3 the heart of chaos

by ich du

  Ursula sat in thought for a moment, brow wrinkled in thought, trying to recollect the details of the dream.

  'It starts in darkness.' she began. 'There is no light, no moon, no stars, nothing. I am standing on a blasted waste, the wind howling around me, I am naked and cold. I feel something watching me, and turn. The sun burns in the sky, but doesn't shed any light, and looks like a great eye staring at me. I hear the baying of the hounds, and can feel them all around me, watching, but I can't see them. The great hound appears, incredibly large, on the horizon. It opens its jaw and barks deafeningly. With a leap, it bounds into the sky and its jaws close about the sun. It's just as dark as before, but now the hound's eyes blaze with fire.'

  Magnus held up his right hand to stop her as he wrote hurriedly on the parchment, occasionally refreshing the nib of the quill with fresh ink.

  'What colour were the flames?' he asked, not looking up.

  'Red, orange, yellow, just like ordinary fire.' Ursula said, Magnus nodding, as if this meant something to him. He finished writing and then looked up, giving Ursula a nod to continue.

  'It's pitch black, but I know there are no clouds.' Ursula said, sitting immobile in the chair, her gaze distant as she recalled the dream. 'I feel something dropping on me and hold out my hand. It's blood, droplets of blood, falling from the empty sky. It starts to cascade down, drenching me in crimson. The hound lolls out its tongue and laps at the falling blood, looking at me.'

  She finished and the only noise was the scratching of Magnus's quill.

  'And that's everything?' he said, sitting back and running an eye over his notes. 'No other details you may have forgotten?'

  'That's everything I can remember.' she said.

  Magnus nodded once more, stroking his chin as he read his notes once more. Without saying anything he stood and crossed to one of the shelves. He ran his finger along the spines of the books and then stopped, pulling out the volume. Bringing it back to the desk he sat down again and opened it, flicking quickly through the pages.

  'Gerimiah Ondeecht's Book of Portents and Visions,'he muttered in explanation as he glanced up and saw them looking curiously at the book. 'It's a little out of date in some of its beliefs and I am working on a more contemporary piece, but it will suffice for this. Ah, here it is.'

  He said nothing for a while as he read. Ursula sat patiently, while Ruprecht's gaze wandered around the room, looking for any telltale signs of wrongdoing. Johannes toyed with an astrolabe on the desk next to him, absent-mindedly spinning the little planets around on their orbits.

  'Yes, it's as I suspected.' Magnus said suddenly, closing the book with a thud. 'It is a prophecy of warning. Did you feel afraid?'

  Ursula shook her head.

  'Hmm, that is slightly unusual.' Magnus continued, pursing his lips. 'But not unheard of.'

  'What is it warning against?' said Johannes. Magnus looked at him as if noticing the young man for the first time. The scholar frowned in irritation.

  'Well, that would be the real question, young man.' the astrologer said. 'That is what we must try to discern, is it not? I suspect that it has a more specific meaning than just a general portent for danger. After all, you've been having those for a while now. No, it must be something particular that it is drawing your attention to.'

  'Perhaps we shouldn't stay here any longer.' suggested Ruprecht, half hopeful. 'Perhaps it means that we need to be doing something.'

  'I don't think so.' Magnus countered, looking back to Ursula and so not seeing Ruprecht sag slightly in his chair. 'You felt no fear, no apprehension, no sense of urgency?' 'Nothing.' she said. 'I was very calm.' 'Are we sure the hound is Kurt?' Johannes asked. Magnus gave him a withering look and Ruprecht sighed heavily. 'Well, it is just an assumption, perhaps the hound is someone, or something, else.'

  'It's Kurt.' Ursula said heavily. 'I'm not sure how I know, but I know.'

  'I was just asking.' Johannes shrugged in acquiescence.

  'You can't be suggesting that we just sit here and keep waiting.' growled Ruprecht. 'I know that it's folly to second-guess the gods, but there must be something we can do.'

