by ich du
'Come on you coward!' Marius shouted, waving his sword above his head. 'Are you man enough to face me? I'll kill her, you dog!'
Ruprecht felt uneasy. He had done more than his fair share of dubious things in the past, including torture and killing, but the sheer cold-bloodedness of Marius's attack left Ruprecht feeling faintly sick. The witch hunter was exhibiting a callousness that Ruprecht had never seen before during his long years of service to Marius. He had always known him to be a ruthless man, and gave him credit for it, because the foes they faced were inhuman and merciless. But this was something else entirely, and yet somehow familiar. Since Marius had never spoken of it, Ruprecht had asked Ursula to relate Kurt's account of the fateful encounter between the two of them so many years ago. To Ruprecht, the similarities were obvious, down to the burning of the buildings to flush Kurt out of hiding. The problem was, this time Kurt was not a frightened child, alone and scared. He was a fully-grown man with warriors under his command. Worse than that, Kurt himself was now a fearsome fighter in his own right, and invested with the dread powers of Chaos.
A startled yell drew Ruprecht's attention behind him. The door to one of the burning buildings slammed open and a figure ran outside, screaming, hair and clothes ablaze. It hurtled towards the nearest soldier, knocking into him and setting him on fire.
'Shoot it!' Ruprecht bellowed at the men standing around him and the smoke-filled air sang with the sound of bowstrings and crossbows. The burning figure and the soldier were pinned by a flurry of bolts and arrows that knocked them to the ground. Both the smoking bodies were still. As if sensing the sudden confusion amongst the ranks of Marius's men, three Norscans came rushing around a corner. They each carried a throwing axe and picked their targets well, the heavy-headed weapons burying themselves in the backs of two knights, on foot within the confines of the town, who had turned to watch the commotion. These were proper warriors, clad in battle harness and carrying shields, unlike the townsfolk they had run into previously. They turned and ran back out of sight before the archers could fire back, and several of the squires gave chase.
'Hold fast!' Ruprecht yelled, running after them, but they didn't listen. Rounding the corner himself, he saw the three Norscans hacking at the bodies, two of them with battleaxes, the third with a short sword. They looked up at him and grinned, and Ruprecht skidded to a stop a dozen yards up the road, realising he was on his own and outnumbered. He started walking backwards, his hammer in his hands, as they advanced towards him, their bloodstained weapons and round wooden shields held ready.
'To me! To me!' cried Ruprecht, glancing around for help. The three marauders jeered at him in their own tongue and joked with each other, laughing cruelly at Ruprecht's plight. Their humour soon vanished though when five Osterknacht ran around the corner, quickly followed by a handful of squires and men-at-arms.
'Not so brave now, are we boys?' laughed Ruprecht as the marauders in turn started to backtrack, their shields raised as the men-at-arms loosed arrows towards them. One of the Norse raiders was hit in the leg by a crossbow quarrel, and fell to one knee with a cry of pain. The other two stopped for a moment to help him up, but snarling in Norscan, he waved them away.
KJARL GRITTED HIS teeth against the pain, and dropped his axe to pull the crossbow quarrel out of his thigh. The wound was not particularly deep, though blood ran freely down his leg. He stood unsteadily and picked up his axe, looking over his shoulder to see if Koltan and Svelka were still moving away. Already wounded in the chest by the strange southerner, he was in no fit state to run any more. And besides, he told himself, he wasn't going to be weak with the gods watching on. He backed himself against a wall and took shelter behind his shield. More arrows flew at him, clattering off the logs, one of them punching through his shield and scratching his arm. He ignored the flesh wound.
'Come on, you dogs! Fight like men!' he screamed at them as the archers paused further down the street, stringing more arrows. 'Only cowards use bows!'
They fired another volley and Kjarl ducked behind his shield again. With a shout, he launched himself into a limping run, his heart hammering in his chest. Blood flowed from his wounds and he felt dizzy, but he pushed himself forward, his eyes fixed on the giant with the hammer. He'd seen him fighting in the woods, and he was the one who had killed Kjarl's older brother, Sven. He'd see the burly fighter dead before the gods took him. His heart surged with pride at the thought of avenging his kin. They would sing a tale around the fire about him, when Hrolfgar and the others got back to Norsca.
