Valkia the Bloody

by Sarah Cawkwell

  The first thing they encountered was glorious battle. Within hours of breaking camp and beginning their ascent, the first of the Chosen’s rival tribes struck at them.

  They came through the dry, petrified forest that clung to the mountainside above the cave system that the Chosen called home and they struck with a force that took the armoured vanguard completely by surprise.

  Valkia grudgingly gave them a modicum of respect when one of the first to attack went straight for Kormak. She gave no order, preferring instead to drop into the main battle. Her champion was more than capable of dealing with his own situation.

  The threat was greeted joyfully and the Chosen threw themselves at their enemy with a vigour that demonstrated their fearlessness perfectly. Engaged in a battle with a burly warrior who was naked but for the fur loincloth that covered his groin, Valkia’s attention flitted around the battlefield. This was the first time she had been in true battle since she had been reborn and everything was so different, so alive and filled with the promise of glory.

  Whenever blood was spilled, her senses fired. She could scent the opening of every wound as though it had happened on her own body. The pervading odour of copper and salty vitae that swiftly dominated her olfactory senses drove her into a frenzy. She needed to spill blood in a way she had never needed before.

  The very thought of it sent every part of her body into a wild frenzy. She began to salivate in anticipation and her tensed muscles sang with the sheer thrill of carrying out her grisly duty. She raised Slaupnir high above her head and screamed out his name. It rang out in the still, winter air and then the clash of weapons overrode everything.

  The berserker rage took hold of not only Valkia, but many of her army as well, and they threw themselves into the fray with frenzied madness. What ensued could not be described as a clean or ordered fight in any way. The opposing sides were unbalanced from the beginning, the attackers relying on their advantage of surprise, but Valkia’s army were entirely more bloodthirsty and threw caution completely to the wind.

  Kormak thundered through the throng of fighting bodies, his massive daemonic axe swinging in powerful overhead strokes that split more than one of the enemy from throat to hip, spilling their innards in a glistening pile. One blow landed with such brutal force that an entire top quarter of the unfortunate man’s body was sheared away and slid messily to the ground. The remainder of the ruined corpse stood for a second or two, gore and bile spewing forth in fountains before it was crushed to paste beneath the bulk of the rampaging juggernaut. The champion stooped in the saddle and delivered a blow to his next target that opened his ribcage in a welter of ragged flesh and shattered ribs. The frenzied daemonic jaws chewed hungrily at the meat, consuming the barbarian’s throbbing heart with a keening wail of pleasure.

  Valkia noticed very little of this. For her, the entire fight passed in a semi-conscious haze of red. All that mattered was the total and utter annihilation of those who stood between her and her revenge. Perhaps it was this thought that dragged her from the maddened state of bloodlust and brought her up sharply.

  Spreading her wings, the warrior queen rose into the air above the battlefield.

  ‘Warriors of the north!’ Her voice rang out loud and clear, audible to all. ‘Warriors of the north, I give you a choice.’ Her wings beat gently, a hypnotic rhythm and the sound of her voice was compelling. Slowly, very slowly, the battle force on the ground beneath her slowed until all, Chosen and enemy alike, were staring up at the beautiful, blood-spattered woman who gazed down on them.

  ‘The choice is simple. You can lay your weapons at my feet. Follow me and the host of the Blood God and know reward like you have never known.’

  She gave them a smile, slow, sensuous and winning. Her beautiful, alabaster-pale face positively glowed with a feigned benevolence that was at odds with the ribbons of scarlet that marred her skin. The blood that had been spilled on her armour went unnoticed, absorbed into the plates forever. ‘I promise you this. My lord is a generous one. Those who serve him well do not go unnoticed. Join me now and you will revel in conquest and bloodshed.’

  ‘And if we do not?’ One voice rose above the hushed awe that had spread around the remainder of the battlefield.

  ‘Are you so foolish that you do not know our creed? It is a simple thing to decide, barbarian. Death... or glory. But I suggest you decide quickly.’ Gangly, crimson-skinned creatures were prowling through the throng toward the enemy tribe, their wicked blades still hungry for blood. Valkia dropped to the battlefield and walked towards the man who had spoken. Despite the hoofed feet in which her long, slender legs now ended, she walked with easy grace and with an exaggerated feminine sway to her hips which may have been intentional.

