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

by Chris Wraight

  ‘Annika!’

  Dieter’s voice bellowed over the rush of wind and fire. The cultist at her throat was smashed aside, his hands torn from her savagely. Annika saw the robed worshipper hurled across the chamber by the vengeful knight. In his blood-drenched armour, he was like a force of nature unleashed.

  Her senses returning, Annika shakily picked up her sword and took her bearings. The chamber was in disarray. Cultists ran aimlessly, bereft of will and purpose. Dozens were dead, hacked down by Dieter’s deadly artistry. The sorcerer had not returned, and the balcony above was empty. Fires still raged all around. Ominously, cracks had begun to appear in the vast domed roof. The banishment of so much daemonic energy was taking its toll.

  A cultist blundered towards her, and she plunged her sword into his chest with a punching movement. Impaled, he jerked manically, eyes bursting, until she withdrew the blade smoothly. He slumped to his knees, a look of almost comic surprise on his ruined face.

  The Bright wizard limped over to her. He looked terrible.

  ‘We need to leave now. That much energy…’

  ‘I’m aware, wizard,’ she snapped back. She had witnessed enough banishments of daemonic power to know what was coming.

  ‘Dieter!’ Annika yelled. ‘We must withdraw! The temple will collapse!’

  The knight pulled his broadsword from the twitching body of a cultist before ramming another into the altar with the full force of his body. In a rare moment of respite, he looked around him. The cracks were growing, and masonry was beginning to shower down from the summit of the dome. Dieter ran over to Annika and the wizard. His fury was still evident.

  ‘At least they will die in the ruins,’ he hissed, his breathing heavy.

  Annika gave a cold smile. Then the three of them hastened from the chamber, pausing only to knock back any cultists unwise enough to block their exit. The wizard was drained, his face pale and drawn, but her and Dieter’s skills were sufficient to ward off the frantic, clumsy attacks of the worshippers.

  They passed from the altar room and ascended quickly through the narrow passages to the levels above ground. As they went, rumbles and crashes followed them. Screams rose amidst the confusion. They picked up the pace, and ran along the steeply rising corridors, passing bodies she and Dieter had slain on their way down.

  After a brief but confusing navigation though the tortuous ways of the temple, they were back at the hallway leading to the main entrance, a surprisingly modest stone construction which could have passed for any minor Sigmarite chapel throughout the Empire. Daylight streamed in through the open doorway.

  ‘Hurry!’ cried Annika, hearing the growing noise of destruction behind her. ‘The dome is falling in!’

  They sprinted the final few yards as best they could. Dieter struggled to keep up, his armour weighing him down, but somehow managed to keep ahead of the tumbled stone behind him. A thick cloud of dust surged up the narrow passageway, flecked with fire. The wizard was near the end of his strength, his breathing strained and complexion crimson.

  Barely ahead of the swelling tide of destruction, they burst from the temple entrance and into the noon sunlight. The very ground beneath them seemed to heave and pitch like the sea. Staggering onwards, they laboured up a shallow incline. Annika felt her thighs burn, but knew they couldn’t slow down for a moment. Muffled thunderclaps of collapsing earth and stonework echoed around them.

  They were out.

  Only after they were far from the temple entrance and out of range of the shifting earth did they stop. The wizard fell to the ground heavily, breathing in great heaves. Dieter, the slowest of them in his heavy armour, was similarly spent, his face lined with sweat and blood. Annika shaded her eyes and looked back over the route they had come. In the distance, she could see columns and buttresses were falling in on themselves. Thick plumes of smoke rose into the air. The modest-looking temple architecture on the surface was shaking like paper, rocked by the tremors in the larger spaces underground. For some time the rolling, grumbling noises continued. No cultists emerged from the entrance, now blocked by gently subsiding piles of crumbled masonry. Their temple had become their sepulchre.

  The tremors lessened. Annika looked around them. They were on the summit of a low mound, sparsely dotted with dark pine trees. Low scrub and gorse marked the land around, which was bleak and windswept. There was no sign of anyone else, either fleeing the temple or racing to its aid. They were alone.

  The Bright wizard raised his charred face, and gave a crooked smile.