An arrow struck him in the shoulder and spun him to the ground. Kjarl forced himself back to his feet and hobbled forward, his axe raised in defiance.
'Your women will lament this day!' the young Norscan shouted, limping forward, leaving a blood-filled furrow in the snow from his wounded leg.
More arrows hit him, one in his right arm, the other in the stomach, and he pitched forward to his knees, his axe dropping from his grasp. He scrabbled in the snow for his weapon, and watched as the hammer-wielding giant finally stepped forward, a grim look on his face. The bearded man stopped a couple of paces away and raised the hammer above his head.
'Don't kill me without my axe!' pleaded Kjarl, holding up a hand, his other still searching through the snow for the blade.
The southerner's uncomprehending face looked down at him for a moment before his hammer descended in an arc and smashed into Kjarl's temple, hurling him sideways. As he fell, Kjarl saw the glimmer of metal in the firelight, just to his right. He stretched out to reach it, but the giant stamped on his hand, shattering his fingers.
'No...' sobbed Kjarl, trying to force himself towards the axe, his vision swimming. He collapsed in the snow, the ice stinging his face. Blood pooled around him and it was a moment before he realised it was his own. 'The gods...'
The hammer swung again, and Kjarl's head was knocked backwards, snapping his neck, his last, desperate thought that the gods would curse his soul for not dying with a weapon in his hand.
'THEY'RE STICKING TOGETHER like the herd of sheep they are,' Svelka said to Kurt, as the Norscan warrior barged through the door of the tavern. Kurt was sitting at one of the tables with a mug of ale in his hand. This was much to Svelka's annoyance, as he had watched the witch hunter's men kill Kjarl while this southerner had been sitting here in safety. 'There's twice as many of them as there are us altogether, and only a dozen of us are real warriors.'
'Then the dozen of us attack them head-on, the others get around their flanks and harass them as much as they can,' Kurt replied, getting up and walking towards the door.
'Did you not hear him?' said Hrolfgar, stepping in front of Kurt. 'There are knights, with armour. We cannot fight them.'
'Leave the knights to me,' Kurt said.
'What are you going to do?' Bjordrin asked, standing up and grabbing his axe from the table.
'I'm going to show you what it means to be the chosen of the gods,' Kurt replied.
He strode out of the door and into the cold outside. He looked at the smouldering pyre and remembered the ceremony that had taken place. It had only been held just after nightfall, not much time ago, though to Kurt it could have been a lifetime away. So much had changed in that time; he felt like a different person. He recalled the power he had felt as the breath of the gods had flowed into him. Even now, he could feel their presence, lingering inside him, looking down on him from the clouds above, listening to his words from the ground beneath his feet. The gods were indeed everywhere this far north, he could feel them ebbing and flowing around him. In the distance a growing red glow spread above Tungask as van Diesl torched the houses on this side of the river. Realising now was the time to act swiftly, Kurt strode across the square. He called for Jakob, who emerged from one of the nearby houses, bow in hand.
'I have two things for you to do,' Kurt told Jakob as he came closer.
'Of course, what do you want?' the wiry Norscan replied.
'You remember the ceremony when y
ou called on the gods?' Kurt said. 'The daemons came, and tried to kill me.'
'They did?' Jakob asked, eyes wide in amazement. 'We saw you writhing on the ground, but there were no daemons.'
'They were there, believe me, perhaps only I could see them.' Kurt said. 'Anyway, I want you to bring them out again.'
'I am not powerful enough for such a thing,' Jakob said, waving his hands in disagreement. 'I have only summoned a daemon once and that was by mistake.'
'The power is in the rune stones.' Kurt said.
'But their power is gone, I am amazed they had enough energy for the ceremony, yesterday they were all but exhausted.' Jakob argued.
'You don't need much power, it is in the air, can't you feel it?' Kurt said, gazing up into the sky. 'Can't you hear their howling and laughter in the distance?'
Jakob paused and gazed around him, his eyes half closed.
'The blood and death brings them closer.' Jakob said after a while, his eyes still slightly glazed.
