Slaves to Darkness 03 (The Heart of Chaos)

by Warhammer

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  This is a dark age, a bloody age, an age of daemons

  and of sorcery. It is an age of battle and death, and of the

  world's ending. Amidst all of the fire, flame and fury

  it is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds

  and great courage.

  At the heart of the Old World sprawls the Empire, the

  largest and most powerful of the human realms. Known for

  its engineers, sorcerers, traders and soldiers, it is

  a land of great mountains, mighty rivers, dark forests

  and vast cities. And from his throne in Altdorf reigns

  the Emperor Karl-Franz, sacred descendant of the

  founder of these lands, Sigmar, and wielder

  of his magical warhammer.

  But these are far from civilised times. Across the length

  and breadth of the Old World, from the knightly palaces

  of Bretonnia to ice-bound Kislev in the far north, come

  rumblings of war. In the towering World's Edge Mountains,

  the orc tribes are gathering for another assault. Bandits and

  renegades harry the wild southern lands of

  the Border Princes. There are rumours of rat-things, the

  skaven, emerging from the sewers and swamps across the

  land. And from the northern wildernesses there is the

  ever-present threat of Chaos, of daemons and beastmen

  corrupted by the foul powers of the Dark Gods.

  As the time of battle draws ever

  near, the Empire needs heroes

  like never before.

  Author's Note

  The events of this book took place during a time of great strife and upheaval in the lands known as the Empire. Following the death of Emperor Mandred at the hands of inhuman assassins, the states of the Empire could not elect a new ruler, and war broke out between several Imperial provinces. This continued for several hundred years, and the period in which the following events took place was known as the Time of Three Emperors, because three of the provincial elector counts had declared themselves rightful Emperor - Stirland, Talabecland and the city state of Middenheim.

  Assailed from outside and divided within, the Empire was all but shattered, the once united states now operating as separate nations. Suspicion and politicking became the rule of the day in the Imperial courts, while the people tried to eke out a living amidst the ruins of the former Empire. Anarchy prevailed, brigands roamed the wilds, vile beastmen stalked the forest roads and the once cosmopolitan people of the Empire became introverted and parochial. With the rulers of the elector states bickering amongst themselves, towns and villages were left to defend themselves, and the purges of orcs, mutants, skaven and other foul creatures fell by the wayside, allowing much of the realm to be overrun. Centuries before the founding of the colleges of magic, all magic is outlawed. Yet the line between devine intervention and sorcery is a matter of perspective, and the populace is terrified by the arcane forces that rule their world and are yet beyond their grasp.

  All dates are in the Imperials calendar, dated from the crowning of Sigmar as the first Emperor.

  BOOK ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fatigue

  Faeringhold, Norscan coast, Early winter 1711

  Ruprecht tried to blot out the screaming, instead focussing his attention on the crackling of flames. Smoke billowed up in thick clouds from the burning thatch roofs and wooden buildings of the village, the fumes tinged with a stench that he had come to know all too well - burning flesh. In his many years as henchman to the witch hunter Marius van Diesl, he had become used to the smell. The smell of a hot iron on flesh, and of warlocks and witches tied to their stakes.

  Seventeen other settlements had fallen to the wrath of the Imperial force in the preceding weeks as they had battled their way along the coast of Norsca. It was a well-practiced drill now. First the ships would bombard the shore, and then, when the Norse were well and truly cowed, troops would land and finish them off with crossbows and spears. After that the buildings were put to the torch, any livestock taken for supplies. It was military efficiency of the highest order.

  Today was the first time Ruprecht had become sickened by it. Ursula noticed the distasteful expression crossing his rugged, bearded face.

  'They're animals.' she said. 'It's a cull. Nothing more. Give them no more thought than you would a slain wolf or slaughtered ox.'

  Ruprecht didn't reply as he turned and looked down at the young woman who was seated on a felled log, scuffing the snow with the heel of her leather boot. Her bronzed hair blowing in the cold Norscan wind reminded him of the flames behind him.

  'They could run,' she added, gazing past her burly comrade. 'They have plenty of warning.'

