3 the heart of chaos

by ich du

  'We have few stories about the realm of the gods,' he said. 'What we know was learned from others who live further north than us. The wastes are dangerous, a place of battle where the champions of the gods challenge each other to prove their worth. We in the south look to a single chosen warrior like you for our protection, but in the north there are said to be whole tribes gifted by the gods.'

  Bjordrin paused for breath, wiping the ice from his face with a gloved hand before continuing.

  'As we get closer to the gods, their power over the land grows,' he said. 'The ground shows their touch, and the beasts of the wilds are marked by their attentions. They are feral, bloodthirsty creatures. As for the realm of the gods itself, few can ever say, for none return who are not changed. Some legends say that the Gate of the Gods can be reached in a single day of walking, others that a man might travel for hundred years, not aging, and yet never find it. Some are unable to cope with the gifts bestowed upon them, or are cursed by the gods for their impudence. They are driven mad, or their bodies torn apart by the power of the gods flowing into them. Great champions who emerge are said to take part of their gods' might, becoming impervious to mortal weapons, or who can fly upon the breath of the gods and wield sorcery greater than the best of our shamans.'

  'But what do they do with this power?' Kurt asked.

  'They fight of course!' Bjordrin replied with a short laugh. 'Once the gaze of the gods is upon you, it does not turn away. If we reach our goal, it is not the end, it is the beginning. We will be gifted and we will be expected to use those gifts for the greater glory of the gods that bestowed them. They do not give their favours lightly.'

  'We will be the victors,' Kurt said, stumbling as he slipped in a particularly deep snowdrift.

  'Does it matter?' asked Bjordrin as he helped Kurt haul himself up. 'All we can do is try. The gods will challenge us, as will others, and if we prevail then it is up to them to decide if we are worthy of their attention.'

  'So why did you come?' asked Kurt, clearing a path through the snow with sweeps of his arms. 'Why risk such horrors? You know my reasons.'

  'What else is there to do?' asked Bjordrin, and bitterness entered his voice. 'My home is destroyed, my family slain. I have nothing but what I carry on my back. What better reason does a man need to see his gods, and perhaps prove to them that he will not be broken by the fate they have laid down for him.'

  Kurt did not reply, but forged on through the snow. On occasion he thought that he heard the distant howling again. As darkness fell, they sought shelter in a large snowdrift, digging several small ice caves to shield them from the wind. Feeding upon raw meat and drinking melted snow, Kurt nestled in his small burrow, but sleep would not come. He could sense something close by, and it was not long before his ears heard a deep snuffling noise from outside.

  Rising quietly, he dragged himself to the opening of his ice cave and looked out. Glancing to his left, he saw that Undar was also still awake, and with him was Gird. There was something prowling around in the night gloom, that was certain, and the two emerged warily into the falling snow.

  A noise to Kurt's right snapped his head round, but he could see nothing in the swirling snow and darkness. Pacing forward a little way, treading carefully to avoid losing his footing on the treacherous ledge they had chosen for their campsite, he ventured further into the darkness.

  A shout from Undar had Kurt turning and running back to the campsite. As the others came into view, he saw Gird lying on the ground, clutching his side, while Undar had his back to Kurt.

  Beyond him stood a beast roughly the size of a bear, standing on its rear legs. It had long fur that was bald in patches, revealing thick grey scales. A snake-like tail whipped back and forth, sending flurries of snow into the air. As it dropped to all fours, Kurt could see that its front legs looked more like a man's arms, the fur thinner, revealing leathery skin beneath.

  Opening a fanged maw, it howled, a plaintive sound to Kurt's ears. Undar leapt forward with his mace raised and the creature jumped to meet him, smashing a hand-like paw across the warriors front, knocking him off his feet. As Undar struggled to rise, the monster backed away, tensing to spring forward again.

  As Kurt got closer, he could see the creature's face more clearly. It had the muzzle of a bear, but the eyes were strangely human. The beast regarded him with a basic intelligence, and Kurt thought he saw something close to desperation in those eyes. It opened its mouth again, the creature's thick tongue lolling out, growling and snorting.

  Undar stepped forward again, but Kurt laid a hand on his arm.

