He got to his feet again, looking slightly ruffled at the continued humiliation he was undergoing. But he had his reasons for what he was doing. All the time he was keeping Valkia thus occupied, her attention was removed from anything else that was going on. Hepsus had listened to the young Godspeaker and had seen the wisdom in what he proposed.
‘Again?’ Valkia’s grin was surprising and also infectious. He grinned ruefully back at her, feeling one of the occasionally twinges of regret that they had not been closer over the years. Perhaps if she had let him in, she would not have taken the route of folly.
There was no time to dwell on what might have been. Edan had the best interests of his people at heart and that steeled his resolve.
‘Again,’ he acknowledged.
Still grinning at her younger brother, Valkia took up her position, the shield close to her chest, the training sword ready.
‘Begin,’ she said. ‘And this time, aim for me as though you mean it. Don’t be afraid of hurting me, Edan.’
‘I’m not,’ he said, and they began to fight. Valkia had retained every bit of speed and strength that had marked her across the years and age had not weakened her at all. Whenever she fought now, she reached for that moment of true glory she had touched when fighting the daemon. She strove for it. Hungered for it. Burned for it.
For the most part, it eluded her. But every so often, she would touch the ecstasy of the blood rage and come out desperate for more.
Edan had the advantage of youth, but he found it hard to keep pace with the older woman. He was already regretting in part his decision to occupy Valkia’s attention in this way. He would come out of this with bruises from head to toe – but he would also benefit from her training.
His sword came up to deflect an overhead blow and she thrust forward with the buckler, catching him just under the jaw. His head snapped back and he stumbled, dazed. Valkia gave him no respite, following up immediately with a blow from the flat of the practise blade that left his arm aching. He almost dropped the sword, but with grim determination, kept a grip.
‘Good,’ she approved, noting his efforts. ‘That’s good, Edan. Now give me everything you have. Come at me like you really want to kill me.’
There was a pause of barely a heartbeat and Edan found the same core of strength that had served his sister so well for her entire life. With a feral roar, he charged towards her and she thought, for an unlikely second, that she saw bloodlust in his eyes.
She moved position as he lunged and he went wide of the mark. She stepped nimbly to the right, the leather skirt that she wore flaring out with the movement. Slit either side to allow for ease of movement, it whipped back as she steadied herself. Bringing the hilt of the blade down hard between his shoulder blades, he sank to his knees, Valkia standing over him.
‘And down you go again, brother. How long is it since you stepped away from your role and actually practised in the Circle of Blood?’ It was something she had noticed for a while; the fact that there were fewer fights amongst her own people. They were growing lazy, she reasserted. It would all change soon.
He didn’t reply. He felt humiliation flushing his cheeks, despite the knowledge that he could never have beaten her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hepsus crossing the camp and turned his head to look at the Warspeaker. The red-haired warrior had an amused smirk on his face as he watched Edan’s humiliation. It was enough of a sign that his business was concluded and for that at least, Edan was grateful.
‘Again?’ Valkia was addressing him.
‘By your leave, sister, I will take a break for now. You are correct of course. I have been lax in my training. But I promise you that when the situation arises... I will not fail you.’ Edan accepted her help up and gave her a slightly pained smile. Valkia squinted against the late afternoon sunlight. For just a moment, he had looked so much like her father as a young man that she felt a dull, long-forgotten ache of loss.
‘Very well,’ she said and clapped him on the shoulder. He winced as pain stabbed through him. ‘The journey north will be a long and difficult one, Edan. I am glad that you will be with us. You will learn a great deal.’
‘And I am glad to be coming with you,’ he lied smoothly.
She called another Circle meeting that night. Her cheeks were still flushed from the practice bout with Edan and there was such life and enthusiasm in her face, her eyes, her every gesture that every warrior who sat in her tent could not help but be swept up by the magnitude of her vision.
‘We will leave in two days from now,’ she declared. ‘Those who wish to remain here may do so. Those who wish to come with me will understand the risks. They are Schwarzvolf. They will bear such uncertainty with grace and honour.’
She had brought the shield into the meeting with her and set it down face upwards so that Locephax’s foul head was clearly on display.
‘I took this trophy by my own hand,’ she declared. ‘This... creature was a servant of the Reveller. We all know, as our Godspeaker teaches – and as his predecessors taught before him – that there is a time and place for worship of his bounty. In his aspect of fertility, we thank him for giving us babes who are not god-touched. In his aspect of lust, we thank him for providing us with the ability to bring new lives into the world. But this... Locephax... was perverse. He took the ideals we understand and distorted them beyond recognition.’
She kicked the shield, but the eyes remained firmly closed. Sneering slightly at the daemon, Valkia continued.
‘This thing’s master is the exact opposite of all we have come to believe in. We believe that power lies in strength and the conquering of others. Locephax was slovenly, lustful and lazy. Such a creature deserved death. And by presenting the head of an enemy to the Blood God...’
Her eyes shone with mania and for the first time, even those who had supported her most closely over the years wondered if she was quite sane. There was something unstoppable in that expression. Something that would not be denied.