  'They stay to protect their homes, their livestock,' Ruprecht said, slumping down beside her and causing the log to shift. 'You cannot blame them for that.'

  'No.' said Ursula, her expression hardening further. 'And the people who stay to protect their homes when they see the longships, the men who fight to stop their wives and daughters being raped and murdered, did they receive mercy?'

  'You cannot fight darkness with darkness.' Ruprecht said with a sigh.

  'What is the matter with you, old bear?' Ursula said, punching him softly on his arm. 'You have woken up with a grumpy head for the last three days.'

  'I'm tired.' he said softly. 'Four months we've raided up and down this coast. Four months of fire and blood. I've had a lifetime of it, and now I'm just very tired.'

  Ursula laid an arm across his broad shoulders and nestled her cheek into the deep furred collar of his cloak. She could understand his weariness, his reluctance. A year ago she had felt the same, living a hermit's existence in the marshes around Marienburg. She had been devastated by betrayal; her first love had turned his back on her and embraced the Dark Gods. Her life had seemed empty, pointless, and it had taken a sign from the gods themselves to stir her from her self-loathing and misery. Ruprecht had stayed by her through those bad times, and he would stay by her through these trials as well.

  'Come on, grumpy bear. Let's find Leerdamme,' she said, standing up.

  Ruprecht raised himself slowly, his knees cracking as they straightened. Ursula couldn't stop herself giggling and the tall warrior gave her a mock hurt look.

  'I'm not that old,' he protested, but Ursula couldn't fail to notice the more genuine wince that followed. Ruprecht rubbed his hand along his left arm, turning away slightly so that Ursula couldn't see.

  'Is it troubling you?' she asked, stepping around and grabbing his left hand. It was made of metal; an intricate machine fashioned by the dwarfs and imbued with rune magic. Ruprecht flexed the fingers, which squeaked slightly.

  'You need oiling,' said Ursula.

  'All the oil we have left is needed for the lamps,' said Ruprecht, gently pulling his hand away. 'Anyway, it's the cold that hurts, not stiffness. It's like rivers of ice up my veins.'

  He looked over the burning village as another roof was engulfed by the blaze and wondered how he could be cold with so much fire to warm him. It was a chill he felt in his soul.

  'Do you hear that?' asked Edouard Leerdamme, his weary face turned towards the hills to the north that overlooked the smoking ruins of the Norse village nestled between the steep hills at the mouth of the fjord. The four months of sailing and fighting had left him haggard, his chin and cheeks bristled with greying stubble. He stood on the shale shore watching boats taking pillaged supplies back to the seven ships moored in the icy waters of the fjord.

  'I can't h
ear anything.' said Ruprecht, seated on a crate beside the ship's captain, his attention focussed on the mechanical hand that was fixed to the stump of his left forearm. 'Do you think it's going to get any colder?'

  This time Ruprecht heard it too - a distant percussion, like a drumbeat. Beside him, Ursula stood up, turning to the north as well, her hand unconsciously straying to the hilt of the long sword that hung at her hip. Around them the soldiers, knights and sailors of their small expeditionary force began to gather, glancing at each other for confirmation or exchanging worried glances.

  The drumming was definitely getting louder.

  'Johannes.' Ursula called to one of the knights as he passed, the armour of the handsome young man slicked with soot from the burning huts that were clustered along the craggy coastline. Hearing her voice, he turned, a look of expectation on his face.

  'Yes?' he said.

  'Take Boerden and ride up to the hills to see what is happening.' Ursula told him. With a quick nod Johannes turned away, calling for his fellow knight and his squire.

  'What do you think it could be?' asked Leerdamme. 'More Norse?'

  'It's been three weeks since the last big fight.' said Ruprecht, grunting as he pushed himself to his feet. 'With those damned longships shadowing us all the time, every village along the coast probably knows where we are now. It was only a matter of time before they came in numbers against us.'

  'If it is, we'll send them running like the others.' said Ursula, sweeping stray strands of auburn hair back into place under her leather headband. 'It will save us the trouble of hunting them down, at least.'

