by Warhammer
She glanced over at Max. He seemed different too. He had grown somehow over the past few weeks. He was more confident, more mature. He wore his power like a cloak now, and he seemed deserving of the respect the guards showed him as they entered the duke’s council chambers.
She owed him for her life. It was a debt she felt sure she would be given a chance to repay in the coming struggle.
‘Well,’ the duke said as they entered, ‘what did you find out?’
Felix managed to keep a pleasant smile on his face in spite of the duke’s tone. Max looked a little put out by the brusqueness but then smiled anyway. Good, thought Felix, you’re learning. He listened as Max swiftly outlined his theories as to what was going on. Undiplomatic he might be, but the duke was a good listener and his council took their cue from him. He waited for Max to finish before he spoke. Felix did not think he had ever seen quite so many wealthy and powerful people gathered together in one place before: guards, nobles, priests, richly garbed merchants were all present.
‘It seems like we can expect the main attack to begin soon. So far all we have faced are a few raids. This will be the real thing. How ready are we?’
The question was directed at Boris, the captain of the ducal guard, the man who was directly responsible for overseeing the defences of the city. ‘We have every able bodied man ready to fight on the walls. They have been divided into three watches that can relieve each other when necessary. The city militias have been mustered and can be summoned by the alarm bells. We have enough food to last the winter, if rationed, and if more granaries are not poisoned. The wells are under guard. The people are frightened but willing. We are ready to fight.’
The duke glanced over at the Archlector of the Temple of Ulric, an old man, with the powerful build and straight back of the warrior. He adjusted the wolf-skin cloak about his shoulders. ‘Prayers are being said in the temple daily. The aid of the gods is being sought. The runes of protection on the walls remain strong, but our divinations tell us that our enemies are gathering an enormous amount of power. To what end remains unclear. Within the city we have some twenty priests and twelve wizards capable of working battle magic. It seems clear to me that we can and must resist.’
It was now the turn of a white-robed woman to speak. She was still beautiful though her hair was white and her face lined. Her hands played nervously with a silver dove amulet around her neck. ‘The Sisterhood of Shallya has so far treated four hundred wounded, and many cases of the plague. Fortunately, for the moment, the disease appears to be under control. I think the snowstorms may have worked to inhibit its spread in some way. Or it may simply be that whoever summoned the plague magic has ceased their efforts or moved on to other things.’
One by one, the highest-ranking citizens of Praag were called on to speak: guildmasters, priests, merchants, builders. Slowly a picture emerged of the situation. Praag appeared as well prepared for a siege as it was possible for any city to be. Had it been any other army save the vast mutant horde sitting outside its walls, the city could have withstood an attack with certainty. As it was, no one really knew what the Chaos worshippers were capable of, and the uncertainty was provoking a deep-seated unease. Max’s conclusions had done nothing to reassure the assembled council. Of all the people there, only the duke and to a lesser extent his brother did not seem bothered. They radiated a calm and decisive confidence that under almost any other circumstances might have been reassuring.
‘When do you expect the attack to begin in earnest?’ the duke asked Max.
‘Very soon. They must plan on doing something with all the power they are gathering. I do not see how they can hope to keep it under control for any length of time, no matter how potent their sorcerers are.’
The duke nodded. ‘Very well. We must expect an attack at any moment. I thank you for your presence. I suggest you all visit the temple of your choice and pray for our deliverance.’
I hope the gods can help, Felix thought. He could see no other source of deliverance.
The Gospodar muster was impressive, Ivan Petrovich Straghov thought. Hundreds of tents dotted the plain around Mikal’s Ford. The air was filled with the scent of horseflesh and charcoal braziers. In the distance was the huge pavilion that was the Ice Queen’s palace when she travelled. The tzarina must have stripped the realm bare to have assembled so many troops in so short a time. There was well over five thousand cavalry present: horse archers, winged lancers, light horse. As he rode through the throng, he shouted to many old comrades and waved his response to many more.
