WH-Warhammer Online-Age of Reckoning 02(R)-Dark Storm Gathering

by Chris Wraight

  Despite the gloom and the winding, confusing passageways, Alberich went swiftly. He had made the journey several times before, and knew better than to keep his hosts waiting. The carefully cut stone soon degenerated into crude blocks, worn into gnarled shapes by the actions of water and age. There were strange sigils carved on some of the surfaces, symbols which Alberich didn’t recognise. Like most of his kind he could neither read nor write, but he recognised just enough to know that the script was no current language of the Empire, and that the authors of the strange writing were people long-removed from anything he knew or cared about.

  In time, the arched ceiling rose higher over his head. The tunnel widened, and the number of arcane inscriptions increased. Alberich was nearly there, back at the place he called the Temple. He had no idea whether it was a temple or not, but the odd chamber, secreted at the very base of the old city, seemed to have the air of such a place. For whatever reason, it felt like it had something of the sacred about it. Or perhaps it was just fear talking. Even compared to the tombs behind him, the vaulted area chilled his blood.

  Alberich reached the appointed place, and shuddered against the damp cold. Pulling his cloak close, he prepared to make the signal. He needn’t have bothered. Unbidden, a dozen shadows detached themselves from the gloom of the walls around him. They formed a circle with him at the centre. Seemingly of their own volition, a series of braziers burst into life, throwing a greenish light across the narrow space. Alberich swallowed nervously, fingering the precious cargo he had carried down from the sunlit streets above. This was it – the moment he finally got his hands on the gold he had been promised. Once that was sorted out, there would be no more journeys to the Temple, no more mysterious orders and threats. To keep his spirits up, he fixed his mind on an image of the tavern he was going to buy with his bounty. That was what this was all for, he reminded himself. That was why he kept doing as he was told by these terrible people. He placed the lantern on the floor beside him, and retrieved the all-important object with shaking hands.

  One of the figures moved towards him. The cowl was thrown back, and her alien face was revealed in the green light. However many times Alberich observed the strange features of his contact, he never quite got used to them. Her hair was as black as night and possessed a strange, ghostly sheen. Her skin was pale in the extreme. Her eyes were almond-shaped and lined with an ink-dark substance. She was slender, and her movements were poised and deliberate. When she looked at him, Alberich could see the cool contempt in her face. He knew that she regarded him as lower than an animal. That didn’t matter. Most people did. The important thing was the money.

  ‘You have it?’ she said in a soft, clipped voice.

  Alberich nodded nervously.

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ he stammered, proffering the roll of vellum. ‘My friend was as good as his word. They’re all here.’

  He handed the documents over, and watched as the figure before him scanned their contents. The writing on the papers was more than usually incomprehensible to him. There was no surprise in that. They had been taken from the Imperial Palace by a minor lackey whom Alberich had promised vast riches. The missives were originally from the elven embassy in the city and had been sent to the palace in high security. Fortunately for Alberich, the silver pieces he had received from his new underworld friends had proved remarkably good at unlocking both doors and tongues. The human guards of the information had been far less assiduous than their elven counterparts. Why an elf would need his services to get hold of information from her compatriots was a mystery to him, but he had long given up asking difficult questions.

  ‘Good,’ she said, leafing through several pages. Her Reikspiel was heavily accented, but perfectly understandable. ‘This is in cipher, but one which has been broken. The arrangements for the archmage’s security are here. We can use this. Your friend has been most helpful. I hope he received his just reward.’

  Alberich smiled self-consciously. He had given his contact in the palace only half of what had been promised, but that was hardly her concern. Once he was a rich man, he would no longer need to worry about keeping little men like that happy. He rubbed his hands together ingratiatingly.

  ‘I’m glad you find it useful,’ he said. ‘I’m always happy to do business with the elvish folk. We hear such wondrous stories about you in the city. Like how you ride your dragons to your homes in the trees, and can magic up food whenever you want it, and never sleep. Perhaps we can work together again some time? I’d like that.’

