Fassbinder had set a fast pace since the army had left Castle Heinrich. Though nominally in command of the allied companies of troops, in practice the decisions were shared amongst him, Schulmann, Annika and Dieter. It was a very unusual arrangement. But then the army itself was hardly standard.
As he rode, Alexander slowly became aware of Schulmann’s presence at his shoulder. He turned, and gave a thin smile.
‘Feeling good about your decision yet?’ he said, dryly.
The rebel leader shrugged.
‘I haven’t felt good about any of my choices recently,’ he said. ‘But better to be out here than cooped up in there with Lord Ironarse.’
Alexander grinned.
‘Anyway, I owe you an apology,’ said Schulmann, a little gingerly. ‘I didn’t know it was you we’d taken the scrolls from. My men told me they’d fought off a wizard, but they only just told me who it was.’
Alexander felt a twinge of embarrassment again. The whole episode was one he would rather forget.
‘Think nothing of it,’ he said, slightly too earnestly. ‘It worked out for the best. Who knows? Perhaps it was ordained, as our sanctimonious knight clearly believes.’
Alexander nodded towards Dieter, who was deep in consultation with Fassbinder as he rode.
‘Those two are cast from the same mould,’ said Schulmann, grimly.
‘Anyway, they didn’t exactly fight me off,’ said Alexander, his pride wounded. ‘I gave them a display of fire to remember me by. But I have to hand it to them. They picked my pocket as well as any rat-child from Altdorf.’
Schulmann smiled.
‘As I thought,’ he said. ‘I trained them well in some respects, at least.’
A shadow passed over his face then.
‘The man who stole the scrolls is dead now,’ Schulmann said, a trace of bitterness entering his voice. ‘As is Friedrich, my lieutenant. Most of those who started this thing are now gone.’
Alexander paused for a moment before replying.
‘Is that why you gave up?’ he said, carefully. ‘It was a brave decision. I don’t think Heinrich’s the forgiving type.’
Schulmann sighed.
‘There was nowhere for us to go,’ he said. ‘I’d captured Fassbinder, but his army was intact. They’d have come for him. We couldn’t hold them forever. And even if we had, another would have come. Either one from Heinrich, or this Chaos force the scrolls speak of.’
He rode on in silence, looking pained. Alexander didn’t speak.
‘Fassbinder put it best,’ said Schulmann at length. ‘There comes a time when all that matters is that you’re a man. Not a noble, not a peasant, just a man. And when there are those at the gates who only wish to destroy us all, it’s worth remembering. Just words, maybe. But he might have had a point.’
Alexander looked at him thoughtfully. He was about to reply, when hissed warnings passed along the long and straggling column of men. The temple had been sighted. Alexander looked around. Even in the fading light, the countryside did indeed look familiar.
‘Here we go,’ he said to Schulmann. ‘Taal be with us.’
Schulmann raised an eyebrow.
‘And Sigmar.’
They kicked their steeds onward, and joined the rest of the command group at the head of the column. The ragged army came to a standstill, and the tired-looking troops sank to the ground gratefully.
‘We need to get a good look at the place first,’ said Dieter, dismounting heavily. ‘There’ve been no signs of the cabal so far, but we can’t rely on that.’
‘Agreed,’ said Fassbinder, doing likewise. ‘That ridge looks promising. It must overlook the entrance.’
‘I know,’ said Alexander sardonically. ‘We’ve been there.’
The three escapees from the temple, plus Morgil, Fassbinder and Schulmann, walked carefully through the gorse and brambles towards the ridge. As they approached the summit, they fell to their knees, crawling onwards through the straggling vegetation. Alexander found himself next to Morgil, and immediately felt as clumsy as an orc.
‘What are you still doing here?’ Alexander whispered irritably. ‘I thought you had to go hunting or something.’
Morgil’s expression remained blank.
‘It is as you said yourself,’ he replied coldly. ‘She’ll be with the enemy, or nowhere. This is where all scores will be settled.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’re so sure about it,’ muttered Alexander. The elf’s eerie sense of certainty was beginning to annoy him.
