Temper had indeed been the key to free Gerhart.
The wizard found himself at the centre of a vortex of whirling power. The winds of magic rushed into him, just as he pulled a hand free of his bonds. More than any other, he felt the hot blast of Aqshy fill him, returning strength to his aching limbs and abused body. It had found a kindred flame in the form of Gerhart’s boiling anger.
The witch hunter knew he was in trouble. As he went for the gleaming flintlock pistol at his waist, he called down all manner of curses on his henchman.
The wizard flung himself onto the ground as the desperate witch hunter took aim and fired. Gerhart heard the crack of the pistol, saw the puff of smoke and felt something whiz past within a hair’s breadth of his scalp. Verdammen’s shot had missed.
Crouched on the ground, Gerhart could barely contain the energy streaming into him. There was no time to focus and channel the power properly. It was now or never.
The fires of Aqshy erupted from Gerhart in an explosion. They were the roiling, hungry flames of a barely controlled spell.
Possessed of the power of the wizard’s temper, the spell grew into a terrible fireball that blasted out into the crowd, engulfing everything and everyone before it.
Standing right in the middle of the spell’s path was the witch hunter. Verdammen didn’t even have time to scream before the fiery conflagration immolated him.
The crowd turned and fled in all directions, running and screaming in panic. The mill caught alight as the hurtling fireball flew past.
The blazing torch that had only moments before been Gottfried Verdammen, stumbled away. His hair and clothes were alight. He emitted a high-pitched scream from amidst the angry flames, and flailed wildly without sense or reason at any panicked villager who came within reach.
Seeing what had happened to their master, his henchmen turned tail and fled.
Gerhart did not wait to see what happened next. He knew the repercussions that would follow. In the eyes of the people of Hochmoor, everything the witch hunter had told them had just been proved to be true.
Retrieving his sword and staff from the ground outside the magical circle the fire wizard fled into the darkening night. The pyre of the village mill lit up the night behind him with the flickering orange and red light of its destruction.
It was the Great Fire of Wollestadt all over again.
SIX
Council of War
“With the passing of spring into summer the earth quickens, the sap flows, blossom gives way to fruit on the tree, and the Coil of Life surges from the ground again. Look to the forests and the meadows and the babbling streams for therein lies our power and our strength. A man who would forget this and abandon nature would condemn himself to death.”
—From Wulfhir’s Almanac
By the end of spring there was no longer any doubt that a storm of Chaos was building, the likes of which no man living had ever witnessed. Word had reached Wolfenburg of the Chaos hordes cutting a bloody swathe through Kislev and now the northern borders were feeling the sting of the enemy’s swords. So it was that as spring gave way to summer, Valmir von Raukov, Elector Count of Ostland and Prince of Wolfenburg, called a council of war.
Wolfenburg.
It sat on a hill, above a bend in the river—a brooding conglomeration of grey towers and walls that enclosed a myriad of age old buildings. It was a city that had stood the ravages of time and invading armies for centuries and had never fallen. Towering over the ancient city was a castle, an impenetrable gothic fortress as old, in parts, as the Empire itself.
An air of solemnity hung over the council chamber of Wolfenburg castle. There was silence as the dignitaries gathered around the round table, to digest the news they had just received. The pale-faced messenger, exhausted from his desperate ride, hovered at the elector count’s side on ceremony. He was obviously eager to be dismissed so that he could retire and get some much needed rest.
No one spoke for several long, drawn-out seconds. It was the Lord Chamberlain Baldo Weise who eventually broke the silence.
“Aachden has fallen?” the old man said in astonishment.
“So it would appear,” Valmir von Raukov confirmed, looking over his shoulder at the messenger who nodded hurriedly in agreement.
“First Zhedevka, now Aachden? Then nothing now stands between the barbarian horde and our fair city of Wolfenburg,” Captain Volkgang of the palace guard opined.
“Quite so.”