  Even as he spoke, Alberich could hear how foolish his words sounded. If he had anything to do with it, he would never venture to such a hateful dungeon again. Why was he burbling such nonsense?

  The figure before him smiled coldly.

  ‘You think we are elves, such as your kind know?’ she asked, raising a dark eyebrow gracefully. ‘How quaint. You are as ignorant as you are filthy.’

  Alberich could have been offended by that, but a sudden tremor of doubt had passed through him.

  ‘You’re not elves?’ he said, looking around him uncertainly. ‘I don’t understand. What are you?’

  The figure smiled once more, and stepped backwards into the shadows, pulling her cowl over her face as she did so.

  ‘Oh, we are elves indeed,’ she said, her voice mocking and cold. ‘The rightful heirs of the Phoenix Throne and the masters of Ulthuan. As for the difference between us and those about whom you’ve heard so many lovely stories, it’s right behind you.’

  Alberich turned, but too slowly. One of the shadowed figures had moved to his shoulder, and plunged a long, wickedly curved knife into his back. A spear of pain surged through Alberich’s body and he fell to the ground, clutching his wound. Stars swam before his eyes, and he felt both sick and faint.

  ‘We had an agreement…’ he gasped, seeing his dreams evaporate in horror. The figures in the shadows came closer, each holding a blade of varied design. Their faces were hidden, but Alberich thought he could see their eyes under the hoods, cold and glittering with anticipation.

  The female elf laughed. It was a curiously beautiful sound.

  ‘You may finish him now,’ she said, addressing the figures around Alberich. ‘You deserve some sport after being caged for so long in this miserable place. Keep him alive for as long as it amuses you.’

  Then she turned and retreated from the chamber. Alberich stared after her, his panic rising.

  ‘We had an agreement!’ he shouted again, his voice strangled and quavering in the darkness.

  But then the knives rose, and the lantern was abruptly snuffed out. The braziers flared up, and the noise of screams filled the empty catacombs.

  Alexander prodded his horse onwards idly as he rounded the last of the great rocky outcrops which stood between him and the observatory. After having to haggle with the college ostler for some time in order to obtain a horse from his beloved stables, and then going off course in the interminable marshes and spinneys north-west of Altdorf trying to find the road into the highland crags and moors of the upper Reikland, he had lost a lot of time. Already the sun was lowering in the western sky, and the shadows cast by the serrated peaks and ridges of the land around him were long and chill. A mournful wind blew from the north, rustling the thin tussocks of grass and sedge which lined the decrepit track he was following. A journey that should have been short and easy had become long and interminable. At least it was nearing its end. The observatory was situated along the valley of the Reik, far from the sprawling mass of Altdorf. It had been deliberately positioned high in the inhospitable scree and boulders of the Reik highlands by its Celestial architects, partly to gain better access to the wonders of the heavens, partly to deter visitors. In the half-light of dusk, the high cliffs of the forbidding land reared up around him. The untidy tangle of ash woods which had lined the lower reaches of the valley began to give way to even more straggly lines of gnarled pines and firs. It was gloomy country.

  Tired and irritable, Alexander found
himself cursing his magical cousins as the horse picked its way along the treacherous rocky path. Of all the wizards he had had dealings with, Celestials were not his favourite, with their endless dabbling in prophecy, telescopes and foolish superstition. Bright magic was so much more satisfying, with its concentration on honest, cleansing flame. As he rode, his thoughts of fire began to run away with him, and as the horse laboured up to the last ridge before the observatory, he imagined he could see flames licking the dark shapes of the rocks before him.

