by C. L. Werner
My captors changed before my eyes. They grew extra limbs, and tentacles sprang from their bodies. Their faces blurred to those of dogs and lizards, and the grass turned black beneath their footsteps. Their horses changed to giant, slavering hounds of darkness that breathed fire, their eyes glowing red and their long tongues lolling from their mouths. Madness was upon me. The red devil grew wings, and flaming horns sprang from his forehead. Then my madness was broken, for the reiksmarshal appeared, and my fellow knights. I was rescued. My body would heal, but my mind was lost. Blood and fire and death. That has been all that I see when I close my eyes.' he whispered. 'The end is near. Blood and fire and death.'
He raised his arms above his head. 'Blood and fire and death draws near, my children!' he screamed.
Stefan turned away from the man, and began to walk back towards his greatswords. 'The man's insane.' said Albrecht.
'Aye, he is, but I think his crazed brethren may be useful in the dark days that draw near. Every fighting man will be needed.'
'Maybe.' said Albrecht dubiously. 'Do you think he really was a Reiklandguard? Its hard to imagine one of those knights falling so far.'
'I believe he was. The ravages of Chaos can strike down all but the most pure,' Stefan said.
Albrecht saw the captain unconsciously grasp the symbol of Sigmar that he wore around his neck.
'Do you truly think it wise to allow those madmen to keep following us?' asked Albrecht.
'Do you truly think we could stop them?' countered von Kessel.
'No, I suppose that we couldn't,' the burly sergeant admitted.
'He wants to die helping the Empire, Albrecht. He wants to die doing something good before the madness consumes him completely. You saw them fight the other day. We could use men like that.'
Behind them, they could hear the raised voice of the prophet, screaming out his vision of destruction.
'Just keep them the hell away from our men.'
CHAPTER TEN
'We must be swift, warlord. My time draws near.' hissed Sudobaal. For two days the Chaos forces had moved quickly through the darkness of the forest, barely stopping to rest. It mattered not to Hroth. His warriors were Khazags, well used to such extremes. They could run for a week fully armoured and still have the strength to fight a battle. Borkhil's black armoured warriors too were strong, and they showed no signs of tiring.
'We will be at the gibbet tree before the day is out, Sudobaal.' said Hroth.
Most of the warriors were on foot, and Hroth had set a crippling pace, forcing them to run for the last two days. The black armoured knights of Borkhil were spread throughout the trees to either flank of the running warriors, picking their way through the trees carefully. Hroth's marauder horsemen, lightly armed and armoured, and riding stout, hardy horses of the Khazag plains, ranged before the others, scouting out the easiest route through the forest. The sorcerer rode his steed alongside the running Khorne champion, its midnight flanks lathered with sweat. It was an ill-tempered beast, temperamental with all but the sorcerer. It had no hooves, its legs ending in taloned claws that gripped the ground, ripping up clods of earth with every step. The sorcerer fed it hunks of flesh each evening, the creature's sharp teeth ripping the flesh from the bones.
Hroth ran with his warriors, rejoicing in the feeling of power and strength that coursed through him as the miles passed behind him. His axe hungered for blood, but he knew that much blood would soon run. Patience, he told himself. Soon there would be thousands of skulls for him to offer up to his deity. He longed for the day.
As the hours passed, Hroth felt his body changing within his skin. The itchy feeling within his thick flesh was not an unpleasant sensation. He could feel his muscles tearing and reforming, and could feel the blood coursing through veins and arteries to feed his growing power. His bones were straining within his body, and he could feel them strengthening. He could feel them hardening, and knew that soon they would be almost unbreakable.
Khorne was with him, he knew. Khorne, who could see into his heart and mind, and see the plans formulating within him, was pleased.
Fingering his axe, he looked at the hunched figure of Sudobaal crouched atop his Chaotic steed. Yes, he thought, Khorne was pleased by the actions he planned.
'Once we have arrived, I will need to prepare the ritual. It needs to happen tonight, and end precisely when the green moon is at its largest in the sky.'
