Mark of Chaos (17 page)

Hroth roared again as the smaller elf vessel was drawn near, readying himself for battle. It had been too long since he had spilt blood for his god, and he felt his master's hunger. He stood, ignoring the arrows that flashed around him, his eyes blazing with fire. An
arrow struck him in the throat, but it shattered as it impacted against him. When the elf ship was fifteen feet from him, he leapt into the air with a shout, leaping over the gaping expanse and rolling to his feet on the enemy deck.

Hroth's axe lashed out in a murderous arc, decapitating one kneeling archer and smashing into the chest of another. The elfs chest collapsed, all the bones crushed by the powerful blow. In a moment, another three elves had died by his axe, and it was then that the Norscans and his loyal Khazags leapt into the fray.

The red fury descended on Hroth, and he carved a bloody path through the elves, slaughtering left and right. The deck tipped as it rose upon the back of a wave, sending dozens tumbling into the sea, but Hroth kept his footing and carved into the enemy, his heart surging with pleasure as he slew. He killed a pair of elves before him, smashing his axe into the shield of the first. The blow carried straight through the shield and into the elfs head. He grabbed the other elf around the throat. He felt the bones and windpipe beneath his hands crush as he exerted his power, and threw the wretch over the side of the ship. He felt someone behind him and wheeled around, his axe flashing. It thudded into the neck of a Norscan, and he fell to the deck, almost decapitated. Hroth barely noticed, and would not have cared if he did. He hacked around him, slaughtering and butchering indiscriminately.

The ship suddenly began to tip as it ploughed down into the deep trough of another wave. It slammed hard against the side of the larger Norse ship, and Hroth fell to his knees, sliding across the deck. He bowled into an elf and grasped at the slight figure, dragging him down. He smashed the elf in the face with his fist, punching through bone and into the brain.

Standing unsteadily, he staggered across the deck towards the last remaining elves, fighting a valiant defence atop the higher deck at the rear of the ship. Leaping the stairs, he landed in the midst of them. One of them lunged at him, and he smashed the blade aside with a sweep of his forearm. He kicked the legs from the elf, and smashed his axe into him as he hit the ground. The axe cut through bone and flesh, and embedded itself in the wooden decking. Releasing the weapon, Hroth grabbed a spear as it was thrust towards him. He lifted the spear, and sent the enemy holding onto it flying through the air to smash against the bronze hull of the Norse ship. He slid into the water, where the blood-hungry sharks following in the wake of the longships waited. Hroth liked sharks - creatures he believed Khorne would approve of.

A blow smashed into Hroth's helmet, and searing light flared. He was knocked to one side. His head hurt, and he could feel that his helmet had been misshapen by the unexpected attack. He lifted a hand to his helmet, and with a powerful wrench and the sound of bending metal, tore it from his head. The warrior before him, his sword glowing with magical energy, took a step back as he saw that the horns on Hroth's helmet were no longer attached to the helmet itself, but rather were a part of the towering warrior. Fused with his skull, the curving horns sprouting from his brow were a part of him now, and his eyes burned with fire.

Hroth growled and launched himself at the elf captain. The elf slashed his glowing blade across the Khorne champion's chest, cutting a bloody mark through armour and flesh. He had no chance for a second blow, for Hroth drove his elbow into the elfs throat. As he choked, his windpipe crushed, Hroth pummelled him to the deck. He stamped on the elfs head, splattering it like a melon. He lifted the sword that the elf had wielded. It blazed brightly, and Hroth snarled as the hilt burnt into his flesh. Ignoring the searing pain, he hurled it into the sea.

Ulkjar was suddenly at Hroth's side, and he deflected a sword thrust with one of his blades, even as his other sword drove into his foe's neck. Hroth retrieved his axe, and together they slaughtered the last of the elves. The butchery complete, they climbed back to the massive Norse daemon-ship, and the harpoon guns retracted. The elf ship sank under the black waves. Ulkjar looked at the horns on Hroths head, eyebrows raised. 'The Blood God smiles upon you indeed.' he said.

'He does.' agreed Hroth. He felt powerful and strong, jubilant after the bloodshed. The sorcerer Sudobaal slunk across the deck to Hroth's side.