There was Maximilian Trask, the Count of Volksgrad, victor of over a thousand skirmishes with the orcs of the Eastern Steppes, a fact that the garland of orc ears around his neck was a testimony to. A bellow from his left drew his attention to Stanislav Lesky. Old One-eye still looked hale despite his sixty winters. He rode upright with a horsemanship that would have shamed the twenty grandsons who cantered along beside him, the sign of the grey wolf fluttering on their banners. Ivan waved and shouted: ‘Tonight we drink vodka in my tent!’
Over there was his old rival, Kaminsky, with whom Ivan had fought many a border dispute – and drunk many a cup of peace when battle was over. Now Kaminsky was as homeless as he. Still it was good to see him here, even if his riders were as diminished in numbers as Ivan’s own. What could one expect really? Like himself, Kaminsky had been right in the path of the advancing horde.
Ivan rode through the tents. The soft snow gave way beneath his horse’s hooves. Beneath it the ground was iron hard. In front of his men, Ivan chose to interpret this as a good sign. Lord Winter was mustering his white troops to defend Kislev. In reality he was worried. Snow made it just as difficult for a Kislevite army to move and support itself as it did for anyone else. Perhaps the Chaos warriors were going to use magic to feed themselves. Ivan knew his countrymen could not. But there was no sense in worrying about that now. He needed to report what he had seen to his ruler.
A groom waiting outside the vast blue pavilion took his horse, and without formality, Ivan was allowed to stride into the tent. Inside it was cold, not quite as chilly as it had been in the snow, but it was far less warm than most people would have expected. Ivan chose to interpret this as a good sign as well. When the Ice Queen was exerting her formidable powers of sorcery, the air around her inevitably took chill.
Ivan drew his furs tighter around him and strode across a floor piled with carpets towards the distant throne. Large fur-clad men moved aside to let him pass. In a few heartbeats he stood looking up at his monarch.
She was tall, taller than he, and her skin was so pale that he could see the blue veins in her face. Her eyes were a startling chilly blue, but her lips and hair fiery red. Her nails were long and glittered like gems. Rich robes covered her full, sensuous figure. When she spoke her voice was low, husky and thrilling: ‘Greetings, Ivan Petrovich. What news from the north?’
Ivan returned her greeting respectfully and told her of his journey, knowing even as he spoke that little of what he said would come as a surprise to her. The Ice Queen had her own ways of knowing what passed in her realm. It was said that she could see to its furthest reaches in the massive turquoise orb she kept beside her throne.
After he had finished speaking, he spoke openly and frankly to her as befitted a trusted Kislevite retainer speaking to his liege. ‘But what of the Empire, my lady? And our ancient allies?’
‘The Emperor musters his army to face the horde. But it is a long way from Altdorf to Kislev, and we cannot hope to see him before the spring. White Wolves ride from Middenheim, and we hope to see them sooner. The dwarfs of the Worlds Edge Mountains have also promised aid, though the roads through the peaks are hard at this time of year, and who knows when help may arrive from that doughty quarter?’
It was very much as Ivan would have expected. By attacking so late in the season, the Chaos warriors had gained an advantage. Had they attacked in spring, as any human army would have, then Kislev’s allies could have
come to her aid. Now, it was unlikely they would be of much help before winter’s end. Ivan saw one small ray of hope.
‘Perhaps with their airship the dwarfs might be able to get here sooner.’
‘Perhaps. We have had no word of it since it departed for Praag. We can but hope that no mishap had befallen it.’
Ivan prayed fervently that was not the case. ‘When do we ride for Praag?’
‘On the morrow,’ said the Ice Queen. ‘Though my heart misgives me at the thought of what we will find when we get there.’
