by ich du
He collapsed.
THERE WAS LUSH grass under his body when he awoke, and Kurt realised that he was naked. Sitting up, he saw a green meadow spread around him, a cloudless blue sky above. There were trees not far away, the familiar, normal trees of the Empire. Kurt chuckled to himself. Looking around, he spied a rough stone building a few hundred yards away, amongst the trees, surrounded by a low wall. He began to walk towards it.
As before, the landscape was not wholly real, and he wondered if perhaps it was some fever-driven dream. Perhaps he was just lying in the harsh north, on the brink of death, and this was not happening at all. Flickers of deep valleys filled with fire and roads paved with skulls hovered on the edge of his vision.
There is no history or future here. All places are here. Kurt laughed again at his own doubts.
As he approached he saw a group of people standing outside, about twenty of them. They were laughing and clapping, their backs turned to him. The women wore long gowns and had flowers wreathed in their hair. The men stood in smart suits of doublets and hose. He stood behind a tree and watched them. As they parted, he caught sight of a man and a woman, standing at the centre of the group.
The woman was pretty, although by no means beautiful. She had a garland of flowers around her neck and wore a loose white robe that revealed an ample bosom. She was smiling at the man next to her, one arm around his waist, the other holding back the fronds of her long blonde hair. She laughed and leant forward to kiss the man.
It was Marius.
Though much younger than when Kurt had last met him, the witch hunter was unmistakeable. Gaunt, raven-haired, with sharp eyes and a wry smile, he held his new bride close. For a long while, Kurt stood and watched, his eyes never leaving van Diesl. The wedding party began to drift away, in twos and threes, until only Marius, his wife and the priest were left. With a nod, the priest turned away and walked back into the shrine. The happy couple stood there for a moment longer, looking at each other. With a laugh, the woman nodded her head towards the woods. Marius shrugged and laughed, and hand in hand the pair walked out of the gate and turned into the forest.
Kurt followed them at a distance, catching glimpses of them as they walked between the trees. It was idyllic, he realised. A perfect day. With the thought, anger welled up inside him like blood from an old wound.
It should have been his perfect day. With Ursula, or with someone else. Marius had taken that from him. He had slaughtered his family and made him a fugitive, a young boy running for his life across the wilds of the Empire. Even when he thought he was safe, Kurt had been plagued by Marius van Diesl. When he had met Ursula, tending a shrine to Sigmar not unlike the one they had just left, he thought that his life was finally complete.
The witch hunter had destroyed that as well. He had followed Kurt to Ostermark, had come to the town where he had lived. He had taken Ursula from him. Even as he watched the two of them lay down in a bare patch between the boles of two trees, caressing each other lovingly, hatred burned inside Kurt.
That could have been Ursula and him, gently undressing each other, about to consummate their love for each other. They would have raised children, fine and strong boys and girls, and life would have been good.
But Marius had ruined any chance of that. The accursed witch hunter had dogged Kurt throughout his life. Not content with making him and Ursula fugitives, he had turned Kurt's beloved against him, turned her into a serpent in his midst. With his twisted words, he had made Ursula his puppet, and led her to betray Kurt. In that one vile act, Kurt's life had been shattered.
Kurt clenched his fists, his anger like a fire inside his chest, his breath coming fast and shallow, as he watched the two clumsily fumbling with each other, young and unsure. Even in the north, when Marius had already died by Kurt's blade, the witch hunter's curse had continued to follow him, sending Ursula forth on her hate-filled raids and attacks, leading to the death of Kurt's wife and son.
Yes, it would all end here. Kurt would have his revenge against this monster, this most vile of men who had ruthlessly crushed any hope Kurt may have had for happiness.
Marius must have seen or heard something because he sat up, staring into the woods. Kurt stepped out and the witch hunter's eyes widened. His wife, whose name Kurt had never known, sat up and grasped her discarded dress, holding it across her bare chest.
As Kurt stalked forwards, fingers flexing, Marius stood, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. The woman sprang to her feet beside her husband, clinging to his arm.
'Vengeance will be mine,' snarled Kurt as he advanced.