They reached the crest of the rise. The full moon had risen in the east, casting a silvery light over the landscape. Morrslieb was still below the horizon, but it had also been waxing to the full over the previous nights. When it rose, it would be at the peak of its malignant power.
Alexander peered through the strands of briar. From his vantage point, the entire valley was laid out before him. The area around the ruined temple entrance was alive with activity. Men, or what looked like men, hurried to and fro carrying burning torches. Great braziers had been set up and were hurriedly being lit. Red light was beginning to spread across the bleak landscape. On either side of the entrance, huge piles of soil and rubble had been raised. Robed figures were freely passing in and out of the re-erected doorway.
‘They’ve been busy,’ hissed Alexander.
Annika frowned, absorbed in the scene below them.
‘Seems so,’ she said. ‘They must have been, to delve back down to the central chamber. We’ve come at just the right time.’
‘Then our role is clear,’ said Dieter, his voice betraying his rising anger. ‘We must sweep down from here and drive them out. We have the men. This place must burn.’
Morgil looked uncharacteristically concerned.
‘There is a strange and potent force at work below,’ he said ominously. ‘I can feel it. Swords are not the only weapons here.’
Alexander looked at Annika, and the witch hunter nodded. She could obviously sense the same thing. Alexander, perhaps the most attuned of all to the emanations of dark magic, felt the aura of wrongness keenly. Whatever they may have done to delay the coming of the abomination had clearly not been enough.
‘We’re going to have to lead the attack ourselves,’ the Bright wizard said, slightly hesitantly. The thought of re-entering the chamber of fire was not welcome. ‘Dieter, Annika and I have been there before. We have the skills needed to bring this to a halt again. But we’ll need support from the soldiers to get there. There must be hundreds of cultists down there.’
Dieter shook his head.
‘Such numbers. This whole land has been corrupted.’
‘Grauenburg,’ spat Annika, the single word enough to convey what she felt.
Fassbinder cast an expert eye over the terrain, and then took a deep breath.
‘Very well,’ he said, resignedly. ‘Our task is clear. The three of you must be delivered to the central chamber once more. Schulmann and I will engage the cultists and keep them from you. May Sigmar guide us. Let’s move.’
The captain glanced at Schulmann quickly, and the two of them shuffled back down the incline to where the rest of the contingent were waiting. Moments later, the whole army was climbing up to the vantage point, keeping their heads and weapons low. In the mingled moonlight and fireglow, their faces looked drawn and unearthly. The lines of men fanned out along the ridge on either side.
Morgil pulled his axe from its bindings, and looked reflectively at the blade.
‘I will come with you to the chamber,’ he said calmly. ‘I will be more use there than culling these corrupted.’
Annika nodded, withdrawing her pistol silently. With hushed noises, the assembled troops unsheathed swords, buckled helmets tight, and muttered prayers to whichever god seemed most likely to aid them. Dieter closed his eyes and made the sign of the comet on his chest. When his eyes reopened, they were lit with a feral light.
‘For the Empire!’ he whispered to himself fervently, and rose to
his feet.
The assembled companies did likewise, emerging from the dark undergrowth in a single flowing movement. The leaders broke cover, and the entire body of men began to charge down the slope towards the temple. There were no battlecries. The need for surprise was paramount. Like an army of ghosts, the Imperial troops sped across the shallow incline, closing the gap between them and the corrupted temple.
Alexander felt the familiar surge of latent magic course through his body. The last time he had been here, he had been exhausted, drained of power and lacking a staff. Though hardly in perfect condition now, he was feeling far stronger. Flickers of fire ran up the length of his staff in readiness, and he could sense the power of Aqshy brimming within him. To be afforded the chance for vengeance was a rare gift, and he intended to make use of it.
The temple neared, and the charge picked up pace. They were spotted by the robed figures. Cries of alarm broke out amongst the cultists milling around the grounds. Before they had a chance to organise themselves, the Imperial troops were in amongst them. The campaign-hardened warriors tore through the unsuspecting crowds of robed figures. Fighting broke out all across the wide space in front of the temple gates. The cultists took up arms, but were on the back foot. Fassbinder and Schulmann’s men slammed into them, driving them back in confusion.
