Slaves to Darkness 03 (The Heart of Chaos)

by Warhammer

  'Actually, I don't.' said Meisten.

  'You have to help them, after what ma said.' protested Hunda, but Meisten waved him to silence.

  'Shut up, Hunda.' the captain said, before turning to Ursula. 'You see, you don't want to go to Middenheim, you want to go to Wolfenburg, for sure.'

  'What?' exclaimed Johannes. 'But Middenheim is the city of the wolf!'

  'The city of the white wolf, for sure.' said Meisten with a sly smile. 'But the lass's wolves were white and black, yes? Colour's very important in dreams, you know, my aunt taught me that.'

  'Yes, they were white, with black stripes across their haunches and shoulders.' Ursula said with a nod.

  'The colours of Ostland.' said Ruprecht, looking at Meisten with surprise and admiration. 'Wolfenburg is the capital of Ostland, and the state colours are black and white. The black and white city of the wolf.'

  'For sure.' said Meisten, with a grin. 'For sure.'

  South and east they travelled down the great River Talabec, sacred river of Taal himself. They had left behind them the disturbing memories of glorious Altdorf now half in ruins, the scars of the city's long stand against the orc warlord Gorbad Ironclaw still torn into her high walls and armoured towers. The wide river carried them past the Howling Hills, a bleak land of barren mounts and treacherous fens, and onwards they wound their way through the great dark forests that swathed the Empire.

  As their journey continued, Ursula succumbed to a silent melancholy. She would more often than not sit alone at the prow of the barge, where the sailors did not have to give her a wide berth, staring to the northeast. Out there lay the forests of Hochland, and in the dim distance the white-tipped peaks of the Middle Mountains. Beyond lay Kislev, the snow-shrouded realm where she and Kurt had fled from the witch hunter Marius van Diesl. North still, on the borders of Kislev and the hostile lands of the Troll Country lay the burned ruins of Tungask, where Kurt had finally turned from the light. There she had lost him. Now, even further north, lay Norsca, his new home, where even now she knew that he was gathering his army. Her dream was clear to her. The hounds of the north were the Norse; the great beast that led them was Kurt. It was Ursula who had unwittingly unleashed the evil within him, and now Sigmar looked to her to right that wrong.

  Johannes tried to lighten her mood whenever he could, though she never spoke of her troubling thoughts. Ruprecht brooded more and more, and the atmosphere on the barge was often tense. The crew trusted them little, and if not been for their loyalty to their captain, would have long ago thrown them overboard, or worse. Despite his brothers faith, Hunda was still wary of Ursula in particular, and would often leave the deck if she came out of her cabin.

  Ursula's solitary depression saddened Johannes terribly, and often Ruprecht would catch him looking wistfully towards the prow where she sat, far away in thought. When asked, the young man would blush and hurry away with no answer. To Ruprecht it was clear; Johannes was lovesick. Ruprecht had neither the heart nor the tact to tell Johannes that his feelings were unrequited, and in truth Ruprecht harboured the secret hope that perhaps Ursula would actually notice the lad's affections and at least be brought out of her silent contemplation.

  Even with Ruprecht, the only man she truly trusted, Ursula was often distant and curt. Though she did not know it, her burly friend often sat outside her cabin in the chill nights, listening to her mumbling in her sleep, and he was always there first when she awoke from the terrifying dreams of the great hound that chased her through the night.

  After many more days of sailing, Johannes started to become more excited again, and Ruprecht shared his enthusiasm, for even as the Middle Mountains grew closer to the north, so too their travels took them closer to Talabheim, the city of their birth. Here they ran into many more craft on the water, plying their trade between the capital of Talabecland and the settlements further down the river.

  In the villages and towns they moored in, the smithies were constantly busy. Barges laden with weapons and swords, large bundles of bow stakes and bales of bowstrings, heaved their way upstream, supplying the armies of the Ottilia. It had been nearly four centuries since the Ottilia of the day had declared herself Empress in defiance of the claim by the Prince of Altdorf, the duly elected Emperor of the time. Four hundred years of rivalry, first between Talabecland and Stirland, then with Middenland, then the Reikland and Stirland again.

