Memories of Ice

Wood exploded. In the archway's gloom, terror plunged among a reeling knot of Seerdomin.



Loping towards the breached portal, Toc rode his wolf's vision, saw into the shadows, where huge, reptilian shapes stepped into view to either side of the hound and its undead rider.



The K'ell Hunters raised their broad blades.



Snarling, the wolf sprinted. His focus was the gate, every detail there sharp as broken glass whilst all that lay to either side blurred. A shift of weight brought him to the Ke'll Hunter closing from the hound and rider's left.



The creature pivoted, sword slashing to intercept his charge.



The wolf ducked beneath it, then surged upward, jaws wide. Leathery throat filled his mouth. His canines sank deep into lifeless flesh. Jaw muscles bunched. Bone cracked, then crumbled as the wolf inexorably closed its vice-grip, even as the momentum of his charge drove the K'ell Hunter back onto its tail, crashing against a wall that shuddered with the impact. Upper and lower canines met. Jagged molars ground together, slicing through wood-like tendon and dry muscle.



The wolf was severing the head from the body.



The K'Chain Che'Malle shook beneath him, spasmed. A flailing blade sliced into the wolf's right haunch.



Toc and beast flinched at the pain, yet did not relent.



The ornately helmed head fell back, away, thumped as it struck the slush-covered cobbles.



Snarling, lifeless shreds snagged on his teeth, the wolf spun round.



The hound crouched, spine hunched, in a corner of the archway. Blood poured from it. Alone, to battle its wounds.



The undead swordsman- my brother — was on his leather-wrapped feet now, his flint sword trading blows with the other K'ell Hunter's twin blades. At speeds unimaginable. Chunks of the K'Chain Che'Malle flew. A sword-bound forearm spun end over end to land near the flinching hound.



The K'ell Hunter lurched back in the face of the onslaught. Shin-bones snapped with a brittle report. The huge creature fell over, spraying slush out to all sides.



The undead warrior clambered onto it, systematically swinging his sword to dismember the K'Chain Che'Malle. It was a task swiftly completed.



The wolf approached the wounded hound. The animal snapped a warning to stay away-



Toc was suddenly blind, ripped away from the wolf's vision.



Bitter winds tore at him, but the Matron held him tight. On the move. Swiftly. They travelled a warren, a path of riven ice. They were, he realized, fleeing Outlook, fleeing the fortress that had just been breached.



By Baaljagg. And Garath and Tool. Garath — those wounds -



'Silence!' a voice shrieked.



The Seer was with them, leading the way through Omtose Phellack.



The gift of clarity remained in Toc's mind. His laugh was a ragged gurgle.



'Shut up!'



The entire warren shook to distant thunder, the sound of vast ice … cracking, exploding in a conflagration of sorcery.



Lady Envy. With us once more -



The Seer screamed.



Reptilian arms clenched Toc. Bones cracked, splintered. Pain shoved him over a precipice. My kin, my brothers - He blacked out.



The night sky to the south was lit red. Though over a league distant, from the slope of the sparsely wooded hill, Capustan's death was plain to see, drawing the witnesses to silence apart from the rustle of armour and weapons, and the squelch of boots and moccasins in mud.



Leaves dripped a steady susurration. The soaked humus filled the warm air with its fecundity. Somewhere nearby a man coughed.



Captain Paran drew a dagger and began scraping the mud from his boots. He had known what to expect at this moment — his first sight of the city. Humbrall Taur's scouts had brought word back earlier in the day. The siege was over. The Grey Swords might well have demanded an emperor's ransom for their services, but fire-charred, tooth-gnawed bones could not collect it. Even so, knowing what to expect did little to diminish the pathos of a dying city.



Had those Grey Swords been Crimson Guard, the scene before Paran might well be different. With the lone exception of Prince K'azz D'Avore's Company of the Avowed, mercenaries were less than worthless as far as the captain was concerned. Tough talk and little else.



Let's hope those children of Humbrall Taur have fared better. It did not seem likely. Pockets of resistance perhaps remained. Small knots of cornered soldiers, knowing mercy was out of the question, would fight to the last. In alleys, in houses, in rooms. Capustan's death-throes would be protracted. Then again, if these damned Barghast can actually manage a doubletime — instead of this squabbling saunter — we might be able to adjust that particular fate's conclusion.