Warmachine: Extraordinary Zoology Excerpt
7 Minute Read
Aug 2 2013
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Do you like monsters? Skull Island’s latest novella is out and Privateer Press wants you all to take a read to see what you think.
Skull Island Expeditions
by Howard Taylor $4.99
Professor Viktor Pendrake is a legend in his own time and is the foremost expert in extraordinary zoology. His research demands he place himself in peril to directly observe and interact with his subjects, a peril his assistants must endure as well.
Bookish Lynus Wesselbaum is the picture of a scholar-in-training whose days are often spent sifting through the vast stacks of tomes within Corvis University. Yet Lynus has earned his place as Professor Pendrake’s senior assistant professor, having accompanied his mentor in the field and survived countless encounters with the most dangerous flora and fauna of western Immoren. Lynus is fortunate to be joined by Edrea Lloryrr, a young but eminently capable Iosan arcanist who also assists Pendrake and brings a unique perspective. When word comes of a new menace plaguing the remote villages around Corvis, both Lynus and Edrea find themselves swept up with Pendrake in an adventure that will force them to confront a primeval force of absolute destruction.
Excerpt:
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Edrea had a clear shot.
She squeezed the trigger, her rifle thundered, and the drake’s left
eye exploded. The monster bellowed in rage and swung its head,
fixing its remaining eye on Edrea.
Then it charged.
Fog drakes, Edrea recalled, were swift aquatic predators but
seemed lazy on land. The advantage their fog glands provided them
meant they could usually waddle up to their next meal while it grazed
stupidly on swamp heather.
But this charge was no waddle. The fog drake was wounded and
angry.
No time to reload, no time to draw her sword. There were spells,
but . . . Edrea reversed her grip on the stock and swung the rifle like
a club.
The drake was leading with an open maw, a behavior ingrained,
perhaps, by eating prey that couldn’t see. Edrea’s swing connected
with a tooth and broke it.
She used the momentum of her swing to throw herself out of the
way. The drake barreled past her, a clawed foot just missing as it ran.
It redoubled its howling. It was certainly disoriented, running away
from the safety of the lake.
Terrified whinnying pierced the air, closely followed by a horrific
crunch.
Not running away. Running toward the easiest meal.
Edrea rolled to look. The drake had taken Codex to the ground
and was now curled atop and around him, tearing off chunks as the
poor animal shuddered. The horse’s amber outline vanished, like an
extinguished candle.
Aeshnyrr and Oathammer had broken their leads and were
galloping pell-mell up the rise and out of the hollow. Greta was
snorting and stamping, as if preparing to charge.
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“The horses!” shouted Pendrake.
“Over here!” Edrea called back. She pulled a round from her belt
and chambered it. She snapped the breach closed and aimed again
at the fog drake, stepping to where she could see its remaining eye.
Of course, she thought, a half-second too late, that also means its
remaining eye can see me.
The drake lashed out with its tail, slamming hard into Edrea and
sending her sprawling. She lost hold of her rifle but retained the
spinning band of runes about her wrist, her arcane vision still sharp.
The rifle did not, she noted with relief, land muzzle-first in the mud.
It would be a shame to survive this only to get dressed down like
Lynus had.
“To me!” Pendrake shouted. Kinik, Horgash, and Lynus were up
and running after him.
But Pendrake was charging Greta, whose snorting was louder
than the drake’s.
“Bear left!” Edrea yelled. “And watch out for that tail!”
Pendrake stopped to reorient himself. Kinik and Horgash were
now closer to the drake than he was, with Kinik in the lead. The
ogrun seemed perfectly on target this time. Edrea guessed that the
mist thinned farther from the lake.
Kinik delivered a powerful, crouching sweep with her cleaver and
took the fog drake’s right hind leg out from under it. The blade stuck
deep in the shank.
Horgash ran straight up the drake’s back, reversed both swordgrips
as he ran, and plunged them down toward its spine.
Both swords hit scale and bone, skipping out to the sides.
The drake twisted and bucked, turning to face the others, and
Horgash flew off its neck into the mud. Kinik wrenched her blade
free but dropped to one knee with the effort.
Pendrake ran up behind Kinik as she crouched. “Kinik! Brace!”
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She froze, then grunted in surprise as the professor planted a running
step squarely in the center of her back and leaped onto the drake’s
neck.
He too reversed his grip, one hand on the hilt of his ancient,
unnatural sword and one hand on the pommel. He thrust the blade
deep into the base of the fog drake’s long neck, piercing scale like it
was paper. The drake screamed in agony, arching its back. Pendrake
clung tightly to the sword, twisting viciously. The drake continued
to thrash.
Kinik stood and swept again with her polearm, roaring with
exertion. Her bellow almost drowned out the meaty crunch her war
cleaver made when she buried it in the bone of the drake’s left foreleg.
The drake toppled, and Pendrake rode it over, continuing to
savage the beast with the embedded blade.
Horgash came stumbling out of the mud, swords at the ready, but
by the time he reached the drake’s head the beast was still, its amber
outline gone from Edrea’s sight.
“Is everybody okay?” Lynus called into the mist.
“I feel ten years younger,” Horgash said with a broad smile.
“I feel two feet shorter,” said Kinik with a grin.
“I feel like a moment of silence,” Pendrake said, staring down at
the remains of Codex. He shook his head sadly. “Morrow, but he was
a fine animal.” He pointed up the rise. “But unless we all feel like
walking, we ought to give quick chase.”
