by Warhammer
Felix wondered whether it made more sense for him to stay or slip off into the woods. Maybe he could take a raft and drift away downriver. He did not know which was worse – the thought of being alone in the forest or of being trapped here with the forces of Chaos closing in. He tried to dismiss these thoughts as unworthy, to remember Gotrek’s words about mastering fear, but the terror of being trapped in the maze of trees nagged constantly at the back of his mind.
As he looked out, a group of rangers hurried across the fields; Felix could see that they were carrying someone wounded. One kept glancing back over his shoulder as if expecting pursuit. Two of the remaining women moved to help him.
‘That’s Mikal and Dani,’ Messner said. ‘Looks like there’s been trouble. Better go and find out what’s happened. Stay here, keep your eyes peeled; if anything happens, blow the horn.’
He thrust the great instrument into Felix’s hand, and before he could raise any objections Messner had swung himself down through the trapdoor and was halfway down the ladder. Felix shrugged and stroked the smooth metal of the horn with his fingers. The cool weight was reassuring even if he was uncertain as to his ability to sound it. He glanced down at the top of the hunter’s head, noticing for the first time the bald spot on the top of his skull. He gave his attention back to the fields.
The men reeled forward bearing their companion. The gates creaked open and villagers rushed forward to help them, Messner in the lead. Felix saw the way they all jumped to obey the duke’s man’s orders. That Messner was something of a leader in the community had become obvious at the great public meeting held in the village square that afternoon. Burly lumberjacks and old men, stout housewives and slim girls alike had listened to his soft jovial voice as he outlined the danger approaching.
No one had argued with him or doubted him. With Messner to vouch for them, there had been no questioning of Gotrek or Felix’s story. They had even listened respectfully to Kat, though she was just a child. He could remember all that had been said and done even now, after they had stopped speaking. The silence, the grim fatalistic expressions on the folk’s faces, the warm afternoon sun on the back of his neck. He remembered the way the women with babies had turned and taken them to the central blockhouse, the Temple of Sigmar. The crowd had parted wordlessly to let them pass.
Equally wordlessly, the men had divided into squads of archers and axe-men. It was obvious to Felix that he was watching a well-practiced routine devised for just this eventuality. Messner had given orders in his usual calm voice. There was no shouting here, nor any need for it. These people had the discipline of those for whom discipline represented the only means of survival in a harsh land.
In a way, he had envied them their sense of community; they relied on each other implicitly. As far as he could tell, no one doubted the ability or loyalty of anyone else. It must be the flip side of the coin of living in an isolated community, he realised. Everyone here had known each other for most of their lives. The bonds of trust must be hard and strong.
For a time it had seemed to Felix that he was the only one out of place here, but then he noticed Kat. She too stood slightly apart from the crowd, marked among the children present as much by her strange hair as by her grubby clothing. He had felt a strong sense of sympathy for her then and wondered what would become of her. From what she and Messner had discussed en route, he had gathered she was an orphan. Felix’s own mother had died when he was still a child and this had strengthened his feeling of sympathy for her.
Was she important to the Dark Warrior, he wondered? Had the beastmen he had fought been simple scouts or had they been seeking Kat? Not for the first time in his life he found himself wishing he knew more of the ways of Darkness. Knowing that to be a sinful thought, he pushed it aside.
He heard the wounded man groaning below as they brought him through the gate.
Kat hurried to the base of the watchtower, feeling a need for solitude. She had grown tired of sitting near the big central fire. Even the presence of Gotrek did not reassure her. She felt very lonely here amidst all the busy adults. There was no one, really, to talk to and for the first time it was coming home to her that she knew no one in this world now and had no place in it. The flames reminded her too much of the burning of Kleindorf. The ladder creaked slightly under her bare feet. She ascended, nimble as a monkey, to the watchpost.
Felix was sitting alone, staring out into the darkness. The sun had long ago set, like a bloody smear on the horizon. The greater moon had drifted skyward. Silver light washed down. A slight breeze chilled Kat’s cheeks and made the forest whisper and rustle menacingly. Felix watched it as if hypnotised, lost in his own dark thoughts. She scuttled swiftly over and sat cross-legged beside him.
