The End Times | The Lord of the End Times

by Josh Reynolds

  Teclis pulled Alarielle aside as the two creatures careened down the dais, roaring and snarling. The Emperor clung grimly to his saddle and stabbed down at Ka’Bandha with his sword. ‘Fool,’ Teclis muttered. ‘Without the power of Azyr, he’s no match for that creature.’

  ‘He is a fool, but a brave one. He is buying us time, and we must make use of it.’ Alarielle raised her staff. ‘I can feel Durthu – he is less than a league hence, and drawing near,’ she said. Teclis felt a chill. If there was any creature in Athel Loren which could match Ka’Bandha for pure hate, it was the ancient treeman known as Durthu. Powerful beyond measure, despite the old scars which covered its frame – a legacy of a long ago confrontation with the dwarfs – Durthu was the rage of the forest given form.

  Alarielle continued, ‘Durthu will not be coming alone. We have three armies in this forest, and by now they will all know that something is occurring. We must simply hold out until they arrive.’

  Teclis looked at her. ‘And how do you propose we do that?’

  Alarielle didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted her staff over her head. Teclis flinched back as the Wind of Life churned about her, and he felt a hum deep in his bones as she once again called out to the forest. All across the glade, those treemen not currently engaged with the enemy began to move towards the centre of the clearing. Those already there sank their roots deep into the soil and locked their limbs, creating a living palisade.

  Other treemen moved to join them, and along the way, they plucked up those Incarnates or their advisors who were not lucky enough to be riding a steed, or able to fly. Teclis saw a treeman scoop up the dwarf, Hammerson, and, ignoring the runesmith’s virulent cursing, carry him to the dubious safety of the growing bastion. Teclis grabbed Alarielle’s arm. ‘Come, we must go,’ he said urgently.

  ‘What of the human?’ she asked.

  Teclis turned, seeking out the Emperor. He cursed as he saw that his worst fears were confirmed. Ka’Bandha had recovered from the griffon’s attack and had wounded the animal, driving it back and nearly spilling the Emperor from his saddle. Before he could move to help, however, a roiling cloud of shadow enveloped the bloodthirster. Each mote of darkness pierced the daemon’s flesh, eliciting a startled shriek of pain from Khorne’s Huntsman. As the bloodthirster staggered, flailing blindly at the shadows, Teclis saw Tyrion galloping towards the daemon, sword in hand. There was a flash of light, and the daemon screamed again as Tyrion swept past, his blade trailing a line of ichor.

  Teclis gestured to the Emperor as the man glanced his way. Karl Franz hesitated, as if reluctant to leave the fight, but then nodded. He hauled on the reins, and forced his snarling mount to swoop away from its opponent and towards them. Deathclaw spread its talons and scooped the two elves up as it sped over the dais.

  As they flew towards the living palisade of treemen, a crash of timber heralded the arrival of the last of Ka’Bandha’s forces. Teclis watched in horror as great engines of shimmering brass and impossible heat, all thumping pistons and fang-muzzled cannons, burst into the glade, belching fire and ruin. Treemen were torn apart by howling barrages, and the forest itself was set aflame. Alarielle writhed in Deathclaw’s grip, wracked by agony as she experienced Athel Loren’s pain as her own. The palisade shuddered around them as Deathclaw landed.

  The Incarnates were still scattered, Teclis saw. A column of pulsing amethyst light marked where Nagash still fought alone, uncaring of the greater struggle. Vlad von Carstein struggled to free Hammerson from the twisted wreckage of the treeman which had been carrying the dwarf. The guardian had been struck from behind by a roaring bloodthirster, and the vampire fought desperately against the daemon. Lileath was nowhere to be seen.

  With a shrill whinny, Gelt’s pegasus crashed to the ground and rolled awkwardly, kicking futilely at the daemons which clung to it. The bloodletters shrieked and hissed as Gelt, pinned beneath his thrashing steed, incinerated them with a spray of molten metal. Teclis hurried to aid the wizard. Above them, Caradryan’s firebird cut a sharp turn, as the Incarnate of Fire turned his attentions to the wave of daemons already clambering over the palisade of treemen. Teclis hauled Gelt to his feet with one hand as he sent a cerulean bolt of mystical energy smashing into a knot of bloodletters.