Alexander was quickly into the centre of things. With a snapped command, his staff burst into flame. A startled cultist blundered into his path. He thrust the flaming shaft into his face. The man screamed in agony, scraping at his eyes with desperate fingers. Alexander thrust him aside savagely and pressed on. On his left, Morgil was tearing a path towards the gates. With typical grace, he dispatched any defender foolish enough to stand in his way. His axe moved so quickly it seemed to leave shimmering lines in the air.
Annika was also busy, her short sword flashing in the mixed light. Dieter was slower to arrive at the front. He finally came crashing into the crowds of cultists like an enraged bull. His visor was up, and his snarling visage was terrifying in the fiery light of the braziers. He towered over the rest of the entourage, and hefted his broadsword in huge strokes. Any defender who got near enough to him to land a blow saw their curved blades clatter weakly against his heavy armour. They never got a second chance.
Recovering from their initial surprise, the cultists began to rally. All were armed with curved blades under their robes, and they were still numerous. The advance of the attackers slowed, and the allied troops began to get bogged-down in hand to hand combat.
‘We can hold them!’ cried Fassbinder to Dieter. ‘Enter the temple! We’ll keep them from your backs!’
The captain hurled himself back into the ranks of cultists. Schulmann ran to his side, and the two men were soon in the thick of the fighting. Even in the midst of his own combat, Alexander couldn’t help noticing that they fought in the same way.
‘To me!’ roared Dieter, smashing his armoured gauntlet into the throat of his assailant and sending the limp body crashing to the ground. ‘The gate is clear!’
Alexander sent a burst of flame spinning into the cluster of cultists before him, blasting them aside like rag dolls. He sprinted towards the gates. Annika and Morgil were beside him. Behind them, more troops followed to cut off pursuit. Fassbinder and Schulmann stayed with the bulk of the men to engage the mass of cultist soldiers.
Dieter was unstoppable. He sliced, crunched, beat and hammered his way through any opposition. He seemed to have entered some crazed state, and he hurled his huge sword around as if it were a cutlass. With Morgil and Annika at his side, the path to the entrance was cleared in moments. The quartet raced into the familiar tunnels, and descended quickly. Signs of ruin were everywhere. Crumbling stonework had been propped up by massive wooden scaffolds, and there were excavation marks on every wall. Huge labour must have been expended to reopen the fallen corridors. Alexander let his staff bloom more powerfully, lighting their way by his fire. Any defenders in their path were ruthlessly cut aside. They were heading to the heart of it.
As they went, the sense of dread grew. A throbbing, heaving noise filled the narrow spaces. There was no chanting, just a dull roar. Even as he ran, Alexander could feel nausea grip him. Of his companions, only Morgil seemed unaffected, but the elf could clearly sense something. His expression had turned to one of utter disgust and loathing.
They hurried down the winding ways, past the defaced emblems of Sigmar, through the deep places where Alexander had been interrogated. The roar grew. It was like a huge, turbulent inferno raging. At the edges of his vision, Alexander could see flickers of dark force skirling over the stonework. He fed more power to his staff, willing the bright light to cut through the thickening slurry of fear.
They burst into the altar room. The spinning ball of fire had returned, but it was twice as big as before. It stretched nearly across the entire dome of the chamber, swirling and glowing madly. Vast sheets of flames circled it. Amidst the roaring heat, a massive dark shape was moving. Like a foetus, it curled and span within the magma, flailing with indistinct limbs. It was on the cusp of birth, teetering in the space between worlds.
‘The abomination!’ cried Dieter, and raced towards it, sword held high.
Annika stood aside and reloaded her pistol. She fired three shots in quick succession. Each bullet plunged into the ragged sphere, and a scream of anguish and hatred tore from the tortured surface. Streams of fire hurled themselves outwards from the orb, slamming into the walls and exploding in showers of molten stone.
