by Warhammer
'You will honour Kharga with me?' he said, removing his helm to reveal a young face, scarred with lines across his forehead, along each cheek and down his chin, in a rune that resembled a crude skull. His eyes were large and bright blue, in contrast to the thick mane of black hair that was roughly tied back at the back of his head.
'I have never heard of Kharga before, but I will honour him with the other gods,' said Kurt, extending a hand. Vlamdir gripped the hand and grinned with a flash of white teeth that contrasted with his weathered, olive skin.
'Kharga truly works in strange ways,' said Vlamdir. 'I woke this morning from a dream. A dream of blood. I saw my own body, pierced through with a hundred spears, afloat in a lake of crimson. I feared that today would be my last when I saw that there were warriors at the stone of Vandel. Perhaps Kharga has spared me for another purpose.'
'Perhaps he has,' agreed Kurt with a nod, plucking his sword from the ground and crouching to wipe the bloodied blade in the snow. 'I find it best not to worry about the gods' intentions too much. Experience has taught me that their eyes see further than those of mortal men, that dark times may get better and that good times are often only the beginning of sorrow.'
'Don't I know it,' he heard Jakob from behind, and turned to see the shaman, leaning upon his staff as if he were a hundred years old. His lip and chin were bloodstained and his eyes sunken and dark. He looked up into the sky, kissed his fist and raised it in front of his face in a gesture of appeasement. 'The minds of the gods are indeed beyond us, for who would give such power to those who cannot control it? I am sure they are amused by my folly.'
'Perhaps you just need some practice,' suggested Kurt, garnering a laugh from Vlamdir.
'It is indeed folly to wield the powers of Akhench in lands dedicated to Kharga,' the red-armoured warrior said. 'Anyone would know that.'
'Yes anyone would know that,' echoed Kurt with a vicious grin as Jakob closed his eyes and shook his head mournfully.
Gird and the rest of the warband gathered the dead, from Kurt's warriors and their foes, and placed them and their weapons in a great heap around the monolith of Vandel. Those who had been too badly wounded to continue, but who could still hold their swords or axes, had their throats slit by Jakob, as he mumbled lamentations to the gods. Their bodies were added to the pyre. Those who had discarded their weapons were left for scavengers while the bodies of the honoured dead had been burned in a great flame that climbed up the pillar of stone and into the heavens.
With this duty done, they left the grave of Vandel, Vlamdir telling Kurt that no other warband was in the area, his former leader being the last to concede that the fighting season was over early. Vlamdir led Kurt and the others out of the gulley and turned eastwards, towards a cave not far distant where his former band had made camp for the last few months. Here, he told them, were horses and food for everyone. He laughed heartily as Kurt explained his goal of reaching the Gate of the Gods.
'You were going to walk there?' the incredulous tribesman said, walking between Kurt and Undar, dwarfed by the two chosen warriors. 'You are brave or foolish, or both. And what did you plan to eat?'
'We would hunt, as we would anywhere else,' said Undar, his face creased in a scowl. 'Do we look like farmers?'
'Then you would have gone very hungry indeed,' said Vlamdir.
'Oh, and so what do you eat, the air itself?' said Undar.
'We eat the great elk that roam these lands,' Vlamdir told them. 'But there are many miles between you and the hunting grounds. As Kharga opens his mouth to swallow the sun, they go eastward, and we follow. Hunt in the dark, fight in the light, that is the way of the Kurgan.'
'Is that your tribe, the Kurgan?' asked Kurt. 'Where do the Kurgan live?'
'You are Norse, yes?' said Vlamdir. 'From the south?'
'Well,' said Kurt, unsure how to answer. 'I am from the south, and the Norse are my people now.'
'But the Norse are not your tribe, are they?' said Vlamdir. He carried his helm under his arm as he walked, and for the first time, Kurt noticed thin strands of bronze wire woven into his hair. In fact, he realised, there were even tiny slivers of bronze imbedded into the scars cut into his flesh.
'No, my tribe is, was, the Fjaergard,' Kurt replied.