The Khazags called this moon Ghyranek, the green giver of life. Its appearance was unpredictable, sometimes not being seen for weeks, and other times passing by in the night sky so close that its power could be felt by all beneath it. At these times, the shamans would lead the Khazags in ritual celebrations.
Hroth knew that the moon was powerful. He had witnessed its power several times when it had appeared large in the skies. On one occasion, it had heralded the change in the warrior Glukhos, and mouths had appeared on his bare flesh. He had eventually been ripped apart by the mutations that wracked his body. The celebrations had been great the night that the tribe had witnessed the touch of the gods. Hroth knew that the closeness of the moon was bringing about the changes he felt within his own body.
'The Chaos moon will be close, tonight. It heralds our victory,' continued Sudobaal.
'With the ritual complete, I will know the resting place of the great zar, the anointed Asavar Kul. The cursed elf-kin took his body, seeking to hide it from us forever. But I shall learn where it resides, and we shall travel there. The blade of Asavar Kul, the Slayer of Kings, holding the essence of the great daemon U'zhul, lies with his body. Any whom the gods deem worthy to wield the Slayer of Kings could unite the tribes that lie scattered throughout the lands. I shall lift it, and the world will tremble! With you at my side, Hroth, we shall take up the challenge where Asavar Kul failed, and bring bloody ruin to this land!'
'Blood and fire and death.' agreed Hroth, fingering his axe.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Stefan found it hard not to smile, as the comical figure of the engineer berated the soldiers of Ostermark that towered above him. He was a small, balding man wearing clothes far too fine to be travelling to war in, and two pairs of spectacles were perched precariously on the end of his nose. The soldiers of Ostermark were silently ignoring him as they lashed additional ropes around the wagon, while four others hammered wooden chocks under the mired wagon wheels, which had sunk deep into the clinging mud. A thick, waterproof canvas sheet covered whatever was held within the wagon; probably gunpowder, guessed von Kessel.
'Buffoons! Imbecilic, inbred Ostermarkers. Don't tie the rope around that bit - there, put it there, dammit! No, no, no, not there you fool! Around that there - see, there it is.' flapped the engineer. No one was paying him any attention.
Most of the convoy had halted. Shouts came from behind the mired wagon, urging the soldiers to hurry up. The soldiers shouted back at them good-naturedly, swearing profusely and colourfully as only a soldier, or a sailor, can.
'This is precious cargo, you buffoons.' shouted the engineer. 'Pay attention to what you are doing!'
Von Kessel trudged down to the mired wagon, sinking to his ankles in the thick mud.
'Engineer Markus, you seem a little flustered,' said von Kessel amiably.
'Flustered! Damn right I'm flustered. Excuse my crude language, captain, but your men have not been listening to a thing I have been saying to them!'
'I shall listen, Markus. Calm yourself.' Stefan said, trying not to smile. The front pair of spectacles was slipping closer and closer to the tip of the engineer's nose. He was certain they would fall into the mud any second.
'Right, right. Very good of you, captain,' said the engineer. He cleared his throat, as if he was about to start a great speech. 'This wagon contains a most precious and intricate apparatus, one that must be handled with great care,' he began. He cast a venomous glance towards the soldiers straining to pull the wagon from the mire.
The horses strained, a dozen soldiers heaved on the ropes,
and another four pushed at the cart from behind it. The wagon moved ever so slightly, inching forwards, before slipping back into the mud with a jerk. The soldiers at the back fell to their knees in the mud, much to the amusement of those behind. 'Gently gentlemen, please!' shouted Markus the engineer. 'If anything is damaged, I'll see you all held personally responsible!'
'Nothing will be damaged, Markus,' assured von Kessel.
'Well, I hope not. That's an expensive and rare piece of field equipment in there, captain,' the engineer said, waving a finger towards the wagon.
Von Kessel frowned. 'Field equipment?' he queried. 'I didn't know anything about any additional cannon.'
'Aha! No you did not! And it is far more than a cannon,' the engineer proclaimed. 'Requisitioned at the reiksmarshal's order, it was. I tell you, the Elector Count Otto Gruber will be upset when he hears that the reiksmarshal took it, he will. A very special piece of equipment, this. TheWrath of Sigmar!'
