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The Drakwald, south of the fortress city of Middenheim, The Empire.

Captain Lucarius was quicker than the beastman, deftly avoiding the huge cleaver. In retaliation, his own slender blade sliced through the creature’s body, cleaving deep matted fur, thick muscle and malformed bone. He pivoted swiftly and decapitated another of the foul creatures, his speed far surpassing their own crudely powerful movements.

He risked a glance to see how the rest of his command fared and witnessed two of his own hacked down. The beastmen were no match individually for the elvish warriors, but they had come in numbers and whilst slender blades were momentarily mired in dark furred bodies, so their pack mates took full advantage.

Lucarius ducked a wild blow from a bellowing monster and parried a swinging club as he dropped to one knee and then launched himself forward to stain his blade again in another creature. However, this time his rapid pivot took him into the path of a mighty fist and it sent him reeling back, scarcely retaining his grip on his sword.

Blood pouring from his shattered nose, the captain rolled and scrambled from the fists, axes, clubs and cleavers that sought a more decisive blow. The bloody mud of the forest floor clung to his armour and clothes, slowing his movements resulting in his left leg being crushed by an ill crafted club, little more than large tree branch.

His own sword, the product of a craftsman who had spent centuries mastering his art, sliced the tendons of a beast, but then like the hand that wielded it was hammered deep into the yielding ground by the hefty hoof of another. Growling in triumph, the creature ground his foot, shattering the bones beneath and causing a cry of pain to leap from the Elf officer.

Even as another club hammered into the side of his helm, a crude axe slammed into his chest armour, glancing off the ithilmar surface, yet the impact still crushed ribs such was the force behind the blow. Spitting blood, Lucarius fumbled for his long knife with his good hand, his vision blurring from the pain of his wounds as he fought to stay conscious.

He could no longer hear and incoherent shapes moved in and out of his view, but he could feel no further blows. In a moment of clarity, he wondered if this was because he was dying and then he saw no more as the world was drowned in the void.

The return to consciousness was a journey into searing pain that seemed to suggest something was sawing at his head with a very blunt blade. His eyes snapped open to view the worst, increasing his pain when he thought that was no longer possible and his throat erupted in a scream of pent up agony.

The woman crouching by his side flinched visibly at the noise before responding in reikspiel - "I suppose this means you will live then?" She concluded her words with a smile and rose to her feet in a smooth graceful movement.

She was tall for a human woman with an athletic frame which she protected with a combination of heavy leather and chainmail. In contrast, her short brown hair did not conceal her youthful features and she obviously disdained the use of a helm or at least had recently lost it in the conflict. At her left hip was a worn scabbard, absent of decoration, housing a bronze hilted sword.

She extended a hand towards him, offering him assistance in standing, the smile remaining to brighten her appearance. He shook his head, the pain intensifying as he did so and he became conscious of an odd taste in mouth and throat as he tried to recall the crude language that humans used.

"Leg snap......broken, no good" he stumbled through the words, and moved his damaged right hand instinctively to show the cause of his concern. However as it moved into view he realised that, beneath the mud and congealed blood, it seemed whole again.

The woman shook her head as if finding fresh amusement in his actions and grasping the outstretched limb with her own hand, pulled him swiftly to his feet. She was obviously stronger than she looked as his weight appeared to elicit no signs of effort at all. For a moment he gazed down at her in confusion before he realised that his leg was as intact as the hand he knew had been so recently mangled.

Brown eyes met his violet ones, dancing with amusement, just as his were clouded with confusion and pain and he swayed slightly. She casually steadied him with one hand, even as she turned to acknowledge another figure approaching from his right.

A bulky fur clad warrior, a large axe strapped across his back, swiftly dropped to one knee in the mud before addressing her, his scarred face adopting a expression of reverence that seemed out of place on his fierce countenance. He had few teeth left and those that remained were blackened and rotten but his voice was strong, matching the rest of his physique.

"My lady, the beasts are slain; the men await your command” the devout nature of his gaze was continued in his tone.

"Excellent............... I am pleased," her words seemed to invigorate the man with her praise and he dropped his head in acknowledgment. "Our work is complete here, we return to our charges." She turned back to the elf, even as the warrior rose to his feet and strode away across the corpse strewn clearing to where more of his ilk waited.

"I assume that you know how to ride?" an eyebrow rose inquiringly.

The pain had become a background throb and so Lucarius was quickly regaining control of his faculties and his sense of duty asserted itself. "My men........."

"Dead" her tone was curt, but then she paused for a second as saw the effect it had on him in his weakened state. "I am sorry we did not arrive earlier but....." she trailed off, evidently unsure of herself for the first time and then stepped back so that the solider could view the whole scene.

It was clear that all of his men had died hard, fighting to the last even as they were brought low by the creatures of the forest. He walked up to each of them, ignoring the curious gazes of the humans clustered about the scene of the slaughter. He retrieved a small item from each torn and ravaged corpse, something to bring home to loved ones so far away - presuming they themselves survived the trials his own homeland was currently undergoing.

As he rose from the last he realised that the lady had followed him, her tread so light that he had not noticed her unhurried movements. His task completed, the captain had returned to himself, his gaze cool as he looked at her and the blade she was now carrying. She presented it to him, in a formal movement he had observed before in the human knights that he fought alongside as allies.

She looked down at the beast at her feet, her hand straying seemingly unconsciously to the hilt of her sword, as if in remembrance. "The first enemy I ever killed was such a creature, in a forest not unlike this one." She looked up as he sheathed his sword and nodded.

"Come, it is time we left this place before more find us".

Months ago Lucarius would have insisted that his men be burned or buried, but the increasingly desperate conflict had meant that practicality had often meant such niceties were impossible. He would honour them properly them in time, but one had to live to achieve that. If there was one thing that was certain, there would be more of the beastmen, no matter how many were killed, there always seemed to be more and perhaps worse would come with them. It often did.

He followed the woman towards her men where they were mounting up on a variety of horses, from knights chargers to what appeared to be former pack horses. As they approached, the men fell silent and dropped their gaze from the lady as she accepted the reins of a black mare.

"Thank you"

She turned back to face him, once again smiling. "It was my pleasure; we are after all allies are we not?"

He persevered, retreating to formality, his words slow but precise now, "You have earned the thanks of Captain Lucarius Shuarth of the Kariandriath Curiali, remember the names, Lady, for my kin and I owe you a debt."

In turn, she made a slight bow, "I accept your thanks, Captain, know that your debt is owed to Sabina Hafna, late of the town of Krugenheim."

She returned her attention to her horse and mounted swiftly as a grim faced warrior brought up a horse for the elf captain and handed him the reins. Just as gracefully Lucarius joined her in the saddle and they formed up with her company of warriors and rode away from the scene of carnage, even as the carrion birds and beasts began to emerge and feast.



They had hardly gone half a mile through the trees when Sabina reigned in, looking expectantly towards the thicker stands of trees to her right. After a moment, three figures stalked out, their clothing perfectly crafted to blend with the dappled shadows and dark depths of the forest. Two carried bows with notched arrows whilst the third had not, as yet, drawn the blade she wore at her waist.

The three elves stopped some ten feet away from the mounted warriors and their leader swept her eyes across the company, disdain and suspicion stark in her gaze. When she noticed the battered looking captain, her eyes narrowed further in rapid assessment before moving back to the leader of the company.

"Malitha, a pleasure as always," Sabina leaned forward slightly in her saddle, "I trust our accord is still in place?" The elf woman scowled in response but did not speak, allowing the human woman to continue "For my part, I persevere in hunting the beasts that plague your woods..........as we agreed."

The elf nodded grudgingly and strode quickly past the company until she reached the area of churned mud and hoof prints that marked their passage. As she passed, Lucarius moved his horse round so he could watch her and whatever she intended, thus far he had found his cousins across the sea less welcoming than the humans or even on the rare occasions he had encountered them, the dwarves.

Malitha sighed and surveyed the ground and woodland around her before she began to chant in the tongue of arcane. Immediately in response the air turned cold around her and a wind swept through the trees, stirring and shifting the branches and disturbing a small group of crows, who swept off to the north at a rapid pace.

The trees continued to move, even as the wind abruptly abated and she continued to chant, their roots beginning to surface from the earth, churning and erasing the trail that had been left. As the spell continued, the chant became a song and loose branches and even small bushes joined in the erasure of the path. Smaller trees even shifted position as their roots writhed in the soil.

"She certainly has talent.........., although it is my opinion her manners could be improved", Lucarius glanced at the human woman, conscious that neither she nor her followers seemed to be taking much notice of the display of power behind them.

"Perhaps, my kin are often considered..... aloof?" he continued to speak carefully, as his command of Reikspiel was still not to his satisfaction but he completed his words with a rueful smile.

The song of power reached a crescendo and abruptly concluded as the three elves turned their backs on the small column and vanished quickly into the depths of the woods. Sabina appeared satisfied and spurred her horse forward, leading her warriors onwards through the forest.

Lucarius was conscious that the day was drawing in and whilst his own vision was keen enough to see well even in near darkness, he was aware that humans were not so adept in this area. However no one seemed concerned by the approaching night - despite the increase in dangers it normally brought. The beastmen and the other chaotic inhabitants of the woods often saw perfectly well in the darkness or had other senses to compensate.

The light filtering through the branches became increasingly scarce as they continued on winding through the trees, following no path that the elf captain could see. Whilst his unease grew, no one else seemed to share his concerns, indeed the human woman was softly humming a tune clearly audible to his ears, even if the composition was unfamiliar to him.

It was only as night fully took hold of the forest that some sign of a destination was revealed, glimpses of torchlight began to be seen through the tree trunks and mostly leafless branches. A few more minutes travel and the trees begin to a fade into a few isolated scrub bushes and a cleared area of land was revealed in the limited light of the stars and the single waning moon.

To the sharp eyes of Lucarius, the remnants of previous battles were obvious, shattered skeletons of beastmen and larger stranger things littered the ground away from the stone walls of a small settlement ahead. Torches gave some small light to the defenders of the old and now battered wall, who as the column began to approach, sounded a horn to alert others within. Two lingering blasts sounded through the night and the elf glanced at the human woman but she had not reacted or even gave pause to her humming.

She only gestured for them to halt as they reached the track that led to the settlement. Its gates were fire blackened, making it seem like a empty void in the gatehouse, its stubby left tower sagging significantly under its own weight and from whatever assaults it had recently suffered.

Unbidden, the fur clad man had ridden alongside Sabina, evidently anticipating her requirements and she smiled in recognition. He stood up in his stirrups and bellowed into the darkness.

