The Bone Desert

Chapter Four

Durbarak’s steel-shod boots hit the earth with a satisfying thump. He let go of the grav-ladder’s rappel line, steadying himself. Around him, his crew were clustering, the fires of destruction unleashed by their skyship gleaming from armour plates, cutlasses, ancestor masks and pistols. He paused to assess the two dozen Kharadron reivers, and the inferno taking hold around them.

Khaled-Tush was no more. The incendiary grudge-bombs dropped by the arkanaut frigate and the heated shot of its cannons had set fire to the trading post’s few permanent structures, and to hundreds of the wagons and carts that had been clustered around the oasis. They now presented a wall of flame, against which were silhouetted hundreds of individual figures – those who had survived the aerial bombardment and were now attempting to flee out into the desert night with whatever they’d been able to snatch before the flames took hold.

The crew would need to be quick, before their quarry escaped with them. Assuming, of course, that the inferno hadn’t taken the target already. The thought of so many perishing in the flames brought a grim smile to Durbarak’s lips. Sometimes, he doubted his life choices. He doubted breaking the Kharadron code, and turning his holdings to nothing but reiving and murder. But at times like these, all those doubts were burned away. Even the fear of losing the incredible bounty the Slayer represented could not penetrate the thrill of witnessing unchecked devastation on a scale such as this.

‘Throm, Dregg, take six and scout towards the marketplace. Borin, another three and circle east – cut off anyone fleeing down the main trail. Set more fires if you need to. The rest of you, with me.’

The Kharadrons moved off into the fire-lit darkness, weapons drawn. Durbarak led his group towards the waters of the oasis, shimmering through the flames and heat haze. He could see hundreds of people spilling from a large tent, its burning canvas almost wholly consumed by the skyship’s ponderous bombing run. Some were throwing themselves into the oasis itself, others were stumbling towards the fires consuming the marketplace, overcome by confusion and the black smoke hanging heavy over the outpost. Like the rest of the Kharadrons, Durbarak had bound a wetted rag around his mouth and nose before donning his ancestor mask, knowing he would need it to breathe amidst the inferno their attack had ignited. He could feel the heat even through the rubberised insulation of his sky-suit, slicking his body with sweat and making every movement chafing and uncomfortable.

‘Please, sellah, help us,’ shouted a man in a torn headscarf, stumbling from the direction of the burning pavilion. Durbarak shot him, relishing the brute kick of his aetherlock pistol. The heavy ball flung the man down as though he’d been poleaxed, a chunk of his torso blown away. The Kharadrons continued over the corpse. More gunshots rang through the night as they fired indiscriminately into the fleeing crowd. Few seemed to have realised that the fires were no accident, and that the outpost was under attack.

‘Keep a clear watch,’ Durbarak bellowed, gesturing at his landing party to spread out further. When they’d first passed over the outpost, the ship’s navigator, Zeggi, had been monitoring it with half a dozen enhanced vision scopes, linked to various parts of the frigate’s underbelly. He’d been unable to discern their quarry amidst the sudden blossoms of flame or the panicked crowds, however, so they were doing it the old fashioned way – a ground raid, pistols and cutlasses drawn. In truth, Durbarak wasn’t complaining. It always did him good to see the carnage they sowed up close.

‘Watch the starboard side,’ growled his midshipman, Threg. A trio of men came running from the crowd, scimitars raised, the nearby conflagration reflecting like liquid fire from the curved steel. Durbarak raised his second pistol, but before he could fire, the duardin nearest the attackers – Lorik, Stromm and Gurbad – had already put them down with a hail of shots.

‘Keep going,’ Durbarak ordered. He heard more firing coming from the direction of the caravans as the other Kharadron landing parties began to move in among the survivors there. Those directly ahead had finally realised that the duardin had not come with friendly intentions. They were screaming and pushing at one another, forced forward by the pressure of those behind still desperate to get away from the burning pavilion. More went down to the renegade Kharadron’s gunfire.

For a moment, Durbarak entertained the fear that their quarry had already escaped. He doubted it though. From what he had heard, running away from innocents while they were being cut down by ruthless attackers was the opposite of what the target would do. He was counting on it.

The remains of the pavilion collapsed, fire and sparks billowing into the air. The last of the crowd ahead of them were beginning to disintegrate and scatter. There was a noise like a thunderclap from behind Durbarak, and he realised the skeleton crew left aboard the frigate, the Draz Karr, had probably fired one of the cannons to keep those fleeing the fires from mobbing the landing area.

They were running out of time.

Perhaps the one they sought was already dead. Perhaps the target’s bones were currently snapping and crackling in the white heat at the heart of the settlement, or in the remains of the pavilion ahead. Perhaps the job he’d been hired to do had already been done. He hoped not. Despite orders, he had no intention of killing the target, or its accomplices.

‘I can see something up there,’ Stromm shouted. For a moment Durbarak had no idea what the ship’s mate was talking about. Then he caught it, through the dark figures milling about before the pavilion’s flames, trapped between the fire and the advancing Kharadrons.

It was a light. Not, as he first thought, a torch. The little flicker of fire, almost swallowed up by the greater conflagration behind it, was being reflected back from two broad axe heads, set either side of it. After a moment he realised what he was looking at – rune-etched fyresteel, a greataxe of one of the Slayer clans, a brazier of forge-flame burning in its heart.

The light illuminated the being carrying it. From a distance, it looked like a particularly large Fyreslayer, complete with red crest and beard. As it drew nearer, however, Durbarak could pick out distinguishing features. The duardin’s bare torso and arms were covered in thick knots of blue tattoos, and his wrists were encased by battered vambraces hung with loops of broken chain. Most noticeable of all was his chest – a single rune glowed there, its lustre immediately making Durbarak feel sick with envy.

Despite himself, he grinned. He knew taking this contract had been a good idea. It had led him right to Gotrek Gurnisson.

‘Draz Karr, on me!’ he shouted, summoning his crew. ‘And remember, don’t shoot him! If we’re going to ransom them on, we need them each in at least two pieces!’

‘You did this?’ the approaching duardin bellowed, gesturing with his free hand at the bodies scattered before the Kharadrons. ‘Does my old eye deceive me? Are you the pitiful creatures that dare claim to bear the legacy of the dawi in this mad world?’

The fury was now visible in his burning gaze, and Durbarak felt his spirit quail, as though he were a beardling whose misdeeds had been discovered by an elder. He thrust the feeling aside.

He’d heard the rumours. They all had. That only made Gotrek Gurnisson all the more valuable. Damned if he was going to kill so much potential profit, regardless of the orders of the one who’d hired him.

‘The aelf,’ Stromm snarled, spitting before pointing his pistol over the oncoming Slayer’s shoulder. A shape had materialised behind the duardin, tall and slender, wrapped in shadow.

‘This is perfect,’ Durbarak growled. ‘Both of them, for the highest bidder. Threg, Krazak, take them.’

The two shipmates stepped forward, ratcheting up their net launchers.

‘Surrender if you want to live!’ Durbarak shouted at the duardin and the aelf.

But they didn’t surrender. Instead the Slayer roared, and charged.