  Screwing his eyes against the gloom, he tried to shake the illusion. But it was no mirage: something was on fire ahead. He kicked the horse into a canter, and peered ahead through the dusk light. With a sudden lurch in his stomach, he realised what was happening. The protuberant crag ahead of him was no random outcrop of granite: it was the observatory itself, perched high over a twisted column of jagged rocks as if poised to leap into the valley below. The flames had an odd look to them too: they were tinged with colours speaking of sorcery. With his wizard’s sense, Alexander could guess too much of their origin for comfort. They had all the hallmarks of dark magic. Something was terribly wrong, and the clash and fizz of sparks over the distant observatory summit indicated that whatever disturbance was taking place was still very much in progress.

  With a spat curse, Alexander urged his mount into a sudden gallop, and whipped his staff roughly from the bindings on his back. He felt a rush of excitement and anxiety flood through his body in roughly equal measure. Using battle magic was something he loved, and with the flames licking into the sky so close by, he knew the Wind of Aqshy would be strong in such a place. But he was also aware of how isolated this observatory was, how far from any help he was, and that anything daring enough to attack a tower full of Imperial wizards was going to be no push-over.

  As he neared the mighty crag, he gradually made out more detail against the backdrop of the looming night shadow. The observatory itself was a mighty orb of burnished copper far above the level of the road. A great telescope extended from it, ringed with iron bands and encrusted with cogs and other mechanical devices. Below the hemisphere of the telescope, the remainder of the observatory building extended down the column of rock in a typically ramshackle Imperial fashion, with arches, architraves, lintels, supporting walls and buttresses jutting from the natural granite in all directions. Tin-pot chimney stacks and complex pulley systems sprouted from the steep pitched roofs and plunging walls of several supporting buildings, many of which were now on fire or swaying lazily in the smoke. It looked as though the flames were concentrated at the very top of the observatory, and sparks were falling with some regularity from the copper dome towards the ground.

  Alexander spurred the horse on harshly, and the ground between him and the observatory narrowed. As he neared his destination, he could increasingly make out sounds from within the narrow walls: explosions and blasts of some kind, the bellowing of voices raised in anger and desperation. As he careered around a dark pile of slag from the observatory’s forges, a flash of bright blue light escaping from the topmost chambers briefly lit up the sky. Alexander saw the scene before him clearly. The track he was following petered out before a churning pool of oily water which cascaded over the cliffs to his right and plunged down into the valley. A great millwheel was lodged under the shadow of the rocky column, but was now cracked and still. With a slightly sick feeling, Alexander noticed the bodies lying in the mud before him. Some wore the robes of Celestial wizards. Others were clad in dark raiment of indeterminate origin.

  A rickety wooden bridge spanned the pool, after which the path climbed rapidly upwards in a spiral pattern along edges of the steep cliff walls of the lower observatory. Though some planks were missing or cracked, the bridge looked relatively intact. Alexander pulled his horse up and swiftly dismounted. The noise of crashing and roaring flames from above him seemed to be ebbing slightly. Whatever battle was going on above him was drawing to its conclusion. Cursing his earlier delays, Alexander sprinted across the bridge and began the long ascent to the topmost tower. The stone underfoot was perilous and slick with mud and water, but he went as fast as he was able. The Wind of Aqshy was indeed vigorous, and he felt his heart begin to race with anticipation. His staff hummed in his hands as if bursting with pent-up energy. Ignoring the narrow crumbling steps, he sped up the steep way and up into the building itself.

  When he reached the outer portal of the observatory proper, he found the doors smashed and hanging off their iron hinges. The icon of the Celestial College hung limply from the keystone of the archway, defiled and blackened with scorch marks. From above, the sounds of battle, less and less frequent, echoed down towards him. With a muttered prayer to Taal, the ancient god of his countrymen in far-off Talabecland, he leapt over the two bodies slumped in the doorway and plunged into the gloom of the interior. Inside, only a few lamps remained lit. In the flickering darkness it was even harder to keep secure footing, but there was no time for caution. He raced up the twisting, tortuous stairwells, grimly following the sounds of explosion and incantation from above.

