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Da Portal of Darkness Chapta 11 | |
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Da Portal Of Darkness Chapta 11 |
Venris Highbalt rushed through the corridors of the former hospital that now served as his headquarters followed by a pair of his personal guards. The news had reached him that the Word Bearers had returned with the man needed to complete his ascension to power, and that he was now in this very building. Highbalt was in a hurry to meet him. “Make way,” he shouted at the marine sentry, “I must be allowed through,” but the warrior just stared at him, and continued to block the doorway with his massive frame. “I said stand aside,” Highbalt repeated, staring up into the faceplate of the Word Bearer’s helmet, “I must be allowed through,” but still the sentry blocked his way. “Krixus,” Highbalt shouted past the sentry, “It’s me, tell your man to get out of my way.” “Let him pass,” Krixus ordered from beyond the doorway and the sentry stood aside, “but his men remain where they are.” “Your men need to learn some respect for their betters Krixus,” Highbalt said, angry at the refusal of the sentry to let him pass. “My men do have respect for their betters,” Krixus responded, staring down at Highbalt. “Where is the sorcerer?” Highbalt asked, sensibly letting the chaplain’s insult pass. “I am here,” Nillotep spoke from the shadows, and he stepped into the part of the room illuminated through the window. “Welcome to my world,” Highbalt said to the Thousand Son, and he reached out offer the marine librarian his hand. Nillotep kept his hands at his sides. “This world belongs to the gods of chaos,” Nillotep said, like Krixus typically did, the Thousand Son kept all hint of emotion out of his voice, “it is not yours to welcome me to.” “Yes of course,” Highbalt replied and he lowered his hand. In years gone by had had men skinned alive for speaking to him in the manner that he had just been addressed, but he knew that giving such an order against the traitor marines would be a stupid idea. Besides causing them to turn on Highbalt’s men, and of course, Highbalt himself, he needed their capabilities. At least he needed them for now anyway. “So when can we proceed?” Highbalt asked. “I am told that your force have lost the weapons provided to them,” Nillotep said, and he looked at Krixus when he said this. “Ah, yes. Our missiles and lasguns were taken by the orks, though my men are still well supplied with small arms, and we greatly outnumber the local constabulary,” Highbalt replied, trying to put a positive spin on the matter. “The local constabulary is irrelevant governor,” Krixus said, “you know this. Only the ork armoured forces and aircraft are significant and thanks to your men’s repeated failures you lack the capability to destroy them.” “I would hardly call the constabulary irrelevant,” Highbalt protested, “with them still in place the task of inciting a mass uprising against the orks will be a lot harder.” Krixus snorted. “I never had high hopes of the masses following you of their own free will anyway,” he said, “but we needed enough to keep the orks heavy units busy while we carry out the ritual. You have been told that the effects will be highly visible during it, and without a serious distraction my squad will not be able to hold off the orks long enough for it to be completed.” “Can nothing be done to sped up this ritual of yours?” Highbalt asked, turning to Nillotep. “Nothing comes form nothing in this universe governor,” the Thousand Son replied, “what we will do here will change this world irrevocably. Do you perhaps think that the powers of the warp are mere playthings to make your existence easier? I have spent ten millennia studying the eldar webway, and only after all this time do I now believe that I can separate one of their portals from the passageways beyond. Compared to that, the few hours I want your men to distract the orks for are nothing.” Rhia rummaged through some boxes looking for fresh clothing, what she had been wearing when she arrived her had been functional enough while playing the part of a servant girl to an ork, but a revolutionary needed something hardier. Unfortunately the markings on the boxes regarding the sizes of the clothing they contained referred only to their original contents thirty years earlier, and now the contents were entirely randomised. Undaunted she selected another box that was at the top of a stack