by C. L. Werner
Leaving the broken sorcerer on the floor, Hroth stepped to the entrance of the bowl-shaped room. He turned, spat at the broken sorcerer, and stepped into the Realm of Chaos.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Stefan von Kessel reeled from the unexpected blow. Placing a hand to his jaw, he looked into the furious eyes of the reiksmarshal. He opened and closed his mouth, his jaw clicking alarmingly. 'Nice punch.' he muttered.
'You are damn lucky that's all I've done. You are a damn fool, von Kessel. I cannot believe you disobeyed my order.' Stefan made to say something, but the enraged knight cut him off. 'My word is the word of the Emperor, damn it! Would you disobey a direct order from the Emperor Magnus? Answer me!'
'Sir, I felt these were... extreme circumstances.'
'You have no idea what you have done, do you?'
'Sir, Gruber is a traitor! How could I let that pass? An elector count, one of the twelve most trusted men of the Empire, and he has betrayed us!'
'Aye, so you say. Off the back of one letter, you have led your army for two weeks across the Empire, disobeying a direct order.'
'But sir... I feared the future of Ostermark would be - '
'I don't give a damn about the future of Ostermark!' raged the reiksmarshal, interrupting the captain. 'All I give a damn about is the Empire as awhole. What good is Ostermark if the rest of the Empire crumbles around it?'
'I did what I thought was best for the Empire!'
'No, you didn't bloody think at all. Your judgement has been clouded by your anger, von Kessel. All you are thinking about is your damn grandfather and that fat wretch, Gruber! Not only did you disobey my order, I thought you might have had the sense to at least hold the ground that Gruber himself was meant to hold! But no, you have been traipsing across the Empire, leaving Ostland undefended. If the forces of Chaos return and advance through Ostland, there will be no one to defend it - they could march straight through to Talabheim and the heart of the Empire.'
'Talabheim? That great city has never fallen.'
'No it hasn't, but there are barely enough men in Talabheim to man the inner walls, let alone the massive outer walls, you fool,' the reiksmarshal said. 'If the forces of Chaos do march on Talabheim, it will be on your head, von Kessel.' The older man sighed wearily. 'If you are right, the Empire is indeed in peril from within. Damn it.' Trenkenhoff was silent for a moment, his brow knotted in concern.
'Damn it,' he said again. 'Fine, I'll give you three days. Learn the truth in that time, and we will act accordingly. If you do not, you will be leading your army back into Ostland, and I pray you will not be too late.' Von Kessel still had a defiant look in his eyes, and his cheeks were flushed.
'Have your messages to Gruber got through, sir? The messages telling him to halt his retreat eastwards?'
'Damned if I know. I haven't had any response from him. My outriders have not yet returned, and the cowardly dog still runs. I don't know what he is playing at, honestly I don't. Maybe it's just the plague that is bringing Ostland, Ostermark and now Talabecland to their knees that he is fleeing from. I don't know.'
Stefan frowned. 'Fleeing the plague? Maybe - '
'Three days, von Kessel. Find your man within three days. I'll hold the army here for that time. Heaven knows the local militia could use the aid rooting out the foul creatures along the south banks of the river. Leave now.'
Stefan was still smarting from the rebuke he had received from the reiksmarshal, even now, two days after the incident. He pushed all thoughts of the episode out of his mind, as his most skilled scout Wilhelm returned, running down the steep slope through the trees. Breathing hard, he brought himself to a halt before the captain.
'Well?' said Stefan. 'Is it there?'
'Aye it is sir. Looks occupied as well. Fresh wood piled up outside the chapel doors.'
'Good. How far?'
'Not far, a half hour, elector.'
'Don't call me that,' snapped Stefan, and he kicked his steed forwards. The soldiers of Ostermark had begun to call him elector a week earlier, much to his horror. They had heard that Gruber had betrayed the Empire, and had decided amongst themselves that once the treacherous noble was deposed that the rightful heir to the position was Stefan. He had tried to dissuade them from this line of thinking, but it had proven to have no effect.