  ‘We’re out of time,’ the Emperor said, shouting to be heard over the rumble of daemon-engines and the death-shrieks of trees. ‘If we do not escape, then we have lost everything. Even if we survive the battle, the world will be doomed.’

  ‘What would you have me do?’ Teclis snarled.

  ‘Use your magic! Get us to Middenheim, while some of us can still fight,’ the Emperor said. He gestured with his sword. ‘Even a few of us might be enough to prevent the Everchosen from ending everything.’

  ‘I told you before, I lack the power to do that. And even if I could, such an expenditure of magic that close to Middenheim might cause the very catastrophe we seek to prevent,’ Teclis said. ‘It cannot be done!’

  ‘Then what do you suggest we do?’ the Emperor growled. ‘The daemons will just keep coming until this forest is ash, and us with it. We have no more time, Teclis. It must be now, or never.’

  ‘I – I…’ Teclis hesitated. He shook his head. He was tired. So tired. The world pressed down on him from all sides, and his mind worked sluggishly. There were so many things he had not anticipated, so many missteps he had made. What if he made another? In trying to save the world, would he only hasten its demise? He looked at Alarielle, but she shook her head, her face pale and strained. There was no help there. He tried to catch sight of Tyrion – his brother would know what to do. Tyrion was always certain of the right path.

  Only he’s not, is he? He never was, a voice whispered in his head. It was always you, in the end. Your decisions, your morals, your certainties. But your cold, fathomless logic has failed you at last, just when you need it most.

  The battle raged about him. He glimpsed scenes of heroism and despair as he turned, searching for some answer in the confusion. He saw Nagash stand alone and unbowed against hundreds of squalling daemons, like a pillar of black iron in a crimson sea. He saw Tyrion and Malekith, still locked in combat with Ka’Bandha. Through the thickening wall of the palisade, he saw Caradryan vault from his saddle and plummet onto the hull of one of the daemon-engines, his halberd sweeping down to pierce the brass and send a gout of cleansing flame into its interior. He saw newly arrived elves die, even as they rushed to the defence of the Eternity King. A treeman sank down, groaning, its ancient soul snuffed by the fiery barrage from a daemon-engine.

  He felt a hand on his arm, and turned. Lileath, her face streaked with blood and soot, smiled gently at him. ‘There is a way,’ she said. ‘My body is mortal, but the power of a god still flows in my veins, and in my spirit. With them, you could do what must be done.’

  Teclis stared at her. From behind him, he heard the Emperor mutter, ‘Innocent blood…’

  Lileath laughed harshly. ‘I have not been innocent for a long time, king of the Unberogens. Neither have you, or indeed any of us. We are here at this moment because we are the only ones strong enough to withstand the storm.’ She reached up and gently stroked Teclis’s cheek. ‘I have lied, and committed treachery. I have condemned the innocent to death, and sent brave men to their doom, all to prevent the end now unfolding around us. I have done what is required, and if my heart’s blood is the key to victory, then that shall be given as well.’

  ‘You will die,’ Teclis croaked. He grabbed her hand.

  ‘We are all going to die, son of my son. It is the Rhana Dandra, the end of all stories and songs. And better I die for a purpose, than drown in horror.’

  ‘You are Lileath of the Moon. Your voice has guided me since I was but a child. When I try to remember my mother, it is your face I see. Your voice I hear,’ Teclis whispered. ‘Do not ask this of me, my goddess. Are my hands not stained with enough blood?’ He closed h
is eyes, and held tight to her hand. The sounds of battle grew dim, and seemed to fade.

  ‘If you truly love me, my beautiful Teclis, you shall grant me this final boon,’ she said. He saw that there were tears in her eyes. ‘I cannot feel my daughter, or my love, Teclis. I have lost everything. I would know peace.’

  ‘He will do it,’ the Emperor said.

  Teclis released Lileath and whirled, lightning crackling about his clenched fists. ‘You do not speak for me, master of apes. If your folk had done as they were meant to do, none of this would be happening.’

  ‘The same might be said of yours,’ Lileath said. Teclis turned back to her, helpless. ‘He is right. There is no time. You know, in your heart, that this must be your path.’

