by Warhammer
Tentacles as thick as a man lashed out onto the stricken ship, bony hooks biting deep into the hull in a deadly grip. Smaller appendages whipped back and forth from the bubbling sea, striking out at the men, sending them tumbling, carved apart by chitinous blades.
'We must get away.' yelled one of Kurt's crew, Aelfwine the Viper, hurling herself at the tiller and wrenching it from Bjordrin's hands. Bjordrin grabbed a handful of her plaited blonde locks and pulled her away, but the rudder swung freely, pitching the ship away from the monster, toppling people to the deck.
'We fight together and we die together!' roared Kurt, pulling himself to his feet. Aelfwine collapsed to the deck as if struck. Kurt ripped his sword free, seeing Bjordrin grab hold of the tiller once more, and charged towards the prow. The crew fell back from him as he passed, seeing the wytchfires burning in his eyes, the runes carved into his skin glowing now with a ruddy light.
Kurt leapt up onto the dragon figurehead right at the prow, sword pointed at the leviathan.
'Pull harder!' he demanded, waving his free hand to the rhythm of Bjordrin's calls. 'Break your backs if you need to! Pull!'
The longship was crashing through the waves on a converging course with Jarlen's ship and Kurt could see the crew trying to fight back against the creature from the ocean's depths. They hacked at the thick tentacles with axes and swords, fending off the whiplash attacks of the creature with hastily-raised shields.
Kurt was barely ten yards from the creature now, and the air was thick with its stench - a mix of rotting fish and effluent. He could see now that it had not one jaw but three, two lower maws extending out from under the main jaw to gnaw at the longship's hull below the waterline. Two pale white eyes swivelled towards him, and Kurt saw malign intelligence in that gaze. For a moment he and the creature stared at each other, sharing a strange moment of recognition. Kurt could feel the touch of the gods on the beast, and perhaps it saw the same in him.
The moment passed.
A limb flailed up out of the waves towards the Chosen, a booming crash of water as the creature attacked. Kurt struck one-handed with his sword, the blade deflecting off the bone plates and ridges that dotted the member. It cracked against the figurehead, nearly toppling him, and Kurt was forced to leap back onto the deck.
'One last pull! Now!' Kurt bellowed, and the crew gave an almighty heave on the oars. The longship surged forward, ramming into the massive bulk of the creature and jarring to a halt.
Kurt was flung forward, but he managed to get his right foot under the fall and surged up, using the momentum to leap from the longship onto the deck of Jarlen's vessel. He saw the bald Norse captain shouting orders to his crew, double-headed axe in his hands as he swung at the tentacles. The dead and injured littered the deck, which was awash with blood and seawater.
'Bind the ships together, we're sinking!' pleaded Jarlen, spitting blood between shattered teeth.
'We'll both go down then,' came an answering cry from Kurt's vessel, but before he could yell the order, Bjordrin was at the side, flinging a rope across.
Kurt grabbed it in his left hand and pulled, swinging the other longship around until his muscles burned with the strain. Ducking beneath a swiping limb, he made the rope fast to a bench. Other Norse were leaping across with ropes in their hands and Kurt left them to it, ducking his head and barrelling down the ship towards the leviathan.
With an incoherent scream, Kurt leapt from the deck, a two-handed grasp on his sword, straight at the beast. The sword blade punched through an area of flesh between two of its eyes and the leviathan heaved, dragging the ship even further into the water.
A tentacle swung out of the gloom and hurled Kurt to his back. The grasping appendage circled around his thigh, buckling his armour under the strain. One of the creature's secondary jaws swung up over the stern, swaying left and right, teeth like daggers snapping together as the tentacle dragged him close.
Kurt sawed at the limb between the bony hooks and the flesh parted suddenly, the wounded tentacle whipping back into the water.
'Come and eat this!' he growled, launching himself again at the leviathan. He felt the power of the gods surge through his body and he swung his sword with his full weight behind it. Teeth shattered from the blow, and the tip carved a bloody furrow across the creature's face. A strange squeal, unbelievably high pitched, emitted from the creature, and two of its major limbs released their hold on the ship, which buoyed up under the lessened burden.
