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Written by MutantMaggot
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Sunday, 22 June 2008 |
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Page 5 of 9
The hooded figure looked at Adrek with interest. The young knight showed promise. This would be easy ...
"Vampire, I believe you do not understand my point. I mean Coreaux ... he only serves his own purpose, not Mousillon. I know you hunger for power, yet deep inside ... I can feel your resentment. You shall have power, young knight, but you must understand that your master does not serve this land as he should. He serves only himself, and while he does so he grinds this land into the ground."
Adrek frowned, watching his knights slay the few remaining villagers. "Who are you? You come here ... and tell me something that is close to treason ... and you expect me to believe you?" But while the knight spoke these words, he couldn't help but feel the cloaked figure was right: Coreaux did not serve his fiefdom as he should; as it deserved.
"I have no true name, for a name is also a weakness. But knight ... you are young, and may yet understand my cause. You have hundreds of years yet to live. I have few, for destiny has shown me my fate. I stand here, and give you my last hope for this land. Already my own master plots my untimely demise ... should he be successful - and I have reason to believe he will - it is up to you and your knights to ensure this land remains pure.
"Others share this ideal: Jean, Coreaux's herald, is one of these. Jacques d'Eperon is another, as is Arkhor."
Adrek frowned. "Arkhor? But the vampire was killed, wasn't he?"
"Not so, my impetuous friend. Even now he walked the land again, though I fear he may do more harm than good in his mission."
The Blood Knight Champion didn't reply. Instead, he let his doubts surface yet again. "Who are you?"
"I have been known by many names over the years, and Walach is one of them, as is Maldred. I have no true name that I can recall. My present name, you wonder? I think you already know that, friend."
A slow smile crossed Adrek's face as he watched the figure stride away and mount a horse, his cloak revealing dark armour.
"So," he mused. "It has begun, after all these long years. The Return."
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It was quick and simple: the High elves were rounded up and killed, either pierced by crossbow bolts, or cut down mercilessly by powerful swords. A few were herded onto the ships for use as slaves.
There was one thing left to be dealt with: the mage. Bardanas sighed as he entered the citadel. Where was the mage? He would not enjoy this. Killing elves with a small chance was acceptable, but to murder an unconscious mage ... that galled. He was going to kill an innocent, who had helped him deal with a Bloodthirster. This would not be a task he would enjoy.
The steps were long, and every step drained Bardanas' resolve as he climbed the stair up to the top of the tower. Inside his head, voices sapped at his resolve, draining his will to carry on. How long would this go on for? But even as he thought it, he could see the roof ... some kind of spear-holder was attached to the top of the tower, but he didn't question it or even think about it.
His primary concern was dealing with this mage.
Balathir turned, to see a figure in black armour ascending the stairs. His eyes widened. He had no power left: no chance of killing this foe.
A sudden shock filled him as he realized he was about to die. He stood next to the rail, and leaned on his staff. He didn't draw a sword: what was the point?
The Dark Elf was very near now, just approaching the windswept balcony. Balathir spoke, his words barely audible. "I always thought your kind was similar to my own in everything but foes and cultural differences, but it appears I was wrong ... to kill an unarmed foe is truly barbaric." The mage's eyes blazed, although possibly with the effort of concealing his lies. "I saved your life, and this is how you repay me?"
The Dark Elf gave no reply. Instead, he calmly walked up to the mage, and drew a dagger, pointing it at the High elf's heart. But then, just as the dagger began to move towards the mage's stomach, the Dark Elf seemed to pause. Some inner regret, some memory made him stop ... could he really kill his saviour?
It was all Balathir needed. The mage swiftly struck the elf on his exposed head with his staff, and stood back, in a surprising burst of speed for such an exhausted mage.
He then kicked Bardanas towards the rail, and pointed his staff at the cornered elf. One quick spell ... and he could kill the commodore. Bardanas had no regret. He had just enough energy left, and the Commodore was, after all, one of his hated kindred, one of those who had slaughtered his family.