'We have a problem.' he hissed. 'With the sight, I have seen that this is but a diversion. The majority of the elf fleet is slipping ahead of us. They intend to get to the island first and defend it. Time is pressing. We cannot allow them to arrive before us.'

'Well, what do you suggest, oh mighty sorcerer?' growled Hroth.

'I shall summon aid from the gods.' said Sudobaal, ignoring the champion's tone, 'but I cannot be interrupted. We must move the ship away from this battle.' As if to emphasise his point, an arrow thudded into the decking between him and the Khorne champion.

'You want me to voluntarily leave battle?'

'If you want us to discover the body of Asavar Kul, then yes.' The fires in Hroth's eyes blazed, and he seemed about to say something more, or act. The sorcerer held his gaze, his unblinking yellow eyes narrowed. Finally, the chosen of Khorne shrugged his shoulders, and turned away.

'Remember your place, champion,' hissed Sudobaal, and he shuffled away to ready his dark magics.

Miles below the
turbulent surface of the Sea of Claws, in the impenetrable abyssal darkness of the sea floor, an ancient and powerful creature stirred. It had swum the oceans before the coming of man or elf, and had ruled far below the surface before the coming of Chaos. For millennia, it had slumbered deep in a chasm in the deepest valleys of the Sea of Claws, where no other creature was able to live. It had felt the arrival of the gods of Chaos to the world, and sensed their power. It had allowed itself to be changed and altered by the powers of these gods, and had revelled in the new sensations and strength that flowed through its body It became a true creature of Chaos, barely resembling its original form. For thousands of years it had been the last of its kind, or perhaps it had always been the only one of its kind. It neither knew nor cared.

Its massive flat black eyes flickered with something like lightning as it awoke. It could feel something calling to it, an irresistible siren call that pulled at its mind. A ripple of phosphorous colour shimmered down its bulbous body, and it reached its long tendril-like feelers out before it. Slowly, it remembered this place, this icy, dark world that it ruled. Yellow light flickered on the tips of its tendrils, and its giant maw gaped open, exposing thousands of long, curving teeth, far too many to fit easily in its mouth. To either side of the creature's mouth there was a cluster of luminous tendrils, waving back and forth gently. Blue rings glowed from beneath the surface of the pallid skin of long, fleshy tentacles; sharp hooks on their ends. They felt around the creature lazily, touching the craggy rock, feeling above and below. Discerning the exit from its deep-sea cave, the fleshy tentacles proceeded to pull the bulk of the creature from its den.

As it emerged from the enclosed caverns, it thrust with its powerful tail and multitude of fern-like fins. The dorsal fins of the creature flexed and fanned, pallid, thin skin stretched between skeletal spines that pumped poison as they flexed.

The secondary array of eyes of the creature opened, clumps of small blue pinpricks scattered beneath its two larger orbs. It felt the calling again, from far away on the surface of the ocean, and it could not resist. With a flick of its massive, spined tail it began to swim upwards, its clawed tentacles flowing behind it.

Lathyerin stood on
the deck of the dragon ship as it planed across the water, the wind whipping at his hair. The twin-hulled vessel barely touched the water, skimming across the surface quickly, sailed by his expert crew. Other ships raced alongside, dragon ships and smaller eagle ships. Part of the fleet had turned to intercept the Chaos raiders, and he cast a mournful glance to the west. He hoped that those elves fared well, though he feared that they did not.

Dark clouds flashed with lightning in the east. The winds of the evil storm buffeted them, speeding them on their way. The clouds were an ugly green-grey colour, and Lathyerin knew that the storm was racing to ensnare them. Rain began to reach them, sharp heavy droplets that lashed at his face. He said a quick prayer for those elves who had turned into the storm to hold the Norscans at bay. The elf ships were the fastest on the seas. No other race could match the sheer speed and skill of their vessels, but the Norse were also skilled sailors, and they had a head start. Prince Khalanos had diverted part of the fleet to intercept them, in an attempt to hold them up. Lathyerin hoped that their sacrifice would be worth it.

The dragon ship swung to the east, turning to receive the strongest winds. The other elf ships turned at the exact same time, running with the fierce wind that was blowing the storm towards them. Lathyerin figured that they must have caught up with the Norse fleet, and that the island was an equal distance from both fleets. He was confident that the speed of the elf ships would make all the difference, and that they would arrive several hours before the foe. They should be able to outrun the storm if they kept this pace, but it would be a close-run thing. The swell was rising in response to the storms, and the wind was increasing in intensity and fury with every passing minute.

