Mark of Chaos

by C. L. Werner

  'Protect the captain!' came a shout, and a heavy blow struck Ulkjar from behind. He swung around and rammed one of his blades straight through the body of his attacker.

  As Stefan was dragged back by his greatswords, he cried out as he saw the fatal blow. 'Albrecht!' he shouted.

  The sergeant, impaled on the Norscan's sword, turned his head as he heard his name called. Blood rose in his mouth, and dripped from his lips. His eyes met the eyes of his captain as von Kessel was bustled away from the battle. Ulkjar pulled his sword out of the sergeant, and he fell to the ground, dead.

  Ulkjar bellowed in frustration at his foe escaping from him. A portcullis slammed down behind Stefan von Kessel as he was bustled into the half-mile long tunnel.

  Those Empire soldiers remaining in the outer fortress battled hard, but within minutes the fortress was overrun, and every Empire soldier within was slaughtered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Over a thousand Norse and Kurgan warriors lay dead or dying in the tunnel. The stench of blood and death was heavy in the enclosed space, as the corpses piled up on top of each other. Almost six hours earlier, the portcullis that led from the outer fortress into the Wizard's Way had been lifted, and the first men raced along the half-mile tunnel, their screams and shouts echoing loudly. This first warband, which had been given a great honour by being the first chosen to storm the tunnel, was torn apart by cannon and handgun fire. It was but one of many warbands that were determined to be the first to breach the defences of Talabheim, and for the next six hours, warriors were directed by Hroth to charge up the tunnel into the guns of the enemy.

  Hundreds of monstrous warhounds were unleashed, and they raced up the blood-slick cobbles, barking and roaring in fury. They were shot down without mercy, and their blood pooled out, mingling into the congealing mess of gore. Fur-clad marauders threw themselves forwards after the hounds, and they too were massacred, hundreds of them falling under the hail of burning lead.

  Great pools of gore were congealing beneath the corpses piling high within the tunnel. Fresh soldiers replaced weary handgunners, and the Empire commanders walked amongst their troops, lifting their spirits with rousing speeches. They believed that they had beaten back the best that the Chaos forces had to throw at them, that the Chaos general must pull back and attack Talabheim from a less well-protected angle. The tunnel was narrow, and only a limited number of Chaos warriors could approach at any one time, and every assault so far had been held off without any man getting within thirty yards.

  Hroth was growing impatient, but he cared little about the number of his warriors that were slain, and he ordered more of his warbands along the tunnel to die. He kept his most trusted warriors, the Khazags, at his side, awaiting the right moment to throw them forwards. He knew that the end was near, and he hungered for this battle to be over.

  Hroth could feel the pleasure of Khorne, for the carnage was awesome to behold. At the end of the tunnel, the portcullis and gates were open. Rank upon rank of handgunners stood there, and their weapons spat death at the never-ending horde of warriors that threw themselves towards them. As each soldier fired, he knelt down to allow the soldiers behind a clear shot at the approaching enemy, and passed his weapon back, a freshly loaded gun being handed forwards to him. A hundred shots had rung out within a minute of the first wave rushing towards the Empire soldiers, leaving scores of men in screaming agony on the tunnel floor, to be trampled by the warriors behind.

  Four helblaster volley guns sat alongside the soldiers of the Empire just within the gates, and they roared their fury whenever the Chaos warriors drew too close. After the first hour, these guns had unleashed full barrages of nine barrels three times, slaughtering hundreds of the enemy. One of the temperamental guns had jammed early on, and had been wheeled back from the gates, and another had exploded catastrophically, killing its crew and a dozen Ostermark soldiers unlucky enough to have been too close. The smoke had filled the tunnel, and the Empire soldiers had fired blindly into it, fearing that the enemy was closing on them under the blanket of its cover.

  Hroth leaned down to snarl in the face of the sorcerer, Sudobaal, his eyes burning with fire. He curled his lips back, exposing his sharp, dagger-like teeth.

  'Do it now,sorcerer,' he growled, disdain in his voice. 'Prove your worth to me.'

