WH-Warhammer Online-Age of Reckoning 02(R)-Dark Storm Gathering

by Chris Wraight

  With a wailing cry, the sorcerer, overwhelmed by the twin assaults, dropped his staff and attempted to duck out of the path of the swirling magical forces. Scuttling with surprising speed, he shot along the floor like some kind of giant mutated spider, and made straight for the Celestial wizard. Her reactions were sluggish through fatigue. With a savage flick of his staff, Alexander flung a line of fire along the floor of the chamber straight across the path of the sorcerer. It caught on a ragged edge of cloak, and with preternatural speed kindled and spread. In a moment, the intruder was consumed by a clinging fire, as hot as dragon’s breath. He screamed in agony, and clawed at his robes frantically. The Celestial wizard recoiled, her strength failing. The light of her staff went out, and she stumbled wearily backwards. Paying no attention to the cries of his victim, Alexander quickly strode up to the writhing form of the sorcerer. He whispered the words of a final spell, and felt his body respond. Standing over the prone form before him, he let his staff glow white-hot.

  ‘The vengeance of Taal,’ Alexander breathed, and plunged the tip of the shimmering staff downwards.

  With a flash of light and a final wail of hatred, defiance and fear, the sorcerer was impaled by the burning shaft. His body twitched and jerked for a moment, and then went limp. With a word from Alexander, the flames on the sorcerer’s robes extinguished. The traitor’s eyes flickered, and then lost their focus. The purple light faded from his pupils, and his body crumbled like ash in a grate.

  Alexander looked down with contempt and distaste. A fallen wizard, the most hateful of the fates awaiting one of his kind. He took a deep breath, and let his staff return to its natural state. Slowly, feeling the effects of his summoning at last begin to weigh on him, he looked around the room.

  ‘Is he the last?’ he said to the Celestial wizard.

  She had fallen heavily against the bole of the telescope, and cradled her left arm in her lap.

  ‘Yes,’ she said weakly. Her face was pale, and now that the magic was over Alexander knew she would be exhausted.

  He raised his staff once more and began to chant in a low voice. As if they were dogs answering the command of a master of the hunt, the rampant flames around them began to damp down and gutter out. After a few moments, the inferno subsided completely and the stench of charred wood and melted metal began to fill the chamber. Curling strands of smoke rose into the air and stained the copper and brass of the ruined machinery further. The place was a mess.

  ‘It’s not safe here,’ said Alexander to the wizard. ‘Take my arm. This place could collapse at any moment.’

  With much effort, she rose to her feet, and Alexander helped her down the narrow steps. Together they crept down the winding stairs and out of the smouldering edifice. They climbed down the rock path and headed towards an outhouse just below the entrance to the observatory. It was no mansion, but it was away from the danger and had a roof. Alexander helped the Celestial wizard inside. With a faint cry of pain, she crumpled into a dank corner and seemed to shrink within her robes. Alexander said nothing. He knew of the pain of withdrawal after an over-use of the magical arts. She might have been fighting for hours for all he knew.

  He left the outhouse and made a quick search of the area. There was no sign of his horse, which must have been scared by the unnatural explosions and been driven off. After seeing no indication of fresh enemies, he gathered some cracked and splintered timber from the observatory and took it back to the outhouse. Now that the fires had gone out, the night was fast falling and the air was chill. He piled the fragments in the centre of the meagre room, and lit them with a whispered word. Soon the tumbledown space was at least warm. He then sat down himself opposite the Celestial wizard, and waited. There was no point in pressing her too soon. She stared into the flames, a look of desolation on her face. For a long time, the pair sat in silence.

  ‘So you’re the one we sent for,’ she said, at last. ‘I should at least have a name for the man who saved my life.’

  ‘Alexander Heisenherz, of Badau, Talabecland. And you?’

  ‘Greta Machholt. From here in the Reikland.’

  Her voice was little more than a croak. Chiding himself for thoughtlessness, Alexander retrieved a gourd of ale from his belt and handed it to her. She drank thirstily.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Alexander said. ‘I was delayed.’

  Greta finished drinking and gave a wry smile.