'Captain!' came a frantic shout. Lathyerin looked to where it had come from. It was Daralyn, a dark-haired sailor who had ploughed the seas for almost two centuries. The man was gesturing wildly to the east, into the storm.

A small eagle ship was skimming across the water, touching the sea only every thirty yards or so as its sails swelled. Lathyerin could see nothing for a moment, until his sharp eyes caught sight of something that sent a shiver of fear running through him. Behind the racing eagle ship a dark shape could be seen below the surface of the water, a massive bow wave the only evidence of its passing. It was approaching the rear of the ship with great speed.

'Whale?' Lathyerin said aloud, but discounted it even as he said it. It was certainly the right size for a whale, but no whale that he had ever seen would act like this, nor be able to match an elf ship for speed. No, this was something quite unnatural, and he could sense the taint of Chaos in the air. He had witnessed several monsters of the deep in his time on the sea, but nothing that looked quite like this.

Rows of massive spined fins unfurled from the back of the beast and rose above the water, vile and pallid in colour, as if the thing had never seen sunlight. A pair of long, reaching tendrils rose out of the water before it, glowing with dull light. The eagle ship saw the approaching monster and tacked to the north, seeking escape. The creature rose fully to the surface, exposing its pallid, foul body. A pair of giant black eyes flicked back and forth before focusing on its prey. They were enormous, yards wide, and Lathyerin was horrified to see an evil intelligence in those ancient, hate-filled eyes. Below the giant eyes was a myriad of smaller, blue eyes that glimmered and shone with strange light. The flesh of the creature was sickly pale and almost translucent. Great blue and purple veins could be seen just under the skin of the beast, along with many scars up and down its sides.

It lurched to the side in pursuit of its prey, splashing with its massive fins, and it closed on the twin-hulled catamaran that desperately tacked to the south, seeking to shake off its hunter. The creature was too quick for this, and it was upon the ship as it turned. A massive pair of clawed tentacles burst from the water on the far side of the elf ship, wrapping completely around the far side hull, smashing timbers and planks under its strength. Glowing blue rings pulsed with strange light under the surface of the flesh of the tentacles, and they stank with foulness.

The ship was pulled down in the water by the tentacles, the side closest to the creature rising into the air. With an unearthly screech, the creature launched itself onto the ship, its massive mouth opening. The ship was pulled completely onto its side, and the terror from the deep smashed into the hull with its mouth gaping. Its maw was bigger than seemed possible, even for such a massive beast. It was jointed in several places, and it crushed the entire hull to pieces in a single bite. Teeth like swords tore through the planking as if it was matchwood. In an instant, the ship was no more than a scattering of smashed wood and flailing bodies.

Lathyerin's hand fell, and his eagle claw bolt throwers launched their deadly missiles at the foul creature, as his ship swept around to face it. Bolts peppered the sides of the creature, and, with great satisfaction, he saw one of the missiles pierce a staring eye. The creature thrashed around angrily, hurling bodies out of the water with flailing tentacles. It dived deep as another volley speared towards it.

With a shout, Lathyerin swung his ship around. The storm was closing in quickly, and he could not afford to get caught within it.

The giant catamaran lifted suddenly in the water with a cracking sound as the creature struck it from below. The dragon ship dropped down into the sea heavily, all speed lost to the blow, and water gushed over its sides. The creature's tentacles whipped out of the water and grasped the masts. The mighty uprights groaned, but held. Rushing forwards, Lathyerin drew his sabre and rammed it into the flesh of the closest tentacle. It was thick and rubbery, but his keen blade pierced the flesh deeply. With a screech, another tentacle flew at him, the creature intending to skewer him on the clawed tip. He rolled out of the way, the tentacle ploughing into the staircase leading to the stern, and smashing it to pieces.

Lathyerin felt something touch his boot, and a stinging pain raced up his leg. Looking down, he saw a pale tendril feeling at him. He gasped, and lashed out with his blade, severing the foul, stinging tendril. It flopped back and forth on the deck. He kicked it away, and instantly regretted the action as stinging pain covered his foot.