  'Wait,' Kurt told the warrior. 'See to Gird.'

  Undar turned his head and looked at Kurt for a moment, before stepping back, keeping the beast in view. He backed off towards Gird's still form, his mace held ready. Kurt stood his ground, and he and the creature stared at each other. Movement and sound caused the creature to flinch, and Kurt turned his head slowly to see Jakob emerging from his little ice hole. The shaman stopped when he laid eyes on the beast, eyes fixed on it.

  'Fetch some meat,' Kurt said, but Jakob did not respond. He kept his voice low but firm. 'Jakob, fetch some meat.'

  Jakob snapped out of his mesmerised state and looked at Kurt. As comprehension dawned, he ducked back into the small ice cave and came back a moment later clutching strips of deer flesh in his fist.

  The creature snorted again, its attention now fixed on Jakob, and took a pace forward, its strange paw-hand sinking only a small way into the snow.

  Jakob walked warily towards Kurt, eyes fixed on the beast, and handed the meat strips to the chosen warrior. The creature's eyes followed Kurt as he took a couple of steps away from Jakob and took one of the fatty pieces of meat in one hand. He tossed it to within a few feet of the creature, and it pounced forwards, grasping the deer flesh in one hand and scooping it into its maw. Chewing ferociously, it continued forward, sniffing the air. Kurt threw another chunk of meat out to it, which was similarly grabbed quickly.

  The creature was now just in front of Kurt. It sat on its haunches and held out one paw, its gaze fixed on Kurt's eyes agreeing the unspoken truce. Kurt nodded and placed the rest of the meat in its upturned palm. It wolfed down the food gratefully, bloody saliva dripping across the snow and its dark fur. Kurt stood there and watched, hearing a groan behind him as Gird regained his senses.

  Having finished eating, the creature gave another moaning growl, and Kurt could see real emotion in its eyes, perhaps something like frustration. It whined and pawed at the snow, looking up at Kurt.

  'By the gods.' he heard Jakob whisper. Glancing round he saw the shaman looking closely at the marks in the snow. Only then did Kurt realise that the furrows in the snow were in the shape of two Norse runes.

  'What do they say?' he asked the shaman, having only learned to speak the tongue. Jakob only knew them from long nights spent secretly observing the shaman of his original tribe.

  'Stormraven.' Jakob said, and the creature bobbed its head heavily, as if trying to nod. 'It says Stormraven, one of the tribes that lives further east of here.'

  The creature made a half-moan, half-cough. It repeated this several times, and Jakob leaned forward and listened carefully.

  'Hursk?' he said, and the creature waggled its head and made the noise again. 'Tort? Gord? Orst?'

  At this last suggestion, the brutish thing raised itself to its back legs, and beat at its chest with its fists.

  'You understand us?' Kurt said, turning his attention back to the creature and its large head nodded again as it dropped back to all fours, a stuttering growl emanating from its throat. 'I am Sutenvulf, and this is my shaman Jakob. We are heading north, seeking the Gate of the Gods.'

  At mention of the legendary place Orst whined and pawed at his face, and then shook his head vigorously from side to side. He paced back and forth a couple of times in agitation.

  'Have you seen it?' asked Kurt, stepping forward as Orst tried to back away. 'Have you been there? Could y
ou lead us there?'

  The misshapen tribesman gave a long moan and hung his head, his shoulders slumping heavily.

  Tilting his head to one side, Orst gave Kurt a long, hard stare. After a while he straightened and nodded. Kurt stepped forward and slapped a hand on to the creature's broad shoulder.

  'Good!' said Kurt with a grin. He turned and faced the others, who were standing behind Jakob. 'Now we have a guide, I think the gods have granted Orst Stormraven a second chance at glory.' Orst arched back his neck and roared into the sky.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Unwelcome Return

  Marienburg, Winter 1711

  GREY WINTER SUNLIGHT dappled off the murky waters of the Reik estuary as Leerdamme called for the sail to be shorted, the Graf Suiden drifting into the Marienburg harbour under its topsails. Lighters coasted back and forth between the ships anchored out in the harbour, while smaller merchant vessels were moored up alongside the city's many wharfs, stevedores and teamsters swarming around them, loading and unloading their cargoes. Ships from further up the Reik traded between Marienburg and Altdorf, while others sailed to the south to ports in Bretonnia, Tilea and Estalia. Some came from even further afield, to places that were half legend, such as Cathay and Ind, carrying rich cargoes such as silk, spices and ivory. Most that set sail for these distant lands never returned.

