Mark of Chaos (32 page)

'I am Captain Stefan von Kessel. I come to the aid of Talabheim in its time of need. The time for hostilities between our lands is long past, we are united together in the service of our Emperor, Sigmar praise his name.'

'A captain? A mere captain who bears the Runefang of Ostermark?'

Stefan's face hardened. 'I am to be elector on my return to Ostermark. It is not a duty that I long for, but it is my duty none the less. You have a duty too, my lord, to Talabheim and to the Empire.'

The sick young man closed his eyes, sighing wearily. 'I am not long for this world.' he said. 'Morr will come for me soon. Leave me in peace, Ostermark.'

'My lord, your city is but days from being besieged! Would you lie here in your bed and let it fall around you?'

'What else can I do? I am dying. Let me be.'

'You are not damn well dead yet. I met your father once. He was a proud man, a great leader and a truly heroic warrior. I mourned for him when I learnt he had fallen, but I raised my cup to his memory. A true hero of the Empire.'

'What is your point, Ostermark? Why do you come here to berate me?'

'Would you be proud for your father to see you now, man? Cowering in your bed like a child, shirking your responsibilities and letting all that he fought so hard to protect fall and crumble around you?'

'I am not my father!' said Jurgen sharply, leaning forwards. He slumped back into the cushions, sighing wearily. 'I wish I had his strength, but I do not. I will be of no use in the days to come.'

'Put on your armour, lord,' said Stefan, his voice softer. 'Your soldiers need their leader! Just to see you walk the battlements will lift their spirits! That is worth more than a thousand more troops! Show them that you will fight at their side!'

'I... I cannot. Leave me be.'

'You would leave the defence of your city to those poisonous politicians in your war room? You would bring dishonour to the name of your family like this? Does your father's sacrifice for the Empire mean
nothing
to you?'

Jurgen had closed his eyes against these questions. 'I loved my father dearly, but I am nothing next to him. Where he was strong, I am not. I cannot do this, Ostermark. Do not ask me to,' he said. His eyes opened suddenly, and he leant forwards, his face filled with sudden passion.
'
You
take charge of the defence. You could do it! I know that you could. You lead my people. You would give them more hope than I ever could.'

'Your soldiers need
you
,
damn it!' exploded Stefan, losing his patience with the weakling fool before him. 'Have some damned backbone, man!'

Jurgen looked at him pleadingly, silently begging Stefan to leave him be. 'I am dying,' he said weakly.

Von Kessel stared at him for a moment, his face hard. 'You want to be remembered like this? A man can be defined by the way he dies, Count Krieglitz. You could die a failure, rotting away here in your chambers. Or you could don your armour and inspire your troops. Lead them, and if you fall in battle, then you will be remembered as the elector count who gave his life in the defence of his capital, fighting alongside his soldiers. You could be remembered for all time in the annals of Talabecland as a hero who died in service to his Emperor.'

Silence hung over the bedchamber. Jurgen continued to stare pleadingly at the captain. 'I... I cannot do this.' he said finally.

'Then be damned, for all I care. Stay here and wait for death to come.' said the captain. He stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

'Can... can I get you anything, my lord?' ventured Jurgen's manservant. Ignoring the man, Jurgen slumped down into his bed once more. He drew the covers around him tightly, his stomach churning, and rolled to face the wall. He waited until he heard the man leave, padding quietly across the room and slipping out the door, and curled himself into a ball, loathing himself.

The following days
were a blur of frantic activity within Talabheim. Tens of thousands of arrows, crossbow bolts and handgun shot were delivered onto the walls, and cannon and mortars were hauled onto the tops of towers. The soldiers were posted along the walls, but there were miles upon miles of walls to cover, and they were spread thinly. Still, the main Chaos assault would come at the Wizard's Way, and the majority of the defence was focused there. The outer fortress would face the brunt of the attack, and there would stand von Kessel's greatswords, and half of the soldiers of Talabheim. Two hundred handgunners would man the outer fortress walls, and eighteen cannon and eight mortars would rain death upon the forces of Chaos as they approached the gatehouse. Stefan was determined to hold the fortress for as long as possible, to exact a terrible toll on the enemy. The soldiers stationed there accepted their duty with stoic pride, although they knew that the chances of survival were slim.

