Blackhearts: The Omnibus

by Nathan Long

  The back wall was a finely painted frieze of Shallya holding a golden chalice to the lips of a dying hero as a host of Shallyan nuns looked on. Though age had dulled it, and the Kurgans had defaced it with axe and fire, it was still beautiful, with much gold leaf and intricate detail. Reiner could see every hair of Shallya’s tresses.

  Veirt looked around, confused. ‘Is this it?’

  ‘Stand well back,’ said Lady Magda, ‘and I will show you.’

  Veirt backed to the door, motioning his men behind him. Lady Magda faced the painting and began to speak in a language Reiner half-recognised from his studies at university as an archaic ancestor of his own. Her hands moved constantly as she chanted, describing precise patterns in the air. At last she spread her arms wide, and with a grating of stone on stone, the entire back wall swung slowly out on a hidden hinge, crushing the scattered bones and shards of marble on the floor to powder until it touched the left wall.

  As the torchlight found its way through billowing bone dust to the area behind the secret door, Reiner could see that it was larger than the mausoleum, much larger. Wide stairs led down to a vaulted central chamber that seemed almost as big as the chapel upstairs, and dark archways opened into further rooms all along the perimeter.

  A weak voice came from inside. ‘Abbess? Is… is that you?’

  ‘Who’s there?’ Lady Magda peered through the dust.

  Small forms in Shallyan robes lay like drifts of grey snow around the door. More nuns, skeletal, with gaunt faces and black lips.

  One still lived. A gangrenous wound had blackened her left arm up to the shoulder and it smelled of death. Pink pus bubbled from her lips. It looked as if she had tried to eat the leather of her slippers and belt to stay alive. She raised her head as if it weighed as much as the chapel. Her dull, sunken eyes blinked. ‘Praise Shallya, we thought they had killed…’ She paused as she saw Magda approaching, and her eyes widened. ‘Magda…’ she croaked. ‘You…’

  Lady Magda knelt and covered the holy woman’s mouth with her hand. ‘Don’t speak, sister. There is no need. I know what you desire.’

  Magda drew her eating knife from her belt, and before any of the men even knew what she was doing, sunk it into the sister’s neck just below the jaw, piercing the artery, then did the same on the other side. The woman’s blood flowed out of her like water.

  ‘Lady!’ cried Veirt, shocked. The others murmured under their breath, confused.

  Magda ignored him, whispering a prayer over the dying sister and moving her hands in ritual patterns. When she was finished, and the sister had breathed her last, she turned to the captain. ‘I apologise. Her wound was too far gone. It was the only mercy I could give her.’

  Veirt looked at her levelly for a long moment, then bowed his head. ‘I understand, m’lady. Sorry to have spoken.’

  ‘It matters not. Come, let us finish our business here and leave this unhappy place.’

  Veirt and Lady Magda entered first, kicking up puffs of dust with each step as they walked down the stairs to the central chamber. The others followed, quieted by the sister’s actions. Reiner heard Hals mutter to Pavel under his breath. ‘That’s a cold one, and no mistake, mercy or no.’

  Pavel nodded and Reiner had to agree as well.

  Magda stopped in the centre of the main chamber. ‘These are the convent’s holiest treasures, acquired over the centuries. Gifts and relics and tomes of forgotten wisdom. Here also lie many heroes and martyrs who gave their lives in the defence of Shallya and the Empire.’

  Giano, Hals and Pavel looked around with greedy eyes, but were quickly disappointed.

  ‘It’s just a lot of old books,’ said Hals.

  Reiner smirked. Though he was as fond of coin as any man who made the dice his life, he had been a student as well, and the ‘old books’ Hals scoffed at were greater treasures in his eyes than jewel-encrusted swords and chalices of gold ever could be. Reiner longed to be able to flip through them all and feast on the old knowledge, the stories out of the mists of time, the strange histories that were contained there. What a treat. The books were stacked all over, surrounding a few legitimate treasures: statues, paintings, suits of armour, the finger-bones of Shallyan saints displayed in reliquaries, iron-bound chests that could have held anything from manuscripts to gold crowns.

  ‘Which is Kelgoth’s crypt?’ asked Veirt.

  For the first time since he had met her, Reiner saw uncertainty in Lady Magda’s eyes. She pursed her lips. ‘It has been many years since I entered this place. I believe it is one of the three along the far wall, but I cannot be sure.’

