The Empire Omnibus

by Chris Wraight, Nick Kyme, Darius Hinks

  Mikael followed his gaze to a steep hillside.

  At first he saw the shadows at the crest of the hill; then he heard cries and the clash of steel.

  With the winter sun almost faded behind them, the templars of Morr reached the top of the hillside, where they saw a large stone temple. Outside it, a battle raged.

  Mikael made out a horde of misshapen creatures in the twilight. They surrounded a band of knights, who were backing off towards the temple. One knight was torn down by a claw-handed freak, his torso severed in two, turning the snow crimson.

  ‘Mutants,’ Halbranc hissed.

  ‘Sigson, who are these men?’ asked Reiner, his eyes never leaving the brutal combat.

  ‘They bear the livery of the Baron of Krugedorf, it’s a town in this province,’ Sigson replied, discerning the design on the knights’ tabards. The warrior priest was learned not just in matters of his faith, his knowledge extended far beyond that purview, a valuable asset the knights often called upon.

  Mikael went over to the warrior priest, slipping on the snow. He crashed into the ground, reopening the cut in his cheek. Blood dripped down onto the snow, blossoming readily. He saw a piece of cloth sticking out of the snow, and, picking it up, used it to stem the bleeding.

  At the temple, another knight was dragged, screaming, to his death.

  ‘We must aid them!’ Vaust hissed urgently.

  Reiner had seen enough.

  ‘Such abominations must not be allowed to endure,’ he growled, donning his helmet and sliding the skull faceplate down as he got to his feet.

  The other knights followed suit, each drawing down the death masks that were part of their helmets, a symbol of their intent to do battle. Mikael quickly tucked the cloth beneath his armoured greave before pulling down his own faceplate.

  ‘Knights! To arms!’ Reiner bellowed, drawing his sword.

  Charging over the rise, the knights struck the mutant horde with righteous fury.

  Valen and Vaust waded in silently. Vaust hacked the leg off one creature, its features obliterated by boils. Valen impaled another, his blade sinking into the distended maw of a half man, half beast.

  Halbranc carved a red ruin in the diseased throng, opening up a massively bloated monster with his zweihander, maggot-ridden entrails sloughing from the ragged tear in its belly.

  Sigson cut down a horned mutant before reaching into his robes and pulling out a glass vial of shimmering liquid.

  ‘I cast thee back into the void,’ he intoned, hurling the holy water at the bloated creature’s disgorged intestines. The stink of burning viscera tainted the breeze.

  A goat-headed man brayed its defiance at Mikael. The templar roared, cutting the beast’s head from its shoulders, black blood fountaining.

  Reiner was deadly.

  ‘I am Morr’s instrument, through me is His will enacted,’ he uttered, tearing into the abominations with ruthless efficiency.

  Köller though, was unstoppable.

  Misshapen limbs and grotesque heads fell like macabre rain upon the ground as he carved through the horde like a butcher.

  Recognising allies when they saw them, the Krugedorf knights rallied and redoubled their efforts.

  ‘Knights of Morr, to me!’ Reiner cried, seeking to break through the back of the encircling creatures.

  The templars of Morr followed dutifully, smashing a hole in the mutants’ death pincer.

  ‘Look,’ cried one of the Krugedorf knights.

  A veritable sea of boil ridden, plague ravaged wretches erupted over the rise.

  Hacking down a cloven-hoofed monstrosity, Mikael noticed another group watching them, far behind the onrushing horde. At the centre was a thin figure, his long coat flapping in the breeze. It might have been his imagination, but Mikael swore he saw it bow towards the knights.

  ‘We cannot overcome such odds,’ said Sigson, gutting a beast on his blade.

  ‘Your priest is right,’ said a Krugedorf knight. Mikael assumed it was their leader. His face, hidden behind his blood spattered helmet, was unreadable. ‘I have men in the temple,’ he added, cutting down another mutant, ‘we can regroup there.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Reiner, felling another as he backed away from the reinforcements.

  The knights of Krugedorf and Morr raced the short distance to the temple and hurled themselves through the entrance, slamming shut the door immediately after them.

  Mikael looked back to see two armour-clad warriors, with swords drawn.

  ‘They are allies,’ the Krugedorf leader told them, ‘knights of Morr. Quickly,’ he added urgently, his voice dull and resonant inside his helmet, ‘we must barricade the entrances.’

