A low growl from Khera, slumped at his feet, returned his attention to their destination. The lioness was looking forward to having solid ground under her pads once more, and he couldn’t blame her for that. On either side of the flotilla of asur vessels, the wide river was gradually filling with other ships. Mighty galleons of the Empire jostled with scruffy trading brigs, heavy barges travelling low in the water, sleek pleasure yachts, and smatterings of more exotic craft. The humans had a variety in their appearance which went far beyond the minor differences between high elves. No doubt this was due to their propensity for unguarded rutting. They spread themselves across the world like a plague.
Morgil admonished himself for his thoughts. While in Elthin Arvan he knew he must work hard to curb his disdain for the ways of men. It was the humans’ very strength in numbers which made them a valuable ally. Though their brutishness and waywardness was legendary, the alliance was necessary, and Artheris would not thank him for making her job more difficult than it already was.
Slowly, taking care to avoid the cluttered river traffic, the asur fleet made its way to the heart of the docks. As they went, Morgil found the astonished looks of the human sailors mildly amusing. In contrast to their clinker-built, bilge-laden craft, the hawkships of Ulthuan must have been like visitations from some race of gods. He enjoyed watching the smooth skill of the pilots as they guided the mighty ships to their allotted berths. The easy manoeuvrability of the pale vessels was in stark contrast to the wallowing and rocking of the human equivalents as they struggled to make their way into the navigation channels.
Despite himself, Morgil found a sneaking admiration develop inside him as they neared the heart of the mighty city. Long ago, he had read accounts of the travels of the young Finubar to the lands of men, and had only half believed them. Such suspicions were not really worthy of him with regard to the Phoenix King, and he was surprised and pleased to see that the writings had been accurate.
Though less impressive than the ancient towers and harbours of Lothern, the humans had created a fantastic edifice at the confluence of the Reik and Talabec. Mighty embankments of stone had been sunk into the old river edges and now rose high into the air, crowned with statues of past emperors and mighty warriors. Huge, bustling docks punctured the massive walls at regular intervals, and ships of all descriptions sat rocking gently in the swell. All decks were hives of activity, with men pouring over them to load or unload the cargo. Unwieldy cranes and pulleys hauled bags and crates from within the cavernous holds. Goods were then instantly transported into the heart of the city on the backs of mules or in lumbering wains.
Everywhere he looked, his senses were assailed. The smell was overpowering. Fish was the main odour, closely followed by the stench of sewerage. Tall chimneys belched a thick brown smoke into the morning air, staining the sky and adding a pungent smell of their own to the cacophony of scents wafting over the grey water. There was construction work going on everywhere. Many of the creaking towers and wood-frame buildings looked ready to collapse at any moment. Clearly they did so on a fairly regular basis, for there were many gaps in the crowded skyline. Most were hurriedly being filled by new constructions of dark brick, rough-cut stone, or stained wattle and daub. It was like a bizarre forest of twisted and grasping houses. When one fell, the clearing was soon filled with new growth, racing up towards the scarce sunlight and aiming to loom as high over its neighbours as possible.
The ships continued their stately progress, and the very centre of the city soon loomed ahead of them. The growing number of tall towers and ornate spires were now impressive by any standards, and vast thickets of them rose high into the cold air. A bewildering array of pennants and standards flapped and fluttered in the breeze. Morgil recognised the huge standard of the Empire on many of the buildings, but most other devices were completely new to him. He guessed many were the symbols of noble houses, just as existed on Ulthuan. Some even looked half elvish.
As the ship neared its vast allocated dock, Morgil looked with interest at the bustle on the near shore. Within the narrow gaps between the huge warehouses and storerooms, winding stairs of cut stone threaded their way upwards from the river edge. He caught glimpses of heavily shaded courtyards and rubbish-strewn streets. Wherever his gaze alighted, throngs of people were pushing past one another, calling out slogans or obscenities, hawking wares or drinking from pewter tankards, fighting, laughing, or flirting. It was a picture of vitality and excess, quite unlike the echoing streets of Lothern or Tor Achare.