'And my tribe were the Haktars,' explained Vlamdir. 'When the darkness of Kharga's maw is lifted, we leave the tribe and fight with the other tribes. When the light of the sun is swallowed again, we return to our tribes, to hunt. Eastwards, far across the ice sea, the Kurgan can be found. This is the horseland. Men do not walk here.'
'Nothing wrong with walking,' Undar said, slapping his thigh. 'Makes your legs good and strong.'
'So does riding.' said Kurt, who had spent many long hours in the saddle when he had been a knight of Ostermark. 'It seems you will have to learn to ride, Undar, as will everyone else who has never sat in a saddle.'
'Never met a beast I could not master.' Undar said proudly. Kurt and Vlamdir exchanged a knowing look and the Kurgan had to fake a cough to hide his smirk, Undar looking at them suspiciously.
'It's just riding a horse, how hard can it be?' Undar demanded.
'I'm sure you will be fine.' said Kurt, looking northwards as dark clouds boiled on the horizon.
Out there, in the growing gloom, lay the Gate of the Gods. Somewhere, many leagues distant, Kurt's destiny awaited him. As he thought of the long journey that was about to begin, his heart was light and he felt confident. Surely his encounter with the enemy warband, and claiming their steeds and food with his victory, was sign that the gods still approved of his quest?
CHAPTER FIVE
Purpose
The Talabec, South of the Howling Hills, Late winter 1712
Sodden with sewer water they had finally made their escape into the marshes around Marienburg and had met one of Ruud's associates who had taken them to a boat moored on the Reik a few miles from the city. From there the boat had headed upstream along the Reik, covering the slow miles during the day, taking cautious refuge by nights at the guarded mooring points along the river.
Travel by river was safer than the roads through the deep forests, but was by no means uneventful. Beastmen often stalked the banks, in the deepest stretches where the river patrols did not venture often. River pirates would also ply their own murderous trade on the mighty river, some of them on ships large enough to be seaworthy, capable of taking their ill-gotten loot out of the Empire to be sold in the bazaars of Copher and the markets of Bordeleaux.
Ten days into their journey and they had sighted Altdorf, once the greatest city in the west, capital of the Reikland princes. Its massive walls rose out of the farms and meadows reclaimed from the all-covering forest, the towers of the count's keep atop the central mount. Ursula had been keen not to linger long in Altdorf, fearing that if her presence were known, and more particularly that of the magical sword in her possession, then escaping from Marienburg would have been for nothing.
They stayed one night in the wharfs at Altdorf before moving along in the morning, taking the easterly route up the Talabec. They had no plan except to get as far from the grasping hands of Luiten as was feasibly possible, and that meant heading south and east. The boat they were on, a merchantman owned by a cousin of Ruud's, was bound for Talabheim, and Ruprecht and Johannes were looking forward to seeing the city of their birth again.
Johannes was awoken by a shuddering scream. Flinging back his blankets, he leapt up, his head crashing against the planking of the decking above. Cursing, he pulled his sword from the scabbard hanging from the hook at one end of the cot. He glanced at his boots and then changed his mind, padding half naked out through the door onto the stairwell beyond. Taking them two at a time, he raced up to the deck of the long barge. As he emerged into the cool night air his skin prickled at the chill. The sky was cloudy and dark, the moons having set many hours ago. The boat's single sail creaked noisily in the wind, the canvas flapping loudly against the mast, startling Johannes.
&n
bsp; A thumping behind him heralded the arrival of Ruprecht, half hopping up the steps, pulling on his left boot as he came, his hammer awkwardly held under one arm.
'Never go anywhere without your boots,' the large man admonished him with a glance at Johannes's bare feet. 'You never know where you might end up.'
The scream sounded again, from forward and they dashed towards the source of the noise, running along the narrow space between the side of the boat and the piles of boxes and sacks on the centre of the deck, which made up the barge's legitimate cargo.
They came to the small superstructure at the fore that was the wheelhouse and upper cabins, where Ursula's bed was hung. A man, one of the ship's crew, came stumbling out of the open door, clasping his hands to his face. In the glow of the prow lantern they could see blood on his white shirt, pouring down through his hands. The bargeman collapsed to his knees on the deck and shrieked again, the same high-pitched scream they had heard earlier.
'What is it?' Johannes asked as he stopped beside the wounded man.
