Warhammer-The Daemon's Gate Trilogy 02-Night of the Daemon by Aaron Rosenberg

Author:Aaron Rosenberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2007-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

‘Price?’ Alaric asked, staring at the stranger, and clearly distracted by this strange new information. Dietz kept his own attention focused on the man’s weapons. They looked far too well used for his liking.

‘Akendorf,’ he reminded his friend quietly, ‘the ruler there.’

‘Oh? Oh!’ Alaric sat up straighter as he remembered what that self-styled Border Prince Levrellian had told them, and then winced as the motion caused his wound to shift.

‘That’s right, Akendorf,’ the stranger agreed, showing that his hearing was as sharp as the sword tip he kept pointed in Dietz’s direction. ‘Prince Rillian put a handsome sum on both your heads. I aim to collect.’

‘Look, my friend is injured–’ Dietz began, but the newcomer cut him off.

‘Obviously.’ He eyed Alaric as if he was a slab of meat. ‘The only question is: will it be easier to bring him back injured, or dead?’ From the look in his dark eyes Dietz didn’t think the man was joking.

‘Look, let’s discuss this like reasonable men,’ Alaric said, keeping one hand pressed tight to his side. Dietz could see blood welling up around his friend’s fingers despite the obvious pressure on the wound, but Alaric managed to keep his voice steady, even pleasant. ‘I’m sure we can work something out.’

Sometimes Alaric’s friendly manner swayed people unexpectedly, but not this time.

‘Why don’t you work out that blade of yours?’ the stranger suggested, although his tone made it clear this was not a request. ‘Just kick it away from you, nice and easy.’

‘He’s hurt!’ Dietz shouted, resisting the urge to leap at the man. He knew doing so would mean both their deaths. ‘He can’t kick anything!’

‘Then you do it,’ the man said, ‘and toss that fancy club of yours over there, too, while you’re at it.’

Growling under his breath, Dietz did as he was told, collecting Alaric’s rapier and tossing both that and his own plundered mace several feet away.

‘Toss those little blades, too, while you’re at it,’ the man added, and Dietz cursed softly. He’d hoped the stranger wouldn’t notice his knives but of course the man was too sharp for that.

‘Fine, they’re gone,’ Dietz said, flinging the knives over by the other weapons and turning back, hands raised. ‘Now can we talk?’

‘Now you can lie down, face in the sand,’ the man replied. When Dietz didn’t move, the crossbow swivelled from Alaric to him, the bolt centred on his heart. ‘Now.’

Gritting his teeth to bite back a retort Dietz complied. He felt the stranger walking closer, and standing over him. Then suddenly a knee landed in the small of Dietz’s back, forcing all the air from his lungs in a swift gasp, and something cold and metallic clinked tight around his right wrist. The left followed, something rattling between them, and then both ankles.

‘Better.’ The man stood and hauled Dietz to his feet. His hands were bound behind him, but Dietz could see the heavy iron manacles around his ankles, the thick chain between them long enough to allow him to take short steps but nothing more.

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