Read Online Deathwing by William King, David Pringle, Neil Jones - Free Book Online Page A

lopped
     off heads
     and
     limbs
     with a
     will,
     but
     for
     every
     foe
     who
     fell,
     another
     stepped
     into
     place.
     He
     could
     not
     guard
     himself
     against
     all
     their
     blows,
     and soon
     he bled from scores
     of great
     wounds.
    Life fled from him, and
     overhead
     he thought
     he heard
     the
     beating
     of mighty pinions.
     Deathwing
     has
     come,
     he thought, just
     before a blow smashed
     into his head
     and
     all consciousness
     fled.
* * *
     
     
    Cloud Runner paused
     briefly
     before
     he
     painted
     out
     his
     personal cloud-and-thunderbolt
     insignia
     on
     his
     armour's
     right shoulder;
     He
     felt
     changed.
     By
     blanking
     out
     his
     Imperial
     insignia,
     he
     had
     blanked
     out
     part
     of
     himself,
     cut
     himself
     off from part of his history.
     Slowly he began
     to etch
     in new totem signs
     on the
     armour, the
     marks
     of vengeance
     and
     death. As
     he did so,
     he felt the
     powers
     of the
     totem spirits
     begin
     to enter
     him.
    He looked at Weasel-Fierce. The gaunt
     man had
     finished
     painting
     out
     all the
     icons
     on his armour. It was now white, the colour of death,
     except on its left shoulder,
     where the
     skull had
     been
     left unchanged.
     It seemed somehow appropriate.
    They
     performed
     a
     rite
     that
     dated
     back
     to
     ancient
     times,
     before
     the
     Emperor
     had
     come
     to
     tame
     the
     thunderbirds.
     Only once
     before
     had
     Cloud
     Runner
     seen
     it
     performed.
     As
     a boy,
     he
     had
     watched
     a party
     of
     old
     warriors,
     sworn
     to vengeance,
     paint
     their
     bodies
     white
     and
     go
     after
     a
     horde
     of
     Hill
     Clan
     raiders
     that
     had killed
     a
     small
     child.
     They
     had painted
     their bodies
     the
     funeral colour because
     they
     did not
     expect to return from facing so
     overwhelming a foe.
    Bloody Moon
     looked over from beside
     the
     fire and
     gave
     him a weak grin. Cloud Runner walked over to him.
    "Ready
    .
     old friend?" he asked.
     Bloody Moon nodded.
     Cloud Runner bent
     over the
     fire and
     put
     his
     hands
     into
     the
     ash. He pressed
     his palms, fingers together,
     flat against
     his face, making the
     sign
     of Deathwing on each
     cheek.
    "I wish Two Heads
     Talking would return."
     said
     Bloody Moon,
     repeating
     Cloud Runner's
     gesture.
    "He may yet
     surprise
     you."
    Bloody Moon
     looked doubtful.
     Cloud Runner gestured
     for the
     warriors
     to
     assemble.
     They
     formed
     into
     a
     circle
     around the
     dead
     fire. One by one, they
     began
     to chant
     their death-songs.
     
* * *
     
    Even as
     they
     carried him through
     the
     long steel
     corridors,
     Two Heads
     Talking knew he was
     dying.
     Life
     leaked
     from
     his wounds.
     With every
     drop
     of blood
     that
     dribbled over his bearers,
     he became weaker.
    It
     felt
     like
     some
     evil
     dream,
     being
     borne
     down
     dimly
     lit tunnels
     by
     the hunched,
     daemonic
     figures
     of
     the
     Genestealer brood.
     The
     Librarian
     watched these
     events through
     a
     fog
     of
     pain,
     wondering
     why
     he
     was
     still
     alive.
     Part
     of
     his
     mind realised that
     he was within whatever vessel
     had
     carried the
     brood
     to his homeworld.
     
     

    Agony
     lanced through
     him
     as
     one
     of
     his
     bearers
     jolted
     him
     slightly. It
     took
     all
     his
     will
     power
     not
     to
     scream.
     They
    entered
     a long hall in
     which
     a hunched,
     dreadful
     figure
     waited.
     He
     was
     placed
     on
     the
     floor
     in
     front
     of
     it.
     It
     cocked
     its head
     to one
     side, studying
     him.
    Tears
     ran
     down
     the
     Librarian's
     face
     from
     the
     pain
     as
     he
     forced