  Back and forth across the decades alliances had been made and broken, armies sent to war with those who had once been neighbours, all the while the farms were overrun by the creatures of the woods and bandits preyed upon those who could not defend themselves. Four hundred years of division had left its scars upon the land, as they passed the ghostly ruins of towns that had fallen to the forest-dwellers, now consumed again by the dark-boled trees.

  As Ursula looked upon the ruins of a mill built next to a pool fed by the Talabec, she thought scornfully about her own ambitions only a year before. It had seemed so simple, to deliver Ulfshard to the Count of Marienburg to aid his claim to the throne. Even when Count Luiten had revealed himself to be as self-serving and greedy as the rest of the nobles, Ursula had still harboured a secret hope. She had thought that perhaps her war against the Norsemen, her valiant fight against the barbarians who preyed upon the coast of the Empire, would somehow catch the imagination of the great and the powerful.

  Now she realised that faith was a scarce commodity, and next to gold and steel, was judged worthless by many. Her hopes that the Empire might be united within her lifetime were dashed, and now all that concerned her was seeing at least the scattered remnants of the one great nation survive to the end of her life.

  At Wolfenburg, perhaps she would find an ally; perhaps she might once again set a flame to the fuse that was the Empire's anger. This time she was more realistic in her intentions, though. She was no leader of armies, she was no general. She could fight well enough, and wielding Ulfshard she knew she was a match for most foes, but war was not fought alone by brave men and women. War was fought with supplies and weapons, with thousands of men, paid for by their masters. She had none of these things, but perhaps, Sigmar willing, she would find them in Wolfenburg.

  And so she bent her every thought to what she would do when she got there. She would risk her life if she declared that she heard the will of Sigmar, as she had done in the town of Badenhof when she had been put on trial for witchcraft. The thought of death no longer scared her, but the thought that she might fail was terrifying. The hound that stalked her through her dreams had begun to hunt her waking thoughts too. She could hear its heavy panting just behind her; feel the heat from its fiery tongue upon the back of her neck. She wanted to run away from it, to hide, but she knew there was no real hiding place. She had to face the beast, and whether it was alone or with an army would depend on what she found in Wolfenburg.

  On the thirtieth day since they had been ushered through the dank sewers of Marienburg by Ruud Goeyen and handed into the care of Meisten Kempter, they caught sight of Talabheim. In the distance to starboard, a great line of hills rose out of the forests, a continuous dark line at their crest. As they approached closer, Ursula could see a wall atop the nearly even slopes, large towers positioned every few hundred paces.

  'That is the wall of Talabheim.' Johannes said proudly as he stood next to Ursula and looked at the place of his birth. 'It is the rim of a great bowl, more than half a day's travel from one side to the other. It takes five thousand men to man the wall at full strength.'

  'Have to admit it's good to see it again.' said Ruprecht, walking up and leaning against the wall of the forward cabins just behind the pair. 'I was born there, and it still impresses me.'

  'The Eye of the Forest it's called.' Johannes said to Ursula with a smile. 'A place of refuge from the dark forests, a sanctuary from the beasts that inhabit the shadowy places of the world.'

  'Talabheim must be massive.' said Ursula, shielding her eyes against the morning sun. 'I can see why the Ottilia feels sa
fe to claim the throne of Emperor.'

  'Indeed it would be a foolish army that besieges Talabheim, though some have tried.' said Johannes. 'Middenheimers may claim that they live in the most impregnable fortress of the Empire, but I am sure there are those who would rather scale a mile-high rock than storm the great wall of Talabheim.'

  'The city itself is not so large.' Ruprecht said, pushing himself upright. 'Much of the land inside the wall is farmland, and Talabheim itself sits at the centre.'

  'Oh.' said Ursula. 'So it isn't that big, then?'

  'Well, certainly big enough.' said Johannes, mildly affronted at the unintentional slight on the city of his birth. 'Maybe Marienburg and Altdorf are larger, but not by much.'

  The sailed onwards for several more miles as the sun rose to its zenith, before they came across a break in the crater wall. Tall, narrow buildings clustered along the banks of the Talabec, long wharfs jutting into the river, and stretched up street after street along the hillside to the curtain wall itself. Barges and fishing boats were laid up on the shore and moored to the jetties, and a pall of smoke hung over the settlement.

