1 the claws of chaos

by ich du

  The young woman just wished that this whole sorry turn of events hadn't taken place. Kurt had become so stubborn lately, and listened far too much to the advice of the crude little Norscan, rather than to the words of his loved one. His continued insistence to practise the strange rituals of the northern gods, and to learn the Norse language, was offensive in the extreme, and Ursula felt this did not bode well for the future. If she did nothing, Jakob would eventually have his way and they would end up in Norsca, living amongst the barbarian tribes. Ursula shuddered slightly at the thought. Soon she would have to make up her mind: would she keep blindly following Kurt, trying to save him from himself and the manipulation of Jakob, or should she go her own way? She resolved to have another talk with Kurt later, and see what happened.

  Pushing away her mug of hot goat's milk, Ursula stood up, nodded at the housewife, and made her way upstairs to her room. She realised it had been too long since she had prayed, her once inviolable morning routine had been shattered by their speedy escape from Badenhof, but she told herself that now, more than ever before, she needed to renew and rejuvenate her faith in the true god, Sigmar. Amongst these heathens and heretics, she would remain pure, and hopefully with that purity she would be able to pull Kurt back from the dark precipice towards which he was moving. She feared for his soul, and when she knelt down to pray beside her bed, her first words were to ask Sigmar to protect her beloved.

  She had not been there long when she heard a commotion from the tavern room downstairs. There was shouting and the door banged open, making her jump with fright.

  'MARIUS IS CLOSE,' Kurt said, walking into the room and seeing Ursula knelt beside her bed. 'You should come downstairs and see this.'

  'What is it?' Ursula asked, pushing herself to her feet and dusting off her dress, which was grubby from where she had been kneeling on the bare wood of the floor.

  'Twelve Norse have arrived, Fjaergardians, and they say they fought with a man with a black feather in his hat.'

  She followed Kurt back down the stairs and into the common room. Jakob was talking hurriedly to a group of muscular, bearded men, who she had not seen before. They were not like the Norse of Tungask, they were taller and heavier built. They wore few clothes, even though the temperature outside was freezing, and were openly armed with maces and axes. One carried a shield with a twisting Norse rune of the front, clumsily daubed in red paint over the beaten metal.

  'Who are they?' asked Ursula, as Kurt listened in to the conversation.

  'They're of the Fjaergard,' he said, brow furrowed in concentration. 'From what I can remember, they're quite a way from home. They come from southern Norsca. They sailed across the Sea of Claws to raid, but a storm almost wrecked their longship and forced them to beach further north than they planned. They couldn't get the ship afloat again and were stranded. Their chieftain, Hrolfgar, the big man with the shield and the gold on his helmet, wanted to lead them back north, but his brother, Bjordrin, the smaller man with the black beard, had an argument with him.'

  Kurt paused and said something in Norscan to Jakob. The marauders turned and looked at him, then burst out laughing, slapping Jakob on the shoulder and almost sending him sprawling to the floor.

  'What is so funny?' asked Ursula, who was intimidated by the hulking men, who stood half a head taller even than Kurt, who was not a short man.

  'Jakob has been telling them who I am, they think it funny to hear their own tongue spoken by a man of the Empire,' Kurt explained.

  'What did you say to them?' Ursula asked, pursing her lips in irritation. 'Why can't you speak Reikspiel when I'm around, it's very rude of you to ignore me like that.'

  'They don't understand Reikspiel,' Kurt said, glancing at Ursula with an annoyed look. 'And there's no point me asking things through Jakob all the time when I'm getting to grips with the language now. I need the practice. Now, be quiet a moment, I'm trying to hear what they are saying.'

