1 the claws of chaos

by ich du

  Kurt let go of Renschel and ran to his mother, throwing his arms around her waist and burrowing his face in the soft folds of her skirt. He felt like he was going to cry, but then felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. Katherina was there, six years older than him, as much a parent as his real mother.

  'Everything's going to be all right, little weasel!' she said with a smile. 'Pa will get us out of here.'

  He smiled back and pulled himself together. He was seven, not a baby, and if everyone else was going to be brave so was he. His new-found confidence disappeared instantly when the sound of crashing glass resounded along the corridor. A moment later he heard the dull clatter of metal on metal and matched it to the noise made when he was at sword practice. Someone was fighting!

  'They're inside!' hissed Renschel, putting the lamp down on a low table and pulling a heavy sword from his belt. 'Get out, I'll guard your backs, milord.'

  'Is it the Ostlanders again, pa?' Kurt asked as his mother grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door at the opposite end of the room.

  'It's not Ostlanders, no,' his father replied from just behind him, his gaze flicking between his young son and the other doorway, now filled by the bulk of Renschel.

  'Hurry, my love,' his mother urged, squeezing his hand tighter and giving his arm a yank. Katherina grabbed his other hand and all four of them slipped through the door into the darkness of the stairwell leading down to the wine cellar.

  Kurt heard Renschel bellowing but couldn't make out the words, and the sound of fighting erupted from the next room. His heart quickened and he thought he was going to cry out, but a reassuring squeeze from Katherina quelled the sob in his throat. He sniffed instead, ignoring the tears now welling up in his eyes.

  'Where we going, ma?' Kurt asked pensively as his father opened the door to the cellar. Stone steps led down into the darkness, barely lit by the glimmering light from the room behind them. Kurt shrank back from the gloom, afraid of what might be down there.

  'There's a secret passage my grandfather built down here,' Lord Leitzig said. 'For just this purpose, the crafty old goat. If we hurry, we'll be out and away before they realise we've gone.'

  But at that moment, a heavy thumping sounded from down the stairs, followed quickly by the crash of splintering wood. A sudden cold breeze wafted up from the cellar and Kurt's skin prickled at the chill. His father snarled wordlessly and pushed them towards the open doorway to the servant's quarters.

  'Just run!' he snapped, shoving Kurt through the opening. The young boy needed no more encouragement, and with tears streaming down his cheeks, nearly threw himself down the spiralling stairs, scraping his arm against the rough stone wall as he almost lost his footing. Proceeding less hastily, he heard the footsteps of someone else behind him, then his father shouted something.

  Reaching the bottom, Kurt found himself in a scullery, with a door leading left and right. He had played down here before, and knew his way around, but where was he supposed to be going? He stopped and looked back up the stairs, expecting to see his mother or sister. A flickering shadow descended around the bend, and the heir to the Leitzig Lordship was confronted by a barrel-chested man dressed in hunting leathers and a deep red cloak. His face was torn from his top lip to his left ear by a fresh wound, and his blunt nose trickled with blood as well. Under a thick shock of dark curly hair, deep brown eyes glared menacingly at Kurt.

  With a shriek Kurt spun and darted to the left, which would take him past the servants' bedrooms and back towards the reception hall. He slammed through the door, sobbing to himself, and sped along the narrow corridor with the man pounding behind him. Kurt burst through the door at the far end and stopped to look back. The man was barely five yards away, and the boy slammed the door home, and hared off again, across the small chamber back to the stairs leading to the entrance hall. He was halfway up when he heard the door behind him wrenched open, and redoubled his efforts, his breath being torn from his young lungs by the exertion.

  Skidding into the reception hall, Kurt headed straight for the main stairs, realising that the pounding on the main doors had stopped. Their attackers had evidently given up hope of breaking through the sturdy portal. The chamber was empty, but Kurt could hear sounds of fighting from the nearby rooms and paused only for a moment to make sure no one was lurking in the shadows upstairs before breaking into a run again, taking the stairs as quickly as his short legs allowed.