  'We can prepare.' said Ursula, her expression grim. 'We will talk to Captain Felsturm, teach him everything we know about the northmen, how they fight, how they can be beaten. If it is the will of Sigmar that we wait for the hounds to come to us, then that is what we shall do, but we do not have to be unready.'

  'I have many questions too.' said Magnus, and Ruprecht's eyes narrowed for a moment, unnoticed by the astrologer. 'I too would know of the ways of the northmen, the better to read the portents of their coming.'

  'War is coming.' said Ursula. 'Whether the count wishes it or not, this war cannot be ignored. My future and Kurt's are one and the same, I am sure of that. If the count does not wish me to leave, then he must prepare for that war to come to him.'

  'We'll be ready.' said Johannes, banging a fist against the table. 'If they come, we will teach them not to forget their fear of the maiden of Sigmar.'

  Ursula smiled, though her eyes were hard as flint. Looking at her, Ruprecht felt an unnatural quiver of apprehension. For the first time since he had met her, he suddenly felt afraid. Afraid of what the future might bring, and afraid of what her part in it would be. Afraid for her, but afraid of her in equal measure.

  NINE DAYS HAD passed, during which Ursula, Ruprecht and Johannes spent much time with Captain Felsturm and his officers, telling them about their experiences fighting against the northmen. They told them of the Norse shieldwall, which protected the warriors as they advanced. They related stories of how the barbarians often used short throwing spears, usually from horseback, heavy enough that their weight would drag down a shield raised against them, exposing the soldier to attacks from the Norseman's sword or axe.

  They warned of the dire perils of the shamans and the vile sorceries they could conjure. For these discussions, Magnus would be present, as would the ranking priests of the city. Ursula learned prayers that would ward away evil magic, and Magnus would marvel at the way her aura would blaze as she spoke them. When she made the sign of Sigmar, the symbol of the twin-tailed comet that had heralded his birth, her raised hand was like an incandescent ball of energy to Magnus's secret sight.

  All the while, the ranks of the army of Ostland swelled, as the call went out for able-bodied men to defend their homes, though whether against Ostermark or an even direr foe was never specified. All the common folk knew that war was brewing once more, and if they did not wish to stand and be counted in the fight, they would suffer nonetheless. Many were those who were persuaded to take the count's shilling in return for reporting to the castle once a week for weapons training. The courtyard echoed through every day with barked orders, the clatter of wooden practice swords and halberds and the bark of handguns being fired. Ruprecht joined them in their fire drill, and though he had difficulty at first loading his arquebus with his artificial hand, he soon became fairly proficient.

  Johannes spent time with the knights of Wolfenburg, having procured a horse and armour as a gift from the count, although the count was as yet unaware of his generosity. The young would-be knight would be seen from dawn until midday on the tilting fields, practising with his lance. On rare occasions, Ursula would visit, in between her lengthy discussions with the priests, and Johannes would show off his riding skills for her. Ursula would clap dutifully as Johannes's horse would double-step past her, or prance on its hind legs, but there was no enthusiasm in her support, as if she were merely remembering it.

  All the while, Ruprecht kept a close eye on Magnus, listening carefully as the astrologer would quiz Ursula for hours at a time, asking intricate details about symbols and runes she had seen, of the language she had half-learned from Jakob, and the sorceries the northmen had employed against her. All the while he would sit with his parchment and quill, writing notes, drawing diagrams, sometimes copying text from another of his books as further reference. Ruprecht resolved that he would try a
nd have a closer look at the scholars works, though he suspected Magnus was too cunning to leave anything incriminating where it could be easily found. Often Ruprecht would admonish himself for being paranoid, as the priests and other advisors were more than comfortable with Magnus's research.

  And yet he still had a nagging doubt. Not only had the long years with Marius taught Ruprecht to be wary, but also more recent experiences with the sorceress Jasmina el Al had reminded him that often the greatest foe was the one who was closest, the enemy within.

