by C. L. Werner
'The city of the White Wolf will fall in time, but it is not I who will lead that attack,' growled Hroth.
'The Eye of the Forest will be nigh-on impossible to take, if fully manned, warlord,' said another chieftain.
'We will rip it down, smash it underfoot, and slaughter every man, woman and child within.' rumbled the daemon, staring malevolently at the speaker with eyes of fire.
'What says the Blind One? Will you aid us to take the Eye of the Forest?' hissed Sudobaal, nodding his head to the skaven.
One of the creatures extended a hand from beneath its robes. Its fur was grey, moth-eaten and mange-ridden. With pale fingers it pulled back the hood from its face, exposing its pox-ridden features. Its eyes were milky white, weeping pus down its grey fur, and its whiskers were stubby and rotten. It opened its mouth, exposing large, chipped and yellow front teeth, and exhaled sharply several times in what may have passed for laughter. The skaven nodded its head to Sudobaal, and then again to Hroth, pledging its support.
'It is a foolish venture - ' began one of the chieftains. Having heard enough, Hroth stalked towards him, the other chieftains scattering before him. He grabbed the man in his massive red hands, ripped his head from his body and threw both to the ground.
'No more talk. I hunger for battle. We attack. Chieftains: move your tribes with all speed towards the city in the crater, the Eye of the Forest. I will see it toppled.'
Stefan von Kessel surveyed the defences carefully as he led the army of Ostermark through the grand portals of the fortress. Giant statues of Ulric, the ancient god of battle, winter and wolves, and his brother Taal, god of nature and the wild places, flanked the approach to the massive gates. The fortress was built into the side of the crater of Talabheim, and was an imposing and powerful structure. It guarded the only entrance into Talabheim - a tunnel half a mile long carved straight through the crater.
The engineer, Markus, gazed at the fortress with his trained eye, and could find no fault in its design. 'It is a marvel of siege engineering,' he gushed to Stefan. 'See how the towers are placed? And how the walls angle inwards? That forms the killing ground - any attackers would naturally be filtered there, and would be cut to pieces, slaughtered by crossbowmen and handgunners in the towers and on the walls - they would be fired upon from all angles. If the walls were taken by the enemy, the towers themselves would act as small fortresses - see the towers have clear lines of fire across all the walls - nowhere to hide from there, no! No square towers here, oh no! Square towers have corners, and corners are vulnerable. Destroy the corner, and the tower will collapse. Simple, really.'
'Yes indeed, engineer,' said Stefan as they passed through the gates. Looking up, he could see the pointed tips of the portcullis that would be dropped when the attack came. There were countless murder holes on either side of the portcullis, holes where soldiers in the rooms above could drop boiling oil and rocks down upon would-be attackers as they tried to batter their way through.
Past the gates, the tunnel through the crater extended before them. No end was in sight.
'Great Verena above!' exclaimed Markus, invoking the goddess of learning and justice. Stefan was equally impressed. Wide enough for two carriages to travel side-by-side, the tunnel was lit with torches every twenty paces or so. 'This must have taken a lifetime to construct!'
'It would be difficult to storm.' said Stefan, casting his warrior's eye around the heavily defended tunnel. The army of Ostermark marched through the portal behind him, and Stefan strode forwards into the half-mile long tunnel. 'Why is it called the Wizard's Way?' he asked the red- and white-clad Talabheim sergeant who had come to meet him.
'No one truly knows. Some think this tunnel was carved by magic, others that it was named for the countless hedge wizards and sorcerers who were led through it to face trial in Talabheim, but the truth? I daresay we will never know. A wizardhas walked this tunnel in the last weeks, mind, or to be more correct, a witch. An elf, if you would believe that, skin as white as death.' said the man, giving a dramatic shiver. 'She gave me the fear, that witch. Here to aid the defence, so it is said.'
Stefan raised his eyebrows. 'Aurelion. Her powers will come in useful, I have no doubt.' he said after getting over his surprise. 'I would have thought,' he said, 'that the baron would have come out to meet us personally.'