TEN
Halek listened unhappily to his agent. Felix Jaeger had been to the Red Rose and had been seen talking to the girl Sasha, an associate of his late and unlamented henchmen Sergei and Olaf. He glanced around his richly furnished chambers, rose from his cushioned seat, and went to the door. He opened it, and checked to make sure there was no one listening. In the palace you could never be quite certain. There were servants everywhere. Normally, he would never have agreed to meet his underling in his own quarters, but the man had claimed the matter was urgent, and he was someone whose judgement Halek had learned to trust.
What could the girl have told Jaeger? Nothing too incriminating, he was sure. She had never seen his face, and he had never let the two assassins know who he really was. No, he was in no danger, of that he was certain. He rose and picked up a small ebony statuette, an exotic carving made in Araby or one of those other hot southern lands. He was sure his brother would know; it was the sort of scholarship in which he excelled. His hand tightened around the figurine with such force that he almost broke it.
Control yourself, he told himself. It was bad form to show any tension in front of his lackeys, something he would never normally do. It was a sign of the pressure he was under. His superiors, those who had progressed further in the hidden order than he, were holding him responsible for the continued existence of Gotrek Gurnisson and Felix Jaeger, and it did not help that the two of them had been instrumental in foiling the poisoning of the grain stores. The pressure to do something about them was really on him now. Halek shook his head, wishing for the thousandth time he had never accepted that first invitation to study secret alchemical lore.
Not that it all mattered. Soon the city would fall anyway. He took a deep breath to calm himself and fought to get his whirling thoughts under control. Even though he knew he was going to be on the winning side, the wait for victory was proving to be an enormous strain. He wished the waiting were over, and the city fallen. Only a matter of time, he told himself.
He forced his resentment-filled thoughts back to the matter at hand, the business with this bar girl. She was of no account. She could not harm him. Perhaps it would be best just to let the matter lie. That was most likely the best course. Certainly it would have been the one he would normally have favoured. But now, with the effects of his hidden mutation working on him, and the stress of all the waiting, and this constant feeling that he was betraying someone no matter what he did, he felt the need to do something.
After all, why take chances?
Quickly, decisively, he gave his agent instructions. It would perhaps be for the best if the girl quietly disappeared. He was sorry about her death, but he tried telling himself he was being merciful. She would most likely be dead in the next few days anyway.
The White Boar was quiet. Everyone was moody and tense. The events of the past few days had unsettled them all. Ghosts, dark sorcery and rumours of traitors poisoning the granaries had done nothing to improve a level of morale already undermined by plague and the size of the besieging army. Felix glanced around, wondering where Ulrika was. She had been strangely distant recently. He was starting to think that even their fights might be better than this growing estrangement. At least part of him was. Another part of him felt a growing sense of relief, of freedom, even.
He wondered where Ulli, Bjorni and Snorri were. Most likely at the Red Rose again. Bjorni was certainly proving to be a bad influence on young Ulli, dragging him along to the joyhouse every night. But, it wasn’t as if he was holding a dagger to the younger Slayer’s throat. Felix looked down into his goblet of wine, swirled the red liquid around and took a sip. He was too tense this evening, he told himself then smiled sourly.
Under the circumstances, it was hardly surprising. Assassins were looking for him. He was in a haunted, plague-ridden city under siege by a daemonic army, and he and his companions had insulted many of their fellow citizens including some nasty witch hunters. It was only natural to be tense under the circumstances. He tried to tell himself he had been in tighter corners, but it did not do much good. He looked over at Gotrek. The Slayer was glaring morosely into his ale. He looked around as if daring any of their fellow customers to look at him the wrong way. No one, not even the party of White Wolf templars, were foolish enough to do so.
‘No need to look for a fight,’ said Felix. ‘There will be enough of that tomorrow.’
‘Aye, most likely,’ said Gotrek.
‘And no doubt you will have a chance to find your doom.’
‘There is that, manling.’
‘You don’t sound too pleased.’
‘It galls me.’ Felix was shocked. Was the Slayer having second thoughts about seeking a heroic death?