Aeshnyrr and Oathammer hadn’t run far—just up and out of
the fog—and Horgash’s bison, Greta, hadn’t gone anywhere. Their
bolting had resulted in a few scrapes, but nothing serious.
Unfortunately, the trail Edrea had been following was
destroyed. As the mist began to fade—much of it had been the
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fog drake’s work—no further tracks were visible.
“The Tharn have gotten away from us,” Edrea announced,
examining yet another horse-trampled bramble. “That clear, clumsy
trail is gone now.”
“No,” said Horgash. “It ended here.”
Pendrake nodded. “He’s right.”
“I’d have been right if I said something. As soon as we crossed
that ridge into the mist, I thought to myself, ‘This would be a great
spot for an ambush,’ but somebody,” he pounded his fist against his
breastplate for emphasis, “somebody has spent too many years trading
instead of leading the marching warriors.”
“I knew it!” said Lynus. He waved a tiny book up at Horgash.
“You weren’t just a warrior. You led them! And not just as a warband
leader or kithkar. You’ve got Bragg’s blood in you.”
Edrea chided herself for not figuring it out sooner. Horgash was
a fell caller, one of the warrior singers of the trollkin whose ballads
could turn the tides of battle, and whose shouts could rend flesh.
At least, he used to be, until something ruined his voice.
Horgash scowled at Lynus with a furrowed brow. Edrea thought
for just a moment he might strike the young man. Then the trollkin’s
expression softened.
“What gave me away?” he asked.
“When you jumped at that fog drake,” Lynus said, “you shouted
something, and I thought it sounded like poetry. I’ve never met
anybody who yelled poems at the enemy.”
“Lots of soldiers are poets,” Pendrake said.
Horgash rolled his eyes and turned back to Lynus. “Go on. How’d
you figure it out?”
“Well, one of the books I packed was Cole’s Guide to the Verse of
Immoren’s Trollkin. The very first section is devoted to the famous
battle calls of Bragg, and speculation regarding their impact.”
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“No impact anymore. Not unless you count ragged breathing and
a sore throat.”
“Well, the bit you shouted was iron sinew, proven blade from
‘Ballad of the Hero.’” Lynus held the book open and pointed at the
page for emphasis. “Commonly shouted as battle is joined, Cole
says.” He closed the book and looked up at Horgash with something
approaching awe. “The way you tore into that drake, I thought
maybe you were using trollkin magic.”
“No magic, boy. Years of practice, and ten seconds of desperation.
I’ve got Bragg’s blood, yes, but his gift is gone.” Horgash lowered
his head and shook it. “I haven’t been able to call for years, but
sometimes, in the heat of a fight I still try.”
Trollkin could regenerate lost limbs, provided they survived the
initial wound. What injury could have stripped a fell caller of his
song?
Edrea had to know. “What happened to your voice, Horgash?”
The creases in the great blue brow deepened, and Horgash’s eyes
narrowed. He was looking not at Edrea, but at Pendrake.
The professor nodded. “It’s part of their legacy, too, old friend.”
“Very well then.” Horgash cleared his throat. “Fourteen years ago,
late in the winter of 592, I played cards with Saxon Orrik, and I
won.”
“Oh dear, that Saxon Orrik?” Edrea turned to Pendrake. “The one
you got court-martialed?”
“The same,” said Pendrake. “This happened after Vinter IV
pardoned him and put him to work for the Inquisition.”
“What happened to him after the coup?” Lynus asked.
“I was telling a story,” Horgash said, rasping the best roar he
could. Then, more softly, “Interruptions like this never happened
when I could call.”
Edrea sat silently and looked at the others.
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Horgash gave a shrug. “I might have been humming a bit during
the game, just to put the others on edge. Bragg’s gift was good for a
lot of things. Still, the cards Orrik drew were his own.
“The big loser of the night was Orrik himself. He was noble
enough about it, I thought, when he bought a pitcher and poured
us drinks, but he slipped some Wurm-wrought poison or another
into mine. I don’t know what he used.” Horgash’s features darkened
to a blue-black as he scowled. “He toasted me, my victory, and my
winnings right to my face. I threw back the glass, and that bastard
said, ‘And to your last song.’”
Horgash ran his hand over his throat. “The drink burned, and
kept burning. I spat, and choked, and it burned. I drank water,
poured ale down my throat by the gallon, and it still burned. Orrik
stood there watching the whole time. Until I tried to speak, and
couldn’t. My voice was gone. Then he turned and left.”
“It shamed me when I heard of it,” Pendrake said. “I learned
much of my woodcraft under Orrik. But of kindness and decency?
There’s not a thing that cruel, infernal shade of a man could teach.”
“Don’t flog yourself on his behalf. You’re not the one who
pardoned him and turned him loose on the world again.” Horgash
gestured at Lynus. “You just make sure the rising generation turns
out more like you, and less like him.”
Lynus blanched. Edrea put her hand on his shoulder. Certainly
he knew that accidentally knocking a comrade’s sword down was
not the same as poisoning someone over cards. Even the accidental
shooting paled against that treachery.
Pendrake broke the silence. “Now that everyone knows the evils
of gambling and drink, we have work to do.” He pointed at Lynus.
“Senior assistant, I think you should demonstrate for the others
the procedure for retrieving smoke glands from a fog drake. I shall
contemplate our further course, given that we’ve lost the trail.”
Enjoy your journey to the Iron Kingdoms everybody! What did you think?
Author: Larry Vela
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