by C. L. Werner
It had all happened in the blink of an eye, and Sudobaal felt a surge of exhilaration. He was alive! His visions had been true!
'Ulkjar, your task is done.' he muttered.
Some twenty feet away, Hroth heard the whispered words of the sorcerer. He held the pitiful human that had defied him, around his neck, his feet dangling several feet of the ground. Hroth had knocked the Empire captain's painful sword away, and he held his axe ready to deliver the killing blow, but when the words of the sorcerer reached him, he turned instantly, and hurled his axe. It arced through the press of bodies, spinning end over end.
The axe slammed into Ulkjar as he rose to his feet. It buried itself in his chest, smashing through his armour and his ribcage. Leaping into the air, still carrying the Empire captain, the daemon prince beat its powerful wings, and landed by the Norscan, who had fallen to his knees, clawing at the massive axe embedded in his flesh.
The daemon gripped the axe shaft and pulled it free. White bones protruded from the wound, and blood pumped out over the ground. 'I said that I would have your head.' snarled Hroth, and he swung the axe into the Norscan's neck. His head rolled to the ground.
A blast of red flames struck Hroth in the back, knocking him forwards. The flames did him no harm, for he was still protected by the Collar of Khorne. Still, he turned around swiftly in anger to see who dared attack him with the sorcery he so despised. He saw the shimmering outline of an elf standing in the shattered gateway leading back inside the inner fortress.
Aurelion stood still. The mortal enemies, the warriors of Chaos, could barely perceive her. To them, she appeared as little more than a ghostly shape that could only be seen out of the corner of the eye, but she knew that to the daemon, she was clearly visible.
She cared not. For her kin to survive, the Empire must not be destroyed. She knew that Teclis had spoken the truth, and she was prepared to pay the ultimate price to ensure the continuation of her people.
The last of her bodyguard had been slain, and she stood alone. As she had hoped, the daemon threw down von Kessel, and launched itself into the air towards her. She had expected this reaction - the creatures of Khorne had always held a particular hatred for those who wielded magic, and the actions of the daemon prince were predictable.
She retreated inside the fortress, drawing the daemon towards her. She closed her eyes as she walked calmly inside, her spirit venturing forth to find the one she sought.
Jurgen was unsteady in the saddle, the sickness having wasted his strength almost completely. Nevertheless, he battled against his exhaustion, and sat up straight, proud and defiant. His golden armour glittered in the sunlight, and the long feathers of his helmet swung in the wind. Beside him, the standard-bearer held aloft the banner of his family, the banner that had not been carried on the field of battle since he was forced to take the throne.
The men around him looked at him in awe. Despite his illness, his features were markedly similar to those of his famed warrior-father, and dressed in his full battle regalia, he resembled his father as a young man. The hearts of the house guard surged with pride as they cantered through the streets. People cheered from the windows of houses as they saw their baron riding to war. It was to be his first and final ride.
Trumpets sounded, and the two hundred knights galloped from the city of Talabheim, heading towards the battle.
The nameless ex-knight of the Reiklandguard screamed as he slew. He was the last of the flagellants, all those who followed him having been cut down, one by one, by the hordes of Chaos. Another axe struck him, smashing down onto his shoulder, and his arm went limp. He leapt on the warrior, tackling him to the ground, and drove his blade through the eye-slit in the Norscans helmet. A sword smashed into his back, and the nameless man cried out in joy. The light of Sigmar flowed into him, and he rejoiced. Standing, he swung his sword into the head of another man before the blade was knocked from his hands. A heavy spiked mace smashed into his side, and he knew that his time had come. The blow knocked him into another warrior, and he punched his thumb into one of the man's eyes, pushing deep into his skull. A sword blow hacked into his neck, and he swayed, and slumped to the ground. Other swords pierced his body as he fell. He lay on the ground, dead, a rapturous smile upon his face.
'Protect the captain!' came a shout, and the halberdiers surged forwards to surround their fallen leader. They threw themselves at the foe with renewed vigour, and several men helped von Kessel to stand.
'A sword,' Stefan gasped, and a man thrust a weapon into his hands. He pushed away from the hands that held him upright, and barged his way to the front of the battle. The killing began once more.
Wilhelm stalked through the press of fighting, his eyes intent on his foe. Seeing his opportunity, he drew back his bow once more and fired. The arrow sliced through the air and struck the black-clad sorcerer in the back of the head. Dropping his bow, Wilhelm drew his sword and hunting knife, and ran through the battle He leapt over a fallen man and slammed his knife into the throat of a warrior that had his back to him, felling him instantly. He ducked beneath a swinging sword and continued on, vaulting over another Chaos worshipper as he fell, a sword in his guts.