'Yes, and I will create more blood and death than has ever been seen in these parts.' Kurt grinned.
'Even if I can bring them through, I do not have the skill or power to control them once they arrive.' Jakob said. 'They are as likely to attack us as van Diesl and his men.'
'We'll worry about that if it happens.' said Kurt. 'At the moment we need to use everything we can to swing the balance.'
'Perhaps.' Jakob agreed cautiously. 'You said there were two things.'
'Ah, yes.' Kurt said with a sly grin. 'Let's go to the tavern to discuss that.'
MARIUS SMILED AT Ursula, who darted him an angry glance. All around them, the flames crackled high into the air, filling the sky with smoke. Nearly half the town was ablaze now, flushing the inhabitants out of hiding like vermin hiding in the cellar.
'I never thought you were a wicked man.' Ursula said, stumbling alongside the witch hunter with her hands tied at the wrists in front of her.
'I am a righteous man.' Marius said to her. 'The fire cleanses the world, I thought you would understand that. Is it not written in the Book of Sigmar that he burnt the villages of the Norsci? As one of the devout faithful, don't you agree with me? Did you not say that these barbarians deserved death?'
'But not like this!' argued Ursula. 'Not this drawn out, agonising death.'
'It is the fear that is my weapon,' Marius explained as another house started to go up in flames further up the street. 'You saw it in Badenhof, the terror that my position brings with it. It is that fear that keeps normally good people from straying into the darkness. When their will is weak, it is the thought of the flames that keeps them pure.'
'I was almost killed by that fear in Badenhof,' snarled Ursula. 'You are a monster!'
Marius just laughed, but then fell silent as a solitary figure appeared ahead at the end of the street.
Sword drawn, the flames glittering off his armour, Kurt took a few steps forward.
'Murderer!' he called out, raising his sword to point at Marius. 'I will kill you! Your men's lives are also forfeit!'
'Any attack and the girl dies by my hand,' Marius warned, his voice raised to carry over the crackling flames.
'Cowards!' Kurt shouted in reply, his voice booming and unnatural. 'The woman has betrayed me, she means nothing to me!'
'He's bluffing,' Ruprecht muttered from behind Marius. 'Let me look after her, you'll need your sword arm free if they do attack.'
Marius paused for a moment, unsure, and then nodded, pushing Ursula back towards his lieutenant. Ruprecht took her by the arm and dragged her a little further from the front of the group. Looking up the road, he saw that Leitzig had disappeared from view.
'Where did he go?' he shouted out to Marius.
'The coward simply walked away again,' the witch hunter called back. 'I don't think he cares for the woman at all. Split the men into three groups, send two bands out to the flanks to encircle him. I don't want them slipping away.'
'Is it wise to divide our forces?' Ruprecht shouted back. 'We don't know how many of them there are, or where they are hiding!'
'Sweep the town, drive them out!' Marius bellowed, marching forward with his sword raised.
'Don't worry,' Ruprecht said quietly to Ursula as the two tagged behind a group of knights advancing after Marius. 'Stick close to me and I'll keep you safe.'
'Don't you think I deserve to die?' Ursula said, an accusing look on her face.
'No, Marius is not himself, hopefully he'll calm down after the battle,' Ruprecht replied.
'I can't believe he'd use me like that to trap Kurt,' she said.
'Would Kurt hesitate in holding me hostage if the positions were reversed?' Ruprecht asked. 'He isn't the Kurt you once knew. You saw him, pinned full of bolts and still walking. He isn't a normal man any more. It's too late to save him, you have to let Marius do this his way.'
'Kurt said I had betrayed him,' Ursula said with a disconsolate shake of her head. 'It's not true, and I won't give up on him now.'
'You're very faithful, girl, I'll give you that,' Ruprecht said after a short pause.
'You still follow Marius, though you accept he isn't really in control of himself,' Ursula pointed out. 'You hold out the same hope for him that I do for Kurt.'
'Yes, I guess you're right,' admitted Ruprecht. 'That just makes us both bloody fools.'