  Veirt sighed and looked around at the men. ‘All right, you gallows birds, if we want to get out of these mountains before sundown we need to find this relic quick. You will help the lady search, but you will not slip any bits and pieces into your pockets, or I will pull off your fingers one by one, do I make myself clear?’

  The men nodded.

  ‘Right then, listen first,’ said Veirt. ‘What you’re looking for is a battle standard.’ The captain’s voice suddenly trembled with emotion. ‘The Griffin’s Wing. The Heart of Kelgoth, known since the battle of Morntau Crag as…’

  ‘Valnir’s Bane!’ said Erich in a reverent whisper. ‘By the hammer!’

  ‘Never heard of it,’ grumbled Hals.

  Erich sneered. ‘Ignorant villain, it is one of the great lost relics of the Empire. A banner so pure and powerful that the mere sight of it could give an entire army the courage of a griffin.’

  ‘Legend has it,’ continued Veirt, ‘that at Morntau, the daemon Valnir shattered the hammer of Lord Daegen Kelgoth and pierced his heart with a sword of flame. But with his dying breath, Kelgoth snatched up the Griffin’s Wing, his family’s sacred banner, and plunged the halberd on which it was mounted into the daemon’s mouth, slaying it. Kelgoth died as well, but the day was saved and his name has inspired generations to valour.’

  ‘Never heard of him either,’ said Hals.

  ‘I don’t remember hearing that the banner was lost,’ said Reiner, who vaguely recalled the legend from his tutor’s lessons. ‘I thought it was destroyed.’

  ‘It was neither lost nor destroyed,’ said Lady Magda brusquely. ‘It was hidden away. Returned to the tomb of the hero who wielded it. For its power was too strong a temptation to ambitious men, who used it against their fellows rather than evil.’

  Reiner raised an eyebrow. ‘And you’ve noticed a change for the better in man’s nature of late?’

  ‘Hardly,’ said Lady Magda. ‘But desperate times require desperate measures. When we bring it to him, Baron Albrecht will use the Bane to instil in his troops the courage to turn back the Chaos tide and save these mountains from the foul clutches of Chaos.’ She glared around at them all. ‘Now may we begin the search?’

  The men nodded and turned toward the crypts.

  ‘The banner is described as pure white,’ called Veirt as they spread out. ‘With a griffin rampant emblazoned upon it in gold and silver thread, flanked by the hammer and the chalice and crowned with the jewelled circlet of the Lords of Kelgoth.’

  ‘If you find it,’ added Lady Magda, ‘do not touch it, but call to me. It is too powerful and dangerous for the uninitiated to hold.’

  The men began peeking into the crypts. Those of Shallyan martyrs were plain, with simple coffins and pious verse engraved on the walls. The crypts of heroes were more elaborate, with sarcophagi carved into the likenesses of their occupants and frescos of battle scenes painted on the walls.

  Reiner and Franz investigated an arch in the back wall. Reiner raised his torch. A crowned ‘K’ was carved over the lintel.

  He smirked. ‘Promising.’

  They stepped inside. The dust was so thick that it was difficult to make out the episodes of heroism depicted on the walls. A sarcophagus sat on a granite pedestal in the centre of the narrow room, but an old pike was propped against it, and it was draped with a filthy, dust-covered blanket, so it was hard to see wha
t the hero beneath looked like.

  ‘Pull that mess off and let’s have a look at him,’ said Reiner.

  Franz pushed the pike aside and the blanket came with it, flopping to the floor in an eruption of dust. The boy yelped and jumped back, shaking his hand.

  ‘What’s the matter, lad?’ asked Reiner.

  ‘Something stuck me.’ Franz sucked his palm. ‘A splinter or something.’ He looked at the stone casket, shaped like a knight in full plate armour, bare-headed, with long hair that flowed over the pedestal upon which he lay. ‘Is it him, do you think?’

  Reiner circled the stone knight. ‘I see no banner.’

  ‘You fools!’ cried Lady Magda from the archway. ‘You are stepping on it!’

  Reiner looked down. His boots were on the dirty blanket. Magda hurried forward and pushed him off it. ‘Step away! Step away, you imbeciles!’ She stooped and snatched up the pike. A wince of pain twisted her face for an eyeblink as she raised it. The blanket came up too, and now Reiner could see that it was attached to the pike by a cross bar. He raised an eyebrow. It was a banner, but it couldn’t possibly be the banner. In the shadowy crypt it was impossible to tell what colour it was, but it was certainly not white.