The others in his party followed the lead of their captain and kicked their steeds on up the rocky road winding into the fir-covered hills. A light snow began to fall, the soft flakes landing on Stefan's shoulders, and he pulled his cloak around him more tightly.
A dozen men rode behind him. All were competent horsemen, barring Albrecht, who hated riding. 'Horses, they don't like me,' he had stated the previous day, and Stefan had to agree with the sergeant. Nevertheless, he had flat-out refused to be left behind, despite the mutual dislike he had with their steeds. One of the horses had tried to bite Albrecht's horse earlier that day, and the mare had bucked, throwing the older sergeant to the ground. He swore that the horses had been laughing at him.
Stefan's face darkened as he approached the chapel. The mood of the journey was grim, the soldiers travelling in silence. The captain was preparing himself for the news he would hear, the truth that he longed and dreaded to hear. Night was setting in as they approached the long-abandoned chapel. Smoke drifted from the chimney of the small building attached to the rear of the retreat. The snows had settled around a foot deep, and the breath of the horses and men steamed before them.
As they approached the chapel, they did not notice the dark figures that flitted amongst the trees.
Albrecht's horse snorted, its ears pulled back close to its head, and he swore at it.
The doors to the chapel were opened, and a figure stepped into view. He was a giant, barrel-chested man. A heavy pendant hung around his neck - a twin-tailed comet, Stefan noticed with some relief. His head was completely shaved, his stony face was square, and his neck was almost non-existent - he looked like a born fighter. His nose looked as if it had been broken several times, and badly set. In his big hands he clasped a massive two-handed hammer, and he eyed the riders warily. He looked more like a soldier than a priest, but then the priests of Sigmar were well-trained warriors, as was fitting for a warrior god.
'Come any closer and feel the wrath of Sigmar, you curs.' he boomed, his voice deep and full of authority. Stefan noted that a pair of crossbows was aimed at him from the windows of the chapel, poking through the slightly opened shutters.
'Not a very warm welcome from a priest.' remarked Albrecht. Stefan threw him a dark look.
'Don't give me none of that, damn you, and you can tell Gruber that he will die a painful death by my hand one day soon. Away with you, lapdogs of Chaos!'
'We do not come from the treacherous count. I am Stefan von Kessel.' he called out. The priest squinted at him suspiciously, and then his eyes widened. He waved to the men to lower their crossbows.
'Von Kessel! Thank Sigmar! Come in, you must be frozen. I am Gunthar.' He ushered Stefan inside the chapel. 'All of you, come in. There is a small stable around the back for your steeds. There is not a lot of room in the chapel, but there is room enough for you all. Come in! Come.' he said, slapping Stefan on the back - almost knocking him off his feet with the force of the blow. Stefan felt vaguely that he had met the priest before, but could not place him.
'I thought that you were Gruber's lackeys, come here to finish me off. Thank Sigmar they have not tracked me down yet. They will, have no doubt of that. I should have moved on, left this place. I have been here for too long, but I could not leave just yet, for fear that you would arrive, only to find this place abandoned. I talk too much. There is a hot broth cooking. Come.'
The chapel was old, and had been abandoned for many years. Still, the priest had clearly worked hard to make the place clean, for the floors were freshly swept. It was austere, as was usual for places of worship for Sigmar, and the windows were shuttered. The roof was high, the rafters exposed and filled with cobwebs. The
re were a couple of holes in the roof that had been roughly patched over, and a slight sprinkling of snow drifted down from them. Two men were inside the chapel, although on second glance Stefan saw that one of them was little more than a boy.
'Josef and Mikael.' said Gunthar, introducing the two to Stefan. 'Mikael, be a good lad and help the soldiers with their horses, and see that there are enough blankets.' The younger man nodded his head, his red curly hair bobbing, and ran off. 'There is room enough in here for your men to sleep the night. Mikael will get you blankets. Think nothing of sleeping within the church of Sigmar - what better place for warriors to sleep, eh?'
An ancient wooden statue of Sigmar stood at the back of the chapel, the great warhammer Ghal-maraz clasped in his hands before him. The priest ushered Stefan towards a small door leading to the living quarters at the rear of the building, but the captain excused himself and approached the statue. Dropping to his knees, Stefan bowed his head and said a prayer to the warrior god. Standing, he followed the priest through into the next room.