  Sudobaal, his face drawn, dark rings of exhaustion around his snake-like eyes, looked up at his lord. His back was hunched, and he quickly lowered his gaze, nodding. 'Yes, my master,' he said wearily.

  Stefan, his side bandaged uncomfortably beneath his armour, steadied his soldiers as the evil sound of chanting echoed up the tunnel. The words made his skin crawl, and he felt the pit of his stomach knot. The words were unearthly, horrific and unnatural, the voice birthed in nightmare and madness. Still, his face was stoic, and he stalked behind the ranks of handgunners frantically reloading their weapons with shaking hands, letting them know that their captain was with them.

  'Fear not the vile words of the evil ones.' he said. 'Our Emperor Magnus defeated them on the fields of Kislev, and so we shall defeat them here in Talabheim. With Sigmar guiding us, we will smite them from the face of the world.'

  The daemonic chant continued, getting louder and louder, the sounds echoing eerily off the curved walls. Stefan swung towards the cool elf maiden beside him. Her face was, as always, emotionless and icy. 'Lady,' Stefan said quietly, 'what is this infernal sound?'

  The elf mage, Aurelion, was silent for a moment, her thin lips pursed tightly. 'It is a plea to the Dark Gods,' she said finally, her voice musical and beautiful. 'The words bite at me, unnatural and vile. Quiet your troops, captain.'

  Stefan ordered silence. The only sound was the infernal, guttural chanting that was filling the tunnel. The soldiers peered along its length, seeking out the one whose voice it was, but they could see nothing but hundreds of yards of emptiness. The only movement was the twitching of bodies.

  Aurelion closed her eyes and her mouth began to move silently as she began her own incantation. She lifted her head back, her lips forming the intricate words perfectly. A fine mist began to seep from her mouth as she spoke, falling down her body to pool around her feet. The mist began to spread out around her, rolling over the cobblestones, seeking the lowest ground, and it seeped across the floor. Stefan took an involuntary step backwards away from the mist before stopping himself. The ghostly pale smoke coiled around his boots, and he felt a warmth tingle up his legs. It was not an unpleasant sensation. The mist curled around the powder barrels, and over the feet and legs of the men of Ostermark, their handguns now fully loaded, who were waiting in silence. The first man to notice it gasped. Another hissed, 'witchcraft', sharply, but Stefan put his hand on the man's shoulder, shaking his head for silence. The warriors of Ostermark looked at the smoke coiling around them with a certain amount of dread, but remained silent.

  Aurelion's eyelids flicked open, exposing eyes that were now black. Her words became louder, her lyrical voice sounding somehow beautiful, haunting and frightening all at the same time. The devilish chanting faltered for a moment, and there was a choking sound from the Chaos sorcerer. Then the voice began again, the words being spat out angrily.

  Aurelion gasped, and Stefan looked at her in concern. He saw a drip of blood trickle from her nose, and her voice began to sound more strained. Angry, horrible words were being barked down the corridor, and Stefan began to make out one word being repeated over and over:Khorne.

  The word was deeply unsettling, wrong and tainted. Stefan felt anger suddenly build within him, and he ground his teeth together. His mind was clouded for a moment with images of bloodshed and slaughter, and he clenched his fist tightly around his sword hilt.

  Black blood began to run from Sudobaal's nose, and he almost faltered again over the words of his barked incantation. A force was resisting him, the power of another, and he felt fear descend over him. Hroth's fiery eyes narrowed, but the sorcerer managed to keep his stream of words flowing.
r />   Sweat ran down the lined face of the black-clad sorcerer. He had reached the peak of the spell, the most critical and difficult part. One badly pronounced phrase, one misplaced vowel within his daemonic chant, would spell instant damnation. His soul teetered on the brink of destruction, for the forces that he was calling upon would as soon feast upon him as do his bidding. He felt the menace of the daemon prince before him.He would sooner feast upon his soul than allow Sudobaal to fail.

  The sorcerer's legs began to shake, and he clung to his fiery staff to keep himself upright. His chanting began to increase in intensity, and his voice rose in volume. More blood ran from his nose, and it began to seep from his ears. Vessels within his eyes burst, and he closed them tightly against the pain, bloody tears running down the deep grooves of his face. He raised his claw-like hand into the air as he screamed the words of summoning.