Balathir muttered a word of power, and Bardanas was thrown backwards and upwards, over the rail. But the Dark elf swiftly grasped it with both hands, hanging from the tower. Balathir tried to cast another spell, yet he couldn't cast it: he had finally exhausted his supply of magical energy. Instead, the mage drew a dagger, and advanced towards the commodore ...
Bardanas watched the mage approach, and smiled. Good. He had a chance yet. Bringing his feet up to rest on the edge of the balcony, his fingers brushed the draich on his back. Treacherous elf. The commodore would have no regrets this time.
As the High elf got close, Bardanas swung himself over the rail, using his draich to crush his foe's chest. He smiled, pushing the mage away, and sheathing his bloodied sword. It was done. The High elves had been defeated.
Balathir coughed, blood spewing onto his pristine white robes. The damned Druchii ... he had killed him ...
The mage turned to watch the Dark elf walk away, and hatred filled his mind. He tried to speak, but only blood came from his mouth, a hacking cough that only further damaged his shattered windpipe.
He leaned on his staff as strength left him. He was surprised he was still alive, but the Dark Elf must have missed his heart. You could never trust Druchii to do anything, even kill you. The thought made Balathir smile slightly, yet it was gone in a second as pain lashed through his dying body.
Balathir's hate filled gaze was still focussed on Bardanas' retreating form as he fell slowly to the ground with a dull thud. In a barely audible whisper, the mage hissed. "You'll regret that, Druchii," he warned, as the last vestiges of strength left his exhausted body and everything faded to pure white.
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The vampire's face was shadowed as he addressed Bardanas, but it was clear from his voice he was annoyed.
"You agreed! Mousillon was to be mine!" he hissed, losing his temper; a rare occasion, and a sign of how annoyed the vampire was.
Bardanas adopted a level tone to disguise his anger, watching his repeater crossbowmen surround the vampire. "I don't know what was agreed, vampire, but Skulliot is dead. Raise his corpse from the dead, and then discuss it with him! Anyway, what was Skulliot to get in return?"
The hooded figure calmed slightly, his face returning from bestial anger to calmness, albeit calmness that could return to anger in the blink of an eyelid. There was hope yet. His voice was low and broken, similar to his appearance. "Power. An army. Never to be frowned upon again, or tortured. Employment in the service of Nagash himself; as a raider working in his pay. And whatever the High Elves were searching for."
Bardanas frowned. "And you'd have the means to accomplish this?"
"Of course not for such a lowly captain as Skulliot, but for a commodore such as yourself I would be able to persuade my master to-" Bardanas' sword flickered near the vampire's neck.
"Tell your master - if he is Nagash, which I doubt - that Bardanas of the Corsairs serves no master but Malekeith and Khaine, vampire."
The figure hissed, throwing back his cloak to reveal an array of daggers over a black robe. A dozen skulls were also draped from the belt - which looked like human skin - and some of the elves recoiled. Bardanas did not even flinch. "I am not cowed by such displays, vampire. I have told you before, and I won't tell you again. Leave!"
The vampire hissed again, and his voice carried in the winds, a cutting whisper. "I am the Herald of Nagash, and you have just made the worst mistake you could. With your foolish words, you have doomed you and all your corsairs to a life of torment in the Pit of Nagashizzar, pirate. I will return, yet when I do it will be with an army beyond reckoning at my back. Hear these words and fear me, corsair!"
Bardanas adopted a fighting stance, and spat at the Herald's feet. "I have heard of you ... Herald. Your threats are empty, with no real meaning, for you have no power with your master, who sits in his chamber, isolated from the outside world." The sound of crossbows loading their lethal bolts filled the air, and the Herald looked around, suddenly out of control of the situation.
The vampire hissed, and green threads surrounded his body as he transformed into a hideous bat, which flapped its colossal wings and soared off into the night.
A Dark elf approached his master. "Captain, were his threats in vain, or was that bluffing?"
"In part, I was right. He has no power with his master, yet on the other hand, he is a formidable vampire himself." Bardanas hesitated, before turning to his surviving warriors. "Corsairs, prepare for war!"
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Jacques frowned as he followed Mallobaude through the narrow side passage leading out of Nagashizzar: what was his master's true intent, and why?