'A devotee of Sigmar, I see.' said Gunthar approvingly, entering the small kitchen. Walking behind the priest, Stefan mused that a bear dressed in the regalia of a priest would look much the same; such was the size and power of the man. A good man to have on your side in a fight, he decided.
The kitchen was spare, little more than a solid wooden table, a couple of crates for seating and a black cooking pot hanging over an open fire. A small door led out into the courtyard behind the chapel, probably where the horses were stabled. There was another man here, an older stooped figure stirring the contents of the pot. The smell was delicious. The man turned, and he recognised him at once.
'Physician Piter.' said Stefan warmly. 'It is good to see you well.' The older man gave a weary smile. The old man had always been kindly to Stefan as a child, giving him special roots to chew on when his teeth ached, and telling him far-fetched stories when no one else would talk to him.
'I look well? Ha! My bones creak when I walk and I lose my breath climbing a flight of stairs. I am old and weary, young man, but it is good to see you.' he said, his voice rasping. 'It's a shame we meet under such circumstances.'
'Indeed it is, but it is good to see you none-the-less.' Gunthar sat the older man down on a crate, and ushered Stefan to sit. Then he picked up some bowls, looking ridiculously small in his massive hands, and began to serve the meal. Once he had dished out to Stefan and the old physician, he called to Josef to find bread for Stefan's soldiers. Having seen to the needs of his guests, the priest sat himself down on one of the crates.
'We have much to discuss,' said Piter. The old man sighed wearily. 'May Morr have pity on my foolish old soul. I am hunted, Stefan, you know that? I have been called a traitor and a worshipper of the dark arts. Imagine that? Me worshipping the Dark Gods! Can you think of anything more ridiculous? But I am getting ahead of myself.' The older man leant forwards, staring intently into the captain's eyes.
'This good priest here,' he said, motioning to Gunthar. 'He is as trustworthy a man as ever I have met. He is willing to sacrifice himself for the Empire - utterly devoted. You have known me since you were a lad, Stefan, and I would like to think that you trust me?'
'Of course,' said Stefan. 'As if you even needed to ask.'
'Then trust this man as you do me. Doubt not a word that he speaks.' Stefan turned towards the priest, who returned his gaze impassively.
'I will do as you ask, Piter,' said Stefan solemnly.
'Good. You may have heard of him, actually. His exploits during the Great War are quite well known, I believe.'
Stefan wracked his brain, and then his eyes widened. 'Gunthar... GuntharKlaus?' The warrior priest nodded his head grimly. The man was a living legend. He had fought tirelessly during the years of the war. If the stories were to be believed, mighty daemons had been slain beneath his hammer, and armies on the point of routing had been rallied by this man alone. 'It is a great honour.' breathed Stefan.
'I am glad that you received my letter, captain - I feared that you would not. Now,' said the physician, leaning back in his seat, 'you deserve to know the truth. As you know, I have been the physician of the royal house of Ostermark for decades. I served your grandfather, not that he needed my services often, but it was I who tended to his family when they were poorly. A strong man, your grandfather. So too, I was the physician of Otto Gruber, curse his name, when he took the title of grand elector.'
'Now, the man had always been ill. He had the wasting sickness as a child, you know. It is said that no one held out much hope for the boy, but he managed to pull through and get over the worst of it. Still, his health was ruined - always he was to be wracked with illness.'
'When he first became elector, I thought nothing of it. He was a clever man, very cunning. He duped me as he had duped all the others. Disease seemed to be a part of him, and as the years went by, he seemed to get the symptoms of some of the most deadly illnesses that I had ever encountered. I did what I could for him, preparing tinctures and healing broths, and always he managed to pull through. At the time, I had no idea how. For a while, I deluded myself into thinking that it was my remedies, but that was just pride, I see that now.'
'No, as the years continued to roll by, and I became the frail old man I am now, I began to understand that something was not quite right.' The old man paused for a moment, playing with his spoon. 'He should have died years ago. Something was keeping him alive, and it was not my doing. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the position I was in. Everyone knew that the elector had been sick for decades, but never was overcome by the illnesses, and that I was his physician. Counts and barons sought my services from far and wide. Again, pride.'