The sorcerer had fallen to the ground, and Wilhelm dropped on top of him. Remarkably, Sudobaal was still alive, and he gaped up at the scout with horror in his yellow, cat-like eyes. He tried to say something, but Wilhelm silenced him, stabbing his knife down into the man's throat. Black blood gargled up from the wound, and Wilhelm smiled down at the dying man. 'Your time is up, witch,' he snarled, and slammed his palm into the hilt of his dagger, driving the blade through man's neck. His eyes glazed over, and the sorcerer Sudobaal died.
The reiksmarshal swore as he saw the teeming horde of skaven approaching from the city. Walking like men, they were hideously deformed beastman-like creatures. Cowardly, except when gathered in large numbers, they were quick and vicious fighters that battled like cornered animals.
Hundreds of gigantic rats, the size of hounds, ran alongside the army. The creatures were disgusting, covered in festering sores and pus-ridden wounds, and the reiksmarshal knew that they carried virulent plague.
Looking over the horde of furred creatures, he could see a rough structure at the back, being hauled along on wheels by teams of slaves. A great brass bell hung from this structure, and a grey-furred skaven crouched there, leaning heavily on a staff. Even as he saw this bizarre creation, the massive bell was tolled, ringing out mournfully across the battlefield.
The sound vibrated within him, and he felt an unnamed horror wash over him. His warhorse, a steed that did not baulk in the face of any foe, trembled beneath him, and whinnied in fear.
That was the one that had to be slain, the reiksmarshal thought, that grey-furred rat creature. It was their leader, and he knew from experience that if it was slain, then the others would soon break and flee.
With a shout, he ordered the Reiklandguard to disengage from the enemy, and turned to face this new threat. Less than a hundred of his knights remained, and he prayed to Sigmar that that was enough to fight their way through the skaven ranks and reach the grey-furred creature. He knew in his heart that it was not, but he wheeled his knights around for the charge.
The Blind One, the plague-ridden grey seer leading the skaven force, extended one of its twisted claws, and a green wave of fog billowed out. It roiled and spread out from its extended paw, rolling through its own troops towards the charging knights. Dozens of skaven fell to the ground, gasping and choking as the virulent disease took hold, filling their lungs with black cancers and blood vessels in their brains bursting and rupturing. The Blind One chuckled.
A pale, flawlessly beautiful face appeared before Markus, speaking to him in a sing-song, melodious voice. He tried to ignore it, but it was insistent, drawing him away from the darkness. With a gasp, he opened his eyes, pain flaring from the wound on his shoulder. He felt cold and weak, and his arm throbbed with near unbearable agony. He pulled himself upright, crying
out, and saw the pale elf below him, staring up at him with her almond-shaped eyes.
With a roar, the daemon prince stalked into the chamber, hefting its massive, gore-covered axe. Its wings folded behind it, and it stamped towards the mage, eyes and horns blazing with fire.
'Time to die, elf bitch,' snarled Hroth.
Aurelion backed away from the towering creature, but her face showed no fear.
Markus flicked his gaze around - the helblaster, Wrath of Sigmar, was next to him, and the daemon prince was moving right into the middle of the killing ground below. Clenching his teeth tightly against the pain, the engineer hobbled around the machine, ensuring it was ready to fire.
Stefan hacked and killed. With him at the fore, the halberdiers fought the Chaos warriors toe to toe, refusing to give any ground to the hulking enemy. The Chaos forces had seen their sorcerer slain, and their daemon prince was no longer on the field of battle, but they fought on regardless, fighting with brutal efficiency. The Empire soldiers fought with desperation, but still two of their own were cut down for every Chaos warrior they felled.
'For Sigmar!' shouted Stefan, and threw himself at the foe. A massive bald, black-armoured warrior was before him, holding aloft a standard covered in grisly trophies. Stefan swung his sword at the man again and again. Finally, he got through the man's defences, and drove his blade into his face. He fell to the ground, and the standard fell.
The charge of the Reiklandguard faltered, as fully half their number collapsed from their steeds as the sorcerous green fog rolled over them. Many of the horses stumbled and fell as their limbs became suddenly arthritic and filled with disease, and their lungs were filled with filth. The reiksmarshal closed his eyes and mouth against the foulness, but was thrown from the saddle as his horse expired beneath him. He rolled to his feet as the skaven warriors descended towards him in an unstoppable horde. He hefted his sword, and roared a battle cry as the enemies swamped him.
Jurgen led the charge, riding down the skaven between his household guard and the grey-furred creature on the back of the rolling bell-tower. They shrieked in fear and anger as they were cut down, scattering before the charge. The ground pounded with the hooves of the warhorses, and Jurgen felt more alive than he had in years. He felt joyous, even though he rode to his death. The grey-furred creature turned, blind eyes wide in panic as the knights closed on him.