Directly beneath the surging ball of energy, a figure stood. Even amidst the surging magic, his aura of sorcery was evident. Alexander looked around the chamber quickly. No other cultists were to be seen. The robed sorcerer was tall, and his purple cloak rippled against the billowing waves of magic. Then Alexander saw a second man. He had a grotesquely misshapen body and had been strapped to the altar. The man writhed against his bonds weakly.
Morgil leapt forward, his eyes like ice.
‘Druchii!’ he spat.
As soon as he said it, Alexander saw it was true. The sorcerer was no human. Morgil lost all restraint and ran at the dark elf, his axe whirling around him. Dieter and Annika followed in his wake.
The sorcerer laughed, and raised his staff of iron. The sphere above him responded, and a wall of liquid flame burst towards the attackers. All three were hurled backwards like children.
‘Too late!’ cried Malek, his face a mask of triumph and bloodlust. ‘Nothing can stop this now! He is coming! Just one more sacrifice will break the barrier!’
Alexander hissed words of power, and a screaming torrent of his own flame shot towards the altar. It curled back on itself, sucked upwards by the raging inferno, and was absorbed.
Inviolate, the dark elf turned to the altar.
‘You fool, Klosser!’ he spat, gloating over the straining body of the broken human sorcerer. ‘Did you think there would be any redemption for one such as you? Only in death will you now serve!’
Malek raised a curved knife high. The orb of flame blazed wildly. The roar reached deafening levels. Rocks began to dislodge from the roof of the chamber. The hastily-repaired dome was falling apart, unable to contain the forces within it.
Alexander reached deep within himself, willing more power to flow to his fingers. A dark ball of heavy smoke began to spin into being as it had before, sucking the flames around him into nothingness. But it was insignificant compared to the inferno raging around him. In despair, he cast it into the centre of the orb. At the same moment, Malek’s knife fell, and a gurgled scream rose from the altar. Klosser writhed wildly as the blade plunged downwards, coughing blood high into the intense blaze.
The roar changed. Like a mighty creature of the deep crashing through the waves into the air, the dull rumble instantly became a scream of awareness. Vast streams of energy crackled from the epicentre of the sphere, lashing against the stone, smashing holes in the roof, lacerating the intricate masonry. Alexander flung himself to one s
ide as a massive keystone crashed to earth beside him. The floor was reeling.
The swirling sphere was accelerating. It began to spin faster and faster. A high-pitched wail was added to the cacophony of unnatural noise. Forces had been unleashed which were beyond any of them. Alexander crawled over to the prone forms of his companions. They gazed as one on the birth of the monster, transfixed by horror.
The dark foetus flailed wildly, growing in size, gorging and rippling. A massive column of lurid fire surged upwards. It smashed against the roof, shattering it, breaking into the open. The dome was blasted apart. Starlight shone suddenly through the breach, and a howling gale rushed to greet to the power unleashed from beneath the ground. The huge buttresses and arches were thrown far into the night, falling like ruinous rain far from the gaping hole which had once been the roof of the chamber. The altar was exposed to the night air.
Nearly overcome with horror, Alexander saw the full face of Morrslieb in the night sky above. With a screeching wail, the skein of fire around the sphere rushed outwards and exploded, tearing away into nothingness. From within, a vast shape uncurled itself. Massive clawed feet descended, crushing the stones where they fell. A shimmering, many-coloured torso soared upwards. The roaring dissipated, to be replaced by an ear-splitting scream of triumph. Vast pinions uncurled and stretched far into the night. A mighty staff, huge beyond the dreams of any mortal wizard, stretched into being. It was crowned with a massive gold symbol of Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, and dark magic rippled from it.
A huge, heavy head rose. It was like some dread, distorted bird. A heavy curved beak, flashing and gleaming with dazzling colours, opened wide. Rows of teeth the length of a man’s forearm glittered within it. A long, lascivious tongue flickered across them. Its eyes, pools of swirling, vivid hues, snapped open. It stared around itself, and took a deep, scraping breath of real air. It raised its two scaly arms high, and dark energy spat and flickered around it.
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