Mark of Chaos

by C. L. Werner

  Still, he reasoned, it wasn't all bad. At least it looked as if he might get to try out theWrath of Sigmar on something other than a practice target. He grinned evilly, his stubbed toe and ripped stockings forgotten.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The green moon hung large in the heavens, swollen and emanating dark power, as Sudobaal had predicted. The preparations had lasted almost two hours already, and Hroth was growing impatient.

  The sorcerer had spent much of the time chanting incoherently, although the sound of the words had made Hroth's skin crawl. The sorcerer had capered around the tree, dancing from one foot to the other, squeezing the blood from a fresh heart onto the twisted roots of the massive tree towering above them. The heart had recently belonged to a runtish ungor, a stunted lesser beastman.

  The creature had squealed like a stuck pig when Hroth had grabbed it by its scrawny throat. Its cries had been cut short when he had twisted the creature's neck sharply, bones crunching loudly. The thing had been weak - he had almost pulled its head from its body, corkscrewing it off its shoulders in that one savage movement. The other larger beastmen had brayed and snorted when the creature had died - what passed as laughter in the crude creatures.

  The sorcerer had deftly cut the heart from the ungor, and Hroth had kicked the corpse into the hollow that lay beneath the twisted shape of the gibbet tree. The bones and bodies of hundreds of corpses lay in that hollow, all slain by the beastmen, and all sacrifices to the Dark Gods of Chaos. Scores more corpses hung in the leafless branches of the tree above, strung up by their necks or nailed brutally to the boughs. Other wasted corpses were slumped in hanging metal cages that swayed slowly above, creaking ominously.

  Runes of Chaos were carved into the trunk of the gibbet tree, runes that held great power despite the crudity of their creation. These carvings wept red, blood-like sap that dripped down into the hollow, and onto the corpses piled there. A series of standing stones stood around the base of the massive tree, each surrounded by piles of weapons and shields. Heads had been rammed onto stakes and driven into the ground. Cruelly barbed bushes of thorns crept around the stones, and over the tree's twisted roots.

  Hundreds of black carrion birds sat perched in the branches and boughs. Earlier, they had been busy flapping from one branch to another, fighting to rip the choicest strips of flesh from the corpses that hung there. The sound of their harsh cawing had filled the evening, but they had fallen silent and settled down as the sun had set, and now they sat motionless as the witching hour drew nigh.

  A great many beastmen had gathered around the tree by the time that Hroth and Sudobaal had arrived. They had been greeted by the beastman chieftain, the wargor Gharlanoth, and his bray-shaman. The two powerful creatures had exposed their furred necks to the sorcerer in a show of submission.

  The beastmen were true creatures of Chaos, instinctively recognising the power of the sorcerer and responding to it with deference and respect. Two hundred of the wargor's bray-herd were arrayed around the gibbet tree, awaiting the ritual with barely contained excitement, stamping their cloven hooves on the ground. Fights broke out, and several of the gors had raised weapons against one another, snorting and spitting, as they fought for the best places from which to view the coming ceremony. These outbursts were instantly stopped by the wargor Gharlanoth, who roared his displeasure.

  Hroth's face clearly showed his impatience. The sorcerer had left the clearing almost an hour ago, and had yet to return. He snarled in irritation.

  Sudobaal was ravenous. Hunger wracked his wiry frame, his stomach gurgling loudly. 'Yes, yes.' he whispered. 'We shall eat now.'

  A prostrate warrior, one of Hroth's tribesmen, lay on the ground in front of the black-clad sorcerer. He lay rigid, unable to move, staring up with fearful eyes at the sorcerer crouching above him. 'You should be proud.' Sudobaal hissed. 'Your sacrifice is necessary. It will feed us.'

  The warrior struggled to rise, but his limbs would not respond to his urging. 'It's the poison. Don't fight it. Embrace your last moments.' the sorcerer said. He had led the warrior away from the gathering, saying that the man had been chosen by the gods for a special task. He had shoved an upturned skull into the man's hands, dark liquid sloshing within the cranial cavity. 'Drink.' he had urged. The man had looked uneasy, but had raised the skull to his lips and drunk it dry.