  He wanted to argue. But his words were lost in the scream of one of the guardians which made up the palisade. It was uprooted and flung back by a gout of flame from a daemon-engine, to crash down nearby, twitching and smoking. The sound of battle rolled back in on him, and he could hear it all, in its terrible glory. It was the sound of a world ending. ‘What must I do?’ he asked.

  Lileath pressed a dagger into his hands and sank to her knees. ‘It cannot be swift,’ she said. ‘When my spirit flees, so too will my divinity, and any advantage you might gain with it. My death must be slow. It must be perfect.’ She caught his hand, and guided the dagger point to a spot just to the left of her breastbone. ‘There,’ she said softly. She looked at him, and smiled sadly. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘No,’ Teclis rasped. Then he rammed the blade home with every ounce of strength he could muster. Lileath stiffened and moaned. He sank down to catch her as she toppled forwards. Blood stained his robes, and her breaths, shallow and rasping, were loud in his ears. The fading spark of her divinity danced across the dark of his mind as he reached out to catch it before it could flee. Several times it slipped his grasp, and he panicked. Then, he felt her hand reach up and rest on the back of his neck, and he grew calm. A moment later, a hand found his shoulder, and he heard a calm voice murmur encouragement. New strength filled him, and he hurled his mind and spirit at the slippery spark of power.

  Bolstered, he seized the fading power and bound it to himself, drinking it in greedily. As it suffused him, driving aside all doubt and weakness, he felt her hand slide away, and her body shudder once, and grow cold. For a moment, his mind soared high above Athel Loren, and he could see the embattled mortals as flickering pinpricks of light, struggling against an all-encroaching ocean of darkness. The Incarnates showed more brightly still, the light of their power almost blinding. Nagash alone shone with a darkness almost as complete as that of the creatures he fought.

  Teclis saw Gelt sheltering beneath a shield of gold as a bloodthirster hammered at it. He saw Nagash pluck another from the air, and crush its thick bones to powder in his unyielding grip. He saw Ka’Bandha tear his way free of the magics of Tyrion and Malekith, and Alarielle, and charge towards Vlad and Hammerson.

  And he saw himself, kneeling, cradling Lileath’s body. The Emperor stood behind him, one hand resting on his shoulder, and he knew the origin of that calming voice, and the sudden surge of strength. Something lurked within Karl Franz’s frail envelope of flesh, something akin to both Lileath and the strange, fierce godspark in the man Volker, but more powerful than either. The Emperor looked up, and Teclis knew that the man could see him.

  No, not the man. Karl Franz had not been a man for some time, Teclis knew. The Emperor nodded slowly, and Teclis turned his thoughts from mysteries to Middenheim. His mind and spirit stretched out, and pulled the disparate strands of the winds of magic to him. Without thinking, without even truly understanding, he began to weave them together, moving swiftly. The last spark of Lileath’s power was already beginning to fade, and the magics he’d harnessed threatened to overwhelm him.

  Pain shot through him, such as he had never felt before. He worked feverishly, fighting against the pain and the fatigue that came with it. The spell he was weaving was already beginning to unravel, even as he crafted it. Desperately he reached out with his magics, and carefully gathered up the motes of light which were the Incarnates and the others and enfolded them in the tapestry of the spell. One he had to reach further for, across vast distances into the east, and it struggled mightily in his grip, but it too joined the others.

  They will not be enough, he thought.

  They will have to be, the Emperor’s voice replied.

  Even as the man’s voice echoed in his head, the spell, at last complete, tore loose from his weakening grasp and hurtled away from him, towards the distant darkling light of Middenheim. Then, overcome at last, Teclis slumped forwards, and collapsed into darkness.

  Somewhere Else, Some Time Later

  ‘Wake up, elf.’

  Teclis groaned. A sudden flare of pain ripped through him, and his eyes shot open. He lurched awake, a scream on his lips. He blinked back tears and looked up as a familiar figure carefully extracted his claws from Teclis’s thigh.

  ‘There we are. Back among the living, then?’ Mannfred von Carstein said, smiling genially down at Teclis as he licked blood off his talons. ‘I’d wager you thought you saw the last of me, eh?’

