Mark of Chaos

by C. L. Werner

  The Reiklandguard was to be held back as a reserve, one of a dozen flying companies that could be redeployed quickly to fill any gaps that appeared, or to stem any attack that breached the walls.

  The city of Talabheim itself, about two miles across farmland from the Wizard's Way, was crowded with refugees from Talagaad. The militia that kept the peace there were kept busy as the inevitable scuffles broke out amongst the hungry, homeless and frightened people. Of Baron Jurgen Krieglitz, there was no word.

  Finally, Wilhelm and the last of his scouts arrived at the outer fortress, breathless and bloody. Ropes were thrown from the walls and they ascended swiftly to report to von Kessel and the reiksmarshal.

  'They come,' Wilhelm stated simply. It was then that the drumming began.

  Hroth stood atop the rise, looking out across the top of his massive army towards the Empire city, his eyes burning with flame, rage and hunger. Thousands of burning torches were held aloft, thrust into the air with every beat of the drums. The sound of drumming filled the night. The relentless pounding of hundreds of drums would be terrifying to the pitiful men cowering within the walls of the city, but the sound made his daemonic heart beat quickly in anticipation of the slaughter to come. How he had longed for this time! The attack would begin. He licked his lips with his long forked tongue. Soon he would have a foothold in the very heart of the Empire, which would herald the inevitable downfall of civilisation.

  Hroth roared, the thunderous sound echoing back to him from the crater and walls surrounding the city, passing over the warbands readying themselves below. The drumming stopped instantly. Hroth roared again, and his army began the assault.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  For almost a week, the attacks came at the walls of Talabheim. The forces of Chaos suffered terrible casualties, for to attack up the crater at the walls was nigh-on impossible, and the Chaos warbands of Hroth the Blooded were mercilessly slaughtered by the defenders. The dead dropped their hastily constructed ladders where they fell, to be picked up by others as they scrambled up the steep incline towards the towering walls.

  To the Empire defenders, the hordes assailing them seemed countless, and the nights were filled with the hateful drumming of the foe, haunting the sleep of the soldiers, and thousands of campfires and torches burnt through the night. Night was no release from the attacks, and the Empire soldiers were dog-tired from hours of constant readiness and sporadic moments of frantic battle. They took their rest when they could get it, but it was invariably short-lived and rare. The Chaos forces attacked all around the city, striking against the walls quickly, forcing the defenders to constantly have men on all the many miles of walls.

  Stefan von Kessel and the reiksmarshal knew that these were little more than diversionary attacks, for the main assault would come at the only true entrance into Talabheim, at the fortress leading into the tunnel. However, if they did not station some men on these walls, the enemy might well make a breach, and then the defence would be shattered. So, with some frustration, Stefan ordered many of the men he would have preferred to have been protecting the main entrance onto the subsidiary walls that surrounded the great city. 'Why in heaven's name make so many miles of damn walls!' he had shouted in exasperation. 'If the walls were around just the city itself, we could hold against this foe for a year!' He had not been mollified by the reiksmarshal's undeniably sensible response.

  The smithies of Talabheim worked day and night to cast thousands upon thousands of handgun shots and cannonballs, and the fletchers worked tirelessly crafting great bundles of arrows that were distributed amongst the archers. The temple of Shallya was overflowing, and so the palace of Baron Jurgen Krieglitz was turned into a temporary surgery. Cartloads of the injured were carried there from the battlements daily to be tended by the priestesses of Shallya and those citizens who lent their aid. The grim priests of Morr stalked the halls, tending to those whose injuries were fatal, easing their passage from the world.

  Von Kessel visited the different wall sections, bolstering the morale of the men wherever he was. The soldiers of Talabheim held him in awe, for he fought at their side as one of them, and expected nothing of the soldiers that he was unwilling to do himself. The Chaos forces made several breaches along the walls, and they surged into the open land within like a tide of insects. These breaks were but temporary, and they were crushed by the ever-vigilant Reiklandguard and other flying companies that Stefan had assigned.