  Ruprecht and Leerdamme exchanged a glance, which Ursula noticed.

  'What?' she said with a frown.

  'Well.' started Leerdamme and then fell silent, looking to Ruprecht as his eyes avoided Ursula's.

  'We're almost out of supplies.' said the burly warrior.

  'We'll forage for more.' Ursula said, and turned away but was stopped by Ruprecht's good hand on her shoulder.

  'Not just food, but everything,' he said.

  'The ships have barely enough shot left for a broadside each.' Leerdamme explained, scratching at his chin in thought. 'We've only a thousand crossbow bolts and less than a hundred lead shot left. The knights are complaining that their horses haven't been freshly shoed in a month. Even day-to-day wear and tear on weapons, armour, even the ships, is getting harder to patch up.'

  'So what are you saying?' said Ursula, eyes narrowing. 'That we just give up? We just forget the whole thing, and let these barbarians, these raiders, get back to their lives? Let them carry on burning our towns, slaughtering and enslaving our people? Sacrificing the servants of the Empire to their loathsome gods?'

  'If there is a battle today, it will be our last.' said Ruprecht.

  'We'll not turn back until I say so.' Ursula said, folding her arms stubbornly across her chest, her hands disappearing into the fur cloak that Johannes had salvaged from the ruins of another village several days earlier.

  Leerdamme opened his mouth and then shut it again. He frowned, shook his head and then stomped away, yelling for Verhoen, his Master on the Graf Suiden.

  Ursula's icy glare followed him as he pushed through the crowd of soldiers forming up under the shouts of the sergeants and knights.

  'We'll be sailing back tomorrow, or the day after.' Ruprecht said quietly, massaging his damaged arm with his other hand. 'It'll be proper winter soon, and here in the north, it will be the death of us.'

  'We'll find one of their larger settlements, use it to winter here while we build up supplies again.' said Ursula. 'We cannot let the Norse gather their strength.'

  'It's winter, for Ulric's sake.' snapped Ruprecht, instantly regretting losing his temper as Ursula turned back to him and he saw the tears welling in her eyes. 'It's winter.' he continued, more softly. 'The Norse will be suffering, don't doubt that. We'll return and gather ourselves for a new venture, and come the spring thaws, we'll be ready to come back. If you insist on staying now, you'll lose the support of the knights, and they'll never come back. Take them home with victories and spoils, and they'll be with you next year. The Norse don't raid in winter, they can't. We lose nothing if we leave, but we risk everything if we stay.'

  'I know!' said Ursula with a grimace, her sadness turning to anger. She dropped her voice, suddenly aware of the sailors traipsing back to their ships not far from them. 'What if the knights, now that they have had their jaunt and stretched their horses' legs, don't want to come back?'

  'You struck while the iron was hot.' Ruprecht said, stepping beside her and laying a thick arm across her shoulders. He knew that there was something else that worried Ursula, though she had never voiced the fear. When they had left Marienburg, she had brought the magical sword Ulfshard with her, denying it to Count Luiten. On their return Luiten was bound to restate his claim to the heirloom of the counts of Marienburg.

  'The iron is almost cold.' he continued. 'We have to return to Marienburg or we'll lose all of the support that we have. The Norse are afraid of us now, and we'll be back to ensure the memory of what happened here stays for a long time. The wolves know that the sheep has grown teeth and bitten back.'

  'What about Kurt?' Ursula asked, looking up into the burly man's face. His cheeks were pinched with hunger and cold and his eyelashes tinged with ice. 'Where has he gone?'

  'He's probably dead.' Ruprecht said, his voice a low growl. 'If any man deserves to be, he does. Forget about Kurt, he's history.'

  The drumming was clearly audible by now, a slow double beat that reverberated from the snow-covered hills nearby. Ursula could see the mounted figures of Johannes and Boerden nearing the summit of the nearest.

  'You're right.' she said. 'Even if he isn't dead, he's no threat to me now. He's just another of these barbaric scum.'