  Kurt walked closer and listened intently, his gaze passing from one Norseman to the next as each spoke in turn and carried on the tale of how they came to be there. As the tale continued, drinks were passed around, and the talking got heartier, making it more difficult for Kurt to understand. Sitting at the next table, he did his best to translate the story to Ursula. The Norseman explained how Bjordrin, with the support of the rest of the raiding party, had persuaded Hrolfgar to head further inland. Heading southeast, they had decided to follow the Lynsk. They came across one Kislevite village and looted it, and an encouraged Hrolfgar had decided to press on. They had travelled for many days, when one of the group had remembered a tale of a Norscan settlement this far south. He had heard rumours about Tungask, and Hrolfgar had resolved to find it. However, to get there they had come across the large forest to the south of the Lynsk. They had come across the tracks of many men and horses, which piqued Hrolfgar's interest. Wanting to arrive in Tungask in triumph and glory, Bjordrin had come up with a plan for the warband to lie in wait in the forest ahead of what they thought to be a traders' caravan. To this Hrolfgar had readily agreed, keen to get more loot for himself.

  Unfortunately, the first people to come along had been Marius and his force, and they thought them a contingent despatched to hunt them down. The Norse had killed their scouts to leave them without any clue of who else was in the woods, and then decided to try to destroy the interlopers. Hrolfgar had reasoned that all the while the soldiers were there, they would be looking over their shoulders to see if they were safe. At first Bjordrin had argued that they should just leave. After all, there were some three dozen mounted knights, and twice as many men on foot. It was a small army by Norse standards, much more numerous than the survivors of their raiding party. Hrolfgar had disagreed. He thought it better to ambush the armed men and have the surprise, than have the enemy stumble on the marauders, or worse still catch up with them in Tungask. Not wanting to feel like cowards, the rest of the warriors had backed Hrolfgar. The attack had faltered when one of the soldiers had stumbled on the body of a captured scout, and the attack had ended up failing dismally. Hrolfgar had lost thirty men that day, and three more died from their injuries the following day, while the survivors headed to Tungask as fast as they could.

  All this Kurt relayed to Ursula as he heard it, and her expression grew increasingly horrified as the story progressed.

  'Why are you looking at them like that?' Kurt asked when he had finished, seeing the venomous glare Ursula was directing towards the Norsemen.

  'Thieves, murderers and rapists, that's what they are!' hissed Ursula. 'You said they had come to attack the coast, and that they sacked a village not long ago. What bloodthirsty barbarians. The last time you came to Kislev was to fight these types of animals!'

  'The last time I came to Kislev I wasn't being hounded like a dog by an insane witch hunter,' Kurt replied. 'I have more in common with these men than I ever had with the Osterknacht. They are brave and strong, they are honourable and they strive for glory. What is so wrong with that?'

  'You condone the raping and pillaging they do in the name of those hideous gods they worship?' Ursula snapped, her voice rising. Jakob heard her and came over, waving at the newcomers to seat themselves by the fire. The wiry Norscan had fitted into Tungask very well, his knowledge of both the common languages proving useful, and as Kurt and Ursula's only guide, they had given him most of the money they had.

  'I hear what you say,' Jakob said with a frown. 'You do not understand the way of the north. It is right that we raid and take from these lands, and the lands where you were born. The wolf hunts the sheep so that it may live. If the shepherd is strong, he kills the wolves, and if he is weak, the wolves will eat. Your soldiers are made strong because they must fight us! We give you strong shepherds to protect your towns and your cities from the sword and the burning torch.'

  'Don't you think it is obscene?' Ursula said, turning her attention to Kurt.

  'The northmen have lived this way since Sigmar himself walked these lands,'
Kurt replied with a shrug. 'We share the same ancestors, and though the Empire has forgotten the old ways and the old gods, and hidden itself from its history, those times of legends and heroes still exist here in the north. What these men do is little different to what Sigmar did before he was Emperor.'

  Ursula slapped Kurt hard across the face, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. Hrolfgar said something and his warriors laughed aloud, making Kurt flush red.

  'He calls me sutenmjar,' Kurt rasped at Ursula, grabbing her wrists and pulling her forward. 'It means southern pup. He says I cannot even control my woman.'

  'No you can't.' Ursula spat, wrenching her hands free. She ran out into the snow-filled night outside, slamming the door shut behind her.

