by Warhammer
The next rider thrust its spear down towards Kurt, but the Chosen rolled aside just in time, between the legs of the dead horse. He rose to his feet on the skeleton's blind side and pulled it down from the saddle, his sword rammed up to the hilt under the creature's jawbone. Grasping another spear, he glanced down the slope to see more riders heading his way. More than even he could fight off.
He raced back to Bjordrin, who was flailing ineffectually at the mass holding him down. Plunging the haft into the sand beneath Bjordrin, he used the spear as a lever to raise the carcass of the scorpion statue up, and hacked away the leg that pierced Bjordrin with his sword. Plunging his sword into the sand, Kurt pulled his friend free and then let the scorpion drop in a cloud of sand and dust. Bjordrin yanked the remains of the scorpion's leg from his arm and Kurt retrieved his sword and they headed up to the cliff at a stumbling run. Reaching the edge, they turned and faced the undead following them.
'What now?' Bjordrin gasped between gritted teeth, glancing back over his shoulder at the hundred feet drop behind them.
'Jump,' snarled Kurt, turning his back on the skeletons and facing the sea.
'There'll be rocks beneath the waves, we'll be smashed upon them,' protested Bjordrin, looking over the edge at the foaming water below.
Kurt gave a growl and grabbed Bjordrin's arm. Launching himself forward, he pulled the Norseman with him and they tumbled head over heel through the air. Kurt wrapped his arms around Bjordrin in a tight hug and strained every muscle to turn their plunge into a dive.
Hitting the water, it felt to Kurt as if he had hit the ground itself. Something in his right arm snapped just below the elbow and his neck twisted violently to one side. His breath exploded from his lungs at the impact and as they plunged below the surface, air bubbled up around the pair of them.
Beneath the waves, Kurt felt them sinking, dragged down by the weight of his armour. Pain burned through every part of his body but he managed to kick out, his powerful legs fighting the pull of the metal he wore until they broke the surface, gasping for breath. Bjordrin was stunned and floated on the water next to Kurt.
Bjordrin under one arm, his legs aching, Kurt pulled them through the water with long strokes towards his ship, which had unfurled its sail and was now heading towards them. The sea was quite calm, the air still, and for a moment Kurt felt a sense of peace after the maelstrom of fighting and fear that had chased them from the undead city.
Then screaming and shouting began to echo out across the water. Looking over his shoulder, Kurt saw something that made him stop dead in the water.
On the opposite clifftop stood a giant warrior, built from the bones of long-dead monsters, bound with bronze banding and clasped together with struts of deep red wood. It stood fifty feet tall to the top of its crested helmet, its spine made from melded animal skulls, its face oddly reminiscent of some colossal hunting cat. It wore a bronze breastplate studded with circles of turquoise and lapis lazuli, and long greaves upon its legs.
In its hands, it held a bow some twenty feet long, its string the sinew taken from some huge creature of the southern deserts. From a quiver across its back, the immense skeletal giant pulled forth an arrow as large as a ship's bow sprint, fletched with black feathers. Pulling back the arrow on the string, it turned towards Jarlen's ship, which was still only a few hundred yards from the shore.
It loosed the arrow across the sea, the gigantic spear speeding through the air to crash into the side of the longship, hurling men into the sea, splintering the row of oars. Another arrow swiftly followed, tearing through the sail and ripping down the upper mast, which fell onto the deck, crushing even more Norse. The ship foundered as a third immense bolt tore through the planking just above the water line. The ship came to a stop and began to settle heavily in the water, weighed down by the gold and gems the Norse had taken aboard.
Slinging its bow over its shoulder, the bone giant began to climb down the cliff. It lowered itself into the water and turned and began to wade out, drawing a massive scimitar from a sheath hung at its waist. Some of Jarlen's surviving crew threw themselves from the sinking ship as the creature approached, hoping to swim to safety.
Kurt could see Jarlen at the prow of his vessel, sword raised above his head in challenge to the giant construct. The creature swept its blade down and carved the front off the ship in a single blow, scything Jarlen in two and toppling the remnants into the sea. Another blow rent the longship down the starboard side, flinging men high into the air.
