Masters of Magic

by Chris Wraight - (ebook by Undead)

  “I leave you on your own, and look what happens,” he wheezed. Despite the lightness of his voice, there was something different about him. He seemed to have aged somehow.

  Lothar looked around him watchfully. The forest was quiet. For the moment, the danger had passed.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Karsten, his voice a mix of anger, gratitude and confusion. “You were due at the Council of War. Schwarzhelm will kill you when he finds you.”

  Marius laughed bitterly.

  “By the time this is over, Schwarzhelm will be in no position to do anything, nor will any of you. I’ve seen the size of the horde, and we’ve barely touched it. I could ask you the same question, castellan; why are you not with them?”

  “He’s escorting me,” said Lothar, quietly, but with an unaccustomed edge to his voice. He was feeling tired and anxious, in no mood for Marius’ bickering. “We’re hunting the shaman. Time’s short, and we need to travel quickly. If you’re with us, than come now. If not, then leave.”

  Marius turned his glance to the slight, frail-looking youth.

  “I see you have a new staff,” he said, looking Lothar up and down, “an ancient one, though you may not know it. Has it driven you mad, to attempt such a thing?”

  “You thought the same at Grauenburg, and we succeeded there. It can be done. Your help would be welcome, but I’ll attempt it with or without you. The thing must die, or all will be lost.”

  Marius shrugged uncaringly.

  “So you seem to think.”

  Then he laughed again, looking to the heavens with a rueful smile as if to acknowledge some joke, perhaps played on him.

  “I’ll come with you, of course,” he said, a dangerous mix of flippancy and intensity in his expression. “It seems we’re fated to stay together for a while longer, and I’ve nothing left to lose.”

  “Let’s go, then,” said Karsten, breaking into the conversation between the wizards, clearly itching to be away again. “The battle’s started, and we must hurry. The battlefield is to the north. When we break through the cover of the trees, we’ll be amongst the rearguard. Then we must trust to Sigmar.”

  The company started to head towards the distant sounds of gunfire, hugging the shadows under the trees, their swords held unsheathed.

  “So, what mad plot have you cooked up this time?” whispered Marius to Lothar as they crept forwards. “Any more blackpowder in your pockets?”

  Lothar resisted the urge to snap back at the ragged figure by his side. It was difficult enough to retain his composure without sniping from Marius, who seemed to have returned from his meeting with Ambrosius in a dark and strange mood.

  “We’ll draw near to the northern edge of the forest, shortly. The orc army should be ahead of us, locked in combat with Schwarzhelm’s forces. Once we near them, I’ll shroud the company once more, and we’ll advance towards the shaman. It’s our hope that the monster will be at the rear of the horde, distracted with the attack on the Imperial lines. When we’re close enough, I’ll cast the shroud aside and attack it. If I can kill it, so be it. If not, then at least we’ll have distracted its attention long enough for the Imperial army to go on the offensive.”

  Marius laughed, a low, rasping sound.

  “True to form, that’s a terrible plan,” he said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you. Never mind. You seem determined to kill yourself, and I don’t have much to live for. So let’s do it.”

  Lothar gave Marius a quizzical look, and didn’t reply at once.

  “So, what happened?” he asked at last. “I thought I’d seen the last of you.”

  Marius’ eyes flickered towards the form of the castellan and his soldiers, but they were paying no attention to the whispered conversation as they stealthily slipped between the trees.

  “I discovered something about myself that I didn’t particularly like,” said the Amber wizard, looking resigned, “something about my power, where it comes from. I’ll spare you the details, but it’s given me something to think about. Perhaps meeting this shaman again is no bad thing. To be honest, I’m not sure I know anything much anymore.”

  Lothar looked at the grimy, creased face of the Amber wizard. An uncomfortable feeling ran through him. Marius could be a conceited oaf at times, but his familiar bluster was far preferable to the embittered, doubting character who had returned from the encounter with Ambrosius.

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” said Lothar, his voice uneasy, “but I’m glad you found us. Together, maybe we’ll have a chance.”