  Halbranc needed little encouragement. Hefting a massive wooden bench up over his head, he slammed it down against the door. Reiner dragged over another, ramming it against a window, a Krugedorf knight bracing it with a massive wrought iron candlestick. Mikael and another Krugedorfer heaved a statue of some long-forgotten saint across the final window.

  The tide of mutants crashed against the temple. The door shuddered as the debased creatures hammered on it with unholy vigour, massing like diseased surf. Claws and pockmarked talons reached in through gaps in the barricades, only to be cut off. Others were impaled as the knights thrust their blades through the openings in desperation, rewarded with disembodied mutant screams. At last, amidst shouting and crashing steel, the barrage stopped. Dust motes drifted silently from the ceiling. After a few moments, Valen peered through an opening in one of the barricades.

  ‘They have gone,’ he said quietly.

  ‘For now,’ said the Krugedorf leader, removing his helmet. Long blond hair fell down onto his shoulders as a handsome face was revealed in the light of a flickering torch ensconced on one of the walls.

  The knights stood in a small entrance chamber at the back of which was a gateless arch that led into a long chapel, full of overturned pews. Strangely, this place, although dusty and ancient, bore no signs of the blight that had afflicted the rest of Hochenheim.

  ‘You think they will return?’ asked Mikael of the blond-haired noble.

  ‘They will return,’ a deep voice said from the shadows. Another knight stepped forward, his ornate helmet covering the upper half of his face. He wore a black beard, and a mace hung at his hip, slick with blood.

  ‘I am Heinrich of Krugedorf,’ the blond-haired knight interjected, extending a gauntleted hand towards Reiner.

  ‘Reiner,’ the captain growled warily, shaking Heinrich’s hand as he lifted the death mask and removed his helmet, ‘servant of Morr,’ he added. The others followed his example and introduced themselves to the strangers.

  Heinrich gestured to his warriors.

  ‘Goiter,’ he said. The dark-bearded knight remained unmoved. ‘Kurn,’ he continued. Kurn, sticking to the shadows, was broad, and taller even than Halbranc. He wore a full-faced helmet, a mighty zweihander at his side, and gave a mute greeting. ‘Mordan.’ A youthful, wiry-looking knight, with a number of small daggers up his right arm nodded. His left arm was harnessed in a sling. ‘And Veiter,’ Heinrich concluded.

  The last knight smiled and bowed slightly, twin short swords sheathed at his hips. His hair was the colour of sackcloth, his eyes suspicious and alert.

  The Krugedorfers were unshaven and drawn. Clearly they too had been on the road, and they each bore the crest of what Mikael assumed must be the Baron of Krugedorf: a red shield with a bearded stag at opposite diagonals, doubtless some reference to the hunting heritage of their lord.

  ‘What is your purpose here?’ asked Reiner.

  ‘We come on an errand from our liege-lord, the baron,’ said Heinrich. ‘We are to salvage the relics of this temple and take them to a place of safety,’ he explained.

  ‘Then let us help you. We can reclaim them together,’ said Reiner matter-of-fa
ctly, ‘and leave this damned place.’ He turned to Halbranc. ‘Fortify the entrance,’ he ordered, ‘Mikael and Sigson with me, the rest, assist Halbranc.’

  ‘I’m afraid it isn’t quite that simple,’ warned Heinrich.

  Reiner turned to face him. His expression demanded explanations.

  ‘Beyond this door lies the relic chamber,’ Heinrich informed them.

  Reiner, Sigson and Mikael, together with Heinrich and Kurn, stood in a long, narrow corridor at the foot of a set of stone steps. The stairway had led them to these catacombs from a trapdoor in the chapel and now they faced a single, stone door.

  ‘I warn you,’ Heinrich intoned darkly, ‘there is peril beyond it. Steel

  yourselves.’

  ‘Knights of Morr fear not the darkness,’ Reiner told him with the utmost certainty.

  Mikael felt his heart beating.

  Heinrich motioned to Kurn, and the silent giant gripped the great iron manacle of the door and heaved with all his considerable might. As the door ground open, noisily kicking up grit and dust, Mikael gripped his sword. There was a long, wide room beyond it, flickering torches illuminating the threshold. Further in, there was only darkness.

  ‘I see little peril here,’ Sigson remarked, driven by curiosity as he stepped beyond the shallow cordon of light.

