Then, his eyes spotted something that no other lookout would have noticed. He let his natural senses relax, attuning his mind to the rhythms of the unseen world and giving free rein to his inner sight. He was not mistaken, there was an aura. The Wind of Ulgu, the force that lent him his power, was weak in such bright conditions, but his ability to spot one of his own kind was not diminished.
Lothar watched intently as the figure continued to approach, his wild beard and gnarled staff coming into view. He had a radiance as strong as any the young wizard had seen in all his years of study, even in Altdorf.
The man was a wizard, and a powerful one. His visible form was surrounded by a curling profusion of those strange eminences that only the gifted could perceive. Colours were only an analogy for such essences, for there were no words in the languages of men to describe them, but referring to them as hues did capture something of their fleeting nature. Lothar knew that, to the right observer, his own form was wreathed in a shadowy grey cloud of shifting appearance.
Likewise, the man on the ground making his way with great determination towards the gatehouse was suffused with a deep amber radiance. As he laboured, the fronds and swirls of the emanation seemed to brush and draw strength from the earth around him. There was prodigious energy there, elemental and raw, circling and prowling like a pack of insubstantial beasts around the human form at the centre.
Lothar hurried down the steps from the tower and onto the ramparts over the gate where Karsten and his officers stood watching the man’s approach. The castellan nodded towards the strange figure, now just a hundred yards from the doors.
“Amazing,” he said, grimly. “There are still some peasants alive, then, but I’m not opening the gates for a beggar. He’ll have to take his chance on the north road.”
Lothar shook his head.
“With respect, he’s no beggar,” he said. “He’s a wizard, and a powerful one. I’ve no idea what he’s doing here, but we must take him in.”
Karsten looked at him steadily, clearly unconvinced.
“How do you know?”
“We recognise one another,” said Lothar authoritatively. “Trust me, if we let him pass by, we’ll regret it. He’s of the Amber Order, or I’m a hedge witch.”
Karsten looked back over the battlements again thoughtfully. The man below was approaching the castle, panting and exhausted from his flight up the valley.
“Well, he’s dirty enough to be a spellcaster,” muttered the castellan. “I’ll take your advice, Lothar, although I may live to regret it.”
He leaned over the battlements and called down below.
“Hail, stranger,” he shouted into the buffeting breeze. “What is your business here?”
“Open the gates, you fool!” bellowed back the Amber wizard, his breath coming in gasps. “There’s an army of greenskins on my back and I’ll tear down your doors to get in if I have to. Open the gates!”
Karsten drew back from the battlements, a look of distaste on his face. “That’s what I like about you magical types,” he said dryly to Lothar, “so polite. Why don’t you go down with a guard and see him through the gate? You might also persuade him not to blow us up before the orcs arrive.”
* * *
After a few flagons of tepid water from the castle well, the Amber wizard seemed to recover his breath as well as his temper. Lothar sat next to him at the shabby table in the cramped room that Karsten was using as his private chamber. The castellan sat opposite them, regarding the visitor somewhat coldly.
“That’s better,” the wizard said, wiping his mouth and beard messily.
He placed the flagon back on the table heavily, and looked at Lothar and Karsten with a flat, penetrating gaze.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting to hear what’s coming your way,” he said, gruffly.
Karsten shrugged. “I think we have a fair idea,” he said. “I’d rather know who you are, and what in Sigmar’s name you were doing out there on your own.”
The wizard spat on to the stone floor and leaned back in his seat.
“My name’s Marius Joachim,” he said curtly, “an Imperial wizard, though I haven’t been to Altdorf in years. As for what I was doing, that’s my business. It was interrupted by greenskins, and I’ve been killing them. I thought there must be quite a few around, but I’ll admit I slightly underestimated how many; too many even for me, and that’s saying something. So I killed a few and headed north. They’re right on my heels. You have very little time.”
