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

by Chris Wraight

  ‘You have some nerve, to come here,’ Grauenburg said, his voice a low growl.

  Rachsdorf quailed, but held his position.

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ he said weakly. ‘I know my life is forfeit. Though I may die here, my duty was to return, to tell you what we have done to remedy matters.’

  Grauenburg found himself repelled by the obsequy. He leaned forward, his fingers gripping the arms of the throne tightly.

  ‘I’m not sure you appreciate the full predicament you’re in, Rachsdorf,’ he said, keeping his voice low and calm. Behind the words, though, there was an unmistakable timbre of menace. ‘I’m not long back from meeting with the commander of the forces ordained to join us. He is not a man to be trifled with. In fact, he is no longer a man at all. To let him down would be disastrous. Even for me. And yet I have blithely told him all is in hand, all is ready, and our plans are proceeding apace.’

  Rachsdorf swallowed gingerly, but knew better than to interrupt. Grauenburg leaned back in the throne and fixed him with a baleful gaze.

  ‘So imagine my disquiet when I discovered what has been going on in my absence,’ he continued acidly. ‘I am told that the temple was infiltrated. A regiment of knights, supported by wizards, broke into the sanctum and disrupted the summoning. The altar is destroyed, our work undone. You have failed, brought all our plans to ruin, and still have the gall to come here and beg for your life. I am amazed.’

  Rachsdorf was now shivering visibly. He looked at the end of his strength, eaten up from within by the powers he barely controlled, battered by the events at the temple. He took a deep breath, and attempted to look Grauenburg in the eye.

  ‘I am sorry, my lord,’ he said, his voice thin and wavering. ‘I’ve failed you. I know the penalty. But, if I may, all is not yet lost. We were assailed by a whole regiment of knights, as you have heard. They were of the Griffon Order. Though my men fought hard, we were bested. As you can see, I myself was wounded defending the altar from their captain. Only after I’d slain the Bright wizard in their retinue did a wound from a tainted bullet force me to withdraw.’

  Rachsdorf swallowed again, and Grauenburg felt his patience wearing thin. This rhetoric was not helping the sorcerer’s chances of survival.

  ‘It’s true that their intervention has disrupted the great scheme,’ continued the sorcerer. ‘The forces unleashed in the defence of the temple caused many parts of it to collapse. The humans were destroyed in the aftermath, and I only barely escaped with my life. Once I’d recovered, I collected together our scattered forces as best I could. With much labour, we returned to the temple and took control once more. Excavations have begun. The altar will soon be uncovered. The process can be resumed. Such magic as has been woven cannot be undone easily. The Lord of Change will be born, as you have determined.’

  Grauenburg frowned, pondering this news. If the man wasn’t lying, it was an interesting development.

  ‘What do you think? Is this likely to be true?’ Grauenburg said.

  Rachsdorf looked confused, not realising the words were not addressed to him. Grauenburg ignored him. From the shadows, two figures came forward. The room, which had seemed empty, harboured many surprises.

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said one of them, a crippled, warped man, his dark skin laced with burns. It was Klosser. Despite his horrific wounds, his eyes still flashed with a vicious, spiteful fire. ‘It is possible. A summoning is a delicate art, performed over many months of sacrifice. Once begun, it can only be undone with an application of the proper rites. If these knights did not have a chance to purge the temple before it collapsed, then the process might be revived.’

  The other figure, a tall druchii shrouded in purple robes, stayed silent. Grauenburg regarded this newcomer, Malek, with some suspicion. Dark elves had not formed part of his plan. There were many things about the current situation which unnerved him. Even after so long steeped in the arts of Chaos, the sorcerer was an uncanny figure. He had the arrogance and flippant cruelty of all his kind. And yet, one could not deny the power he offered to bring with him.

  ‘I didn’t realise we weren’t alone, my lord,’ said Rachsdorf, attempting to cast off the worst of his craven demeanour. ‘But I’m glad Herr Klosser has survived such a perilous mission. And the powers of the dark elves are well known. If I may ask, what relevance do they have to my tidings?’

  Grauenburg let slip a faint sneer. The man was slow, and would have to be disposed of. But there were still things he could make himself useful for.