The sergeant coughed uncomfortably. 'The young baron is ill, bedridden. No one has seen him outside of his bedchamber for months.'
Albrecht threw von Kessel an alarmed look. 'Ill, you say.' said the captain. 'What ailment plagues the Baron of Talabheim?'
'I know not, captain. Some say that it is plague. I must say, captain, that I am glad that you have arrived. Maybe now we stand some chance.'
'We will hold. I am sure that your baron has a great knowledge of the grand defences of his city.'
The sergeant laughed. 'That young fool? His father, now, there was a warrior and a leader, but the young baron? No, he is a scared young man, afraid to do his duty. Word is that he has a priest of Morr with him at all times. Expects to go at any moment, he does, so word says. No, he ain't thinking of the defence of Talabheim.'
'Oh good,' said Albrecht. They neared the end of the tunnel, and approached another fortress guarding the exit. Again, murder holes were carefully positioned in the roof, and others could be seen on the curved walls. High above, the muzzles of cannon could be seen protruding, pointing up the tunnel. Another portcullis could be dropped here, and there was another set of stout gates.
Walking through the open gates, Stefan entered what Markus pointed out was another killing ground. Balconies behind them allowed defenders to rain death down upon any who had fought their way this far, and he saw more cannon barrels. 'Grapeshot,' said the engineer. 'Those cannon will be loaded with hundreds of handgun shots, as well as all manner of nails and other pieces of metal, all wrapped up in canvas. When fired at this range, it would be devastating, shredding everything here.' He winced. 'Any force that somehow made it this far would be torn apart.'
Continuing out into the light, Stefan blinked and shielded his eyes. Talabheim proper was still some miles away. Farmland spread out before him, and he saw men tilling the icy fields, as if there was no war coming. He sighed.
'Take me to the baron,' he ordered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Baron Jurgen Krieglitz, Elector Count of Talabecland, turned over in his sweat-drenched bed, surfacing from his restless sleep as the knock on his chamber door sounded once again. His stomach churned as he came awake and reality sank in. His skin was burning with fever, and his breath seemed to catch in his throat. Coughing painfully, a dry, wracking cough that left flecks of blood on his pillow, he called out weakly.
The man was young, but his unwashed hair was already streaked with silver, and his face was haggard. His father had fought in the Great War during the previous years, leaving his only son behind to maintain his affairs. A quiet young man full of self-doubt, he was easily manipulated by the politicians, priests and advisors of his father. Not a stupid man by any count, he saw exactly what was going on, but was at a loss to know how to rectify the situation. His father was a bull of a man, a warrior born and adored by all in Talabecland. He knew how to handle the politics of court, a skill that he had not been passed onto his son. None had grieved more than Jurgen when news of his father's death had reached Talabheim. Almost the entire standing army of Talabecland had perished with him, leaving Talabheim with only a nominal force to protect the ancient city. Jurgen's face had been pale as he was made elector the very next day.
The chamber doors opened and a manservant entered, an elderly statesman in tow.
'My most honoured lord. Do you fare better today?' asked the statesman grimly. He was a true politician, his words silky smooth, but Jurgen knew that he was a manipulative snake. He also knew that he did not have the mettle to compete with the man's endless machinations. Without waiting for a response, he continued. 'My lord, the Chaos forces close upon Talabheim, but
praise great Taal, for hope is at hand - a large armed force from Ostermark has arrived to aid our defence. A council of war has been called, and sits in the war room - are you well enough to attend, my lord, or shall we conduct matters as best we can in your absence?'
'I'm not well,' said Jurgen, coughing for emphasis. He drew the covers of his bedding tightly around him, and rolled over onto his side, away from the man. 'Attend to matters without me.'
'As you wish, my lord, rest yourself. All the matters of state will be attended to,' said the statesman, bowing deeply. Jurgen listened to the men back out of the room, and the door close quietly behind them.
Jurgen was dying. He would live no more than a year, the lady of Shallya had informed him, tears in her eyes. At first, he had believed his illness had come about from the pressure of his role. He hated the intrigues of his court, the politicking and the back-stabbing. He was weak, he knew. His stomach churned constantly, the acids in his gut burning him from the inside. As the months rolled by, his headaches got worse, and he had taken to bed, distancing himself from his duties. There was a cancer in his head, the lady had said. One day soon it would take him.