As the longship sunk beneath the waves, the giant turned and pointed its massive sword back towards the beach. Kurt turned his gaze back to the land, and there, just above the waves, he saw the figure of King Nephythys, his golden spear held above his head, in a pose perfectly captured by the statue of him in the city. Bjordrin spluttered into wakefulness beside him, but Kurt's attention was fixed on the shore.
'Do not disturb the eternal rest of King Nephythys, Hawk of the Skies, Sorrow of the Foe, Wielder of the Golden Blade,' Kurt muttered to himself.
'What's that?' asked Bjordrin, following Kurt's gaze to look at the triumphant king.
Kurt didn't answer for a moment, and his reply was more for himself than Bjordrin.
'Not a threat,' he whispered. 'Not an order. A warning.'
CHAPTER THREE
Discovery
Reikwald Forest, Late summer 1711
The air was filled with the stench of sweat and grime as the caravan wound its way along the road alongside the trudging lines of refugees who were fleeing the carnage at Altdorf. Many were deserters, hiding their red and blue uniforms beneath travel-stained cloaks, wounds rotting under filth-encrusted bandages. Here and there along the lines were priestesses of Shallya, who did what they could to provide food, clean water and tend to the ill and the injured, but the tide of human misery was more than all the healers in the Empire could have dealt with.
Fifteen days had passed since they had parted company with Thane Grundab in the foothills of the Grey Mountains west of Wissenburg. For the last seven, they had been surrounded by the tide of refugees. For miles they stretched along the road, some dragged on rough biers by their friends or family others mere babies carried in bags, the elderly or infirm left on the roadside or surrounded by desperate relatives.
Lady Halste had banned her followers from allowing the refugees to board the carts and wagons, and had pressed them on at some speed. It was obvious to everyone that she was eager to reach the safety of Marienburg and leave the squalor of the ravaged countryside and forests behind her.
Of all the travellers, Taalstock was in the best humour. He had found his confinement in the dwarf holds a terrible tribulation, and had openly wept when they had left, crying at the feel of the fresh mountain air on his face, whooping with joy when the first rains had fallen on them three days later.
His demeanour was more sombre now as his little cart trotted along behind Lady Halste's housewagon, a deaf ear to the begging refugees, Louda nestled in his lap. Ursula left Ruprecht with their cart and ran ahead to join him.
'Taal is angry,' he said as Ursula climbed aboard, turning to her with an anguished expression. 'His creatures run frightened through the woods, the orcs feast upon his servants and lay waste to their homes.'
'We all suffer,' agreed Ursula quietly.
'And now we must return, disappointed, and without hope,' the priest said sadly, stroking Louda's head.
'I know how you feel,' replied Ursula. 'I really believed that Sigmar sent me to Lady Halste.'
'It seems that both you and I have yet more to learn about the ways of the gods,' said Gerhardt. 'Perhaps I did not read the signs rightly. Perhaps there is some lesson to be learnt here that I do not see yet. Every step takes me further from my homeland again. I do not know if my time has passed and I should return to the banks of the Talabec, or if Taal intends for me to continue until things become plainer to see.'
'Or perhaps the will of the gods is not plain but far-reaching,
and we are too short-sighted to see what they intend.' argued Ursula, patting the old priest on the knee. 'You told me not to second-guess the gods, and I think that you are right. For good or ill, they set us on our paths, we should see it through to the end. If Taal wished otherwise, then surely he would send new signs to guide you?'
Taalstock laughed suddenly, his eyes glimmering.
'I see that whatever happens, my time with you has not been wasted!' he declared brightly. 'Perhaps the gods wished nothing more than for us to meet. Your brightness, your passion, are refreshing to me, and I see that perhaps your fiery heart has been tempered somewhat by my tiresome preaching.'
'You're anything but tiresome!' Ursula disagreed. 'Now, tell me about the fish of the rivers. You have taught me the names of the birds in the sky and the beasts upon the earth, but what about the scaled friends of Taal?'
