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

by Chris Wraight

  ‘We know that the fool Finubar has responded to the humans’ request for aid,’ said Kalia in a business-like tone. ‘Our spies indicate an advance force will be in Altdorf very soon. Our orders are to do as much as possible to frustrate the asur when they get here. We must sow discord between them and their human hosts. The latter should not prove difficult. We have already been circulating rumours about the sorcery and untrustworthiness of elves. Such tales are eagerly devoured by the rabble here, who have no knowledge of that which they prattle about.’

  Malek nodded absently, looking as if his mind was on other things.

  ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Anything more concrete?’

  Kalia passed him the rolls of parchment.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘One of my agents came across these. They’re arrangements for the hosting of the asur commander, an archmage named Artheris. They’re not complete, but they indicate some of the routes she will take between the embassy and the Imperial Palace, as well as the times of scheduled meetings with the Emperor. With these in our possession, we can plan a strike directly at the heart of their preparations. You can imagine the glory we would accrue by killing the leader of the asur forces before the army has even left the capital. My warriors have already begun scouting out suitable locations for an ambush. It’s not easy operating in the open, but my people know their business and are discreet.’

  Malek digested her words carefully, looking through the leaves of parchment with a renewed interest. Kalia could see the conflict of emotion within him. Part of him saw the great opportunity to deal a devastating blow to the hated enemy. The other half no doubt worried about the prestige Kalia would garner from the operation, and how he might muscle in on it.

  ‘Interesting,’ he said thoughtfully, keeping the tone of his voice light. ‘It’s a tempting proposition. But she’ll be well guarded, and an archmage is a powerful adversary.’

  Once more, Kalia had to resist shooting him a contemptuous glance.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘It won’t be easy. But if we plan correctly, we’ll have the element of surprise. In addition, she’ll be weary from the voyage. The Chaos moon is riding high in the heavens, which will damp her powers. On the battlefield, we’d struggle to even get near such a figurehead, but on the crowded streets of this festering place, we may never get a better chance.’

  Malek nodded to himself, clearly turning the idea over in his scheming mind.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You may be right. But the thing must be planned with the utmost precision. The asur don’t let their leaders blunder into obvious traps. And you’ll need me alongside you. I don’t question your particular skills, but you’ll need a true sorcerer if you hope to snare this archmage. Fortunately, the Chaos moon has a rather different effect on my own abilities.’

  Kalia inclined her head modestly, keeping her irritation at his arrogance suppressed. Malek was right. If the operation were to have any chance of success, then he would need to be involved. Much as it pained her to admit it, there was no hope of her killing the archmage without his help. The matter would have to be handled carefully, however. If it ended in failure, then Malek would have to be manoeuvred into taking the blame. If they succeeded, then Kalia would have to figure out a way to ensure that House Uthorin gained the credit. And there was also the small matter of ensuring at least she emerged from the mission alive.

  ‘Your assistance will be most welcome,’ Kalia said. ‘I’ve taken copies of the parchments, so you may keep these. How many warriors can you release for this?’

  ‘There are so few of us,’ said Malek. ‘I could release two dozen of my most capable warriors, no more. The rest are needed for other assignments. In any case, success in this will come from stealth rather than numbers.’

  Kalia pursed her lips.

  ‘I have more under my command,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to tread carefully. Time is short, and there’ll be no room for error.’

  Kalia rose in order to take her leave, and bowed to the sorcerer, who remained seated.

  ‘Very well,’ said Malek, crossing his legs and sitting back in the chair. ‘Meet me here again when you have something to propose. Once all is placed in order, I’ll assume command of our forces. I am, after all, the senior commander here.’

  Kalia smiled.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, hiding the hatred welling within her. ‘I’ll come back when I can.’

