Slaves to Darkness 02 (The Blades of Chaos)

by Warhammer

  'The big one is suspicious, keep an eye on him.' Khemen told her. 'You should have told them no.'

  'Yes, but the red-haired girl is such a charm.' mused Lady Halste, pulling free a lock of hair and twirling it in her fingers. 'Did you see her eyes shining when I talked of their barbarian god? I've never seen anything like it. Yes, I'll keep an eye on the bear, but the girl could prove wonderfully useful.'

  The next morning a line of sixteen wagons was drawn up alongside the road by the south gate, and a throng of people busied themselves in preparation. In the middle was a high-roofed coach Ursula guessed to be Lady Halste's.

  'There must be a hundred people if there's a dozen,' exclaimed Ursula as she and Ruprecht walked out through the gate, pushing their way through the crowd entering and leaving the city.

  'These things have a habit of growing,' Ruprecht told her. 'The more people, the more supplies needed. The more supplies, the more wagons. The more wagons, the more mules and horses. The more beasts, the more farriers and handlers needed. And they need feeding, which means more supplies, and so it goes on.'

  'Who are they?' asked Ursula, pointing to a group of twenty or so grim-faced men dressed in black doublets, cloaks and tanned leather kilts. They carried long double-handed swords across their backs, pistols and dirks hung on their belts.

  'Sellswords, mercenaries, dogs of war, call them what you like,' Ruprecht replied. He gestured towards five horsemen that were cantering along the line, long spears held high, pennants of different colours fluttering in the wind. 'Those are freelances. Landless knights who fight for money.'

  'Look at them,' chirped Ursula, indicating a small group of men clustered on one of the wagons. They were naked but for ragged loincloths, and carried barbed whips and flail-headed chains, with which they beat each other. She could hear their moaning laments above the noise of the crowd.

  'Marius called them flagellants.' Ruprecht told her. 'They believe it's the end of the world. They scourge themselves trying to absolve themselves of the evil within. I'm surprised the lady allowed them to join.'

  'She didn't particularly have a choice.' a voice behind her said. They turned and saw an old man standing in the shadow of the gate. He was dressed in a loose-fitting robe of brown wool, and had a garland of dried brambles about his head, the thorns scratching at the flesh. The man himself was gaunt, his face lined with many wrinkles, the skin hanging in sagging loops from his fleshless cheeks and jowl. On his shoulder sat a weasel, its beady eyes regarding them with animal intelligence.

  'How so?' asked Ursula, leaning forward to examine the weasel. It turned its head to one side and looked back at her.

  'They would have followed on their own account.' the man said. 'They have a tendency to cause trouble, so better just to accept them and deal with it than leave them tagging on behind where you can't see what they are getting up to. My name is Gerhardt Taalstock, by the way.'

  'Taalstock?' Ruprecht said. He took a step forward and then lowered his head in deference.

  'You recognise the name?' Gerhardt said, taken aback. 'You're the first man since I passed Altdorf who does.'

  'I was born in Talabheim, wildfather.' Ruprecht explained. 'Like you, I'm not from round these parts, as my mother used to say. What brings you to join this mysterious cavalcade.'

  'Wildfather?' Ursula said. 'You're a priest of Taal?'

  'Yes, my dear.' Gerhardt replied, taking her hand in his. The weasel squeaked and scampered down his arm, along Ursula's and onto her shoulder. He nuzzled her plaited hair contentedly. 'Well, if Louda here approves of you, I guess we should become acquainted.'

  As they talked, they walked along the line of wagons, weaving their way through the milling people. Nearly half were soldiers, the others craftsmen of some type - carpenters with carts filled with tools, blacksmiths with portable forges carried by their assistants on long poles, cobblers, farriers, coopers and all other kinds of artisans.

  'I have Taal to thank for my current occupation.' the priest said. 'It was over a year ago, when I lived on the banks of the Stir. I saw a circle of rooks flying to the south, a sign from the Lord of the Wilds. I packed up my things, and followed the flock until they led me to a crossroads a few miles south of Kemperbad. There they flew off in all directions, so I figured I was where I was supposed to be. I waited there the whole summer, wondering what I should do. People travelled from Kemperbad to see me, and I helped them, but it didn't feel like that was Taal's intent. Then, in the autumn, I met Lady Halste on the road. Her horse had gone lame and I healed it, and it was then that I knew that I was to accompany her.'