Lothar regarded the figure before him with a mix of fascination and annoyance. He stank of sweat and grime, his wild hair caked with mud and laced with the detritus of the forest. He spoke as if he was unaccustomed to normal conversation, and was as far removed from the arcane politeness of the colleges as one could imagine. He embodied everything that made wizards outcasts throughout the Empire: rudeness, eccentricity and belligerence, and yet Lothar could sense the latent power flowing gently from him as he spoke, like a gourd over-filled with potent wine. However ragged he looked, this was a wizard of great strength.
Marius belched loudly. “If you ask me,” he went on, unabashed, “you’re doomed if you stay here. There are thousands of greenskins and they’re not going to be halted by a little place like this.”
Karsten gave him a cool look. “We’re not planning to stay here,” he said. “You may not have noticed as you came in, but this whole building is laced with black-powder. We’ll draw them in by feigning a defence of the citadel, and as they breach the walls we’ll retreat, igniting the powder as we go.”
Marius’ mouth dropped open with incredulity. He looked from Karsten to Lothar with an expression of amazement.
“You really mean that, don’t you?” he said, shaking his sweat-streaked head. “I’ve heard some mad schemes in my time, but this—”
Lothar could feel Karsten’s anger begin to rise, and decided to intervene before the castellan spoke again.
“It’s risky, to be sure,” he said in a placatory voice, “but the men who’ve stayed with us know the dangers. We need to do something to stop the advance, and with our depleted numbers this is our best chance.”
Marius laughed derisively, a strange, hacking sound.
“Even if it works,” he said, “you’ll be blown to pieces with them. Or are you expecting them to meekly stand aside while you make your way politely from the castle?”
“There’s an escape route on the north side of the castle where the walls give way to a rocky, wooded outcrop,” said Lothar, keeping half an eye on Karsten’s expression as he spoke. “The old gate there is little used and has become overgrown. We’ve done our best to conceal it further. Assuming the orcs assault from the south, where the approaches are wide enough to accommodate a large army, we’ll slip through the hidden gate when the time is right. Of course there will be greenskins all around us, but we’ll have men to fight, and it’s a chance we’re prepared to take.”
Marius shrugged.
“If you ask me,” he said nonchalantly, “that’s assuming the orcs are pretty stupid, normally a fatal assumption in my experience, despite their appearance. Even in the heat of their battle-lust, they’re not going to leave any of the gates unguarded while they storm the castle. You might blow a few of them up with your blackpowder, but they won’t let you escape, which means you’ll go up with them.”
Karsten scowled dangerously.
“Very well, wizard,” he said crossly, “what would you do?”
Marius laughed again.
“If I were you, I’d get out now and run as fast north as I could.”
His face fell somewhat when his laugh was met with flat looks. He sighed, and the sardonic smile flickered across his face.
“Of course, you’re right about one thing,” he said, grudgingly. “If you don’t do something to hold them, they’ll catch those wooden-headed dolts in Altdorf even more unprepared than usual. I can’t argue with that.”
A strange silence fell across the r
oom. Marius’ face creased in thought. At length, he sighed again, a resigned expression on his face.
“Well, you’ve given me water and revived my spirits, if only by making me laugh. I’ll help you, although it might be the last thing I ever do.”
He turned to Lothar.
“I’m disappointed in you, though, Grey wizard,” he said. “Your lot are supposed to be the masters of shadows and deception, and it hasn’t occurred to you to use your arts to get us out of this mess?”
It was time for Lothar to feel the first pricks of anger.
“Of course,” he snapped, “but there’re three hundred of us to hide from an army of thousands. It’s not that easy.”
The sound of running feet could be heard above them. Something had happened. A sick feeling of dread ran through Lothar’s stomach; it was like Helmgart all over again. Marius merely sneered.
“Well, there’re two of us now,” he said, dismissively, “which makes almost anything possible. We should get our heads together, but I suspect time may be running short.”
