Mark of Chaos (36 page)

'
My Lord Jurgen
!'

The baron had been trying to ignore the irritating voice, feigning sleep, but it was getting louder and more insistent, as was the pounding at his door. Coughing painfully, he rolled over and called out weakly, 'What is it?'

A frightened-looking manservant opened the door. There was a man behind him, who pushed past the attendant with an irritated look on his face. It was the captain of the house guard, Jurgen realised. He didn't know the man's name. 'What?' said Jurgen. 'What is so important that you wake me on my death bed?'

'I'm sorry for the interruption, my lord,' said the man. 'There are... strange occurrences in the city that I thought best to bring to your attention. Battle has reached the streets.'

'What? How is that possible so soon?' asked Jurgen, frowning. Why did they not just let him die in peace? 'What are these strange occurrences?'

'An enemy has appeared within the city itself, sir.'

'The walls have fallen then. The end is nigh.'

'No sir, the walls are intact. The Wizard's Way has been taken, but von Kessel is holding the breach as we speak.'

'So how is it that the enemy are here?' asked Jurgen in a tired voice, the tone of which showed he did not really care about the answer. He had already resolved to die, what happened until that time mattered little to him.

'They come from beneath us, lord,' said the man, his face stoic.

'Beneath us? What are you talking about?'

'They have emerged from the sewers, my lord, and Taal's square has collapsed. They are streaming out from the hole. They must have been tunnelling beneath us for years. Almost two thousand of them have emerged, at my best guess. And lord, they are not men.' the captain of the house guard said. 'They are... some kind of beastman. They look like... well, they look like rats.'

'I... see.' said Jurgen slowly. He wondered briefly if this was the result of his illness - that he was becoming delusional. 'I... I'm sure that you can deal with this, captain. Thank you for informing me of the rats. I will now retire to bed.'

'My lord, the ratmen are marching towards the Wizard's Way. If they hit von Kessel in the rear, then the battle will be as good as over. The city will be lost.'

'The city will be lost.' muttered Jurgen, as if weighing the words up in his mind. The words of von Kessel came back to him then - that the way you die can be the way you are remembered, or words to that effect. 'Von Kessel will perish if this attack happens?'

'Most certainly, baron. He is struggling to hold the enemy as it is. An assault in his rear will leave the army crushed utterly.'

The sick baron frowned, thinking. The captain stood awkwardly, uncomfortable in the presence of his lord. He coughed eventually, and the baron looked up at him. 'Yes?' said Jurgen.

'Shall I... take my leave, baron? Shall I lead the household guard against this foe? We will certainly be destroyed, but we may buy von Kessel some time.'

'You wish to do this, captain?'

'It is not a matter of wishing it or not, baron. It is my duty.' said the man.

'Your duty.' repeated the baron, his expression blank. 'Duty.' he said once more. He turned towards the captain, his eyes clear. 'Ready my armour and my horse, captain. I will lead the household guard.'

The captains mouth dropped open. 'My lord?' he said questioningly.

'My armour. Have it brought here, and ready my steed.' In shock, the man nodded dumbly, backing out of the room.

Yes, thought Jurgen, duty. He was dying. Maybe before he did, he could do something that might have made his father proud. The thought both terrified and filled him with desperate pride.

Sudobaal grinned evilly
as he pointed his staff at another Empire soldier. Blue flames flickered up across the twisted staff and burst out towards the man, engulfing him in searing heat. The man's clothes and skin caught fire, and he screamed horribly as he died.

'Ulkjar,' called out the sorcerer. 'Stay close to me!'

The towering blond Norscan flashed him an angry look, but nodded his head. The massive man hacked the legs out from underneath an Empire soldier and slammed his other sword down into his chest as he fell. The Norscan was covered in blood - both his and that of his enemies - he was covered in cuts, but he seemed not to care. Indeed, the cuts were healing quicker than they were being inflicted.

Sudobaal had been plagued with visions of his own death these last weeks. He knew that Ulkjar was the catalyst. In his visions, he was struck down by a black arrow. He had seen this in his dream-visions, but had seen in other premonitions, the Norscan step into the path of the arrow, saving him. If Ulkjar fell, then the sorcerer would be lost, of that he was certain. Thankfully, Ulkjar seemed nigh-on impossible to kill, so the chances of him falling were slim.