Closing his eyes tightly, the pain in his head a pounding throb, Jurgen hoped it would take him soon. He closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.
Blessed oblivion was denied him as he heard raised voices outside his chamber doors. Closing his eyes tightly, his stomach knotting, he hoped they would go away and leave him to die in peace.
The voices got louder, and the doors to his chamber were thrown open. 'You cannot go in there, sir. The duke is an ill man!'
'Talabheim and the Empire have need of him!' came an angry, authoritative voice. 'I must speak with the elector!'
Jurgen closed his eyes tightly, feigning sleep. Heavy footsteps approached his bed, halting at his side.
'My Lord Krieglitz, you must awake and attend your duties. Your city and your people need you,' said the voice. 'Krieglitz?' A hand shook his shoulder, and Jurgen opened his heavy eyes. A man, his face horribly scared, stood before him. 'I have need to speak with you, lord.'
Wearily, Jurgen pushed himself up in his bed. His flustered manservant hopped forwards to push cushions behind his back. 'I am sorry, my lord. He burst in.
'There was nothing I could do to halt him.' said the man, obviously distressed.
Jurgen waved the apology away with a weak gesture.
'It matters not.' Jurgen said resignedly. He turned his tired gaze upon the intruder, looking him up and down. 'Ostermark. Long has there been antipathy between Talabecland and Ostermark. Who are you to burst in here?' he asked, trying to sound strong, but hating the weakness he heard in his own voice.
'I am Captain Stefan von Kessel. I come to the aid of Talabheim in its time of need. The time for hostilities between our lands is long past, we are united together in the service of our Emperor, Sigmar praise his name.'
'A captain? A mere captain who bears the Runefang of Ostermark?'
Stefan's face hardened. 'I am to be elector on my return to Ostermark. It is not a duty that I long for, but it is my duty none the less. You have a duty too, my lord, to Talabheim and to the Empire.'
The sick young man closed his eyes, sighing wearily. 'I am not long for this world.' he said. 'Morr will come for me soon. Leave me in peace, Ostermark.'
'My lord, your city is but days from being besieged! Would you lie here in your bed and let it fall around you?'
'What else can I do? I am dying. Let me be.'
'You are not damn well dead yet. I met your father once. He was a proud man, a great leader and a truly heroic warrior. I mourned for him when I learnt he had fallen, but I raised my cup to his memory. A true hero of the Empire.'
'What is your point, Ostermark? Why do you come here to berate me?'
'Would you be proud for your father to see you now, man? Cowering in your bed like a child, shirking your responsibilities and letting all that he fought so hard to protect fall and crumble around you?'
'I am not my father!' said Jurgen sharply, leaning forwards. He slumped back into the cushions, sighing wearily. 'I wish I had his strength, but I do not. I will be of no use in the days to come.'
'Put on your armour, lord,' said Stefan, his voice softer. 'Your soldiers need their leader! Just to see you walk the battlements will lift their spirits! That is worth more than a thousand more troops! Show them that you will fight at their side!'
'I... I cannot. Leave me be.'
'You would leave the defence of your city to those poisonous politicians in your war room? You would bring dishonour to the name of your family like this? Does your father's sacrifice for the Empire meannothing to you?'
Jurgen had closed his eyes against these questions. 'I loved my father dearly, but I am nothing next to him. Where he was strong, I am not. I cannot do this, Ostermark. Do not ask me to,' he said. His eyes opened suddenly, and he leant forwards, his face filled with sudden passion.'You take charge of the defence. You could do it! I know that you could. You lead my people. You would give them more hope than I ever could.'
'Your soldiers needyou, damn it!' exploded Stefan, losing his patience with the weakling fool before him. 'Have some damned backbone, man!'
Jurgen looked at him pleadingly, silently begging Stefan to leave him be. 'I am dying,' he said weakly.