  ‘Your efforts at the temple are gratefully appreciated,’ the lord said in a voice that betrayed his contempt. ‘But you will no longer command my forces there. I have a more pressing task I wish you to undertake. The only man with the power to uncover us is the bastard Heinrich. I’m told he is near crushing his rebellion, and every day musters more men to resist our allies from the north. You will lead a diversionary strike. Occupied as he is with other things, Heinrich will not expect to be facing an enemy in his own lands. We’ve been preparing our own force of warriors for months. It’s time to unleash them. Rachsdorf, you will lead them. Take the army to Lord Heinrich’s castle and destroy it. Should you do so, your failure at the temple will be forgotten.’

  Rachsdorf looked amazed.

  ‘But, my lord,’ he said, his mouth opening and closing foolishly. ‘What of the Lord of Change? How will…’

  Grauenburg locked his flint-grey eyes on the sorcerer once more.

  ‘Should you refuse this task,’ he said, his voice steely, ‘there may be other ways in which you can atone for your misdeeds. Perhaps in the lower levels of this castle.’

  Rachsdorf blanched, and shook his head frantically.

  ‘No, my lord!’ he exclaimed. ‘It will be an honour! I’ll make my preparations at once.’

  ‘You do that,’ said Grauenburg. ‘Speak to my castellan. All has been set in place. But time is short. Ride today, and I want to hear of no delays. Heinrich must be surprised. And at all costs keep my name out of this! The day is coming when I shall reveal myself, but for now the pretence must be maintained. Heinrich must know nothing of my hand in this. Now go!’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said Rachsdorf, and scuttled backwards, clutching his side as he went. With his passing, the doors clanged shut once more.

  ‘A wise move?’ asked Malek, sardonically. ‘He’s failed you once. I see ill-directed magic leaking from him like blood from a cadaver.’

  Grauenburg shot him a vicious look. He hated all elves, and the arrogance of the druchii was insufferable. If this Malek were not so useful, he would have been killed on arrival.

  ‘Don’t lecture me in my own hall,’ said Grauenburg, an edge of malice in his voice. ‘You think yourself superior, but I know more of your lore than you might suppose. I’m no ordinary man. You are a race of the defeated, Malek, driven from your lands by those you hate. Until you set your own house in order, do not presume to lecture me on mine.’

  Grauenburg could see Malek was stung, but kept his eyes fixed on him. The dark elf had to know that he was expendable. The sorcerer collected himself, and gave a forced smile.

  ‘I see your lore is great,’ Malek said, still with a faint trace of sarcasm. ‘And since I have agreed to work with you for our common goal, I willingly defer to your judgement.’

  Grauenburg maintained his level gaze. It would be foolish to regard Malek as anything but a fair-weather friend, and a most unreliable one at that.

  ‘If Rachsdorf succeeds,’ Grauenburg said, ‘then it aids us. If he fails and dies, then we have lost nothing. The army of cultists we have raised here is nothing compared to the forces on their way from the north. Rachsdorf will tie up Heinrich, and by the time he unravels himself the Lord of Change will be present in the world.’

  Malek raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘You have sent the architect of the magic away. Will the remaining sorcerers in your employ be capable of the task?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said
Grauenburg, irritably. ‘You can cease pretending, Malek. You know as well as I do that only you and Klosser have the power. You will ride to the temple immediately and oversee the resumption of the rites. Do not even think of treachery. The daemon is bound to my will, and there will be an army of flesh-eating warriors at my side very soon. Fail in this, and your soul will have an eternity to weep its pain away. Succeed, and your riches and power will be assured forever.’

  Klosser, almost unable to contain his excitement at being given a fresh task, stammered his thanks. Malek bowed low, his purple robes rustling faintly along the stone.

  ‘A wise judgement,’ he said, a crooked smile on his inscrutable face. ‘This alliance is proving to be more interesting than I could have hoped for.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Alexander woke after a deep slumber. His vision took several moments to return, and it was only after some time that he remembered the events of the previous night. It was late afternoon. He was lying on the summit of a bare hill in the midst of the forest. A fire smouldered a few feet away. Dieter and Annika sat by it, eating what looked like pigeon. Neither spoke, but when Dieter saw Alexander was awake he beckoned him over.