and stood on another box so that she could reach it and take it down. Behind the box was a small vent leading through the wall into another room beyond it. Through the vent she could hear voices. Voices that she recognised. “An attack on the airfield?” she heard Governor Venris Highbalt say. “That is correct governor,” Krixus confirmed, “apart from my men and your own personal guards we send your entire force to attack the ork airfield, and also the gargants that are under construction.” “The gargants?” Highbalt said in amazement at the suggestion that his meagre force should attack the pair of gigantic walking war machines that the orks were building to the south of their city, “But they are nowhere near being completed. They have neither functioning engines nor weapons, they are no threat to our plan.” “No governor,” Nillotep interrupted, “but they are something that
the orks can be counted on to defend, drawing their forces to the south
while we carry out the ritual to the north.” “Do their lives really mean so much to you now that you stand on the brink of immortality?” Krixus asked him. “No, of course not,” Highbalt admitted, “I suppose they would have died afterwards anyway. In fact I’m probably doing them a favour getting them shot by orks instead of devoured by daemons.” At that moment there was a crashing sound and the attention of everyone in the room was drawn to a tiny vent in the corner. “A spy!” Highbalt yelled. Rhia picked herself up as quickly as she could and scrabbled towards the doorway, after what she had just heard she could think of nothing but escape. She tugged on the door handle, but after the door opened only partially it stuck. “Feth no!” she shouted, fearing that the door was jammed. Then she looked down and saw that the reason it was not opening was that there was a jacket wedged beneath it from the box that she had just spilled. Rhia closed the door and pulled the jacket away before she opened the door again. Where upon she found herself face to face with a pair of governor Highbalt’s personal bodyguards. The two men grabbed Rhia, and before she could say anything, one of then clamped his hand tightly over her mouth. “I’d stop struggling if I were you,” the bodyguard whispered into
her ear, “his excellency didn’t say anything about how many fingers you
had to have when you were brought before him.” “Hay you, get over here and help us!” the other bodyguard shouted down the corridor, and a third member of governor Highbalt’s bodyguard joined the tow currently holding Rhia, grabbing her legs and lifting her off the floor entirely. The three men carried her through the corridors of the hospital to
the room still guarded by one of the marines under Krixus’s command where
she was taken into the presence of governor Highbalt, chaplain Krixus and
the newly arrived marine librarian. Rhia tried to scream as she felt a knife against her throat, but the guard’s hand remained clamped over her mouth. “Wait,” Nillotep interrupted and the guard withdrew his blade. “What is it?” Highbalt said, “Surely you aren’t suggesting that we
let her go.” “Yes very good,” Highbalt said before turning to his guards, “restrain her and put her with her collaborator friend. And be sure to keep everyone away from her.” With nothing else to do while she was locked in, Sophie spent much of her time dozing. But she opened her eyes suddenly when she heard the screaming from the corridor outside her cell. She stood up as the noise grew louder and she recognised Rhia’s voice yelling abuse at someone. There was the sound of the door to Sophie’s cell being unlocked, but rather than seeing Rhia at the door as Sophie had expected she saw that it had instead been opened by one of the other members of the resistance. “You can’t do this!” she heard Rhia shouting clearly, and as the man who had opened the door stepped aside Sophie watched another pair of men move into the doorway. Between them they held Rhia horizontally as if they were holding a plank of wood on which they lay, and Sophie could see that the woman who had help kidnap her was now wrapped in a straightcape and that the men carrying her were holding handles attached to its sides. With her arms pinned to her sides and her legs pressed together Rhia could not fight off or escape the men carrying her, but she was still struggling nevertheless. “Ready?” one of the men carrying Rhia asked the other, to which he nodded to indicate that he was. “Right then. Now,” the