  'That's remarkable!' Ursula said with a laugh. She dropped her voice low. 'It was Sigmar who brought me to Marienburg, you know.'

  Ruprecht dropped a few paces behind them. Great, he thought, now I have to travel with two people who commune with the gods.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Discontent

  Arabian coast, Early summer 1711

  Kurt had never known the sun to be so large and hot. It beat down upon the longship, shone back from every piece of metal, dazzled off the sea and turned the sailcloth into a blaze of blinding white. The men padded cautiously barefoot across the hot planks of the deck, their skin reddened and peeling, sweat pouring from them.

  Kurt had surrendered his armour to the constant heat, and like the others was dressed in a simple loincloth. His shoulders were blistered, as were the backs of his arms and the tops of his feet, and thirst made him feel constantly dizzy.

  The rest of the crew were faring no better, and they were running desperately short of both water and food. Bjordrin had imposed, through Kurt, a harsh rationing of the remaining supplies, but if they did not make landfall to replenish their stocks soon, there was no telling what might happen. Twice they had headed towards the shore, only to find the barren cliffs and plains of Estalia awaiting them. There was no sign of settlement nor even a stream for them to resupply, and they had wearily moved away again in fear of southern pirates.

  Kurt had asked Jakob to use his magic to locate food and water for them, but he had flatly refused. In these more southerly climes, the breath of the gods did not blow strongly. He had told Kurt that such an act of magic would require a sacrifice to generate the favour of the gods, and he would not risk that for something as mundane as finding food.

  They had tried fishing, trailing lines over the side of the ship as they sailed, but had enjoyed little success. Certainly they did not catch enough to feed the whole crew and it soon became clear that the food they used for bait was better used for themselves.

  The Norse had greeted the constant sunshine and warm nights with delight at first. Used to the near-endless snows of the north, the heat had been welcome. But as day after day passed, and sunstroke and sunburn took its toll, they became increasingly restless. As time wore on, more and more of the crew were succumbing to the incessant heat. Some were lethargic and unable to work properly, others had been suffering intense headaches and bouts of madness that woke them in their sleep, raving about imaginary monsters and the eye that would not blink.

  Progress was also much slowed since the encounter with the leviathan. Jarlen's ship had been badly crippled, and it had taken three days just to make her seaworthy. Forced to keep station with the other vessel in case of difficulties leading to the ship being abandoned, Kurt's ship crawled across the waves. He longed to forge ahead, to seek out some source of succour, but he knew that in these unfamiliar waters, once the two ships lost sight of each other, they might never encounter each other again.

  Kurt comforted himself with the thought that they were at least heading eastwards, Bjordrin having assured him that they were now south of Estalia. At night, they had been accustomed to following the stars and the rising moons, but in these southern lands the night sky was different, and only the rising and setting sun confirmed which direction they were heading in. To the north lay Estalia and Tilea, to the south the deserts of Araby. It was only a matter of time before they
made landfall, and Kurt prayed to the gods that when they did they would find some sign of life. If not, he did not know how long the crew would follow him.

  So far the great adventure had been a disaster. From the early success when he had single-handedly stormed the Empire fort, he had been encouraged. But now, many weeks into the journey, doubts began to creep in. He dismissed them as soon as they reared themselves, but the constant griping of the crew, Bjordrin's occasional accusing looks and his own uncertainty were taking their toll on his resolve.

  He stood at the prow of the longship, a hand shielding his eyes against the sun as he searched the horizon for a sign of land. Licking his tongue over cracked lips, he swallowed painfully. It felt as if every drop of water had been squeezed from his body, his blood running thick in his veins, sapping him of his strength. Most of the men were laid out in the shadow of the ship's sides, shields propped up on axes and swords over their heads to create little havens of shade. The few who were up and about strolled listlessly across the deck, cursing the heat and directing venomous looks towards Kurt.

