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

by Chris Wraight

  Fassbinder nodded, and considered his options. The encounter had gone well. Schulmann, if indeed he had survived, was separated from his command for the time being. The rebels would be demoralised, and even if they managed to rendezvous with reinforcements at the Emperor’s Arms, he still had enough men to finish the job.

  ‘We cannot let them rest,’ he said, matter-of-factly. ‘We will give our troops a moment to recover themselves, but then we must march onwards towards the crossroads. If we allow it, they’ll recover their strength. A swift, decisive stroke is required. This rebellion must be quelled by removing its head. Once the leaders have been killed or taken, the rest will fall apart.’

  Kirchner nodded, and made to leave.

  ‘Aye, sir,’ he said, with approval. ‘I’ll tell the men.’

  Kirchner was about to turn back, when the noise of hooves thudding against the grey earth caught their attention. A rider in Heinrich’s colours, sable and silver, entered the clearing and was stopped by the sentries. After a moment’s consultation, he was waved through, and Fassbinder waited for him to arrive. His heart suddenly misgave him. A message from Heinrich at this stage was unlikely to bring welcome news. The rider dismounted and came towards him. He bowed low.

  ‘Captain Fassbinder,’ he said. ‘I’m glad I finally found you. It’s been hard to pick up your trail.’

  ‘We haven’t exactly been advertising our presence here,’ said the captain, dryly. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘Magnus Aschenwald,’ said the man, brushing himself down and handing him a roll of parchment with their lord’s personal seal on it. ‘Messenger from Lord Heinrich. I’m afraid you’re not going to like my tidings.’

  Fassbinder broke the seal and quickly read the contents of the message.

  ‘Not now…’ he breathed to himself, feeling his earlier satisfaction drift away like ashes in the wind.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Kirchner urgently, a look of concern etched on his face.

  Fassbinder took a deep breath, and fixed the messenger with a look of loathing.

  ‘Lord Heinrich says that his scouts have reported movement from the north,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘A column of Chaos warriors is marching. More men are needed to defend Castle Heinrich, and he is taking his tithe from us. Half of our men are being recalled.’

  Kirchner rounded on the messenger.

  ‘Have you gone mad?’ the lieutenant cried, his voice reflecting his frustration. ‘We’ve been harrying this rebellion for weeks. We’ve almost snuffed it out. With respect, Heinrich is…’

  Fassbinder held up a warning hand, cutting Kirchner off before he could say anything he might live to regret. He turned towards the messenger and looked at him darkly.

  ‘My lieutenant speaks intemperately,’ Fassbinder said, maintaining his calm, flat tone. ‘But he’s right. If we could have a few more days, this whole business will be over. I could bring all of my men back to the castle. We must have more time.’

  The messenger looked uncomfortable.

  ‘I beg forgiveness, captain,’ he said in an apologetic tone. ‘I was told to convey that this matter has been settled.’

  Aschenwald lowered his voice a little.

  ‘If I may speak candidly,’ he said. ‘The lord’s in a bad mood, even for him. The war isn’t going well. The reinforcements from Lord Grauenburg haven’t arrived yet. Everything is being scaled back in order to hold the line. He will not relent on this.’

  Fassbinder felt his heart sink. He had little choice but to comply. He turned away from the messenger, feeling the bitterness well up within him.

  ‘He asks the impossible!’ he hissed to himself, thumping a fist into the palm of his hand in frustration. ‘We almost had him. The rebellion is broken. Just one more push…’

  He took a deep breath, and looked up into the cloudy sky. Kirchner and the messenger both waited patiently for him to make his pronouncement. Fassbinder searched through the available options, not liking any of them. There was always the possibility of ignoring the order, but then he would be little better than Schulmann himself. The Empire was only great because of the rule of law and iron discipline of its defenders. So he had always taught his subordinates, and so he had always believed. For all his faults, Heinrich was no idiot. If a Chaos army really had got close enough to threaten the castle, then it was his duty to release more men to its defence. There was no choice. He took his time, but the answer was never in doubt.