"Hail Untergrad! We return - open the gates".

The elf captain blinked in surprise, expecting some form of identification being used in these dark times, but evidently the powerful voice of the man was well known to the guardians of the town. Several minutes passed and a light drizzle began, adding to the small puddles already evident in the moonlight.

Slowly the great gates creaked open, evidently it was harder than it should be, likely a result of damage incurred the captain mused to himself. Torchlight flickered against the wood, metal and stone as several men emerged to stand staring into the half darkness beyond the walls.

"Hans, take the men in and see them to bed or food and drink as they will, I will speak with Captain Schiller."

"My lady, as you command", the man growled, and immediately turned to give orders to the rest of the men who quickly entered the town, intent on finding shelter. An older human man sloshed through the mud, accompanied by a young boy trying to keep up and hold his flaming torch aloft to illuminate the scene. The man was armoured in mail despite the late hour, although the torchlight highlighted the strain in his aged features, the rain falling on his unhelmed and thinning white hair. Around his neck was a chain ending in a silver wolf, a common talisman for warriors in the Empire.

"It is good...........to see you........ return......... Lady Sabina," The captain's voice was punctuated by a hacking cough, but otherwise he seemed not to acknowledge the rain.

"Captain - all is well I trust?"

"Food is low, but you............know that. Maybe Hans and some of the others could hunt something in the morning?" A grimace that could be taken for a smile was briefly seen as Sabina nodded. "Father Gustav has gone to Sigmar, ten others.......... with him and it’s......... likely they will not be the last."

He looked up and across at the elf captain who was watching the exchange with interest, "I see you have brought another mouth to feed eh?" Before either could respond, he continued, "Well then, I say we speak more......... in the morning." He turned and began to trudge back through the mud towards his home.

As they entered the town, it was obvious that not only the walls had suffered from the assaults of the enemy, wooden buildings were ruined and burned out and one had obviously been crushed by the impact of something huge. A few bedraggled sentries huddled out of the rain, whilst an unlucky pair of men struggled to shut the gates again.

Some buildings seemed to have survived intact including what could be the town hall, to its left was the ruins of a small temple to Sigmar, whilst that of Ulric stood still defiant to its right, the great wolf emblem still unblemished. Lights could be seen in a few houses, but no one had emerged into the rain to view the returning warriors, Lucarius understood that they likely had more pressing concerns, like staying warm and dry.

Through the rain could be seen more buildings beyond and a shattered bridge that once crossed a wide river and joined the two halves of the town. On the other side of the river, the devastation seemed total, with the ragged stumps of buildings bearing witness to what was once there. The former covered market now served as barracks for Sabina's men and a stable for their mounts, lights now burned bright within as they made themselves at home.

The two rode past and the noise of singing commenced shortly after from the men, a song the elf had heard before in the camps of the alliance, a song that would certainly have made some of his kinfolk blush to hear, male or female. A large townhouse was the woman's destination, and outside it stood Hans, evidently awaiting his mistress's arrival.

She dismounted fluidly and passed the reins to him, "Thank you, ensure that you get some rest, Hans,"

He nodded and turned to stare at the elf who had also dismounted, his pale blue eyes devoid of emotion and his expression neutral. The two looked at each for a long moment, before Hans extended his left hand towards the reins of the captain’s horse and began to lead the two mounts away. Sabina had already entered the building and Lucarius found himself standing alone in the rain.



The door to the house was unlocked and Lucarius walked in, dripping rainwater over the already mud stained floor of the small entrance hall. Shedding light on the scene was a lantern held by a petite young woman standing nervously at the far end of the room. Her long scarlet hair was unbound, loosely draped over one shoulder and although her clothing was at first glance expensive, it was also worn and carefully patched in places. Behind her head was mounted a wooden shield with a white stag painted onto on a black background, below it hung a crossed sword and axe.

Both said nothing for a few long moments before the elf breached the silence "Good Evening, the Lady Sabina............?"

"Hello Captain," she breathed, only just loud enough to be heard, "Welcome to my home......" she paused, "Inga is preparing a room for you............would you like to wait in the parlour.....I can bring you a little wine if you would like - I am afraid we have nothing else?

Lucarius smiled weakly at the woman, the events of the day beginning to catch up with him, his headache pounding again in his head. He felt bile rising in his throat and staggered forward slightly, clutching at the wall before dropping to his knees and throwing up blood. He was dimly aware of the woman calling out in alarm, but it was so very far away and the only thing of importance was the overwhelming and growing pain in his head, his hand and his leg. His hands slipped in the mess of his own making and he slid forwards and as before in the woods lost his fight to stay conscious.


Awakening was relatively pain free this time, aside from a dull ache in his leg and the shafts of weak sunlight filtering in through the small thin glass of the window merely served to awaken him. The bed, like the room was small and short and he found that he had curled himself into a ball in his sleep, he sat up cautiously, waiting for the headache to once more make itself felt, but mercifully it remained absent.

A pewter jug sat on an old and rickety side table which he was grateful to find was full of cool water, quickly consuming the majority of it in several large gulps. He pulled himself upright with a groan of pain as over-used and aching muscles complained that drew his attention of the mass of bruises that cloaked much of his naked body.

Cautiously he examined his right hand, it was bruised and stiff, the fingers closing reluctantly but intact although he remembered vividly the impact of the beast’s hoof. His leg was similarly battered and bruised but it should be so much worse.

Sorcery seemed the answer, but the Lady Sabina did not seem like the other human mages he had met thus far in the camps of the alliance. Whilst most were male, there were a number of women and it was true that both sexes were inevitably aloof but also constantly trying to assure others of their power - in fact some seemed to work harder on this than perfecting their own limited abilities.

Yet she did not dress in the flamboyant robes of the orders of magic that ruled those who practised the arcane arts, or indeed bear any of the symbols of their kind. The Empire, he knew was paranoid about keeping control of their mages - which, to be fair was a valid concern for humanity.

He pulled on a pair of trousers evidently left for him as he continued to muse on the matter, they were too short and baggy, but his sword belt fixed that problem. The house itself was quiet although he could hear the faint sounds of activity outside in the town as he pulled on his boots.

The door of the room was as creaky as the stairs it lead to, the worn staircase narrow and twisting as it descended past several other, more impressive doors and eventually to the ground floor. An open doorway led to the silent hallway he had seen before, whilst the other three led to rooms unexplored.

He pushed one open slowly to reveal another short dim corridor, wreathed in silence and upon hearing faint singing from behind another door, turned to this one instead. The voice continued as he opened the door and revealed itself as surprisingly full blooded if not always reaching the correct notes.

A flaxen haired woman was working hard on a deer carcase, her substantially muscled arms moving quickly and with skill at the task at hand. Her hands were large and bloody, the knife sharp and swift as she flensed the animal of meat, continuing to sing as she did so. For a moment, the scent of blood and the sight of the ichor stained table sent an odd thrill through the elf, but as quickly it was gone and the woman ceased her singing.

"Ah, so you are awake, Elf man, that is good." She grinned and her eyes swept over him, nodding approvingly at his muscled torso and the scars from decades of warfare and training. "Are you hungry?" She tossed a slab of meat into a wooden bowl and turned to wash her hands in a large stone sink, pumping the water into its depths.

As if in response, Lucarius's stomach let out a formidable growl, eliciting a rumbling laugh from the woman, who quickly produced a hunk of bread and slab of hard cheese and passed them over to him on a wooden platter, gesturing for him to pull up a stool. She continued by pouring out some dark beer into a goblet and pushing it over.

As he ate, she returned to her work and song, nodding approvingly as he finished his repast and laughing at his coughing as he tried the beer. "You slept almost the full day away, Elf man, is that the way of your people, you sleep long to preserve your looks?"

He laughed as well and drank some more beer, campaign life had made him much more accepting of the rougher fare than many of his compatriots. "No, we sleep no longer than your men folk." She gave a snort of derision at that, but did not interrupt further.

"Still I am remiss, Madam," He stood up and executed a perfect bow, as if he was at the court of the Phoenix King. "My name is Captain Lucarius Shuarth, officer of the warship Kariandriath Curiali, to whom have I the honour to address?"

To her credit, the woman managed to control her laughter as she looked at the half clad man in the too short trousers making his fine speech. She executed a somewhat clumsy curtsey as she had seen the ladies of the house make on occasion in happier days. "Well.......esteemed Captain, my name is Inga and I am housekeeper to the Brandt family." her pride in this aspect of her life was obvious. "I live here in Untergrad, always have done, always will.” she fixed him with stare as if daring him to challenge this assertion.

He cleared his throat, "Is the Lady Sabina a relative of the family then?"

"No..............she is not, That Lady brought her men to help defend the town and so Miss Brandt has offered her shelter - she is good girl." The subject seemed concluded to Inga and so she returned to her work butchering the deer and setting aside pieces for a stew.

As Lucarius was still standing in the kitchen she continued without looking up from her cutting, "Maybe you should go into the yard and practice with your sword Captain, there are many beasts still to be killed in the forest, perhaps you can do your part soon, Elf man."

He nodded, still thinking on her words about his saviour and stepped out of the back door into a small walled yard. The area was a mix of rough cobblestones and to the left and right of the doorway, areas dedicated to growing herbs and a small amount of vegetables.

The burned out remnant of what had been a couple of stalls for horses stood at the far end, and the wreckage of a small cart was piled up near the remains. Large doors had obviously once sealed off the yard but they were gone, with only the huge hinges left. At the centre of the yard, someone had pounded a thick wooden post into the stones and evidently been using it for weapons practice given the varied cuts and scars in its dark surface.

The weather was far better than the previous day and the autumn sunlight was a strong as could be expected as the captain drew his blade and examined it for any damage or flaws from the recent bloody skirmish. The length of still glittering steel was a flawless as the day it had been made so long ago, the sinuous elvish runes that proclaimed its name, Senli Elui or Swift Ending to wielder and enemy alike, inlaid into the metal by some unknown craft that did not drain its strength.

He carried out a few warming up exercises to get his blood flowing and then set about the precise movements that he had executed across the world as he had served aboard the Kariandriath Curiali. The familiar routine flowed through him and energised him as he cut and dodged, spun and sliced at the wood with light blows that scarcely touched the post as he practiced his level of control.

His mind replayed previous encounters as he moved and acted, deflecting the blow of a Druchii corsair, before sweeping back around to take her head. Rolling forwards and leaping sideways to avoid the huge club of a great reptile man as he cut it apart in precise blows.