  With a grimace, the Bright wizard roused himself and limped awkwardly over to the dying fire.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said Annika, dryly.

  ‘How long was I out?’ asked Alexander, still groggy with sleep.

  ‘All day, I presume,’ said Dieter, munching on a sliver of grey meat. ‘We awoke only an hour or so ago.’

  ‘Then who did…?’ started Alexander, before remembering the White Lion.

  Annika gave a wry smile.

  ‘I don’t think he slept at all,’ she said. ‘You can thank him for leading us here, and for the fire, and no doubt for watching over us as we slept. He’s been coming and going this afternoon. Doesn’t talk much. I think he’s anxious to be going. I told him you’d nearly been burned alive and that we’ve been fighting ever since, but he didn’t look sympathetic.’

  As she finished speaking, Morgil returned. He had a brace of skinned rabbits flung over his shoulder. Acknowledging Alexander with a curt nod, he skewered one of the carcasses and placed it over the fire.

  ‘So,’ said Alexander awkwardly. Manners did not come easily to him. ‘You have our thanks.’

  Morgil shrugged, and turned the rabbit over slowly. Alexander watched it roasting over the flames, and had to work hard not to drool. It seemed like an age since he had eaten anything but the most measly scraps.

  ‘Where are you heading?’ Alexander said, trying to break the oppressive silence.

  The elf looked up from his cooking, and gave him an unreadable expression.

  ‘I am hunting prey. She passed this way. I will be gone soon.’

  Annika finished chewing on her meal, and sat back.

  ‘You can’t really be intending to travel on your own?’ she said, incredulously. ‘Something is drawing these beasts together. There were more in one place than I’ve ever seen before. We’re safer together, at least until we reach our destination.’

  Morgil shook his head.

  ‘Our destinations are different,’ he said simply.

  Dieter shook his head. He could not hide a certain resentment. Until Morgil had arrived Dieter had been the most accomplished amongst them at close combat. Even Alexander could tell that his pride had been a little stung by the elf’s appearance, despite the fact it had probably saved his life.

  ‘You may think that now,’ the knight said. ‘But soon this whole land will be aflame. We’ll be lucky to arrive at our destination before it engulfs us. If you’re out on your own, you’ll be killed. I don’t care how skilful you are.’

  Morgil weighed the words carefully, but did not speak. Alexander struggled to keep his eyes off the slowly crisping rabbit.

  ‘Dieter’s right,’ said the wizard. ‘I don’t know who you’re after, and it’s none of my concern. But she’ll fare no better out in the open than you will. For all you know, she was killed by the plague beasts in the woods. There are hundreds of them.’

  Morgil shook his head.

  ‘She’s not dead. I’d know.’

  Annika sighed, and began to collect her belongings together. The pistol had been cleaned and reloaded, and her sword had been cleaned and freshly sharpened.

  ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘Whoever you’re after has only two choices ahead of her. Either she’s planning on heading to Castle Heinrich to ride out the storm, as we are, or she’s intent on joining the enemy. There’s no other reason for her to be here. Unless she’s lost, which given the way you refer to her I find hard to believe.’

  Morgil turned the rabbit meat over on the fire. He didn’t dismiss her words immediately, and seemed to reflect on them for a moment.

  ‘Frau Bohringer is right,’ said Alexander. ‘From here, there’s nowhere else to go but Castle Heinrich. Either the woman you seek will be there, or she’s heading directly for the advancing enemy. If you try and follow her there, you’ll never achieve your goal.’

  Dieter looked intently at the elf. The White Lion finished cooking the rabbit, pulled the skewer from the flesh, and tossed it to Alexander. Despite himself, the wizard grabbed eagerly at the hot meat. It could have been served on the Emperor’s platter at Altdorf, and would have tasted no finer.

  ‘We are both heading north for a while,’ said Morgil. ‘I will accompany you from the forest, since our paths lie together. From what you say, the castle is not far. When you reach it, I will make a decision. Do not trouble me further about it.’

  Dieter’s expression was hard to read. Annika looked satisfied.

  ‘The right decision,’ she said. ‘When the wizard is ready, we should head off.’

