Darkblade 5 - Warpsword by Warhammer

Author:Warhammer [Warhammer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Darkblade; Malus (Fictitious character), Action & Adventure, Fiction, Fantasy, General, Epic, Elves
ISBN: 9781844161942
Publisher: Games Workshop
Published: 2007-02-27T05:00:00+00:00

After the ivory eminence of the Citadel of Bone and the dwarf-wrought glory of the temple, Malus had no idea what to expect from the sanctum of the temple’s holy assassins. A razor-edged keep wrought entirely of steel? A palace of ruby and garnet? Many fanciful visions passed through his mind as Arleth Vann shepherded him across the temple grounds.

It turned out to be a hole in the ground.

More accurately, it was accessed by a long, spiralling path, almost a hundred and twenty paces across, that wound its way deep into the earth. Large witchfire globes surrounded the perimeter of the wide spiral, throwing shifting patterns of light across the narrow pathways. The path was wide enough for only one traveller at a time, and it was formed of dark, crimson glass that glimmered like fresh blood in the sorcerous light.

Rhulan took the lead. The temple retainers — even the fearsome priestess with her bloodstained axe — looked to one another apprehensively as they fell into line behind their masters. Even Arleth Vann seemed hesitant to begin the descent, although Malus suspected that he had very practical reasons for avoiding his former comrades. He didn’t expect that the silent knives of Khaine nurtured any compassion for those who broke their oaths and deserted the order.

The descent seemed to go on forever. It was fully five minutes of slow, methodical pacing before they’d completed the first circuit and began to sink below the earth. Malus gritted his teeth, one hand pressed against the wound in his chest, and expected to hear the sounds of pursuit at any moment. He couldn’t imagine that Urial would be delayed overmuch by Rhulan’s ward, nor would he waste a single moment in setting the hounds on his trail.

It was almost another five minutes before they were fully below ground. What in the Dark Mother’s name was taking so long, he wondered? Were there traps for the unwary? Poison needles or voracious spirits? Everyone ahead of him seemed to be studying the path at their feet with intense interest. Concentrating on keeping his breathing even, Malus followed suit, watching the gleaming red stones for telltale pressure plates or tripwires.

On and on they went. The smell of damp earth filled his nostrils, and when they had passed beyond the light of the braziers their path was lit with the faint effulgence of grave mould, glowing from niches on the glistening stone walls.

He soon lost track of time. One step led to the next, their pace neither speeding up nor slowing down. A tight band of pain began to constrict around his chest, and from time to time a drop of blood would slip past his lips and fall heavily to the pathway. His breath bubbled in his throat, as if he was caught in the grip of a terrible ague He heard the daemon whispering in his ears, but the sound was strangely faint, like the murmur of the tides, and he paid it little heed.

After a

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