  With a barking shout, the chanting stopped abruptly. Aurelion staggered and would have fallen to the ground had her slight frame not been caught by one of her attendant swordmasters. The elves quickly backed away, taking their charge out through the courtyard, overlooked by balconies swarming with crossbowmen and cannon barrels, towards the fresh air inside the walls of Talabheim.

  Just before she passed out of earshot of the captain, Aurelion regained consciousness, and called out to him. 'Beware! They come!'

  With pleasure, Hroth heard the words that would draw forth the creatures of Khorne's realm, and he smiled in satisfaction. Sudobaal fell to the floor, broken and bloody, but there was an evil grin on the sorcerer's face as he passed into unconsciousness.

  Half a mile along the tunnel, the blood that covered the floor began to bubble and boil. A shape rose from the gore, uncurling itself to stand taller than a man. The blood covered its muscular flesh, running off it in thick, viscous rivulets. The flesh beneath was the same colour as congealed blood, a dark, purplish, bruised red.

  The creature flexed its powerful shoulders, the muscles tensing and rippling with strength. Its head was long, and great horns protruded from its brow, curling back over its head. Its mouth was filled with dagger-like teeth, and a slitted tongue darted forwards, tasting the air before it. Its rage and excitement built as it tasted blood on the air, fresh blood being pumped around mortal bodies. It opened its slanted eyes, and fire burnt there, the baleful fires of Chaos. It was a child of Khorne, one of his loyal foot soldiers and warriors, a bloodletter.

  It let loose a roar of pure hatred, rage and fury. In its hand, it clenched a massive black-bladed, brazen-hilted sword, one of the dread hellblades of Khorne's minions, and it hefted the weapon high over its head. Glowing runes of the Blood God were inscribed along the blade of this awesome weapon. The bloodletter roared again, and began to race down the tunnel towards the Empire soldiers.

  Scores of bloodletters rose from the blood of the fallen. They had needed such a sacrifice to allow them to pass from the Realm of Chaos, and they roared their anger as they too joined the charge of the first. Soon there were over two hundred of the creatures, roaring and racing towards the Empire lines.

  Hroth the Blooded bellowed in triumph, and launched himself into the tunnel, unfurling his red-hued wings. The tips of his wings brushed the sides of the tunnel, and the red mist of his frenzy descended on him. Hurtling along the tunnel, his roar boomed over the din made by the daemons of Khorne, drowning out the crackling fire of the Empire guns.

  Hundreds of handguns fired, their lead shots smashing into the first wave of bloodletters. Still they came, roaring and bellowing in fury, and they charged straight through the second, third and fourth volley. More bloodletters were rising from the gore even as others were torn apart and sent back to the Realm of Chaos by the withering hail of fire from the Ostermarkers. At the front of the daemons was Hroth, and he launched himself at the enemy. Most of the shots ricocheted off his armour and red skin, but several of them embedded themselves in his flesh and tore through his membranous wings. He cared not.

  One of the helblaster volley guns was ignited in his direction, but Hroth barely noticed, for the fury was fully upon him. To the horror of its crew, the mechanical contraption misfired, and Hroth knew that Khorne's favour was upon him still. He descended on the Empire soldiers, and the bloodshed began in earnest.

  Twelve men were thrown to the ground as Hroth landed, swinging his axe and the Slayer of Kings around him in a murderous arc. Bodies were thrown against the walls, blood splattering in every direction as he killed. His lips were drawn back from his teeth, and his breathing came heavily as the thrill of the slaughter fuelled him. He felt the daemon U'zhul, within the powerful sword, hunger for more death and destruction, and he relinquished his full control over the creature, releasing the power of the daemon within the blade.

  If his fury had been great before, his hatred, strength and speed were redoubled as the daemon was released. It fought against Hroth, seeking to gain mastery over him, but he was too strong for it, and subjected it to his will. He laid around him, killing three men with every pounding heartbeat.

  Men screamed in horror and pain as the unstoppable daemon slew and killed, and then the bloodletters hit them. Massive hellblades ripped through the Ostermarkers, cutting and rending, and limbs and heads flew through the air. They roared in fury, and the men screamed in agony.