  Ursula, Ruprecht, Leerdamme and several knights were standing close to the smouldering ruins of the village's longhouse, warming themselves against the chill, as Johannes and Boerden appeared at the edge of the village on their cantering steeds. More knights gathered at their approach, and a circle had assembled as the two dismounted, handing their reins to squires who ran forwards from the crowd.

  'It's the Norse, for sure.' said Boerden, his lined face grim within the raised visor of his plumed helm. 'A lot of them.'

  'They have a war beast.' panted Johannes, stepping close to Ursula. 'A hairy monster with a wooden fort upon its back, sheathed in bronze shields. Their leader rides upon a destrier of midnight black, with flames for eyes.'

  There was some chuckling from a few of the knights and murmured comments.

  'Shut your yapping.' snapped Boerden, rounding on the knights. 'It's true! There's five hundred warriors, if there's ten, and cavalry and chariots. These are not the old men and boys we've faced the past several weeks. They march at speed and will be here before the end of the watch.'

  'They must have taken all the warriors and fallen back before us, sacrificing their homes and families to draw us on.' said Johannes, still breathless. 'Every fighter from a dozen villages is there. Prepare for battle, full battle!'

  There was a pause, as the knights stayed to hear more news. Ursula stepped towards them, pulling her sword from its sheath. This was Ulfshard; the ancient elven blade forged thousands of years before, heirloom of the chieftain Marbad who fought alongside Sigmar at Black Fire Pass. In its pommel, a blue gem burned with harsh light, and its blade was wreathed in faint flames. Upon seeing the blade, the knights were stilled, their attention fixed again on Ursula.

  'War is upon us once more.' she told them. 'Bring me victory in this one last fight and your duty is done. Slay the wild men this one more time, and our campaign is complete. We shall leave these desolate shores without defeat, and you can return to your lands and homes to gather your strength for the new year, when more glory awaits us. For Sigmar!'

  With grunts and cheers echoing the battle cry, the knights drew their swords and held them aloft, the sharpened stee
l glittering in the cold winter sun. As they dispersed, shouting for their horses, calling to the sergeants and men-at-arms, Leerdamme gave Ursula a polite nod and headed off towards his ship. Boerden and Johannes remained with Ursula and Ruprecht.

  'This war beast is larger than a town house.' said Johannes. 'It has great tusks that could disembowel a regiment and feet that'll crush us underfoot by the dozen. We have never fought anything like it before.'

  'Will a cannon kill it?' asked Ursula.

  'Several cannons, perhaps.' said Boerden, removing his helmet and tousling the sweat out of his thin, greying hair.

  'Then we have nothing to fear.' said Ursula, waving her arm towards the greatship and three wolfships down in the fjord. A single rolling salvo from their small fleet was enough to crush any force they had met so far, flattening huts and obliterating longships. Today would be no different, even if they were low on shot.

  'Aye, we do have plenty of cannons.' said Boerden with a grin as he looked out over the ships gradually weighing anchor and beginning to move closer in to the shore. His expression changed to one of consternation at the sound of a musket retort echoing off the steep cliffs surrounding the inlet. It was a warning shot.

  At the tip of the mainmast on the Glorious, furthest out of the fleet to keep watch for enemy at sea, a red pennant was raised - longships were approaching. If it was simply a ship or two, then the wolfship was more than capable of holding its own while the other vessels bombarded the enemy on shore. The pennant dipped and rose indicating two ships. Then dipped again. Three ships. And again. Four ships. Ursula felt disquiet in her stomach as the warning flag dipped and rose seven times. Eight longships in total, and more than enough to swarm over the wolfships and transports. The Graf Suiden would be needed, but that would mean abandoning the troops on shore to deal with the horde that was by now only a couple of miles away.

  'What will Leerdamme do?' Ursula asked, looking at the knights and Ruprecht.

  'He'll protect the fleet, that's all he can do,' said Ruprecht. 'If we lose our ships, we are stranded here and it'll not matter whether we die in battle or from cold and starvation. You can be sure that the Norse will have taken every provision from their homes. There will be nothing to forage, even if we could find our way along the coast by land.'