  With that, she turned on her heel and walked swiftly back into the low light of the tunnels. Her last glimpse of Malek was of the sorcerer wearing a smug look of satisfaction. On the long journey back to her own chambers, Kalia amused herself by conjuring more and more painful ways to wipe the grin off his fattening face. One thing she knew for certain. If nothing else was achieved before she left for Naggaroth again, Malek would be dead at her hand.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Emil Schulmann sat back in his makeshift seat, and pondered the news. After weeks dragging his men through the interminable forests of the Reikwald, he was tired. The troops were too. Outside Emil’s ragged tent, his rebel army rested fitfully in the camp. It was a rare moment of respite for them. The swollen ranks of the disaffected, now several hundred strong, had grown too big to hide easily. A decisive confrontation was surely not far away. In the meantime, marshalling such a large contingent of idealists, mercenaries, low-lives, fanatics and thrill-seekers was an enervating business.

  Emil sighed, trying to get his thoughts in order. He was a heavy, thick-set man with a round face and earthy features. Behind his rustic appearance, however, lay an acute mind, one which had brought the plans for rebellion to fruition and now executed them with considerable skill. Such acumen was needed, for the bastard Heinrich, the one who had driven him to this, commanded extensive forces and they were being uncannily well led. Only time would tell whether they were truly beatable. Any piece of information was valuable, but he couldn’t quite decide whether this new development was welcome or not.

  The captain of the patrol, a former blacksmith named Hans Kemmering whom Emil neither liked nor trusted, completed his report. Kemmering walked with some difficulty, and looked from his wheezing breath as if he had cracked a rib. Two of his men had appalling burns on their faces, which certainly lent some credence to his story. Emil turned the parchment over in his calloused fingers and pondered the news.

  ‘And this wizard,’ he said. ‘You’re sure he’s dead?’

  Kemmering grinned with satisfaction.

  ‘Aye, captain,’ he said, a little too quickly. ‘He had some tricks, but we soon saw through ’em. He couldn’t get those spells out once we’d given him a few blows over the head. They’re mysterious folk, to be sure, but no match for honest sons of the earth.’

  Some of Kemmering’s men looked at the ground at that point, which told Emil all he needed to know.

  ‘Odd,’ Emil said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. ‘Odd that you left him where you killed him, and only took this one bag from him. I’d have thought you’d have searched the body more thoroughly. And we could do with an extra horse.’

  Kemmering scowled despite himself. Emil knew that being made to look a fool was his greatest fear.

  ‘The horse ran off, and this was the only thing of value he carried,’ the man mumbled unconvincingly. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  Emil sighed. No point in pressing him. No matter what had transpired in the woods, the scrolls looked like they were worth something, and it would be foolish to show Kemmering up further in front of his men. Emil doubted they had really killed the wizard, but the patrol had somehow managed to steal the bag with the parchment and elude capture afterwards, which was no mean feat. The men would no doubt be after something for their efforts, but there was nothing much he could give them. Only promises of a better life, which after several weeks in the forest were beginning to wear thin.

  ‘I am, Herr Kemmering,’ said Emil wearily. ‘Very pleased. Give me some time to study these, and I’ll let you know how valuable the
y are. I’m sure we’ll be able to sort something out, although you know how difficult things are right now.’

  Looking disappointed, the blacksmith nodded and reluctantly left for his own shelter. As he went, Emil heard him muttering discontentedly to one of his band. Emil turned to the old man sitting beside him. They both sat in the rough tent of dirty canvas stretched between two rotting tree trunks. Hardly the ideal place to try and orchestrate his campaign, but there was precious little by way of an alternative.

  ‘What do you think, Friedrich?’ Emil said to his companion, passing him the scrolls.

  The man looked at them for a few moments, carefully turning the sheets in his hands.

  ‘I can’t read this script,’ Friedrich said at last. ‘It’s nonsense. If there’s a message here, it’s been encoded.’

  Emil sighed, and looked at his chief adviser with frustration. Friedrich had been Heinrich’s chancellor before joining the rebellion. The old man had been instrumental in making the uprising possible, and knew the ways of the Imperial household like no other. If he couldn’t decipher the message in the scrolls then no one else in his entourage was likely to be able to.