But there was ugliness too. Morgil’s farseeing eyes caught plenty of signs of sickness and frailty in the many humans who milled about in the confined spaces. The plague of which he had heard so much had left its mark. It looked like whole areas had been cordoned off to ward against infection. The stain of age lay heavy on even the most imposing buildings, and there was none of the careful craftsmanship which marked the lowliest creations of his own kind. The whole place, despite its massive scale and imposing aura, seemed strangely frail and impermanent. They worked quickly, these humans, and created great things. But with their short lives, their propensity for self-destruction and corruption, would their achievements stand the cruel test of history?
Morgil found himself undecided on that question even as the flagship gently moved into its berth. On the quayside, several hundred humans waited for their arrival. Soldiers were everywhere, holding back the curious crowds with heavy halberds and pikes. He recognised a few asur waiting patiently amongst the throng. No doubt they were members of the embassy. There was also a phalanx of Imperial knights in gleaming armour. Most had the ridiculous facial hair so beloved of human warriors, but even Morgil had to admit they looked impressively deadly in their finery. Beside them stood humans in rich robes of crimson and purple. These were mostly fat, and had none of the aura of the warrior or the mage about them. Morgil found this confusing. Were they leaders of the people? If so, why were they not fighters or spellcasters? Another strange human custom, perhaps.
The ship touched the side lightly, and immediately elven shiphands leapt on to the stone quay and made the prow secure. A few moments later and the Asuryan’s Might was safely tied up. Morgil observed the quayside carefully. The humans had constructed an elaborate bridge, which was winched across the narrow gap with much effort and pulling of ropes. It looked like dozens of dignitaries had emerged to greet them. Most were dressed in ostentatious silks and looked ridiculous. Many gazed at the asur with barely-concealed wonder. But there were some tall warriors amongst them too, men of battle with stern faces and notched armour.
Artheris looked at Morgil with a cool smile on her elegant features.
‘Our first taste of Altdorf,’ she said.
The artfully carved bridge was made secure. At a hidden signal, the knights drew their swords in a glittering wave and raised them in salute. Artheris stepped carefully on to the bridge, and went smoothly to meet the lead fat man. Morgil watched her progress carefully, following close behind. The humans hid their awe poorly. It was as if the asur had descended from the heavens themselves to commune with the lowly inhabitants of the underworld.
The fat man came forward and bowed low to Artheris.
‘In the name of the Blessed Emperor Karl Franz, Master of the Empire of Men and the Regent of Holy Sigmar, I greet you. I am Gerhard, the Imperial Chancellor. I have been tasked to escort you to the embassy of your people, where you may refresh yourself before the council tomorrow morning at the palace. I trust and pray you had a pleasant crossing?’
A tall elf standing amongst the humans and wearing ambassador’s robes rolled his eyes wearily. He was probably bored of such speeches. Artheris herself inclined her head politely.
‘Please convey the greetings of the Phoenix King to the Emperor Karl Franz. I look forward to meeting him. Our peoples have much to learn from one another, and we have many matters to discuss.’
As she spoke, a line of Swordmasters silently left the ship and formed an honour guard aro
und the archmage. Their cold grey eyes searched the crowd incessantly, looking for any sign of danger. Morgil, standing at her shoulder, did the same. The Imperial knights looked at them with some suspicion. There was a slight air of tension between the two sets of warriors, but nothing more than that. Morgil was pleased to find that when he looked into the eyes of the captain of the human soldiers, the human met his gaze solidly. There was curiosity in his expression, and a hint of resentment that his role as protector was being undermined, but no fear. He had the heart of a warrior, and that was reassuring.
Suddenly, there was a commotion amongst the human crowd. There were cries of alarm, and the knights placed their hands on their weapons nervously, pushing back against the struggling throng behind them.
‘A monster!’ shouted a thin voice over the tumult. The alarm began to turn to anger and fear.