The inclement weather that had plagued the people of Ostland for so many weeks had given way to clearer skies and brighter, warmer days. With the closing of spring it seemed that summer would open once again like a honeysuckle blossom, golden and sweet.
And yet there had been terrible tales from the north: tales of murder and pillage, of disorder and destruction, of the advance of the servants of evil, of the rise of Chaos.
Valmir von Raukov considered the party seated around the table now. His councillors included men of action but also men of thought. Amongst them were military commanders as well as sagely scholars.
To Valmir’s left was Baldo Weise, the elector count’s lord chamberlain whose wise counsel had proved invaluable over the years. The grey hair swept back from his balding pate and the severe cut of his beard, combined with the dark look of concern etched on his hawkish features gave the chamberlain an even more stern appearance.
Then there was Siegfried Herrlich, grand master of the knights of the Order of the Silver Mountain, who kept their temple in the city. Siegfried was a soldier of many years experience and an accomplished tactician. In his gleaming armour and mounted on the back of his charger, sword in hand, he made an imposing figure on the battlefield that inspired men fighting alongside him. Out of his armour he was no less imposing: the near white hair at his receding temples and the lines of age that coursed across his drawn and ageing features made him seem distinguished. He was a grandiose figure of authority and nobility, untouched by the negative attributes of old age.
Then there was Captain Franz Fuhrung, commander of the city’s garrison. Franz had acquired his position through ability alone, rising through the ranks of Wolfenburg’s army to become captain and be given responsibility for those units of Ostland’s standing army that were garrisoned within the city. If Wolfenburg were to come under siege, it would be the soldiers of his garrison that would form the backbone of the ancient city’s defence. His uniform was quartered black and white, like the garb his men wore in battle.
Others among the council included the usually taciturn Captain Volkgang of the palace guard, the rough-and-ready Udo Bleischrot, master of the city’s guns, and Konrad Kurtz, Wolfenburg’s own siege engineer specialist, whose expert knowledge would help the city’s defenders, should Wolfenburg be besieged.
At Valmir’s right hand sat Wolfenburg’s own counsel concerning the matters of magic, the battle wizard Auswald Strauch of the Jade order. The wizard stood out from all the others because of the outlandish garb he wore.
To Valmir he looked like one of the druids that were rumoured to live on the wild island of Albion beyond the dangerous, storm-wracked waters of the Sea of Chaos. His robe was the colour of damp moss and was decorated with a complex pattern of bramble thorns. Leaves were pinned to his cloak and tied with twine to his strong maple staff which rested against the back of his chair, always within reach. The top of the staff bore one of the symbols of the Jade order in beaten copper, the shape of a spiralling coil. Other amulets hung from Auswald’s neck on leather cords and gold chains.
The sorcerer had the hood of his robe pulled up, to keep his unruly thick brown hair under control. Like so many who followed the practice of magic Auswald had a thick, bushy beard, nut-coloured and streaked with grey.
From where he was sitting Valmir could see the jade wizard’s ceremonial sickle tucked into his belt. Although it was used for certain spells, the sickle doubled as an effective weapon. Valmir knew that Auswald was accustomed to travel about bare-footed, which he
claimed helped him to channel the winds of magic.
A notable absentee from the council was Captain Jurgen Enrich, commander of the branch of the knights of the Order of Sigmar’s Blood. Captain Enrich had left almost a month ago now. It was hard to predict how long their journey would take, because their progress would be hampered by the horses and oxen that hauled the great gun carriages. Valmir was beginning to wonder if he had been rash in allowing the knights of Sigmar’s Blood to ride out with the ancient war banner of the city.
The elector count stroked his long dangling moustaches.
“The time we have been anticipating is almost upon us. I had hoped it would not come, but if Aachden has fallen then Wolfenburg could well be the next target.”
“And there is still no word from Captain Enrich or the cavalcade travelling from Schmiedorf?” Udo Bleischrot asked.
“Sigmar’s bones, no!” Valmir growled.