‘Felix, I’m scared,’ she said. He looked down at her and smiled.
‘Me too, little one.’
‘Stop doing that!’
‘Doing what?’
‘Calling me “little one”. The same as Gotrek does. He never calls anyone by their proper names, does he? My name is Kat. You should call me that.’
Felix smiled at her. ‘All right, Kat. Could you do something for me? It might be important for us all.’
‘If I can.’
‘Tell me about your parents.’
‘I don’t have any.’
‘Everyone has a mother and father, Kat.’
‘Not me. I was found by Heidi, Karl’s wife, in a basket where she always picked berries.’
Felix laughed. ‘You were found under a berry bush?’
‘It’s not funny, Felix. They say there was a she-monster nearby. The villagers killed it. They wanted to kill me too but Heidi wouldn’t let them.’ Felix struggled to keep his face straight. His mirth vanished when he saw how serious her expression was.
‘No, you’re right. It wasn’t funny.’
‘They took me in and looked after me. Now they’re dead.’
‘Did Karl and Heidi have any idea who your parents were? Any idea at all?’
‘Why are you asking this, Felix? Is it really important?’
‘It could be.’
Kat thought back, to that night when old Karl had got drunk. He and Heidi had thought she was asleep. She had slipped down to the kitchen to get a drink of water and overheard them talking. When she had realised that they were talking about her, she had frozen in place on the other side of the door. The memory of that evening came flooding back. She had wanted to ask them more, ask them what they had meant but she had been too scared to. Now she realised she would never get the chance.
‘I once heard them talk about a young girl at the castle who had hair like mine,’ she said quietly, struggling to remember it all. ‘Her name was Justine. She was a distant cousin of Lord Klein or something, a poor relation who had come to live with the family. She vanished the year before I was born. No one ever found out what happened to her.’
‘I think I know,’ Felix said softly.
Footsteps approached the bottom of the tower. The ladder trembled and Messner’s head poked through the trapdoor.
‘There you are, Herr Jaeger. I’ve come to relieve you. Go below and get something to eat. You too, child. No sign of Rolf? He’s still missing.’
‘I haven’t seen anything,’ Felix said.
‘I wonder what could have happened to him.’
‘What is your name?’ Justine asked. The bearded man whom her scouts had captured spat at her. She nodded to Malor. The beastman brought his fist forward. There was a crack as ribs broke. The man slumped. If it had not been for the two beasts supporting him he would have fallen.
‘What is your name?’
The man opened his mouth. Blood trickled down his chin and onto his leather jerkin. Justine reached out and took some on her fingertip. When she tasted it, it felt warm and salty and strength flowed through her.
‘Rolf,’ he said eventually. Justine knew then that he would tell her whatever she asked. She knew that it had not been the foresters who had kill
ed Tryell’s band. The tracker who had survived the assault on the camp had told her about the girl’s guardians.
‘There is a dwarf and a blond-haired man travelling with a young girl. Tell me about them.’
‘Go to the hell that spawned you.’
‘That I will… eventually,’ Justine said. ‘But you will be there to greet me.’
He shrieked as one of the beastmen dislocated his shoulder. His entire body stiffened with pain. The muscles in his neck stood out like taut wires. Eventually the tale of how he had met with the dwarf, the man and the girl in the forest came tumbling from his cracked lips. At last the man stopped speaking and stood before her, drained by his own confession.
‘Take him to the altar!’ Justine commanded.
The man tried to struggle as they carried him towards Kazakital’s cairn. His efforts to escape were futile. The beasts were too strong and too many. He wept with terror when he saw what awaited him. He was more daunted by the sight of that great cairn and the black altar atop it than he had been when he was taken captive by the beasts. He must know what’s coming, Justine thought. The sight of the heads of Lord Klein and Hugo seemed to scare him most of all.
‘No! Not that!’ he shrieked.