  ‘Then it’s useless,’ said Emil, bitterly.

  Friedrich shrugged.

  ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Anything placed in a cipher has been done so for a reason. The information would no doubt be of use to us if only we could break the code. We receive more converts to the rebellion every day, and if only one of them knows Imperial battle codes, then we’re in luck. We should keep these in a safe place. Our cause is just, and Sigmar is watching over us.’

  Emil smiled at the old man’s faith, which he struggled to share.

  ‘Very well. We’ll bide our time.’

  He made to say something else, but then there was a sudden commotion from outside the tent. Immediately Emil jumped to his feet, grabbing his sword, and pushed through the tent entrance. The camp outside looked bedraggled and disorganised. Towards the perimeter of trees, there were makeshift barricades. There were a few more tents dotted around, but most of his troops slept in the open. The entire place looked ramshackle. In their tiredness, the men had become sloppy. But there was something else. The army, hundreds strong, was in a state of flux. Soldiers were running towards the camp edge in ragged groups.

  It didn’t take long to see the cause of the confusion. They were under attack again. The clearing was being assailed from all sides by the sickening plague creatures. All around him, Emil’s men were frantically reaching for their weapons and rushing to repel the intruders. Without a moment’s pause, Emil charged across the clearing towards the forest edge. He flung himself straight into the fighting. Men nearby began to cluster around him.

  As Emil immersed himself into combat, a frustrated anger rose within him. What had happened to the sentries? Why could they be taken by surprise in such a way? It wasn’t good enough. When this was over, he would need to get far tougher with the men. Emil’s sword was soon stained with the dark blood of the disgusting mutants. He barged his way through a cluster of them, pushing them back into the trees. On either side of him, rebel soldiers hacked and slashed against the pale, putrid flesh of the plague beasts.

  The twisted and deformed creatures, bereft of any proper guiding will, blundered stupidly into the path of swords and axes. Their single purpose seemed to be to drag the living down to their level and feast on the warm flesh which they had once shared. Only their numbers and their sheer implacable single-mindedness made them a real threat, but every so often a gurgled scream from the sprawling compound told Emil that one of his men had succumbed to the remorseless tide. He stabbed and thrust with renewed vigour, using his massive strength to tear the twisted and deformed limbs from the creatures in his path. They never took a step back or retreated, and only in death did their attack halt. Emil knew from bitter experience that the camp defenders could not cease until all of them had been dispatched.

  Gradually, painfully, the tide began to turn. They pushed the foul beasts back. The attack faltered. More soldiers rushed into the battle. The plague creatures were driven towards the trees once more. Emil finished off the gibbering wretch before him with a savage swipe. He took a step back, letting those around him finish off the grim business, and took a quick look around the camp. The clearing was secure again. Emil watched his men fight with a grim sense of satisfaction. He could take no pleasure in it, though. The attack should never have happened without more warning, and having to slay his erstwhile countrymen sickened his heart.

  Eventually, the noises of combat ceased. The invading creatures lay in piles of seeping flesh, their blood staining the dark earth black. Only a few remained on their feet, and his men were rapidly finishing them off. But a toll had been taken. Perhaps a dozen of his troops lay still on the ground, and many more had withdrawn from the perimeter with savage wounds. The frequency of the attacks was growing. The forest was no longer safe for them.

  Emil barked orders to the men around him to mop up the stragglers, and withdrew from the camp edge. His mood had become black. Friedrich came up to him, a look of concern on his face.

  ‘We can’t stay here much longer, captain,’ he said, looking at the carnage around him with disgust.

  ‘Aye,’ said Emil, replacing his sword in its scabbard and wiping his brow wearily. ‘They grow bolder. We must withdraw to a more secure location. My only hope is that they’re harrying Heinrich’s men as much as they are ours.’

  Friedrich didn’t seem heartened by the thought.