They were prescient words. There was a hasty knock from outside the room, and a worried-looking soldier poked his head around the door.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” he said to Karsten, “but they’ve been sighted.”
The castellan took a deep breath, and placed his hands on the table before him.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “whatever you come up with, you’ll have to do it quickly. We’re needed on the walls. I’ll trust in Sigmar’s grace, and you can… well, do whatever your sort does in these situations.”
With that, the three of them stood, Lothar looking pale, Karsten resigned, and Marius with a glint of expectation in his feral eyes. They left the chamber swiftly, and headed for the ramparts. From above, the distant noise of drums was already audible.
Katerina woke up late. The sunlight was harsh against her eyes even through the thick canvas of the tent. She looked around for a moment, bewildered, before remembering where she was. With a groan, she flopped back heavily against the firm bolsters and cushions, pulling the rough blanket up to her chin.
It had been miserable over the apparently endless days of slogging through the grime and filth of the road with Erhardt’s men, that bunch of ragged dogs, ever ready to whistle at her, wink, leer or offer some grossly suggestive comment under their rancid breaths. There was no escape from them, their dirt and their squalor, even in the general’s private tent, which she reluctantly shared with the odious man. At least during the day she could breathe some fresh air and feel the wind lifting her magnificent hair as she rode alongside the general’s retinue. Her escape from Altdorf also seemed to have shaken off her mysterious pursuer, at least for the time being. But when evening came and the camp settled in its squalor for the night, the full misery of her predicament would rush back in like floodwater.
She hated the common people, their clumsiness, their stink, their incessant chatter and noise, their prejudice and superstition, and soldiers were surely the worst. If the mission had not been so important to Klaus she would have long disappeared on her own. Even now, she was not sure how much more of Erhardt’s slimy attentions she was expected to tolerate.
As she so often did, she pulled the pendant from her bosom and regarded the amethyst heart intently. It glowed softly in the filtered light of morning. That at least was some comfort.
For some reason, whenever the heart of the gem was empty it seemed to be a harbinger of bad times. When the deep centre of the jewel was lit, as if a tiny flame spun within its ancient heart, there was at least the promise of improvement.
She cast her mind back, remembering being given it as a little girl, her mother leaning forward to drape it around her neck.
“Keep this safe, Katerina,” she had warned, her expression serious and severe. “It is the oldest heirloom of our house, the most precious item in your father’s treasure house. None know for sure from where it came, but the stories say it is of elf manufacture, brought over the seas long before the Empire and blessed Sigmar walked the earth. Each firstborn daughter in our family has worn it. For as long as it endures, our bloodline will prosper. When it is destroyed, so will our lineage end.”
Even at such a young age, Katerina had vaguely understood the importance of such things, and so had solemnly nodded, fingering the strangely cut stone carefully, admiring the spun gold around its lustrous heart. Now, many years older, she did the same, remembering her mother’s worn expression, the frequent fights, the sadness of her childhood, her rebellion and its terrible consequences, all dimly perceived through the prismatic lens of the amulet, its cool surface absorbing the sorrows and joys of a hundred generations of women, herself included.
More than most, Katerina knew that riches brought sadness more easily than satisfaction, but the pendant was different. It was as much a part of her as her hair or her eyes. Gazing deep into its unfathomable depths, she found some refuge from the crudeness around her, a temporary respite from the tedious march south.
Her reverie was rudely broken by a cough outside the tent. A messenger, his form a silhouette against the tent wall, was nervously waiting outside the entrance.
“Your pardon, my lady,” he stammered, no doubt torn between fear of the witch and a burning curiosity to poke his head inside the canvas flaps. “General Erhardt requests your presence. He is at his standard with the officers of the watch.”
Katerina quickly stuffed the amulet back under the covers and sighed.
