She thought she heard something. Straining, she found she was able to see a little in the dim glow of the stone in her chest and her eyes scanned the direction from which she had heard the sound. They focused on something large and furry.
It was with terror she remembered that she had been in the tunnels of Clan Moulder while the Packmasters and mages had studied her. She had been left in those same tunnels, she was sure, with all those unnatural, twisted monsters created by unnatural, twisted minds as well as that evil Warpstone, the solid form of all things chaotic and bizarre.
The furry thing moved closer to her, and she could tell by its lumbering movements that it had a limp. It was in fact a rat ogre, a most valuable creature to have on one's side in a fight, but this one's injury prevented him from being battleworthy at the moment. The rat ogre was annoyed--he could sense the battle on the surface, and was every moment growing more excited with his hunger for blood.
The rat ogre's limp, however, did not keep him from being adequate to guard Kyasha. Her body nearly paralyzed by the throbbing pain in her head, she could not escape the monster if she tried. She squinted to see him, wondering if he would attack her in place of the Skaven's Undead enemies. But the rat ogre was too well trained. Somewhere in his dim brain he realized that he must obey the orders of his Packmaster and the Grey Seer and not hurt the girl, only guard her from escaping. Even the near-brainless rat ogre knew that it would not do to anger Thanquol.
Kyasha did not know this. For all she knew, Thanquol no longer cared what became of her. She lay as still as she could, hoping the creature would ignore her. Had she been thinking rationally, she would not have cared about avoiding the monster--more likely she would have goaded it into killing her, for she had desired death for hundreds of years. The rat ogre probably could have given her a true death, too. He would tear her to pieces and probably eat her as well. Kyasha had been beheaded, impaled, pushed from high places, drowned, hanged, set afire, encased in ice, poisoned, strangled, hacked with axes, starved, and buried under sand. But if she were actually pulled into pieces and consumed, certainly it would be impossible to return.
Kyasha was not thinking rationally. Her thoughts were obscured by the pain in her head and her mind and body were controlled by instinct alone. The instinct sought to keep her alive--or was it the influence of the now-shattered gem in her chest? As she breathed, she seemed to sense a fume. The stone seemed to be its source. Looking down, she saw the glow of the stone was pulsating, keeping rhythm with her heart. With every pulsation, the pain in her head grew worse.
She lapsed into halucination. Across burning sand the small, hardy horses had raced. They sweated heavily in the heat and fought to breathe, but they dare not slow. They were attempting to outrun Death itself.
Kyasha had awakened--they'd taken her out of the bag and mounted her on the middle horse. She had never been out when it was so hot. Usually days like this she would spend in the cool of the marble fountain in her father's palace. Where was her father, anyway?
Notbob directed the Snotties to paddle the boat to a hill that stood alone, poking out of the water. It took some time for the little guys to coordinate their movements enough to get the coracle anywhere. However, with much screaming and scowling, the Goblin navigated his little vessel to dry land.
CLUNK! Notbob had been standing up in the coracle and fell as the ship smacked into the hill. The three swarmed out and hurried up the hill, trying to get a better view of what was going on. From this vantage point, it was fairly easy to see through the thin mist that the Zombies were fighting a swarm of hairy things. Notbob listened carefully and surmised from the squeaks he heard that the Undead were fighting Skaven.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!" the Snotties sqealed, jumping up and down with excitement. Even under their little feet, the ground began the sink. "Blokes, stop it!" Notbob demanded, but the Snotties were either too wrapped up in the fight or pretended not to hear. Neither did they seem to notice that with every stomp the ground became lower.
The Goblin was just about to cuff both of them pretty darn hard when finally the soil broke loose and the three tumbled into the hollow below. Shaking himself, Notbob looked up and saw the opening of this big hole in the ground was too high for any of them to reach. As his red eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, he saw that they were in the end of a tunnel. He just hoped the tunnel led to the outside.
He gathered the Snotties and headed forward. Suddenly one of the little guys let out a sqeal. It had found something interesting. Curious, the Goblin huuried to see what it was and found the smaller creature struggling to lift a huge sword. Notbob took it from him. It was difficult to lift. It was dark, made of some substance unknown to the Greenies, and was carved with scratchy runes. It was a terrible sword that vibrated when you touched it and filled Notbob with a feeling not unlike the WAAAGH, but also reminded him of the chill he'd gotten when fighting the zombies. At first, he was frightened. He was going to put the sword down. But he couldn't. More than ever, he wanted to destroy the Undead, and this seemed the perfect weapon. He ran down the tunnel.
The battle was turning indecisive. The creaking, gaping maw of the Black Ark was quite effective--when it worked properly. The glowing form of the Horned Rat's paw was supposed to crush the enemy. But that was not alway the case. Sometimes the Horned Rat claimed his own chittering children. Last time it had been one of the Warlocks operating the Ark. Thanquol, of course, had nimbly stepped aside when this happened. Amid the clash of swords and the loud crackle of the Warpfire throwers and the din of angry squeaks and chilling moans the Ark hissed again. The jaws moved as though to gnaw straight through the battle. Inside the skull-shaped Ark lay a sphere of glowing Warpstone. Again its power was unleashed.
Some of the fighters saw what was coming and ducked in time. Some were not so lucky. However, their loss was acceptable as the magic had also vaporized a number of the Undead. Thanquol, pleased, offered a quick prayer of gratitude to the Horned Rat. At least the Black Ark had not backfired.