  Alexander barely noticed the lines of brass machinery around him, the marvels of engineering and magic lining the walls of the baroque edifice which powered the arcane devices of the Celestial custodians. Most were twisted or blasted by fire, and some had obscene runes scrawled across them in a dark-red liquid. As he ascended, the prone bodies of defending wizards and those of the intruders multiplied. By the time he had finally ascended into the topmost turret, he had passed over a dozen of each. Carnage had come to the observatory, and the stone was stained deeply with blood. He felt his rage grow at the desecration, and a stray flicker of fire burst unbidden at the crown of his staff. He was nearing the summit.

  With a cry of anger, Alexander burst from the stairwell into the dome at the top of the observatory. He only had a moment to take everything in. Flames leapt from the floor up the curving walls, and cast freakish dancing shadows across the space before him. The copper dome itself rose high into the evening air, but its lines were cracked and distorted. The telescope, a massive tube of brass and iron the width of two men, lay crooked on its heavy railings, surrounded by the blasted and scorched remnants of its guiding machinery. Priceless lenses and crystal prisms were strewn, smashed, across the floor amongst the other flotsam of destruction. The stink of dark magic filled the air, along with the sharp tang of ozone.

  Bodies were everywhere, perhaps a dozen. Whoever had come to destroy the observatory had done so in force. Only a trio of wizards still stood. A lone Celestial wizard, her robes flapping wildly as the storm of wind and fire swept around her, stood before the splintered lens of the great telescope. Her staff shimmered with magic, but she was bloodied and near collapse. In between her and Alexander were two of the dark-robed figures, each holding a staff of their own. They were heavily cowled, and moved in strange, stilted patterns. Alerted by his war-cry on entering, they turned to face the new threat. Their movements were too slow. Clearly they had thought the battle nearly over.

  Without pausing in his onward rush into the room, Alexander whirled his staff expertly around his head, feeling the throb of power amplify and augment along the singing length of charm-wound oak. With a mighty lunge, he hurled the tip of the shaft towards the nearest of the two interlopers. A ball of crimson fire burst from the staff and screamed across the space between them. It ballooned instantly into a vast, pulsating orb of dancing blood-red flame. With a strangled cry, the dark-robed intruder was hurled back against the metal of the dome, and the sound of cracking bone was added to the cacophony of fire around them.

  Taking advantage of her assailants’ distraction, the Celestial wizard strode forward. A look of savage relief was on her face.

  ‘Azyr!’ she cried in a cracked and weary voice.

  A streak of lightning, brilliant blue and crackling with energy, soared down through the breached roof and exploded into an incandescent aura around her staff and body. She was surrounded in a halo of
flickering, elemental force. Alexander closed in on the lone surviving intruder. The body of the first attacker lay broken and smouldering amidst a pile of cogs and lifting gear. Seeing he was outnumbered, the sorcerer threw back his cowl and shot a look of hatred and defiance at the Imperial wizards. He was human, but strangely altered. His teeth were more like fangs, and his bald head was ringed with strange and unsettling tattoos. An iron spike protruded directly from his forehead, and his eyes burned with a baleful purple glow. A stream of guttural obscenities flowed from his lips, and a web of dark energy began to pool into being. He raised his twisted ebony staff, and the strands of pulsating matter formed into a claw shape over his head.

  Alexander flicked a quick look at the Celestial wizard, who caught his expression and nodded with understanding. Together the two wizards lowered their staffs, and two streams of pure magic, one Bright, the other Celestial, streamed towards the sorcerer before them. Alexander felt the thrill of power once more as the Wind of Aqshy rushed through his body and poured from his staff, guided and brought into material being by his skill. Together, the two columns of elemental force smashed into the body of the sorcerer. The nascent claw twitched and shattered, and the sorcerer at the centre of the inferno staggered backwards. More searing blue light flooded from the staff of the Celestial wizard. Alexander responded by sending a stream of fiery bolts in their wake.