Mark of Chaos (16 page)

'The cowardly dog,' he muttered.

'The Grand Count Gruber has retreated,' said the reiksmarshal angrily. 'He has pulled his army away from the Middle Mountains, "in the face of mounting aggression from the north and fearing the plague spreading through northern Ostland", and has retreated back towards Ostermark. What the hell is he doing? He's left an open corridor straight past the Middle Mountains and into the heart of the Empire! If the army that the elf mage spoke of moves south, there is nothing to stop it,' he raged. 'An army could march straight into the heart of the Empire unopposed!'

'I cannot join the elves and leave Empire soil, reiksmarshal. To leave now would be folly.' said von Kessel.

'No, you must go. In such things we have always trusted the elves. They are wise, Stefan, and we cannot ignore their counsel. No, I must leave right away. Bastard! I will ride hard, commandeer his army and lead it back to the north to face the massing foe myself.'

'He will not take such action lightly.' cautioned Stefan.

'I care not how he takes it.' said the reiksmarshal. 'I'll see him dragged before the Emperor in Nuln in chains if he resists me. I'll not see us win the war in the north only for the Empire to fall due to the cowardice of one inbred, fat elector. Nor will I see civil war return to the Empire.'

'No. You will join the elves, and I will ride southeast tonight.'

It was just
before dawn when Stefan entered his tent. He was dog-tired, having spent the night in preparations for the journey by ship to Sigmar knew where. The reiksmarshal had left the camp hours before, riding with around half his company of Reiklandguard. He had left the rest of the elite knight regiment with Stefan, under the command of Captain Lederstein of the Reiklandguard.

Shuffling wearily across the tent, von Kessel was ready to collapse on his pallet fully clothed, when he saw the sealed letter on his chair. Frowning, he clumsily ripped it open and read it quickly. He re-read it to make sure he had read correctly. Standing, he moved to the tent entrance and called out to one of his guards. 'Get me Albrecht.' he said.

The tent was poorly lit when the sergeant arrived. 'Sir.' he said cautiously into the gloom, pushing open the tent flaps.

'Come in.' said Stefan from the darkness, his voice strained. As Albrecht's eyes adjusted, he saw that Stefan was sitting at his table, a letter open before him. There was a bottle of spirits on the table in front of him. He groaned inwardly. He had seen Stefan drunk before, but rarely when on campaign. He was a difficult, moody drunk, but was wise enough to know it, and would only drink alone.

'What is wrong, captain?'

'I have just received a letter from Ostermark. Sigmar knows how long it has taken to reach me.' he said. His words were said through gritted teeth, but they were clear, with no hint of slurring. Good, thought Albrecht. He would rather have Stefan angry than drunk.

'Oh? And how do things fare in our homeland?'

'Badly. Plague is slaughtering our people. The north is rife with it. Entire villages and towns have succumbed. Thousands are dead. The larger cities have closed and barred their gates, allowing none to enter. Thousands more of our people have frozen to death after being refused entry.'

'It is a bad thing indeed, this plague; not natural.'

'Not natural.' Stefan repeated. Then his voice hardened, and Albrecht was taken aback by the hatred he could hear in the captain's voice. 'Our land is suffering, and now I learn that it is led by the man responsible for it.'

'What? What are you talking about, captain?'

'Gruber is the one responsible for the spreading plagues - him and his infernal allies.'

'Stefan... You could be hanged for such words.'

'This letter I hold was sent from a Sigmarite temple in Ostermark. It bears the mark of a priest of Sigmar, and the signature of Gruber's own physician.'

'His physician? Heinrich? The physician that disappeared months ago?'

'The same. He did not disappear. He fled from Gruber. He knows the truth.'

'The truth? What, of the old man's illness? I don't understand, captain.'

'He should have died years ago! Bastard. I'll kill him myself.'

'Kill him, captain? What are you saying? What madness is this? Slow down.'

'Madness, Albrecht? Yes, there is madness here, but it is not of my creation,' ranted Stefan. 'The cur. He gave me this scar,' he snarled, indicating his face. 'He gave me this... this...
mark of Chaos
.
He had my grandfather murdered, my father exiled.'