‘By presenting this trophy, our patron god will reward me. More!’ She stood up and paced around the gathered Circle, her hands animate and her voice filled with deep, abiding passion. ‘He will reward our people! We will be stronger than ever before! Look at all we have accomplished. Think of what remains to be done.’
‘The larger tribes...’ Hepsus began to speak, but she bounded to stand behind him, her hands on his shoulder.
‘Don’t worry yourself about them any more, Hepsus! When we return from our trip north, the power we will hold will be beyond anything they can ever hope to resist! The Schwarzvolf will sweep across the steppes and take everything for themselves. And then, when our force is great beyond imagining...’
She released Hepsus and stood back from him. Every pair of eyes turned to stare at her, captivated by her words, mesmerised by her sheer beauty and passion.
‘Then we will take the south.’
An immediate ripple ran around the tent. To suggest such a thing was madness itself. Everyone knew that all who had dared venture south were thwarted by the mountain-dwelling dwarf folk. Fierce fighters who would give no ground and gave back just as violently as they received; several raiding parties had headed into the warm-lands only to never return.
Valkia stood backwards, in the shadows where she knew they could see nothing of her except her glittering eyes and the even whiteness of her teeth as she smiled. Words such as ‘preposterous’, ‘suicidal’ and ‘mad’ were flung around easily and she listened with pleasure to the arguing that broke out.
For too long, this Circle had sat like sacks of straw, dutifully nodding and agreeing with everything she had suggested. For too long they had forgotten what it was to think for themselves. She had now given them much to consider.
‘We should remember,’ Valkia said eventually, finally cutting across the squabbling with a cool, clear voice. ‘We should remember that such a thing will not happen for many years. We must take the north first. We must leave no doubt in the m
inds of the soft southerners that we are a force united. They will lay down their weapons and flee from us. Just uttering the name of the Schwarzvolf will send them running, piss trickling down their legs.’
The words raised a hearty laugh or two from the group. Hepsus, she noted, looked troubled, but she did not single him out. He would see. She knew that he would see. They would all see. Once they stood in the presence of Kharneth...
Khorne.
There it was again. That whispered thought; a breath of an idea that the name she had known her master by for all these years was nothing more than a lie.
Khorne. Kharneth, it matters little what you call the Blood God. The truth remains that the followers of Slaanesh will be waiting for you, Gorequeen.
It was Locephax. The daemon’s eyes remained closed and his words were felt inside her mind rather than spoken. The smile slid slowly off her face and she stared at the shield.
You will cross the ice. You will enter the Wastes and there... there, your people will be slaughtered. One after the other, they will fall. Their blood will stain the snows crimson. And then, when only you remain...
The daemon’s eyes flared open and those sitting closest leaped backwards in alarm.
‘Then I will claim you,’ he said.
Quick as lightning, without ever missing a beat, Valkia drew the dagger from her boot and hurled it across the room. It embedded itself in the wood of the shield just to the right of Locephax’s face with a loud thud. The daemon fell silent again, but not before a serene smile had played across its dead lips.
It was a look that would return to Valkia in her nightmares that night.
TEN
The Breath Before the Plunge
It was the nature of the northern weather to turn like a savage animal and this year was no exception to that rule. Within hours the occasional snow flurry had become a steady precipitation. As it had always done, the arrival of the winter brought a strange silence to the camp of the Schwarzvolf. It muffled the tread of people’s feet, killed what little birdsong filled the air and even the people lowered their voices. By the time Valkia stepped from her tent, the entire camp was covered in a blanket of white.
It was early and whilst the weak winter sun shone, it did little to alleviate the chill in the air. Valkia reached back into the tent for her furs and shrugged them on across her shoulders. She felt calm and in control despite the horrific visions that had plagued her in the night. There was something about the first true snows of winter that made her feel… comfortable. This was her heritage.
The communal fire which was always kept burning was barely more than glowing embers at the moment, but there were several children working on banking it. This was one of the many chores that were given to the young people of the tribe and she watched them with a slightly indulgent air for a few minutes. Finally, she crossed the camp and accepted a cup of a hot beverage from one of them. It was a delicious drink, made from the leaves of various herbs that grew in the area. The aromatic scent belied a preparation that was in truth, quite bitter; honey was added to sweeten it. Sipping at the beverage, Valkia welcomed the warmth it brought even as it burned down her throat.
A sound overhead caught her attention and she looked upwards. A dark shadow moved across her face and far above her, a mountain bird of prey screamed as it rode the thermals. The bird was enormous, its wings fully stretched as it glided free, revelling in the thrill of the hunt and rejoicing in its simple existence. Valkia watched it for a moment, fascinated as she always was by the efficacy of creatures who lived their lives on the wing.
With a cry of triumph, the bird dived downwards, having spied its unfortunate prey and disappeared briefly over the crest of a hill. Scant seconds later it was aloft again, a dead rodent hanging from its talons. It was quite wonderful to watch and Valkia, child of a deeply superstitious people, saw it as an omen.