  Alexander, mouth full of tender, fatty rabbit, scowled.

  ‘Let me eat this in peace, damn you,’ he snapped. ‘Then we can go.’

  From deep within the forest, a thin wail rose into the air. For the first time, Alexander noticed that Morgil’s clothes were streaked with blood. Fresh blood. The elf looked at him darkly. The wizard rose quickly, gobbling more of the meat as he did so.

  ‘All right,’ he said grudgingly, mouth full of gristle. ‘Perhaps we’d better keep moving.’

  Artheris touched the reins lightly, and her Ellyrian steed came to a halt. The proud beast whinnied and stamped, nostrils flaring. The archmage whispered a few words of soothing, and the horse calmed down. Artheris let her shoulders relax, feeling the muscles begin to unwind. It had been a long, hard march north. She looked around, taking advantage of her position on a long, windswept ridge to gain an impression of the country.

  The terrain was vast. Towards all points of the compass, the landscape was thick with trees. In the very far distance, a blue-grey shape of mountains rose. They were firmly in the grip of the Reikwald, the wild forest which dominated the heart of the Empire. In Ulthuan, one was never far from the coast, even in Averlorn or Saphery. But here it felt as if the dry land went on forever. There wasn’t the faintest tang of salt in the air, just the dreary stink of mud, rotting matter, stagnant water, mould, decay. No doubt the plague had blighted the land more than was usual, but even so it was a wearying, unremitting country. At least on the ridge the wind moved freely and she could feel the breeze against her face. In the lowlands, the trees seemed to reach out with grasping fingers, beckoning the unwary traveller to enter the dim and gloomy world under the branches, places that had remained almost untouched since the days of the ill-fated asur colonies.

  All around her Reavers fanned out, their watchful eyes trained on the trees. Their steeds were the best in all Ulthuan, and they went proudly over the treacherous terrain. Artheris looked over her shoulder. The rest of the army toiled up the shallow incline. The bulk of her forces was composed of men. They marched in ragged companies, some to the beat of crude leather drums, all in the varied colours of their many regions and allegiances. The majority of the state troops were decked in the blue and red of Altdorf,
though there was a veritable rainbow of bright shades from all over the Empire. Helborg had been busy raising troops from wherever he could find them, and had done the best he could.

  At the vanguard rode three companies of Reiksguard knights, the finest human soldiers in the entire army. They drove a hard pace, heedless of the toils of the infantry behind them. They were haughty and grim, riding sturdy mounts and encased in heavy plate armour. They spoke rarely, and most kept well away from the elven contingent. Only their captain, Stern, conversed with her regularly. He was the commander of the entire Empire contingent, subordinate only to her as the head of the allied force. He was a plain-speaking man, quick to perceive a slight or rise to anger, but also an experienced commander. His men looked up to him and trusted his judgement. That was all Artheris needed.

  The bulk of the human soldiers were armed with halberds, pikes, or crudely-forged swords. At the rear of the straggling Imperial forces were the companies of more specialist troops. Archers and handgunners mingled with a troop of engineers, their light artillery pieces being hauled by teams of horses. A train of carts and wains followed, stocked with supplies. These needed to be guarded nightly, as food was carefully rationed. The snaking column of men had so far held together reasonably well, and reports of desertion or thievery were uncommon. How long that would last as the campaign went on was anyone’s guess, though the Reiksguard were brutally efficient at stamping out dissent.

  The elven army was a different proposition entirely. At the rearguard, in the position of most danger, the Swordmasters marched in glittering ranks of perfection, their eyes cold. They had matched their pace to the slowest of the humans they guarded. If such duties offended their sense of martial pride, they didn’t show it. She knew many of them had taken vows of penance after the incident in Altdorf, and would follow her every order as if she were Tyrion himself. When the battle was joined, they would be as deadly and focussed as ever. Along the flanks of the crawling mass of men rode the Ellyrian Reavers, keeping a tight watch on the wilderness around them. Every so often on the march they had ridden off, seemingly at random, only to return with the blood of the plague creatures on their blades. Their horses, cooped up for so long in the holds of hawkships, seemed to relish even the foul air of the Reikwald.