Masters of Stone and Steel - Gav Thorpe & Nick Kyme by Warhammer

Author:Warhammer [Warhammer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780309361
Published: 2018-08-07T14:04:13+00:00

CHAPTER THREE

Skreekit wrung his paws together, and fought the urge to squirt the musk of fear. Beneath filth-caked robes, daubed in the bloody symbols of Clan Skryre, the skaven’s fur was moist with sweat. A furtive glance at another agent, a warlock of low breeding, drowning in his own blood from a dagger thrust in his lung, and he found his voice at last.

‘Three hundred warp tokens, four cohorts of warriors for protection against Clan Moulder and a hundred slaves is our price, yes. Make deal, quick-quick,’ Skreekit blathered.

Standing before the warlock, in a dank chamber edged in filth, dirty straw, and other signs of skaven habitation, was Thratch Sourpaw. He called it his ‘scheming room’ but in truth it was merely one of the many antechambers appended to the subterranean warren of the skaven. The black-furred warlord of Clan Rictus sneered his dissatisfaction, looking at Skreekit down his long snout and revealing an old, but horrific, wound on his neck. Coarse, brown stitching was still embedded in his flesh, made visible by the pink scar tissue. Thratch’s cold reddish eyes picked out something behind the nervous warlock, who had just soiled his robes further.

Thratch watched as something detached itself from the cavern wall at the agent’s back, a layer of swiftly moving shadow, silent and at one with the darkness. There was the sound of metal tearing flesh and blood exploded from the warlock’s mouth, spraying the dirt-encrusted stones in front of him with crimson, a jagged blade punching through his chest. The knife was withdrawn savagely and Skreekit slumped forward. Sheer terror twisted his face, lying in a puddle of his own filth and viscera, blood bubbles bursting on his froth-drenched muzzle as poison ravaged his innards.

Thratch was one of the many warlords of Clan Rictus as well as dwarf slayer, goblin killer and conqueror of Karak Varn. Clad in thick metal armour, wreathed in a fine patina of rust, stray black tufts of his fur eking out beneath the pauldrons and vambraces, he looked formidable. The warlord knew this and played on it as he approached the last of the three warlocks that had come to make deals with him.

‘Now,’ the warlord said, signalling for his assassin, Kill-Klaw, to emerge fully from the shadows, certain there would be no attempt on his life. The Clan Eshin adept obeyed dutifully and lingered at the warlock’s side, just enough so the skaven was aware of his presence, just enough so the warlock couldn’t see him.

‘You build device for me, yes-yes.’ Thratch pointed a claw towards a crude design he had scratched on the wall with the spike he had instead of a paw – the three warlocks had winced as he had done it. ‘Your promise-price,’ he demanded.

The last representative of Clan Skryre gulped audibly before he answered – a half glance at the lurking assassin.

‘One hundred warp tokens, two cohorts of warriors and… fifty slaves,’ he ventured.

Thratch loomed close, hot breath making the agent’s eyes water.

‘Accepted, yes,’ he hissed, a long and terrible grin wrinkling his features.

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