  He had nothing to offer them. He was too tired for a rousing speech, even if he thought it might make a difference, which he didn't. There was nothing he could do, no way he could fight the climate, no great gesture he could make that would get them through this tortuous limbo.

  There was also no going back. They either made landfall and found water, or they would die, and they were nearer the coast of Araby than anywhere else now. There was little enough chance of that, with the wind coming in intermittent puffs and no more, and the crew too weary to bend their backs to the oars. They drifted on the current, and would be delivered by the whim of the gods.

  Another disturbing thought occurred to Kurt, as he stood there half-dazed, leaning on the dragon figurehead. The men were in no fit shape to fight. They could expect a harsh welcome from the local populace, and so would need to find a source of water that was unprotected.

  It seemed hopeless.

  A hoarse shout from Jarlen's ship woke Kurt as he slept curled up in the prow. He pulled himself up and squinted across the water to the other vessel. The sun was low on the horizon, the first stars of evening visible in the darkening sky to the east. He couldn't make out the croaking words, but the other captain's gestures made it clear: they had sighted land!

  'On your feet, get to the oars,' said Kurt, his voice a low rasp, kicking at the slumbering Norsemen. They roused slowly, and he ran along the deck shouting. 'Land, you lazy curs! Land!'

  His cry brought them to their senses, and they pulled themselves wearily onto the benches and swung out the sweeps. Jarlen's ship was already pulling away under the steady strokes of her crew.

  'Come on, pull like the gods themselves were after you!' said Bjordrin, storming forward from his place beside the tiller. He pounded a fist against the mast in time to the beat. 'Pull! Pull! Pull!'

  Kurt pushed a man aside and sat down on a bench by himself. His inhuman muscles bunched and released as he exerted himself, and he could feel the energy coursing through his heart, roaring in his limbs. He soon began to tire and sweat streamed from him. His limbs became leaden with the effort. He felt weak, and the sensation worried him.

  Stroke after stroke, they clawed their way across the waves, until even the men on the benches could see a high sandstone cliff rearing from the waves.

  The men abandoned the oars and jumped up from the benches, cheering and clapping, all weariness forgotten. They pointed and laughed at the yellow coast stretched out before them, and gave a great cheer as Kurt pulled himself up and stood at the prow.

  'Behold the lands of Araby!' he said, raising a fist above his head. 'Your names shall live forever in legend! Glory and treasures await!'

  Close inshore they began to catch the erratic puffs of a sea breeze, and the Norse set themselves to unfurling the sail, while Kurt mouthed a silent thanks to the gods for delivering him upon this strange shore.

  It was not long until they found suitable landing, a few miles further east along the coast. Sandstone cliffs lined the sea for many miles, occasionally broken by shallow bays. A mile ahead they spied a half-mile long, crescent-shaped sandy beach flowing smoothly down to the sea, the dunes mounting higher and higher further inland until they turned into hills that obscured all view of what the interior held. To the east and west the beach reared up into massive cliffs some hundred feet above the waves, two sheer walls of yellow and red striated sandstone. Most importantly, the lookouts spied the glittered reflection of a pool or small brook.

  The breeze took them right up to the coastline, until the sailors could feel the keel of the longship cutting through the sandy seabed. They glided gently into the bay, the Norsemen carrying their axes, maces and swords, shields near at hand, scanning the coast for any sign of a waiting enemy. There was nothing except sand, the azure sky and the blazing sun gazing down on them like an angry eye.

  Kurt's ship was the first to make landfall, overhauling Jarlen in the final approach as the other captain approached the sand bank more cautiously, wary of the damage his ship had already suffered.

  'Spread out and search for food and water, but don't stray out of sight of the ships,' Kurt told the crew as they picked up their shields and leapt into the thigh-deep water.

  'Don't worry, Chosen, if we find any treasure, you'll get your share,' said Lina Half-wolf with a grin as she vaulted over the side of the longship.

  'It truly is a sea of sand, isn't it?' Kurt heard Jakob whisper behind him. He turned to see the shaman, right foot up on the side, one hand over his eyes to shield them from the glare of the sun as he gazed in wonder along the coast. 'It's as if the air itself melts, see the way the sky shimmers?'