As he reached the climax of his practice, he once again found himself re-enacting the most disturbing duel of his life - with the lithe form of a Daemon of Slaanesh, its distorted but still feminine form seemingly more interested in dancing than swordplay, but it was still able to match his skill with ease, despite its apparent distraction. He ended the session abruptly, just as the original duel had ended when one of his men had cleaved her head from her body. For a moment he could still see it rolling on the ground, its saucer like eyes mocking him with amusement and unnatural allure, the loss of material form was nothing to the creatures of the ether, they would return again in time.

"He is pretty is he not, the Elf man?" Inga smiled as the young woman jumped in response to her words and she backed away from the doorway, blushing nearly as red as her hair. "He moves well, more strength than you would think eh, and he is quick, very quick?"

The girl nodded, "He moves like she does when she fights".

"Hmm, that is true, but I think she is even quicker."

Her vivid green eyes wide, Petra continued, "What is she?" It was not the first time she had thought this, but the first time she had spoken out loud.

"I do not know, it is best we not ask I think. We are fortunate that they are both here with the monsters roaming the forest, but we will also be lucky when they have left us to our own lives."

"Ach, he looks thirsty Miss, maybe you should take him some water?" She smiled reassuringly at the girl, but then shook her head in bemusement as Petra coloured even further and fled into the house! In her mind, it was well past time that the young mistress of the house knew more of men - she would need a husband very soon to hold on to her home.

Inga looked out across the yard at the "Elf Man", it seemed that they were not so very different from human men, at least he had seemed formed normally. Indeed she had noted he was well formed enough when she had put him to bed. In happier days it would have formed the basis of a good mornings conversation with her friends, a half smile emerged as she remembered teasing the wide eyed maids about the true nature of dwarves and their hammers............. Her good humour renewed she turned back again to her work.

As he completed his exercise, Lucarius set his mind to his continuing purpose in the dark woodland of the Empire, to establish the state of the siege at Middenheim. It was thought the ancient city still held but little reliable information could be obtained and a number of varied groups had been dispatched to gather needed intelligence by the commanders of the Alliance. They had been tasked to learn what they could of the city’s state and also any other remaining pockets of resistance as the sea of Chaos continued to sweep across the land.

Sea Lord Aislinn had chosen to speak of the skills of Lucarius and his men at the council and the captain had enjoyed the warmth of the praise that had enveloped him - a state of Menlui - or majesty. Not only did men and dwarf alike hear of his deeds, but Teclis himself was present - even amongst his fellow Asur, none could match the famous mage's skill and knowledge of the arcane, and gaining his slight attention could see one rise quickly in the court should that be desired.

He sheathed his blade, his sense of purpose renewed by the practise and looked about him, absorbing the autumn air as the sweat cooled on his skin. As he looked about him, he noticed that a couple of mercenaries were learning against the wall, sharing a jug of beer as they watched his work with some interest. Both were dark haired, powerfully built and clad in a mishmash of armour and clothing, their equipment worn but seemingly well cared for.

"Gentlemen, I would speak to your employer, where is she?"

The two men exchanged a glance, the larger of the two with an axe at belt and long greasy hair reaching to his shoulders shrugged, prompting the other, still holding his beer, to respond.

"The Lady is with Hans and Schiller" - he turned towards the gateway and gestured vaguely towards the centre
of the settlement. "They are in the watch house - been there for some time............." Lucarius was conscious
that the mans accent was significantly different to that of Inga's but he was not familiar enough with the people
of the Empire to identify it.

"My thanks"

Both men nodded in response and it was only as the elf turned to leave that the larger man spoke. "You are good with your sword, you thinking of joining us?" His tone was neutral and as Lucarius swung his head back to face him, his face was equally expressionless.

The Captain considered his words carefully, "It is not my intention to do so, I am already pledged to my ship and my lord." Again they nodded and apparently satisfied, wished the elf well before heading off out of the house gate.

Retrieving a plain shirt from the house, the elf set out for the watch house, taking stock of the remains of Untergrad as he did so. In daylight, the scars of recent conflict were even more evident, especially as he approached the centre even though it was equally obvious that the inhabitants had done what they could to conceal and rebuild.

He saw few people moving about and most of those seemed to be the men in service to Lady Sabina. They moved about in pairs or small groups, always armed and contrasting heavily with the few half starved looking townsfolk. The only contact between the two that the elf observed in his short journey was a young mercenary and a teenage girl of about the same age sitting quietly talking at the foot of a dead oak that have once stood at the heart of the now ruined town square.

The watch house was a solid building, which had done its duty in defending the town; the upper floor was fire blackened and the slate roof only partially intact. One of Lady Sabina's men stood guard outside the door, blue eyed with short cropped blonde hair, he was alert and watchful - something that was not always the case with human warriors in the captains experience. His gaze fixed the elf as he approached, his stance defensive but his expression, like his compatriots, remained neutral.

Just as Lucarius was about to speak, the guard pushed open the solid looking door and gestured towards the dark void, with a broken toothed attempt at a smile. From within could faintly be heard various voices - several male and one female, being obviously expected the elf captain walked straight in. A short passageway led to another door from which the conversation was emanating and after a moments hesitation he knocked and entered as the voices ceased in response.

Seated around an old and battered black oak table was the Lady Sabina, Captain Schiller and an older woman, whilst Hans stood protectively behind his lady. The table was dominated by a ragged looking map, its torn parchment edges weighed down by a motley selection of pewter tankards. The room was not well lit with limited amounts of the already weak sunshine filtering in through the barred windows but a pair of lanterns did what they could to assist.

Sabina fixed the new arrival with a warm smile, not matched by the cold stare from the man at her shoulder. Schiller merely grunted in acknowledgement whilst the older woman gave a weak smile but looked away, twisting her hands nervously.

"Hello Captain, you look well rested............let me introduce you to our little gathering - you have already met Captain Schiller, the rock at the heart of Untergrad," at this, the subject raised a mocking glass and rueful smile. "Hans Baumer stands ever at my right hand and this is Granny Moescher - providing words of wisdom for decades to the good people of Untergrad." Although the woman shot a nervous glance at the lady at her words, she did not meet the elf's own enquiring eyes.

"Come, sit, tell us if the armies of all that is good and holy come to our assistance, we are in truth in need of some good news?" She sat back expectantly, hands steeped before her, an inviting eyebrow raised.

All eyes, even Granny Moeschers, now fell upon the elf captain who sighed, "Some good news?" he remained standing, more familiar and comfortable speaking in this manner. "Yes I can provide that. A great host comes to the aid of Middenheim, your people have been roused and the Emperor leads many thousands of knights and soldiers - my people are with your army and we cleanse the coasts of marauders whilst the Dwarves are also marching. I suspect that your town will be important as a staging post very soon."

"That is the good news..............as you know better than me, the forests swarm with beasts and monsters and we fear that the host that assaults the city is even more fearsome. It was my task to seek out information on our enemy............and I intend to carry this on."

Schiller drained his small glass of unknown spirits and responded first, "We had men here and.......... even dwarves here for the first battle, then they pissed off and we have seen no-one since," he paused and looked up at the elf, "we did not see any elves the first time neither." His cough seemed to be lessened by the alcohol. "If they don't get here soon, there is a good chance we will all be dead. Exactly how long before we can expect relief eh?"

He stood up and pointed to the map - "We have increasing numbers of beasts around the town especially here and here, they...... only stopped attacking here in force once the bridge...... was blown."

For the first time Granny Moescher spoke, her voice was stronger than the elf had expected and he got more of an idea as to her presence in the room. "There are so few left here, apart from the Lady's men, we have only a handful of fighters - otherwise we are just women and children and few of them can fight. They would just be prey to the beasts - and I for one have seen enough good people fall to them."

Lucarius stepped close enough to see the map and examined the marked areas to the North near Grimminhagen and East of the town across the river. His gaze however drifted across the crudely drawn features to the huge depiction of the Ulricsberg, the great shard of the mountain that Middenheim had been built on top of. It was tantalisingly close and whilst he felt for the humans that fought for this little town, he had a mission to complete.

"A few days, maybe even less, the outriders will be securing the crossing points ready for the main force - it will not be long I am sure." This much was true, Untergrad was on the list of towns to secure, although no one had expected it or its population to still be intact.

He looked around at the four people, and took a deep breath. "I need your help in getting close enough to Middenheim to see the situation and report back."

"Dwarves never asked for help - they just got on with what needed doing" Schiller scowled as he poured himself another shot of alcohol.

"Is that a no?"

"It is a .....statement.......of fact, boy"

"I am older than you, human and I have fought more battles than I care to remember, you should respect your elders"

"Perhaps, and perhaps the two of you should go outside and see who can piss the furthest eh?" Granny looked at each in turn "What exactly do you want from us Captain Shuarth?"

"I need to get through the forest unseen, I can't fight my way through and I don't know the land well enough to stealth through, my men suffered for that assumption ."

"Why do you not simply............ ask your.... kin for help Elf?"

"A good suggestion, but I understand that there is already an accord with them?"

Eyes turned to Hans and Sabina and she responded, shifting in her chair and looking a little uncomfortable, "Well, to be truthful, it’s more in the nature of the enemy of my enemy............."

"Still it is an accord is it not?"

"Yes, yes it is."

"Then can you arrange a meeting?"

Sabina looked at Hans and he nodded, "Hans will try and arrange a meeting," She held up a hand to forestall the elf, "Trust me, it will go better without my presence."

"Great, that's settled then...........well Elf.............. is there anything you can actually do to help us?"

"My sword is at your disposal until I leave - you will find that it is no small thing........."

"I'll expect you.......... on the wall tonight then, I understand your.......... eyes see well enough in the dark and it will give a good man time to rest"

"My pleasure.................." Lucarius gave a small bow, and turned to leave, quickly followed by Hans who headed purposefully towards the converted barracks and stables.


Back in the watch house..............

"Well that went well..........."

"Arrogant little gak - I hope he can fight as well as he talks."

"He can, I saw how his men died, they fought well, he was better"

"They still died though and he nearly joined them......Ach enough of the elf......do you think the army will arrive before they really test us?"

Sabina sighed, "No, they are getting ready to attack, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow."

Granny shook her head, "And you will still stand with us, your men will stay?"

"I said they would, and so they will, whilst I am here to command them they will stand."

"And if you fall?"

"Then I doubt that the loyalty of my men will be of the highest concern to you and yours."