'Well, in that case I must rectify my oversight.' said Gerhardt with a smile. 'We shall begin with the venerable trout, and I shall tell you of the old man of the lake who rules them.'
Another week had passed. They had crossed the ill-defined boundary into the Reikland and were now making their way to Ubersreik, then on to Helmgart, avoiding Altdorf by the longest distance possible. The number of refugees had thinned considerably. There were still many, however, who chose to camp with the caravan, perhaps feeling safer in the larger group.
Ursula had woken early in the morning to the sound of light rain on the treetops, and crawled from her bedroll beneath Lady Halste's wagon. The dawn sky was laden with grey clouds and the gentle rainfall splashed onto her face. A warm wind took the edge off the shower, making it quite pleasant and refreshing. Others were rousing too, starting cooking fires, rolling from their tents with yawns and stretches, sorting through the stores for their breakfast meal.
Ursula decided to take a short walk to wake herself up fully before attending to her mistress's needs. She crossed the muddy clearing where they were camped and made her way to the treeline, not far from Gerhardt's small cart. Looking out into the trees, she was aware of the sensation of being watched. She turned around but could not see anyone, and then looked back into the woods. Still there was no sign of an observer.
She stood there for a moment, taking deep breaths of the clear morning air, and then heard a snorting noise from her left. Turning her head slowly, she saw a wild boar standing in the undergrowth no more than a dozen paces away.
Ursula's heart raced as she faced the tusked beast, and she fought the urge to shout out or turn and run. It was then that she became aware of other animals in the bushes. Rabbits sat under the dripping leaves and squirrels hung from the branches above her. A stag stood not far to her right, gazing past her. Even more amazing, as she looked around further, she saw three wolves sitting calmly in the shelter of a tree, their yellow eyes looking into the camp.
Turning around completely, he saw that they were all gazing at Gerhardt's cart. She could see the wildfather curled up in his bedroll underneath. On the driving board, Louda was standing up on his back legs. She smiled at Louda, but then her smile faded as she watched the weasel bob up and down in obvious agitation.
Struck with trepidation, she hurried across to the cart, and as she approached Louda bounded from the board and disappeared into the priest's bedroll. Ursula ducked under to follow.
'Wildfather?' she asked tentatively, laying a hand on the bulging bedroll. 'Gerhardt?'
There was no response. Shifting her position she could see Louda licking the old priest's face and she shook him harder.
'Gerhardt!' she said, prodding him more insistently. With a shaking hand, she pulled him over by the shoulder, rolling him free of his blanket.
Gerhardt's head lolled towards her in a disturbingly loose fashion. His eyes were open and stared at Ursula without life. With a shriek, Ursula recoiled, banging her head on the underside of the cart, stifling her cry. She reached forward again, and held her hand above the priest's chest. There was no feel of a heartbeat and she could hear no breathing.
Her heart thudding in her chest she bent forward, and it was then that she saw the marks. The priest's throat was reddened and bruised, and there were deep scratches on his cheeks and beneath his chin. Ursula pulled herself out from under the cart and stood up, breathing deeply. She stood there for a long while, her mind numb. Then she began to sob. Slowly at first, but soon weeping convulsions wracked her whole body and she collapsed into the damp grass. An agonised moan escaped her, and then she raised her head and screamed, a long, drawn out wail that had soldiers running to her from all over the camp.
Lady Halste insisted that the caravan was not moving until the wildfather's killer had been found, but after two days of searching and questions, there seemed little chance of finding the person responsible. Ruprecht had led the investigations, his experience with Marius becoming useful for the first time since the witch hunter's death. Lady Halste's soldiers rounded up the other travellers who were camped close by and Ruprecht subjected them to lengthy interrogations but could find nothing to indicate anyone who would have the motive to kill the kindly old priest.
There were dark whispers among many of the camp followers, saying that dark forces had attacked and slain the priest. Ruprecht gave the wild rumours little credence, but as each possible avenue of explanation closed to him, he started to fear the worst. Perhaps the superstitious mutterings of the soldiers and artisans were uncomfortably close to the truth.