  'Back!' shouted Stefan. 'Back within the citadel!' He stabbed his Runefang into the throat of a bloodletter and it fell to the ground. As soon as it hit the floor, it turned to liquid, the blood that had formed it splashing out over the cobbles. He hacked and cut at the frenzied daemons that were tearing their way through his warriors. He cut his way out of the tunnel and into the citadel, pulling several of his men with him.

  'Get out!' he shouted to them. 'Drop the portcullis!' Instantly it was released, the iron gate dropping from the ceiling to hold the daemons at bay. Dozens of his men were still on the other side, and he cursed himself for a fool for not pulling them back earlier. The portcullis thundered towards the ground. It would give the last of his men the time to vacate the killing ground, and ready themselves, with the last of the defenders, to face the final push of the Chaos forces. The portcullis slammed down, its heavy iron spikes driving straight through the first bloodletters, and slamming them to the ground, cutting them in two. They burst into blood, their solid forms disappearing.

  The massive daemon prince slammed its full weight against the latticed ironwork, bending it out of shape, but it held. The daemon, eyes and horns blazing with fire, roared again and threw itself at the portcullis once more, wrenching it further. The bloodletters ripped through those unfortunates stuck on the same side as the daemons.

  The massive winged daemon bent its knees, and gripped the portcullis in its massive fists. Its muscles strained to lift it, and it roared as the metal screeched beneath the force.

  'Out!' shouted Stefan, and he ran towards the sunlight. 'Ready your guns!' He hollered up at the dozens of men on the galleries above him. The grapeshot-filled cannon above would shred these daemons when they broke through. The killing ground here was long, and he knew that the daemons would fall to the guns before they managed to fight their way into the open ground of Talabheim. The galleries and windows that the guns and men would fire from were safe from retaliation - the only access to their positions was from the walls of Talabheim - a foe would have to take the walls before they could attack the higher levels of the fortress.

  The captain and his men streamed from the inner citadel, blinking against the brightness of the daylight. The reiksmarshal had rallied the last of the defenders on the fields there. Stefan prayed that the guns in the killing ground would take a heavy toll on the foe. They were going to need that, for the numbers of men he had left to fight were pitifully few.

  'Ready my war-mount!' shouted Stefan.

  'The end is here,' said Markus, watching as the last of the Empire men below, the captain included, abandoned the inner fortress, the last defence of Talabheim. The engineer had organised to have theWra
th of Sigmar, his beloved helblaster volley gun, moved into this position above the last killing ground, alongside the grapeshot-filled cannon. He was determined that, with the last breath of his life, he would use the beautifully crafted machine to rip the Chaos filth to shreds. The guns were all set. As soon as the portcullis below was lifted and the enemy entered the final stretch of tunnel below, all hell would be unleashed.

  One of the crewmen of theWrath of Sigmar swore suddenly. 'What is it?' asked Markus sharply.

  The crewman held up his thumb. 'Caught it in the gears, sir. Hurts like hell.'

  'If that is the only thing you are worried about, then you are a braver man than me, or just plain stupid,' replied Markus in a scathing voice. 'I'd be inclined to lean towards the latter. How is Hans?'

  'He's bled almost dry, but he is alive, for now,' replied the man, motioning towards the unconscious man slumped against the wall. Blood pooled out below him, seeping through the cloth bindings that had hastily been bandaged around him. A misfired handgun shot had ricocheted off the wall and struck him in the stomach. Markus would be surprised if the man survived. It was a shame, for Hans was one of the more efficient of the cannon crew, but then it probably mattered little, for the siege was rapidly nearing its end, and the engineer was pessimistic about the outcome.

  Markus believed that the enemywould make it across the killing ground below. There were just too few of them to halt the tide completely, but he knew that it would be no easy task for them, and that they could lose hundreds of warriors in the process, perhaps a thousand. There was enough powder and shot to last almost half an hour of firing. He hoped that was enough time for von Kessel to organise his defences, and that his guns could inflict enough casualties on the enemy for him to stand any chance of survival once theydid break through.