  ‘Even given all that’s happened,’ he said resignedly, ‘the thought of our own people being killed by these things…’

  Emil stared into the shadows of the trees with loathing, but didn’t reply at once. There was little room for sentiment in war.

  ‘When the final patrols return, we’ll raise the camp,’ he said. ‘Prepare the men for muster, and we’ll go southwards. There’s a settlement on the crossroads by the Emperor’s Arms Inn. I have friends there, and Heinrich will have few. It’s not ideal, and we’ll be right out in the open. But the forest is too dangerous now.’

  Friedrich looked at him carefully.

  ‘And then what, Emil?’ he said. ‘We’ve burned villages, harried convoys. But we’re no closer to toppling Heinrich than we ever were. What’s your plan? If we keep being pushed southwards, the men won’t like it.’

  Emil grabbed the old man by the arm, his eyes burning with anger.

  ‘Don’t lecture me!’ he hissed. ‘What do you want me to do? We need some breathing space. The men are out on their feet. If we can’t defend our camp against those beasts, what chance do we have against Heinrich’s troops?’

  Friedrich looked at him with horror. Emil felt ashamed, and let his grip go.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Emil said, his voice heavy with fatigue. ‘Maybe I need some rest myself. Look, we know there’s an army right behind us. We can’t engage them in this state. We’ll rest up at the Emperor’s Arms, gain more recruits, prepare ourselves. We’ll fight, but at a time of our choosing. When we’ve dealt with them, then I’ll think about getting to Heinrich himself. One step at a time.’

  Friedrich smoothed his chancellor’s robes down brusquely.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But watch yourself. These men joined us to overthrow Heinrich. They’ll need to see progress, or they’ll drift away as quickly as they came. We have neither time nor money to spare.’

  Emil nodded.

  ‘I know. Our time will come. In the meantime, we have work to do. And if you want to be useful, you can find a way to decipher those scrolls.’

  Dieter crept forward watchfully. There was still no sign of any movement on top of the strange pile of rocks, but Annika remained insistent. He had learned in the short time they had been together to trust her judgement on such matters. The witch hunter seemed to have an uncanny knack for sniffing out the suspicious and the corrupted. All part of the job, he supposed.

  He took a quick look over his should
er, and saw her clambering up behind him. Though short and stocky, she was as tough and enduring as he. For a Templar of Sigmar, she could be too flippant for his tastes at times, but on the other hand he knew many people found him overly pious and driven. All a matter of taste. If more people shared his devotion to duty, the Empire would no doubt be better off than it was in its current benighted age. One day the masses languishing in their taverns and brothels would realise it. He only hoped the reformation of morals would not come too late.

  Dieter looked up towards the peak of the rocky outcrop. They had travelled very slowly across the relatively open ground to reach it, hugging any vegetation they could find. If the tumbled stack of granite was inhabited, he had seen no sign on the journey over. The inhabitants were either imaginary, or very shy. Annika and he had now scaled the lower reaches of the outcrop. The strangely-shaped protuberant rocks continued upwards for about forty feet into the bleak sky, and already the cold wind was whistling harshly past them.

  ‘There,’ he heard Annika say in a low voice.

  She was standing by his shoulder, holding on to the lichen-strewn surface of the boulders precariously. With her free hand, she pointed to an apparently featureless cliff of craggy granite over to the right. Dieter peered at the cracked face without noticing anything remarkable.

  ‘I see nothing,’ he whispered, still only half convinced there was anything in the whole place but stone. Annika gestured a little lower down from where he was looking.

  ‘The shadow. It’s cunningly made. I almost missed it myself. An entrance.’

  As soon as she said it, Dieter saw she was speaking the truth. To the casual eye, the deep cleft below a heavy overhang of stone looked just like a natural indentation in the tumbling rocks. But if one looked a little harder, the signs were there. The stone had indeed been worked. Someone had carved it.

  Dieter took a fresh look around him, but there was still no sign of sentries or – Myrmidia be thanked – plague beasts.