'It wasn't him, Stefan,' admonished Albrecht. 'Once your grandfather was exposed, his fate was sealed. He brought it on himself.'

'Brought it on himself. No, that was a lie, Albrecht, a lie that was fed to us all.'

'A lie? I don't understand, captain.'

'Read this.' he said, thrusting the letter towards the burly sergeant. 'Read it!' Confused and alarmed by the apparent madness of his captain, Albrecht skimmed over the letter. The mark at the foot of the page was indeed the mark of a Sigmarite priest - a hammer emblazoned with a twin-tailed comet - and he saw the signature of the physician Heinrich. His eyes widened as he read the words on the page.

... have unearthed a secret that the cursed elector believed put to rest decades ago - the truth of the execution of your grandfather, Grand Elector Piter von Kessel, a fallacy of justice hiding the true offenders - the courtiers of Ostermark, led by the grand deceiver, Otto Gruber, the true worshipper of the fell gods of Chaos...

'What does this mean?' asked Albrecht dully.

'It means that my grandfather was wrongly accused and wrongly sentenced. It means that Ostermark is being led by a treacherous fiend working against the Empire from within. No wonder Gruber has pulled the army back! He
wants
the Chaos forces to attack!'

'How can we know that this letter speaks the truth? Could it not be a trick of the enemy to sow dissent amongst us?'

'It bears the mark of Sigmar! No Chaos spawn could use such an icon of good for their own fell purposes!'

'This priest of Sigmar.' said Albrecht looking at the mark at the foot of the page, 'Gunthar. How do we know he can be trusted?'

'How do we... He is a priest of Sigmar, man! What is wrong with you, Albrecht? How can you doubt the word of a priest!' ranted Stefan, his eyes blazing.

'I've never been one for religion, Stefan, as you know. Don't get me wrong, I'll ask for Manann's favour when I board a ship, and Sigmar's boon when I go to battle, but I don't put my faith in such things. A priest is just a man, Stefan, just a man, and I don't trust any man I don't know.'

'Bah! What does it matter - this letter contains the truth. I know it in my heart!' Stefan was breathing heavily hatred coursing through him. Albrecht sighed and put a hand to his temple, where he could feel a headache rising.

'I fear the letter speaks the truth, Stefan, don't misunderstand me. Your grandfather was a good man. We were all shocked when... Well, when he was accused. He was a better man than Gruber, there is no doubt of that. But what you are speaking of - there will be civil war, man. The Empire was almost brought down by civil war. We wallowed in it for centuries, and it almost destroyed us all. Emperor Magnus united the states. Now, while the Empire is still threatened, you want to start another civil war?'

'I cannot let him get away with it, Albrecht. You know that.'

'I know,' said the sergeant with a sigh, 'and you know that your army will follow you against any enemy - even against Gruber. But is it wise?'

'I don't know if it is wise or not, but I will kill him.'

'You would be asking men of Ostermark to fight other men of Ostermark. They would know each other. Some would be friends, or even family, and you would ask them to kill each other.'

Stefan's face hardened. 'If Gruber is truly allied with the powers of darkness, then there is no question here at all, Albrecht. He
must
be slain.'

'Aye, agreed. What of the elves, captain? As we speak, our men are preparing to take to their ships on the morrow.'

'We will not go with the elves. We cannot leave Empire soil while Gruber is walking free upon it.'

'What of the reiksmarshal's orders?'

'He was unaware of this new information. He is travelling to Gruber as we speak. We must catch up with him and warn him.'

'You know of course that we could warn him, and still go with the elves. The reiksmarshal could muster an army to face him.'

'An army from where? Stirland and Ostland are wastelands, their armies slaughtered in the Great War. The remnants of their forces have already joined with us! Talabecland? The armies of Talabecland are all but gone. Their soldiers are barely able to man the walls of Talabheim. So, from where? Middenland? Reikland? They have armies, it is true, but it would be months before they would reach Ostermark, and that would be leaving the heart of the Empire completely undefended. No, there is no one Albrecht, and I will not have the pleasure of killing the fat wretch taken away from me!'

Albrecht frowned. 'If we do not join the elves, and instead march across the Empire, what happens if the enemy attacks here? There would be no one to stand against them. Surely they would advance into the heart of the Empire?'