She saw to his binding herself and carried him to the altar easily. The army gathered in anticipation of what was coming. As the moon broke through the clouds she gestured for the drummers to begin. Soon the great drum sounded rhythmic and slow as a heartbeat.
She stood atop the cairn and sensed the slow gathering of forces. She looked out and down at a sea of animal faces. They were upturned, eyes bright with anticipation. She drew her sword and brandished it above her head.
‘Blood for the Blood God!’ she shouted.
‘Skulls for the skull throne!’ The answering cry was torn from a hundred throats.
‘Blood for the Blood God!’
‘Skulls for the skull throne!’ The response was even louder this time. It rumbled like thunder in the woods.
‘Blood for the Blood God!’
‘Skulls for the skull throne!’
The blade came down and parted Rolf’s ribs. She reached forward and stuck her gauntleted hand into the sticky mass of the man’s innards. There was a hideous sucking noise as she tore the heart free and held it high over her head.
Somewhere, in a space beyond space, in a time beyond time, something stirred and came in answer to her call. It flowed inwards, spiralling from beyond. In the space over the altar a red pulsing darkness gathered. It flowed into the heart she held above her and it began to beat once again. She reached out and placed the heart back within the sacrifice’s chest.
For a moment, nothing happened and all was silence, then a great scream emerged from the throat of the thing that had once been Rolf. The flesh of the corpse’s chest flowed together and began to smoke. The corpse sat upright on the altar. It eyes opened and Justine recognised the intelligence which peered out from within. The body was temporarily possessed by the mind of her daemonic patron, Kazakital.
Smoke rose from the corpses as flesh flowed beneath skin. A smell of rot and burning flesh combined filled her nostrils. The mind and the power contained within the deathless frame was moulding it into a new shape, a shape that bore some resemblance to the Daemon Prince’s inhumanly beautiful form. Justine knew that the body would be burned out within minutes, unable to contain the power which pulsed within it, but that did not matter. She needed only a few minutes to commune with her lord and seek his council.
Swiftly she outlined what Rolf had told her. ‘I will go to this place and kill everyone there.’
‘Do that, beloved,’ the Daemon Prince’s lovely voice tolled like a bell from within its corrupting form. Once again she felt the sense of certainty and of worship that she always did in his presence.
‘I will kill the girl. I will give you the hearts of the dwarf and the man if they try to protect her.’
‘Best kill them quickly. They are a fell pair, ruthless and deadly. The dwarf carries a weapon forged in ancient days to be the bane of gods. They are both killers without mercy.’
‘They are both as good as dead. I stand armoured in your prophecy. No warrior will ever overcome me in battle. If what you have spoken is the truth.’
‘Search your heart, beloved. You know I have never spoken anything but the truth to you. And know you this also – if you do this thing, immortality and a place among the Chosen will most certainly be yours.’
‘It will be done.’
‘Go then with my blessing. Spread chaos and terror and leave none of your chosen prey among the living.’
The sense of presence ended. The corpse fell headlong into the dirt, already starting to crumble to dust. Justine turned to her troops and gave them the signal to move out.
Felix looked up at the ornate golden hammer. The sun’s rays fell on it through the open door of the temple, making it shimmer in the early morning light. The runes that encrusted the hammerhead reminded him of those which adorned his own blade. He was not too surprised. His sword had been the prized possession of the Order of the Fiery Heart, a group of Sigmarite Templars. It seemed only natural that the blade should have holy markings.
There were few other people present; just some old women who sat cross-legged on the floor and prayed. Babes and their mothers were outside taking in the fresh air while they could. Felix imagined that it could get very stuffy in here with the door barred.
The temple was a simple shrine. The altar was bare save for the hammer used to sanctify weddings and contracts. Sigmar was not so popular a deity here. Most woodsmen looked to Taal, Lord of the Forests, for protection, but he imagined that the Cult of the Hammer would find some favour. Few wanted to willingly offend the gods. The shrine would also provide a link with the distant capital. It was a sign that there was an Empire, with laws and those who would enforce them. The state cult was the link which bound the disparate, distant peoples of the Empire together.