  'This is where I was brought up,' Ruprecht told them as the crew busied themselves across the deck taking in the sail. 'Talagaad, gateway to the Eye of the Forest! All the trade between Talabheim, Altdorf and Kislev passes through here, one way or the other.'

  'It looks very... busy,' said Ursula.

  'I was born in Talabheim itself,' Johannes said, standing with one foot on the bulwark of the barge. 'I was squired to a knight of the Ottilia's court.'

  'Yes, and then you stole his armour and ran off,' Ruprecht added, earning himself a scowl from Johannes.

  'I made my own way in the world, unlike the spoilt brats who fight each other with wooden swords for the amusement of the knights,' Johannes said, frowning. 'I certainly had you fooled, old bear.'

  'Yes, you certainly played the part of the dashing young knight very well,' said Ursula, not turning around.

  'Really?' said Johannes, his anger forgotten. He puffed up his chest and gave Ruprecht a smug look. 'I suppose I looked very stylish in my armour, charging across the field of battle.'

  'You looked even better when you fell on your arse,' muttered Ruprecht, but Johannes did not hear. The young would-be knight sauntered over and stood next to Ursula.

  'If we stay here a few days, I can show you some of the best taverns in Talabecland,' he suggested. 'All very hospitable and clean, of course.'

  'No,' Ursula said, not really listening, lost once more in her own thoughts. 'We have to get to Wolfenburg.'

  'Well, we're two-thirds of the way there, surely a few days...' Johannes trailed off as he saw the faraway look in Ursula's eye. 'Well, have a think about it at least.'

  Shoulders sagging, Johannes turned away, avoiding Ruprecht's gaze, and slouched off towards the main deck. Ruprecht watched him go, his heart heavy. The lad's got persistence, he thought, but perhaps it would be better if he stayed here and found himself a good lass, rather than following Ursula around like a puppy into the gods only knew what kind of trouble. He was young, he would get over it. He looked up to suggest this to Ursula, but she was gone. She was sitting in her usual place on the prow, staring out to the north.

  It took a day to unload their cargo, with Hunda bellowing obscenities at the stevedores the whole time, while Meisten headed into Talagaad to seek fresh wares to take on to Wolfenburg. As he saw it, he was going there anyway, there was no point missing an opportunity. He returned late in the evening, clutching a sheaf of papers, his permits to travel onwards. Of late, Ostland and Talabecland had been on good terms and trading was picking up, and the prospect of war with Stirland was growing again so the Ottilia had commanded the armouries to be filled once more in preparation, should hostilities actually erupt. This had garnered Meisten a contract to go to Wolfenburg to collect tanned leather for saddles and belts, a nice round trip of thirty days, wind permitting, which would net him a tidy profit.

  As night fell, the fishing boats were pushed out and crewed, drifting quietly into the dark. Lanterns on either side of the river were lit, illuminating the ferry landings that were still busy with passengers well into the night. Not wishing to pay a night mooring fee, Meisten had the crew row the barge a little way upriver, and as they swung to and fro on the anchor, the sounds of Talagaad bubbled over the river to them: outbursts of riotous singing from riverside taverns; the regular chiming of a bell in the distance sounding out each hour; dogs barking and shouted arguments between unhappy neighbours.

  With these familiar noises in his ears, Ruprecht slept soundly that night, the first time in many years. He dreamed of his childhood and his contented snoring kept Johannes awake in the next room as the young man fretted about Ursula and her growing coldness.

  The next morning, Johannes looked tired and weary. As the crew set the sail he suddenly dashed back down to his berth and then re-emerged a moment later carrying a wineskin he had procured from Talagaad the day before. He had vehemently claimed that he had paid for it, too vehemently for Ruprecht's liking but he had held his tongue. As the sun broke over the wall of Talabheim, Johannes leaned over the side of the boat and pulled the stopper from the wineskin, pouring out the deep red contents into the lapping waves.

  'What are you doing?' Ursula called from the other side of the deck. 'Has it gone sour?'