Granny Moescher made her way through the dark and shadow strewn street to the house she had laid claim to, once the residence of one of the main merchant families of the town. Not only had they fled prior to the siege but since "good old Granny" had also taken on the burden of looking after the surviving orphan children, no one had raised any objection to her acquisition.

As she approached the solid front door, she noticed several flickering lights, likely candles moving about the house - the children within often kept strange hours and several were prone to nightmares and varied other night terrors. Isla Moescher had for decades kept odd hours herself so it was less of an imposition on her, but she still sighed as she fished out the big brass key to the door.

Easing the door open, she could hear clearly the children whispering to each other in alarm and it was only moments before several of them materialised in the hallway, all wide eyes and pushing each other to be in front. Magnus, a dark haired youth of nearly ten years finally took the lead with a disgusted look at the two girls following. He spoke little these days since seeing his parents eaten alive as he hid in the stables and Isla noticed the kitchen knife clutched tightly in his left hand, only partially hidden at his side.

Behind him were the two sisters, the younger of which, Elsa, now had jam smeared over her face and in contrast to her silent older sister was chattering excitedly away about "Granny being home". Granny herself assumed the others were still asleep but doubted that would last long.



Shortly before night fell completely, the rain began again as lightning cascaded across the sky and thunder brutalised the ears of everyone in the small town. The stone walls of Untergrad were made cold and slippery, the defensive ramparts that had provided protection against the monsters of the forest giving no defence against the icy slanting rain.

Most of the defenders huddled in the towers and reluctantly ventured out onto the battlements or along the waterfront palisade infrequently. Lucarius pulled the woollen cloak tighter about him as the rain cascaded down and cursed quietly as he took his turn in inspecting the waterfront and the stark, lightning illuminated ruin of the bridge.

He had been offered one of the crudely constructed bows the humans used, but once the rain had started he had politely declined the offer, conscious of their uselessness when the bow string was water logged. Stepping lightly, he avoided the pools of water beginning to form and gazed across the rising river, its dark surface reflecting the lightning. He paused several times as he saw shapes moving in the shattered eastern half of the town, but they quickly resolved themselves into night scavengers, ghosting through to continue their clear up duties.

The elf was just completing his circuit and about to head into the stuffy warmth of the guardhouse when the alarm horn sounded and instinctively drawing his sword, he spun towards its source - the other end of town. The three humans in the guardhouse sloshed out into the darkness, weapons in hand, confusion and determination mixed in their eyes.

A mighty howling and screaming began from the woods beyond the western end of the town as people scrambled from homes and barracks alike, grabbing weapons and pulling armour over clothes and night shirts. The two watchmen were obviously torn between staying at their post and joining the defence of the western half of the town, but the lone mercenary merely took a partially sheltered position where he could see most of the river and the ruins, trying to keep the rain from his crossbow. Meanwhile, the roaring and growling wave of sound continued to intensify to the west.


Mercenaries and townsfolk gazed across the killing zone, catching glimpses of the massed horde that lurked in the tree line, shouting, roaring and screaming at them. They had seen it before, but still chills ran through them even as cold rain continued to fall. Before, during the first siege, some had run, others had just frozen in fear even as the beasts attacked and cut them down, some had even killed themselves before the actual onslaught.

All who still lived knew they would fight, they might waken from sleep screaming or find even find slumber elusive but they would fight - there was no alternative. As had been practised, the Lady's men were spread amongst the townsfolk, their better training, weapons and armour to would provide vital support.

On the left gatehouse tower, two men and a dwarf prepared the one piece of artillery that had remained following the withdrawal of the army at the end of the first siege. Orzard Falker had been left to die by his unit, but although he was empire born, his life blood was still dwarvish so he had endured and he now directed operations around the ballista with his remaining arm.

Lightning blasted into a great old oak and it exploded into fire, even as a great branch crashed down to crush several beastmen, causing Captain Schiller to shout that Ulric was with them, and a ragged cheer rippled along the wall. In response, the roaring beasts wavered and only a few still screamed their hatred, but as they did so a huge creature stepped forward into the light of the burning tree, raising his axe and snout to the sky, roaring out to provoke the rest of the pack.

The champion was easily ten feet in height, two pairs of malformed horns curling out from its massive head, it was unclad and lacked armour save for rune inscribed iron plates hammered into its thickly furred body. Its left hand and arm were overdeveloped with jagged bone spikes that protruded from its forearm and backwards from its elbow. The great axe it held aloft in its right hand had a bone haft and twin brass coloured blades that flicked with blood red witch fire. It strode forward and screamed out words in its own tongue gesturing at the stone wall before it and as it finished its taunting cry, the other beasts fell silent and only the rumbling thunder was left.

"I'll kill it and break their will" Sabina glared at the monstrous beast that stood unmoving on the rain, "Hans drop a rope over the wall and keep it there - I may need to use it quickly on the way back."

A few disbelieving murmurs could be heard as the slight woman descended the rope at speed and began walking towards the enemy. She moved lightly across the muddy ground, even as the storm increased in intensity, illuminating her now drawn sword. All in Untergrad had seen her weapon before, somewhat shorter than the blades of her men and apparently made of bronze rather than steel, an iron chain began at its pommel and wrapped itself around her wrist.

She stopped half way, near the skeleton of a horse and spun her sword in her hand before pointing it directly at the champion. The beast let forth a guttural sound that could have passed for laughter and moved out to meet its challenger, the other creatures roaring their approval and bloodlust, a number of them moving out of the treeline and forming a ragged line behind it.

Sabina narrowed her eyes in irritation at this - she was confident, but not stupid and there were a lot of the lesser beasts, all of which had fixed their eyes on her as they brandished their crude weapons. The greater beast took no notice of the others and as it approached, Sabina could see the froth at its lips and the stench of sweat and blood matted fur reached her across the muddy field.

xx

Those few who watched the river and the Eastern half of the town or guarded the other walls could only worry and speculate about what was happening. Captain Lucarius felt the frustration as much as anyone else, but he could at least draw upon decades of experience in warfare where he had encountered the often infuriating periods of waiting and inactivity.

"You see them, Elf Man?" the mercenary spoke quietly but with assurance - his eyes never leaving the opposite bank and the shadowed ruins.

The elf moved next to him and concentrated fully on the ruins, ignoring the sudden cessation of the beasts’ roaring behind him. He saw them quickly now, skulking shadows moving down to the river bank and as he looked again beyond the ruins there were brief glimpses of more beyond.

"Clever beasts" he said softly.

"Then let’s kill 'em before they get any more clever, eh" As he finished his words, the mercenary put a crossbow bolt through the neck of the nearest creature and it dropped into the mud as he reloaded. The other men on the wall either joined him in looking for targets or like Lucarius waited for the assault to reach the wall.

xx

The great beast stomped and sloshed through the mud, uncaring of its pitiful attempts to impede its progress until it stood towering over its erstwhile opponent some ten feet away. Its two bloodshot eyes stared hard at the slight form and as its nostrils tasted the air between them, they flared and its grip tightened on the axe as it snarled apparently in recognition of what it faced.

"Met my kind before have you beast?" She allowed her mask to slip, revealing her long fangs and distorted, almost feline features as she took up a defensive stance.

It made no verbal response but launched itself forwards, the axe sweeping out in a wide arc in front of it before bringing it around above its head into a two handed grip and crashing down with tremendous force. Sabina ducked the arcing blade and leapt past the descending weapon, slicing into the beasts torso as she moved past. She was immediately confronted by a pair of lesser creatures and as she spun decapitating one, both she and the remaining beast were struck by the raging champion as it rammed into them.

The smaller beastman, still a foot taller than Sabina, was flung back and crashed into several of its fellows, provoking a scuffle amongst them. She herself staggered backwards, barely maintaining her balance as she slid back in the mud. A bone spur tore apart the chainmail protecting her abdomen and a descending axe blow was parried inches from her head. The two combatants snarled at each other as they matched their strength, sword against axe.

xx

Despite the rain, the three crossbows were proving to be effective, with the two townsfolk calling out to each other whenever they seemed to get a hit. The mercenary smiled as they did so and quietly remarked to the elf captain, "Don't worry Sir, I'll save some for you......"

Several malformed creatures lay dead at the edge of the river, or were floating down the waterway, but now the greater force had begun advancing through the ruins. A mass of naked and beaten captives were being herded ahead of some hulking clanking brass machine, large undulating tentacles waving in the air above it and a great maw partially visible at its fore.

Mutant creatures herded the hapless and chained humans ahead of the machine, moving towards the shattered bridge whilst other beasts and creatures continued to plunge into the river and strike out towards the defenders. Several were swept away by the fast moving water, others crushed by hidden debris moving in its murky depths and the crossbows continued to take their toll.

Still, a few reached the bank and the palisade - too long arms and other unnatural appendages propelling themselves over, where they were cut down with clinical efficiency by Lucarius, He moved ceaselessly along the defensive line, keeping the monsters from the crossbowmen with single precise cuts or thrusts killing the beasts almost instantly.

xx

The storm had awoken the remaining children and now the whole household was in the warmth of the kitchen where the fire had been stoked. In contrast to much of the town, food was abundant in the orphan’s house, many of the survivors had lost their own children and were all to eager to supply the few being looked after by Granny.

Elsa was eating again, perched on her sister’s lap at the big table, with an unfeasibly large hunk of bread crammed partially in her mouth. Magnus had finished washing the plates and was now looking bored, whilst Hans was fussing with the big old dog that lay by the fire. Isla was teaching the wide eyed Gretchen to count the intervals between the thunder and the lightning to see if it was going away or coming towards them. Dieter, the alchemist’s son was, as usual, playing chess against himself, the scorched wooden set the only thing he had managed to retrieve from his burned home.

Suddenly everyone in the room went quiet as between rumbling thunder, the sound of something hitting the roof near the chimney reverberating through it. Scrabbling claws could be heard for a few moments before the thunder drowned it out again, but all the children were now all silent and looking fearfully at Granny.

xx

Sabina held the great beast at bay, her own unnatural strength a match for its malformed muscles, something that she could see was causing its anger to grow even more intense. Then she began to force its axe up and away despite its grunts and straining, her fanged smile now predatory and her eyes becoming pools of blood.

"I've killed a Dragon, Beast," She hissed, "What makes something like you think you could be a match for me?"

Then she gasped in pain as a cleaver was rammed up through her stomach and emerged through the remnants of the chainmail at her waist. She feel the hot breath of the beast at her ear as it continued to push the blade in and it made a guttural sound that could have been laughter.