Marius stood immobile as Kurt closed. When Kurt was only a few paces away, the woman shrieked and rushed forward, snatching a fallen branch from the ground. Kurt raised an arm as she swung it at him, the wood splintering and breaking against his forearm. With his other hand, Kurt grabbed the newlywed around the throat. Holding her to one side, he looked toward van Diesl.
He was running away, sprinting between the trees. Kurt stood there for a moment, surprised, unsure what to do. The woman struggled in his grip for a moment until he squeezed tighter and she began to choke. Lifting her easily with his inhuman strength, Kurt began to follow the fleeing Marius.
Kurt moved rapidly with each stride, the bride dangling like a doll in his grip, as with each pace he moved himself through the slightly unreal landscape. While Marius was panting, his face reddened, Kurt covered several yards with every stride, using the Power that ebbed and flowed within him to slide effortlessly along the edge of reality. He could catch Marius at any moment, he realised. A simple flex of his mind and he would be beside the running man. And yet the chase in itself was enjoyable. He could feel the fear that lay like clouds in the wake of Marius.
They burst from the tree line, and Kurt was halted as if he had walked into a wall. He tried to step forward again, but found his way barred. Looking down, he saw the low wall of the shrine in front of his feet. Beyond the wall, Marius stood, his back against the shrine, breathing heavily, looking aghast at Kurt.
'Come back here, coward,' Kurt said, lifting up the unconscious woman in front of him. 'I have your woman. If you want her to live, then come here.'
'You cannot cross sacred ground, can you?' Marius shouted back. 'Hellspawn, I'll see you burn for this.'
'She dies by my hand if you do not come out.' warned Kurt. Marius did not move, and a flicker of doubt entered Kurt's mind. Perhaps he would sacrifice his wife to save his own life. Even as the thought occurred to him, Kurt felt a shimmering of power around him, and for the briefest of moments the woods and shrine flickered away.
'You will kill us both.' said Marius. 'I am no fool!'
'You have my oath that I will spare her, in return for your life.' Kurt said, lowering the woman so that her feet were on the ground. 'I just want you.'
'You think I would trust you?' said Marius. 'You are in league with evil forces, and your oath is without worth!'
'If you do not come out, she will certainly die.' said Kurt. 'Would you stand there and watch her burn?'
Kurt extended some of his power, which had become second nature to him. The sigils carved into his flesh began to glow with energy and his skin flickered with flame. The woman started awake as her flesh began to singe, and she tried to scream, but Kurt's grip was too tight.
'It is still not too late.' said Kurt. 'You will die anyway, van Diesl, so you may as well save her. I just want you.'
The flames across Kurt's body began to grow in intensity and the woman's struggles increased until she was flailing wildly, her hair alight, her skin blistering and peeling away. Kurt stared at Marius and saw tears rolling down the man's cheeks.
'Save your sadness.' Kurt spat. 'Where were the tears for my family?'
The woman's struggles began to ebb as the stench of her charring flesh filled the air. At that moment, the priest emerged from the shrine, timidly looking around the edge of the door. His mouth dropped open.
'B-Baron Leitzig?' the pries
t said. Kurt now recognised him, from the depth of his memories. He was Brother Fauchleden, who kept the shrine not far from the lands owned by Kurt's father. A terrible thought began to form in Kurt's mind, and as it did so, the scene began to shimmer and twist away from his control, replaced for a split second by the view of the rocky plateau.
'No.' said Kurt, shaking his head.
'Baron Leitzig?' said Marius, his tear-streaked face twisted in fury. He melted away for a moment, and dizziness struck Kurt. His legs began to buckle underneath him. 'Now I know the name of the man that I will hunt down 'til my dying breath!'
'No, it doesn't...' began Kurt, but it was too late. The image shimmered and then faded as Kurt fell to his knees. He felt dust and rocks against his skin, and the sky swam overhead. 'No, it's not meant to happen this way.'
The crushing magical energy around Kurt was squeezing the life from him, and with one last effort he tried to stand, but fell to one side, unconscious once more.