The time came sooner than Sudobaal had expected. The black arrow came streaking through the press of battle. A Chaos warrior ducked to the ground to kill a fallen foe, and the arrow sliced above him. It passed scant inches by the head of another, closing unerringly on Sudobaal. He knew that he was not quick enough to get out of the way. It was exactly as he had seen it in his visions. How many times had he seen the black arrow embed itself in his skull? A dozen times? A hundred? Yet he had only seen himself saved by Ulkjar a mere handful of times. In that moment, he believed that he was about to die, that the visions of the Norscan had not been true dream-visions, merely concoctions of his own mind to give him some sense of hope.

Ulkjar sliced his sword through the neck of an Empire man and spun around, driving his other blade into the chest of another. He spun again, a dervish of death, and a head went flying into the air. As he spun, he stepped into the path of the arrow, and it thudded into his lower back. He rocked forwards, but did not fall. Kicking a man to the ground, he deftly spun one of his swords in his hand and drove it down into the fallen man. Kneeling, he released his grip on the sword, impaled through the man, and gripped the arrow protruding from his back. He ripped it free, and tossed it to the ground.

It had all happened in the blink of an eye, and Sudobaal felt a surge of exhilaration. He was alive! His visions had been true!

'Ulkjar, your task is done.' he muttered.

Some twenty feet
away, Hroth heard the whispered words of the sorcerer. He held the pitiful human that had defied him, around his neck, his feet dangling several feet of the ground. Hroth had knocked the Empire captain's painful sword away, and he held his axe ready to deliver the killing blow, but when the words of the sorcerer reached him, he turned instantly, and hurled his axe. It arced through the press of bodies, spinning end over end.

The axe slammed into Ulkjar as he rose to his feet. It buried itself in his chest, smashing through his armour and his ribcage. Leaping into the air, still carrying the Empire captain, the daemon prince beat its powerful wings, and landed by the Norscan, who had fallen to his knees, clawing at the massive axe embedded in his flesh.

The daemon gripped the axe shaft and pulled it free. White bones protruded from the wound, and blood pumped out over the ground. 'I said that I would have your head.' snarled Hroth, and he swung the axe into the Norscan's neck. His head rolled to the ground.

A blast of red flames struck Hroth in the back, knocking him forwards. The flames did him no harm, for he was still protected by the Collar of Khorne. Still, he turned around swiftly in anger to see who dared attack him with the sorcery he so despised. He saw the shimmering outline of an elf standing in the shattered gateway leading back inside the inner fortress.

Aurelion stood still. The mortal enemies, the warriors of Chaos, could barely perceive her. To them, she appeared as little more than a ghostly shape that could only be seen out of the corner of the eye, but she knew that to the daemon, she was clearly visible.

She cared not. For her kin to survive, the Empire must not be destroyed. She knew that Teclis had spoken the truth, and she was prepared to pay the ultimate price to ensure the continuation of her people.

The last of her bodyguard had been slain, and she stood alone. As she had hoped, the daemon threw down von Kessel, and launched itself into the air towards her. She had expected this reaction - the creatures of Khorne had always held a particular hatred for those who wielded magic, and the actions of the daemon prince were predictable.

She retreated inside the fortress, drawing the daemon towards her. She closed her eyes as she walked calmly inside, her spirit venturing forth to find the one she sought.

Jurgen was unsteady
in the saddle, the sickness having wasted his strength almost completely. Nevertheless, he battled against his exhaustion, and sat up straight, proud and defiant. His golden armour glittered in the sunlight, and the long feathers of his helmet swung in the wind. Beside him, the standard-bearer held aloft the banner of his family, the banner that had not been carried on the field of battle since he was forced to take the throne.

The men around him looked at him in awe. Despite his illness, his features were markedly similar to those of his famed warrior-father, and dressed in his full battle regalia, he resembled his father as a young man. The hearts of the house guard surged with pride as they cantered through the streets. People cheered from the windows of houses as they saw their baron riding to war. It was to be his first and final ride.