  ‘If you’d been here, maybe you’d have died too. They came suddenly. Many of my colleagues were killed before we knew what was happening. One of our number, a snake called Neuman, had turned. He let them in while we were operating the Great Machine. We had no chance.’

  Alexander looked grimly into the flickering fire.

  ‘What did they want?’ he asked.

  ‘We have discovered things,’ she said. ‘The Machine was working. There have been portents in the skies, signs of great wonder. They tell of flame…’

  ‘…and ruin, yes I know,’ interrupted Alexander. ‘We received your letter at the college. It was as vague as usual. Why would these sorcerers attack you for such knowledge? We all know a war is coming.’

  The Celestial wizard shot him a look of irritation laced with scorn. Alexander regretted his sharpness instantly.

  ‘Do you think we would send news of any importance in a simple, uncoded letter?’ she said witheringly. ‘We know more than we can say openly, and guess more than that. But none of us could be spared to deliver our tidings in person, so we requested help. You were to have been our messenger. But we’ve waited too long. Clearly, news of our discoveries was leaked. Now all stands in ruins.’

  Alexander looked over his shoulder, through a narrow glassless window and back towards the gently smoking summit of the observatory.

  ‘Really?’ he said, trying to sound positive. ‘Surely not. The observatory still stands. It can be repaired. At dawn, I’ll ride back to Altdorf. Your college can send more wizards, together with a proper guard this time. All is not lost.’

  Greta let her head fall back wearily against the cold stone of the outhouse. She didn’t look reassured.

  ‘Of course it can be rebuilt,’ she said, bitterly. ‘But so much information has been lost. My colleagues, my master…’

  Her voice cracked again, and she took a hasty swig from the gourd to hide her distress. Alexander looked down at the floor uncertainly. Anything he said now was unlikely to make things better.

  After a few moments of awkward silence, the Celestial wizard seemed to recover her poise.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Greta said, her voice calm once more. ‘It has been a great shock, this attack, but such weakness is unworthy. We’ll repair the place again, just as you say. If you’d not come when you did, there would be nothing but ash and ruin here. You’ve saved the observatory, and my life. It seems unfair to ask more of you than this, but I must.’

  Alexander, who had been somewhat reassured by her words, felt his heart sink at the last sentence.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, suspiciously.

  Greta rummaged in her robes for a moment, and pulled a brass object from within them. It was wound about with leather, and looked like an elaborate flask of some sort.

  ‘Not all our researches have perished. We’ve had tidings of great treachery in the north. You know that war is coming. The signs of that are as plain as the morning star. But with our instruments we have been able to probe the heavens for clues and fragments of prophecy. It’s difficult work, and Morrslieb clouds our efforts. But some things are clear to us. We have written our findings down. They are contained in scrolls within this vessel, written in an Imperial battle cipher. You must take them to the proper recipient. Time is short. If we wish to salvage something from this disaster, then you must act now.’

  Greta’s face wore an urgent, pleading look. Alexander struggled to take the information in. This was unexpected, and the unexpected was always unwelcome. In a world full of tricks and treachery, taking the word of another at face valu
e was a fool’s habit.

  ‘Slow down,’ Alexander said, throwing another log on to the fire. ‘Who is this recipient? And what’s written in the scrolls?’

  The Celestial wizard sighed impatiently.

  ‘I will tell you all I know, but there is much that remains unclear,’ she said. ‘To the north of Altdorf lies the estate of the Lord Heinrich. He has been charged with the defence of the swathe of land which covers the approaches to the city. With so many Imperial forces engaged across such a vast area of territory elsewhere, his defence is a crucial link in the ring of steel which surrounds the heart of the Empire. He has been battling against plague and mutiny to raise an army with which to resist the storm we all expect. It’s not been easy, but he is a man of uncommon determination. And yet we fear for him. All our portents tell of treachery. What form it will take, we cannot precisely say. But he must be forewarned. There is an alliance between him and the other magnates of the northern Reikland. It may be that one of them is the traitor, or that the blackheart lies within his own court.