  The Chosen watched her with sheer adoration evident in their eyes as she stood before the barbarian. She cupped his chin in her hand and gave him a smile.

  ‘Which will it be, sweet one?’ Her lips parted slightly in a pout and she closed her eyes briefly. It was an almost demure gesture. Her long lashes brushed her cheekbones. When they opened again, he saw the truth of her words. He stared into those daemonic, burning eyes and was hopelessly lost.

  ‘Glory,’ he whispered brokenly, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile that made him fall eternally in love with the Blood Queen. ‘Give me glory.’

  ‘As you wish,’ she said and drove Slaupnir through his gut. He did not cry out, but spread his arms wide, welcoming the death that had to come before he received his reward.

  All around the battlefield, voices rang out in indignation at what was seen as a blatant betrayal of one of their own and for a moment or two, it looked as though the fight would recommence. As the body of the half-naked barbarian slid gracelessly to the ground, Valkia tugged Slaupnir free and drew her wings tightly around herself momentarily like a leathery cocoon. She raised one hoofed foot and placed it squarely on the dead man’s chest.

  ‘Thus does my master reward the loyal,’ she whispered down into his unseeing eyes. She stooped down and with one delicately clawed finger carved the angular rune of Khorne into the dead man’s forehead. Blood welled up from the cuts and spilled down his face in thick, scarlet streams. With a rush of air, her wings stretched out to their full span and she threw back her head. Her arms reached for the skies above and she felt the gift of her consort’s power thrum through her.

  ‘I give you glory,’ she said loudly. ‘Rise up, my loyal subject. Live once more in service of the Blood God. You see this?’ She gestured to the body, her eyes raking the warriors on the field. ‘Witness this. This is true glory. The moment you understand.’ The corpse spasmed under her foot and she stepped off him, reaching down a hand to aid him to his feet.

  He staggered slightly as he retained his balance, but then took his place at Valkia’s side and brandished his sword in triumph. There was a wild, fey light in his eyes, devoid of any trace of humanity and a feral snarl of bloodlust distorted his features into something monstrous.

  A silence lingered, but then across the battlefield, the former enemy fell to their knees one by one, awed at such a display of power. Their voices rose in a swell, repeating the one word over and over until it was all that could be heard.

  ‘Glory!’

  Valkia’s lips drew back in a hungry and eager smile. ‘Deliver them to my side,’ she said to her newest subject. ‘Bring them everlasting glory.’

  She had stormed from her uncle’s presence and her angry feet had taken her far from home. Eris was not alarmed to realise how long she had been walking.She often came out to the hunting grounds by herself. It had been a habit borne from years of losing her temper. Walking calmed her, she had always found.

  Once, Bellona would have come after her.

  Eris could still not quite articulate just how much she missed her sister. Ever since her twin’s violent death, her world had become a darker place. She had grieved for the loss of her mother in an almost detached way. Valkia had never really shown much in the way of affec
tion towards her children. But Bellona had been her twin. Her other half. To lose that was as agonising as losing a limb.

  Bereft of her twin’s calming influence, Eris had thrown herself into the skirmishes and battles that occupied the Schwarzvolf. It had not been until a number of years had passed that the young woman had realised that they were no longer fighting to conquer. Now, they were fighting simply to survive. Tribes who had once rallied to Valkia’s call had turned against them.

  From being the greatest, most powerful tribe, the Schwarzvolf were little more than a pale shadow of their former selves.

  Eris dropped down beneath the ancient tree that marked the very edge of the Schwarzvolf territorial boundaries. Sited halfway up a small hill, it had always afforded a superb view of not only the Vale, but of the surrounding lands. Usually, there were lookouts stationed up here. Eris noted with a sour face, that nobody was here. She would have to speak to her uncle about that.