The scouts and outriders under the grim command of Wilhelm reported on the approach of the forces of the enemy. They marched towards the city relentlessly, with more warbands emerging every day from the forest to join them, so that the Empire troops were outnumbered near four to one. But the odds were acceptable, even favourable, for the Empire troops, such was the strength of Talabheim's defences.

Still, von Kessel was uneasy, for he feared some daemonic devilry and sorcery would render all his careful planning wasted. In a hushed voice, Wilhelm spoke to Stefan and the reiksmarshal of the daemon leading the Chaos forces, which he had glimpsed from afar. His eyes contained fear as he spoke of the massive creature, and that alone worried von Kessel, for he believed that nothing could scare the cold-hearted killer. 'We're all going to die,' said Wilhelm, his face grim. Stefan knew the man well enough to know that he would not speak those words to any other than himself, and would not shy from his duty, but the certainty of the scout's words frightened him.

Talagaad, at the base of the great crater of Talabheim, was evacuated. The populace sought refuge within the walls of Talabheim, walking miserably along the Wizard's Way. Some refused to leave, and these barricaded themselves inside their homes in a vain attempt to protect themselves from the onslaught to come. Others took advantage of the exodus, looting the homes of those who had left, and there were several deaths. The richer of the villagers paid exorbitant prices to be carried away to safety onboard merchant vessels bound for Altdorf. The harbour lay empty of ships, and the streets of Talagaad were deserted.

The elf mage Aurelion and her bodyguard had been coolly distant with the humans. They had joined the defences at the outer fortress, and Stefan was glad of their support. He had seen those tall warriors fight, and they possessed skills that seemed far from natural, moving with subtle, lethal grace. They would fight to the last, he knew. He was still suspicious of Aurelion and her power, but he knew that she would be invaluable in counteracting the vile magics of the enemy.

Gunthar walked along the walls constantly, his presence doing wonders to raise the spirits of the men. He seemed to be looking forward to the coming battle, and he joked and made light with the men, who appreciated his crude stories and his booming laugh.

Albrecht worked tirelessly, shouting orders and preparing the men for the assault to come. He snatched sleep when he could, the odd hour here and there, resting in full armour on the walls. He drilled the soldiers relentlessly, making sure they knew exactly where they needed to be once battle commenced.

The Reiklandguard was to be held back as a reserve, one of a dozen flying companies that could be redeployed quickly to fill any gaps that appeared, or to stem any attack that breached the walls.

The city of Talabheim itself, about two miles across farmland from the Wizard's Way, was crowded with refugees from Talagaad. The militia that kept the peace there were kept busy as the inevitable scuffles broke out amongst the hungry, homeless and frightened people. Of Baron Jurgen Krieglitz, there was no word.

Finally, Wilhelm and the last of his scouts arrived at the outer fortress, breathless and bloody. Ropes were thrown from the walls and they ascended swiftly to report to von Kessel and the reiksmarshal.

'They come,' Wilhelm stated simply. It was then that the drumming began.

Hroth stood atop
the rise, looking out across the top of his massive army towards the Empire city, his eyes burning with flame, rage and hunger. Thousands of burning torches were held aloft, thrust into the air with every beat of the drums. The sound of drumming filled the night. The relentless pounding of hundreds of drums would be terrifying to the pitiful men cowering within the walls of the city, but the sound made his daemonic heart beat quickly in anticipation of the slaughter to come. How he had longed for this time! The attack would begin. He licked his lips with his long forked tongue. Soon he would have a foothold in the very heart of the Empire, which would herald the inevitable downfall of civilisation.

Hroth roared, the thunderous sound echoing back to him from the crater and walls surrounding the city, passing over the warbands readying themselves below. The drumming stopped instantly. Hroth roared again, and his army began the assault.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

For almost a
week, the attacks came at the walls of Talabheim. The forces of Chaos suffered terrible casualties, for to attack up the crater at the walls was nigh-on impossible, and the Chaos warbands of Hroth the Blooded were mercilessly slaughtered by the defenders. The dead dropped their hastily constructed ladders where they fell, to be picked up by others as they scrambled up the steep incline towards the towering walls.