  'I should go after her-' Kurt suggested, glancing at Jakob for advice.

  'What, and beat her?' Jakob asked, looking at the closed door. 'It would not be too soon.'

  'No!' Kurt snapped, shoving Jakob away from him.

  'Then you will be laughed at more.' Jakob said, looking over at Hrolfgar and his men. 'At the moment they are happy for you to be here because you entertain, but if Ursula insults them and they understand, they kill her.'

  'If any of them so much as thinks about harming her, I'll butcher them all,' growled Kurt. 'I'm going after Ursula.'

  'Leave her be.' Jakob advised, putting his hand on Kurt's arm as he made to leave. 'She angry and upset, you cannot change that yet. Talk with Hrolfgar and his men, learn of Marius's soldiers and make amends to Ursula in morning time.'

  Kurt paused and thought it over for a moment. Jakob was right, as he usually was. Ursula would be in no mood for reconciliation for a long while, and it would be better done elsewhere, where Hrolfgar and his warriors were not close by.

  'I am sorry, my friend.' Kurt said, grabbing Jakob's shoulder and giving it a comradely squeeze. 'Let's see what Hrolfgar has to say.'

  As Kurt turned his back on Jakob and stepped towards the raiders, the ex-servant could not stop the sly smile that twisted his thin lips.

  JAKOB AWOKE TO a heavy pounding on his door, which was matched by the pounding in his head. He and Kurt had spent the night talking to Hrolfgar and his men, swapping stories of battles, and washing the evening away with koidva, a local spirit distilled in the back room of the tavern.

  He pushed back his blankets and sat up groggily, his head swimming and his stomach threatening to rebel. He ignored the nausea and forced himself to stand up on wobbling legs, clutching his head in his hands as if to block out the pain. He unlatched the door and it slammed open, knocking the Norscan to the floor.

  'She's gone!' Kurt said as he burst into the room, his expression as dark as a thundercloud.

  Dazed and dizzy, Jakob sat there for a moment, uncomprehending.

  'What?' he asked as Kurt helped him to his feet.

  'Ursula's missing!' insisted Kurt. 'Get dressed and help me look for her.'

  'She knows the town, she not lost,' protested Jakob, who tottered back towards his bed. Kurt grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the window. Opening the shutter, snowflakes started to drift inside and the blast of chill seared through Jakob's fugue, waking him immediately.

  'Her bed wasn't slept in,' Kurt said impatiently, pushing Jakob back towards his clothes. 'It's mid-morning, I've already been across town twice, checking if she stayed over anywhere else. She hasn't, she isn't in the town.'

  'She a strong girl, she look after herself,' Jakob replied, silently thanking the gods for this wondrous turn of events.

  'I don't care,' snapped Kurt. 'Meet me downstairs quickly, I want to find out where she went.'

  When Kurt had left, Jakob struggled into his rough woollen breeches and shirt before donning a thick fur coat he had bought from one of the Kislevite traders in the town. He dragged on his fur-lined boots and pulled his bow and arrows out from under the bed. Stomping downstairs, still feeling like there were hot nails driven into his skull, Jakob found Kurt waiting at the tavern door, fully dressed and carrying his sword.

  'Boris Ytselva saw her walking towards the bridge last night, we'll start there,' Kurt said, opening the door.

  THEY HAD SPENT much of the day searching for Ursula in Tungask, but other than the single sighting of the night before, there was no news. They had circled the town for some other sign of where she might be. There were slight tracks by the bridge that Jakob could see; the snow had been light the night before and had left a clue that Ursula had passed that way. He concluded that she had gone into the woods, the edge of which could be seen a mile or so away. Looking up at Kurt, he saw the ex-knight staring into the distance as if willing Ursula to come into view. A plan began to form in Jakob's mind. Here was an opportunity to be rid of the barb-tongued woman for all time.