Kurt hacked left and right, only vaguely aware of others just behind him, unable to get any closer due to his wild sword swings. White pus-like blood fountained into the air as Kurt plunged his sword into one of the eyes, and the creature gave out another piercing screech and reared up, releasing its grip on the ship.
Kurt was tossed a dozen yards into the air, limbs flailing. The creature, obviously not used to such resistance, was slipping back beneath the waves, but as Kurt plunged downwards towards the sea, he arrowed his body, sword held in front. He was not a great swimmer, but he carved into the sea like an arrow, the sword tip brushing against flesh, the milky white life fluid of the leviathan bursting out in a cloud around him.
Kurt thrashed under the surface, feeling his blade bite heavily several times, and then the glowing light from the eyes dimmed as the creature fled to the ocean's depths, plunging him into darkness.
His battle-fury spent, Kurt began to panic, realising that the weight of his armour was dragging him down after his adversary. He would rather die than discard his armour and forced himself to calm down. Sheathing his sword, he could see a faint light wavering above and struck out with slow, even strokes of his arms and legs. Shapes splashed into the water around him, and there were figures swimming down towards him, arms outstretched to help him to the surface.
Breaking above the waves, Kurt gave a monstrous roar with what little breath remained and then gulped in a huge lungful of air. To his left, Aethwine held his arm, kicking strongly towards the ragged timbers of Jarlen's boat; to his right was Kothi Silvercraft, who helped him pull himself up on a rope lowered by Bjordrin.
Kurt flopped over the ship's side and lay on his back on the deck, gasping for life. A cluster of faces appeared in his vision, to be waved away by Jarlen, who knelt down beside him.
'By the gods man!' the captain grinned. 'None who saw that can ever doubt that you are favoured by the gods.'
Bjordrin's bearded face appeared next to Jarlen, his expression one of concern.
'Better hope we don't meet any elves, eh, Chosen?' he said with a sigh.
Lashed together, the two ships drifted southwards on the current, both crews too exhausted from their endeavours to row or make repairs.
CHAPTER SIX
Marienburg
Spring 1711
Rain drizzled down incessantly from the grey sky pooling on the muddy streets of Marienburg and giving a slick sheen to its maze of slate rooftops. The weather did nothing to dampen the spirits of the inhabitants, who went about their normal business in grey and brown cloaks and hoods, their appearance every bit as drab as their surroundings. At the port, the stevedores and teamsters unloaded cargoes from Altdorf, Nuln, Brionne and Magritta, and stowed wares bound for those and other distant places. The shouts of the foremen tussled with the creaking of winches, the thuds of dropping crates and the curses of the sea captains.
'I didn't really pay much attention last time we came through here,' said Ursula. 'I never realised how crowded and busy it was.'
She was standing with Ruprecht overlooking one of the main quays, where a huge three-mast merchantman was being laden with bales of material. Small boats ferried people across the wide Reik estuary to the far shore, and bustled around the arriving ships, their crews tempting the newcomers with souvenirs, fruit, pies, alcohol and women. The pair of them looked like bedraggled itinerants. The little money Ruprecht had sold his boat for had not lasted long, and they had not eaten since arriving last night. They had spent the night outside the ci
ty walls, waiting for the gate to open, and had been forced to sneak in, hiding behind a group of farmers bringing in their produce - Marienburg did not welcome those with no money.
'Let's try and find this inn,' Ruprecht suggested, glancing around for some inspiration of where to head. They had asked one of the guards at the gate if he knew of the Haggard Fox, and had been given directions to the docklands. Now they were here, neither had a clue where to head next. 'At least we'll be able to get something to eat and a bed.'
'We should ask someone,' said Ursula. She pointed at a group of sailors who were drunkenly reeling along the street towards them. 'They've obviously been carousing, perhaps they came across it.'
'I don't know if that's such a...' began Ruprecht but Ursula was already marching up the street towards the drunkards. Ruprecht hurried after her.
There were four of them, dressed in open shirts of striped linen and leather breeches that hung past their knees in Marienburg fashion. At least they were locals, Ruprecht thought, as he caught up with Ursula.
'Excuse me, but we're looking for the sign of the Haggard Fox,' Ursula told them, stepping out in front of them. They stumbled to a halt and blearily looked at her. One of them, a short wiry man with a close-cropped beard and a scar across his nose, took a hesitant step forward.