  'Not at all.' said Johannes with a smile. 'Libations for Taal, the finest quality wine I could afford. Never hurts to keep the gods happy.'

  He leaned over the side, precariously balanced on the bulwark, and then dipped the empty wineskin into the water, filling it to the top. Stoppering the skin, he waved it at Ursula. 'And what's that for?' she asked. 'This is the Talabec, sacred river of great Taal.' Johannes said, crossing over to stand next to her. He gave the wineskin a shake. 'Holy water! You never know, it might come in useful.'

  For much of the time the wind was foul and the crew were forced to take in the sail and row upstream. Heavy clouds gathered overhead and the first of the spring rains began, turning the river into a riot of splashes. On the eighth day they had turned off the Talabec onto a narrow tributary that rushed down from the Middle Mountains. Their headway was even slower along this stretch as the crew pulled against the strong current of the flooded river. On the seventeenth day, they sighted Hoarsonburg, a port just thirty miles from Wolfenburg.

  Meisten wished them well, and even insisted on paying them for their help, though they had done little except get in the way of the regular crew. He had a tear in his eye as he embraced Ursula, who gave him a perfunctory nod in return and then turned away without saying a word. Ruprecht was more profuse in his thanks, knowing that without the captain's belief in Ursula, they would still be stuck in the forests five hundred miles away. Their present situation was much more preferable. At worst they could walk to Wolfenburg in two days, at best they would be able to hitch a ride with one of the many merchants travelling along the road.

  Ursula had neither hope nor fear of what lay ahead, as they walked up the steep streets of Hoarsonburg towards the centre of the town. Whatever happened next, for good or ill, would be in the lap of the gods. She knew how to get an army now.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Power

  Realm of Chaos

  Time had not only ceased to have meaning, it had ceased to pass. The sun never rose or set, the wind never blew, the stars never came out. The sky was simply a constant, eternal miasma of shifting colours, without form, rhythm or substance. The winds of power that blew from the north were like a hurricane to Kurt. The air felt like a furnace, an ever-present blasting energy that suffused his whole being.

  Direction had become almost meaningless, with no stars or sun as a guide. But Kurt could feel the power around him, could feel it strengthening nearly with every step. There was only north, towards the Gate of the Gods and his destiny. For so long he had headed north, been drawn there by the paths he had taken.

  When he had fled with Ursula fr
om Badenhof, it was to the north they had headed. When Ursula had betrayed him at Tungask, it was to Norsca that he had gone. Only his ill-fated expedition to Araby had taken him south, far to the south, and the ironic fact that his wife and child had been slain while he was away was not lost on him, though he saw no humour in it. Now he was heading north again, to challenge the gods themselves to grant him the power to avenge himself on those who had destroyed his family.

  Now Kurt found himself in a realm of half-worlds, a dreamscape of shifting realities. Distance was altered, curved. On occasion he would spy a distant structure, but they would never appear any closer. Shapes on the periphery of his vision would cause him to turn his head, but there would be nothing to see. The ground itself changed underfoot, one minute being a snow-covered tundra, while another step would see him sinking into dank bog, or walking through sand.

  Shapes appeared in the skies, like floating castles, grinning faces and skulls with eyes that dripped blood. They were never quite there, and if one focussed on them they would disappear like cloud-shapes, but always there was movement all around. They would see distant figures but never met another soul. They came across a towering keep of bone and ice, and could hear a great bell tolling from within. There was no gate nor windows, and no creature to be seen. As soon as they passed and looked back it was gone.

  The magical winds brought fell voices and strange sounds. Often Kurt would think his heart hammering in his chest, only to realise it was a distant drumbeat carried to his ears. Marching feet echoed around them as they walked, accompanied by half-glimpsed dread legions passing through them. Rank after rank of twisted entities strode past, following banners of skulls, accompanied by the blaring of brazen horns, but if one were to reach out to touch them, they were no longer there.

  Cackling laughter plagued Kurt for a long time, accompanied by incessant whispering of half-heard words, most of them meaningless, but now and then he thought he heard his name mentioned. The flap of great leathery wings would beat in the sky above and they would stop with weapons drawn, searching the roiling mass of the heavens for some beast.