It hurt, but it was not something that would kill her or even cause permanent harm, yet if the beast kept doing it, her strength would ebb and the burning axe would take her head, she was sure the champion knew enough about her kind to do that. Her blade dropped a little and it was the great beasts turn to grin in triumph and it spoke for the first time, its voice coarse and anger filled but its words were formed in understandable reikspiel.

"Met your match eh Bitch? Met your match?"

xx

"What in Sigmar's name is that thing?"

Lucarius had no answer, even as he wiped the strange electric blue blood of the last mutant over the wall from his blade and he gazed across at the monstrosity that had now reached the bridge, the slaves driven before it. Even as a crossbow bolt took the life of one of the slave drivers, so the others and the surrounding mutants and beasts began to slaughter the captives.

It took little time to complete, despite it being bloody work, the creatures were obviously practised at their task and the stone was once again awash with blood and bodies. As the last human fell to cleaver and club, the demonic machine behind them was fully revealed, a massive wheeled construct of tormented flesh, bleeding iron and growling brass. At its side were squat armoured figures who urged the thing on with whip and prod of burning iron.

Tentacles lashed out from the machine and began to feed the maw with the dead flesh - although what its purpose was remained unclear. Crossbow bolts ricocheted off the hull and it seemed not to notice as it slowly advanced and consumed the offerings left before it. The beasts began to gather their own dead and drag them to the bridge even as another mass of slaves could be seen being driven towards the bridge from within the ruins.

As the defenders watched in horror, the construct seemed to gather itself and vomited forth a great stream of glowing green energy that enveloped the jagged edge of the bridge and began to reform the lost stonework. After a minute or so the flow of energy stopped, but now there was a six foot addition to the bridge and the construct began again to feed.

Lucarius spoke for them all - "That machine needs to die!"

xx

The brutal crashing announced that whatever had landed on the roof had broken through into the house and a ear piercing shriek confirmed that it was hunting. Granny Moescher looked up as she climbed the stairs and grimaced at the noise, she paused for a second to catch her breath and gather herself.

The staircase was dark, with only the lightning intermittently illuminating through the shattered skylight as from the attic came the sound of claws clicking as something moved back towards the stairs. It was not huge, the ragged bat like wings now folded across its back, but its large feet ended in vicious claws and its wiry body was hunched in readiness as it emerged onto the stairway.

Isla was already chanting when it spun to face her, its large beak screeching in anger and lust of blood, as it prepared itself to leap upon the old woman. It stopped as the sound of crows began to resound around the room and aethyric black birds began to appear with hooked beaks and blood red eyes. They flocked around the beastman tearing at its face and in particular its eyes with iron hard beaks and raking talons, causing its screeches to change to screams of agony.

As the birds began to fade and dissipate, the beast was still reeling back in agony and confusion when the carving knife found its throat, opening it up to release its lifeblood. Granny stood over its still threshing corpse and shook her head - "You shouldn't have come creature, nothing for you here." Turning to return to her charges she found Hans standing silently watching her, a knife clasped defensively in his hands.

xx

The Beastman had begun to spitefully twist the cleaver in her innards and Sabina allowed herself to cry out in pain before she launched herself forward and off its edge, leaving her precious blood to cloak the ground. She twisted the axe up and away as she did so, and spun to face the her enemies, clasping the edges of her wound together with her free hand to speed the healing process.

Most of the beasts remained in front of her and behind their champion, but a small group of scrawny looking mutants were moving slowly to outflank her. She smiled as a huge spear sized ballista bolt transfixed two of them and made the rest break and scatter for the treeline. Without taking her eyes from the beasts, she raised her hand in grateful recognition to those behind her.

Over confident now, the smaller beast leapt at her, its widely swing cleaver splattering her with her own blood as she stepped aside. Casually she kicked hard into the back of its knee sending it sprawling before she sheathed her blade in its heart. She looked up, her eyes shifting to red again and this time she met the champions advance with her own charge.

xx

Lucarius ducked and parried and then with one descending cut he took the head off a three armed mutant and the leg off a stunted and ragged winged creature. Another with brightly coloured plumage leapt at him and took a crossbow bolt to the throat which flung it off balance leaving it open to a pivoting kick from the elf flung it to the ground to expire. The two warriors paused for breath at the foot of the stone bridge, sheltering behind the stumpy plinth of a once proud statue - now shattered at their feet.

The mercenary reloaded and glanced around the battered stone to view the target, the daemonic machine guzzling the corpses to produce a new bridge structure for the mass of creatures lurking behind it and in the ruins. The elf finished slitting the throat of the nearby twitching mutant and smiled, his bloody long knife still in his hand.

"You are ready?"

"No...........but let’s do it anyway"

The sickeningly glistening surface of the extended bridge had progressed to within about ten feet of the other half as the two advanced swiftly to the jagged edge that hovered above the dark river. Several creatures, the vanguard of the greater horde, capered and screamed on the other side, but one was cut off in mid screech as the machine enveloped it with a tentacle and began dragging it towards its maw.

Without breaking stride the two leapt the gap and kept their balance on the sticky still drying surface, Lucarius dispatched the two nearby beastmen and they continued racing for the stumpy armoured figures goading the machine. Two large tentacles leisurely tried to envelope them but they were easily evaded and the mercenary even had time to pause and send a speculative bolt into the machines mouth.

The largest of the armoured figures stepped forward, his face concealed by a metal mask that glowed with fire from behind and whose eye sockets were white hot pools of anger and hatred. The figure brought forward and levelled an ornate pistol, bedecked in fiery runes and its barrel culminating in a brass skull. The shot came screaming out from the gun, trailing soul vapour and heading for the elf.

He rolled aside, ignoring the cloying stench from the surface of the remade bridge and quickly regained his feet, but only survived as his current fighting partner shouted a desperate warning. The shot had curved back towards the captain who at the last minute lashed out with his heirloom blade, shattering both and slashing open his own face from shards of his sword.

A strangely echoing shout of challenge came from the pistol wielding Daemonsmith as he swapped his firearm for a forge hammer, burning runes of fire again inscribed into the wrought metal. Two of his three companions remained at their work, urging the machine forward with goad and brand, but the last strode forward to smite the impudent human who approached.

xx


"Hello Hans", Granny carefully kept her tone level, despite the fear she now felt, she had always been so careful around the other townsfolk.

The boy did not speak but walked slowly up to the dead beast and poked it with his knife, several times until apparently satisfied by its lack of response despite the blood welling sluggishly from its cuts.

"It’s dead"

"Yes Hans,"

"How did it die?" and this time he turned his questioning eyes on Isla.

She hesitated, "It was an evil thing and so it was struck down."

Hans considered this, looking down at the foul smelling body and then shook his head.

"Lots of evil things did not get struck down, why did this one?" Again he shifted his gaze to the old woman. "I thought you did it Granny..........I don't know how but you got those weird birds to peck it death, that's right isn't it?"

Granny did not say anything, considering what to do, she had guarded her secret for such a long time.

Hans was struck by another thought, "Where did all those birds go Granny?" He turned away from her and began walking slowly up the stairs to see if they had flown up there and Isla followed.

xx

Although her sword was forged to kill dragons in ages past, it had proven itself both fully able to deal death to many other creatures and also hold its own against magical weapons of varied vintage and history. It clashed hard against the beasts axe and Sabina smiled ferociously as she twisted its edge and deflected it enough to allow her to slice it across the knuckles of the creature’s left hand.

She moved and cut, cut again and dodged, spun and sliced - just as her tutor had taught her decades ago, never allowing her blade to be caught in either a parry or become entrapped in her opponents flesh. She did not escape unscathed, a bone spur sliced open her right cheek and the burning axe managed to caress and scorch her right leg once.

Yet these blows were the exception as she cut the monster to pieces, her strength was easily its match and her speed and agility superior. It was clear the beast knew it as well as its swings and roars became equally desperate as it sought to smash its tormentor into oblivion.

Its left leg finally gave under a series of precise cuts and its axe hammered into the mud as its balance was lost. Sabina quickly followed up and ripped her blade across its throat before spinning away. It grasped for her with one massive clawed hand even as its lifeblood sprayed across the mire that marked their battlefield and it dropped to its knees. For a moment, she was transfixed by the crimson spray but she was no longer enthralled by such sights and smells as she had been when she had first been gifted, the blood of the Dragon had seen to that.

She kicked the beast in the chest, watching it fall heavily back into the thick mud before standing on its broad chest and smiling as the lightning flashed about her.

xx

The Daemonsmith was not quick but with only his long knife and the remnants of his sword - little more than the hilt and several inches of blade remained - Lucarius was in trouble! Neither weapon could make an impression on the figure within the mighty plates of black iron that enveloped his enemy, they could scarcely even score its surface.

In response, the fire wreathed hammer threatened to smash his skull, or envelope him in flame - several times its owner had called out in an arcane language to invoke a burst of fire at his enemy. The elf was a challenging target and the armoured figure was finding it increasingly difficult to keep him in view and bellowed out more words - this time evidently to the machine that lurked and devoured behind him.

The metallic monster lurched forwards and lashed out with its tentacles in response and as Lucarius swayed back from the hammer one long undulating green limb caught him a glancing blow that knocked him on his back. The sticky surface clung to his clothes and the stench of the former flesh was repellent as he rolled to his right avoiding a powerful hammer blow.

His mercenary companion was in a better position, he had swapped his crossbow for a large mace and seemed to be getting the better of his opponent. Despite this he had not escaped unscathed, blood still flowed from the remnant of his right ear and a nasty gash ran across his left arm where the chainmail had not held. The stocky figure lashed out again with its axe and followed up with a thrust with the great iron brand it held in its left hand, the heat radiating down to its gauntlets, apparently without consequence to the wielder.

The human gave ground to the first but smashed aside the brand and followed up with a crushing blow to the facemask of the chaos dwarf that would have killed a man, but merely snapped its head back. A second mace blow hammered into the gauntlet that held the axe and the weapon dropped inches, still joined to its owner by a chain welded to its wrist.

Two handed the man crashed his weapon again into the protected skull of the dwarf and this time the blow had the desired effect as, apparently stunned, it dropped to his knees. A final blow crushed the face plate and sent the body clanking to the stone surface of the bridge, but this drew the attention of his compatriots.


xx

"Maybe they flew away eh Granny?"

The boy was looking up at the ripped open skylight, contemplating the darkness beyond, his head cocked on side.

Granny looked down at her trembling hands, holding the bloody knife in front of her then looked at the child's back. In her mind a voice was screaming at her that she need to make sure he stayed silent, she needed to keep her secret, as she had for so long.