  'The boy's come this way!' he heard the man chasing him shout out, and he ducked behind one of the pillars supporting the high roof, peering out from his hiding place on the landing to see the man prowling around downstairs, looking for a sign of where the boy had got to. Kurt pulled his boots from his feet and laid them down out of sight before padding from shadow to shadow, holding his breath for fear of being heard. He reached the door to his room just as he heard several people thundering up the stair behind him.

  With a gasp, Kurt leapt into the room. Where could he hide? Under the bed, he thought at first, but that seemed too obvious. His eyes fell on the large wardrobe and as the clamour from outside came closer he made his decision, climbing into the large cabinet and pulling the door almost closed behind him just a moment before the first man entered the room.

  Now bursting for breath and red in the face, Kurt watched anxiously through the narrow gap between the doors as two more men, both vicious thugs by the look of them, came into the room.

  'I'll swear by Sigmar's hammer he's in here somewhere,' the first growled, the one who had chased him from the servant's quarters.

  He took a step towards the bed, pulling a hunting knife from his belt, and stooped to look under it. Grunting, he straightened and looked around, his eyes settling on the wardrobe. Fear gripped Kurt even more, though he wouldn't have believed it possible, and his stomach tossed and jumped so much he felt like being sick. The man took one step, then another, and was almost in reach of the door handle when a woman's shrieking attracted his attention to the window.

  It was Katherina, Kurt recognised her high-pitched voice. He couldn't understand what she was screaming, if anything, and for a moment he almost rushed out to see. But he stopped himself just in time, as the three men looked at each other and laughed, turning away and moving out of the room.

  There was more screaming, from his mother and sister. As well as shouted curses from his father. But Kurt waited, not sure if the ugly men would return for him. For ages he seemed to wait, listening to the sounds of his family in distress, and soon his fear of what was happening to them outweighed his terror of the men, and he ventured out. Crossing quickly to the window, Kurt gasped in horror as he saw that four poles had been planted outside, in the middle of the northern lawn, with branches and broken furniture stacked at their bases. Crying fitfully, he watched as his mother, father and sister were tied to the stakes by a mob of rough-looking commoners, helpless to do anything, feeling utterly wretched and sick with foreboding.

  Then someone else walked into view. He was tall and straight, much better dressed than the others with a heavy cloak of black leather hanging from his shoulders, riding breeches and boots, and a dark hat with a long black feather tucked into the rim on the left hand side. In his hand, the man carried a guttering torch, and slowly paced towards Kurt's family, who had fallen silent now, their expressions of dumb shock and uncomprehending horror. His father seemed to stir himself and spat at the man, who said something and then thrust the torch into the bundle of wood. The pyre went up like a firework, obviously doused in oil or something similar.

  Kurt threw up then, unable to stomach the horror any longer as first the cries of his father, then his mother, then his sister filled his ears. He was shaking and cold, his whole body numb, and he fell to his knees and retched again and again until his stomach cramped with agony. The stench drifted through the window and, despite every fibre of himself telling him not to look, Kurt gazed out the window again at the charring corpses on the stakes.

  His tears stopped, an
d Kurt felt a stillness in himself. Something deeply profound passed through him. In that moment, he looked upon the silhouette of the man with the black feather in his hat, and for the first time knew true hatred. Like the fire that was consuming his parents, the loathing and disgust began to burn away his innocence as he looked upon his family's murderer.

  The moment passed when Kurt's nostrils detected a different smell in the smoke now clouding the view from the window. Glancing down, he saw the flicker of orange flames from the manse itself, and realised that they had given up looking for him and were going to burn the whole mansion down.

  No longer scared, but filled with the desire to save himself so that one day others might know what happened here, Kurt left the room. Smoke filled the landing, and as he passed towards the stairs, he could see the glow of flames beginning to creep across the entrance hall. Pulling his boots on quickly from where he had hid them, feeling a little foolish now for having taken them off, Kurt decided nobody else would be stupid enough to stay in a burning house. He dashed down the stairs as the flames began to lick up the walls of the chamber, setting fire to the animal heads hung as hunting trophies. He gazed for a moment in morbid fascination as the fire consumed the head of a proud stag and then jumped flickering to the bear's head next to it. Pulling himself from the trance, Kurt headed back towards the stairs to the cellar and the secret door to the outside.