  For nine days this continued, the castle growing ever more full with men and materiel for the coming battles. Bow staves and arrows soon filled the storerooms, and the smithies worked from dusk till dawn beating armour, forging blades and casting shot. From the guildhouse of the alchemists out near the city wall, barrels of more and more blackpowder began to be moved up to the castle in small covered wagons, each protected by an escort of twenty men. Whetstones scraped, hammers banged and small lads ran to and fro constantly. It was quite easy to get caught up in all the activity, and Ruprecht had to remind himself frequently that this was not readying for a battle against Kurt and whatever horde he had gathered, but instead was likely to march to war against another state of the Empire.

  Ursula seemed to have put this from her mind, though when Ruprecht had raised it with her, she had simply said that whether it was by way of Bechafen or by more direct means, this army would face the northmen. Rather than becoming disheartened every day seemed to strengthen her resolve.

  And as dusk began to fall on the ninth day since the warning dreams had come to her, Ursula was once more on the battlements of Wolfenburg keep, staring to the north.

  A great cry went up from the east gate and a bell began to toll. As she paced along the wall to see what the commotion was about, she saw Count Vapold appear in the courtyard below, flanked by Captain Felsturm and two sergeants-at-arms. He strode quickly up the steps and met her by the outside of the wall.

  From their high vantage point they could see out across the city, beyond the outer wall to the road winding between the dark eaves of the Ostland forests. There a long ribbon of flickering light came towards them along the road, a parade of torches and lanterns that stretched for nearly half a mile. The flames glittered off gilded armour, and illuminated tattered banners of purple and white and purple and yellow.

  The Osterknacht had returned.

  CHAPTER TEN

  True Beginning

  Realm of Chaos

  IT MIGHT HAVE been only a heartbeat or a whole lifetime that Kurt had stood and looked at the house and the woman, who appeared to be his mother. Entranced, he watched her walking through the garden. It seemed almost real, but on the edge of his vision, disappearing as soon as he turned his head, he would have sworn that he saw other landscapes: dark and empty wastes, mountainous valleys and great rivers of fire.

  The smell was real enough, the mix of jasmine and roses that his mother had always attended to herself, ever since he had been a boy. Even now she stooped and, with a practiced twist of her fingers, snapped a dying bloom from a rose bush.

  His mother turned and looked straight in his direction, but did not seem to see him. Kurt wanted to say something, to call out, but could not. He did not know what to say. She turned away and began to walk back towards the house. Suddenly snapped free from his trance, Kurt stepped forward, at first taking a couple of paces and then breaking into a run as he followed her.

  He tripped and sprawled across the ground. Instead of landing on the grass, he found himself on grey rock, dust smeared across his face. He looked up and the house was gone, the garden had vanished. He was on a high plateau, looking out over a desert torn with flaming cracks and dark crevasses. Kurt felt feverish, his vision kept blurring and there was a constant buzzing in his ears.

  You are all alone.

  Kurt looked around, but still the voice came from thin air.

  You could be with them again. You could save them.

  'How?' he said, turning back and forth, angry.

  You know how.

  'They are dead, the dead cannot come back.' snarled Kurt. 'You offer false promises.'

  They do not have to die. You know what you must do.

  'It was fifteen years ago.' said Kurt. 'I cannot save them.'

  You could be with them again. You could save them.

  'I don't know how.' Kurt said, feeling tired. He slumped to the ground, head in his hands.

  You are no champion.

  Kurt looked up at the sky, a roiling mass of blackness tinged with dark blues and purples.

  'I am chosen.' he said, desperation clawing at his heart. 'You chose me.'

  The gods chose poorly. You are not a champion.

  'I am, I will prove it!' said Kurt with a surge of anger. He had not come so far to fail now. He stood, ready to face whatever challenge the gods set him next.

  You know what you must do.

  'How can I save them?' he asked. 'It has been fifteen years since they were murdered.'

  You know what you must do.

  'Kill Marius?' Kurt said, voicing the thought that had been lingering at the back of his mind. 'Marius is already dead.'

  You know what you must do.

  'How can I kill Marius?' he asked. 'History has passed, you cannot go back.'

  In this place there is no future, there is no past, there is only now.