  Since Hepsus had died at her hands, there had been no long-term Warspeaker, although Eris herself had offered to take on the role. She had been humiliated in front of the Circle when Edan had said that she was too immature, too inexperienced to lead the Schwarzvolf’s armies into battle. A succession of young men had taken the position only to fall in the endless struggles for supremacy.

  Staring down over the Vale, Eris’s eyes narrowed as she thought. For too long now she had put up with her uncle’s self-destructive ways. For the first few years, Bellona’s hand had stayed her from simply slotting a knife into his gut. After her sister’s death, a sense of duty to her dead sibling had held her back. But his words this morning had finally pushed Eris to a place where there was only one thing on her mind.

  Edan must die. His continued existence threatened the continued survival of the tribe. His gluttony was unbearable to watch and above anything else, she detested him. Blood-related he may be, but she had never liked him. Once so softly spoken and confident, he now oozed arrogance from every pore that stank almost as much as the rest of his unwashed body.

  Staring across the Vale, the sprawling settlement of the Schwarzvolf was vast and industrious. The insipid farmers were gathering in the last of the year’s crops, ready for the winter and there were children running everywhere. But there was no clash of steel. There were no shouts that had always accompanied the endless combat in the Circle of Blood that had once marked the warrior tribe.

  They were soft-bellied and vulnerable. The Schwarzvolf would die if something did not happen soon. And it was up to her to salvage whatever she could of her mother’s legacy.

  Leaning back, her eyes closed, Eris allowed herself to meditate quietly. She had never been very good at the practise; clearing her mind had never come easily. She could rarely concentrate on any one thing for long enough to keep her mind focused. But today was different. Today, she had something to focus on.

  The faintest of smiles crept onto her lips as she envisioned how much pleasure she would glean from taking her uncle’s life.

  The scout arrived back in the Vale three days later. Despite his desire to live a ‘peaceful life’ as he put it, Edan ensured that scouts were regularly dispatched to keep abreast of occurrences in the lands beyond his immediate remit, a world that was getting smaller and smaller by the day.

  ‘Rumours,’ said the scout when pressed for news. ‘Rumours and wild tales are circulating. An army marches from the far north, from the realm of the gods themselves. If the rumours are to be believed, this horde is heading southwards.’ He took a long drink of water. He was looking flustered and anxious.

  ‘We have handled would-be invaders before.’ Edan shrugged off the news with indifference. The scout reached up a tentative hand and gripped the other man’s arm.

  ‘I only have the stories I was told to go by,’ he said, his eyes wide and more than a little afraid. ‘But this is no rogue war band of mindless wildmen! The army is swelling in size as it travels. They are led by a winged daemon in blood-red armour.’

  ‘Myths, legends and campfire tales,’ sneered Edan and with that, he dismissed the threat as ridiculous.

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Eris asked the question. Startled, Edan turned. He had not even heard her approach. ‘We are surrounded by enemies. From what you and Hepsus said, my mother may have angered countless others on her journey north. Perhaps they have merely been biding their time. Waiting for…’ Her eyes glittered and her top lip drew back in a sneer. ‘Waiting for just the right moment to strike.’

  Edan sensed, without knowing how, that there was something more than just a warning about a potential attacking army implicit in Eris’s voice. For the first time, he suddenly saw his niece as a genuinely serious threat.

  She needs to be dealt with.

  The thought swept through him and he returned her sneer with a friendly smile.

  ‘It has been many years, child,’ he said in his most condescending tone. Eris, who had long since grown to womanhood, always found it irritating and well he knew it. ‘If some paltry tribe in the north was offended by our victories over their feeble warriors, they have had many long years to strike back. Why now?’ He waved a dismissive hand and poured himself more wine. ‘It is ridiculous to believe such talk.’

  ‘And the rumours of the daemon at the head of the army? You think that is something that can easily be dismissed? Surely you do not so swiftly forget the creature who challenged my mother?’ Eris spat on the ground. ‘Was that ridiculous?’

  She had found a weak spot in Edan’s armour of self-confidence. Memories of the daemonic thing that had battled Valkia and laid waste to the Schwarzvolf frequently returned in his dreams. He had never been able to truly reconcile its existence. The sheer power the thing had possessed, even when decapitated and mounted on his sister’s shield, had fed his curiosity and in turn had given him a lust for power.