'What's that?' he shouted, cupping a hand to his ear.
'You'll have to excuse him, fraulein,' said another, a youngish, handsome man with tousled mousy hair and a thin nose. 'He's been as deaf as a sternpost since a yard fell on his head last year. Where was that, the Haggard Fox you say?'
'Yes, the Haggard Fox,' Ursula replied. 'We're supposed to meet someone there.'
'It's that ways,' said a third sailor, skinny as a beanpole with a moon face and hair down past his shoulders. His finger waved somewhere between his left and in front of him. 'I was there only yesterday.'
'Pay him no heed neither,' said the young man with a scowl at his comrade, who drooped across the shoulders of the fourth man. 'He's pulling your leg. It's a tidy step away, fraulein, perhaps you would care for an escort.'
The man's eyes glinted and he offered up his elbow like a gentleman courting a lady. Ruprecht stepped forward and slipped his arm underneath and gave the sailor a grim smile.
'Right you are, lad, show us the way!' he said, his stare boring into the drunken man's skull. The sailor pulled his arm free and staggered back a step.
'I didn't realise as you had company,' stammered the young sailor, bowing clumsily to each of them. 'I meant no harm by it, just offering friendliness, fraulein, herr.'
'Not to worry, lad.' Ruprecht slapped a meaty hand to the man's shoulder, buckling his knees. 'Just give us the nod of which way to go and you can be on your way too.'
'There's a big fella with his hand on my friend...' said the short-bearded sailor, raising his fists and taking a couple of unsteady steps forward. 'Unhand my mate, or I'll give you a milling.'
'Leave it, Klaus, he's meaning no harm.' said the tall sailor, rousing himself from his friend's support. 'Leave it.'
'It's back that ways, three streets down.' the young man told them, waving away his shipmates. 'Third on the right, Haggard Fox, you can't miss it.'
'Thank you.' Ursula said with a nod. They had taken a few steps further down the street when they heard a voice call to them. It came from the fourth sailor, his bald head tattooed with an anchor and a noose, his finger wagging at them like a scolding father.
'The Haggard Fox is no place for decent folk!' he warned them. 'A right enough joint, but there's all manner of outlandish folk keeping bed there these past few days. Strange company, you'll not want to be keeping. Mark my words, you want to steer clear of them, nice couple like you!'
'We're not a...' Ursula began, but Ruprecht grabbed her by the arm and dragged her on.
'It doesn't matter what they think, best not confuse them, eh?' he told her, and she glanced back over her shoulder and gave them a cheery wave. It made Ruprecht smile to see her like this. Ever since her supposed revelation, she had been more like her old self. Although not quite as carefree as she had been when they had first met, she at least smiled and laughed again, and seemed to be taking pleasure in her life once more.
'Come on,' he said. 'Let's find these outlandish folk and strange company. Seems just our sort of crowd.'
The Haggard Fox was a three-storey building wedged into the gap between a low warehouse and a moneylenders offices. The bedraggled stuffed fox that hung over the door certainly looked haggard enough. In fact, thought Ruprecht as he looked at the clumsy work of the amateur taxidermist, it looked downright bloody miserable. He peered through the window but could see nothing of the interior.
'Shall we?' he said, waving a hand towards the door. Ursula didn't move, but gazed up at one of the windows on the second floor. Ruprecht followed her gaze and for a moment saw a beautiful, bronzed face in the window looking down at them. Then a drape swished back and the face was gone.
Ruprecht opened the door and stepped inside. He was expecting perhaps a bit of a racket, the normal smoke-filled air, the chatter of tenants and patrons. Instead, he found himself in a well-appointed hallway. A row of hooks on the wall carried coats and cloaks, and there was even a hat stand at the far end.
'That's very trusting,' Ursula said as she stepped in after him, the door swinging shut on a rusty spring. 'Surely Marienburg isn't the sort of place you would leave your belongings unattended.'
'I wonder...' muttered Ruprecht. He paced the hall examining the walls, floor and ceiling, before tracing his steps back to the door. He swung it outwards, and glanced at the timber frame.
