Mark of Chaos (26 page)

Picking up one of the tall plumed helmets, Wilhelm placed it on his head. He picked up an unfired pistol, and shoved it into his belt before mounting one of the horses. The other scouts followed his lead, and soon they were all mounted up. They trotted back down the path towards the open field. They heard the booming roar of cannon firing, and Wilhelm swore. 'Let's go and silence those guns,' he said, kicking his horse into a
gallop
once he was clear of the trees.

The first shots
from Gruber's cannon screamed down the hill and ploughed into the advancing state troops, ripping a bloody swathe through the tightly packed men. Soldiers fell screaming in agony, their legs torn from their bodies and their chests smashed to pulp. The cannonballs bounced through the ranks, breaking limbs and crushing bones, crumpling armour and destroying everything in their path.

'Hold the line!' roared Albrecht as he felt the courage of the halberdiers wavering. 'Advance!'

As
Wilhelm galloped
towards the enemy guns, he thought that at any second the enemy would see through their deception and tear them to shreds with grapeshot. His heart was pounding as they drew nearer and nearer to the emplaced guns. The mighty cannon fired once more, and his horse struggled against him, unnerved by the ungodly sound and the strange smell of gunpowder. He kept a firm hand on the reins, galloping the horse straight towards the guns.

Reaching them, he leapt from the saddle, coming face to face with a pair of startled crewmen loading a massive shell into a mortar. They looked at him in confusion, even as he rammed his hunting knife into the first one's throat. His men leapt over the earth embankments, stabbing and killing. Wilhelm punched the other man in the face as he dropped the mortar shell, knocking him to the ground with the force of the blow. He dropped his knee onto the man's back and dispatched him with a brutal stab of his knife, and was up and moving again in seconds.

Ducking around a cannon that had just fired, Wilhelm slammed into
a
man shoulder first, lifting him into the air before ramming him to the ground. In the resulting scuffle, he drove his knife into the man's stomach again and again. Standing, he opened the lid of a large barrel that was full to the brim with black powder. Pushing it onto its side, he gave the barrel a shove with his heel, and it rolled down the small embankment, before coming to a halt in between two cannons. The crew of these cannon looked up to see where the barrel had come from only to see Wilhelm standing there with a pistol in his hand. Frantically, they tried to clamber away as he aimed the pistol towards the barrel, and fired.

Otto Gruber ripped
aside the curtains of his palanquin as a massive explosion sounded. 'What in all the gods' names?' he asked as he saw the rising ball of fire amid his beloved cannon.

'Count, look!' Johann shouted, pointing to the south. A wedge of knights, the Reiklandguard, was charging out from the cover of the trees, behind his main battle line on the hill. They were galloping straight towards him, and closing the distance with worrying speed. At that moment, von Kessel's guns spoke, his own cannon firing up into the press of bodies on the hillside, raining death amongst Gruber's troops.

The well-drilled greatswords, Gruber's personal guard, about-faced and wheeled to confront the rapidly approaching knights. Other regiments along the battle line were turning towards the knights, but none responded quickly enough to be able to intercept them. At the front of the charging knights, Gruber saw von Kessel raise a blade high into the air, a weapon that flashed with golden light. He felt his heart constrict at the sight of the weapon, and he hissed in rising panic.

The knights slammed into the greatswords, driving deep into their ranks. Gruber saw dozens of his elite guard slain in an instant, impaled on the lances of the knights and crushed beneath the bulk of their gigantic warhorses. He saw von Kessel battling furiously through the press of warriors towards him, lashing around with the cursed, glowing blade. The advance of the knights slowed, but they were still grinding towards him relentlessly. They were completely surrounded, as swordsmen closed the gap behind the knights. There was no retreat for them - either they would be slaughtered to a man, or they would reach Gruber.

Stefan von Kessel
caught a glimpse of the elector count's lavish palanquin up ahead, and renewed the fury of his attack. The elf blade was light in his hand, and he hacked down with it, slicing through helmets and cleaving skulls. He urged his warhorse on with his knees, forcing it further into the enemy formation. It lashed out with its hooves, crushing another man. Stefan took a blow on his shield, the force of the strike sending him reeling backwards in the saddle, but he kept his seat, and lashed out with the flashing elf blade, killing with every smooth stroke. With every blow, he drew closer to the count, closer to fulfilling his oath and redeeming the honour of his family.