  'But how can I go back?' Kurt said, his desperation returning. His head spun with dizziness, his lungs filled with acrid air. 'It is many months travel from the north.'

  In this place there is here. All places are one. Everywhere is but a step away.

  Kurt tried to fight through the fatigue, to concentrate on what the voice was telling him. A thought occurred to him suddenly and he laughed bitterly.

  'I know you, I know what you are trying to do,' he said. 'It's a trick! If I kill Marius, then he would have never have murdered my family. My whole life would have changed. I might not have gone to the north, I might never have become chosen. This is a test of my faith!'

  You have always been chosen. You have always been one of ours. You will always be one of ours.

  'No, it's a trick,' said Kurt, laughing manically. 'It's not true. I can't save them, and if I try it's proof that I am not loyal to you. I can see it now!'

  You know what you must do.

  'Stop saying that!' said Kurt. Like a small child, he stuck his fingers in his ears, trying to ignore the voice, but it was inside his head.

  You know what you must do.

  Kurt began to caper around in circles, singing to himself, hands clamped over his ears, his eyes screwed shut. Dust clouds rose around him as his feet scraped over the rock.

  'I'm not listening!' he screamed. 'It's a lie. You're tricking me.'

  You saw her, you know that you can save her. You have the power.

  Kurt stopped his childish dance, head cocked to one side.

  'I have the power?' he said. He began to laugh again. 'I have the power. I have the power!'

  You know what you must do.

  Kurt's laughter subsided to a chuckle.

  'I have the power,' he whispered. 'In this place, where there is no time, where all places are one.'

  He looked back into the roiling sky and grinned.

  'I understand!' he yelled. 'I know how it works now! The power of the gods is here. I can use it! I can do whatever I want with it. The power of the gods, it's my power now.'

  Dizziness swept over Kurt again, and he staggered and fell to his knees. Pain throbbed in his head and chest. Gritting his teeth, feeling sick, he forced himself to his feet once more. He could feel the breath of the gods around him. It was like hammers beating at his ribs, like a furnace inside his skull.

  'Take me to Marius!' he declared, flinging his arms into the air dramatically.

  Nothing happened.

  Kurt waited a while, trying to think. The power was his to command, he could feel it, crushing down on him. Perhaps h
e was inside the gate itself, he did not know. He wondered for a moment how Jakob and the others were faring.

  'Voice?' he said, suddenly aware that he had not heard it for a long while. His thoughts drifted again, and he clenched his fists as he tried to concentrate. 'Voice? How do I use the power?'

  You know what you must do.

  Of course he did! As if his mind were a man wading through thick mud, the memories came back to him, the sensations of his body returned. He realised he was lying down on the rock. Perhaps he had passed out.

  'I have to focus!' he shouted, and then was unsure why he had said it aloud.

  Closing his eyes, he tried to blank out the swirling thoughts inside his head, the white-hot touch of the breath of the gods that seared at his soul. He calmed himself, breathing deeply, listening to his own roaring heart, counting the beats. Slowly, but with gathering speed, he began to push his mind out of his body, encompassing the magical storm that surrounded him. He knew how to do this. Take the energy into himself, shape it, command it.

  The power imploded into Kurt with thunderous force. Like a river through a broken dam, it poured into him, gushing into his body and mind. The world turned around him, spinning outside his head, while his blood boiled and his bones began to melt. He felt the forces warping and twisting him. His back began to split, and he felt his face burning, steaming away into the air. A second face tried to push out of his chest mewling like a newborn pup, its single white eye glaring at him.

  This was not how it was supposed to be, Kurt realised. The power was too much. He couldn't control it. As the doubt flared in his mind, something bristled on his back, a frond of fingers pushing out from his spine.

  Control, I must control it, thought Kurt. He pictured his body. Tall, lean, dark-haired, roughly handsome. He focussed on it, and his body began to shift again, the appendages that sprawled from his stomach receding, the eyeballs that had blistered open in the palms of his hands disappearing. With a shout that was torn from his throat, Kurt exerted his will over the power of the gods and made it his own.