Trumpets sounded, and the two hundred knights galloped from the city of Talabheim, heading towards the battle.

The nameless ex-knight
of the Reiklandguard screamed as he slew. He was the last of the flagellants, all those who followed him having been cut down, one by one, by the hordes of Chaos. Another axe struck him, smashing down onto his shoulder, and his arm went limp. He leapt on the warrior, tackling him to the ground, and drove his blade through the eye-slit in the Norscans helmet. A sword smashed into his back, and the nameless man cried out in joy. The light of Sigmar flowed into him, and he rejoiced. Standing, he swung his sword into the head of another man before the blade was knocked from his hands. A heavy spiked mace smashed into his side, and he knew that his time had come. The blow knocked him into another warrior, and he punched his thumb into one of the man's eyes, pushing deep into his skull. A sword blow hacked into his neck, and he swayed, and slumped to the ground. Other swords pierced his body as he fell. He lay on the ground, dead, a rapturous smile upon his face.

'Protect the captain
!' came a shout, and the halberdiers surged forwards to surround their fallen leader. They threw themselves at the foe with renewed vigour, and several men helped von Kessel to stand.

'A sword,' Stefan gasped, and a man thrust a weapon into his hands. He pushed away from the hands that held him upright, and barged his way to the front of the battle. The killing began once more.

Wilhelm stalked through
the press of fighting, his eyes intent on his foe. Seeing his opportunity, he drew back his bow once more and fired. The arrow sliced through the air and struck the black-clad sorcerer in the back of the head. Dropping his bow, Wilhelm drew his sword and hunting knife, and ran through the battle He leapt over a fallen man and slammed his knife into the throat of a warrior that had his back to him, felling him instantly. He ducked beneath a swinging sword and continued on, vaulting over another Chaos worshipper as he fell, a sword in his guts.

The sorcerer had fallen to the ground, and Wilhelm dropped on top of him. Remarkably, Sudobaal was still alive, and he gaped up at the scout with horror in his yellow, cat-like eyes. He tried to say something, but Wilhelm silenced him, stabbing his knife down into the man's throat. Black blood gargled up from the wound, and Wilhelm smiled down at the dying man. 'Your time is up, witch,' he snarled, and slammed his palm into the hilt of his dagger, driving the blade through man's neck. His eyes glazed over, and the sorcerer Sudobaal died.

The reiksmarshal swore
as he saw the teeming horde of skaven approaching from the city. Walking like men, they were hideously deformed beastman-like creatures. Cowardly, except when gathered in large numbers, they were quick and vicious fighters that battled like cornered animals.

Hundreds of gigantic rats, the size of hounds, ran alongside the army. The creatures were disgusting, covered in festering sores and pus-ridden wounds, and the reiksmarshal knew that they carried virulent plague.

Looking over the horde of furred creatures, he could see a rough structure at the back, being hauled along on wheels by teams of slaves. A great brass bell hung from this structure, and a grey-furred skaven crouched there, leaning heavily on a staff. Even as he saw this bizarre creation, the massive bell was tolled, ringing out mournfully across the battlefield.

The sound vibrated within him, and he felt an unnamed horror wash over him. His warhorse, a steed that did not baulk in the face of any foe, trembled beneath him, and whinnied in fear.

That was the one that had to be slain, the reiksmarshal thought, that grey-furred rat creature. It was their leader, and he knew from experience that if it was slain, then the others would soon break and flee.

With a shout, he ordered the Reiklandguard to disengage from the enemy, and turned to face this new threat. Less than a hundred of his knights remained, and he prayed to Sigmar that that was enough to fight their way through the skaven ranks and reach the grey-furred creature. He knew in his heart that it was not, but he wheeled his knights around for the charge.

The Blind One
, the plague-ridden grey seer leading the skaven force, extended one of its twisted claws, and a green wave of fog billowed out. It roiled and spread out from its extended paw, rolling through its own troops towards the charging knights. Dozens of skaven fell to the ground, gasping and choking as the virulent disease took hold, filling their lungs with black cancers and blood vessels in their brains bursting and rupturing. The Blind One chuckled.