‘What galls you?’
‘That the forces of Chaos might conquer this place. That they might win.’
‘What does that matter to you? It is death you seek.’
‘Aye, it is. But a meaningful death. Not falling anonymously in some great ruck.’
‘Somehow I doubt that will be your fate.’
‘We shall see.’
‘Perhaps you will get a chance to challenge one of the horde’s leaders. That would be a mighty doom.’
Gotrek looked up, as if to see whether Felix was mocking him.
At that moment, the door of the White Boar opened and Snorri and Ulli hurried in. They came right over to the table. ‘Best get over to the Red Rose!’ bellowed Ulli.
‘Snorri thinks there’s something you might want to see.’
Amazing, thought Grey Seer Thanquol, staring up at the sky. So much power. So much magic. The clouds were red. Not with the sort of ruddiness he had seen before when the sun set, but a bloody red in which swirled vortexes of pure mystical energy, and around which bolts of lightning flickered without ever discharging themselves to earth. The sun was pleasantly obscured, the snow gleamed bloodily. Thanquol’s weariness evaporated as he surveyed the battlefield.
Another great victory, he told himself. A force nearly a quarter of our size annihilated with only a few hundred casualties to show for it. It was another testimony to his military genius. He could tell even Izak Grottle was impressed though he muttered sourly about their foes already having been exhausted by an earlier conflict.
As if that made any difference. Thanquol readily conceded that their foes had already seen combat. It was merely another testament to his tactical skill that he had chosen such a moment to attack them. Grottle might claim it was mere luck, but Thanquol knew that all great commanders made their own luck. So what if the Chaos worshippers had been harried by a few of the Kislevite horse soldiers? This in no way detracted from the magnitude of Thanquol’s victory.
Sweeter still was the feeling that his power was growing, as this red storm from the north grew. Using magic had come easier to him than ever before, and he had barely needed his intake of powdered warpstone to cast even his mightiest spells. It seemed like the Horned Rat favoured him once more. And about time too, a deeply buried part of him thought. If only Felix Jaeger and Gotrek Gurnisson were put before him at this moment, he felt sure he would dispatch them with ease. How sweet that would be.
He fought off a feeling almost like drunkenness. He was giddy with so much power in the air. The winds of magic were blowing stronger than ever he had felt them. Morrslieb glowed so bright its green light was visible even through the ruddy clouds. Magic flowed through his fur and into his veins. Truly this was a fine time to
be alive, Thanquol thought.
He gave orders for his army to hurry south, confident that he would be able to deal with any threat they might encounter. Behind him Izak Grottle groaned and wheezed as he gave the instructions to follow the grey seer’s orders. Just at that moment, Thanquol stood dumbfounded, sensing an awesome gathering of power to the south of him. Suddenly he wanted to bury himself deep below the ground, and not emerge till he was certain whatever it was had passed. Since he could not do that, he decided it would be best to begin a tactical withdrawal away from it. He began to give the orders, but Grottle countermanded him.
‘I was told to see you to Skavenblight, and that is what I intend to do.’
Thanquol almost blasted him then and there, but restrained himself from unleashing his righteous wrath. It was time to preserve his power, in case he needed to make a quick escape.
Max Schreiber gazed out from the tower. Soon the attack would come. It was obvious. As the sun set amid the eerie red clouds a strange mist gathered over the battlefield. It was almost the same colour as the clouds, and charged with the same evil energy. Max could see the lines of force swirling within it, and knew that a spell of awesome potency was being prepared. Even with his own new-found confidence in his powers, Max knew that he would not care to meet whoever was casting that spell. The amount of power being gathered would need almost god-like strength to control, even with the backing of hundreds of acolytes. Max wished there was something he could do to disrupt it, but there was nothing he could think of. Even if he had all the mages in his college of magic behind him, he doubted there would have been anything he could do.