  ‘Very well,’ Fassbinder said at last, feeling somewhat empty. ‘The men need a moment’s rest. When they’re recovered, the reinforcements will ride back with you. Those of us left will just have to bring Schulmann in on our own.’

  Kirchner began to protest, but Fassbinder gave him a look which quickly silenced him. Aschenwald bowed again, and withdrew.

  ‘We’ve been stabbed in the back,’ muttered Kirchner, looking bitterly at Fassbinder.

  The captain kept his expression even, though on the inside he was twice as frustrated as his deputy. This was to have been his triumph.

  ‘Sigmar provides,’ was all he said. ‘We’ll just have to think more creatively. Now go and get some rest. I need to think about our next step from here. Whatever happens, Schulmann can’t be allowed to escape. We’ve got this close, and I’m not going back to Castle Heinrich without him either dead or in irons.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Morgil stood in the main courtyard of the embassy, silently waiting for the archmage. Artheris’s honour guard of Swordmasters were arrayed ready for departure, the morning sun glinting coldly from their silver armour. Khera nuzzled against Morgil’s side, and he absently ran his fingers through the long hair at the base of her neck. He looked up at the outer walls of the embassy. They rose high into the clear sky, tall and graceful. The surroundings were peaceful and serene. Water cascaded from marble fountains. The buildings behind them were harmonious in their proportions and constructed from flawless white stone. But for all its beauty, the embassy was a mere reminder of the homeland, a reconstruction of the smallest part of the glory of Ulthuan. It was a jewel amidst filth.

  Morgil turned from his thoughts. The ambassador, Armorel, had emerged from behind the white doors of the inner sanctum.

  ‘The archmage is coming now,’ Armorel said to Morgil. ‘We’ve been through the plans once more. Let us hope this meeting with the Emperor goes more smoothly.’

  Morgil raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Things are not going well?’

  Armorel shrugged.

  ‘The Emperor had hoped for twice the numbers from Ulthuan. He’ll send another letter, this time by griffon rider. Who knows? It may even be enough to tempt the Phoenix King to come himself. In the meantime, the matter of where to deploy the forces already here is taking longer than expected. Asuryan willing, everything will be settled this morning.’

  As he finished speaking, Artheris herself emerged into the courtyard. The Swordmasters raised their blades in acknowledgement, and both Armorel and Morgil bowed. In the full blaze of the morning sun Artheris looked exquisitely attired. Her long hair had been tied back, accentuating her pale, flawless skin. She walked easily and fluidly, showing few of the subtle signs of fatigue which Morgil had witnessed on the voyage across the sea. Amidst the wide lawns and gentle fountains of the court, her natural cool poise was placed in its perfect setting.

  ‘The guard is prepared, my lady archmage,’ said Morgil. ‘We may leave when you’re ready.’

  ‘We’ll go at once. The Emperor must not be kept waiting.’

  At a signal from the ambassador, the gates in the outer wall opened smoothly. The noise of the street, its bustle and chaos, rushed quickly into the hallowed place. Morgil couldn’t prevent the slightest frown of distaste from marking his features, but quickly put it to one side. The Swordmasters marched briskly out ahead of them and formed a protective cordon. Morgil, Khera and the archmage followed, and the entourage began the short journey from the embassy to the Imperial Palace.

  As t
hey filed into the wide street, the humans swiftly got out of the way. Familiar looks of suspicion and amazement marked their faces. Morgil ignored them. He was satisfied to see the Swordmasters doing their job efficiently. There were no better close combat troops in the entire army. Except White Lions, of course, though he was biased on that score.

  The retinue passed from the wide open spaces of the elven quarter into the more closely-packed streets leading to the sprawling palace complex. There they were met by a company of human soldiers. The Imperial captain, a dour-faced man named Erinstadt, bowed low to Artheris. He exchanged a few words with the captain of the Swordmasters, and the humans fanned out on either side of the retinue. The Swordmasters formed a tight inner circle of steel around the archmage and Morgil, and the delegation set off once more.