Without warning, the tall vampire began to speak, as if reading Jacques' thoughts. "I imagine you wonder about why I am freeing you," he began, his voice no longer a carrying hiss, but a quiet, barely audible, whisper. "It is because I care for Mousillon," the arch-vampire stated cryptically, as Jacques began to see light at the end of the tunnel.
"Yes, I care for Mousillon. And what becomes of it, unlike my master, who seeks to grind it into the dust. I was born in Lahmia, city of vampires, but it is here I have lived most of my life. And I have always had it under control ... until now."
Jacques frowned, intrigued. "Why? What happened?"
"Coreaux is what happened. His actions got the Herald interested in Mousillon, and therefore it became filled with civil strife once more. Other races have become alerted to its presence and the power it commands, the last truly vampire-controlled land in the old world. The elves that you know have infiltrated Mousillon, they are just the start of this: more are coming, even lizards from the far west, some say.
"And Coreaux uses it like my master would, should he gain control. A tool, an instrument of power ... merely a lever to propel him into the highest of ranks.
"And the Herald thinks the same, too," Mallobaude continued. "Nagash never had much regard for the lands he defiled, and neither does his servant. Mousillon would become a barren waste, a great summoning ground for countless necromancers. Preferable to a cleansing at the hands of Louencour, perhaps: but not much.
"And at the heart of this is the spear. You grew up here, you know of it. A great weapon: unbelievably powerful. And now Coreaux has it, he has the means to tear the land he ‘cares for' apart. And worse, no one else can use it to stop him." Mallobaude frowned, leaving only the sound of dripping water, at least until Jacques' voice pierced the silence.
"Why? I thought anyone could wield it, or at least, a lot of people have."
Mallobaude paused momentarily. "A good question, young vampire. The answer is that when it was used as a great weapon, it was in its separate components, which themselves are very powerful. When combined, they form a lethal combination, but the incantation used means only one man can wield the full extent of its power: the Black Knight. If he is not such a man, only a ssmall amount of power will seep through."
"Then how can Coreaux wield it?" Jacques asked, puzzled. He was making the most of his master's oddly sociable mood, but even if he hadn't been, he would have asked that: the question must be spoken, and he dreaded the answer. "I thought Jean was the Black Knight?"
Mallobaude laughed, the sound carrying through the tunnel: they were far enough from Nagashizzar for volume not to matter. "Of course not ... but then again, you have no way of knowing why. That was my fault ... it should be Jean: in fact, it seems logical that it was only Jean. " Jacques stood stock still, his breathing slow and steady: he needed to calm himself, as the answer may shock and aurprise him in equal measure. "But it is not," Mallobaude continued, his voice seeming slightly more strained than usual. "Coreaux is the Black Knight of Mousillon ... if you remember, early on, when he had just received the Lady's blessing, the knight slew Abhorash, my servant, and unwittingly took the curse upon himself. Though I summoned the vampire back from death, the harm was done. The person Jean killed was little more than a husk of Abhorash, with little skill or power left. By that time it was too late, though. Coreaux had become Black Knight and there was nothing I could do about it: he is the true master of the spear, at least until someone kills him." A gasp ripped from Jacques' throat: if what he had heard was true, one of his greatest enemies now had the power to destroy most of the Old World. But it made sense, however much it shocked and horrified him: he remembered a scribe's talk to Louencour's court - which had included Jacques at the time - about the Black Knight being Abhorash and his role in Mousillon. Jacques paused for a second as Mallobaude began to speak. Would the arch-vampire finally reveal why he had told Jacques this?
"So you see, d'Eperon, there are few choices left to you: support Nagash or Coreaux, and grind your homeland into the dust; or try to stop them, and die."
Jacques' throat went dry. Was that why he had been freed ... to die? "Is there a third path?" he croaked.
Mallobaude smiled. "Aye. Join me ... and attempt to stop them using guerrilla attacks, cunning and subtle manipulations. It takes time, but is far more thorough and more effective than any other method." The vampire lord turned to Jacques, blazing red eyes staring into the tactician's own pits of darkness that were his eyes.
"So, those are your choices, fallen tactician of Mousillon. What say you?"
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Last Updated ( Wednesday, 25 June 2008 )
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