"I think they did Hans....."

"Will they be back?" He paused and turned back to face her, "If the evil things come again, they would be good to have around, might even stop the others getting scared."

"Perhaps." Her voice was soft and without strength.

He nodded, "Shall we go back to the others now Granny?"

She paused, looking at his serious but earnest face, a face that had grown so familiar in the last few weeks and made herself deaf to the voice. She put the knife in her belt and reached out a hand to him and they began to descend the stairs.

Hans persevered, "It would be good to have birds like that here all the time - are they easy to train, can I lean how to call them? What do you call them, do they all have names? Be great to have one of my own - that'd show Magnus"

Halfway down, Granny stopped and took a deep breath. "Hans, the birds are very special and I think it would be best not to tell anyone else about them."

"What? Why? I want to tell the others about the glowing birds, it was just like................magic, Granny was it magic?"

xx

Sabina raised her sword to the sky, even as lightning cascaded down and then turned to point it at the remaining beasts in challenge - her wounds were healing and her blood was pounding with excitement and exhilaration. She scarcely heard the horns from the town and dismissed them as unimportant, what mattered was here and now, she had been born to fight and she loved it even more since she had been reborn.

Two larger beastmen leapt forward to meet her, one slipping in the mud in its haste, which merely prolonged its life a few moments. She scythed through them with joy in her heart and eyes of blood and began to cut down the others that had followed their champion into the field. She ignored stinging cuts and hefty blows alike as she sheathed her sword in the heart of one and ripped open the throat of another with her teeth, its blood was thick and foul, she no longer had to drink blood but it was some time since she had indulged herself.

The small hurts were gone as quickly as they had been made as she flung the drained beast from her and looked for more prey. Few now stood against her, and they were more fear driven as they fought her, now pushing others between them and the predator that stalked them.

Then she was done with them, watching a couple fleeing towards the dubious safety of the trees and their packmates. She stepped forward to follow even as she heard someone calling her name, urgency in the gruff voice. She took another step forwards, the cloying mud nothing to her as the rain mingled with the blood in her hair, face and clothes.

A hand caught her arm and she turned snarling in anger, filled with lust for more violence and she scarcely restrained herself from immediately tearing into Hans. For his part he stood unmoving, his cool blue eyes impassively locked with her bloody orbs and waited, trusting that she would regain control.

xx

The Daemonsmith spat curses at Lucarius in his own people's twisted version of the dwarf tongue as his target dodged and weaved to stay alive. Durability not speed was the strong point of both forms of dwarves and so they had reached an impasse, for the elf could not seem to penetrate his armour either.

Lucarius was conscious that he had little time, he was dodging both fire and hammer as well as occasional lunges from the machines tentacles and it was only a matter of moments before beasts joined the dwarves that controlled the daemon engine and the two of them were overwhelmed and devoured by them or the machine.

He leapt inside the dwarves guard and with inhuman precision and speed rammed the remnants of his sword through the right eye slit of the brass mask and twisted away quickly, leaving in it in the wound. The Daemonsmith staggered back but kept his feet, but as he did so the living engine shuddered and let out a piercing scream from its jaws. Lightning flashed and the rain ceased.

Bolts and arrows lashed into the onrushing beasts and checked them as the frontrunners stumbled and fell, tangling others as they did so. The Dwarf took a step backwards and grasped the protruding hilt, but before he could pull it free, the elf was at his side and his long knife found the other eye slit and this time the captain did not move away but forced it even deeper into the wound.

Both machine and smith spasmed in pain and a great scream rent the air as burning blood began to cascade from the dwarves ruptured eye sockets. As the armoured form stumbled backwards, the elf grasped a fallen club and hammed it against both hilts, forcing them even deeper and the Daemonsmith fell. Although no words of pain passed its lips, the screams of agony that emanated from the foul engine were long and loud.

The two remaining crew ignored the faltering mercenary who had suffered from their dual onslaught and turned to try and regain control of the rampaging machine which now turned left and right, lashing out with tentacle and belching forth the strange substance that had recently rebuilt much of the bridge.

Several horsemen followed the fusillade of archery, leaping across the near complete bridge and sweeping down towards the beastmen and mutants that still remained. Many of the latter fled but the beasts were angry and lusted still for blood and vengeance on the men that hunted them in the woods and they stood and fought, and they fought hard.

As the great machine lashed about blindly, Lucarius and the mercenary grasped hold of the Daemonsmith and bodily threw its bloody form into the maw exchanging exhausted smiles they did so. The brutal melee around the foot of the bridge continued unabated until the engine consumed its former master and suddenly detonated, sending shards of metal to slice into friend and foe alike.

Sabina stalked through the dark streets of Untergrad, ignoring the few inhabitants that could be seen, her face a mask of anger, the fury in her heart barely controlled. Her face and upper body was still partially shrouded in blood, little of it having washed off in the waning storm, making her a frightening sight. Behind her came Hans, grim faced, his long strides barely keeping up with the slight woman he served.

Finally they reached the palisade that protected the town from invaders attacking from across the river. It was still standing, although sections had been lashed with flying shrapnel and at least one body had found a final undignified rest impaled on a sturdy post.

Several townsfolk and mercenaries were pulling wounded back into town, blood mixing with the sludge and detritus. With little visible effort, Sabina jumped over the fence to fully view the scene of devastation at the old bridge, ignoring the piteous sounds of pain coming from a nearby horse, its belly torn open and its life draining slowly into the river. Dead men and bestial mockeries of the same lay on both sides of the bank along with horses and a few malformed creatures that served the same duty for the beasts. Hans followed her but paused for a second and drawing a long serrated hunting knife, he quickly knelt down and put the animal out of its misery.

"How many?" her voice was harsh but controlled as he returned to her side.

"We lost eight men, the town three more, the Elf Captain was wounded.........again. A few might still live if..........."

Sabina sighed as her anger dissipated and she strode over to one of her men propped up against a wooden post, a young girl of about his own age crying as she held the unconscious man. She watched the two of them for a long minute before she knelt down beside them.

"What's your name child?" Despite the fact that Sabina looked only a few years older than her, the girl did not challenge her words, for although Middenlanders were a independent people they still obeyed the rules of the feudal system.

"Ulrike, Lady", she did not turn from her charge, her bloodstained hand stroking the unconscious mans forehead.

"I need to you to leave him to me"

The girl's head whipped round at this and she made to speak, but the lady put one bloody finger across her lips.

"If you care for him Ulrike, leave him now. He will be fine, you have my promise. Hans take her back to the others, I am sure someone will be looking for her". Han slowly pulled her away and the began to walk her back into the town, her face pale and fearful.

Sabina watched them walk away for a moment before turning back to the mercenary. "A pretty girl you have found yourself Albrecht," she paused again and grasped his chin in her hand, pulling his lolling head to face hers. "Try to remember her, try your best.........."

As he remained unresponsive, she bit down hard on her own wrist and let the blood run free, for a moment watching its sluggish flow slip down her arm. Then she forced the warriors mouth open and allowed the ichor to drain down his throat. At first there was no response, but quickly he began to cough and struggle against her grip.

"Hush, Hush, you know its good for you, you've seen it before, be grateful for my gift and remember Ulrike."

His eyes snapped open, pale blue like the girls Sabina reflected, but where hers had been filled with fear and desperation, his were alive with confusion and then as they began to focus - adoration of the woman he was looking at.

"My Lady.................?"

"Welcome back Albrecht, rest now, regain your strength so you can serve me well."

He nodded and leaned back against the stone wall, eyes closed again, his face relaxed even as his wounds continued to heal. She stood up and flexed her hand and wrist as her own healing process was completed and looked down on her warrior.

"Your girl, Albrecht, what is her name?"

"Girl, My Lady?" His eyes flickered open again, confusion returning to his gaze.

Sabina sighed heavily and turned away, looking for the other two of her men she was going to save. As she began to move away she heard him whisper a name, almost questioningly and a smile touched her lips for a moment.

xx

Despite the victory, there was little rejoicing in Untergrad, the enemy had been defeated and driven away before, and it had always returned. The beasts had been slain in great numbers, and they had always returned. Few had died in this attack and that was a victory in itself, but it was not a final victory and until this was achieved, the threat remained. Acknowledging this, some took solace in the Gods of the Empire - Ulric and Sigmar in particular - for they were martial gods and this was a time of war. Others, those still with family, found comfort in their mutual survival and for still others there was always alcohol to keep despair and dreams at bay.

Inga found peace in her cooking, she had stoked the fire again when the horns sounded their familiar alarm call and again as they had in time sounded the all clear, so she continued to cook, a large and very sharp meat cleaver always in easy reach.

Sitting unobtrusively near the fire was her charge, Petra Brandt, her arms hugging her legs to her body as she watched Inga chop and stir. Leaning up against the wall near her chair was her grandfathers' war axe, something that she had barely been able to lift and certainly would not have been able to fight with, even if she had had any training. Inga had merely nodded as she had entered the kitchen with it, rather than laughing as some would have done.

Both stood silently when the knocking sounded on the courtyard door, before Inga shrugged and walked over, "Monsters don't knock" she said as she passed her mistress, her tone reassuring rather than mocking. She still however kept her trusty meat cleaver in her sturdy right hand as she moved towards the door.

She opened the door slowly to reveal a rather bedraggled and battered looking elf captain, standing in the darkness and rain with a rueful expression. His left arm was wrapped up in a bloody and obviously makeshift sling but otherwise he seemed hale, although more than bedraggled in the continuing rain.

"Ladies, I would ask to impose upon your generosity once more........"

A derisive snort came from the courtyard, out of view before an equally dishevelled mercenary, his head partially swathed in bandages, moved to the elf's side. His eyes swept across the room and settled on the empty plates and then beyond to the steaming stew pot, his tongue flickering across his lips before he flashed a disarming grin at the two women.

"Have you got a bite to eat for some starving heroes!?"

Inga smiled in return, "Why do you know of any?" but still she waved her hand towards two wooden seats and turned back to prepare a meal for the two men. The mercenary needed no further invitation, slapping the captain’s uninjured shoulder with a friendly grin and strolled into the kitchen.

Caught off guard, Lucarius watched as he quickly made himself at home bantering with Inga as she laughing, served him up some stew. He exchanged a glance with a wide eyed Petra and tried to reassure her with a weak smile but she looked away, huddling into herself. Staring at the man tucking in to his food with gusto, he realised that despite nearly dying alongside him on the bridge, he had no idea of his name.

xx

As the fear and tension of the attack began to fade so the children's energy and desire to stay awake also slipped away and they retreated back to the two rooms that served as dormitories for them. At last the house was quiet and still as Granny sat in an old and battered yet comfortable chair and watched the fire burning lower. She was conscious that she should stoke it with more wood, but she was old and tired and it was too much effort.