JAKOB'S HANDS SHOOK with fear as he crouched on the snow-covered roof of a house not far from where Marius's men were now fanning out through the town. For a moment he considered disobeying Kurt's orders, and to just tell him that the summoning had failed. At the back of his mind, though, was the doubt that somehow Kurt would know he was lying, and not just from the way the Norscan spoke or acted. Jakob knew that Kurt was now tapped into the flow of energy that spilled from the north, and could sense its pulses and eddies. He would be able to feel if Jakob tried to do any ritual, and would instinctively know if the attempt had been tried and failed, or not tried at all.
Jakob wished he could just hide up in this roof until it was all over. He was not a coward, but even though Kurt claimed to have fought off a pack of daemons during his initiation, he didn't really understand the horror he was asking Jakob to perform. Perhaps his time in the south had indeed softened him, Jakob thought. Then again, Kurt had never heard the tales of villages destroyed by ceremonies gone wrong, blasted from the face of the world without trace, or left as smashed ruins decorated with the corpses of their inhabitants by the creatures that were drawn to magic like hounds at a chase. Jakob's only consolation was that unless it went disastrously wrong, he was up here on the roof, and whatever he brought through from the realm of the gods would be down there on the ground.
In one hand, he held a pot filled with blood donated by Kurt, Hrolfgar and Bjordrin. Jakob's rune stones bobbed and sank unnaturally within the blood, soaking it up like sand absorbing water. Holding the pot over his head, Jakob began to chant, a variation on the rituals he had performed before. This time he called only upon a single god, Khar the master of slaughter. Jakob hoped to bring forth the bloodletters, the servants of the blood god who were possessed by insatiable rage and the need to spill blood. In his hands, the pot began to vibrate, and after a couple of minutes, he could hear the rune stones rattling around in the now empty jar. His arms began to ache with the strain on them, and after a particularly violent shake, a crack appeared in the clay vessel. Jakob stuttered for a moment, his heart skipping a beat, and then concentrated more carefully, praying to Khar for deliverance. The pot grew hot in his hands and smoke began to issue from the open top, bringing with it a stench Jakob knew only too well: the smell of burning flesh.
Looking down into the street, Jakob saw that a group of knights and men-at-arms were only about twenty yards or so away. They were advancing house by house, kicking in doors and setting fires. It would not be long until they reached the building on which Jakob was hiding. When they were only a few yards away, Jakob rose to his feet, holding the pot in one hand above his head.
'Arise, warriors of the blood of gods,' he cried out, hurling the pot into the midst of the knights.'Khaos aqshyash aqshy'phak khaddar khardhaos!'
The pot exploded in mid-air with a ball of writhing flames, scattering the rune stones like small comets that left trails of blazing sparks. Where each stone landed, the snow exploded into red steam and droplets of blood. The blood began to coalesce into a pool, multiplying and growing, rising from the ground. The men stood stock still with horrified faces, watching as the blood pools formed into columns, and then split into limbs and heads. Bestial faces grew out of the blood, and thick hair matted with gore sprouted from the daemons' backs. Reaching down into the ground, the daemons pulled out massive brazen axes and swords, inscribed with writhing runes of the blood god. Growling and snarling, the creatures raised themselves to their full height, towering a head taller than the men, their broad chests swelling with unnatural muscle. Throwing their heads back, the daemons howled in unison, a sound so terrifying that even Jakob started trembling. He stumbled back along the roof, almost disbelieving he had been successful.
One of the knights gave a shout and jumped forward, but his sword shattered against the skin of the nearest bloodletter. The daemon lunged forward, its hand smashing through the knight's face, flinging him into the wall of a house. The daemon swung its axe and beheaded the ragged mess that was left. The other daemons sprang forward, their weapons rising and falling in bloody arcs, accompanied by screams of panic and agony, and punctuated by growls and the snapping of bones. The attack was over in a matter of moments, as the daemons crouched down to feast on the bloody remnants of Marius's men. When they had slaked their blood thirst, the daemons stood up and sniffed the air, snarling and snapping at each other in their own inhuman tongue. Catching the scent of Jakob, they turned and looked up at the Norscan, who was cowering terrified on the roof. Never before had he unleashed such a creature, and what he had feared would happen looked as if it was about to come true.