Warhammer Anthology 12

by Death

  Boris followed her gaze dispassionately, wincing slightly as his laboured breathing slowed to normal.

  ‘So it is every night.’

  As he finished speaking, the first of them emerged from the trees. A low murmur rose from the village behind them. There were men high on the walls. Others stood in the open space behind the gates. All looked exhausted. Katerina recognised Gerhard and Kreisler amongst them. All trace of their earlier belligerence had gone, and their faces were drawn.

  The unquiet dead approached steadily across the fields, limping and dragging limbs. Katerina surveyed them calmly. She had seen horrors of all kinds in her career, and the figures hauling themselves from the trees were unremarkable. They had once been men, women and children of the Empire, full of life and health. Now their cadavers, entrusted to the earth with the blessings of Morr, had been revived, compelled to rise and stalk the world of the living once more. Some of the undead bore the signs of age; old farmers and their wives who had passed away peacefully in their sleep. But most were young, killed by war, plague or accident, a grim testament to the troubles of the age. Most troublingly of all, amongst them tottered the young, infants who had barely walked in life but who now staggered onwards, their little eyes blank to all but bloodlust. The shambolic host was a mockery of Herrendorf itself, a mirror image of those who drew natural breath.

  ‘So many,’ breathed Katerina, grimly.

  Boris nodded.

  ‘More all the time. The day will come when there’ll be too many.’

  ‘Not while I’m here,’ Katerina said firmly, hefting her staff and kindling amethyst magic along the length of it. She raised the shaft high above her head and called out words of power. The wood blazed with lilac energy.

  ‘By the wind of Shyish, by the lore of the dead, I command you to return to the realm of departed souls!’ she cried, letting the power in her fingers flow through the staff and into the night.

  The amethyst wind rushed to her aid, curling around her cloak and arms. The undead paused for a moment. Some of them cocked their ruined heads to one side, as if listening to some far-off, unheard speech. The stragglers at the back stopped, and began to turn back. Katerina allowed herself a smile of satisfaction. This would be easier than she had thought.

  But then the amethyst wind began to drain away, as if extinguished by a gust of chill air. The sickening harmonics of dark magic rolled across the sodden earth, pooling in the hollows and rising up against the smooth stone of the walls. Katerina cast a hasty warding spell around her, and Boris took a step back. The magnitude of the new force was surprising. Where was it coming from?

  Heedless of all but the dread commands of their unseen summoner, the undead began their slow march towards the village once more. Where their eyes had been empty before, now they shone with a cold green light. Like a constellation of corrupted stars, the glowing pairs of eyes closed in on the walls.

  ‘What have you done?’ hissed Boris, looking at Katerina with consternation. ‘This has never happened before.’

  Katerina frowned, and fed more power to her staff, soaking up the amethyst wind where it still lurked.

  ‘The power behind them has responded,’ she said. ‘It looks like we have a contest.’

  The wizard took up the staff and lilac sparks spat from its tip.

  ‘I will not command you again!’ she cried, her voice echoing around the clearing. ‘Depart while you may, and never return! Your tortured souls may yet find peace. But if you resist, your essence will be shattered for all eternity, never to return either in this world or the next!’

  A few of the undead responded as before. One child-figure, once a little girl with pigtails, now a grey-fleshed, eyeless horror in a torn dress, stopped in its tracks, looking up in fear. But the others seemed uncaring. They began to pick up their pace. Parched flesh flapped in the wind as they came, and old bones ground against each other. The silence in their ranks was broken. A weird whispering broke out, the mindless chatter of lost souls. From behind her, Katerina could hear the growing murmurs of unease.

  ‘Close the gates!’ came an urgent hiss from somewhere in the crowd of nervous men.

  Katerina shook her head with irritation, and planted her staff heavily before her. This would have to be brought to a conclusion. If the undead could not be banished, they would have to be destroyed.

  ‘So be it,’ she said in a low voice, and stretched her left arm in front of her.

  With a whispered spell, Katerina turned her palm face up. A purple flame burst into life, flickering in the eddying wind. She closed her eyes, and continued to murmur arcane words. Then, with a sudden snap of her wrist, her fist closed over the flame. It extinguished with a sharp snap.