  Kneeling, Sudobaal opened his robes, displaying his taut, scarred torso. The skin just below the breastbone bulged outwards, and the warrior's eyes stared at it wildly. The creature within Sudobaal, the creature that was a part of him, pushed itself to the surface of the sorcerer's flesh. Its deformed, babyish face grinned as it emerged, exposing dozens of tiny, sharp teeth. Pallid tentacles slid from the sorcerer's torso. One reached out eagerly towards the warrior. The other coiled up over the sorcerer's chest and gripped his shoulder, pulling the rest of the creature's body from its host.

  Sudobaal shuddered and closed his eyes as the thing pulled itself from his flesh and dropped clumsily to the ground. The colour began to drain from the sorcerer, his skin turning to grey in seconds. The creature blinked its own yellow slanted eyes, and pushed itself upright.

  Reaching across the immobilised warrior, it pulled itself with some difficulty onto his chest and stared hungrily at the man's stomach. A thin, purple tongue flicked out of its mouth, and it lowered its head, biting into the warrior's flesh. Skin gripped tightly between its teeth, the creature strained upwards, shaking its head from side to side, ripping and tearing. It then thrust its tentacles into the wound, and peeled the flesh open, exposing the coiled innards within. It would feed well this night.

  Hroth glared at the sorcerer as he returned to the gathering, greeted by the howling and braying of the beastmen. Sudobaal's face was flushed, and he barely leant on his staff as he strode past the towering Khorne champion. He began to sprinkle black powder from one of his pouches in a large circle within the ring of standing stones, creating an unbroken curving line. A stone slab stood in the centre of his circle, its surface a dull red colour. Thousands of sacrifices to the Dark Gods had been made on that slab, for this had been a holy place to the beastmen for centuries.

  At the most northerly point on the circle, Sudobaal marked out a smaller circle in the red powder. Moving to the most southerly point, he emptied a purplish powder onto the ground, creating another circle. On the most easterly point, closest to Hroth, he marked out a circle in green dust. The Khorne warlord could smell its putrid stink. On the other side of the tree, the westerly side, Sudobaal laid out a circle of blue.

  While Sudobaal was busy with his own work, the beastman bray-shaman began to light the black braziers that surrounded the gibbet tree. Each brazier was made from a human skull. As each was lit, the bray-shaman threw a handful of dried herbs and leaves onto the flames. The orange-red flames flared high, and briefly changed to purple. Then they died down low, and the colour changed once more, this time to a deep, dark red. Acrid smoke began to fill the air, making Hroth feel light-headed. His stomach clenched as he breathed deeply, the thick smoke entering his lungs.

  The sorcerers chanting increased in pitch, and he moved completely around the stone ring three times anti-clockwise, careful not to disturb any of the circles he had marked. He scratched an eight-pointed star in the earth between each of the coloured circles, using the tip of the twisted staff fused to his arm.

  Still chanting, he ushered the beastman chieftain's bray-shaman forwards. The massively muscled creature carried forth the offerings to be placed in the circles and Chaos stars scratched into the earth. The scrimshawed thighbone, the heavy brass icon, the small pile of bones and the blood-red, veined stone were placed in the centres of the Chaos stars. Each one of these items had been recovered by Hroth. Many skulls had been offered up to Khorne to retrieve them all. Black, oily smoke began to rise from the items, and Sudobaal's chanting intensified once more. Colours and shapes swirled before the Khorne champion, and he thought he could make out devilish, shadowy faces that sn
arled and hissed.

  Next, the bray-shaman carried forth the shimmering white stone, and placed it inside the purple circle. Its hand brushed the powder as it placed the stone in its place, and Hroth could hear the sound of flesh sizzling. The beastman pulled back its burnt hand quickly, but did not cry out for fear of interrupting the sorcerer's ritual. Quickly, the bray-shaman took the horned skull and placed it in the red circle. The Khorne champion found himself mesmerised by the skull, thinking that he heard a voice from within it calling out to him. The skull lay unmoving, but the Khornate champion could feel its call. He knew that the acrid smoke that rose from the braziers around the tree was truly beginning to affect him, and his vision swam before him. Dark shapes swirled at the corners of his vision, and he felt their icy touch on his neck. He heard them whispering in the Dark Tongue, the language of daemons, and the voices clawed at his sanity. The bray-shaman placed the plate that held the still-beating heart into the green circle. Instantly, the heart began to swell, putrid boils appearing on its surface. The beastman then moved back amongst its brethren.