Von Kessel stared at him for a moment, his face hard. 'You want to be remembered like this? A man can be defined by the way he dies, Count Krieglitz. You could die a failure, rotting away here in your chambers. Or you could don your armour and inspire your troops. Lead them, and if you fall in battle, then you will be remembered as the elector count who gave his life in the defence of his capital, fighting alongside his soldiers. You could be remembered for all time in the annals of Talabecland as a hero who died in service to his Emperor.'
Silence hung over the bedchamber. Jurgen continued to stare pleadingly at the captain. 'I... I cannot do this.' he said finally.
'Then be damned, for all I care. Stay here and wait for death to come.' said the captain. He stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
'Can... can I get you anything, my lord?' ventured Jurgen's manservant. Ignoring the man, Jurgen slumped down into his bed once more. He drew the covers around him tightly, his stomach churning, and rolled to face the wall. He waited until he heard the man leave, padding quietly across the room and slipping out the door, and curled himself into a ball, loathing himself.
The following days were a blur of frantic activity within Talabheim. Tens of thousands of arrows, crossbow bolts and handgun shot were delivered onto the walls, and cannon and mortars were hauled onto the tops of towers. The soldiers were posted along the walls, but there were miles upon miles of walls to cover, and they were spread thinly. Still, the main Chaos assault would come at the Wizard's Way, and the majority of the defence was focused there. The outer fortress would face the brunt of the attack, and there would stand von Kessel's greatswords, and half of the soldiers of Talabheim. Two hundred handgunners would man the outer fortress walls, and eighteen cannon and eight mortars would rain death upon the forces of Chaos as they approached the gatehouse. Stefan was determined to hold the fortress for as long as possible, to exact a terrible toll on the enemy. The soldiers stationed there accepted their duty with stoic pride, although they knew that the chances of survival were slim.
The scouts and outriders under the grim command of Wilhelm reported on the approach of the forces of the enemy. They marched towards the city relentlessly, with more warbands emerging every day from the forest to join them, so that the Empire troops were outnumbered near four to one. But the odds were acceptable, even favourable, for the Empire troops, such was the strength of Talabheim's defences.
Still, von Kessel was uneasy, for he feared some daemonic devilry and sorcery would render all his careful planning wasted. In a hushed voice, Wilhelm spoke to Stefan and the reiksmarshal of the daemon leading the Chaos forces, which he had glimpsed from afa
r. His eyes contained fear as he spoke of the massive creature, and that alone worried von Kessel, for he believed that nothing could scare the cold-hearted killer. 'We're all going to die,' said Wilhelm, his face grim. Stefan knew the man well enough to know that he would not speak those words to any other than himself, and would not shy from his duty, but the certainty of the scout's words frightened him.
Talagaad, at the base of the great crater of Talabheim, was evacuated. The populace sought refuge within the walls of Talabheim, walking miserably along the Wizard's Way. Some refused to leave, and these barricaded themselves inside their homes in a vain attempt to protect themselves from the onslaught to come. Others took advantage of the exodus, looting the homes of those who had left, and there were several deaths. The richer of the villagers paid exorbitant prices to be carried away to safety onboard merchant vessels bound for Altdorf. The harbour lay empty of ships, and the streets of Talagaad were deserted.
The elf mage Aurelion and her bodyguard had been coolly distant with the humans. They had joined the defences at the outer fortress, and Stefan was glad of their support. He had seen those tall warriors fight, and they possessed skills that seemed far from natural, moving with subtle, lethal grace. They would fight to the last, he knew. He was still suspicious of Aurelion and her power, but he knew that she would be invaluable in counteracting the vile magics of the enemy.
Gunthar walked along the walls constantly, his presence doing wonders to raise the spirits of the men. He seemed to be looking forward to the coming battle, and he joked and made light with the men, who appreciated his crude stories and his booming laugh.
Albrecht worked tirelessly, shouting orders and preparing the men for the assault to come. He snatched sleep when he could, the odd hour here and there, resting in full armour on the walls. He drilled the soldiers relentlessly, making sure they knew exactly where they needed to be once battle commenced.