  The city itself sprawled around the harbour, a haphazard conglomeration of roofs and garrets that bore an awkward similarity to the sails of a fleet of ships, their snow-covered slopes rising at odd angles to each other. Three tall masts stretched above the other buildings, flags at their heads fluttering limply in the slight breeze. These came from the roof of the ancient library, itself built from the hulls of three old ships.

  'That doesn't bode well,' said Ruprecht, as he and Ursula stood on the foredeck looking at the city.

  To starboard, less than three hundred yards away, another greatship was getting under way. There were soldiers on deck and its gun ports were open, and it was clear to see officers on the deck, some of them looking at the Graf Suiden and pointing. From its main masthead flew the flag of the Marienburg navy, recently formed by Count Luiten. Leerdamme had noticed it too and joined the pair.

  'There's trouble brewing,' he said, crossing his arms. 'A warship keeping an eye on us, and soldiers waiting on the quays.'

  What he said was true. The soldiers' blue and yellow uniforms were clearly visible as they stood in line along dockside. A crowd of locals had gathered, perhaps drawn by the soldiers' presence or maybe just to get a look at the Graf Suiden and its famous captain. Behind them, the Marienburg man of war had now placed itself between their ship and the rest of the small fleet that had accompanied them. Her gun ports were still open, but as yet her guns had not been run out.

  'It's Luiten, no doubt,' said Ursula. 'That's no welcoming committee. I think he means to take Ulfshard.'

  'I agree that'd be a bad thing.' said Leerdamme. 'Still, nothing we can do yet. We'll have to play this by ear.'

  They turned at the sound of metal-shod feet on the wooden planks behind them, to see Boerden, Johannes and two other knights, Reynus and Karl-Huth, climbing the steps to join them.

  'What have you got us into now?' said Boerden, his expression stern.

  'We can't let Luiten take Ulfshard.' said Johannes, seeing the looks that Ursula was directing over the prow. 'We need to get Ursula out of the city.'

  'I know I defied the count when I stood up for you to lead an expedition to Norsca, but I'll not draw my sword against his soldiers.' said Boerden. 'I'd caution against doing anything rash. Count Luiten is not an unreasonable man, I'm sure some arrangement can be made. We've got the whole winter to decide what to do.'

  'No.' said Ursula with a scowl. 'I'll not risk Ulfshard in the hands of a puffed up merchant. Help me or not, but I'm not parting with Marbad's sword, not while I have breath in my body.'

  'Ursula is right, we gave blood for Ulfshard to be returned to the Empire.' said Johannes. 'I doubt that Luiten would do anything other than use it to consolidate his position. This gift could be so much more. We have to take it east, perhaps to Talabheim.'

  'Well, I second that.' said Ruprecht, flexing the fingers of his artificial hand. 'Marienburg, Middenheim and Altdorf are too dangerous for something as important as Ulfshard.'

  'Look, I'll not stand in your way, but I can't have any part of this.' said Karl-Huth, walking away. Boerden stayed for a moment longer before joining him. Reynus gave them a dark look.

  'This borders on treason.' the knight said. 'If you try to escape and fail, you'll give Luiten every excuse he needs to have you thrown in prison, and confiscate the sword. Listen to Boerden, don't do anything rash.'

  The four of them exchanged looks as Reynus departed. The voice of Verhoen, the ship's master, could be heard calling for the last sails to be taken in and the anchor let out. As the ship slowed, Leerdamme slapped his hand against the rail in agitation, looking out towards the dock.

  'Well, we can't do anything here, so let's get the boat swung out and head ashore.' the captain said, turning to face the others. 'You can take your chances when you get there.'