  The enemy was determined, it seemed, to take Talabheim as quickly as possible, regardless of the losses incurred, and Stefan could understand their need for a swift victory. The Emperor Magnus was on the march, heading towards the beleaguered city, and if the Chaos forces did not take it quickly, their army would be crushed. If they did take the city, however, something that Stefan would give every last breath of his life to prevent, it would be a very different story. If the Emperor arrived to discover the city already fallen, the Chaos force would be able to hold almost indefinitely against them.

  Stefan spent much of his time fighting as part of the defence of the vital fortress leading into the Wizard's Way. The relentless barrage of cannon, mortar and handgun killed thousands. Stefan's soldiers, who were stalwart and unshakeable in their defiance of the foe, met those that reached the walls. They killed hundreds of the enemy, and kicked their corpses from the walls to fall amongst the piles of the dead at their base. The stink was horrendous, and von Kessel worried about disease. Flies descended on the bodies in massive buzzing clouds, bringing back vile memories of the defeat of the treacherous Elector Gruber some weeks earlier.

  As each wave was pushed back, the Empire warriors would slump down against the battlements in silence, weary and drawn. They had been jubilant after the first attacks had been stemmed, fuelled with adrenaline, but as the days wore on, they became quieter and more reluctant to be drawn into conversation. Their eyes were lifeless and red-rimmed, and their heads hung low. They snapped upright as soon as the shout came, however, and pulled themselves to their feet to face the next wave of attack.

  'They come again!' screamed a voice, and frantic battle was joined once more. Stefan von Kessel rammed his sword through the visor slit of a black armoured warrior, and he toppled backwards off the ladder. Hearing a scream to his left, the captain saw the man next to him stagger, blood streaming from the fatal wound at his throat. A heavily armoured warrior clambered over the ramparts behind him, his helmet horned and bearing hateful markings of the gods of Chaos. Roaring, the warrior lashed out with his pair of weapons, cutting down another man with a blow to the head, and slamming his spiked mace into the chest of another. Other warriors appeared behind him as the first stepped forwards, killing another as he cleared a space on the battlements.

  With a shout, Stefan threw himself forwards, aiming a blow at the warrior's head. The massive figure caught the blow on the blade of his sword, and swung his spiked mace towards Stefan's chest. It impacted with his shield, throwing him backwards into another man. The warrior stepped towards him, but suddenly halted, a slender blade protruding from his chest. He fell heavily, and von Kessel saw a pair of the elf swordmasters step into the breach, their tall blades weaving around them in a blur. They moved effortlessly, gracefully swaying out of the way of blows, and striking with deadly swiftness. Several of Stefan's greatswords stepped forwards to join them, moving protectively in front of their lord. Their movement looked clumsy and slow in comparison to that of the elves, but they were no less effective, their heavy swords smashing into the Chaos warriors with brute force.

  Stefan climbed to his feet and rejoined the fray. He smashed his shield into the face of a marauder clambering over the ramparts. He drove his sword hilt into the face of another man as he reached the top of a tall ladder, and he fell into darkness.

  The captain heaved on the ladder, pushing it backwards. It swung slowly away from the wall, taking the dozen men clinging to it to their deaths.

  A bare-chested warrior leapt over the ramparts and ramm
ed his sword into the back of one of the slender, white-robed elf swordmasters. The other elf turned towards his comrade, sorrow in his eyes, and his blade sang out, decapitating the man. A heavy axe slammed into the elf's tall helmet, smashing through the silver metal and caving his skull in. He dropped without a sound.

  More ladders slammed against the fortress walls, too many to push away. Handgunners in the towers to either side of the length of wall continued to fire into the horde, smoke rising from amongst the crenellations and arrow slits. The cannon continued to boom, and the mortars fired as quickly as they could be reloaded, killing dozens with every shot, but there seemed to be a never-ending tide of warriors to step into any gaps created by the explosions.

  Stefan was weary beyond belief. Attacks had been made on the walls around Talabheim for almost a week, sporadically hitting at different wall sections and towers, but the assault against the fortress leading into the Wizard's Way had been constant. The ground around the base of the walls was piled high with the dead. They were piled especially high in the killing grounds where the walls were angled back. Hundreds upon hundreds of the warriors of the Dark Gods had been mercilessly cut down by crossbow and handgun, there, as they sought to raise ladders against those tall walls, and the stench of death was almost unbearable.