To the Empire defenders, the hordes assailing them seemed countless, and the nights were filled with the hateful drumming of the foe, haunting the sleep of the soldiers, and thousands of campfires and torches burnt through the night. Night was no release from the attacks, and the Empire soldiers were dog-tired from hours of constant readiness and sporadic moments of frantic battle. They took their rest when they could get it, but it was invariably short-lived and rare. The Chaos forces attacked all around the city, striking against the walls quickly, forcing the defenders to constantly have men on all the many miles of walls.

Stefan von Kessel and the reiksmarshal knew that these were little more than diversionary attacks, for the main assault would come at the only true entrance into Talabheim, at the fortress leading into the tunnel. However, if they did not station some men on these walls, the enemy might well make a breach, and then the defence would be shattered. So, with some frustration, Stefan ordered many of the men he would have preferred to have been protecting the main entrance onto the subsidiary walls that surrounded the great city. 'Why in heaven's name make so many miles of damn walls!' he had shouted in exasperation. 'If the walls were around just the city itself, we could hold against this foe for a year!' He had not been mollified by the reiksmarshal's undeniably sensible response.

The smithies of Talabheim worked day and night to cast thousands upon thousands of handgun shots and cannonballs, and the fletchers worked tirelessly crafting great bundles of arrows that were distributed amongst the archers. The temple of Shallya was overflowing, and so the palace of Baron Jurgen Krieglitz was turned into a temporary surgery. Cartloads of the injured were carried there from the battlements daily to be tended by the priestesses of Shallya and those citizens who lent their aid. The grim priests of Morr stalked the halls, tending to those whose injuries were fatal, easing their passage from the world.

Von Kessel visited the different wall sections, bolstering the morale of the men wherever he was. The soldiers of Talabheim held him in awe, for he fought at their side as one of them, and expected nothing of the soldiers that he was unwilling to do himself. The Chaos forces made several breaches along the walls, and they surged into the open land within like a tide of insects. These breaks were but temporary, and they were crushed by the ever-vigilant Reiklandguard and other flying companies that Stefan had assigned.

The enemy was determined, it seemed, to take Talabheim as quickly as possible, regardless of the losses incurred, and Stefan could understand their need for a swift victory. The Emperor Magnus was on the march, heading towards the beleaguered city, and if the Chaos forces did not take it quickly, their army would be crushed. If they did take the city, however, something that Stefan would give every last breath of his life to prevent, it would be a very different story. If the Emperor arrived to discover the city already fallen, the Chaos force would be able to hold almost indefinitely against them.

Stefan spent much of his time fighting as part of the defence of the vital fortress leading into the Wizard's Way. The relentless barrage of cannon, mortar and handgun killed thousands. Stefan's soldiers, who were stalwart and unshakeable in their defiance of the foe, met those that reached the walls. They killed hundreds of the enemy, and kicked their corpses from the walls to fall amongst the piles of the dead at their base. The stink was horrendous, and von Kessel worried about disease. Flies descended on the bodies in massive buzzing clouds, bringing back vile memories of the defeat of the treacherous Elector Gruber some weeks earlier.

As each wave was pushed back, the Empire warriors would slump down against the battlements in silence, weary and drawn. They had been jubilant after the first attacks had been stemmed, fuelled with adrenaline, but as the days wore on, they became quieter and more reluctant to be drawn into conversation. Their eyes were lifeless and red-rimmed, and their heads hung low. They snapped upright as soon as the shout came, however, and pulled themselves to their feet to face the next wave of attack.

'They come again!' screamed a voice, and frantic battle was joined once more. Stefan von Kessel rammed his sword through the visor slit of a black armoured warrior, and he toppled backwards off the ladder. Hearing a scream to his left, the captain saw the man next to him stagger, blood streaming from the fatal wound at his throat. A heavily armoured warrior clambered over the ramparts behind him, his helmet horned and bearing hateful markings of the gods of Chaos. Roaring, the warrior lashed out with his pair of weapons, cutting down another man with a blow to the head, and slamming his spiked mace into the chest of another. Other warriors appeared behind him as the first stepped forwards, killing another as he cleared a space on the battlements.