  ‘Alexander Heisenherz,’ he said, and extended an unsteady hand.

  As he did so, the Griffon medallion fell from his torn robes. It flashed and spun in the grey light. Annika grasped the proffered hand.

  ‘Annika Bohringer,’ she said. ‘Witch hunter.’

  Dieter, who had collapsed on to his back, pushed himself up from the grass into a seated position.

  ‘Dieter Klinsmann,’ he said. The Griffon emblem hung proudly across his gore-splattered breastplate.

  Noticing Alexander’s eyes being drawn to the pendant, Annika withdrew her own from around her neck.

  ‘I see we’re all part of the same merry band,’ said the wizard, dryly. ‘Gorman said I’d be pleased to be inducted.’

  Dieter looked at him suspiciously.

  ‘The Order of the Griffon is a great honour,’ he said flatly.

  Alexander shrugged.

  ‘If you like being chased, burned alive and robbed, maybe.’

  The knight glowered threateningly. Annika sighed. It was already evident that these two were unlikely to get along.

  ‘Peace,’ she said wearily. ‘Sigmar has brought us together, and that is enough for now. We need to decide what to do next.’

  Alexander shrugged. He looked as if the worst effects of the ordeal had retreated somewhat. He looked down at his hands, and flexed his fingers uncertainly. They were burned badly, but already seemed to be healing. No doubt one of the skills of his profession.

  ‘Suppose you tell me first what you were doing here at all?’ Alexander said. ‘It’s not that I object to being rescued. But your arrival was unexpected, to say the least. Rachsdorf certainly didn’t see it coming.’

  Dieter gave Annika a significant look. She nodded with some satisfaction.

  ‘So the sorcerer on the balcony was Rachsdorf,’ she said. ‘We’ve been seeking him. We’d been investigating rumours of a cabal in Lord Grauenburg’s lands. There was evidence of a scheme to subvert the Sigmarite hierarchy. Many of the priests in this land have been turned to the worship of darkness. For months they have been preparing the summoning we just halted. Rachsdorf is the man behind it. We were lucky to find this place.’

  ‘Lucky, or guided?’ said Dieter in a rather pious voice.

  ‘Maybe both,’ said Annika impatiently. ‘In any case, we’ve done what we had to do. Rachsdorf’s plan is halted. If he was not killed by my bullet, he must surely be buried under the ruins now.’

  Alexander looked back over the half-collapsed structure doubtfully.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said warily. ‘You wounded him at least. I’ll warrant he tried to get out.’

  Dieter nodded.

  ‘We’ve dealt a blow to the traitors, but nothing more,’ the knight said with some venom. ‘You know as well as I that there is a greater hand behind all of this. Our task is not over. I’d say it’s just beginning.’

  Annika knew the truth of the knight’s words. She drew the icon from her jerkin once more, and looked at it thoughtfully. It was charred and cracked, but the design of the comet was still evident, carved in bold strokes on the silver.

  ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘I’m not even sure we’ve seen the last of the summoning. An exorcism needs to be done properly. We’ve stopped it happening here, but we can’t undo months of preparation just like that. Such are the ways of the enemy. A victory here leads to defeat elsewhere. We have yet to strike at the root of this contagion.’

  Alexander gave her a c
ynical look.

  ‘Of course,’ he said sourly. ‘There’s always more to uproot. I’d like to help, but I have an important task of my own. Although I may be too late to do any good, the only reason I’m here is to deliver tidings to Lord Heinrich. I should have been with him days ago, but I’ve run into a few… problems along the way.’

  Annika gave him querulous look. Heinrich’s name had come up in her own interrogations.

  ‘What kind of tidings?’ she said.

  Alexander returned her gaze, evidently uncertain how much he should reveal. At length, he gave a resigned shrug.

  ‘The Celestial College knows of a plot to undermine Lord Heinrich’s defences of the Reikland,’ he said. ‘Someone close to him will betray him. Though the details are unclear, he must be warned before his preparations are complete. If he rides against the coming Chaos hosts unaware of the traitor in his midst, the defence will be lost.’

  Dieter looked sceptical.

  ‘What good is this news?’ he said. ‘Unless you know who the traitor is, Heinrich cannot act on it.’