'Leave him,' snapped Ruprecht, hefting his hammer in his right hand and advancing into the dark cabin.
A faint blue glow emanated from the doorway into the room to the right. Ursula's room. Johannes pushed past Ruprecht as the larger man paused at the doorway, and instinctively ducked as movement hurtled towards him out of the gloom.
'Ursula?' he managed to say before Ruprecht grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him back.
In the middle of the room, Ursula stood with Ulfshard in her hands, her auburn hair hanging in long curls down her naked body. Her eyes were wide open, staring at something in the ceiling. She leapt backwards on the balls of her feet as if she were being attacked and swept out with Marbad's sword, the blade trailing blue fire in the air.
'Ursula?' Johannes said again.
'Shut up, boy,' hissed Ruprecht, crouching down and leaning forward to get a view of the roof of the cabin. There was nothing there.
'What's she saying?' Johannes asked, noticing that Ursula's lips were moving constantly, as she whispered to herself.
With a shriek, Ursula was hurled back against the bulkhead behind her, Ulfshard toppling from her hands onto the deck. It glowed fitfully for a moment longer and then dimmed. Ruprecht stepped forward, but Johannes was quicker, jumping past and crouching down beside the dazed woman as she half-lay against the wall, legs crumpled beneath her. Ruprecht appeared next to him with a blanket and draped it across Ursula's naked form.
'Is she alright?' Johannes asked, looking with concern at the stunned girl. Her lips were still whispering, so low that Johannes could not hear what she was saying even though he was right next to her.
With a gasp of air, Ursula snapped her head back, banging it against the wall, and her eyes seemed to focus. Johannes smiled with relief, but his smile faded as he saw that Ursula's attention was fixed on Ruprecht. She stood up, the blanket slipping to the floor, and Johannes averted his gaze, blushing as he stared at the planking of the deck underfoot. He could hear the sound of more people clustering outside, bare feet slapping on the deck, boots clumping on wood, the hiss of torches. Turning, he saw Meisten Kempter, owner and captain of the boat. He had a pistol in his hand, the match glowing. Beside him stood Hunda, his younger brother by many years, a belaying pin in his meaty fist.
'What is going on?' the captain demanded, raising the pistol in a shaking hand.
'Wolves and hounds,' Johannes heard Ursula say behind him. He was torn between turning around and keeping the angry crewmen in sight. He settled for positioning himself in front of the door, side on to both, his sword arm closest to the sailors.
'Wait a moment,' he said, holding up his other hand in front of the Kempters. 'Wait.'
'What did you say?' Ruprecht said, his voice low and soft. 'What about wolves and hounds?'
Ursula stepped across the room and picked up Ulfshard, its pommel stone burning softly. She crossed back to her hanging cot and sheathed the magical blade, before pulling a smock from the pile of clothes in a chest underneath the bed. Pulling it over her head, she turned around and swept her hair out of her face.
'I had a dream.' she said, a trickle of sweat running down her nose and forming as a drip at the tip. 'I saw a great pack of hounds, devil hounds, sweeping down upon me.'
'She's bewitched.' said Hunda, dropping the belaying pin and making a protective sign in front of his chest with his thumbs intertwined. 'Shoot her, Meisten.'
'If you pull that trigger, you'll know what three feet of cold steel feels like.' hissed Johannes, glaring at the captain. 'If it's the last thing I do, I swear it.'
The captain's hand wavered even more and after a moment he dropped his arm to the side. Two more of the crew pushed in behind Hunda, one with a cudgel, the other with a sword in his hand.
'It's not natural.' Meisten said. 'She's bewitched. One of my men with his nose cut off, strange lights, shrieking and dreams about hounds. That's witchery, for sure.'
'Tell me about the dream.' Ruprecht was saying, his hands on Ursula's shoulders. 'What about the hounds?'
'Devil hounds, with fire for eyes and bronze fangs.' Ursula said. 'They came from the snow, from the north. A great pack of them, covering the lands in one great tide of evil.'
'What did the hounds do?' Ruprecht pressed. 'What happened?'