  Marius didn’t meet his gaze, but kept staring ahead, as if he could see hidden messages in the shadows around them. After a moment, it looked as if he was about to reply, but he was prevented. Karsten had raised a warning hand, and the company once more sank into the undergrowth. The castellan crept over to Lothar and Marius.

  “We’re close. The trees start to thin ahead of us, and the horde is beyond them. Now we need protection. Lothar, are you prepared?”

  Lothar nodded, feeling his heart start to beat hard again. He closed his eyes, and began to prepare the spell. Familiar energies rippled up and down the new staff. Its dark surface trembled slightly as the Wind of Shadows answered the wizard’s call. Marius stood back respectfully as the other members of the company waited patiently under the cover of the trees. Slowly, smoothly, a grey mist was rising from the hollows of the undergrowth, sliding and coiling upwards like tendrils of an unnatural creeper. As the insubstantial substance began to veil the world around them, each member of the company remained silent. There was no turning back now. Once the ward was complete, they would head north, through the remaining trees, and into the horde.

  Katerina staggered back awkwardly. Sweat was beaded across her brow and her cheeks were flushed with effort. Her staff trembled, its wooden surface almost warm to the touch. The last spell had been a difficult one, especially when her exposed position was surrounded by determined greenskins, all of whom wanted the prestige of getting past her guards and dragging her down into their midst. Ahead of her, the bodies of both orcs and men littered the battlefield, their dark blood strewn across the sodden earth. She had remained on the high ground, the elevation giving her room to throw her magic far into the mass of orcs lumbering their way towards the Imperial lines. But things were getting too busy for comfort. The last brute had nearly got through the lines of soldiers and stakes that protected her vantage point, and now lay in the mud, its huge head bent at a crazy angle, its thick hide still smoking from the power she had unleashed.

  She looked around, breathing heavily, trying to take stock. For the moment, the assault had been driven back. All around her, Imperial troops were holding their ground. Schwarzhelm was in the thick of it, his lance discarded in favour of his mighty broadsword. Time and again he and his knights would fall back from the fiercest fighting and regroup near the top of the hill, only to thunder back into the limitless orc ranks, driving the wretched beasts further down the slope, dividing their forces and sowing confusion.

  The artillery was still untouched, and its expert gunners were sending shot high over the heads of the Imperial soldiers and into the mass of swarming green forms. The Empire troops were outnumbered, but still had the advantage of the higher ground.

  With a thrill of excitement, Katerina realised they were more than holding their own. They were actually pushing the orc advance back. She cast around, looking for Ambrosius. Eventually she caught sight of him. He was further along the ridge. His position looked as if it had been overrun by goblins.

  For a moment she wondered why the greenskins weren’t attacking him. Then she noticed that none of them were moving. Their eyes were blank, and their skin strangely metallic. She grinned, watching as the guard around him regrouped, appreciating his art. He was an arrogant bastard, to be sure, but he knew what he was doing. It was time to get back to work.

  She turned lightly on her feet, and began to prepare a new spell. Then something happened
, something terrible. The air of oppression, present since the beginning of the attack, suddenly seemed to intensify. Even in the midst of combat, she could see the soldiers around her stiffen and look up. There was a new presence, an emanation rising from the base of the hill. Katerina backed higher up the slope to gain a better view.

  Her heart was suddenly gripped by a nebulous fear. The drums and horns of the horde rose to an even more frenzied pitch. A weird, green shape was rising above the orcs, insubstantial and flickering in the strong sunlight. She shaded her eyes, and peered intently at the new development. It was growing in size and solidity. It appeared to be in the form of an orc, but massively greater, surrounded by a shimmering, sickening aura of lurid emerald. It was three times the height of a man, and as wide as a house. Its features were hard to pick out, and seemed to shift in the air, rapidly changing through a gamut of different orcish expressions, all of them savage and brutal.