For the two days, Lady Halste had tended to Ursula. The noblewoman was most concerned about her well being, as Ursula had been found in a semi-comatose state next to Taalstock's body, stricken with shock, unable to talk or hear anything. Fearing that Ursula may have seen whatever or whoever had attacked Gerhardt, Lady Halste had ordered that the girl be taken to her housewagon, and she had remained there since, the door guarded by two men at all times.
His search having proved fruitless, Ruprecht was left with only one remaining source of information - Ursula. On the second evening after the discovery of Gerhardt's corpse, he entered the housewagon. Lady Halste was not there, and Ruprecht was alone with the girl.
He sat on the bed beside her, as she lay on her back, staring wide eyed at the brightly patterned ceiling, blinking only occasionally.
'Ursula,' he said gently, laying his normal hand on her fevered brow. 'Wake up, I must talk to you.'
There was no response. He tried again and again for several minutes, but Ursula did not stir, nor even give any indication that she was even aware of his presence. Sighing to himself, Ruprecht reached inside his shirt and pulled out the string of trinkets, charms and talismans he had acquired whilst in Marius's service. He unhooked a small silver pendant, supposedly blessed by a high priestess of Shallya to ward away evil hexes and curses.
Ruprecht carefully pulled back the covers to reveal Ursula's chest. It was barely rising and falling. Almost reverentially, he placed the charm over the girl's heart and pressed it into her flesh. Nothing happened. Closing his eyes, he offered up a prayer to Shallya to guide Ursula's soul back from the dark places to which it had been taken. Still nothing happened.
Snarling, Ruprecht snatched up the talisman and threw it across the housewagon, where it clattered off the far wall and fell down behind a dresser cluttered with the lady's personal belongings – perfumes, coloured powders, bracelets, rings and necklaces, all piled haphazardly in front of a small round mirror. The crown of Marbad lay carelessly amongst the strewn bottles and jars.
'Wake up, Ursula!' he snapped, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her hard, but she just hung limply in his arms.
He then had another idea. He took the small steel hammer that served as his sign of Sigmar, and closed her fist around it.
'If she truly is under your protection, lord Sigmar, then please deliver her back to us,' he whispered. He clenched his hand around hers, until blood trickled from her palm where the sharp edges of the symbol bit into her flesh.
Still, she would not wake.
/> Shaking his head, he stood up and crossed the housewagon to retrieve the discarded charm. Crouching down, he wedged his hand behind the furniture, fingers feeling for the small pendant. He felt his hand catch on something that tore his flesh and he snatched his hand back. A small trickle of blood oozed from a nick in his finger.
He pulled the dresser forward, toppling perfume bottles and scattering jewellery onto the carpeted floor. Looking behind the dresser, he saw a small silver lever protruding from its back. Bending down, he pushed it, and heard a click. A thin line appeared at the bottom of the dresser.
With his hand pressed flat under the dresser, he eased the secret drawer open. It contained phials of powders and differently coloured liquids. A few scrolls littered the drawer as well. He recognised several charms and pendants from his days with Marius - sorcerous and diabolic symbols. Most of the drawer was taken up by a long bundle of silk scarves wrapped around something. Drawing the hidden compartment out fully, he picked up the roll of silk.
The bundle was light, and felt almost empty, but there was definitely something inside. Taking it carefully in his metal hand, he picked at the knotted material, tossing the scarves aside, revealing the edge of a blade. Frowning, he continued his work, until the whole object was revealed - it was a sword. He held the weapon by its dark leather hilt, and looked at the golden wings splayed either side of the blade. A gem blazed at the pommel, throwing his shadow onto the wall. There was no mistaking it, he remembered Lady Halste's description perfectly.
It was Ulfshard.
With a shuddering gasp, Ursula sat bolt upright, the tiny hammer flying from her fingers, clattering against the mirror of the dresser. Her eyes were wide open and she gulped down a deep breath, her chest heaving. Ulfshard toppled from Ruprecht's fingers as he bound across the room to snatch her up in a brawny hug.