'TheWrath of Sigmar?'
The engineer leant in close to the captain, a conspiratorial look on his face. 'It's one of von Meinkopf's macro-mainsprings of multitudinous precipitations of pernicious lead,' he whispered proudly. He rocked back on his heels and sucked on his teeth, awaiting the astonished gasp from the Ostermark captain.
Stefan looked at him blankly. 'It's a what?' he asked.
'A what?' the engineer scoffed. 'Do they teach you nothing in Ostermark?' The engineer sighed and rolled his eyes at the bemused captain. 'In layman's terms, it's a helblaster volley gun. Ah, yes! Now I see you understand!'
Von Kessel looked again at the wagon with wide eyes. It was a powerful weapon indeed. He waved for more men to come to help the ones struggling to free the bogged-down wagon, and he walked into the middle of the mire to lend his own help. He leant his weight against the back of the wagon, and set his boots in the mud. The call was given, and von Kessel heaved along with all the other soldiers. Straining, he could feel the wagon beginning to move, and redoubled his efforts. Suddenly, with a great sucking noise, the wagon sprang forwards and rolled free of the mire. Von Kessel and the other soldiers pushing it fell face first into the mud.
Laughter rang out. As the captain rose to his feet, the laughter petered out. He spat mud from his mouth, and wiped his hand across his face, clearing the clinging mud from his eyes. Then he began to laugh. The other laughter started up again, and the muddy soldiers slapped each other on the backs, laughing and cursing.
Stepping through the mire, the captain approached the engineer once more. 'There you are, Markus. The engine is free, and no harm came to it. I hope it was worth the effort.'
'Oh, it will be, captain,' said the engineer, offering von Kessel a silk handkerchief, which the captain declined, much to his relief.
'Captain! Our scouts have sighted the coast!' came a shout. Von Kessel bid goodbye to the engineer, and began to make his way to the front of the column, where he found the reiksmarshal. The knight looked at the mud-covered captain and raised an eyebrow.
'I slipped,' the captain said flatly.
A scout could be seen galloping hard down the trail towards them. Thick white froth was on the lips of his horse, and it whinnied and stamped the ground in agitation as he brought it to a halt before his captain.
'What news, Wilhelm?' asked von Kessel.
'Are you alright, sir?' asked the man. The captain waved a hand to dismiss the question, flinging mud as he did so. 'It's bad, sir. Castle Kreindorf is occupied, as the reiksmarshal had said, and I can see white sails out to sea, sir. Elves, I believe.'
'And this is bad news how?'
'They cannot land, sir. The castle is surrounded, and the ships cannot beach.'
'Surrounded? Is it the Norse? Quickly, dammit!'
'Aye, I believe so, captain, and other things too.'
'Other things?'
'They are quite far-off, but there are thousands of them. Furred beasts that walk like men.'
'Beastmen.' spat von Kessel.
'Aye, captain.'
'We must move with haste.' said the reiksmarshal calmly. 'If those elves are slain, it will be very awkward for our Emperor Magnus.'
'I'm sure it would be more awkward for the elves.' said von Kessel. 'What are they doing out here anyway? And why are those ships trying to beach?'
'I fear they are trying to land so that they can pick up one of the elves. Someone very important: an elf mage of the royal bloodline.'
'A what? We came all this way to rescue an elf sorcerer-prince?' asked a stunned von Kessel. The reiksmarshal turned his cold gaze towards the young captain.
'We came all this way to aid our high elf allies, and to secure lasting peace between our people. They are an ancient and powerful race, Captain von Kessel. If ever our friendship with them should falter, then we will be in dire times indeed,' he said curtly, 'and there is an elf mage-princess in that castle. The death of a princess of the royal household of Ulthuan on Empire soil would not be a good thing.'
Stefan grunted in response. 'Can we see the siege from the ridge, Wilhelm?' he asked the scout.
'Yes, captain. I will lead you there,' the scout answered, stepping from the saddle of his horse. A young man took the reins from him, and led the horse away.
'Good.' said von Kessel. He turned to a soldier standing nearby. 'Bring the engineer, Markus, up here. Make haste.'