  Instantly, the undead nearest her collapsed, clutching at their exposed innards with scrabbling fingers. They clearly had some memory of pain, even if they could no longer truly feel it. Dozens of the limping figures lurched over and crumpled into the mire with streams of lilac energy leaking from their bodies. In place of the green light in their eyes, an amethyst glow now possessed them. Like a rampant swarm of insects, the purple fire swarmed all over them, stripping the scant strips of skin from them, powdering bones, dissolving cartilage. The whispering was replaced by a frantic high-pitched squealing as the spell did its work. One by one, the walkers were immolated, crushed and blasted apart by the deadly flames of Shyish. Katerina kept her fish clenched, pouring more strength into the casting.

  Boris’s face lit up, and he dared to hobble back out of Katerina’s shadow.

  ‘You’re killing them!’ he hissed, his eyes alive with relieved glee. Katerina could hear the men behind her inch forward for a better look. But she knew better. The spell was powerful, but it was also draining. For every undead villager who fell, another resisted. The ones most steeped in dark magic were not being destroyed. Slowly, as the weak were swept away, the ranks of stronger attackers came forward. They stalked as slowly as ever, creeping inexorably nearer. They whispered as they came, and now they were close enough for the words to be audible.

  ‘Human creatures, hot with blood,’ they chanted in scratchy voices, half-snatched by the wind. ‘We were once like you. Soon, you will be like us!’

  Katerina felt fresh eddies of dark magic drift towards her, polluting her casting, dousing her power. An icy gust of the unseen wind swept the clearing, and she gasped. Her fist dropped a little, and the amethyst energy consuming the undead flickered and went out. Boris looked at her in consternation, and crept back under the archway again. Renewed mutters of ‘Shut the gate!’ rose in volume. The nearest of the skeletal attackers were now within a few yards of Katerina.

  With a cry of frustration, Katerina let her consuming spell dissipate. She grabbed her staff in both hands, and it blazed with fresh fire. The flames flared into a scythe shape, crackling and spitting with arcane forces. She swung the blade in a wide arc, and once more the zombies were blasted apart, their loose bones and tendons sent flailing into the dark. Like a harvester, the Amethyst wizard mowed them down as they came.

  None came to help her. The villagers, cowed by the ranks of undead closing on them and by the magical forces unleashed, shrunk behind the shelter of the walls. Only Katerina stood between the horde and the entrance, a lone figure wreathed in blistering layers of magic, holding back the growing tide of lurching bodies.

  They kept coming. More crept from the cover of the trees. How many? A hundred? Two hundred? It was hard to tell. Katerina began to feel her strength fail. With a fresh cry of anger, she unleashed a fearsome blast of power. The undead near her were flung backwards, clattering into the ranks behind, clearing a wide space. For a moment, the wizard paused, surveying the scene. The undead were in disarray, but even as she watched the fallen were regaining their feet. She couldn’t possibly destroy them all. It was as if a lost army had been raised and directed towards her.

  With a disgusted shake of her head, she retreated back under the gatehouse.

  ‘Bar the gate
s!’ shouted Boris, and a dozen men ran forward, eager to have the one weak point in the wall sealed off. The thick doors were shut, and heavy oak beams slammed in place. From outside, the whispered chanting began once more. Children’s voices were heard wailing in the village as the horrifying voices of the undead permeated the night. With the gates secure, the men went to their positions. Katerina caught unpleasant glances from the villagers as they walked past her. Gerhard and Kreisler averted their eyes. Only the surly Weiss seemed to be missing, which was something of a relief.

  Katerina sank back against the interior of the wall, and let the waves of fatigue finally wash over her. Her staff clattered weakly to the floor. With her removal from the clearing, there was nothing to stop the advance of the undead. Soon the sounds of scratching and gouging came from the other side of the stone.

  Boris limped up to her. He wasn’t obviously angry, but he couldn’t hide the disappointment in his face.