  Alexander gave him a withering gaze.

  ‘It’s not ideal, I grant you,’ he said. ‘But he can change his plans, alter the arrangements, set up an investigation. Or something. I had more information, some of it in code, but I, er… lost it.’

  Dieter made no response, but looked disdainful. Annika didn’t share his dismissive attitude.

  ‘The defence of these lands is divided between two great magnates,’ she said. ‘One is Lord Heinrich, whose preparations for war have been hampered by a peasant uprising on his estates. The other is Lord Grauenburg, a strange and reclusive man about whom we know little. As I said, he’s the reason we’re here at all. If there is a plot, then you and we may be on the trail of the same quarry. The Celestial wizards might simply have divined what we have long suspected. Grauenburg has fallen into darkness, and imperils the safety of the entire Reikland.’

  ‘So you think Rachsdorf is working for Grauenburg?’ asked Alexander, looking thoughtful.

  Annika shrugged.

  ‘We have so little evidence. Not a single prisoner has ever uttered his name whilst on the rack. If he is the guiding force, he uses pawns like Rachsdorf skilfully.’

  ‘But we are on the borders of his lands,’ said Dieter, forcefully. ‘Even if he is not a traitor, he has failed to stamp out heresy on his own estates. Lords have been deposed for less in the past.’

  Annika shook her head.

  ‘He is powerful, with many friends in Altdorf,’ she said. ‘We need proof.’

  ‘It’s a plausible supposition,’ said Alexander. ‘But I can’t let it detain me. Whether or not it proves useful, I do have to get to Heinrich. A vow is a vow, and he must be warned.’

  Annika nodded.

  ‘Very well. You’re nearer Castle Heinrich than you might think. We will come with you.’

  Dieter looked at her sharply.

  ‘We cannot!’ he said. ‘This place must be purged by fire. And many cultists may have fled before the temple collapsed. There are traitors to be hunted.’

  Annika gave him a warning look.

  ‘I am a Templar of Sigmar,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Do not tell me what we may or may not do. In any case, how do you propose that we cleanse the temple by ourselves? This thing is larger than we can deal with. The time has come to seek fresh allies.’

  Dieter flushed red, and looked as if he was about to explode into anger. But he mastered his pride, and inclined his head humbly.

  ‘Forgive me, Frau Bohringer,’ he said. ‘The effort of the fight has blunted my manners. But is it wise to accompany this wizard to Heinrich’s lands? It is a detour, and one we may regret.’

  Annika looked at the earnest face of the knight with a softer expression. He was rigid and unswerving, to be sure, but there was no finer warrior in the Empire, and his hatred of Chaos made him invaluable. His doubts were reasonable, but her mind was set.

  ‘I know the dangers, Dieter,’ she said. ‘But where is your faith? Can you really think it chance that we stumbled across this wizard in his hour of need? Trust my judgement. Matters are coming to a head, and there are forces of order at work as surely as there are those of darkness. If Grauenburg is the architect of this abomination, then Heinrich must be told. The three of us will make a case he cannot ignore.’

  Dieter looked at Alexander, and back to Annika. Eventually he took a deep breath, and nodded resignedly.

  ‘I’ve trusted your judgement before, and it has never proved unworthy. Very well. We’ll travel to Heinrich. If the war comes to him, at least we’ll be there when the hammer falls.’

  Alexander gave a painful smile.

  ‘I think there’s every chance of that,’ he said wryly. ‘That kind of luck seems to follow me wherever I go.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jhar’zadris nudged his mount ahead. Gromarth bore the shape of a horse, but was no natural steed. A mortal creature would never have tolerated the aura of horror projected by the Chosen. The beast’s flanks were dark grey and mottled with tough patches of scales. His hooves had the sheen of iron, and under the layers of heavy armour his eyes burned like coals. He was both wider and taller than a horse of natural birth. Gromarth was a wholly unnatural creation, bred in the pits of beastmasters in the far north of the world and raised on live human flesh. His teeth were that of a carnivore, spiked and sharp, and he moved with a measured, easy power.