'Lower me!' barked
Otto Gruber, and his palanquin was lowered smoothly to the ground. 'My coven! To me!' he shouted, uncaring who should hear his words. His courtiers, who had come to the battle to sip wine and watch the victory, looked shocked and frightened.

'Gather yourselves around me. Lend me your strength!' shouted the grand count, and they moved sluggishly into a rough circle around the fat count, dropping to their knees. The man pulled a dead toad from within his robes, and stroked its lumpy back lovingly. He raised it to the heavens, and began to chant in a language that made all those who heard it shiver, repulsed by the unnatural sound of the language of Chaos. The courtiers arrayed around the count, his coven, began to chant along with him, speaking the language of the daemons.

Far across the
other side of the battlefield, behind the lines of battle and beyond the advancing troops, the nameless flagellant knight surged upright, standing tall amidst the ragged fanatics.

'They come!' he roared. 'The pestilent ones come. Arise my brethren. Take up your weapons once more. The decaying ones come!'

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Gruber continued to
chant, and the sky overhead darkened. One of the courtier cultists collapsed, shaking and convulsing. A strange bulge appeared in the earth at the feet of the grand count, growing larger, like a boil ready to rupture. It grew to the size of a man's head, a foul, pallid, fleshy colour. It burst suddenly, spraying yellow pus across the ground and over Gruber's robes. There, amid the filth and the pus was a small round creature, squat and toad-like. Its cruel eyes blinked, and it opened its massive mouth to expose a myriad of rotten, childlike teeth, and a pink, fleshy tongue covered in weeping sores. It squirmed forwards on clawed feet, leaving a trail of faeces and filth behind it. It hugged Gruber's leg with its fat, warty arms, nuzzling and licking at him lovingly. More of the boils began to sprout from the earth, bubbling up all around Gruber and the chanting cultists.

A rent opened up in the earth in front of the chanting count, and a shape larger than a man was excreted from it, squeezing up, squirming and wriggling. It was held within a thin membrane of veined skin, covered in a foul smelling, yellow-brown slime. The creature within struggled frantically for a moment, before a single horn pierced the birthing membrane, tearing an opening in it. Hands the colour of dead flesh ripped this opening wider still, and the fully formed creature stepped into reality.

It stood some seven feet tall, and its flesh was covered in cuts and wounds, exposing the muscles, bones and organs within. Beetles and maggots crawled beneath its dead flesh. Its belly was bloated and fat, and there was a deep cut in its stomach through which the intestines protruded. Its massive head was dominated by a cyclopean, bloodshot eye that blinked slowly, milky liquid running from its corners. A single horn was positioned just above the eye, covered in the remains of the birth sac that it had just burst from.

Reaching one rotten, corpse-like hand to the ground, it lifted a massive, corroded blade, dripping with venom and foul poison. Raising the plague sword high into the air, the daemon of pestilence exhaled. A great cloud of buzzing flies and biting insects emerged from its lungs as it breathed out. The plaguebearer swung its large head towards Gruber, and gave him a mock bow.

Stefan paused, gagging, as the stench of decay and death came to him, an overpowering stink that made his stomach heave. The knights' horses, known for their bravery and fearlessness, baulked at the unearthly stench, whinnying and rearing. The Reiklandguard fought against their steeds, desperately trying to keep them under control. Taking advantage of this, the greatswords loyal to Gruber pushed forwards, their blades smashing knights from their terrified steeds. A glancing blow knocked one of the men from his saddle, and he fell heavily to the ground. As he struggled to his knees, a five-foot-long blade swept into his neck, cleaving through his ornate plate armour and his spine.

Stefan lashed downwards, splitting the skull of another greatsword, his horse bucking beneath him. His ears were filled with a buzzing drone, and a black cloud of insects suddenly descended on the combatants, crawling into eyes, ears and noses. They crawled through the visor slits of the Reiklandguard, buzzing and biting, and several of the knights struggled to rip the helms from their heads. They crawled down the inside of plate armour, painfully biting the flesh beneath. They swarmed over the eyes of the horses, stinging and biting. The greatswords were also assailed by the plague, and they swatted frantically at the insects as they crawled over them.