WHEN HE AWOKE, Kurt was covered in a sheen of sweat, yet his body felt chill. The fevered dreams of his confrontation with Marius still lingered, half-remembered, at the back of his mind. A rank smell filled his nostrils and with a groan, Kurt turned his head. Lying next to him, her pretty face untouched but the rest of her body a charred mess, lay the remains of van Diesl's wife.
Kurt sat up and fought back the sickness rising in his throat. He reached out a hand and the burned corpse seemed just out of reach. Perhaps it was just a waking dream, he thought, and yet the smell was so distinct, so real. Leaning over he stretched further to touch the body, to reassure himself that it was real, and yet still it remained just beyond his fingertips.
You have done what needed to be done. You have always been ours.
'No, it wasn't meant to happen like that.' Kurt said, standing up. 'I will go back and kill Marius.'
The gate to heaven awaits you. If you leave now, you will not return.
'The gate?' said Kurt, swaying with fatigue. 'I don't see any gate.'
It was then that Kurt noticed that the ground had shifted and warped again. He was on a flat plain, which stretched out forever. There was no distance, no horizon. Just a barren landscape of dust and rock. The sky was gone. There was no blackness, no colour, nothing. Just an emptiness that made the land curve back around in on itself. Kurt felt nauseous looking at it.
He could feel something looming behind him and turned slowly. There, perhaps just an arm's length away and yet at the same time incredibly distant, stood the gate. It was an immense structure, an incomplete annulus that towered above him, leaning at an odd angle, which changed each time Kurt moved his eyes. Its surfaces, of which there seemed more than there should have been, were carved with intricate, geographic designs. Some looked like pictures of faces picked out in impossibly-sided polygons, others reminded Kurt of maps, or perhaps more accurately sea charts.
It was broken and cracked in many places, and shards and chunks of its structure lay scattered around it. As he looked towards it, the breath of the gods was a hurricane, and Kurt could feel it tearing at his flesh. This was where the gods resided, where their power came from. Perhaps he had always been here. Perhaps he wasn't even here now. It was impossible to say.
All thoughts of Marius were forgotten. Here was the gate. Here was the goal he had been searching for, seeking it for an eternity. Here lay immortality. Here could be found everlasting power. Here would be the reward for his suffering, the means of his revenge against those who had tried to kill him, who had despoiled his life.
Walking forwards was painful. Every step into the hurricane of power that howled around Kurt sent slivers of agony raging through his body and mind. Every fibre of his being, every vein, every hair, every smallest part of him was infused with sensation. Kurt fixed his stare on the gate and held it in his mind even as it felt like his eyes were melting and his body disassembling.
Every slow step, every stride that Kurt forced himself to take, took him closer and closer to the gate. He could not count them, and at times felt like he was walking backwards. He had no sensation of his body any more. He was a drifting cloud of motes, blasted by the howling magical winds. He was powerless to resist the mystical current that poured from here across the whole world.
He gazed at the centre of the twisted circular structure, at a point of nothingness that floated in the air. Or perhaps it was everything else that floated around that single point. That was where it came from. That was where the gods lived, that impossibly large pinprick of otherworldness.
Kurt realised he was within the gate now, bodiless, soulless. There was nothing else left but him. He stretched out a hand he no longer possessed, as if to grasp the realm of the gods between his fingers.
As he touched it, Kurt Leitzig was no more.
BOOK TWO
CHAPTER ONE
War
Ostland, Summer 1712
THE SKY WAS cloudless and the sun nearing noon, but there was still a chill in the air as Ursula reined in her horse at the crest of the latest hill, guiding it off the road. Trying not to be too conspicuous, five Osterknacht directed their steeds off the road a short distance away, keeping a wary eye on their charge. Ruprecht reined in beside Ursula, darting the knights a distasteful glare before following her gaze, back towards the west.
For mile after mile the army of Ostland marched, a snaking column following the road that cut through the thick forests. Over ten thousand soldiers followed Vapold, from all across his realm. Only a few hundred men had been left to guard Wolfenburg as the count had set forth, few compared to the might of the host on the road, but enough to defend the city against all but a full army.
