,' the man said, bowing, and Kleiber tipped his head in reply. 'I am Herkov, Witch Hunter Cap­tain of Nuln.'

'Oswald Kleiber, witch hunter, late of Middenheim,' Kleiber answered, drawing the folded packet from inside his jacket. 'The details of my current assignment.'

Herkov nodded and took the packet, breaking the seal at once and stepping closer to a wall torch to read the con­tents. After a moment, he nodded and returned to Kleiber's side. 'I was warned you would be coming, of course,' the witch hunter captain said. He waved towards the back of the long room and a second man joined them. He was younger and larger than Herkov, but had the same quiet air about him, and a face that seemed to rarely smile, though his eyes twinkled with some private amusement.

'Ingwald will accompany you,' Herkov explained. 'He has handled the inquiries thus far. Anything you need, you have but to ask him.'

Kleiber nodded to the other witch hunter, who bowed in return. 'Oswald Kleiber, at your service.'

'Hans Ingwald, at yours, sir,' Ingwald replied.

'I will leave you to it, then,' Herkov said, nodding to both of them. 'Good luck, Herr Kleiber. Sigmar be with you.'

'You are investigating the stolen shipment of arms and black powder,' Ingwald stated as they exited the headquarters, squinting as they emerged into the bright daylight again.

'Yes,' Kleiber agreed, although it had not been a ques­tion. 'I would like to see the sailor who survived first.'

'Of course.' Ingwald indicated a direction and began walking, trusting Kleiber to keep up with him. 'His name is Klaus Boehm and he is still very weak. The beastmen left him for dead, buried beneath several of his fellows, and he was bleeding heavily and barely conscious by the time he was brought back here. I will take you to his shack.'

'The boat is here as well?'

'Oh yes,' Ingwald answered. "We sent a crew to retrieve it. We removed the bodies, of course, and gave them to their families for burial, but otherwise it has not been boarded since it was docked.'

Kleiber nodded. 'Good.' They walked in silence for a while.

Klaus Boehm was
a large, stocky man with a shock of red hair and thick features. He lay in his bed, heavy bandages around his middle, one leg, and his head, and even in the shuttered room Kleiber could see his pallor. This was not a well man.

'I would know what occurred,' Kleiber told him, stand­ing beside the bed and looking down at the sailor. The man was shaking, and Kleiber knew that it was not because of any sudden chill. His office had this effect on people, and at times he welcomed it. It could loosen tongues, and he hoped that would be the case here, though he kept his tone calm and non-threatening. This man was not the enemy, nor had he done anything wrong.

'Of course, Herr Kleiber,' Klaus answered quickly. 'We were sailing to Altdorf, our holds filled with blackpowder weapons, shot and powder. It was night time, only a few days out from the docks, and all was quiet. Most of us were asleep. Ernst was on watch.' He gulped, no doubt remem­bering his friend's fate. 'I don't know how they came on board, only that we woke hearing a commotion. I think it was a splash, like something falling overboard. Pieter was the first up the ladder, and they killed him afore he could even set foot on the deck. Herwin suffered the same fate, and I was right behind them. One slashed me across the belly and another along the leg, then they struck me in the head as I fell. I thought I was dead.' He blinked and looked away. 'When I woke they were gone. I had fallen back and Otfried, who had been coming up the ladder behind me,