man said, and between them, the two men tossed Rhia into the cell and Sophie watched as she landed on the padded floor. Then the men stepped back away from the door and it was slammed shut once more. “Oh throne Sophie,” Rhia said as she lay helpless on the floor, twisting her head around to look at Sophie, “help me get out of this.” “No,” Sophie answered coldly. “You don’t understand,” Rhia shouted, “they’re going to kill us both. We’re going to be sacrificed, the governor and the marines aren’t planning to bring the Imperium back here they’re all some sort of cultists. If you don’t help me we’re both dead. Now untie me.” “You’re wrong,” Sophie replied. “No I’m not, they really are cultists. They put me here to stop me warning everyone else.” “That’s not what I meant,” Sophie said, “I meant you’re wrong about them killing us. They won’t be killing either of us.” “They will, we’re to be sacrificed, I already told you.” Hazug cleared Rhia’s room first, gathering up the few possession she had left behind and stuffing them all into a sack, then he moved on to Sophie’s room. He had rarely paid any attention to what Sophie owned, so long as it was out of the way he hadn’t really cared. There were spare clothes of course, though more than an ork would keep, humans seeming to need to change far more often, and also the strange smelling powders and liquids she used to clean herself daily instead of just waiting for dirt to build up and then getting rid of it with one severe drenching. Hazug also noticed a strange construction in the corner of the room that he found familiar. He had seen such objects before when he had had dealings with humans from the Imperium; it was a totem of some sort dedicated to their God-Emperor. Hazug had even paid tribute himself once or twice at a larger public totem dedicated to him, orks had their own gods Gork and Mork of course, but some of them still occasionally found time to make an offering to the god that provided so many armies for them to fight. Beside the altar was a brush that Hazug remembered having seen Sophie use to tidy her hair, brushing it repeatedly with long, careful strokes. Picking up the brush, he was about to make it the first thing in the sack he had brought into the room for Sophie’s belongings when he remembered something. Orks were naturally hairless and so those that desired hair, typically plumes or crests on their heads or occasionally beards, would instead purchase hair squigs. These were tiny blood sucking creatures that grew great lengths of hair. By allowing them to attach themselves to ork’s flesh while they continuously fed on tiny amounts of blood that they sucked from the wound an ork could appear to have hair of his own. But Hazug knew that humans were different, and apart from those few who for some reason wore artificially woven hair that never quite matched their own colour so that they could amuse their fellows, humans sprouted their own hair. Looking carefully at the brush, Hazug saw several long strands of hair that were definitely the same colour as Sophie’s. He had a piece of her still; he knew how he could get her back. Taking the brush and the hair trapped between the bristles with him, Hazug ran down to his truck and sped off in the direction of the weirdhuts. He braked sharply when he reached the weirdhuts, leapt down from the truck and rushed towards the nearest one, Drazzok’s. Beneath the hut, at the base of the pole, Hazug saw that some of the weirdboys were still sat waiting on orders from Drazzok and that Thuggrim da Mad was still amongst them. Though the group was significantly smaller than the previous day, the remainder of the unstable orks having found something else that caught their attention or just wandered off. “Is ‘e in?” Hazug asked, pointing upwards towards the hut at the top of the pole. “Da great Drazzok is in residence, “ one of the weirdboys said, leaping to his feet as he did so. “Good,” Hazug said, then he began to climb the ladder up to the hut, “Drazzok!” he shouted on his way up, “I needs to talk to ya!” Drazzok appeared on the balcony of his hut and looked over the edge at Hazug as he continued his ascent. “Wotcha doin’ ‘ere?” Drazzok asked as he watched Hazug clamber from the ladder onto the balcony. “Sophie’s gone,” Hazug, said, “dat Rhia and some other humans nicked ‘er from me.” “So wot?” Drazzok asked. Hazug pulled Sophie’s hairbrush from a pouch on his belt. “Dis is ‘ers, “ he said, “plus it’s got some of ‘er ‘air on it. Humans grow dare own ‘air so I figured dat ya could do dat thing where ya find someone by ‘oldin’ somethin’ wot’s dares,” and he held out the brush. “Wot ‘ave I told ya about lost property?” Drazzok said without taking the brush, “I don’t do lost property.” “Dis aint lost property,” Hazug said and he held the brush closer to Drazzok. “Sophie’s a git,” Drazzok said, “and technically she belongs to ya even if ya does treat ‘er like she don’t. Dat mean dat she’s property. And ya ‘ave lost ‘er, so she’s lost property, and I don’t ‘elp find lost property.” Hazug just stared at Drazzok. “So who ya goin’ to get to make ya soup now den?” Hazug asked. Drazzok had previously expressed a fondness for Sophie’s cooking that Hazug had kept to himself and Hazug had often sent a bowl of soup to the weirdboy as a sort of bribe for just in case he ever needed to request something special. Now he intended to use Drazzok’s rather un-Snake Bite-like opinion of human cuisine against him. Drazzok frowned and stared straight at Hazug. “Bah!” the weirdboy said suddenly and he snatched the brush away from Hazug’s grip, “I’ll do it den, but dis is just because ya let dat git act like ya don’t own ‘er. I aint lookin’ for dung.” Drazzok began to clamber onto the upper rungs of his ladder and hurled his staff to the ground below. “Pick dat up would ya,” he shouted down to the madboys waiting there, and then with the brush still in his hand he began to carefully descend the ladder with Hazug following close behind him. At the base of the ladder Drazzok beckoned for the madboy holding his staff to return it before he risked letting go of the copper ladder. Satisfied that he was sufficiently earthed he then stepped away and began to study the brush and hairs caught on it. “Dis should be easy,” he told Hazug when the Blood Axe also steeped down from the ladder, “Cause ya brought me a bit of ‘er instead of just somethin’ wot she owned dare’s already a bit of a link dare,” and he carefully pulled a single long strand of hair away from the brush. He handed the brush back to Hazug and looked down at the ground around his feet, “’Ere we go,” he said, picking up a tiny piece of wood from the ground and he tied one end of the hair around it, “dis’ll make da end easier to see.” Having put the hairbrush back into his pouch, Hazug then watched as Drazzok dragged the hair through his mouth, coating it with a thin layer of saliva, then he held the hair out in front of him from both ends, vertically with the piece of the wood at the bottom. Drazzok let go of the piece of wood and let the hair hang loose before lifting his staff up off the ground, instead channelling the power that could not naturally dissipate through his feet into the saliva coated hair and Hazug grinned as it swung upwards until it stuck out straight, the piece of wood tied to the end indeed making this easy to see, and pointed towards the river. “Dat do ya?” Drazzok asked, “She’s dare.” ”Dat’s right,” Drazzok added, “and I aint even asked to be paid for it either,” and he looked Hazug in the eyes. Hazug pulled a pair of teeth from his money pouch and held them up for Drazzok to see. “Is she alive den?” he asked, “Dat Jaris said dat dey was goin’ to
kill ‘er.” Enough of the madboys had wandered off that the remainder could easily fit into Hazug’s truck when he drove back to his house with Drazzok in the seat beside him, still clutching the length of Sophie’s hair that was Hazug’s best hope of getting back his servant. They stopped at Hazug’s home just long enough to load up the truck with Hazug’s weaponry, ammunition, provisions for a day’s journey, and of course Ratish. The gretchin had no desire to see Sophie back, but he wasn’t about to let his master go into battle without him. “Aint ya watchin’ da ‘air? Ya is goin’ da wrong way,” Drazzok said as Hazug turned a corner while the hair remained pointing down the street they had been driving along. “We is probably goin’ up against loads of humans,” Hazug said, “and
we don’t know ‘ow many dare or wot guns dey got.” “Yeah, well obviously I could,” Drazzok said in a tone that indicated that he would rather not try taking on an entire human army single handed, “but I reckon dat we should leave it up to Hazug since its ‘is git we is getting’ back.” “So wot is we doin’ den?” Thuggrim asked. “We needs more lads and more shootas,” Hazug said, “and I knows where we can get ‘em.” |
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