Today, she and her assembled party of warriors would begin their pilgrimage. The sighting of the raptor, revered almost as much as the black wolves of the hills by her people, filled her with great confidence and there was a definite swagger in her stride as she moved back across the camp towards the tent shared by her daughters.
Their relationship had never been particularly close but as Eris and Bellona had grown, Valkia had seen herself reflected in them. The girls had always shared the same appearance, but personality-wise they were extraordinarily opposite. Eris was like a younger Valkia; fierce, angry, resistant to just about anything whilst Bellona was cool-headed and able to offer a diplomatic solution to any situation. Both had received – with their mother’s blessing – proposals of marriage. They would be well provided for and it was well known that on Valkia’s death, the throne would pass to one of the twins. It was her stated preference that they share leadership of the tribe, but whether that would happen or not she would never know.
She had denied them the opportunity to travel to the realm of the gods. Bellona had accepted her mother’s judgement without question, but Eris had raged for hours, throwing a tantrum not unlike those Valkia herself had once demonstrated. In the end, Valkia had backhanded her across the face. It had been the first time she had physically remonstrated either of her daughters and all three of them had been startled by the fading echo of the slap.
It had achieved the desired effect nonetheless. Eris had been shocked into listening to her mother’s reasoning and with Bellona’s help, had accepted the decision. Neither was surprised when Valkia ducked into their tent that morning.
There was no emotional goodbye for the three women. They came from hardy, pragmatic people who rarely expressed any sort of heartfelt feelings for one another. Valkia felt a little sorrow that they would not be with her to experience the glories of the realm of the gods, but little more than that. In part, she fully anticipated returning and so the thought she may never see them again never even crossed her mind.
‘In my absence,’ she said, accepting another cup of the aromatic drink, ‘I have arranged for Olan to oversee the activities of the tribe’s warriors. In the unlikely event you are attacked, he will ensure the safety of the Schwarzvolf.’ Olan was the tribe’s current head scout; young, but entirely capable and extremely competent. Already he had been earmarked as Hepsus’s ultimate replacement should anything happen to the Warspeaker.
Eris looked as though she would comment, but stilled her tongue at a glance from her mother.
‘In terms of the rest of the tribe’s welfare, however…’ Valkia sipped at her drink, her dark eyes going from Eris to Bellona and back again. ‘I have every faith in both of you.’
‘Your faith is well placed, mother,’ Bellona smiled. Valkia’s expression hardened slightly.
‘Don’t make me regret the decision. Either of you.’ The words were directed at both, but Eris knew they were meant for her. Both girls shook their heads.
Finishing off her drink, Valkia rose. ‘Be well,’ she said to her daughters. ‘We will speak again soon. On that you have my word.’
‘The party is almost assembled,’ reported the Warspeaker. ‘We will be ready to leave straight away when the last of them are here.’
‘Your gift for organising such matters has always impressed me, Hepsus,’ Valkia said admiringly. There were almost a thousand warriors leaving from the main Schwarzvolf camp in the Vale and Valkia had sent runners ahead to muster warriors from the outlying tribes. Word received back had been optimistic to say the very least.
‘It is my honour to serve,’ said the Warspeaker, bowing before her. ‘That, and they are all eager for a fight. You were right with that assumption. I barely had to snap my fingers and they were armoured and ready.’
Valkia cast an expert eye over the assembled group. Consisting predominately of young males, there were nonetheless several female warriors standing amongst their number. Ages ranged from her own age group right down to youths barely into their late teens. Every face she saw was filled with open enthusiasm and fierce determination. Her heart swelled.
‘I should say a few words,’ she murmured. Hepsus nodded, his face strangely closed and expressionless. Valkia did not notice; instead she moved to stand upon the dais where her throne sat.
‘My people,’ she began and was startled to realise that there was a catch in her voice. The emotion of the moment had caught her far more than bidding her own daughters farewell. She coughed to clear her throat.
‘My people,’ she repeated. This time there was no weakness in her voice. This time her words were clear and strong, filled with the honest passion of the moment. ‘We embark today on a war unlike anything any of us have ever known. I have never lied to you and I will not start now.’ Her dark eyes skimmed over the faces. Youthful or older, they were all fixed on her in rapt attention. She saw no fear in the upturned faces. These were her people and how they loved her.
‘We will not all return here,’ she continued. ‘But know this, brothers and sisters. Those of us who do will bear the blessing of the Blood God back to our people, and will ensure that your noble deeds will live forevermore in the stories of the Schwarzvolf. The dead are never forgotten when they live with courage and honour.’
She jumped down from the dais and moved amongst the warriors. ‘We face the unknown and that in itself is enough to cow the most stout-hearted. But none of you have refused this chance. Our tribe is strong. We seek to make it stronger still.’
A ripple of approval ran through the army. Valkia smiled her devastatingly charming smile.
‘I am more proud of you right now than I have ever been. In the days, weeks, maybe even months ahead I may not always have the chance to remind you of that. But never forget it. When darkness comes and enemies surround you – and they will – remember the legacy of the Schwarzvolf. Look at all we have accomplished. We will go on to great things and it will be because of you all.’
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