  'Give me a moment,' he said to the knight. Sitting cross-legged in the snow, he pulled the small bag of hair and fox bones from his belt, tipped them into his hand and began to mumble nonsense words to himself - an old rhyme he had learnt as a child, the names of the village elders who had scorned him, and the constellations that rose in the north. With a dramatic shout, he threw the bones into the air and let them scatter onto the snow in front of him. He pretended to study the pattern for a little while, umming and tutting to himself as he did so. Grunting, he looked up at Kurt, who was staring at the Norscan with fascination.

  'There is some sign that she went out onto the plains,' Jakob lied, pointing in the direction Kurt was looking. 'If you go that way I shall go into the woods to make sure I am not mistaken.'

  Without any further acknowledgement, Kurt began to stride away purposefully. Jakob allowed himself a smile. He could not fail here. Marius was somewhere in the forest as well. If he found Ursula, he would most likely kill her. If Jakob could prove this the case, then there would be no more argument from Kurt against going north to Jakob's homeland. If Jakob found Ursula then he would despatch her himself and blame it on Marius. In either case, the blame fell on Marius and although the headstrong Kurt would demand an opportunity to exact vengeance, Jakob could forestall any attempt. He would talk with the Norse of the town, warn them of Marius's approach and advise them to banish Kurt for fear of what the witch hunter might do to them for harbouring such a dangerous renegade. If Ursula wasn't found, then the chances were that she would be dead already, and Jakob's task would be even easier.

  With a light heart, he shouldered his bow and set off towards the forest.

  AS NIGHT FELL, Kurt's mood became even bleaker. He had searched all day across the icy wasteland for a sign of Ursula, but had found none. The weather had worsened and he had been forced to seek shelter in a small cave amongst the foothills roughly ten miles southwest of Tungask. It was little more than a dell really, the cave barely deep enough for him to lie down and keep his feet out of the snow. He feared for Ursula in such appalling conditions, and his guilt lay heavy on his mind and his heart. It was he who had turned her away so roughly, and he realised the truth of her words in the argument of the previous night. He did listen to Jakob too much and he ignored her, even though he knew and trusted her more than anyone else in the world. The lands themselves were also having an effect on him, he could feel it in his blood and his bones. He was worried, but at the same time, Jakob had reassured him that this was natural, and that the men of the north felt this quickening of their pulse and this keenness of the senses all the time.

  For the moment though, he was just as concerned for his own safety. The snow and wind had frozen his face and hair, and his fingers and toes had been numb for some time. He wasn't even sure exactly where he was; he had stumbled half-blind through the blizzard until he had found a little respite in the valley between the hills which had led him here. Cursing himself for an idiot, Kurt realised he had brought nothing with him with which to light a fire. He would more than likely freeze out here, and Ursula would suffer a similar fate. As he resigned himself to his short future, Kurt recalled the night they had spent in the cave formed by the overlapping boulders
. He remembered how Jakob had taught him the names of the gods, and the way in which they could be asked for power. He had half-heartedly tried a few of these rituals with little success, but now the words came unbidden to his mind again. He remembered them more clearly than he had done before. Feeling slightly foolish, but with no better idea, he cut some of the fur from his cloak and laid it in front of him. Sitting crossed-legged, as he had seen Jakob do, Kurt began to chant, focussing his attention on the fur and picturing the small rag as an undying flame. Kurt concentrated on what he had to do, remembering Jakob's warning that calling on the gods had its dangers. Attracting their attention was never straightforward, even with a ritual as insignificant as the one Kurt wanted to perform.

  Closing his eyes, Kurt concentrated harder, the words spilling from his lips in a steady stream. In his mind's eye he could see the flickering red of the magical fire he wanted to create. Chanting louder and louder, Kurt felt something inside him change. It was if a breath of wind had passed through his body. His limbs tingled and he felt a warm flush on his face. It was a moment before he realised the heat was genuine and not a phantasm of his imagination. He opened his eyes to see a red and green flame burning the scrap of fur in front of him. The gods had answered him! With a shout of joy, Kurt punched the air. This was a good sign, as Jakob would say. The gods would keep him alive to find Ursula.