  With shaking arms and clenched jaw, Lady Magda backed out of the crypt with the pike. Reiner and Franz followed her into the central chamber. Veirt and the others gathered around her as she shook the dust from the cloth, raising their torches to shine light on it.

  ‘That can’t be it,’ said Veirt, frowning. ‘It’s all wrong.’

  Reiner had to agree. The banner was dull red, emblazoned with a manticore rampant in black and dark green, flanked by a twisted sword and a skull, and crowned with a circlet of thorns. It made Reiner uneasy to look at it. He felt as if he needed to wash.

  ‘It is,’ insisted Magda. ‘Look again.’

  Veirt held his torch closer and the men leaned in. Reiner forced himself to examine it. Close up, he could see that the brown-red of the banner was dried blood, and that the black and green of the manticore, as well as the skull, sword and thorns, were clumps of crusted blood and mould and hairy mildew. Buried beneath this filth and gore Reiner could make out the faint raised outlines of the original design: the embroidered griffin, flanked by the hammer and chalice, and crowned by the circlet Veirt had described. The broken blade of the halberd was caked in dried blood which had run halfway down the haft.

  Veirt recoiled in disgust. ‘It has been tainted. The blood of the daemon has corrupted it. We should burn it.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Lady Magda. ‘It only needs cleaning. Come, we must return to Baron Albrecht. There is no time to be lost.’

  ‘But, lady, ‘tis profane,’ protested Veirt. ‘Sigmar knows what would happen if an army marched under this… this foulness.’

  ‘What does a common foot soldier know of such things?’ Lady Magda retorted. ‘You may have won a commission, captain, but you are still an unlearned peasant. Now do as Baron Albrecht commanded you to and accompany me back to Smallhof.’

  Veirt’s jaw set. His fists clenched at his sides. Reiner could see that there was a war raging within him between his duty and his instinct. At last his shoulders slumped. He hung his head. ‘Forgive me, lady. But I cannot. I am indeed the peasant you name me, but I have fought the hordes and their evil sorceries for nearly as many years as you have lived, and I’ve learned that once touched by Chaos, a thing can never be truly cleaned.’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Now please give me the banner. We will burn it in the garden.’

  ‘Dare you order me?’ said Lady Magda, haughtily. ‘Without the banner, the battle for Nordbergbruche may be lost. Will you face Baron Albrecht and tell him that, because of a feeling, you destroyed that which would have assured him victory?’

  Reiner stared at her. Though no physical transformation had occurred, Lady Magda had changed. Gone was the quiet, stern holy woman. In her place stood some high priestess of old, eyes blazing with righteous wrath. She looked wild, powerful and dangerous, and as unsettled as he was by her sudden sinister metamorphosis, he also found her uncomfortably attractive. Her body, under her habit, which he had thought a touch overstuffed, suddenly looked voluptuous and wanton. She looked like she was used to getting her way and taking what she wanted, and Reiner had always had a weakness for that sort of woman.

  ‘Lady,’ said Veirt quietly. ‘I am well aware of Baron Albrecht’s plans, having helped form them, but no good could come from any venture undertaken under this debased banner. I will destroy it and accept what punishment he sees fit to mete out.’

  ‘You dirty ranker,’ burst out Erich. ‘What about us? We face death if we fail in this mission. You condemn us to die for your backward superstitions.’

  Veirt glared at him. ‘Would you rather hundreds, maybe thousands, of your comrades died if we succeed?’

  ‘We only have your word for it that anything would happen. Your word against the lady’s.’

  Reiner raised an eyebrow at this. If Erich couldn’t feel the blood-soaked banner’s evil influence he must have a head of solid granite.

  Veirt ignored the novice knight and held out a hand to the sister. ‘Give me the banner, lady. I beg you.’

  ‘I will not,’ she said, drawing back.

  ‘Then I’m afraid I must take it from you.’

  ‘Touch her at your peril!’ shouted Erich.

  As the lancer struggled to draw his sword, Veirt grabbed the haft of the banner and tried to tug it from Lady Magda’s grasp, but with an angry cry, she shoved at his chest with her fingers.