  A longer, protracted siege would have proven more effective had there been no threat of Empire reinforcements arriving, but the Chaos general was not a subtle commander, Stefan decided. He would wear down the defenders by throwing wave after wave of his troops against the fortress, attacking relentlessly until victory was achieved, or he ran out of men. The Empire troops had killed thousands of the enemy already, but Stefan knew that it was not enough, and that this first fortress would soon fall.

  Talagaad at the base of the crater of Talabheim was nothing more than a smoking ruin, flattened by the enemy, and the harbour was filled with corpses. Those foolish villagers who had refused to leave their homes had been nailed to cartwheels, or impaled, screaming, on long spears. These grisly totems, no doubt some dark offering to the gods of Chaos, demoralised the defenders, who could see that many of the people were still alive, even as the black carrion birds pecked at them.

  Massive beasts stalked amongst the endless horde of Chaos. Brutish ogres, hulking creatures dressed in crude heavy armour, roared as they charged towards the gates of the fortress, hefting makeshift battering rams under their massive arms. Trolls lumbered forwards, their gaits awkward, bony spikes protruding from the thick skin on their backs. They were mutated, evil beasts, some of them having multiple arms, or two heads sprouting from one torso. Stefan had fought trolls before, but those had been the stony-skinned trolls of the mountains, not these twisted creatures that had been mutated from their continued exposure to Chaos. Still, if they were anything like stone trolls, they would be virtually impossible to kill. This was proven when one of the creatures was struck in the chest by a cannonball. It was thrown to the ground, its chest destroyed utterly, but it pushed itself to its feet, roaring in anger. It pulled the cannonball from its caved-in chest, and launched it back at the fortress, even as the crushed bones of its body began to reform.

  Stefan killed another man with a thrust to his chest, and wiped blood from his brow. He became aware of a deep reverberation that was making the ground and the fortress itself shake, and he looked out over the sea of the enemy to discover what this new horror was. His eyes widened as he saw the giant striding forwards, a tree trunk held in one of its meaty hands.

  The creature stood fifty feet tall, and horns curled from its massive forehead. Tusk-like teeth protruded from its jaw, and its three eyes blinked heavily. A necklace of human limbs hung around its neck, and Albrecht was horrified as he saw a cavernous tooth-lined mouth open up in the creature's gut. The giant strode through the press of Chaos warriors and marauders, breaking into a lumbering run as it neared the fortress.

  Arrows thudded into the face and chest of the giant, having as little effect as insect bites. It bellowed as it ran, and the earth rumbled under its massive footsteps. It did not slow down at all as it hurtled towards the fortress wall, and men backed away from the battlements as it drew ever nearer. Lowering its shoulder, the giant slammed into the wall. Men were knocked from their feet by the impact, and the wall cracked, stones tumbling to the ground as the wall shifted.

  Stefan was thrown to his knees along with the other soldiers. The giant's massive head, horrifyingly enormous up close, reached almost to the top of the walls, and it raised the tree trunk in its fist high over its head before slamming it down onto the walls, crushing half a dozen men. It laughed crudely, spraying spittle over the crenellations, and swept its club across the battlements, smashing dozens of men from the wall to fall to their deaths below. The giant's laughter was cut short as it yelped in pain and dropped its club, pulling its hand back towards it, dripping blood, two of its fingers severed by the blades of an elf swordmaster. Its face creasing in childlike anger, the giant balled its hand into a fist and smashed the elf into the stones, pulverising it beneath his knuckles.

  'Aim at its eyes!' shouted Stefan, and a flurry of crossbow bolts and arrows streaked towards the monster.

  The giant swatted at the missiles as if they were flies, and ducked its head below the ramparts. It bent down and gripped the massive iron portcullis that had been dropped in front of the great doors of the fortress. Gripping the iron bars tightly in its massive hands, it began to pull at it, massive muscles straining. With a roar and the wrenching sound of tearing metal, the giant ripped the portcullis free, making stones tumble down to the ground. Lifting the portcullis over its head, the giant heaved and threw it at one of the tall towers that was interspersed between the wall sections, making part of the ancient stone structure crumble under the impact.