  Sudobaal, his chanting now loud and booming, moved to place himself just outside the blue circle. Screaming his arcane words to the heavens, he slammed his twisted staff into the earth. Flames burst into life around the blue circle. Azure fire licked at the base of the staff, rippling up its surface and covering Sudobaal's arm. The tendrils that connected the staff to his arm retracted, and he released his grip on it. The staff remained standing straight upright, as if held by an invisible arm. Sudobaal had stopped chanting, and surveyed his work, paying no heed to his smoking arm.

  The heart in the green circle beat loudly. The pustules over its surface had burst, spilling their putrid contents onto the plate. The air around the pale stone shimmered and blurred, like the horizon on a hot day. A sickly sweet perfumed purple smoke was rising from the stone. The staff in the blue circle continued to blaze with azure flames. In the red circle, blood was dripping from the eye sockets of the horned skull, pooling beneath it.

  Sudobaal motioned for Borkhil to approach him. The massive black armoured champion stalked forwards. He was not wearing his helm, and his head was pale and hairless. Hroth's vision swam before him, and he tried to focus on the sorcerer's face. A myriad of other faces just beneath the skin seemed to be trying to push out of the sorcerers flesh. He heard laughter, and felt his stomach contract again. I will not let this sorcery overcome me, he swore, and he tensed his iron-like muscles, feeling the rage building within him.

  'I have need of a powerful sacrifice: a sacrifice that the gods themselves will take note of.' The voice of the sorcerer seemed to come from a great distance away. Hroth was not sure if Sudobaal had truly spoken, or if he had imagined it. The words made little sense to him, but his hands involuntarily clenched into fists, and he felt the muscles of his arms and chest straining.

  'The fey elf-kin have used their understanding of the winds of magic to cloud the resting place of Asavar Kul from my sight. Only with a powerful sacrifice can my vision be cleared.'

  The black armoured figure of Borkhil bowed his head to the sorcerer, and turned to face Hroth, his face expressionless. He lifted his massive, double-handed spiked mace from his back, and he took a menacing step towards the Khorne champion.

  Eyes narrowing as he tried to focus, Hroth growled deeply in his chest. He tried to move his hands to his axe, but found that he could not. The veins on his neck bulged. Sudobaal grinned evilly. 'You are a powerful champion, but your usefulness has passed.'

  Hroth strained against the invisible bonds that held him in place. He struggled against them, willing himself to step forwards, smash Borkhil aside and cut down the treacherous sorcerer. Borkhil, hefting his massive weapon before him, stalked towards the immobile champion of Khorne.

  'I am sorry that it has to be this way. It seems that we will never face each other in the combat circle to discover who is strongest.' the big man said blankly. 'Such is the way of things.'

  A barbed dagger plunged into the black armoured champion's neck. Dark blood gushed from the fatal wound. The massive warrior dropped his weapon, and put a hand to his neck in a futile effort to stem the bleeding. Blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell to his knees in front of Hroth. Behind him, Sudobaal stood with the bloody dagger held before him.

  The beastman shaman trotted forwards and gripped Borkhil's neck tightly in its massive hand. It held a roughly hewn bowl out to catch the blood, which steamed and hissed as it filled the vessel.

  'A powerful sacrifice...' repeated Sudobaal, and Hroth felt his invisible bonds disappear. Every instinct screamed at him to step forwards and cut down the sorcerer, but he held back. No, he would learn the resting place of Asavar Kul before that, and so, with difficulty, he suppressed his rage.

  'I can see the hatred in your burning eyes, champion. You would dearly love to rip me limb from limb, wouldn't you?' the sorcerer asked. 'It matters not. That rage you have drives you. You are stronger than he was. That is why you are living still, and Borkhil is dying on the ground. That is why his blood will complete this ceremony and not yours. All that was Borkhil's is yours - his tribe, and his skull. Serve me well.'