  Veirt stood a head and a half taller than the woman and must have been double her weight, but at her touch he stumbled back, gasping, and sat down heavily on the stone floor. To Reiner it appeared that the old warrior had tripped over something. Lady Magda had hardly touched him, and even with all her strength he doubted she could have budged him an inch.

  Reiner and the others gaped at Veirt, who sat on the floor, clutching his chest and sucking air.

  Hals knelt. ‘Captain, are you hurt? Has the witch hexed you?’

  Lady Magda raised the banner. Reiner could feel it behind him like a great eye watching over his shoulder. It felt as if it was pulling at him, forcing him to turn and face it.

  ‘Leave him be,’ said the woman. ‘He has disobeyed the command of his lord. He is a traitor to Baron Albrecht and the entire Empire. From now on you will take your orders from me.’ She pointed to Veirt. ‘Now slay this traitor and escort me back to Smallhof.’

  Reiner moaned. He had come to like the grizzled old bear and knew he was in the right, but orders were orders. Lady Magda was in command now. And it was for the good of the Empire. He drew his sword as the others were doing and turned to face Veirt.

  ‘Just… just a minute… lassie,’ said Pavel. It sounded as if he was pushing each word out through his teeth with his tongue. ‘Baron Albrecht… put us under… command of Captain… Veirt. And until… he says otherwise… I take my orders… from him.’

  Reiner paused in raising his sword and looked at the one-eyed pikeman. The ranker’s brow was beaded in sweat and his arm shook as he forced his dagger to stay at his side.

  ‘You will obey me!’ cried Lady Magda. ‘I am your leader now.’

  Now Hals shook his head, less like he was disagreeing, and more like a bull trying to shake off flies. ‘Sorry lass,’ he said, straining to speak. ‘I… don’t think y’ve… got a… commission.’

  Reiner frowned, trying to focus on what Pavel and Hals were saying. It was what he felt himself, so why was he still raising his sword to kill Veirt? Why was he, who had never followed an order in his life without making sure it was in his own best interest, blindly obeying a woman who had no official authority over him at all? He might have a weakness for commanding women, but he was no love-struck pup either. He hadn’t let his little head rule his big head for years. What was causing him to act like a flagellant following a firebrand priest?

  The banner. It had to be. Tho
ugh the daemon’s blood had corrupted it, it still gave its bearer a supernatural aura of authority, a presence so commanding that it could bend men’s will and make them do whatever he—or in this case she—ordered, no matter how much it went against their natural inclinations.

  Reiner tried to lower his sword, but to his chagrin, even knowing that he was being manipulated, he found it hard to fight the banner’s power. It took every iota of will to force his arm down. The feelings of pride and patriotism that so rarely moved him, that he sneered at in the stiff-necked knights and mindless boobs who thought the Empire wasn’t just the centre of the world, but the world entire, were welling up in him and making him want to kill. He wanted to strike down Veirt for the glory of the Empire. He wanted to slay all that questioned Lady Magda or doubted her motives. He wanted to…

  ‘No!’ Reiner slapped his own face, hard. The pain broke the banner’s spell, only for a moment, but it was enough. He made eye contact with Hals and Pavel and was strengthened by their rage. Beyond them, the others were frozen in tortured poses, all fighting the urge to kill Veirt. Little Franz stood shaking, his short sword frozen over his head. There were tears in his eyes. Reiner shook the boy’s shoulder.

  ‘Fight it, lad.’

  But Franz remained frozen.

  ‘I won’t!’

  The bellow made Reiner turn. Ulf, his face twisted with rage, flung his upraised maul across the room. It knocked a suit of armour to the floor with a clanging clatter. Franz jerked at the noise like a waking sleeper.

  Feeling stronger now, Reiner turned to Lady Magda. ‘We won’t follow you. You aren’t our captain.’

  ‘Then you are traitors,’ said Erich, drawing his sword and stepping in front of the holy woman.

  ‘You’re the traitor,’ growled Hals, unsheathing his short sword. Pavel pulled a dagger.

  ‘The captain,’ said Franz. ‘He’s bleeding.’

  ‘What?’ Reiner turned.

  Veirt lay flat on his back. Blood was seeping from under his breastplate.

  ‘Captain?’ said Reiner, stepping forward.

  He heard running feet behind him and spun back around. Lady Magda was racing, with very un-nunlike haste, for the secret door, the banner in her hands.