'I finally learnt the truth. All I was doing was holding back the rottenness that was inside the man all along, and I do not mean that in any metaphorical sense - truly, the man isrotting from the inside out. He is rotting, but he is not dying. Indeed, I think he somehowenjoys the sicknesses that he experiences, comfortable in the knowledge that he will not succumb to the finality of death as a result.'
'He is a creature of Chaos, Stefan, a worshipper of a foul, pestilential dark god of Chaos. I shall not speak any of its many names; suffice it to say, it is the antithesis of the natural order of things. I believe, and this is but conjecture, but I truly believe that Gruber probably would have died as a result of his wasting sickness when he was young. Certainly he would not have lived past his teens. No, I believe that to avoid this fate he sought any god who would protect him. Maybe he did not mean to turn to evil, but it was a god of Chaos that answered him. It saved him, and damned him.'
The room was utterly silent. Stefan sat motionless, his disgust plain upon his face. He cleared his throat. 'And my grandfather?' he asked.
'All I can think is that your grandfather discovered his secret. A man of true honour and purity, your grandfather would have been distraught. They were close friends. Nevertheless, Gruber must have turned upon him. Like an animal backed into a corner, he lashed out in order to protect himself and his secret.'
'Your grandfather was accused of consorting with the Dark Powers. He laughed these accusations off, but, at Gruber's prompting, a witch hunter was brought in to conduct an investigation and adjudicate on the matter. This witch hunter, a vile snake of a man, "interviewed" the household servants, and the members of the court. Many screams could be heard echoing through the castle during these "interviews".'
'On that last fateful night, he entered your grandfather's personal chambers and discovered a shrine to the Dark Gods. Human hearts had been left there as offerings, and blood was scrawled across the walls - vile Chaotic symbols.'
'Gruber framed your grandfather, of that I am sure. So, your grandfather was put to death, your father was exiled, and you were branded with that cruel mark upon your face.'
'But... the whole court turned against him. They collaborated with Gruber's story.' said Stefan.
The old man shrugged. 'Politicians are easil
y bought. Perhaps they too had been granted longevity through the worship of the Dark Gods. We shall probably never know. Long years passed. Once I learnt the truth, only months ago, I knew not what to do. I could not speak out - a physician's word against that of an elector and his entire court? Ha! I would have been flogged and hanged from the gates of the castle to be pecked over by the crows. So I fled, and here I am.'
'It is a dark tale,' rumbled the massive priest, Gunthar.
'I don't understand why he kept me alive,' said Stefan. 'Surely it would have been better for him to have killed me as a babe. If the truth came out, I would always try to kill him. Plus, as much as I dislike the thought, I am the rightful heir to the position of elector. It makes no sense.'
'Well, I agree with you on that. It doesn't make sense,' said Gunthar, 'but from everything I hear, the man lost his mind many years ago. Who can guess the motivations of a madman?'
'He did try to kill me,' Stefan said, only just realising it himself, 'but it was much later. The mission to guard the pass. Itwas a suicidal mission. Why wait so long to remove me?'
'You've got me, lad.'
'Well, there is my truth. There is nothing for it now, but to gut the wretch.'
'There is the problem, lad,' said Gunthar. 'He ain't an easy man to kill.'
Stefan frowned. 'A sword through the heart should do it.'
'That's where you are wrong. If I smashed this great hammer into his skull,' he said, hefting his massive two-handed hammer up for emphasis, 'it wouldn't kill him. I'm sure he wouldn't look too pretty afterwards, but it would not kill him.'
Stefan frowned, looking dubious. 'In my experience, staving a man's head in usually does the trick.'
'Ah, but he is not truly a man any more. It's the power of Chaos,' said the priest, giving the protective sign of Sigmar to ward off evil. 'It protects him. He sold his soul into damnation, and now the gods of Chaos protect their pawn greedily. Even with all the power of my faith, I could not kill the fiend. Damn me, but I wish I could.'