She closed her eyes for a moment as she relieved the thrill that had coursed through her as she had conjured the birds from whatever dark realm they lived in. Where once she had struggled to bring forth a single such daemonic creature now a whole flock came forth - but she was keenly aware that as evil grew in the forests or in the North so magic became easier.

Easier to summon, but not to control, she reflected drowsily then her eyes snapped open as she realised she had been mumbling words. Awake now, she stared in surprise and growing horror at the fire blazing in the hearth. For a moment she saw small figures dancing in the flames, cavorting in its depths before they dissipated in the smoke ascending the chimney. Tiny cackling voices became mere the crackling of the logs as they collapsed in on themselves.

Her hands gripped the old wood of the chair hard as her eyes strayed half fearfully to the wooden carving above the fireplace. Left by the fleeing owners it was a work of no little craftsmanship depicting the gods of the Empire in stark relief - there as a reminder and source of strength.

Taal and Rhya, the father and mother of all stood behind and towered above their children. Great antlers reared from the fathers head and flowers encircled her head but their features were more indistinct than the others, as if the artist feared to try and capture their visage. Between them stood Ulric, a great hammer in his hands and a wolf at his side, an unforgiving expression carved into his stark features. Along the haft of the hammer read the legend Sigmar, an unusual allusion to the man-god.

In contrast to the scowl, Verena to his left and Morr to his right were impassive and merely watchful, the goddess of justice bearing her trademark sword and scales whist the god of death had only his robes. They in turn were flanked by their two daughters, left was Shallya, goddess of healing and mercy, cupped in her hands a dove, whilst her sister Myrmidia was clad as a divinity of war with armour, spear and shield. A shadowy face was at Shallya's shoulder, Ranald the Trickster.

Granny mouthed her prayers, not for the first time and hoped that they would hear her pleas.....

xx

Dawn came late in the autumn, but no one in the town begrudged it, for many were exhausted by the night’s events and whilst the time of darkness had often given the beasts of the forest cover for attacks, it was obvious that they would not come again. There would be funerals later in the day, the townsfolk well versed in this grim task despite the lack of priests to formally lay the dead to rest.

The rain had returned however, steady and insidious and the land, already wet, became increasingly treacherous whilst grey and black clouds warred the heavens above with occasional rumbles of thunder or flashes of lightning.

Sabina and Hans ignored the large droplets impacting on the tree branches above them, he was well wrapped up and she had no worries about catching a cold. They had behind left the stench of the bestial corpses that littered the eastern half of Untergrad - the followers of Chaos had little use for their own dead, except as food.

Restlessly, the woman paced up and down, in sharp contrast to the watchful but unmoving former hunter. He wished she would stand still, but he knew this was unlikely to happen.

"Be careful Hans, I would not loose anyone else to the creatures of the forest." Her voice was low and he registered the genuine concern in her voice.

He nodded in response, "Malitha should be pleased by the slaughter here, it may even put her in a better, more receptive mood. After all she seemed less than impressed by our elf captain when they met before.............but that's understandable." His voice dropped as he mouthed the last few words.

"I was not aware she had any other mood other than sullen or angry.............."

Hans did not smile and after waiting to see if any further instructions were forthcoming from his liege, voiced his own concerns.

"Many have seen you perform deeds beyond that of mortals, My Lady, I would that you were most careful if relief indeed comes to Untergrad..........." He stopped as irritation flashed across the woman's face, this was not the first time they had had this discussion and he knew better than to pursue it further when she was in this mood.

xx

Even in the middle of the day and with the rain easing to a light drizzle, the deep wood was still in half darkness. Hans sat comfortably against an old and long dead tree, his weapons prominently displayed but still within reach. His eyes were closed as he listened to the ebb and flow of the woodland around him, wondering if he would hear them coming for once.....

He didn't.

"Wake up human", the soft amused voice was punctuated by a light kick to Han's feet.

Cool blue eyes snapped open and stared at the tall elf male standing above him, his dappled clothing making his outline seem indistinct against the forest background. His unbound hair was dark and the left hand side of his face was dominated by an impressively crafted tattoo - a swirling mass of whorls. He wore no armour, but a slender sword hung at his hip and he carried a bow loose in his left hand.

Behind him was the witch, Malitha, flanked by another pair of warriors who were in turn watching the woods around them. She was nearly as tall as her companions, her hair a unrestrained mass of dark blonde curls that twisted and curled to near her waist wear her curved blade hung from a bejewelled belt.

True to form, she looked annoyed as she walked over to where Hans sat unmoving and as she did so, the elf standing nearest grinned at the human at his feet and rolled his eyes, his expression well hidden from his fellows. Hasir was the first elf that Hans had ever met, and it had been a fortunate chance as he was as light hearted as his charge was well known for her foul temper. It was hard to believe that the two were related.

"What new troubles do you bring to my woods, Human?" Malitha spat her words at him, making Hasir wince at the venom - Han wondered briefly if she would eventually be consumed by her constant anger - he had seen others go the same way.

He had considered his words carefully on the journey to the meeting place, knowing that the witch was temperamental at best and had been looking for a good reason to dissolve the fragile agreement that was in place between her and his lady. In truth he doubted the reason needed to be that good.

"Mistress Malitha, a kinsman of yours seeks to gain knowledge of our enemies and requires safe passage to the mountain city to see what evils the armies of the Empire, Elves and Dwarves must confront. I ask that you aid us in this matter or at least do not hinder us, so that we can better drive forth the beasts that plague your realm."

Although he was careful to direct his attention and speech to the elf woman, his words were also for her companions - the more reasonable his argument it sounded to them, the less likely she could justify a negative or even violent response to her kin.

Her expression did not change as she considered his words carefully, either weighing the worth of them or seeking a hint of untruth or deception that could be used to deny the request. The sounds of the restive woodland continued as she did so, birds and beasts moving through the branches, uninterested in her decision.

Surprisingly it was Hasir who spoke first, “I too would see the enemies we all face.” He winked at Hans, but when Malitha’s head snapped around to glare at him, his face was expressionless once again.

“Ensure you live long enough to do so then my brother, but remember that your life is worth any number of humans.” She tuned back to the seated man, her hand seemingly unconsciously caressing the hilt of her knife. “Does the leech travel with you?”

“No."

"Our compact is maintained for now, we allow you to seek out our enemies and in doing so travel our woods without molestation." She turned with a angry flourish and began to stalk back into her domain, her guards already having moved into the trees in anticipation of her departure.

"It seems we are stuck together once again." The elf was smiling broadly now as he offered a hand to pull the human to his feet. "Now tell me more of my kinsman that we will guide to the city of the White Wolf."

xx

The boy stood on the stairs staring hard at the bloody stains ingrained into the dark wood, now well illuminated by the still broken skylight. The foul corpse of the beastman had been dragged out by two burly men and put on the fire - their souls damned to whatever Hell awaited the evil creatures. He missed the sermons of Father Gustav, they had always been full of the hell and damnation that awaited the evil monsters of the world.

Hans liked that, he had also liked it when the beastman had bled out on the stairs, such monsters deserved nothing more. He had equally been brightened by the men's words as they cursed at the corpse before pulling it down the stairs, although Granny had been less impressed by the mess they had made in this task.

He looked down at the little knife he now always carried with disdain, it would have made no impression on a monster like the thing that had smashed its way in through the skylight last night. He needed something better, in case more came after him or the other children, or Granny.

But he continued to muse, Granny could certainly look after herself, after all she had been in the village as long as anyone could remember and some of the other adults were really old! The image of the strange birds attacking the beastman suddenly sprang into his mind and he smiled again - if only he had pets like that. If only....
A startling loud caw sounded in the room and he looked up to see a large crow staring down through the shattered skylight. It cocked its head to allow it to stare at the young boy and met his gaze when he looked up response to the birds call. As Hans looked at the bird, he heard footsteps slowly making their way up the staircase and guiltily he realised that he was supposed to be helping the girls with their chores.

"Hans, where are you boy!", Granny's voice was strong and he knew better than not to respond when so called.

"Up here, Granny"

Indistinct grumbling reverberated softly as the old woman slowly ascended the stairs to where Hans stood still, looking at the crow with growing interest. As he watched, it hopped down from the roof and began prowling about the room, apparently unconcerned about the boys presence. It crossed the floor until it stood in the centre of the dark stain and began scratching at the dried blood.

Cautiously Hans bent down and reached out his hand towards its glossy feathers, given confidence by its seeming indifference. As he did so, the feather seemed to take on a sheen, catching the half light in an iridescent display of colours.

Granny heard the child cry out in fear and pain and hastened her pace as much she could, even though the pain in her knees and chest quickly intensified. Panting from her exertions, she found him lying motionless on the wooden floor, blood dripping from his left ear.

xx

Dusk saw the no let up of the insidious drizzle, making sentry duty on the walls particularly unpleasant, yet Albrecht was restless and full of energy as he strode through the darkening streets. Since the battle and his Lady's gift of life, all of his senses had been fired with new power and his body with energy. In fact, he had just left his lover well sated in her bed, but their pleasurable exertions had unusually not led to his own rapid drift into slumber.

He wondered if the bestial creatures would again launch themselves at the town and found himself hoping they would. In the past, despite having survived a goodly number of such encounters, he had deep inside feared the monsters they fought, but now he relished the inherent challenge. He virtually vaulted up on to the wall, drawing a sour look from the huddled sentry who grudgingly mouthed a greeting.

When his lady had first brought her men to the town, anyone who would stand and wield a blade was a gift from the Gods, and although there had been occasional tensions between the warriors and the remaining inhabitants they had been small matters, quickly resolved.

Albrecht did on occasion wonder if his lovers parents still lived, they would have looked with favour on his advances to their daughter. He smiled ruefully, he seriously doubted they would have invited them to make use of their marriage bed, as they had done this evening! He walked to the battered parapet and looked out into the darkness, oblivious to the rain, daring the beasts to come again.

xx

Sabina was as restless as the young man she had recently saved with her blood, pacing in the large room whose small fire was dying away into ghostly embers of its former glory. She did not feel the cold, but tried as much as possible to appear as if she did. Despite her earlier dismissal of Hans warning words, she was conscious that she was not trying as hard as she should to appear human - a dangerous indulgence.