Eastwards they marched, towards the Talabec. Vapold, under advice from Lord Bayard, hoped to meet the army of Steinhardt as it crossed the river. There were few fording points and even fewer bridges, and as soon as the Osterknacht had returned with the news that Steinhardt had been recognised as count by the cowed nobility of Ostermark, Vapold had despatched riders to patrol the borders to watch for any foe.
Agents across the river sent back scattered reports. Steinhardt had moved the capital to Mordheim in the south, the ancestral home of his family, and even now was strengthening its defences. Meanwhile, his army of mercenaries and dispossessed southerners remained in Bechafen, in the north, less than two weeks' marching from Wolfenburg. Emissaries from the new count had ridden to Wolfenburg with a simple message: Vapold was to hand over the false heir, Hensel, and the traitors of the Osterknacht, as the letter had named them. The demand had incorporated no specific threat, but was accompanied by a written promise from the Ottilia of Talabecland to allow Steinhardt to cross his borders with an armed force. It was then obvious that Ostermark had allied itself, however temporarily, with Talabheim. As soon as the heralds had returned to their master with Vapold's curses still ringing in their ears, news began to come back to the count and his court, of the army of Ostermark gathering.
Ruprecht, for no reason other than the count had not sent him away, had sat in on some of the councils of war that he had held with Lord Bayard and Captain Felsturm. The plan was simple but effective. They would hold the river against Steinhardt's army, and if that proved untenable or the Ostermarkers crossed before Vapold could reach the river, they would retreat to Wolfenburg and hold the capital. Ruprecht hoped that Steinhardt was bluffing, perhaps showing off his force to quell any thoughts of opposing him before his control was absolute. The boy and Osterknacht were no threat to his position, though Ruprecht knew that wars had been fought over even pettier reasons.
'You don't seem worried,' said Ruprecht, looking at Ursula. A regiment of swordsmen marched past, their black-and-white-painted shields strapped to their backs, their fluttering banner emblazoned with a silver eagle device.
'Why should I be worried?' Ursula asked.
'If Kurt amasses an army of any true size, he can overwhelm Wolfenburg with hardly a fight,' Ruprecht said.
'Kurt and I will meet, but it is
n't necessarily at Wolfenburg.' she replied, not averting her gaze. 'If I am not there, perhaps Wolfenburg is safe.'
'You're assuming a lot.' said Ruprecht. 'Even if you're not there, Wolfenburg will make a natural target for any invaders. Kurt is from the east, he knows these lands.'
'And he also has no reason to believe that it will be defended by anything less than its full strength.' said Ursula, turning to look at Ruprecht. Her eyes were hard, like chips of stone. 'Besides, the count has made his choice, and it is not my duty to watch over his people.'
'Oh yes?' said Ruprecht, disturbed by the zealous glare in Ursula's gaze. 'What is your duty?'
'To find Kurt and kill him,' Ursula replied with the same grim smile that had so worried Ruprecht before. 'Sigmar wills me to stop him, nothing else. His other servants must look to their own defence.'
'You used to care about the Empire,' said Ruprecht, kicking his heels into the flanks of his horse and urging it back on to the road. 'You wanted to save it.'
'If the Empire is truly worth saving, it will save itself,' Ursula called after him.
Ruprecht glanced back to see her watching the army as it marched past, the same look of satisfaction on her face. She had her army, he realised. It was just that the army didn't know it was hers yet. With a rueful shake of his head, Ruprecht rode away.
WITH WOLFENBURG TEN leagues behind, the army stopped for the night, a complicated process in its own right. Pickets had to be sent out, woodsmen chopped down trees for the cooking fires and to clear space for the hundreds of tents, those tents had to be erected and the fires started. In all it took several hours for the camp to be made, by which time night had fallen and Mannslieb, the white moon, was high in the air.
Johannes sat with some of the other knights, under the awning of their tent. They were Vapold's men, and he had come to know some of them while he had been training at Wolfenburg, re-learning the skills he had honed whilst he had masqueraded as a freelance. The night was not too chill, and he had stripped off his armour and sat in a simple woollen smock. This had caused some amusement amongst his new comrades, who wore embroidered doublets and silken hose, but there had only been so much that Johannes was able to safely liberate from the count before they left.