  ‘Hoped, more like,’ Teclis mumbled. He was not so much surprised to see the vampire as he was disgusted. After the creature’s escape, he had feared that Mannfred would turn up again at an inconvenient time. And, true to form, it seemed he had.

  Mannfred laughed and kicked him. Teclis grunted in pain. ‘Where am I?’ he wheezed, after a moment. He was lying face-down on cold stone. Manacles bit into his wrists, keeping him from standing. The only light came from guttering torches placed somewhere above his head, and the air stank of blood.

  ‘Where do you think, elf?’ Mannfred spread his hands. ‘Can you not feel it? You are in the shadow of cataclysm itself.’ The vampire grinned. ‘Middenheim, mage. You are in Middenheim.’

  ‘And why are you here?’ Teclis asked. He knew the answer well enough. It was Mannfred who had started this chain of events, however unwittingly, and fate was not so kind as to deprive the beast of his final reckoning. You are here because you have no choice. None of us do. We are all caught in the storm, Teclis thought.

  ‘How could I not be here? To witness the end of those who so cruelly betrayed me – me, who came in good faith, with heart open and hands empty.’ Mannfred leered down at him. ‘I knew there was only one place you would come, elf. I knew, as surely as I knew Be’lakor would allow his greed to overrule his judgement.’ He sank to his haunches and caught Teclis’s chin. ‘But just how you got here, well, that was interesting… You crashed right through the roof of the Temple of Ulric, and smashed down before the throne of the Everchosen himself. I never suspected that you had that sort of power. Too bad it seems to have deserted you…’

  ‘Silence, leech,’ a voice rumbled. Its owner was hidden in the shadows which dominated the farthest reaches of the great chamber. Mannfred flinched and stepped aside. He bowed low, pulling his cloak tight about himself.

  ‘Of course, my lord. Do forgive thy most unworthy of captains for his zealotry. Mine heart was overcome with adder’s venom, and I sought to–’

  ‘I said be silent,’ the voice said. This time, Mannfred fell quiet. Teclis heard the rasp of armour on bone, and then, ‘Well?’

  ‘The elf is powerless, my lord,’ a third voice said. Teclis looked up as a hooded figure stepped out of the shadows, the twisted metal of his mask gleaming in the torchlight. His tone was obsequious, his posture locked in a permanent half-bow, and he stank of dark magic. Teclis noted with some distaste that the sorcerer held his own purloined staff and sword. ‘His magics have deserted him, as is the fate of all such false creatures.’

  Despite what the creature said, Teclis was not wholly powerless, not that he planned to admit it. He could feel the presence of the Incarnates still, and felt a thrill of bitter satisfaction. He had
transported some of them, at least, to Middenheim, along with many of their followers. Unfortunately, the spell had slipped from his control in the last few moments, and scattered them across the city.

  Too, he could feel a new element. The Wind of Beasts was close at hand. He had feared at the time that he might have imagined its presence, but now he knew for certain that all eight Incarnates were accounted for. All eight Incarnates were in Middenheim.

  ‘Not entirely, I think,’ the first voice said. It sounded amused, and Teclis resisted the urge to shrink back from it. The sorcerer turned slightly to peer into the dark.

  ‘I told you, fool,’ Mannfred said, sneering at the sorcerer.

  ‘Quiet, leech, or I shall stake your body out for the crows.’ Through the shadows, past the pit of hissing, seething blood, on the throne of skulls which sat at the chamber’s far end, a heavy figure reclined. As Teclis watched, the figure rose, and the eyes within its golden helm were unreadable. ‘You have travelled a long way to die, elf,’ Archaon said. ‘But do not despair. The world shall not long outlast you.’

  FIFTEEN

  The Ulricsmund, Middenheim

  An angry red dusk had fallen over the Fauschlag. Strange lightning carved the sky into facets, and the streets boiled with activity. War had again come to Middenheim; only now it was the servants of the Everchosen who found themselves under siege, and on multiple fronts.

  The heart of the Ulricsmund, within sight of the Temple of Ulric, was one such front. Caradryan, Incarnate of Fire and Chosen of Asuryan, had not wasted time wondering how he had come from Athel Loren to the blasted streets of a human city, or what had happened to the other Incarnates. Indeed, there had been no time to even consider it.