  ‘They’ve never scaled the walls yet,’ he said, perhaps by way of consolation. ‘We have some success with fire. But there are more tonight than I’ve ever seen, and even the flames won’t stop them forever. It can’t be long now.’

  Katerina looked up at him, trying to maintain her dignity in the face of defeat. The noises of scrabbling and chanting grew louder.

  ‘This is a setback, nothing more,’ she said defiantly. ‘Every spell can be countered. You just need to know how to unlock it. Trust me.’

  Boris didn’t change his expression, but looked worriedly at the gates. Something on the far side had started banging against them rhythmically.

  ‘Of course I trust you,’ he said, resignedly. ‘What choice do I have?’

  The dead failed to breach the walls that night, but they kept coming until dawn. If any looked like scaling the high barrier, they were hurled back again by the tip of a pike. But the gates were battered, and the walls scored with gouges. Only with the coming of the morning sunlight did the assault relent.

  They returned the following dusk, and the one after that. No spell was sufficient to break their advance. Though Katerina’s magic could blast dozens of them apart as they came, no fire would burn fiercely enough to destroy them all. With every assault they grew bolder, climbing further up the slippery walls on piles of their own fallen, clawing at the gates with growing zeal. Boris was right. They would soon break into the village. Once inside, they would be unstoppable. Time was running out.

  After another long night of fruitless spellcasting, Katerina slumped heavily on the bench in Boris’s chambers. The cold sheen of dawn had crept across the eastern sky, but it brought little comfort. She had slept little, and the scorn of the villagers had begun to wear on her spirits. It was clear to her that some power had been roused that was beyond her. If a way couldn’t be found to counter it, they would all die, far from any possible help.

  The thought of leaving entered her mind. If she rode hard, kept to the roads, warded herself carefully at night, she might make it. It wasn’t as if she owed the stinking inhabitants of Herrendorf much. And yet, there was still one avenue open. One that offered not only the chance of survival, but of uncovering the secrets of the past as well. Her pride would not allow her to give up on it easily.

  As she turned over the various options in her mind, Boris entered the chamber. He had been purifying the gates with holy water. No one thought it would do any good. The old priest sat opposite Katerina. His face looked, if anything, even more sickly than normal. He was at the end of his strength, and clutched on to his staff tightly as he sat down.

  ‘I may have been mistaken,’ he said at length, grimacing from some hidden pain. ‘Perhaps magic isn’t the solution. Or maybe the Amethyst College isn’t as powerful as it once was.’

  Katerina ignored the dig. The cleric looked bitter.

  ‘Do not lose faith just yet,’ she said, quietly. ‘There is something else we could try.’

  Boris looked at her with little hope in his eyes.

  ‘They were defeated before,’ said Katerina. ‘The Amethyst wizard Arforl did it. Maybe he knew something that we don’t.’

  ‘And what use is that to us?’ said Boris. ‘Arforl is dead. He can’t save us a second time.’

  ‘You forget yourself,’ said Katerina, choosing her words carefully. ‘I am an initiate of the lore of death. There are many secrets I am privy to. You said he was buried in the marshes. If I could find the place, his spirit may yet dwell there. There are ways of calling it back to the body. It may be our only hope.’

  What little blood there was in Boris’s face drained away. A look of horror distorted his features.

  ‘You can’t mean

  ’

  ‘Don’t be a fool!’ snapped Katerina. ‘You know well enough what I mean. To summon a shade of Arforl, to interrogate it, to learn the secret of his victory.’

  ‘That is heresy,’ whispered Boris, looking as if he had stumbled on a den of Chaos worshippers in his own chapel.

  ‘And if it is?’ said Katerina, impatiently. ‘In the next week we’ll all be dead. The horde of undead continues to grow. Even if we left this place now, all of us, we’d never make it out of the marshes. What you call heresy is our only means of survival. There’s no piety in being eaten alive by your former flock.’

  Boris looked tortured, and didn’t reply at once. Katerina let the idea sink in.

  ‘We’ve never found the mausoleum,’ the priest protested weakly. ‘I told you. We tried.’

