Josh Reynolds: Master of Death

As he’d hoped, the howdah, with its complement of artillery, was crushed beneath the thing’s weight. As the abomination regained its feet, he saw that the contraption had been swept off it entirely, tearing great wounds in its back in the process. It hunched and mewled in pain, its screams setting his teeth on edge.

Strigoi warriors bounded forward with howls of glee. Inhuman muscles bunched beneath their armour as the vampires hurled themselves on the wounded beast, stabbing it with swords and spears and tearing at it with claws. Vorag had been profligate in gifting those who had followed him into the wilderness with the blessings of undeath. Too, years of battle had seen his forces slowly but surely shed the living in favour of the dead the way a snake shed its skin. There were no living men left in the army of the Bloodytooth — only the silent dead. Blocks of skeletal infantry moved forward, carrying spears or bows, and more vampires loped through their ranks. There were more ethereal components to the besiegers’ force as well: spectral maelstroms, composed of hundreds of moaning, gibbering spirits bound to W’soran’s will, surging forward towards the army marching to meet them.

Black-furred skaven wearing heavy, red-daubed armour marched in semi-orderly blocks, hefting cruel-looking halberds. Ahead of them, untold masses of scrawny slave-soldiers scurried forward. At the back of the army, bellowing rat ogres shook the chains that bound them to the massive war machine they hauled into position, as shrieking overseers snapped whips over their blunt skulls. The machine was shaped something like an overlarge ballista: a weird amalgamation of wood and metal crafted like no engine that W’soran was familiar with, and somewhere amidst that confusion was the commander of the skaven forces facing them. The longer he examined the war machine, however, the more the shape of it put him in mind of the dragon staves that dead Lahmia had once used in war. Which had unpleasant implications, should the skaven ever actually use it.

The abomination gave a final scream and collapsed, its flabby shape crumpling. The Strigoi crouched on it, howling and whooping. The front ranks of the skaven hesitated, but their masters drove them on with chittering curses and snapping whips and the slaves started forward. The dead moved to meet them, marching in silent unison. As one, the front ranks of the skeletal spearmen lowered their weapons and locked shields. In life, they had been as disciplined as the barbaric Strigoi could get, and that had not changed in death.

W’soran watched, awaiting the impact of bone on flesh, when a slender shape suddenly landed on the palanquin, startling him. He spun about with a hiss, hands raised and an invocation on his lips. He swallowed the words as he realised who it was. ‘Rudek,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t you be leading a heedless assault of some sort?’

‘And shouldn’t you be hiding, sorcerer?’ Rudek countered, his red eyes narrowing. ‘That is what you’re best at, after all.’ He was handsome, as the Strigoi judged such things, with sharp features and dark hair bound in the customary scalp-lock. Slim and long-limbed, with the grace of a born swordsman and the agility of a cat, Rudek was one of the more devious of Vorag’s pets. W’soran despised him.

‘Watch your tongue, Rudek,’ one of W’soran’s acolytes growled. Melkhior threw back the hood of his robe, revealing his animalistic sneer, and slapped a claw to the sword sheathed on his hip.

Rudek turned with a lazy smile. ‘Ah, the coward speaks up.’

‘I’m no coward,’ Melkhior snarled, his flat, black eyes pulsing with anger.

‘Then why are you here with these thin-blooded grave-robbers and not out there with the rest of us, cousin?’ Rudek hissed, flashing his fangs. The hair on the back of his neck had stiffened like the quills of a porcupine and he hunched forward, arms spread. Melkhior’s round maw split to reveal his own impressive nest of teeth, and his sword-hilt creaked in his grip.

W’soran watched the confrontation in amusement. He’d forgotten that Melkhior was related by blood to many of Vorag’s followers. The nobles of the Strigoi, whether living or undead, were interrelated to a degree that even a Nehekharan found to be ridiculous. It made such confrontations rather more heated than they would have been otherwise, as well as more amusing.

He clapped his hands together before either vampire could make a move. ‘Why are you bothering me, Rudek? I have spells to cast,’ he said.

Rudek turned back to W’soran, his sneer returning. ‘Yes, and at my command, necromancer,’ he said. ‘We are to smash the vermin here and hold our position. Lord Vorag wishes to make a final push into the heart of this nest. He believes that the vermin are retreating here from throughout the mountain, thanks to our valiant efforts.’

W’soran turned away, scanning the cavern. It was by far the largest such space they had yet encountered, as well as the most built up. The upper reaches were strung with rickety walkways, and strange towers and balconies had been grafted onto the larger stalactites like barnacles; the walls of the cavern had quite obviously been hollowed out, and rough stairways curved in and out of them in places. Strange metal globes of enormous size, full of burning incense, had been strung up here and they cast a milky pall over the whole of the cavern. It reminded him of similar open areas he had seen in the depths of Nagashizzar, that had heralded the entrances to the deep burrows and breeding pits of the skaven.

He was forced to admit that it made sense, though he doubted Vorag had arrived at the conclusion through any studied process of consideration. Rather, it was the instinct of a jackal hunting a rodent and knowing that its prey will seek shelter. He glanced back at Rudek. ‘And how would you suggest we go about holding this place, Rudek? We have barely a third of the army here, and we’re likely sitting right on top of the main nest of the ratkin. There’ll be millions of them in here with us before long.’

‘Then we shall have a chance to see just how effective your magics are, sorcerer,’ Rudek said, grinning. ‘I will lead the attack, and you will join me.’

W’soran hesitated. Idly, he stroked his dead eye and the scar that crossed it. ‘And if I refuse?’

‘Then I will butcher you here and now,’ Rudek said with a shrug. ‘Your choice.’

I’d like to see you try, you preening ape, W’soran thought. What he said, however, was, ‘I shall join you. It would be my pleasure.’

‘I thought you might see it that way,’ Rudek said, laughing. ‘Do not tarry, W’soran. There is blood to be spilt and rats to be spitted!’ A moment later he was gone, bounding from the palanquin and racing away towards the forefront of the battle. Other Strigoi joined him as he moved, like wolves being summoned to the hunt by the pack-leader.

W’soran grunted. It was an inconvenience, but one he could easily turn to his advantage, if he were quick about it. He turned to Melkhior. ‘Stay here and oversee our works. Keep the dead on their feet and the rats off our flanks.’

‘I will come with you,’ Melkhior said, drawing his sword. ‘You will need my help, master.’

‘Melkhior, the day I need your help to murder a cousin of yours is the day they roll me into a crypt and shut the door,’ W’soran said. Melkhior blinked.

‘What?’

‘Why else do you think I agreed to his idiotic demand? I’m going to kill him,’ W’soran said, bluntly. ‘Do you have a problem with that, my son?’

Melkhior looked at him. ‘He’s not a close cousin,’ he said, after a moment.

‘I’m simply overjoyed to hear it,’ W’soran said as he moved to the edge of the palanquin. Quickly, he flung off his cloak, revealing the curved and scalloped plates of the Strigoi cuirass he wore beneath. Cruelly hooked pauldrons protected his skinny shoulders and a flaring gorget encased his throat like the crest of some great Southland saurian. Bracers decorated with intricately wrought sigils covered his forearms and greaves of similar design protected his shins. He drew the Arabyan scimitar from its wolf-skin sheath on his hip and leapt from the palanquin.