  THE REGULAR STROKES of the oarsmen soothed Ruprecht's nerves as their boat scudded across the choppy waters towards one of Marienburg's many jetties. The twenty sailors rowed to the stroke called out by the bullish bosun, Kieter van der Stree. Leerdamme sat in the sternsheets next to Ursula, with Boerden, Johannes and Ruprecht in front of them. As they closed in on the jetty, Ruprecht could see some twenty soldiers, carrying long halberds, their breastplates polished to parade ground brightness. With them stood Chancellor Gorstend, a small, thin man dressed in riding boots and breeches, his blue cloak wrapped around his body to ward off the light sleet that had begun falling a short time before.

  Two of the sailors leapt onto the planking of the jetty as the boat drew alongside, carrying tethers to tie up the boat. Leerdamme stepped out next and extended a hand down to help Ursula clamber out of the boat, followed swiftly by Johannes. Ruprecht and Boerden took their place behind Ursula as the sailors lined up on either side of them, and Gorstend walked forward, no hint of feeling in his expression.

  He stopped just in front of Ursula and glanced down to where he hand rested on the blue gem embedded in the hilt of Ulfshard. He matched her stare with his own cold gaze.

  'Fraulein Schenk...' he began, but Ursula cut him off.

  'No.' she said, with a quick shake of the head. 'He can't have it.'

  'The sword rightfully belongs to Count Luiten.' Gorstend stated, showing no sign of surprise or annoyance. If he believed that Ursula would just hand Ulfshard over, then he wouldn't have needed the soldiers. 'He is Elector Count of Marienburg, wearer of the crown of Marbad, and therefore true claimant to the sword of Marbad.'

  'I gave him that crown!' snarled Ursula and at this Gorstend flinched for the first time. 'Order your soldiers forward. Take the sword from me.'

  'Please, reconsider.' Gorstend said, regaining his composure. 'There is no reason for this to end unpleasantly. Count Luiten has been very understanding and generous so far, do not force him to be unreasonable.'

  'If he was here himself, I would do the same.' said Ursula, her fist whipping round, connecting solidly with Gorstend's jaw, knocking him to the ground.

  Around her the soldiers rushed forwards, and Ruprecht leapt to meet them, the quayside ringing with metal on metal as he slammed his silver fist into the helmet of the nearest Marienburger. Johannes was beside him and delivered a very un-knightly kick to the groin of another soldier, whilst Ursula ducked to one side as two others dropped their halberds and lunged forward to grab her. Gorstend was rolled up in a foetal ball on the ground as the soldiers swarmed around him.

  'Right lads, let's show these bastards a real fight!' roared Leerdamme, launching himself towards the Marienburgers, throwing punches left and right. Behind him, his sailors charged forward, relishing the chance to get one up on their land-based counterparts, in
a rivalry as old as warships themselves.

  In the middle of the scrum, Ursula grabbed a hand reaching for Ulfshard, sinking her teeth into it and eliciting a scream from the soldier it belonged to. Ruprecht was using the handle of his hammer in an attempt to avoid seriously injuring the soldiers, who were after all only doing their job. He felt a brief pang of sympathy as he drove the thick wooden shaft into the chin of one man, snapping his head back and throwing him into the path of one of his comrades.

  Although Johannes was a knight of Talabecland, he had spent four years selling his services to the highest bidder and spent much time in the company of other mercenaries, learning from them some of the dirtiest street fighting tricks in the Old World. With low punches and kicks, eye gouges and elbows in the eyes of his adversaries, he managed to keep the press of foes at bay. Most of their wild blows glanced off his armour, and more than one Marienburger found himself sitting on the ground clasping a broken hand.

  Ursula felt an arm wrap around her waist and she struck back with the point of her elbow, feeling it connect with a bristled jawbone.

  'It's me, you mad woman,' she heard Ruprecht mutter close in her ear, as the burly Talabheimer dragged her free of the throng. Releasing his grip, he felled a soldier with a stiff right hand, creating a gap that he widened with a shoulder barge.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Johannes saw Ursula and Ruprecht making their escape and turned to run after them. A hand grabbed his ankle and he tripped and spun, kicking out. The soldier loomed over him, the point of his halberd directed at the fallen knight's chest. Boerden appeared to the soldier's left and drove his fist into the man's chin, knocking him unconscious with one powerful blow.

  'You changed your mind?' gasped Johannes as he stumbled to his feet and tried to catch his breath.