Slaves to Darkness 02 (The Blades of Chaos)

by Warhammer

  'Where were you?' said Getha. 'Do you know how long you have been away? We thought you had all died! Where were you when the soldiers came?'

  'Getha!' said Kurt, dragging the woman to her feet and letting go of her. 'Tell me where my son is! Tell me where Anyata is.'

  'She went to fight with the other shieldmaidens,' said Getha, pointing down to the shore. 'They came in boats, with sticks that barked with fire. She died, Kurt. She died! They killed her!'

  Now the old woman began to cry and fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around his legs, her check against his thigh. He stroked her hair for a moment, gazing down at the water's edge. He could picture them standing there, Anyata with them, defiant as the soldiers of the Empire came ashore, shield and sword in her hands. He could also imagine the explosion of flame and smoke as the handgunners opened fire, for surely that is what Getha was talking about.

  'We tried to stop them, but the red-haired witch came ashore and they took the torch to everything,' said Getha with a sob. 'I tried to get to Heldred, I swear, Kurt. But there were soldiers everywhere and the flames were too hot.'

  'He burned?' said Kurt, his voice a low growl, his hand tightening in her hair, dragging her back to her feet again. 'My son is dead?'

  It was too much for Kurt. His father, mother and sister had burned at the stake on the orders of Marius van Diesl. Fire had followed him everywhere since then, to Tungask and now to his own son. He flung Getha away, her neck snapping under his grip, and her body fell into a pile of ash. There were a few other survivors picking their way through the ruins, but they fled in terror as Kurt stalked between the still-smouldering wreckage, bellowing in his rage. He spied Orlun, one of the old warriors who had refused to follow him. The man turned to run when he saw Kurt's expression, but Kurt bounded forward and grabbed him around the throat.

  'Why are you alive?' said Kurt, lifting Orlun off the ground. The man was too terrified to speak. 'Why did you not die to protect my son?'

  Orlun was shaking, and a trickle of fluid ran down his leg and onto the ground as his fear made him lose control of his bodily functions.

  'The witch,' he said. 'The sigmarite witch from Tungask followed you here.'

  Orlun fell to the ground as Kurt release his hold, stepping back with shock. He remembered what Getha had just said. The red-haired witch.

  'Tell me more,' said Kurt.

  'Her and the hairy giant, I saw them come ashore,' said Orlun. 'She carried a sword that burned with blue light, and she made the soldiers raze everything. I watched from up on the cliff.'

  'Who? Who was she?' said Kurt, looming over the old man.

  'I told you,' Orlun said. 'It was that witch that you fought over in Tungask. The one who betrayed you to the madman. I remember her face clearly.'

  Kurt staggered away, his mind reeling. He felt his anger rising inside him, burning at his heart.

  On the beach, the Fjaergard were wandering around the remnants of the longships and their homes, equally dazed. Jakob was supervising the Slangots unloading the treasure, Narthur stood next to him.

  The shaman felt a change in the air, could feel the magic that saturated the land being drawn into the ruined village. It was building up, gathering strength, roiling and churning in its intensity.

  'Down!' shouted Jakob, hurling himself down the beach and diving into the water. The others looked at him for a moment in astonishment, and then their attention was drawn to the ruins of Fjaergardhold.

  A rising column of fire towered from the devastated village, a hundred feet high. The flickering flames wreathed and twisted with a life of their own.

  With a crack like thunder, the fire exploded outwards. The flames and shockwaves tore through the burning ruins in a wall of ash, fire and splinters. The wave of flame crashed across the beach, hurling men from their feet, tossing chests into the air, the water's edge flung up in cloud of steam. Flaming corpses fell to the ground and splashed into the ash-laden water. A great pall of smoke lay across the bay.

  From the smoke a figure emerged.

  It was Kurt. He was naked and bald, his clothes and hair burned, wisps of fire still trailing from his skin. In his hand he held his sword, its blade burning with magical energy.

  Kurt looked at the treasure chests that were being piled on the beach, and then at Jakob. Narthur picked himself up from the shale, his flesh reddened and burnt in places.

  'The southerners will pay for this,' said Kurt, his voice low and heavy. 'The witch will die.'

  'We will catch them,' Narthur said, looking in disbelief at the smoking crater that now lay where Fjaergardhold had stood. 'And then the age of gold will begin in their memory.'

  'No,' said Kurt.

  'What?' said Narthur. 'You do not want vengeance for this?'

  Kurt looked at him for a long moment, and then tossed his sword down.

  'There will be no age of gold,' Kurt said, his face twisted in a feral snarl. 'We will bring the age of blood to the world. The murderers of my wife and son, their families, their homes, their towns and cities. I will have them destroyed, as they have destroyed what is most dear to me.'

  'What of the freigattur?' said Narthur. 'You can't just decide what to do, you must talk to the others.'

  Kurt's stare bored into the other Chosen's gaze.

  'Only now do I realise how far I have wandered from the path the gods wish me to tread,' said Kurt. 'Where was their glory in my quest? I thought only of myself and my own wealth. I was no better than the squabbling lords in the Empire that I despise so much. This is punishment for abandoning them. We don't need treasure. We have the gods.'

  Kurt grabbed the nearest chest and using his unnatural strength heaved it out into the waves, past the king's ship's stern. It disappeared with a splash. He grabbed the next chest and lifted it, but Narthur stopped him.

  'This is not only your gold now,' he said. 'What about the freigattur?'

  Kurt smashed the other champion from his feet with a swing of the heavy strongbox, and then stepped forward, bringing it down into Narthur's head with a yell, crushing his skull. The Slangots reached for their weapons, but as power and anger surged through Kurt's body, he brought his hands together, splintering the chest and scattering gold over the rocks. Flames danced from his fingers as he turned on them.

  'We do not fight for gold!' he roared. 'Blood and the gods! We fight for blood and the gods! We shall usher in the age of the gods with a tide of death, and I shall be their messenger! Spread the word! The Sutenvulf is on the hunt!'

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  Version 1.1