The walls bore none of the friezes and tapestries so popular in richer areas. The altar itself was carved from a block of wood, not stone. He was tempted to touch the hammer, to find out if it were gilded or simply painted. The carving of the altar was of no ordinary quality, however. He admired the coiling around the edges and a representation of the First Emperor’s head that would not have been out of place among the icons in Altdorf cathedral. He wondered who was responsible for the woodwork. He also wondered whether it would burn when the beasts came.
Felix bowed his head and made the Sign of the Hammer and prayed. He prayed that the town would be delivered, and that his life and the lives of his friends would be spared. He touched his hand to the hammer and then to his forehead for good luck and then rose to depart. He stretched, feeling his joints click. He had spent last night in the blockhouse of Fritz Messner and his family. The floor had been marginally preferable to a cold pile of leaves. He had to admit there were times when he missed his down-mattressed bed in Altdorf; there were times when being the son of a wealthy merchant had been not altogether bad. Right now, for instance, he could be sleeping off a hangover in his chambers rather than awaiting the attack of Chaos in some village no one had ever heard of.
‘Felix…’ It was the girl, pale and unsmiling. ‘Herr Messner told me I would find you here.’
‘He was right, Kat. What can I do for you?’
‘I had a nightmare last night, Felix. I dreamt that something came out of the forest and dragged me away. I dreamt I was lost in the dark and things were chasing me…’
Felix could sympathise with that. Many times he had endured similar bad dreams.
‘Hush, little one. They’re not real. Dreams can’t hurt you.’
‘I don’t think that’s true, Felix. I had the same dream the night before the beasts attacked my home.’
Felix suddenly felt chilled to the bone. In his mind’s eye, he could picture the forces of Chaos marching ever closer, bringing their inevitable doom.
Justi
ne sat high in the saddle on the back of her immense, midnight-black charger. Overhead the storm clouds gathered, huge dark thunderheads that seemed to echo the mood of violent rage that boiled within her. This trail, part of the Imperial Highway, was clear. It had been constructed over the years to allow the Emperor’s messengers to pass quickly.
She thought it ironic that such paths would speed the Empire’s inevitable destruction by Chaos. Invaders from the wastes could use them to move quickly westward. She likened this process to the way diseases used the body’s own bloodstream to spread. Yes, she thought, the Empire was dying and Chaos was the disease which would kill it. Secret cabals of cultists spreading corruption in the cities; bands of beastmen and mutants bringing terror in the forests; champions of the Ruinous Powers crossing the border from Kislev and the wastes beyond. She knew these were not unrelated occurrences but symptoms of the same blight. First the Empire and then all the kingdoms of men would fall prey to it. No – she mustn’t think of it as a disease, she told herself. It was a crusade to scourge the earth.
She looked back on the small army that followed her. First the squads of beastmen; huge, deformed and mighty, each led by its own champion. After them rumbled the great black bulk of her secret weapon, the Thunderer, the long-snouted daemonic cannon which had destroyed the gates of Castle Klein and would make it possible for her to take other fortified towns. It was pulled by teams of captured slaves driven by the black-armoured artificers who would man it. Bringing up the rear were the scavengers, the ill-organised rabble who followed like jackals following a pride of lions. Mutants, malformed and demented, driven from their villages and homes by the hatred of their normal kin. They were driven by hate and ready to revenge themselves on humanity.
All the elements of her own life were there, she thought. This road, the route to death and destruction, was simply an extension of the path she had followed all her days. That thought saddened her. Today more than ever she felt riven. It was as if she were two souls inhabiting the same body. One was dark, driven, fed on slaughter and carnage; it gloried in its strength and despised others their weaknesses. It despised her own weakness. She knew this was the side of her Kazakital cultivated as carefully as the gardeners of Parravon nurtured their hellflowers. It possessed the seeds of daemonhood and of immortality. It was a pure hateful being, driven, determined, strong.