Green lightning arced from the skaven's hand, killing a dozen of the knights, but they rode on. Jurgen slammed his sabre down onto the top of another skaven's head, splitting it down to the teeth, and urged his horse on. The bell-tower was only a dozen paces away, and that was when the bell tolled once more. This close, the sound resonated deep within Jurgen's body, and he could feel his organs vibrating within him. His warhorse baulked at the ungodly sound, and a skaven thrust a spear into the chest of the beast. Jurgen slashed down with his sabre, killing the creature, but his horse had been fatally wounded. Still, it kept moving forwards, and it slammed into the bell-tower structure with its full, armoured weight before falling to the ground, dead.
Jurgen fell heavily. He looked up to see the grey-furred creature topple off the structure, and drop awkwardly beside him.
In an instant, Jurgen was atop the scrawny creature, gagging at the stench of the foul thing. He had dropped his sword, and so the baron clasped his hands around the thin throat of the grey-furred rat, squeezing the life from it. The skaven panicked as the other knights slammed into their ranks, cutting and hacking at them. The bell-tower itself teetered for a moment before it fell to the ground, the bell echoing dully as it slammed into the earth, crushing several skaven beneath it.
The grey seer struggled frantically, its white, blind eyes widening as its life was choked from it. Two spears slammed into Jurgen's chest, but he held grimly on, throttling the skaven. It went limp in his hands as it died. Another spear was driven into Jurgen's body, and he slumped down over the dead grey seer. He would be remembered in Talabheim for all time, a hero.
Hroth grinned in savage pleasure as he slew Aurelion, her body crumpling as the axe smashed into her. Her spotless robes of white and blue were splashed with blood, and she fell to the floor, broken. Hroth roared his pleasure, the sound echoing through the fortress and out onto the field of battle.
The helblaster unleashed its fury, all nine of its barrels slamming into the daemon prince. Hroth's roar of triumph was drowned out by the booming of the Wrath of Sigmar, and the daemon was ripped apart by the power of the machine. Desperately, the daemon prince tried to cling to life, but its body was shattered as nine cannonballs smashed through it.
A hideous wail of pure anger screamed out as the sound of the fusillade of death faded, and the immortal essence of Hroth the Blooded, Daemon Prince of Khorne, was sent back to the Realm of Chaos. The Chaos army faltered, feeling the pain of the passing of the daemon deep inside the core of their being.
Knowing that something momentous had happened, Stefan led his troops in a desperate final push, cutting down the bewildered Chaos warriors before him. All across the battlefield, the Empire soldiers launched their counter-attack, driving the forces of Chaos back, and killing them in droves as they reeled around blindly, stunned by the death of their warlord and figurehead.
The battle of Talabheim was over.
EPILOGUE
The forces of Chaos were devastated by the loss of the Daemon Prince, Hroth the Blooded, his death a shockwave that rendered them almost incapable of battle. Many of the independent tribes escaped into the forests around Talabheim, fleeing the way they came, through the Wizard's Way, but many others were brutally cut down and slaughtered by the forces of the Empire, under the command of Captain von Kessel.
The skaven forces, leaderless, scattered in all directions. Many stampeded towards the walls of Talabheim, overcoming the defences, and fleeing over the sides. Others raced back into Talabheim, killing everything in their path in their rush, and fled back into the tunnels below.
The Emperor himself honoured the engineer, Markus, and he remained in Talabheim for many years to come, overseeing the collapse of the tunnels beneath the city.
The warrior priest, Gunthar, survived his injuries and spent many years travelling the Empire, rooting out the evil of Chaos wherever he found it. He led the attacks that drove out the surviving Chaos warbands from around Talabheim, uncovered cultists in the court of the Emperor himself, and spent the last years of his long life living in an isolated temple of Sigmar in the hills of Ostermark.
The body of the elf mage, Aurelion, was transported by Stefan von Kessel back to the isle of Ulthuan, with great honour, pledges of gratitude and sorrow. A statue of her, carved from a perfect block of flawless marble, was erected in the newly formed Colleges of Magic in Altdorf.
A decade later, the scout Wilhelm killed an innocent man in cold blood, and fled into the forests, pursued by the authorities. He lived out the last of his days as a cold-hearted outlaw, preying on all who crossed his path.
The creature that was Sudobaal emerged under the cover of darkness from the shattered body of its host, and burrowed into a new body, a body that was stronger and more powerful. It stole across the corpse-littered field and recovered the daemon sword, the Slayer of Kings, careful not to touch the weapon with its bare hands. It slunk out of Talabheim, and began its long journey into the far distant north, there to seek out Hroth the Blooded, the eternal master that it was ever bound to.
The body of Reiksmarshal Wolfgange Trenkenhoff was found surrounded by the corpses of over twenty skaven. He had died fighting for the Empire, his last breath gone to secure its future, and his death was honoured with a festival across the whole of the Empire.
Stefan von Kessel became the Elector Count of Ostermark, and faced the enemies of the Empire many times in his life. He became known as a fair and honourable leader, and he always led his army from the front. He fathered just one heir, and his bloodline runs strong in the noble house of Ostermark.
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