Off in the distance, through the mist, he saw a large, dark object approaching. It rumbled as it neared Skavenblight, but gave no sign of what it might be. Thanquol closed his eyes and concentrated, using his powers of far-seeing to view the object. His heart froze in terror. It was a chariot made of the skeleton of a manticore. Its wings allowed it to skim across the swamp. Its head, part of the yoke that held four skeletal horses, snapped its teeth. Riding the chariot was a single black skeleton dressed in the black and violet robes of a liche...
"Arkhan!" Kyasha whispered. Her hallucination faded as she sensed the nearing presence of the liche king, the one Nagash had sent to punish her and the few servants with her for being the only ones to escape Nehekara.
The black skeleton was upon them, having trapped them in the cave they had been hiding in. It could have easily destroyed them all. But it grabbed Kyasha with its cold, sharp fingers. Looking down on her with its eternal, horrible grin, it shoved the fire-hot black gem talisman into her chest. It tossed her to the ground, where she passed out. It did the same thing to the others before taking its leave. Ever afterwards, she and the servants were persued by the Undead. Nagash did not let the dead rest, nor did he allow rest for the living who had dared defy him.
She was suddenly startled by the opening door. The rat-ogre growled. In stepped six huge, pure-white Skaven with glistening red eyes. Except for the ogres, these were the largest of the Skaven. They were the Stormvermin.
"The Council has been looking for you," one of them said as it grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and dragged her away down the tunnel.
Notbob and the Snotties found themselves at a large door, one in much better repair than most doors in this dank place. It was carved with strange symbols. As they approached it, the door seemed to glow. With a sudden violent slam, it opened into a huge room.
The Greenskins tiptoed into the room. It was so dark even their eyes could not see. But there were other creatures in the room who could, and they chittered excitedly. Frightened, the three turned to run away, but the door slammed shut.
A glow appeared behind them, and as they turned the glow grew brighter until it filled the chamber with a dusty light, revealing a huge stone table and, sitting around it, thirteen of the vilest rodents they had ever seen. The Skaven Lords of Decay watched the intruders with shiny red eyes, their sharp white teeth gleaming in the pale light.
For a moment, all was silent. The three Greenskins looked around in horror. Here was one scruffy-furred armored vetran missing an eye and a piece of an ear. There was a thin one, covered with some kind of festering boils, dressed in a robe as green as infected pus. Nearly invisible in one dark corner sat a black rat in a black cloak, his eyes narrowed but his body perfectly still. At the head of the table was an ancient rat, his grey fur fading to white, dressed in the darkest blue robe and wearing a helmet crested with curling horns. In one hand he held a staff that ended in a black stone casting a green glow of its own. It was this one who finally broke the silence.
"Greetings-greetings, Goblin," the Grey Seer rasped. "We have been expecting you. We see you have succeeded in bringing Us that sword." As he said this, he pointed at the weapon in question. The sword freed itself of Notbob's hand and floated to the circle of rats, where it came to rest in the center of the table.
"Have you ever heard of the Fellblade?"
Notbob could only shake his head in reply, he was so frightened. "Then listen well, little one, for you are going to help Us again."
Notbob listened. But he did not hear the verbal instruction he expected. Instead visions came to him, as though he was being given new memories.
He was standing in a desert land. Sand on the ground burned his feet and sand in the wind scratched his eyes. But that was the least of his worries. The sky began to darken, though the sun had not moved and no clouds blotted the sky. An evil wind descended upon the cities of the desert. As he watched, he saw tribes of his own people fleeing. And then he saw why: throughout the land, thousands of humans sickened and died for no apparent reason. And then they rose again to be the same creatures he had fought in the swamp.
He saw from the vantage of a bird flying over the desert. His view descended into a vast but empty city, into a beautiful marble and gold palace. The only sound to be heared within its walls other than the moaning wind was a man weeping. It was the king, Alcadazaar, who wept for his wife, his children, his city that had all been stolen from him to populate the kingdom of Nagash.
Now the vision changed. Notbob stood in a dungeon, watching Skaven present the captive king with the same sword he had found in the tunnels of Skavenblight. Alcadazaar took the sword, the Fellblade, they called it, and destroyed the Great Necromancer. The king subsequently lost his mind.
There the vision ended. Notbob was left in a daze, broken only by the rasping of the Grey Seer.
"Now you understand?" he asked. "This is not your weapon. You will not avenge your friend's death by sinking into madness. This time the madness is for one who is already mad. But you will help, and in helping you will have your revenge, yes-yes? You understand about the sword so you can help the one who carries it."
Notbob could not think of a sensible answer. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to. At that moment, the door opened again. Huge white rat-men tossed a young human woman into the chamber. Odd, Notbob thought, how much the woman looked like Alcadazaar's queen.
"Good-good," the Grey Seer said. "Now you are both here, We can proceed." He motioned the girl to approach the table. As she obeyed, he said, "You would end this, yes-yes? End this running from Arkhan? We would end the battle that is threatening our city. This sword is for you."
The Fellblade rose into the air and hovered near Kyasha. She gasped as she recognized the black blade with its strange markings. Slowly she reached for the sword. "Yes," she whispered as she took the sword in her hand. "This can end it." She turned the sword toward herself. She plunged it toward her gut. But something stopped the blade from touching her.
The Grey Seer stood now. "That is not the way, Khala'yashe."
The girl's eyes grew wide. "Where did you learn that name?"
"It is yours, yes-yes? Matters not how We know it. The sword is for you to face Arkhan." Noting the palor that washed over the girl's face as he said this, he added. "We will help you."