'There was one, their leader, a hound larger than a man, with a tongue of flame.' Ursula said, and she shuddered at the recollection. She remembered the terror she had felt as the beast had loomed over her, its massive jaws opened wide, its hot breath on her face. 'I was all alone, and I cried out for help. I tried to fight it, but it was so very strong. It knocked me down. But then the wolves came, the wolves helped me.'
'What wolves?' asked Ruprecht. 'Where did the wolves come from?'
'She's babbling, for sure,' said Meisten and was about to say more when Johannes silenced him with a wave of his sword tip.
'A great host of them swept up from behind me,' explained Ursula, eyes fixed on Ruprecht's face. 'Great wolves with white and black fur, and claws of burnished steel. The wolves attacked the hounds, and it was savage. They came from the city of wolves, to help me against the daemon hounds.'
'The city of the white wolf, Middenheim?' said Johannes. 'Was this a sign. Are we supposed to go to Middenheim for something?'
'What's this about signs?' demanded Meisten. 'We're on the Reik, going to Talabheim. There's not even a river at Middenheim, and even if there was, we're not going there. In fact, you're not going anywhere. I want you off my boat, for sure.'
'Now wait a minute...' began Johannes.
'It's alright,' said Ursula stepping out of Ruprecht's grip and pacing forward. The sailors clustered in the doorway elbowed each other as they tried to shuffle back.
'Get back, witch,' said Hunda, snatching up his belaying pin again. 'Get back, or we'll burn you.'
'Burn me?' snarled Ursula, her face suddenly contorted with rage, 'Burn me? They tried to burn me once before, didn't they? But he came, didn't he? Swept me away on his charger like the noble knight we all thought he was. Perhaps I should have burned, but I didn't, and you aren't going to be the ones who do it!'
'Ursula, calm down,' said Ruprecht, and Ursula sagged at the sound of his voice. The burly Talabheimer stood next to her and cradled her head against his chest. 'Calm down.'
'She's not a witch,' said Johannes, almost choking on the word. 'There's not an ounce of evil in her. It's the gods, it's they who send her these dreams. She speaks with Sigmar, he shows her things, warns her of things.'
'Oh, yes, it's the gods, of course,' said Hunda.
'Shut up, Hunda,' said Meisten, pulling the match from his pistol and dropping it to the floor. He crushed it beneath his boot and looked at his young brother. 'I believe them.'
'You believe them?' said Hunda with an incredulous shake of his shaven head.
'You never knew your Aunt Gilda,' Meisten said with sadness in his voice. 'She died two years before you were born
. They said she heard the voices of daemons, but she always claimed it was the voices of the gods. They burned her, tore down her house, murdered her little kid. Only five he was, five summers old. The spawn of devils they said he was, on account of Gilda being unwed and such.'
'What of it?' asked Hunda.
'She used to sit me on her knee, by the fire, ever since I was old enough to understand,' Meisten explained, his voice cracked with emotion. 'I thought they were stories, just stories, until our ma explained them later, when they had taken Gilda away. She had the sight, you see, the dreamsight. She told me her dreams. Some of them scared me, for sure, scared me for nights afterwards. But others were beautiful, so beautiful, for sure.'
'That doesn't stop this wench being a witch,' Hunda argued, gesturing towards Ursula with the metal club in his hand.
Johannes bristled at Hunda's insulting tone, but before he could say anything, the barge captain was speaking again.
'Know what ma said as they took her away?' said Meisten, now his eyes brimming with tears. 'As the priests dragged her away, and she never said no word, nor kicked nor struggled? Ma looks down at me, for I was all of ten summers, for sure, and what did she say? She told me it wasn't right, them taking Aunt Gilda.' At this point he looked at Johannes and gave a sad smile. 'Ma said that she didn't have an ounce of evil in her, them exact same words, for sure. Said there weren't many in the world like that, and I'd been lucky to have known one of them.'
Hunda opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His brow furrowed in thought, and his hand dropped heavily to his side.
'Ma said that, did she?' Hunda asked. Meisten nodded, using a fingertip to clear the moisture from his eyes.
Ursula turned to them, and her face was set. She looked at Meisten Kempter calmly.
'You have to help us get to Middenheim,' she said, her voice quiet. 'Please.'