The captain spat half a dozen buzzing insects from his mouth, his stomach heaving, and raised his blade to cut down another of the greatswords that stood between him and the elector count. He paused, holding his blow as he saw that the man was desperately scratching bugs out of his eyes and swatting at the creatures crawling down his neck, the battle forgotten. Stefan could not strike down a man in this way, but he did not need to. A blade punched through the chest of the man, driven through him from behind with brutal force. The man was lifted into the air before being hurled to the ground. He lifted his face to the heavens, crying out in pain. Stefan saw the man's face begin to rot before his eyes. He was still alive as his flesh turned gangrenous and black, and his eyes turned milky-white, filled with cataracts. In seconds, the man's skin atrophied and shrivelled, and he fell to the ground, dead.

A daemon stood behind the body, grinning insanely with its lipless mouth. It opened its mouth wide, exposing crawling things within, and stepped heavily towards Stefan, hefting its filth encrusted weapon.

Nausea threatened to overcome the captain, and he felt bile rising in his throat. His steed reared up in terror, and the creature thrust its plague sword deep into the chest of the rearing horse. Whinnying piteously, it began to decay from the inside out, and Stefan was thrown to the ground. A small, pestilent creature reached towards his eyes with clawed hands, and he lashed out blindly, knocking the foul daemon away from him. Rising to his feet, he saw several of the hulking plaguebearers rearing up before him. One of them stroked the blistered and pox-ridden head of the fallen horse, fresh contagion flaring beneath its touch.

His elf blade glowing hotly, Stefan lunged forwards, driving the weapon deep into the pestilent gut of the first creature. It opened its mouth and screamed horribly, spraying out spittle, phlegm and maggots. Its flesh seemed to turn to a thick liquid, and it sank to the ground, turning into a pestilent pool of filth. Stefan backed away from the foul liquid, not wishing to let it touch him.

The greatswords and the knights were being butchered as more and more of the foul plaguebearers appeared. A rent in the earth before Stefan spewed forth another of the daemons, struggling within its birth sac. His face curled in disgust, and he lashed out with his golden, blazing sword, despatching the thing before it could rip itself free. He felt something at his leg, and looking down saw another of the small daemons biting ineffectually at his armoured leg. He kicked the creature away with a curse, spraying blood and mucus.

A greatsword was dragged to the ground beneath a swarm of the small creatures, and they leapt upon him, biting, clawing and giggling. He saw the mans eyes ripped from their sockets, and a handful of the creatures began to fight for the morsels, spitting and striking at each other.

Stefan saw Gruber for a second, through the mayhem and the cloud of flies: the fat man was chanting and grinning madly, cradling one of the small daemons in his arms like a baby. Something was rising up behind Gruber, something enormous, but before Stefan could discern this new horror, a plaguebearer was before him, swinging its corroded blade at him. He stepped back to avoid the wild blow, treading on something that wriggled and squirmed beneath his feet. He lost his footing and fell. One of the small creatures crouched on its haunches beside his head, and it vomited up the contents of its stomach into his hair, foul liquid filled with writhing maggots and worms.

A strong hand grasped Stefan by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. It was Lederstein, the captain of the Reiklandguard. In his other hand he held the reins of his steed. He thrust the reins into Stefan's hand and drew his ornate sabre, leaping forwards to strike at the approaching plaguebearer, and severing an outstretched arm. 'Go!' he shouted over his shoulder. 'Take my horse and pull back! We must retreat to the rest of the army. We cannot win here!'

'No!' shouted Stefan. 'We must end this now!'

The knight slammed his blade into the neck of the plaguebearer, almost decapitating the creature. Still it fought on, grinning madly as its head flopped loosely, hanging by rope-like sinews and muscles. Lederstein turned to face von Kessel. 'Your army still fights Gruber's!' he shouted. 'Stop the killing, and
then
end it! If we all die here, all is for naught!' A blade was suddenly plunged into the knight's leg, and he bellowed in pain. Smaller daemons dragged at him, pulling him down to them even as the plaguebearer withdrew its pestilent weapon, and stabbed him in the face.