“But they carried the Wolfenburg Standard before them,” Baldo said.
“I know they did,” Valmir said sullenly.
“But legend has it that if the city is attacked without the standard present then it will fall.”
“I know!” Valmir shouted sharply, bringing his clenched fist down hard on the table.
“It’s nothing but superstitious nonsense,” Siegfried Herrlich objected.
“Is it?” Valmir snarled, rounding on the grand master. “The Wolfenburg Standard is one of our city’s—and Ostland’s—oldest relics. Whatever other powers of protection it may bestow on our bastion’s towers and walls, it is a symbol of hope in the face of adversity.”
“Then if it is lost, so shall be the morale of the people. A populace without morale… If that happens then Wolfenburg may as well have already fallen!” Baldo spoke as if thinking aloud.
“Over my dead body!” Valmir bellowed. “Wolfenburg has stood as a bastion of the Empire’s defence for centuries. We have held back the tide of Chaos and repelled those who would ravage the Emperor’s realm on more occasions than I care to remember. Why should this be any different? We shall face the enemy and drive them from our lands!”
Valmir was abruptly made aware of a commotion at the door to the council chamber, and a heated, if muffled, exchange of words.
“We shall be ready for whatever the enemy may throw at us, I can assure you of that, my lord,” said Konrad Kurtz.
Valmir could hear the tap of boots on the flagstones of the chamber floor behind him. Doubtless another messenger had been admitted to the chamber.
“We should not worry,” the jade wizard Auswald Strauch said soothingly. “The standard will protect Captain Enrich and his men. They shall return, and with the cannon train. Then our city will be strengthened, ready to face the enemy and repel them.”
“Is that what you would do? Wait to sit out a siege?” came a gruff voice from behind the elector count.
The council turned as one to see who had invaded their sanctum. Striding towards the table was a lean man, of dishevelled, scruffy appearance, who Valmir judged to be in early middle age. At the stranger’s side, and trying to keep up with him, was a man whose livery marked him as a guard captain.
The stranger looked quite similar in overall appearance, and dress, to Auswald Strauch. But where the jade wizard’s robes were green the new arrival’s were red. Where Auswald’s staff was topped with a bronze-beaten badge, the other man’s staff was without ornament. In fact it appeared to be burnt at its tip. And where Valmir’s sorcerer carried a silver sickle, the newcomer had a scabbarded sword at his side.
The elector count would be having words with this fool of a guard captain who had allowed an armed stranger into his council chamber. But for the time being he would have to let it pass. The arrival of this stranger intrigued him and if the red-robed man tried anything he would soon regret it.
Valmir saw shock, surprise, indignity and suspicion written on the faces of his councillors. He observed their reactions with interest.
“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Siegfried demanded. “This is a private council of war.”
Others at the table muttered similar responses.
“And a wizard’s counsel in war can be as decisive as a soldier’s sword,” the stranger said.
“The elector count is already well aware of that,” Auswald piped up. The red-clad wizard turned to face the jade sorcerer, but his expression did not change.
“As you can see,” the elector count said, indicating the jade wizard at his right-hand side.
Valmir saw that Auswald Strauch was scowling daggers at this upstart stranger. He sensed a rivalry between the two already.
“Who are you and how did you get in here?” Valmir asked, his voice as cold as the Kislev steppes in winter, and as sharp as a fractured shard of ice.
“My name is Gerhart Brennend. I am a fire mage of the Bright order, holder of the keys of Azimuth, and I gained entry to this council by telling the guards at the door what I am about to tell you,” the stranger said in a tone of voice that suggested he was used to being listened to.
Valmir stroked his long moustache again and after a moment said, “Go on then. Tell us what I suspect will be dire news.”
“I have travelled many leagues and braved many perils to warn you of the terrible danger that is facing your city,” said the stranger. Many towns and villages have already fallen to the foul machinations of the Dark Powers. A stand must be made here once and for all and I offer you my aid in beating back the enemy hordes.”