  ‘In any case, he must tread carefully. The plans for the alliance must be changed, for the enemy knows of them. Our discovery of this plan is surely the reason for our destruction, for the Master of Change is subtle and vengeful. Even here, within a day’s ride of the Imperial Palace, our efforts are open to attack. Lord Heinrich must be warned. If we had not been discovered, we would have sent messengers of our own. But now there is only you and me. I must stay to guard the observatory and send for help. You must take the scroll.’

  Alexander felt his spirits slump. A ride through bandit and plague-infested country into the heart of incoming battle was not something to be savoured. He stared moodily into the fire, trying to digest what he was being told and find a flaw in the Celestial wizard’s reasoning.

  ‘Would it not be better to take this to Altdorf?’ he said, looking distastefully at the slim brass vessel in her hands.

  Greta shook her head.

  ‘Time is short, Bright wizard,’ she said. ‘Altdorf is a nest of snakes, and we sense treachery there too. The message must be taken to Heinrich.’

  Alexander suddenly felt the cool presence of the Griffon pendant against his chest. Sourly, he recalled his inauguration in the Bright College. Greta coughed uncomfortably, and shifted against the stone.

  ‘I can sense your uncertainty,’ she said. ‘Put it aside. There are more forces in the world other than those of the Dark Gods. You were meant to come here. Blessed Sigmar has no doubt ordained it. He preserves His people.’

  Alexander shrugged. He had no especial love for Sigmar or for his fanatical temple, but it was wise not to let such views slip out in the current fevered climate.

  ‘That He does,’ he said in a non-committal tone. ‘And it’s no good arguing with a god.’

  Greta nodded sagely, apparently missing the irony. Alexander sighed, and pulled his ramshackle cloak more tightly over his shoulders.

  ‘Well, I’m not going anywhere tonight,’ he said, feeling the weariness of a long day catch up with him. ‘My horse has disappeared, and these mountains are treacherous at night. We’ll talk again in the morning. Until then, we both need some sleep. I’ll keep watch for a while, and wake you when I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. Try to get some rest.’

  Greta opened her mouth, clearly about to protest, but then evidently thought better of it. The fatigue was palpable about her eyes and in her slumped shoulders.

  ‘Very well, Alexander. We’ll discuss this again in the morning.’

  With that, the Celestial wizard nestled into the corner of the rough outhouse, and curled up amidst her tattered and bloodstained robes. Within just a few moments, she had slipped into an exhausted slumber. The brass vessel was cradled close to her bosom, and even in sleep her fingers were wound about it tightly. Alexander looked dispassionately at it in the flickering shadows. It had a malignant air.

  He stood up stiffly, and piled more wood on to the fire. The flames rose higher, and something of the chill of the night was eased. He opened the shaky wooden door, and walked around the outhouse for a little while, letting the ache in his joints subside. The stars were out, and the moon rode high in the night sky. In the west, the sickly glow of Morrslieb blighted the horizon, and lent the shadows of the trees an unhealthy lustre. He shuddered slightly, both against the growing cold and the baleful presence of the moon of Chaos. After a cursory look around to check for anything untoward, he stalked back to the relative comfort of the outhouse and closed the door behind him.

  As he went, he failed to notice the presence hidden in the inky shadow of the millwheel. Only when the door had been shut once more and silence resumed did the hidden ragged shape begin its tortuous progress once more, wheezing and hissing, dragging its broken body along the ground and down towards the valley. It had come from the observatory. Its clothes were ragged, burned and bloodstained. In the darkness, its eyes still glittered with a determined hatred. Not all the attackers had been destroyed.

  With each agonising pull, it moved further away from the observatory, and nearer to Altdorf.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The elven hawkship Asuryan’s Might surged through the rising swell. Night had fallen, and the silver sheen of the moon over the waves had once more been spoilt by the lurid glare of the accursed Chaos orb travelling in its wake. The Archmage Artheris stood at the highest point of the prow, feeling the salt air run through her long tresses, taking some enjoyment from the cold air after a long confinement below. But her pleasure was tinged with the constant awareness of the contagion around her. Even so far from the shores of the Old World, the blight of dark magic was apparent to her. It was just as Teclis had warned her. A power had been unleashed which had corrupted the very fabric of the world. Everywhere she looked, the veneer of corruption was present. Whatever force had been let loose in the far north, it was one of formidable power.