  Eris ran her fingers through her hair, then stood firm, her hands planted squarely on her hips.

  ‘I suggest that we heed these rumours of coming war. I believe we should send scouts into the mountains to watch the peaks and passes. Such an army could not move unnoticed and we need to know if there is a real threat. Because perhaps it may not even be a threat at all.’

  ‘I do not think…’

  ‘That much is evident, Uncle.’

  It was a swift reply that took Edan completely by surprise. His jaw dropped slightly and Eris took the immediate opportunity to assert her authority.

  ‘Our numbers are declining. Our ability to defend ourselves is becoming weak at best. If there is a legion of warriors travelling this way, then perhaps we could approach them. Consider an alliance.’ Eris gave the scout a winning smile. ‘We could regain some of the strength that made us the greatest, most feared tribe for so long. The Schwarzvolf will be great again.’

  The scout nodded eagerly. Like many of the tribe’s younger warriors, his memories of their time under Valkia’s leadership were broken and vague. He had been little more than a child when Valkia had led her army north. His memory, when forced to recall his former leader, remembered a beautiful face, a strong soul and a leader who knew every man, woman and child under her leadership by name.

  Those same memories never recalled the cruelty, the harsh punishments that she would mete out to those who disappointed her, or the screams that came from the tortured souls who dared try to take Schwarzvolf land.

  How easy it was to forget.

  The scout’s heart swelled with eager pride at Eris’s words and the young woman turned to her uncle with a look of vindictive triumph on her face.

  ‘You see, Uncle? Not all of us have lost faith in our heritage.’

  Determined not to let the little witch get the better of him, Edan regained his composure swiftly. He nodded, putting what he hoped was a sincere expression on his face. ‘You speak true words, my child,’ he said in an imperious tone. ‘And you are quite, quite right. We will send out scouts as you suggest.’

  ‘An excellent plan, Uncle,’ Eris trea
ted him to a rare smile of genuine pleasure. He had acted just as she had anticipated.

  ‘Perhaps you might want to lead them?’ It was an immediate counter. And Eris agreed readily. Just as Edan had known she would. Whatever it was she was scheming was as nothing next to the plan he was formulating himself.

  Valkia sat perched on a rocky outcrop, the full moons bright behind her. Her slender form was perfectly silhouetted. To anyone looking up into the night sky, she seemed so still as to be a statue. Her head was raised slightly, the curving horns sweeping gracefully from her head. The wings that bore her aloft and gave her such mastery of the skies were partially opened as she retained her balance.

  The shield bearing the head of Locephax was strapped to her arm and Slaupnir lay at rest beside her. Far beneath her, the army of men, beasts and fell creatures was gathered in near silence. There was none of the laughter and camaraderie that the tribal war parties enjoyed, but this was in part due to the nature of Valkia’s followers.

  They sat in disparate groups, each eyeing the other with wary respect. Through half-lidded eyes, Valkia considered them. They were violent berserkers for the most part. Some were barely even still human. In the space of a few short days, they had killed so many and slaughtered so willingly in Khorne’s name that it took every mote of self-control to stop themselves tearing each other limb from limb.

  A winged creature of the night, a bat, perhaps, flew past the daemon princess and she sniffed the air in its wake. The creature smelled of the high, pine woods. Valkia’s army had travelled far enough to reach the vast forest that hugged the southern slopes of the mountains. The next few days would take them beyond its borders and into the bleak troll country.

  She knew she would not struggle to bind them to her will. Already a number of other misshapen, twisted monsters who roamed the rim of the blighted wastes stalked the shadows surrounding the horde. Chimerae, great wolves and slinking reptilian things clung to the darkness, drawn to the promise of blood. The trolls would seem almost mundane next to some of the monstrosities who loped behind the army, not wishing to get close to the warriors, but desperate to serve their queen. She tipped her head imperceptibly to peer into the gloom. She could see these malefic creatures, moving about in the hard shadows cast by the light of such bright moonlight.