  ‘You didn’t have me with you then,’ said Katerina. ‘There are hidden signs I can read. Arforl was an Amethyst wizard. Even in death, I’d sense his presence. I just need to get close enough.’

  Boris shook his head again.

  ‘It’s madness. The marshes are crawling with the dead. If we leave the village we’ll never return. Your failure has deranged you.’

  Katerina felt her temper rising. There was only one chance, and the fool was incapable of seeing it.

  ‘They’re fixed on destroying the village,’ she said. ‘I have powers of my own. If we stay here, we’ll be overwhelmed within the week. Better to risk doing something than die doing nothing at all.’

  Boris looked back at her, his face riven with indecision. She could tell he didn’t like the idea. But there was something else there, a flicker of something like defiance. Perhaps not all his spirit had been crushed by poverty and sickness. Maybe some spark of ambition remained, buried deeply.

  The old priest sighed profoundly, and got up from his seat with difficulty. He walked over to his pile of tomes and parchment, and began to leaf through the pages.

  ‘It’s been a while since I looked at these,’ he said. ‘Perhaps there’s some clue I missed. I don’t like it, but there’s little else on offer. I’ve pledged to defend this place, after all. And the mausoleum must be out there somewhere.’

  Katerina sat back against the hard bench with some satisfaction. He had been convinced. Now the dangerous work would really begin.

  The sun was low in the western sky. The stink of marsh gas and rotting vegetation was everywhere. In the grey light, deep green shadows lay like pools of oil. Fronds of mist curled around the wide boles of the trees. Strange, half-recognisable cries of animals echoed deep within the dank hollows. The deep marsh was no place for humans. The hand of man had barely scraped the surface of this country. Herrendorf, like the other scattered settlements in the region, was just a minor pock-mark on the ancient wilds of the Ostermark. If the undead wiped it from the surface of the earth, its passing would be unnoticed, much less mourned.

  Katerina found herself reflecting as she trudged through the grime and murk. What was she doing here, far from the bright centre of Altdorf, stuck in a probably hopeless campaign to liberate one stinking settlement from destruction? The reputation of Arforl had intrigued her, it was true. But in future she would have to start being more selective. All of which assumed, of course, that she emerged from the current situation alive.

  She turned to see wh
ere Boris was. He struggled to keep up with her. After only a few hours of travel out of Herrendorf, he had begun to wheeze thinly. His grey cheeks flapped as he laboured, digging his staff deep into the yielding earth, pulling his feet with effort from the sucking, cloying mud.

  He came up to her, his chest heaving, his eyes bloodshot. He looked little better than the undead themselves.

  ‘Are you able to go on?’ asked Katerina.

  Boris waited a moment for his breathing to settle before replying. When he had recovered, he gave her a wan smile.

  ‘You’re despairing of me, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Perhaps we should have brought men with us.’

  Katerina inwardly rolled her eyes. A self-pitying priest was the last thing she needed. If he hadn’t claimed to have some insight into where the mausoleum might be, she would have been better off on her own.

  ‘What help would more bodies be, except to draw the dead to us?’ she said, scornfully. ‘None would come, anyway. We need to make better progress. Night’s nearly on us. And we know what that will bring.’

  Boris bowed his head at her admonition.

  ‘You needn’t pity me, lady wizard,’ he said. ‘You must have seen what the others have. I’m too old and too sick for this world. I’m dying, whatever the fate of Herrendorf. A year, maybe. No more.’

  He raised his face to hers, and there was a determined light in his rheumy eyes.

  ‘So, you see, it doesn’t really matter to me what the outcome of this is. I’m dead anyway. I would rather leave this world in the knowledge that my kin have been saved. That’s all.’

  The priest spoke with conviction, and his voice shook a little. Katerina held his gaze for a few moments. The man meant what he said. This was his task, the one he had studied his whole life to achieve.

  ‘Then we must press on,’ she said, curtly. ‘We’ve an hour of light, no more. After that, both our lives will be at risk.’

  She turned and walked heavily back into the marsh. The stinking mud clutched at her boots. Slowly and with effort, the old priest limped after her.