Morgil turned quickly, fearing the worst, and saw Khera standing on the quayside looking impassively at the panicking crowd. She looked utterly unconcerned by the torrent of abuse and rage directed at her. Morgil was caught in a moment of rare indecision. Who knew what these ignorant humans would do if he made a move towards her? His first inclination was to angrily berate them for their stupidity, but he successfully restrained himself.
Then, the tension broke. Artheris gave a light laugh, and went over to stand by the lion.
‘Chancellor,’ she said, her voice clear and level. ‘This is no creature of darkness, but the creature of my bodyguard. It is the custom of his people to travel with such a companion from time to time. Believe me, there is no deadlier foe of our enemies than a white lioness of Chrace. I believe the females of her kind are even more deadly than the male. As am I, of course.’
Her words drifted across the crowd like a soothing balm, and seemed to be strangely audible over the noise even though her voice was soft and comforting. Morgil admired her skill. There was a subtle magic in her speech, and the raised voices ebbed to suspicious mutters.
The Chancellor gave a nervous laugh.
‘Of course!’ he said, his voice pinched and uncertain. ‘I myself have seen similar specimens in the Imperial Menagerie. Though it is unusual to see one walking freely beside men in this way. Forgive our people for their accusations. They are not used to seeing such majestic folk amongst them.’
The archmage bowed gracefully.
‘So it is always with new acquaintances. Now, we must not detain you here any longer. Perhaps you would be good enough to accompany me to the embassy? As we travel, you can tell me the history of this place.’
The chancellor beamed with pleasure, and instructed the knights to clear the path ahead of them. Slowly and deliberately, the delegation began to make its way from the quayside and up into the bustling streets of the capital. Behind them, more asur soldiers disembarked, drawing fresh gasps of amazement from the growing crowd. The remaining ships had also docked, and the numbers of elves arrayed in shining armour on the dockside grew.
Morgil smiled to himself. The humans would be talking of this day for years to come. Then he turned and followed the archmage as she walked ahead with the chancellor. The streets were narrowing, and there were plenty of opportunities for an ambush. With a hand on his axe, he kept close. He would have precious little rest over the next few days, and this was only the beginning.
Emil Schulmann smiled to himself.
‘He’s good, this one,’ he said to Friedrich, and handed him the spyglass.
The old man took the contraption with some suspicion. Emil knew he hated using it. To his old eyes, it must seem like a machine of strange and forbidding magic. There could be no other explanation for the way it brought distant objects into such clear focus, and the devices inscribed on its iron surface were strange and outlandish. Emil knew slightly better. It was dwarfish, and had been looted from one of Heinrich’s more remote armouries. But he enjoyed letting his men think there was something magical about it. It enhanced his prestige.
Reluctantly, Friedrich placed the tube to his good eye and took a moment to scan the view ahead.
‘Aha,’ he said at last. ‘I see them. They’re hiding along the road to the south. How did they know our route? A traitor?’
Friedrich handed the spyglass back to Emil, and looked worried. Emil shook his head.
‘No, I think not,’ Emil said, taking a second look himself. ‘I’d know if some of the men were less than committed. They’re perfectly aware of what Heinrich would do to them if they tried to go back, informer or no. My guess is that the man on our trail is just very good at his job.’
Emil put the spyglass down again and sheathed it carefully in its protective covering before putting it away. He felt a strange sensation within him. He ought to have been profoundly annoyed that Heinrich’s forces had tracked him down, but for some reason he wasn’t. Instead he was consumed by a new feeling, something like exhilaration. The prospect of a real contest, a trial of minds, gave him a peculiar rush.
Friedrich looked at him blankly.
‘So what do we do?’ he asked.
Emil thought for a moment.
‘If I were him,’ he mused, pulling his earlobe absently, ‘I wouldn’t have committed my full force to the ambush. It gives us options. We must be careful, for I don’t think this captain is stupid. But he can’t know how many of us there are here. If we sent a troop of fast riders into the trap, we might spring it. With his best men distracted, the rest of our forces can punch their way south and make it to the safety of the crossroads.’