  The horde began to rally, chanting feverishly. Their aimless cries and bellows started to coalesce into something more rhythmic, something with a focused intent. It was hard to make out exactly what was being chanted. It sounded to her like endless repetitions of a single word: Gork! Gork! Gork! From her viewpoint, she looked hurriedly towards Schwarzhelm. He was embroiled in heavy fighting, his armour streaked with blood, his sword rising and falling quickly. He had seen the apparition, and was moving towards it fearlessly. His knights followed him, cutting a glittering path towards the monstrous form.

  “No,” Katerina breathed, feeling her heart lurch into fearfulness. “You can’t fight this foe.”

  Hurriedly, she began to prepare a counter-spell, hoping Ambrosius was doing the same. The ghostly figure was solidifying fast. It started to lumber forwards. All were crushed under its enormous feet, orcs and men alike. The greenskins around it seemed to pass into a crazed delirium. They lost all restraint, hurling their bodies after the rampaging figure. Arrows soared up into the air, but passed harmlessly through the magical flesh of the apparition. As it strode forwards, the nearest men to it began to break, falling back before its advance, their faces pale from fear. They were charged by the gleeful, resurgent orcs, who piled after the confused troops with abandon. Katerina saw men cruelly cut down, their bodies hacked and mutilated by the jubilant greenskins. A shudder seemed to pass through the Imperial ranks. Whatever the ghostly figure was, it was something they couldn’t fight.

  Katerina heard Schwarzhelm’s powerful voice roaring from the vanguard, trying to muster resistance, but even his exhortations seemed strangely insubstantial next to the bestial roar generated by the orcs.

  Collecting her thoughts, she forced her mind clear of fear and on to the business of magic. Something had to be done. The Wind of Shyish flowed in strong, clear patterns around her, every one of the dead men on the field below contributing to her magical strength. She closed her eyes, murmuring words of power, feeling the rush of hot energy surge through her limbs. Amethyst essence crackled and spat around her, flickering towards her staff tip like lightning. Her preparations complete, she opened her eyes, all trace of her usual smile erased from her elegant features.

  Ahead of her, the baleful orcish figure was wading through the rows of soldiers, casting them aside with ease, crushing and maiming with strange, ethereal fists. None could stand before it. With a pang of grief, she saw a huge, tall knight of Schwarzhelm’s company brushed from his horse with contemptuous ease. His armour-encased form was dragged into the mud. In moments, his broken body was surrounded by screeching goblins, which hacked and tore at his rent armour. The giant waded forwards.

  With a quick prayer to Morr, her patron god, Katerina unleashed her power. Spinning gem-like points of Amethyst energy flew from her staff towards the huge striding figure. Where they struck its green aura, they exploded in bright coruscating light, momentarily blinding all who gazed at it. For an instant, the chanting of the orcs beneath was interrupted. The massive form bellowed, an utterly unearthly sound, which froze even Katerina’s blood. It staggered, reeling from the magical projectiles, and seemed to shrink slightly. Katerina spun her staff, and sent a fresh batch of glittering missiles whistling across the air over the battlefield. When they connected, the figure roared once more, flailing its huge arms around wildly in pain and anger. For all its enormous strength, it seemed slow to react, and almost blind. Howling with an incoherent fury, it began to stamp frantically around, blundering across as many orcs as men.

  Feeling her strength begin to falter, Katerina prepared a final volley of gems, and hurled them into the air. Her fatigue was beginning to tell. Only a few found their mark. The rest fell to the earth like embers. It was enough, though, to diminish the monster a little further and provoke fresh roars of pain and rage. The creature had become demented. Its translucent limbs thrashed wildly, throwing bodies in every direction. Slowly, confusedly, it began to turn around, its attention turning back towards its origin. An uncertain cheer rose from the Imperial troops, many of whom halted their ragged retreat and began to hold their ground. By contrast, the greenskins wavered, looking skywards with sudden concern.