  Though the Chosen was too old and steeped in cruelty to be given to sentimentality, Jhar’zadris had developed something of a bond with the monster. There was an intelligent malice running through the charger’s veins which he had grown to appreciate. The Chosen liked to feed Gromarth on the still-warm bodies of those he had slain. There was never a shortage.

  The column had wound its way southwards, never hurrying, never dallying. Confident in their invincibility, the heavily armoured regiments had made good progress. But there was no need to hasten. Nothing they had encountered had proved more than a minor distraction from their task. A weary-looking band of militia had attempted an ambush two days previously, but it was half-hearted and pathetic even by human standards. Jhar’zadris had let the cultists at the rear of his entourage butcher them. Some of them enjoyed human flesh too, and it paid to throw then scraps from time to time.

  The truth was that the Empire was unprepared, riven by doubt and plague, its armies stretched across a vast frontier in an attempt to engage the larger hosts marching from the east. Jhar’zadris wondered if the more important Imperial magnates knew of his advance at all. He hoped so. Sooner or later his warriors would need a sterner test. Their discipline was good, held in place by the rigid rule of fear he applied, but they needed the promise of more worthy blood to keep them interested. As the column headed deeper into the lands of the feeble Emperor of man, he trusted that a proper army would ride to engage him soon. He was growing bored of peasant-slaying.

  On either side of the clanking, swaying column, the land was rising into broken heaps of low hill country. Swathes of black-earthed bogland made the going treacherous. Thin yellow grasses grew in clumps and tussocks, and spinneys of thin dark trees marked the grey horizon sparsely. There was precious little in the deserted, blasted country to note. His enhanced vision detected no trace of magic. It was a forgotten place. If it had ever been inhabited, it had long been abandoned. As he rode, the dry croak of ravens echoed across the empty sky. The more he saw, the more he liked it.

  They followed an overgrown and pitted track around the long curve of a hillside. As he rounded the corner and the view ahead spread out before him, Jhar’zadris spied the mounted horseman ahead. A human, alone, waiting patiently.

  ‘Wait here!’ he hissed, holding his iron gauntlet up and clenching his fist.

  The warriors behind him immediately came to a standstill. Orders were barked down the line, and the entire column stopped moving. Once the clank of shifting armour had abated, there was no further noise. His tr
oops stood in silence.

  Jhar’zadris kicked Gromarth’s flanks firmly, and the great beast stepped forwards. The Chosen approached the human. He was a large man, arrayed in rich furs and seated on a sturdy charger, but he was dwarfed by the vast armoured bulk of the mounted warrior of Chaos. His steed stamped nervously, but held its ground. It must have become used to such meetings, Jhar’zadris thought. The rider looked up at him coolly. If the man had any fear, he didn’t show it. His thick-set frame was one of a warrior, though his best years were perhaps behind him. Jhar’zadris could detect the stain of sorcery on his face. The human was no mage, but had clearly been in close contact with the dark arts in some form. That was to be expected, of course.

  ‘How did you know where to find me?’ said Jhar’zadris, once more curling his mutated lips awkwardly around the blunt shapes of human speech.

  ‘I’m not without arts of my own,’ said the human, his expression giving away a whiff of contempt.

  That was good. The man clearly despised the Chosen, in spite of his own dark allegiance. That spoke of a certain courage. Contempt was better than fear.

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ said Jhar’zadris, faintly amused by his insolence. ‘The journey has been tedious so far, and change is always to be welcomed. Now, why have you come to meet me?’

  The human looked over Jhar’zadris’s shoulder at the waiting host, and then flicked his gaze back to the Chosen.

  ‘To check you were on your way,’ he said, flatly. ‘We’d heard nothing for some time. I wanted you to know all has been made ready. Our master’s plans are coming to ripeness, and you have nothing to fear.’

  Jhar’zadris’s mouth contorted once more into something like a wracked laugh. As his fused flesh and helmet shifted, a bubbling, echoing sound emerged from deep within his armoured torso.

  ‘Fear?’ he asked. ‘You think I even remember what that is? I’ve walked under the Chaos moon for centuries and encountered nothing yet to make me afraid. As for your part in this, I have the utmost trust. We both know the price of failure.’