“Tell him I’m on my way,” she said testily, flinging the covers off and reaching for her travel-stained clothes. Putting the same garments on after days of riding and walking in them was an affront to her refined senses, but at least she didn’t sleep in them like most of the wretches outside in the mud. Her heart sinking, knowing the day ahead would be another trying one, she got dressed and prepared to put up with Erhardt and his tiresome attentions once again.
When Katerina arrived, Erhardt was busy in the nearby tent discussing tactics with his officers. Beside her, the army standard, a huge, heavily embroidered square covered with emblems and records of previous battles, hung limply at the top of a large pole driven into the soft earth. It was decorated with the enormous figure of a griffon, and festooned with gold thread.
After a few moments, Erhardt’s retinue emerged from under the canvas, only a couple of them acknowledging her presence. They were slightly less ragged than the men they commanded, having breastplates and helmets that didn’t look like they had been retrieved from the bottom of a village well, but the days of travel had taken something of the lustre from their elaborate wargear. Erhardt seemed to encourage an ostentatious display of wealth and prowess amongst his senior commanders, which was entirely in keeping with the man’s priorities. Once the mud and sweat had done their work, however, the effect was far from impressive.
Eventually, the general emerged. When he saw Katerina waiting, he broke into an insipid smile, and came over to greet her.
“Good morning, my dear,” he said, kissing her hand, “I trust you slept well. I did… eventually.”
He leered at her, no doubt attempting to be humorous. A slightly sick feeling welled up in her stomach. Like the professional she was, she smiled gracefully.
“Very well, thank you, my lord. Now, tell me, why have you summoned me from my bed? I’ll need my rest before we encounter the orcs. They cannot be far away now.”
“I daresay not,” said Erhardt, ushering her towards a map he had been studying with his officers. A few still stood around the table, murmuring about provisions and supply lines. Despite her protests about being roused from sleep, it was nearly noon, and the sun shone strongly on the tattered parchment fluttering in the breeze on a makeshift table inside the open flaps of the tent. “Look here and our position will be made clear. Here is Helmgart, to the south, and Altdorf, to the north.”
Katerina stifled her irritation and paid attention.
“Now, we are over a third of the way bet
ween the two, near the town of Weissbruck, which stands at the end of a long canal and to the side of the main road leading to the capital. By my estimations, the orc horde should be upon us soon, so I have sent scouts into the forests to the south to seek them out. We will make our stand here, far enough away from Altdorf not to trouble its good citizens with the business of war, but near enough for a swift return once we are victorious.”
Katerina frowned a little when she looked at the map. She looked around at the other officers. Their blank, polite faces indicated to her they had not been appointed for their tactical genius, but even a fool could see this was a bad place to meet the opposing force: it was low, wooded and muddy. The orcs, with their thousands of heavily armoured troops, would revel in such conditions, while Erhardt’s cavalry would make no appreciable impact. If she could see this, why couldn’t the general? She began to doubt if Klaus had really known what he was doing, recommending such a commander. He was ambitious and well organised, to be sure, but she wondered how often he had commanded a large force in a pitched battle against greenskins.
“Well, your Excellency,” she said, carefully, “I know little of such things, of course, but would it not be an idea to meet the orcs on higher ground? There are hills not five miles to our west, where we could command a greater view to the south. For my part, as your battle wizard, it would certainly help to have more space in which to work.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Erhardt gave Katerina a tolerant smile.
“My dear,” he said, “your magical assistance is highly valued, especially in view of the foe we face, but I can assure you that the strategy for this battle has been drawn up in accordance with the very best Imperial practice. This is the best location for our defence. They will come up the road, and we will meet them here.”
At his condescension, Katerina finally felt her irritation rising to boiling point. She had been too indulgent with this unspeakable man. He seemed to have forgotten his pathetic capers in Altdorf when he had literally begged for her favours. Her eyes flashed, and she prepared to cast her pretensions of subservience aside. Better to risk a fight with the army commander than die in a muddy village for want of proper planning.
Masters of Magic Page 11