  It didn’t last. Fresh streams of green energy coursed into the air from the rear of the horde, augmenting and sustaining the monstrous apparition. Something was feeding it, the shaman no doubt. Katerina cursed under her breath. It felt like her ability to counteract such sorcery was fading. Where was Ambrosius? More importantly, where was Lothar? She gritted her teeth, preparing to combat the monster once more. From the corner of her eye, she saw Schwarzhelm rally his knights for yet another valiant, but increasingly futile charge. With a muttered incantation, she raised her staff once more, knowing that time was rapidly running out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The world was swathed in layers of shifting grey mist. The company moved slowly within the magical barrier, careful not to pierce the protective covering with a stray hand or sword tip. The trees beyond them loomed darkly as they passed by. The noise of the battle ahead was strangely muffled, as if coming from miles away. They all knew that the fighting was well within eyesight, if only the ethereal shroud were not there to mask it. No one spoke. The ghostly forms of orcs blundered into the margins of the concealing curtain of mist around them, before being halted by the force of the spell. They were ejected, confused and staring back into the world of noise and colour. Not a single figure penetrated the shroud, despite the dozens that milled around them.

  Lothar walked forwards slowly, knowing that they were passing from the eaves of the forest and out onto the battlefield. To disguise the company from so many thousands of eyes was not easy, but it helped that the orcs’ attention was focused away from them, towards the Imperial forces further up the slope. If any greenskin walked into the shroud, it would merely experience a certain coldness, and a strange and unexplained feeling of dislocation. A few steps back into the sun, and it would forget about it, its primeval rage returning in an instant. It was a powerful spell, but one that required careful tending. After only a few moments, Lothar could already feel the drain on his strength. He clutched his old master’s staff tightly, as if some comfort could be drawn from the cold, scarred wood. For whatever reason, the ancient instrument did seem to augment his natural magical strength. Lothar knew that a wizard’s staff was more than just a rough pole, and that there was a strange and secret art in their construction. Even so, he was surprised at the energy this new staff gave him, at least compared to his old one.

  They crawled forwards slowly. Lothar cast his mind beyond the boundaries of the shadowy ward, seeking the unmistakable aura of the shaman amidst the bustle of bodies ahead. He knew he would recognise it even from some distance. A magician’s presence was as unique as a signature, a giveaway combination of ethereal clues that marked him out from the dull, washed out shades of the normal world. With humans, the signature was based on the colour they employed. With the shaman, it was different. There was nothing familiar about its appearance. It was rooted in the strange, unknowable ways of the
greenskin mind, and was utterly foreign to human senses, and yet, it was detectable if one knew how to look for it. As Lothar walked slowly, feeding words of encouragement and enrichment to the shifting barrier enclosing the company, he felt its presence. With each step, he knew they were getting closer. With a sudden thrill of both fear and excitement, he knew that the shaman was positioned, just as they had hoped, at the rear of the horde. They had emerged from the forest behind the orc lines, following the looping route planned by Karsten and Schwarzhelm hours earlier, and their quarry was close.

  Lothar stopped walking. He angled his head slightly, trying to make sense of the various emanations echoing from outside the cloying mist of the barrier. The castellan stood beside him, his expression pensive.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  Lothar straightened, a slight tremble of his fingers giving away the effort he was expending to maintain their concealment.

  “We’re out in the open,” he said. “The horde is all around us, although their attention is directed north, away from us. We can’t go much further. The way ahead is thick with orcs. I can sense the shaman, it is close. My ability to maintain this spell is waning. The time is right to emerge.”

  With a deep breath, Karsten nodded. For all his courage, he was nervous. The chances of any of them emerging alive were low, and he knew it. He drew his sword, and turned to his men.

  “The wizard will remove the shroud now,” he said. To his credit, his voice remained free of even the smallest tremor, and he stood tall. “When it fades, we’ll be revealed to the enemy. Our only task is to protect the wizards. All else is unimportant. If we die, at least it will be an honest death, given in the service of the Empire, and no one will ever accuse the men of Helmgart of rejecting their duty. We’ve given ground twice, when we had to. A third time will serve for all. Draw your swords, and may Sigmar guide you.”