  Sudobaal took the bowl proffered by the beastman shaman, and walked with the hissing, bubbling blood to the circles. Chanting again, he walked around the circles, splashing blood into each of them.

  Black smoke began to rise out of the earth in the centre of the large marked-out circle as Sudobaal's chanting continued. Oily and black, it coiled upwards with reaching tendrils, curling around itself. The flames of the braziers and torches arrayed around the clearing spluttered and dimmed, some of them going out altogether. A chill wind swirled through the darkening clearing, carrying whispers and threats. The oily smoke began to take form, roughly creating the shape of a muscular figure with encircling wings and three pairs of horns.

  Embers of light appeared in the face of the smoke-figure. Sudobaal's chanting reached a crescendo, and he flung his arms into the air. The creature of smoke solidified slightly, the face gaining features, and it stared around the clearing. Hroth felt the power of the daemon as its gaze passed over him, and he almost staggered back from it. Its mouth opened, exposing dagger-like fangs, and it began to speak. A second or two later, the sound of its voice issued forth, out of sync with the movement of its lips. The sound was like a thousand voices screaming in a howling gale, and the words made no sense to Hroth, although they scratched at his sanity. The daemon reached out with long arms of smoke towards Sudobaal, but jerked its hands back as it touched the barrier formed by the sorcerer's careful preparations, and electricity sparked.

  The daemon roared in sudden rage, its maw opening impossibly wide, and its eyes glowing intensely. It grew larger, swelling to over fifteen feet in height, and it spoke quickly, anger evident in its tone. Sudobaal shouted back at the daemon. Blood had begun to trickle from his ears and nose. The daemon was silent, and the sorcerer screamed out again, speaking the true name of the creature.

  'Yyfol'gzuz'cogar!' screamed Sudobaal at the towering daemon. 'Yyfol'gzuz'cogar!'

  The daemon struggled against its bonds, roaring and thrashing about madly. The swirling wind that whipped around the clearing intensified, throwing sticks and branches through the air. One of the braziers grazed Sudobaal's head as it was hurled through the air, knocking him closer to the circle and the daemon. Regaining his footing, the sorcerer shouted again. The daemon began to speak, compelled by the foolish mortal who had learnt its true name, each word dripping with evil and malice.

  The swirling wind intensified as the daemon was once more silent, and a sudden gust burst past Sudobaal's defences, scattering the powder that marked out the circles surrounding the daemon.

  The daemon's scream of triumph turned to rage when Sudobaal threw the last remaining contents of the bowl over the creature. The boiling blood dispersed the figure of smoke, and with a word of banishment Sudobaal sent the raging creature back to the Realms of Chaos. He slumped to
the ground, black blood dripping from his nose and ears and eyes. Silence filled the clearing.

  Hroth stepped towards the crumpled figure of Sudobaal. 'You know where it is?'

  It was a long while before the sorcerer answered. 'I know where we must go,' he breathed finally. 'Gather the warbands. We move for the coastline this night,' he managed before falling into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A sharp horn blast sounded. Stefan von Kessel swore. The horn was echoed by another, further off.

  'They know we are here.' said Albrecht.

  Stefan had directed his army to the east onto the top of a plateau, where the height and angle of the hills had hidden its approach towards the besieged castle. They were close to the tops of the plateau, and would soon be able to see down onto the castle and the coastline. Sounds of battle could be heard in the distance.

  'There is nothing for it. Double-time march. Make sure the cannon are set quickly once over the brow of the hill.' Stefan ordered. His sergeant nodded and moved down the line of soldiers, shouting orders.

  The plain of the plateau was almost bare of trees, and the army of Ostermark marched towards its peak in a long battle line. Rank upon rank of halberdiers, swordsmen and spearmen marched steadily, increasing their pace at the sergeant's barked commands. Regiments of crossbowmen and handgunners were interspersed with the halberdiers, jogging lightly, unencumbered by the breastplates and heavy helmets worn by the other soldiers. Far out on the right flank was the mob of flagellants, working themselves up into a crazed frenzy. The Reiklandguard, their armour shining brightly and pennants flapping from their lance tips, cantered behind the ranks of state troops, and behind them, the artillery moved forwards, pulled by heavy draught horses.