  The streets began to fill with people. Morgil focussed his mind on the situation around them. It was in such places that the danger came. There had been no sign of any trouble so far, but it was in his nature to be distrustful. In particular, he didn’t like the overhanging eaves of the great houses lining the streets. At the very least, the risk of being hit by the foul slops thrown from the highest storeys was unacceptably high. The filthiness of the human inhabitants of such places was beyond description.

  ‘You hate this place, don’t you?’ said Artheris as they walked along a busy thoroughfare. As they went, a few drunkards in the endless crowds called out obscenely, but their crude voices were rapidly lost behind them. The Swordmasters were intimidating enough to allow them swift passage through even the densest throng.

  ‘I do not,’ said Morgil. ‘I admire their energy. If we had such numbers on the streets of Lothern then we’d have no fears of decay. But I admit they dismay me. They’re too careless, too corruptible. While we’re here I’ll not rest easy. The chance of attack is too high.’

  Artheris made to reply, but a sudden commotion up ahead distracted her. The Swordmasters had noticed it too. In an instant, their mighty blades were raised. Khera gave a rumbling growl.

  ‘Something’s amiss,’ said Morgil. ‘We’ve made preparations for a swift departure, should trouble arise.’’

  ‘I know the arrangements,’ said Artheris, keeping her eyes fixed on the growing noise ahead. Her voice was calm, but there was a pronounced note of steel in it. Her eyes narrowed, and she seemed to withdraw into herself slightly.

  ‘Druchii!’ she hissed, and Morgil felt his blood run cold.

  Suddenly, figures were bursting from the milling crowd. They looked at first like humans, but their movements gave them away. Dark elves were in the crowd. Morgil pushed his way to the edge of the Swordmaster cordon. It was hard to see how many of them there were. The humans in the street around them scattered instantly, clutching their belongings as they went and screaming with fear. The Imperial troops were slow to react, and several were cut down by the dark elves before they could draw their weapons. The Swordmasters responded instantly. Their massive blades whirled, and dark blood flew high into the air. The cries of druchii were mingled with those of the humans.

  A dark elf warrior charged towards Morgil. The White Lion disdainfully whirled his axe into the path of the attacker’s curved sword. The blade snapped upwards with a clash of sparks. The attacker changed tack, aiming a low kick at Morgil’s ankle whilst stabbing sideways with a second knife into his torso. His movements were quick and assured, but Morgil was a foe beyond his skills. The White Lion grabbed the dark elf’s breastplate and pulled him roughly towards him. He smashed his free fist into the attacker’s face. The warrior crumpled with pain, and staggered backwards. Morgil swung the axe, disembowelling him. A sheen of wine-dark blood splattered across the cobbles of the busy street. With a gurgling sigh, the warrior collapsed on to the ground and his remaining knife rolled free from his pale hands.

  Morgil risked a quick look upwards. Khera had leapt at the throat of an assassin. Her jaws were already drenched in blood. Most of the humans in the street had fled, but there were mercenaries fighting alongside the dark elves. Morgil’s eyes narrowed. They would pay for their stupidity. The Swordmasters were fighting any assassins trying to break the cordon with typical calm, but there were surprising numbers of assailants. More raced out from the shadows. Together with their human allies, they outnumbered the archmage’s retinue. The delegation needed to withdraw.

  Morgil was interrupted by a fresh attack. He let fly a punching blow with the axe before crouching under a wild swipe with a wickedly curved short sword. Then Khera burst from behind him and leapt up at the chest of the warrior. With a thunderous roar of aggression, the lioness barrelled into the slender form of the dark elf and the two tumbled backwards to the ground. Morgil turned to smash a second warrior’s armour with a mighty blow from his axe, then hacked at his neck. The druchii slumped to the stone, decapitated. Khera made her own kill, shaking the mutilated body of the dark elf with abandon.

  Around Morgil the Swordmasters pressed forward, locked in deadly combat with the druchii assailants. They were murderously efficient, but badly outnumbered. The White Lion stepped backwards and leaned his head towards Artheris.

  ‘We must withdraw!’ he cried over the confused noise of battle. ‘You’re not safe here.’