Friedrich looked unconvinced.
‘It’s dangerous. We can’t afford a pitched battle, not in our state. We must reach the crossroads and rebuild from there.’
Emil grinned at him wolfishly.
‘Where’s your spirit of adventure, man? We’re dead men anyway. Let’s see how sharp this lackey of Heinrich’s is before we face the gallows, eh?’
Emil knew that Friedrich disliked his black sense of humour, but the old man merely nodded and got to his feet.
‘So be it,’ he said, wearily. ‘Let’s do it right, though.’
The two men hurried down from the high hilltop back to the heavily wooded hollow in which the bulk of his men waited patiently. After so many attacks by plague creatures, he was glad to see them still looking to him with trust in their eyes. Perhaps, given all they had been through working for the tyrannous Lord Heinrich, it would take more than he thought for them to foreswear involvement with the uprising.
‘Men!’ called out Emil in a strong voice. ‘We’re going to push on to the crossroads and take refuge there. There are more troops waiting for us at the Emperor’s Arms, and with their help we should be able to hold out there for a while and recover our strength. But we have to get there first. There’s a trap waiting for us ahead. I want twenty of you to come with me. Only volunteer if you’re a good rider and can handle your horse in the forest paths. I plan to lead Heinrich’s men a merry dance while the rest of you move towards the crossroads under the cover of the trees. If we get it right, we’ll arrive intact and ready to take the fight to Heinrich another day. Get it wrong, and we’ll be fighting on his terms, and I don’t want to do that. Now, who’s for it?’
A thicket of hands shot up, and some of the more hot-headed rebels mounted hurriedly and began to push forward.
Laughing with pleasure, Emil quickly selected twenty of the most promising, and divided them from the rest. He mounted himself.
‘Friedrich,’ he called down, ‘wait here for half an hour. We’ll attempt to draw the bulk of his forces away. Then head south as quickly as you can. There’ll be fighting enough for you, but by then we’ll have lured his best troops in a wild goose chase after us. Whoever this captain is, he’ll be dreaming of shadows in the trees for days!’
Emil gave his horse a kick, and the stallion reared theatrically before breaking into a gallop and charging away from the mass of men behind. He was followed immediately by the remaining twenty riders, and together the select band of men to
re through the narrow hunting trails of the endless forests of the lower Reikland. Almost immediately his makeshift army of peasants and mercenaries was lost behind them, and the riders rode alone through the trees. Emil felt his exhilaration return as the land swiftly passed under the thumping hooves. With his hair flowing freely, he was reminded of why he had thrown off the yoke of serfdom.
He had never been particularly radical in his youth, and still didn’t think of himself as a traitor. He had no desire to see the Empire collapse in flames, nor to bring warfare to the lands of men where it was not needed. But the iron fist of Heinrich had fallen on his people too heavily and too often. The plague had been the last straw. When the starving populace had needed help and food, all they had got was a harsher levy and the attentions of the sadistic witch hunters. Only now, unfettered and living free under the ancestral forest, had true freedom returned. He was beholden to no one but himself, and surrounded by his brothers in arms. It was how a man should live, and, if it came to it, how a man should die.
The riders thundered through the brush and undergrowth. Emil knew each of his companions by name. They were good Reikland boys, and he trusted in their skills.
‘Heinrich’s dogs are ahead!’ he shouted to them as they rode. ‘We’ll ride into the trap, and wheel about before they can close it about us. Don’t get too carried away. Turn about at my mark. We’ll drag the bulk of them with us, and the rest will be able to fight their way to the crossroads with greater speed!’
The riders took all this in their stride, and there were curt nods all round. Every face was a tight mask of concentration. They raced onwards. Soon the trees opened up and the wide pitted surface of the great north road hove into view.
‘Nearly there,’ said Emil, muttering to himself.
They galloped down the road. On either side, the land rose sharply until they were entering a shadowed coomb with grey limestone crags towering into the cold sky. Emil looked at the site with approval. If he had been leading the Imperial forces, he might have planned the same thing.
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