  He gave a silent prayer that no one was guarding it.

  'THAT WAS WHEN I decided that I would never let anyone harm my loved ones again.' Kurt said. 'I was too young to have the words to express it at the time, and it's only been in the long years since that I've been able to put it that way, but it was at that moment I decided I would not mourn my family, I would avenge them. Looking upon the silhouette of the man with the black feather in his hat, for the first time I knew true hatred. Like the fire that was consuming my parents, the loathing and disgust began to burn away at me as I watched my family's murderer.'

  'You know him?' Jakob asked, his eyes wide, amazed by the horrifying finale to Kurt's tale.

  'I found out later who he was, much later.' Kurt confirmed.

  'You got away.' Jakob pointed out. 'You are here now.'

  'Yes.' Kurt replied. 'There was no guard and just before dawn I ran across the gardens, into the fields and then hid in the woods on the borders of my father's lands. I crossed the Talabec a couple of days later and lost myself in Ostland.'

  'But who the man with the feather?' repeated Jakob. 'Who the evil man?'

  'My family was killed by a witch hunter.' Kurt told Jakob with a snarl. 'A man called Marius van Diesl. Eight years later, before I met Lord Gerhardt, I was with a group of sell-swords, under a man called Captain Feigas. I heard from him about van Diesl. He was looking to hire men. Feigas was going to sign us up and I left, it was too soon to confront van Diesl.'

  'He is one who goes to your town?' asked Jakob.

  'Yes, the same man.' Kurt said. 'I don't know if he's there for me, but I must stop him doing the same thing to Ursula that he did to my family.'

  'And kill him, yes?' urged Jakob.

  'If I get the chance.' Kurt replied grimly, his eyes misted with tears.

  JAKOB DIDN'T COMMENT further. It was Jakob's turn for first watch and he rooted out more wood from under the snow to keep himself awake. Kurt's story had touched a chord, and although he didn't fully understand what could drive the young knight to abandon the Osterknacht, he could see that the trauma of his childhood was still having its effect a decade and a half later.

  He thought of Kurt's devotion to his woman, Ursula, and wished that he had known that kind of love in his life. Staring at the sleeping Kurt, the firelight flickering over his handsome young face, Jakob could see why this girl had fallen in love. There was genuine strength there, as shown by the young knight's bravery, stubbornness and headstrong nature. It was what had drawn Jakob to the young knight, and to make himself known when he had carried the boy's banner for him at the duel. There was a certain destiny surrounding Kurt that Jakob could feel. Kurt was a catalyst, things happened around him, and Jakob planned to use that to his advantage. Also, with the revelation of the horrendous death of Kurt's parents, Jakob had seen where the youth's weakness and vulnerability was. That would prove useful in the future, the old retainer was sure. For too long Jakob had been scraping a rough semblance of a life, wherever he could. With Kurt to provide the muscle for his plans, Jakob was sure he could actually achieve something. Though his long years had not been easy on his mind and body, Jakob was sure that with his experience, he would be able to use Kurt to get the power and prestige he craved.

  Jakob allowed Kurt to sleep through until dawn, instead of waking him when his watch should have started.

  'Why didn't you wake me?' demanded Kurt, as he pulled on his garments, anxious that he should not be accused of failing to pull his weight.

  'You needed sleep, was hard, difficult night for you,' Jakob replied, waving away the young man's concerns. He waggled a strip of salted beef in front of Kurt's face and grinned, exposing his missing and uneven teeth. 'Breakfast ready.'

  They had eaten and mounted before the sun was fully over the horizon, and Jakob had opted to lead them westwards towards the Urskoy. They could follow the eastern bank until they reached a village with a crossing. Not only was it their greatest chance of losing any pursuit, it would also increase their travelling time by at least a week. That would give Jakob more time to establish himself with Kurt, earn his trust and respect, and be in a position to exert his influence over the lad. It also had the added benefit that the longer they took, the more likely that they would arrive too late to save Ursula, and that would leave Kurt open to whatever course of action Jakob cared to propose.