  Artheris nodded quickly. She looked calm and focussed.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Do what you must.’

  Morgil cried out over the noise of the fighting to the Swordmasters. The plans had been carefully laid. All knew there was a side street a short way ahead which led directly back to the embassy. The Emperor could fret as much as he liked about punctuality when all this had died down. The priority was to get the archmage out of harm’s way.

  Once the signal had been given, the Swordmasters acted quickly. The dark elves were pushed back by a well executed counter-charge. Half of the guards remained in the cordon to hold them off. The rest hurried the archmage to one side, remaining around her in an unbroken circle. Morgil followed them, pushing roughly against any humans, allied or otherwise, who blundered into his way. The entourage broke free and hastened down the side street and back towards the embassy. Khera loped alongside them, her face stained with blood.

  Morgil stole a quick look back. From what he could make out, the remaining Swordmasters seemed to be pinning the dark elves back with success. None had broken through to pursue them. A few of Erinstadt’s human troops had remained with his contingent, looking shaken. The street was empty. They were free, and away from danger.

  They rounded a corner. A barrier of rubble, logs and refuse had been placed across their way. It was more than eight feet high. It must have been erected during the night. They had been drawn into a dead end.

  ‘Fall back!’ Morgil cried, but it was too late. From the buildings on either side of them, a flurry of crossbow bolts flew into the confined space. Imperial troops collapsed to the ground, clutching at bolts in agony. The Swordmasters’ blades flashed, and darts were cut from the air. One Swordmaster leapt in front of Artheris at the last second, taking two bolts meant for her. His actions may have saved her life, but they couldn’t prevent every shaft from finding its target. With a cry of pain, the archmage staggered and fell to one knee, her side pierced with a dark-feathered bolt.

  Swordmasters pulled her quickly back from the barrier, and the surviving members of the entourage hastened back the way they had come. With cold certainty, Morgil knew their movements were being controlled. As they tried to retreat, a fresh line of dark elf warriors appeared across the narrow street, barring the route back to the main thoroughfare. They were arrayed openly for battle. Seeing the asur in disorder, they raced forward to meet them, blades flashing in the dull light of the street.

  Morgil made a quick assessment of the situation. Their only hope was to engage the warriors. If they tried to scale the barrier the crossbows would finish them off. With a cry of anger and hatred, Morgil threw himself into the oncoming dark elf assassins, sweeping all before him with his axe. At his side, Khera bounded forward, her
massive claws raking at the faces of the warriors before her. If they had any advantage at all, it was the presence of the white lioness. There were few who could stand against such a beast. She tore through their ranks, scything and crushing, using her enormous power to bludgeon through their assault.

  The surviving Swordmasters had reformed their defensive line. Wherever the dark elves tried to break through towards the prone Artheris, a glittering, whirling barrier of blades prevented them. The druchii assassins came forward time and again, their dancing poisonblades countering the thrusts of the mighty asur swords blow for blow. The combat was bitter and unforgiving. The druchii now outnumbered them even more, but the asur fought with a desperate ferocity.

  Morgil was in the heart of the fighting. He took on two of the assassins directly, sliding heavily into one of them before she could get her weapon into position, and punching the other square in the face. Even under his helmet, the second dark elf staggered backwards from the blow. Morgil spun around and traded lightning quick blows with the first assassin. She was forced back. The combat ended with a vicious swing of Morgil’s axe-blade which severed her sword-arm.

  Sensing the remaining assailant coming up behind him, Morgil ducked down low and half-rolled to one side. His trailing boot caught the dark elf on the knee, and a satisfying crack told him the blow had caused damage. Morgil jumped back up to his full height and lunged with the axe-blade towards the warrior’s shoulder. The dark elf parried, but the force of the blow knocked him off balance.

  Feeling a bitter sense of satisfaction, Morgil buried the blade deep into his chest and wrenched it out roughly. Blood and bone sprayed into the air, and the warrior staggered to the ground, watching in horror as his rib cage opened up and his life drained away before his eyes.