'The engineer?' enquired the reiksmarshal, as the soldier ran off.
'He has an eyeglass.'
The climb to the ridge was steep, and Markus slipped to his knees several times, as he climbed, cutting his fine silver silk stockings and grazing his knees on the rocky ground. He cursed silently, breathing heavily. He looked down the way they had come. He had not realised how far they had climbed. The convoy snaking its way along the road was far below.
'Hurry yourself, engineer,' hissed Captain von Kessel. The engineer, puffing and sweating profusely, climbed the last steep incline to the top of the ridge. He gasped as he reached the summit, and surveyed the scene laid out before him.
He stood on the edge of a great cliff. It dropped off several hundred feet below him, the height making his head spin. The valley flattened off, leading to the rocky coastline of the Sea of Claws, about two and a half miles off, the engineer estimated. He was famed within the Engineers' Academy in Nuln for his skill at judging distances and trajectory.
The northern fringes of the great Forest of Shadows spread out at the foot of the cliff, thinning a mile from the coastline. In the distance, beyond the line of the trees was a crumbling castle, long abandoned by men of the Empire. It perched atop a rocky spur about a mile from the coast. The ground around the castle seemed to swarm and ripple with movement. The sea itself was dark, and the mists over the water disguised where the sea ended and the sky began.
'Engineer, your eyeglass, please,' said the captain. The engineer nodded and gently removed what looked like a leather scroll case from within his fine, embroidered coat. He popped off the lid of the scroll case, and von Kessel could see that inside it was lined with rich, purple velvet. The engineer carefully upended the case, and eased a cylindrical object wrapped in soft cloth from inside. With great care, he unwrapped the brass eyeglass, and handed it gently to the captain.
'Be careful with her, I beg you.' The captain nodded, and raised the object to his eye, squinting into its lens. He had owned such a contraption himself once, but it had been broken during a battle. He carefully turned the knobs on top of the cylinder until what he viewed through the lens came into focus.
Firstly, he turned his gaze towards the castle. He could see glittering figures upon the partly ruined ramparts, dressed in silver and white: elves. An ornate, tapering flag flew from the highest remaining tower, its perfectly white material almost glowing. It was hard to judge from this distance, but he estimated that there were around two hundred figures on the castle walls.
He turned his gaze towards the forces of Chaos that swarmed around the castle. Like a living tide washing up aga
inst the castle, the forces of Chaos were innumerable. He saw hundreds of banners topped with grisly trophies, carried by men in horned helmets. They threw themselves at the walls in living waves. A pair of rough, hastily constructed siege engines rolled slowly towards the crumbling castle walls, pulled by massive furred creatures. Even as he watched, he saw one of the siege engines fall soundlessly, surely crushing scores of men beneath it. The elves must have war machines upon the walls, he thought.
Stefan's gaze passed over Chaos warriors until it reached the rocky coastline. There was only one clear landing from the sea, the rest of the coastline being made up of rocky cliffs. Longships had been pulled up onto the land at this one small harbour. The waterfront was swarming with figures. He reckoned that there must be in the realm of a thousand followers of Chaos between the harbour and the castle.
Looking out to sea, five white sailed cutters could be seen, sleek high elf ships that sliced through the water at great speed. In turn, they rapidly approached the harbour and unleashed great bolts from the war machines on their decks, before swinging back out to sea. Clearly, they could not land in the harbour, for there were too many enemies swarming along the coastline. Any attempt to land would be easily defeated. 'Damn it,' swore Stefan. He tossed the eyeglass back to the engineer and began the descent back to his army. Markus gasped and caught the eyeglass awkwardly, breathing a sigh of relief when he did not drop it. 'Thank you, Lady Verena,' he breathed, invoking the name of the goddess of learning and justice.
He glared darkly at the figure of Captain von Kessel, who was already some way down the incline and shouting to his sergeants to join him and the reiksmarshal to discuss battle plans. Markus quickly rewrapped the eyeglass and replaced it in its case, and began his descent. He managed to trip only once on the way down the slippery incline, stubbing his toe painfully. Not for the first or last time, he cursed the war that plagued the lands, and kept him from his quiet life of study.