  ‘Wait!’ Heinrich warned.

  ‘There is noth–’ he said, and then cried out as a long cut appeared on his arm.

  Heinrich hauled him back into the light.

  Mikael muttered a prayer to Morr as a shimmering, ethereal blade materialised in the darkness. A hand coalesced around it, then an arm, and then a torso, until the spectre was revealed. Hollow, sunken eyes, ragged robes and skeletal limbs marked this thing as a wight, one of the unquiet dead.

  More phantoms appeared alongside, their faces pitiless and cold. In their unearthly lustre they revealed the ancient bones of priests and other relics. But it was the woman, kneeling in silent vigil, dressed in dishevelled robes, who got the knights’ attention. She was flesh and blood. Her hair was lank, her face wizened and encrusted with filth. She chanted wordlessly. Behind her was a second, much smaller, chamber, delineated by a wide arch. Set in the back wall was a large circular window coated in dust so thick it blocked out the light.

  Looking at her, Mikael felt an overwhelming sense of sadness.

  ‘There,’ Heinrich intoned quietly, interrupting Mikael’s thoughts, ‘you see the witch?’

  Reiner nodded sternly.

  ‘We found her hiding in this place, doubtless seeking refuge from those who might put her to the torch,’ he spat.

  Reiner’s jaw locked.

  ‘Before we could slay her, she summoned these… spirits,’ Heinrich continued. ‘We have been unable to approach her since. As those who follow the Lord of Death and Dreams, do you think you can lay these ghosts to rest?’

  Reiner looked to Sigson, who held onto his arm, his expression pained.

  ‘It will take time,’ the warrior priest told them.

  Night, it seemed, came all too swiftly, but there had been no more attacks on the temple. The knights worked quickly, bolstering the barricades and lighting the remaining torches in the chapel. The mutants knew they were there, no sense in trying to hide their presence and the heat was welcome respite against the cold.

  Mikael stared into the flames, hugging his arms around his body as he sat on one of the wooden pews, the wrathful wind providing a moaning chorus to his thoughts.

  ‘Sigson has yet to return,’ Halbranc said. Mikael wasn’t even aware he was next to him and started at the big man’s sudden presence.

  ‘Easy,’ he said, ‘it’s just me, lad.’ He handed Mikael a slice of salted pork, but the young knight refused it.

  ‘This silence unnerves me,’ Mikael admitted. ‘I have no care for it,’ he added, looking around the room.

  Valen and Vaust talked quietly amongst themselves as they ate, making the most of the opportunity before the fighting started again. Köller lay on the floor, his cloak wrapped tight around him, shivering in his sleep. Reiner had stayed with Sigson.

  Mikael knew the captain didn’t trust the Krugedorf knights. His gaze fell to them next, regarding the knights of Morr beneath the glow of torchlight, the faint hubbub of whispers barely audible. But then Reiner trusted no one, not even his own men.

  ‘Don’t dwell on it,’ Halbranc advised. ‘Here,’ he said, producing a small silver flask from beneath his cloak, ‘take a swig of this; it’ll warm your blood.’

  Mikael shook his head.

  ‘If Reiner saw that…’ he began.

  ‘I dare say he would not approve,’ Halbranc agreed, ‘but then our fearless captain approves of very little,’ he said, taking a belt of liquor from the flask, grimacing as it scorched his throat.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re missing,’ he said afterwards.

  Mikael smiled; the ephemeral expression fading as he looked into Halbranc’s eyes. He knew very little of the man’s history, save that he was once a mercenary and had fought across much of the Empire and beyond. There was a sadness in him, one that he could not shake, only dull with alcohol. He’d heard him at night, crying in his sleep at dark dreams that Mikael could only guess at. Halbranc would never admit to the hidden pain in his soul, but he knew that Mikael was aware of it.

  ‘How are there so many of them?’ Mikael asked, finding the abrupt silence uncomfortable.

  ‘Them?’ Halbranc asked, concealing the flask beneath his cloak.

  ‘The mutants.’

  ‘What do you think happened to all the villagers?’ asked Halbranc grimly, getting to his feet. ‘We fought them today.’

  ‘By the breath of Morr,’ Mikael said, at last understanding.

  ‘Do not think on it,’ Halbranc told him sternly. ‘Get some sleep,’ he added, his face softening. ‘We don’t know when we might get another opportunity.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’ll keep a watch. Don’t feel much like sleeping, anyway.’

