With the skeletons engaged against the knights on the left and the ghouls fighting tooth and nail against Sigmar’s Sons on the right, von Korden was free to pursue his own agenda.
Heldenhammer be praised. There he was.
Lurching through the mist ahead came Helman Ghorst, stooped atop his charnel cart. Four grotesque corpse-things pulled it forward in fits and spurts. The putrid stench of the cart’s rat-infested cargo was like a living thing in its own right. The witch hunter broke cover for a second and ran in a crouch from gravestone to tomb, a feral grin stretching his features. He gestured back to Sootson’s cannon, an open hand that meant ‘hold fire’. He needed Ghorst alive if they were to find Mannfred before the realm of Sylvania was lost altogether.
Ahead, Ghorst was scanning around, mumbling something that von Korden strained to hear. Suddenly the arcane words grew deafeningly loud. The necromancer stood up to his full height, eyes blazing with purple-black energy. Twin bolts of raw death shot out from his sunken sockets, narrowly missing Lupio Blaze and burning into the charging knights behind him. Two finely-armoured Estalians convulsed and writhed, falling from their saddles in explosions of ash. A pair of empty suits of armour clattered into the muddy grass.
The charge of the Myrmidian knights hit home nonetheless, slamming into the ranks of the skeletal warriors with tremendous force. Their lowered lances took skulls from necks and punctured rusted breastplates with ease, and the sheer weight of the armoured stallions and their plate-clad riders proved a powerful weapon in itself. Over a dozen of Ghorst’s skeletal warriors were smashed apart by the momentum of the charge. Blaze’s cries to Myrmidia rang out as fleshless limbs and scraps of armour were hurled in all directions. The back ranks of the undead regiment snapped into action as if waking from a dream, setting their shields and bracing just in time to stop their unit’s utter destruction.
Von Korden was within a stone’s throw of his quarry when he saw the slinking, malevolent shadows of giant wolves dart out of the scattered trees on the left flank. An unearthly howl keened through the mist, and the hunter caught a glimpse of rotten sinews and yellowed bone that gleamed under ragged patches of half-sewn skin. The undead pack would be falling upon the rear of the knights in no time at all, and they were too far away for von Korden’s pistols to count.
The witch hunter swore under his breath, taking off his gauntlet and pulling out the ivory ring he kept on a thin chain around his wrist. The artefact had been given to him by the white wizards of Templehof as a reward for slaying the vargheist that was preying on their town, and he had always intended to use its powers against Ghorst. Yet he could not afford to lose the knights, not yet.
‘Be banished!’ shouted von Korden, standing up from his tombstone cover and pressing the ring flat against his bare palm. A serpent of pure light streaked out from its centre into the midst of the undead wolves just as they were about to pounce upon Blaze’s knights. The luminous apparition wrapped around three of the canine creatures and squeezed them into nothingness. A moment later Curser Bredt’s voice rang out, and a volley of shot blasted the rest of the pack into chunks of maggoty meat.
Von Korden barely had time to smile before a tangle of pale limbs grabbed at him. Unclean fingers snatched his collar and dug painfully into his cheek. A moment later Ghorst’s foul carriage was upon him, bell clanging wildly. Rotten teeth bit hard into his shoulder a heartbeat before the cart’s wooden yoke knocked him into the dirt. The hunter tried to rise, but a clammy and twisted foot pressed the side of his face into the mud. Out of his other eye he could see a jagged wheel coming right for his neck.
There was a sharp Estalian war cry and Ghorst’s carriage veered suddenly to the right. Its wheel
Heldenhammer be praised. There he was.
Lurching through the mist ahead came Helman Ghorst, stooped atop his charnel cart. Four grotesque corpse-things pulled it forward in fits and spurts. The putrid stench of the cart’s rat-infested cargo was like a living thing in its own right. The witch hunter broke cover for a second and ran in a crouch from gravestone to tomb, a feral grin stretching his features. He gestured back to Sootson’s cannon, an open hand that meant ‘hold fire’. He needed Ghorst alive if they were to find Mannfred before the realm of Sylvania was lost altogether.
Ahead, Ghorst was scanning around, mumbling something that von Korden strained to hear. Suddenly the arcane words grew deafeningly loud. The necromancer stood up to his full height, eyes blazing with purple-black energy. Twin bolts of raw death shot out from his sunken sockets, narrowly missing Lupio Blaze and burning into the charging knights behind him. Two finely-armoured Estalians convulsed and writhed, falling from their saddles in explosions of ash. A pair of empty suits of armour clattered into the muddy grass.
The charge of the Myrmidian knights hit home nonetheless, slamming into the ranks of the skeletal warriors with tremendous force. Their lowered lances took skulls from necks and punctured rusted breastplates with ease, and the sheer weight of the armoured stallions and their plate-clad riders proved a powerful weapon in itself. Over a dozen of Ghorst’s skeletal warriors were smashed apart by the momentum of the charge. Blaze’s cries to Myrmidia rang out as fleshless limbs and scraps of armour were hurled in all directions. The back ranks of the undead regiment snapped into action as if waking from a dream, setting their shields and bracing just in time to stop their unit’s utter destruction.
Von Korden was within a stone’s throw of his quarry when he saw the slinking, malevolent shadows of giant wolves dart out of the scattered trees on the left flank. An unearthly howl keened through the mist, and the hunter caught a glimpse of rotten sinews and yellowed bone that gleamed under ragged patches of half-sewn skin. The undead pack would be falling upon the rear of the knights in no time at all, and they were too far away for von Korden’s pistols to count.
The witch hunter swore under his breath, taking off his gauntlet and pulling out the ivory ring he kept on a thin chain around his wrist. The artefact had been given to him by the white wizards of Templehof as a reward for slaying the vargheist that was preying on their town, and he had always intended to use its powers against Ghorst. Yet he could not afford to lose the knights, not yet.
‘Be banished!’ shouted von Korden, standing up from his tombstone cover and pressing the ring flat against his bare palm. A serpent of pure light streaked out from its centre into the midst of the undead wolves just as they were about to pounce upon Blaze’s knights. The luminous apparition wrapped around three of the canine creatures and squeezed them into nothingness. A moment later Curser Bredt’s voice rang out, and a volley of shot blasted the rest of the pack into chunks of maggoty meat.
Von Korden barely had time to smile before a tangle of pale limbs grabbed at him. Unclean fingers snatched his collar and dug painfully into his cheek. A moment later Ghorst’s foul carriage was upon him, bell clanging wildly. Rotten teeth bit hard into his shoulder a heartbeat before the cart’s wooden yoke knocked him into the dirt. The hunter tried to rise, but a clammy and twisted foot pressed the side of his face into the mud. Out of his other eye he could see a jagged wheel coming right for his neck.
There was a sharp Estalian war cry and Ghorst’s carriage veered suddenly to the right. Its wheel
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