  'Thank you for your story.' Jakob said suddenly, as the two of them rode through the mud and snow following the ancient frozen ruts of an old farm track. 'Owe you story of me now.'

  'I hope you would trust me after last night.' Kurt admitted with a glance at his companion.

  'I have lies too.' Jakob confided. 'Not Kislevite, father from the Skaeldings.'

  'The Skaeldings?' asked Kurt, confused, for he had never heard the term before. 'Where is that?'

  'Skaeldings people, not place.' Jakob laughed at the young man's error. 'Skaeldings live in the north, land you call Norsca.'

  Kurt reined in his horse and looked aghast at Jakob, who stopped his stolen steed a few paces farther on and looked back over his shoulder.

  'You're a northman?' the knight asked. 'Your people are like those twisted things we fought a few weeks ago?'

  'Yes, northman me.' confirmed Jakob. 'Not all touched by the gods, most untouched like me.'

  'I can see why you'd masquerade as a Kislevite!' snarled Kurt. 'Just what devilment have you been up to?'

  'Cannot control my birth.' Jakob replied, trying to look as hurt as he possibly could. 'You evil, because a witch hunter want to burn you?'

  'My parents weren't witches!' Kurt said vehemently, before realisation dawned on him. 'Sorry, I see why the subterfuge was necessary, just like mine. People would not understand.'

  'Yes, though I not as innocent as you.' Jakob told Kurt, wheeling his horse around to ride a little closer. 'Perhaps you understand a little. My people are my people and many things said about them are true. Our gods are not your gods, our gods demand more from us than yours, but our gods are also stronger than yours.'

  'I have no time for any gods. Where were they when my parents and sister were being scorched by the flames?' Jakob's heart soared as he heard the bitterness in Kurt's voice. Truly, here was a pupil worthy of the wisdom that lay within the old Norscan's mind.

  'Our gods sometimes answer, sometimes not.' said Jakob philosophically. 'It matters not, they are the gods and we do not judge them. We earn reward by our deeds and thoughts and make lives our own. If the gods mark one out, then he is fortunate, but those who are chosen must still prove their worth.'

  'I don't reall
y understand what you are saying.' confessed Kurt, confused by Jakob's talk of marked men and chosen ones.

  'Then I teach you.' Jakob promised with a friendly smile.

  'But how did you come to be a servant in the Osterknacht?' asked Kurt. 'Why are you not still with your people?'

  'Mother from your people, taken on a raid by the Skaeldings.' explained Jakob as the two started their horses walking again. 'Father was important warrior, but half-breed like me, not much standing. Only father stopped Jakob being slave for Skaeldings.'

  'You're half-Norscan, then?' asked Kurt, digesting this information. 'What happened?'

  'When father died I was alone.' Jakob continued. 'No food, no begging or be beaten, so I hunt and teach myself the ways of snow and mountain. I learn to tell story from village leaders. I sit in their hall out of sight and listen to their words. I watch them talk to gods and learn the words too. Sometime I have called on the gods, for little things. I light a fire with their help, or maybe kill a deer. Small rituals, but I know many of the words to call upon them for bigger magic. Ten year ago, I ask to become Elder for Skaeldings and I show them my power, but I am laughed at. Not welcome, I leave, but no other will take me, not Bearsonlings, not Feijgardssons, not others. Decide that land of mother will be new home, but is same there. I learn that Norsca not good home to have when you are in Empire, and I learn the name for this land, Kislev, and say I come from there. That make life easier.'

  'Well, if my own reaction was anything to go by, I can see why you had to do that not to be stoned out of hand.' conceded Kurt.

  'Yes, I not want to be stoned.' said Jakob with a shake of his head. 'Move around, end up in Osterknacht. Not good life, but quiet mostly.'

  'So why the change of heart, why come with me?' asked Kurt.