“This is ridiculous! I cannot believe what I am hearing!” the jade wizard suddenly blurted out, furiously. “This vagabond fire wizard is a complete stranger to us—we have no proof of his identity—and he is trying to tell us how to defend our city? He has no business here, no authority. He is intruding on a highly sensitive secret meeting, is he not? By all the gods, he could be anyone. He could even be a servant of the Dark Powers! I demand that he be expelled from this meeting before he does any more to disrupt us!”
“I have defended many settlements from the enemies of mankind and the servants of the dark,” this Gerhart Brennend countered, anger ringing clear in his voice, “How dare you suggest that I might be one of those black-hearted fiends who follow the fell powers?”
“My lord, please. Throw this man out now!” Auswald persisted.
“Enough!” Valmir bellowed, losing his temper. “And you would tell your elector count what to do now, would you?” Valmir challenged, raising one eyebrow at his court sorcerer.
Auswald said nothing more—he knew better than to rouse the anger of the champion of Ostland, scourge of the Barbassons and slayer of the Beastmaker. He cast his eyes down. The elector count had made it clear that the matter was in his hands.
“And you,” Valmir said to the fire wizard, “you march in here, demanding that we listen to you and do as you tell us? You have not told us anything we did not already know. I would advise you that you are only still standing here because I have permitted it. If you have something to share with the council, then tell us. But remember your place, wizard.”
The wizard Gerhart did not looked cowed, and met the elector count’s strong gaze with his own. Neither broke eye contact as the fire mage responded to Valmir’s chiding.
“I speak not only from my own experiences and discoveries but also from the researches of a noted member of the Celestial order, one Kozma Himmlisch. I speak of plague, mutation, beastmen raids, the malignancy of Morrslieb, and the corruption of good men by the powers of darkness. I speak of a disruption in the winds of magic the like of which I have never known and which chills me to the marrow. Unless we make a stand here against the forces of Chaos, the way will be open for them to march into the middle of the Empire and rip out its heart.”
“You think that we are unaware of this disruption in the flow of the winds of magic, being as close as we are here to the lands of the north?” Auswald blurted out. “I have already detected this disturbance myself!”
“So w
hat have you done about it?” Gerhart asked, his voice dangerously calm.
It was clear to Valmir that the jade wizard was taken aback by the fire mage’s deft riposte. “What do you mean, what have I done about it? What can anyone do about it?”
“I would have thought someone in your position would have gone on to study what measures could be taken to stop it, or at least to encourage the focus of the winds, or store their energy somehow,” Gerhart explained, his tone still entirely reasonable. “But I wouldn’t want to be telling a court wizard his business.”
“Wolfenburg always stands in a state of readiness,” Franz Fuhrung suddenly spoke up. “My men are trained and stand ready for anything the enemy might throw at us.”
“We are deeply concerned by the news coming to us daily from the north,” Valmir said, reinstating his authority. “That is the reason for this meeting and the purpose of this council of war.”
“My lord, I beg your patience,” Gerhart said. Valmir noted that the wizard had remembered to use at least a little etiquette when speaking to an elector count. “But what counsel has already been given? What, for example, does your court wizard have to say on the matter?”
“The wizard?” Siegfried blurted out, unable to contain himself. “Why would the prince consult a mage about such matters?”
“I take it he, like myself, is a battle wizard, is he not?” the bright wizard persisted. “One trained in the ways of war as well as in the ways of sorcery? Is that not so, my lord?”
Valmir turned an enquiring raised eyebrow on the jade wizard once again. “Well, what would your counsel be Strauch?” he asked.
“I… well…” Auswald stumbled awkwardly.
“Yes?”
“My lord, my counsel would be that we wait for the enemy here. We call the populace from the surrounding environs to join us in the safety of our strong city walls and then we build up Wolfenburg’s defences, whilst we wait for the Chaos horde.”
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