  Kurt looked for a moment, and it seemed as if he could see a city floating in the air, not far inland. Surrounded by a high wall, with four great pyramids at the centre, the city wavered in and out of sight. Then it disappeared.

  'Did you see it too?' said Jakob.

  'Still think I'm a fool?' Kurt said with a nod.

  'More than ever,' Jakob replied, stepping down and turning to Kurt. 'But, I'll give you this. You really are the Chosen, or very lucky.'

  'Men make their own luck,' Kurt said, buckling his sword belt around his waist. 'The gods help those who help themselves.'

  'We are far from the gods, Chosen One,' Jakob said, eyes narrowing. 'Surely you can feel it too.'

  'Yes, their breath is but a gentle breeze here, and there's something else in the air,' Kurt said, closing his eyes, feeling the magic of the world around him with the strange sixth-sense the gods had gifted him with. 'It smells like death.'

  'Yes, death hangs heavy, in the sky, in the sand, and even in the water,' Jakob said. He then smiled at the Chosen Warrior, and grasped his arm with genuine affection. 'Enjoy your glorious moment, Kurt, for none is happier than I that we have made it, that you surely know. It was once my ambition to see these golden sands and walk beneath this blistering sun, and you have brought me here, and for that I thank you. But be careful, the gods may not watch over you here. Tread warily on strange shores, as the sorcerer of my old tribe used to say.'

  A frantic waving from a group of warriors atop one of the furthest dunes attracted their attention. They exchanged glances, Jakob's last words floating in their minds. With a shrug, the sorcerer waved his hand over the side of the ship.

  'After you, glorious Chosen.' Jakob said. Kurt glanced at him, a scowl on his face. 'I'll be following.' the shaman added.

  It was late afternoon as Kurt and Jakob made their way across the dunes, the Chosen making slow progress as he sunk into the sands on more than one occasion, slipping and stumbling as he clawed his way up the steep banks. He was in no particular hurry though - the shouts and gesticulations of the crew ahead were of excitement rather than fear.

  'Come on Chosen!' said Snarri Gold-tooth, his grin glowing in the setting sun. 'Look at this!'

  Jakob reached the summit of the hill first and stopped dead as
if struck, lost his footing, slipping to one knee. Kurt hauled himself up after, Snarri gripping his wrist to pull him to the crest.

  From the hill Kurt could see a magnificent city laid out beneath them, some half-mile distant. Wide, colum-lined boulevards criss-crossed each other in geometric patterns, the spaces between filled with pyramids that rose into the sky, the worn gold of their capstones glinting fitfully. Temples with golden domes lay within high-walled courtyards. Buildings with flat roofs filled the few gaps between them, statues standing guard outside their dark open doorways.

  Kurt exhaled deeply, struck by the splendour of the settlement as it reflected the rays of the dying sun. Then a chill struck Kurt, a shiver of apprehension. The town looked dead. Areas that should surely have been gardens were full of bare rock and sand. There was no sign of bush nor tree, and the sculpted fountains lay dormant, sand filling their pools. Nothing walked the streets, no sentries patrolled the high sandstone wall and square towers that surrounded the silent city.

  'I have heard that the people of Araby pray to the setting sun.' suggested Snarri.

  'And leave not a single man on the walls?' scoffed Egil Longsword, a scowl on his reddened and blistered face. 'I never heard it said that the people of Araby were fools.'

  'It's deserted.' Jakob said bluntly. 'Not a thing grows there. It has been abandoned for many years.'

  'Perhaps there is plague.' Egil said, clutching his fists to his heart as a sign of appeasement to Nierg, the lord of plague and decay.

  'There are no signs of battle.' Kurt said, ignoring Egil. 'The walls are intact.'

  He glanced at the setting sun which blazed purple and red just above the horizon. Looking back down on the dead town, he remembered Jakob's warning. They had journeyed far, and he could wait until tomorrow to uncover its secrets. Tonight, water and food were more important than treasure.

  'I'll not venture into an unknown town by moonlight.' he told the others, turning away. 'We make camp on the shore by the ships, and take watch by watch to crew them should we need to leave.'