  She stood close against the graceful curves of the ship’s bow, resting a slender hand on the polished white wood. Her long robes rose and fell in the play of the wind, streaming out behind her and flecked with foam. Unlike many of her kind, she eschewed the liberal embroidery of runes and glyphs on her raiment, and her bone-white cloak was entirely blank. For those not schooled in the ways of magic, she projected a rather unassuming aura. Though tall, she was slightly built and seemingly frail. Only one tuned to the unseen currents of the winds of magic would have sensed the enormous latent power in her fingers. To a fellow magician, Artheris’s might would have been as evident as the morning sun blazing through clouds of mist. Only when she consciously chose to hide it was her nature hidden. Out in the open sea and surrounded by warriors of Ulthuan, she could let her guard down. It was some comfort against the sapping influence of the Chaos moon to remind herself of her long training, her subtle skills, and her true nature.

  ‘My lady archmage,’ came a low voice behind her.

  Artheris turned and saw Morgil standing patiently below her on the deck. She had heard nothing of his coming. That was no surprise, given his peculiar skills. In the deep shadows of the deck behind him, Khera lay alone, her deep and mournful eyes trained unerringly upon her.

  Artheris smiled, and stepped down to greet her White Lion bodyguard. In the lee of the hull once more, her cloak settled gracefully about her, and she pushed her long hair back from her face.

  ‘Morgil,’ she said lightly. ‘What brings you here?’

  The White Lion looked slightly embarrassed.

  ‘The captain,’ he said. ‘A storm is coming, and he fears for your safety. He asks if you’ll consider coming below.’

  Artheris laughed lightly, and turned back to scan the eastern horizon. There were clouds built-up against the dark water and the faint aroma of rain in the salty air.

  ‘I’m sure he’s right,’ she said in an amused voice. ‘If he lost his archmage over the side, his command would go down with her. Thank him for his concern, will you?’

  Morgil bowed, but did not hu
rry to leave.

  ‘The man worries too much,’ he said flatly. ‘Caution has dogged us throughout this voyage. I’d welcome more speed and less care.’

  At his feet, Khera growled in approval. The massive lioness was uncomfortable at sea, and during the day was in the habit of pacing up and down the narrow decks in frustration. The bond she shared with Morgil was uncannily close. Artheris suppressed the urge to reach down and caress the beautiful ivory fur which framed her majestic head. Archmage or not, such effrontery was liable to lose her a hand. She went over to a low bench alongside the curving railing of the ship’s edge and sat down.

  ‘Remember my warning to you, White Lion,’ she said, regarding him with both fondness and admonishment. ‘Your desire for the battle commends you, but your weakness is haste. The emotions are a useful tool, but they can also lead to ruin.’

  Morgil bowed.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve long since learned to live with the consequences of my mistakes. But this slow progress frustrates me. We can’t do anything while at sea. Every day that passes increases the strength of our enemies.’

  Artheris looked out over the moonlit waves. The other ships of the flotilla laboured to keep up with the flagship. Across the vast expanse of the ocean they looked small and isolated. Once again she found herself questioning the decision to send an advance force ahead of the main host. She knew her master Teclis feared an attack on Ulthuan, but the humans would be disappointed when she arrived with less than the mighty legions they might have hoped for. Surely Finubar would relent and come himself soon. She hoped it would be so.

  Artheris put such thoughts to one side and turned her attention back to Morgil. Like Khera, he looked unhappy at being caged. The warriors of Chrace were not natural seafarers. Their skills were more usefully employed on land, where their peerless tracking skills could be put to deadly purpose.

  ‘The power of Chaos in this place is strong,’ she said. ‘While the Sariour na Yenlui is risen, all of our efforts are diminished. The captain knows what he’s doing, and makes what speed he can. I can feel the elements ranged against us just as he does, and even my power is dimmed.’