Darkblade 1 - The Blood Price by Warhammer

Author:Warhammer [Warhammer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

14

“With every minute we draw closer to Ulthuan,” she said. “That ship could be

leading us right into a trap. Ulthuan’s patrol ships frequently work in pairs. We could

very easily be getting into something we have no way of getting out of.”

“Are we going to catch them?”

“As long as the wind holds and nothing drastic happens.”

Just then Malus caught a glint of light flash from the stern of the fleeing ship. A

slender shape blurred through the air and plunged into the sea barely twenty yards

from the corsair. A moment later another bolt splashed down, this one five yards

closer.

“Something like that?” Malus asked.

Lhunara stepped beside the highborn and grinned like a wolf. “Here’s where

things get interesting,” she said. The first mate gave Malus a searching look. “We’re

past the point of no return now. If we live long enough to reach Ulthuan, you do have

a plan for getting inside whatever village we find, right? There will be a garrison, a

wall and a barred gate. You’ve thought of that, right?”

Before Malus had to lie to her the reaper bolt thrower crew cut in. “Do your

jawing somewhere else,” the chief bowman yelled as the weapon swung their way.

“Unless you want to get to that ship a whole lot faster than you planned.”

The two druchii ducked out of the way, and the reaper bolt thrower banged

against its mount. After a moment the corsairs in the citadel let out a cheer. Malus

squinted at the enemy ship. Had they hit it? He couldn’t tell.

The highborn turned to Lhunara and was about to ask her what happened when

there was a humming sound in the air and an elven shot struck the forward rail. The

yard-long bolt smashed the wooden rail to splinters and flashed overhead, burying

itself in the forward mast. Cries of pain and bitter curses filled the air as wounded

corsairs lurched aft, pawing at jagged splinters that jutted from their arms, faces and

chests.

Another bang resounded from the citadel, and this time Malus saw the long, black

bolt punch a neat hole through the patrol ship’s aft sail. The chief bowman laughed

like a devil. “We’ve got them now!” he cried. “Bring up the pitch-pots!”

On the heels of the command came another crash, and this time Malus heard the

disconcerting sound of steel meeting flesh. Hot blood sprayed his face, and a druchii

let out a gurgling scream. A corsair less than ten paces away fell to the deck, his left

arm and shoulder torn away by a glancing blow from an enemy bolt.

“Don’t bunch up!” Lhunara yelled to the druchii manning the citadel. “Spread out

and duck your heads when the bolts come in! You can’t fight a damned thing with a

splinter in your eye!”

For ten long minutes the two ships exchanged shots as the range dwindled. The

elven repeater bolt throwers laid down a withering fire: heavy blows hammered into

the prow and smashed more of the railing, and bolts flashed overhead to puncture

sails and split ropes like wet threads. One horrifying shot seemed to slither through a

group of corsairs, ricocheting between their bodies and smashing them to a pulp

before caroming off into the sea.

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