  Mikael watched Halbranc go to stand at the barricade, peering out into the night. He sank back against the pew. It was hard and unyielding, but he was exhausted, the cold and his dark thoughts sapping his endurance. Reluctantly, he fell into a fitful sleep.

  The forest rose up around him, thick branches tugging at his clothes, briars scraping exposed flesh. There was a dagger in his hand. It was stained with blood. He was running; a shadow figure a few paces ahead. He almost reached it when he saw a mighty bearded stag looking at him from a sun dappled clearing. A second, identical beast emerged from the forest beside it.

  The two creatures charged each other, locking antlers fiercely. He watched, horrified as the antlers started to merge together in a terrible union, the stags becoming one hideous, mutated beast.

  Four baleful eyes stared back at him from a single head as the abomination burst into bright red flame.

  Mikael awoke to desperate cries and rushing feet. He saw Vaust, struggling to hold back the wooden bench at the window. Valen lay on the floor beneath him, clutching his shoulder. Halbranc was running to him, Heinrich not far behind.

  Goiter dragged Köller up, muttering a curse.

  Kurn’s armoured bulk was pressed against the door, while Mordan and Veiter hefted another bench between them to seal the second window, which gaped open, the statue in rubble beneath.

  Mikael caught a glimpse of Reiner in the corner of his eye, appearing from the trapdoor. There was no sign of Sigson. He must still be in the relic room. Getting to his feet, Mikael ran towards Vaust. Then the temple door exploded.

  Halbranc and Heinrich were thrown to the ground. Kurn bore the brunt of the blast, engulfed in a splinter storm of broken wood and iron. Incredibly, he stayed upright.

  Flames lapped at the edges of the shattered door, the twisted iron jutting out like broke
n limbs. Smoke issued through the huge gap, shifting figures visible through it. The stench was unmistakeable: blackpowder.

  The mutants howled as they emerged through the haze and into the temple. Kurn swept his blade in a punishing arc, but missed as a creature dressed like a macabre jester thwarted his aim. It rode around on a skeletal hobbyhorse with a cadaverous head. It smashed the massive Krugedorf knight to the ground with a huge, unwieldy mace.

  Mikael charged at the grotesque jester, but his path was blocked by two girls holding hands. He wavered for a moment, his blade stayed by their apparent innocence. Then he saw their hands, fused together in a gelatinous mass of flesh and knew they were not children. Snarling viciously, revealing deadly fangs, they sprang on top of Mikael. The templar dropped his sword, desperately trying to fend off the weird sisters as they clawed and bit.

  He felt their weight lifting and vaguely saw the hideous twins flailing off into the dark. Halbranc stood before him.

  ‘Pick up your swor–’ he began, but was smashed aside, a hugely obese woman crushing him into the wall with her bulk.

  Reiner raced to Halbranc’s aid, blade in hand, but was confronted by a diminutive, sallow-skinned freak, mouth sewn shut crudely with thick, black thread. In one hand it clutched a rusted dagger; on the other was the puppet of a mangy dog. The mute shook the puppet free, revealing a small, daemon-like creature, instead of a hand.

  ‘Die!’ the daemon-hand hissed, its voice bubbling like melting flesh.

  Reiner roared, cutting the daemon thing off at the wrist and sending it flying. The mute scampered after it, ducking and weaving under the blades of the other knights as it went.

  At the wall, Halbranc was slowly being smothered. Mikael and Reiner plunged their swords into the hideous woman crushing him. The creature laughed, black ooze running down the knights’ blades, corroding the metal. They dropped their weapons as the caustic blood devoured them.

  Mikael was reaching for another blade, when a long shadow fell across him. He turned quickly, short sword in hand and found himself gazing up at an incredibly tall, thin man, a strange, almost infantile head on his shoulders. It swung a massive glaive at the templar, who leapt to avoid it, chunks of flagstone debris erupting in his wake. He sprang up to face it, abhorred as the creature’s head detached from its body and with a horrifying screech launched itself at the temple roof, thin, spidery legs punching from the cranium and gaining purchase in solid stone. The spider-thing chittered as it came towards him, the headless freak still swinging the glaive. There was the flash of silver and the spider-thing fell, a dagger protruding from its forehead. Both the stickman and the spider-thing retreated.