'There already
is
an enemy within the Empire!' snarled Stefan, his face twisted in hatred, 'and we must destroy him!'

Aurelion stood on
the castle ramparts, watching the last trailing troops of the Empire filing away over the horizon.

'They are blind fools,' snarled Khalanos. 'They cannot see what they have done this day. Fire and darkness, and death will come of this.'

I know, thought Aurelion, but she could not help but feel pity for the scarred Empire captain. Rage burned within him, and she knew that he had learnt some terrible truth. He had made his path, made his decision as he saw it, and he would have to live with the consequences or die with them.

'You give them too much time, these humans,' the Dragon Prince stated.

'I pity them and their brief lives. How can they see the folly of their actions when they live so fleetingly? The captain is doing what he thinks is right.'

'You are young, Aurelion. He doesn't do what he thinks is right. He is blinded by anger. In time, cousin, you will realise that the humans are undeserving of our pity.'

'They know not the power of what the forces of Chaos seek! And we cannot tell them, for it was our duty to keep it safe!'

'What are you saying, cousin? That it is
our
fault that the humans cannot see the folly of their actions?'

'It is not truly their battle to fight, Khalanos. It is ours. I cannot loathe them for not joining you,' she snapped. She immediately regretted losing her control. 'What will you do now?'

'What I must. My fleet will leave to face the Chaos forces.'

'Without the Empire forces, you will not outnumber the Norscans, cousin.'

'I know, but they must be stopped. You know this. Pray that the actions of the human captain have not doomed us all.' He stalked from the ramparts, tall, noble and proud. As she had said, Aurelion could not loathe the humans for not doing what she had wished, and she did pity the human captain. Nevertheless, she knew that dire occurrences would result from his rash decision.

She watched as Prince Khalanos launched into the air upon the back of his massive dragon. She stood atop the ramparts as the ships sailed out into the sea to hunt the hated forces of Chaos. She whispered a prayer for them, but knew in her heart that she would never see them again. A single tear ran down her perfect cheek, and she turned and left the ramparts. The white sails of the ships disappeared from view, swallowed by the dark storm clouds building on the horizon.

Carandrian, her loyal swordmaster bodyguard and his retinue awaited her. She nodded to him, and they left the castle. She would journey to Altdorf, as Lord Teclis had requested of her.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Hroth roared, hefting
his massive axe high over his head. The sea roiled around them, the ship rising and falling on the massive swell. Salt water sprayed into his face as the ship raced down into an immense trough. Dark grey-green clouds filled the sky, and biting rain lashed the decks. Lightning crackled and thunder boomed. More than one of the dozens of ships had been struck, the lightning shattering masts and causing fires that were almost immediately doused by the crashing waves.

Arrows strafed the deck of the giant ship, and many warriors lost their grip on the handrails as arrows slammed into their flesh, sending them screaming into the turbulent black sea. Hroth did not cower before the arrows of the enemy. He knew the Blood God was with him, and that he would protect him from the pitiful weapons of the elves. He roared again, shouting his hatred and fury at the elves he could see on the decks of their sleek, white-sailed cutters.

The Norscans struggled with the mighty ship, trying to get close to the enemy that darted through the sea. They had already rammed one of the elf ships, the daemon bound within the hull tearing into it with fury. Its crunching metal jaws had ripped apart the decking of the fragile elf vessel, smashing it asunder and sending it to the bottom of the ocean.

An elf vessel darted past the great ship, too close. With a shout, the Norse Warlord, Ulkjar, ordered the chain-guns upon the deck to be fired. With the turning of infernal gears, the guns spoke and massive harpoons fired, smashing into the hull of the enemy vessel. As the massive harpoons drove through the side of the ship, reversed spikes on their tips clanged open so that they could not be removed. The chains linking the harpoons to the Norse ship began to be drawn in, clanking as they were retracted. The elf ship was dragged inexorably towards its captor.

Repeating bolt throwers at the stern of the elf vessel fired, shooting dozens of bolts towards the Norse ship, each as long as a man is tall. They skewered several of the Norscans hauling on the massive oars, pinning them to the decks. Their comrades ripped the bolts from their flesh, and those who were able returned to their duty.