Darkblade 3 - Bloodstorm by Warhammer

Author:Warhammer [Warhammer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, General, War & Military, Epic, Elves
ISBN: 9781844161928
Publisher: Games Workshop
Published: 2005-12-27T05:00:00+00:00

The storm lashed at them like a tremendous serpent, battering hull, mast and sail with invisible coils of blustering, icy wind and hissing across the deck and rigging in a spray of ice and freezing rain. The teak planks and thick, hempen ropes were coated with a thin film of ice in moments, making every step treacherous and potentially fatal as the Harrier pitched and rolled in the fury of the storm.

It had been nearly an hour and a half since the ships disappeared into the grey haze. The deck crew crowded along the railings, peering into the formless gloom in search of dark shapes that could prove to be another ship. There were no friendly vessels in a storm like this; a collision with another corsair would be just as deadly as one with a Bretonnian and equally sudden.

Malus shivered beneath the heavy weight of his cloak. Despite layers of protection the icy wind found its way to his bare skin, soaking him to the bone in moments. Ice rimed the edge of his hood and crackled across his shoulders. He stood clutching the starboard rail not far from Urial, peering into the haze like everyone else. The highborn could tell the difference between sea and sky only in subtle gradations of grey. Everyone was tense, many fingering the hilts of their swords and dreading the sight of a dark shape looming from the haze in front of them.

Gritting his teeth, Malus turned away from the grey murk and cast his eyes over the crew instead. Bruglir still stood by the helm, ramrod straight in the face of the wind. White ice crusted the front of his cloak and the toes of his boots, but for all that he seemed unfazed by the howling fury of the wind. The helmsman beside him clutched the wheel in a death grip, trying to emulate the example of the captain. Urial stood with his retainers just a few feet further down the starboard rail, partially shielded from the icy wind by the tall robed figures of his warriors.

Hauclir stood at Malus’ shoulder as ever, one hand steadying himself on the rail. The former guardsman had his hood back and stared bare-headed and slit-eyed into the storm. Malus leaned towards him. “Do you want to lose your nose and ears to frostbite, you fool?”

The retainer shook his head. “I’ve had frostbite more times than I can count, my lord. A bit of my mother’s blackroot poultice and the skin’s as good as new. No, I can’t stand not being able to see all the way around me in a situation like this.” He hunched his shoulders. “The hair on my neck is standing straight up, like there’s someone out there pointing a crossbow at me. How long are we going to stay in this?”

Malus shrugged. “Until the captain is satisfied we’ve slipped past the enemy. It will be dark soon, so I expect he’ll try to head out to calmer waters then.” Though I have no idea how he’ll manage it, the highborn thought.

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