  An arrow sank into one of the giant's three eyes and it roared in pain, staggering backwards. It stepped on a Chaos warrior, crushing the man into the ground, and stumbled. Its balance lost, the giant fell heavily backwards. It seemed to take an age to hit the ground, and the earth reverberated under the impact. A dozen warriors were caught beneath it, and were instantly slain. Arrows and handgun shots peppered the skin of the struggling giant until a cannonball ended its life smashing its head to a bloody pulp.

  Still, the giant had done its job, for the massive portcullis had been ripped clear, and already dozens of Norse warriors were charging forwards with massive axes towards the great wooden door of the fortress. Other Norse warriors ran with them, holding their shields over their heads to protect themselves from the arrows and rocks that rained down from the gatehouse above. Burning oil was tipped upon them, and many screamed in pain as the searing liquid splashed over them. Still others survived, and began to smash their axes into the sturdy wooden door.

  Stefan left the walls, racing down the blood-slick stairs to the ground level of the fortress. 'With me!' he commanded, ordering a group of greatswords with him as he raced towards the gatehouse. Forty men, led by Sergeant Albrecht, were there already, propping up the great wooden doors with beams and timbers. The Norscans swung their axes with great force, and it would be but minutes before the door gave way. 'Hold steady, men of Ostermark!' shouted Stefan.

  The door suddenly exploded inwards in a shower of splintering timbers, throwing the men of Ostermark behind it to the ground. 'Sorcery!' snarled Albrecht, and he led the greatswords forwards to meet their enemies as they surged through the smashed entranceway.

  The battle in the gatehouse was brutal. The Norse threw themselves at the greatswords with renewed vigour, led by a blond giant of a man who fought with a pair of thick-bladed swords. This man cut down men left and right, his speed and strength far beyond that of normal men. Albrecht hacked down several Norscans, and Stefan and his soldiers entered the melee, lending their weight to the crucial combat.

  Ulkjar Moerk the Headtaker butchered his way through the greatswords, his twin swords cutting and stabbing. With one blade, he blocked the strike of one of the m
en, hacking with his other blade deep into the man's neck. Arterial blood sprayed out in a fountain. 'Blood for the Blood God!' roared Ulkjar.

  Stefan drove his Runefang into the throat of one of the Norscans, and blood bubbled up from the wound. 'For Sigmar and for the Emperor!' he shouted, and threw himself fully into the fray.

  Ulkjar heard the name of the hated false deity of the Empire, and his eyes swung to fix on Stefan. He began to cut his way towards him, butchering everyone in his path. His body was covered in cuts and deep wounds, any one of which would have been fatal to a lesser man. He hacked the head from the shoulders of another man, and launched himself forwards to cut down the man who had shouted out the name of the false god.

  Stefan stepped backwards as the swift blow arced towards his head, raising his Runefang defensively before him. The power of the blow was immense, and he was knocked backwards by the force. The second blade of the towering blond-haired devil swung in towards his gut, and he managed to get his shield in the way, but was buffeted backwards again by the force of the blow, his arm numb. Regaining his footing, he feinted a blow at the massive Norscan's head, before turning the blow in mid-air towards his chest.

  Ulkjar saw the blow coming, and turned it aside with one of his swords. He was shocked at the power that was held in the blade of his foe. He could feel the dangerous magic within the weapon, and he knew that it held the power to kill him when other weapons would merely injure. He attacked with renewed fury, swinging high and low in a dizzying display of prowess, forcing his enemy further back. Lashing out almost lazily, Ulkjar slew a greatsword who was trying to aid his captain, and drove his other blade into the heart of another.

  Seeing his opportunity, Stefan lunged forwards. As if he had been expecting the attack, the towering Norscan slapped the Runefang to the ground, and stabbed forwards, intending to impale Stefan. The captain twisted away from the blade at the last minute, and the sword pierced his side painfully, but not fatally. He cried out, and dropped to one knee.