'There!' he said, pointing to a small symbol scratched into the underside of the lintel, a small circle with a line drawn vertically through it.
'What is it?' asked Ursula, peering up at the mark.
'It's one of the signs used by followers of Ranald,' said Ruprecht. 'It marks this as a protected house.'
'Followers of the Trickster?' Ursula was shocked. 'You mean this is a thieves' den?'
'Yes and no,' Ruprecht told her, letting the door close. 'Perhaps they do meet here, or perhaps they have an arrangement with the owner.'
'How do you know this?' Ursula asked, eyeing the hallway warily.
'When I was with...' Ruprecht began, hesitating at using the name. He took a breath and started again. 'When I was with Marius, he taught me various marks and symbols of the different gods, some of them true gods like Ranald and Taal, others of the dark powers who we do not speak of.'
'Do you think we're safe here?' said Ursula.
'Of course, the followers of Ranald may be conmen and thieves, but they'll not slit our throats in our sleep!' Ruprecht said. 'Besides, if this is a protected house, we're probably safer here than anywhere else. Come on, let's go in.'
He opened the interior door and they stepped through into a low, long chamber. Low armchairs and couches filled the room, small tables dotted the bare wooden floors. It was lit by lanterns hung from the ceiling beams, and a fire roared in a grate at the far end of the room. The sound of gentle chatter filled the air.
The occupants of the room were, as the sailor had warned, an outlandish crowd. At the nearest table a dwarf sat gruffly arguing with a tall, broad man wearing a doublet decorated in gold thread, an ornate basket-hilt sword across his knees. Next to them a man sat on his own, flipping a gold crown along the knuckles of his hand and practising other sleight-of-hand tricks. A sea of faces looked up at them as they entered and the talking stopped. A man with an eye patch and a ragged scar the length of his left cheek stood up and waved them over.
'Welcome, welcome!' he cried to them, his voice deep and warm. 'Welcome to the Haggard Fox, keen adventurers!'
Ruprecht gave a hesitant nod and they walked over to join the man. The low babble recommenced as the patrons turned back to their own affairs.
'I'm Ruud Goeyen, owner of this establishment,' the man said, proffering a hand. Ursula shook it first and then
glared at Ruprecht when he hesitated. With a forced smile, the burly Talabheimer gripped the man's hand and gave it a perfunctory shake.
'You'll be here to see Lady Halste, no doubt,' the man said, waving them to an empty couch by the fireplace. 'You're just in time, they're planning to head off in the next day or two, stragglers like yourself not withstanding.'
'Can we speak with the lady?' asked Ursula.
'Ah, her agent will be here soon, turns in around noon every day to check on new arrivals,' said Goeyen. 'Make yourselves comfy, I'll bring you a hot nip and a bite to eat. First meal's compliments of the house, given the great trade that the lady's offer has brought me this past week. Seems churlish to charge such brave souls when they've just arrived.'
They sat down at Goeyen's insistence, dumping their bags at their feet and sinking deep into the poorly-filled sofa. The landlord reappeared a moment later with mugs of frothing ale and neatly placed them on the table in front of the pair. Something had been nagging at Ruprecht, and he realised what it was.
'This is a tavern,' said Ruprecht, glancing around. 'But I can see no bar.'
'Ah, well you see, that's a matter to keep shush about,' Goeyen told them, tapping a finger to his crooked nose. 'You see, me and the revenue man has a deal. I don't run a bar, and he don't ask where the liquor comes from. Keeps it nice and simple for both of us that way.'
Ruprecht nodded sagely, and as Goeyen turned his back, flicked his eyebrows in disbelief.
'Why would this Lady Halste be using a hideout for thieves and tax-dodgers to do her recruiting?' he asked. 'Something smells fishy to me.'
'This is Marienburg,' laughed Ursula, grabbing her beer. 'Everything smells fishy here, one way or the other!'
'You're right, but mind your tongue, and keep your eyes keen,' Ruprecht said with a scowl.
'Relax, Ruprecht,' Ursula said. 'I don't think Sigmar would have led me here to be robbed or swindled.'
'Let's see that notice again,' Ruprecht asked, holding out a hand. He'd looked at it every day for the past three days, trying to read between the lines. Ursula pulled it from her small travelling sack and handed it over.