She glanced again at the small cameo she held in her hand and impatiently flicked open the polished brass, the candle light catching the delicately inscribed letter C that was the only decoration on the exterior. The half length portrait revealed within was of a darkly handsome man, his sable hair cropped short and his clothes a rich mixture of crimson and purple.
A moment before she was going to snap it shut again in exasperation, the painted image seem to shimmer as if in a heat haze. The eyes of the sitter blinked and the self satisfied half smile became wider before his voice resonated across the room, accented by the distinctive tones of the Eastern Empire.

"Dear Lady, it is a delight to see you once again, I trust all is well?"

When Sabina had first met the speaker, she had been sure the accent had been affected, so redolent of the popular caricatures of the lords of Sylvania was it. It was only later she realised that those comic styling's had deep roots and that Viktor was merely speaking in the archaic form of the land of his birth.

"Viktor.......at last," Sabina took a deep breath before continuing, noticing his raised eyebrow. "No, in point of fact all is not well, the humans grow weaker every day and the beasts seem to grow stronger, the forests swarm with the creatures." Disconcertingly a crystal goblet appeared in the cameos frame and the man took a sip from it before replying, obviously completely at ease and forcing Sabina to restrain her irritation.

"How sad," another pause, another sip, "But fear not my dear, for my Liege has awoken and with him all the strength of his realm. His presence means that the invaders no longer trouble us in the East, or indeed have joined the ranks of our own army. I am sure that my Lord will be the unlooked for salvation of all in the Empire." his smile widened showing the enlarged incisors.

In response, Sabina's eyes narrowed in assessment - Viktor was not usually so quick to praise the dark lord of his land, it was likely he was not alone - the politics of Sylvania were as complicated and dangerous as in any human realm.

"It is my hope that the armies of the Empire and the your Liege crush the monsters between them in sight of Middenheim.........."

"Perhaps," the goblet again, a pause as if the man was receiving instructions, "and perhaps it is time that the Empire and its people recognised a new Emperor......."

"He has tried before.........."

"It is now a different world."

"We shall see....."

"We shall indeed" and with these words, the cameo returned to its inert state.

xx

Viktor Von Carnstein glanced at his keeper as the cameos magic's faded, the creature was tall and lean, even for a race of predators that Vladimir had transformed his adopted family into. The bronze mask he wore was more a necessity than an affection, given the state of his ravaged face and unlike many courtiers toys it was a mere shadowy impression of a visage.

The old campaign tent was badly lit, as those that mattered needed little if any light to see, the skeletal guards at the entrance had empty eye sockets and the few living humans inside were drained to the point of insensibility. At the side of the emissary was a vast rotting wolf, a fading leather collar merging with the discoloured and spongy flesh, its half severed tongue lolling from the toothy jowls.

"You have done as instructed, good" even the voice of Manfred's emissary was damaged, rasping and difficult to understand. In response, disdain flickered across Viktors face as the lean figure turned from him, running a familiar hand through the tangled matted fur of his pet and stalked out from his presence into the darkness of the night.

It was long moments before the man in the cameo roused himself and followed into the darkness, even as thunder began to rumble around the former battleground and now encampment of the forces of Sylvania. He gazed upon the scene of carnage that was now a recruitment ground for the necromancers to raise the corpses to replenish the ranks of the army.

Lightning began to flash, illuminating the mud and bodies still to be animated. The battle had been fierce indeed and although the Carnstein's had prevailed little of their forces remained intact - the warriors of Chaos were fierce and deadly. Zombies and skeletons were merely available in great numbers, unfeeling and as they were without fear, unrelenting.

Watching the bloody, mangled corpses being dragged through the mire to the feet of the chanting figures, Viktor wondered what Sabina would make of the scene. He recalled her voice with pleasure, he was still amused and charmed by her faintly backwoods accent of minor nobility from the city in the forest - Talebheim.

On the fringes of the battlefield, he could see and hear the dire wolves ripping and tearing at corpses, their hunger still remaining even though the meal was of no use to their rotting bodies. His sense of smell was overwhelmed by the putrid remnants of war and whilst he knew she was a warrior he wondered if she had ever seen the face of total war or what being a Vampire Lord really meant.

He sighed and turned back to the once great pavilion of some long dead lord who had sought glory in war, she, like everyone else would adapt to his masters rule or perish - he wondered which would be kinder.

xx

The morning came with a promise of better weather, the grey and black clouds having drifted North back to where some said the storms of the world were birthed. Lucarius looked through the small and now unshuttered window at the scarred town just now awakening, he could see a few tired men trudging back through the muddy streets to their homes or billets, once homes to others, now dead or worse.

A warmer wind had pushed the clouds away and he could feel the rising suns warmth on his pale skin, he enjoyed its touch for a moment before he felt a brief yet intense burning sensation in his right hand. Startled, he looked down but the pain was only momentary and there was nothing evident to explain it, cautiously he flexed his wrist and fingers before deciding that everything was indeed fine.

He turned back to the small room, a far cry for the exquisite palace complexes of home and slowly finished dressing, still hampered by his injured left arm which caused a few choice words in Eltharian. Before he left the room he looked for several long minutes at the small collection of mementoes he had collected from each of the warriors he had brought across the great ocean to which he had added the hilt and blade shards of his destroyed sword. A rolled scroll sat next to them with a small pile of coin, for he had written a note in the hope that if he fell, they would be taken to his kin in the approaching army, it was at last gesture to those who had proved worthy of his trust.

The narrow staircase beckoned and he descended down into the quiet house before a faint bubble of laughter and conversation drew him to its still living heart - the kitchen. His recent companion on the bridge had evidently both awoken earlier and already consumed a hearty breakfast and now had the two women within enraptured as he told a unlikely and apparently fairly ribald tale of his adventures in the world.

By the time the elf quietly entered the room, the man was standing atop a chair making somewhat worrying gestures with a large hunk of smoked sausage to an audience of wide eyed Petra and a obviously highly amused Inga as she tidied away the dishes into the great stone sink.

"Ahh my friend," the mercenary smiled broadly as he noticed the new arrival, causing both women to briefly shift their attention to the elf who forced a smile in return, uncertain of the correct social protocol. He had adapted his behaviour on the recent campaign with the warriors of humanity but had little contact with the civilians of their world.

"I had awaited your rising from your slumber," he paused and with a wink and a jaunty "Look after this for me, young Miss", he tossed the sausage to the girl who let out a startled squeak and dropped it, not noticing Inga's bemused shaking of her head. He stepped down from his perch and approached Lucarius.

"I have a message for you Captain, "he paused to make a mock bow, "My Lady, she bids me inform you that her trusted Hans awaits you at the gatehouse, that safe passage has been arranged with your kinfolk." He paused and glanced back at Inga with a raised eyebrow, "Apparently Middenheim awaits us."

xx

All the children were normally quiet at breakfast, usually responding correctly if woodenly when Granny led them in prayers to the gods, it was difficult for many of them to thank the Gods for where they were now. This morning was no exception as they contemplated yet another tragedy - within the former safety of the house itself. Yet Granny knew they would get over it quickly, there were no tears as they all prayed for the soul of the dead boy, they had all lost to many others to shed them over little more than a fallen acquaintance.

Many of the townsfolk had been more affected, they projected their hopes on the few children still left in the settlement, it gave them something to fight for - those that survived. Reaction to the child's death had been mixed, most with a mixture of weary acceptance and restrained sorrow, a few grumbled about the old woman's suitability as the children's guardian, but they had grumbled before.

She quickly set them about their chores, reading and writing would come later - equally welcomed by the majority of the youngsters, but the autumn weather meant there were at least less distractions or excuses. She busied herself around the house and wondered if it was yet safe enough to venture into the woods to look for useful herbs - she determined to seek out Hans and his opinion on the matter.

Isla reflected on how he had changed since he had taken service with the Lady - always taciturn since the death of his wife and children decades ago, he was still economic with his words but now he stood tall - where once he had kept to the shadows and the woods. Not for the first time she wondered what the woman was, she had gazed upon her many times and her aura appeared like any other woman's - in fact it appeared far too normal.

At first she had feared that the Lady would quickly discover her own secret, but she seemed to be no more aware of it than anyone else. It was ironic that despite her longevity and knowledge of herbs, she had not been called out as a witch. She shuddered as she recalled the last time a witch hunter had stalked the streets of the town and she had been called upon to give evidence on the worthiness of several women half her age - and whom were also somewhat suspiciously considerably wealthier.

It had only been when a party of knights from Middenheim had come to Untergrad that the investigations has stopped and the Templar of Sigmar had been taken into custody by the dourly devout followers of Ulric. She had not heard of what had happened to the bitter and twisted man that seemed to be growing rich via the execution of his sacred duty.

Sigmar had never had much love for those who were gifted, or cursed with the ability to summon magic and his Empire had only grudgingly allowed its usage in its defence at the urging of its Elf allies in another time of invasion by the forces of Chaos. Praying to the founder of the Empire itself sometimes seemed like merely a way to invite his wrath but she persevered none the less.

She started as she heard a series of firm knocks at the front door and one of the children scurrying to see who it was. Magnus wandered into the kitchen, trying to look uninterested, an affectation he had been perfecting over the last few weeks - "Granny, the Captain is here to see you...." he trailed off as a large gnarled hand dropped heavily onto his shoulder.

"That's alright boy, you can go" he finished with his signature bought of coughing and nodding to Granny moved into the room, closing the door behind the departing youth. He sat down heavily and took a swig from a battered silver flask before meeting the woman's questioning gaze.

"I know what her Ladyship is................. and we need to decide what to do when the relief arrives."

xx

"Welcome Cousin, my heart is gladdened to see our illustrious kin once again - it has been too long since the scions of Ulthuan walked our paths." Hasir matched his words with a ready smile and a sweeping courtly bow. Hans leant against a nearby oak tree as introductions were concluded, its centuries old bulk dwarfing his form, his face impassive. The Elf turned to the bemused mercenary and held out his hand in friendship which with a shrug the human grasped in return.

The group was small, consisting of Lucarius, Hans, Hasir and two mercenaries - only one of whom the elf captain was familiar with, the other Dieter, was darker, younger and quieter with a well cared for hunters bow in his left hand and an axe at his hip.

It would take at least five days to reach the besieged city, depending on what they encountered in between, Hasir and Hans both spoke of the creatures that increasingly lurked under the trees and in its shadow prospered. beastmen were plentiful, but stranger unthinking mutated monstrosities were being sighted as well full armoured champions of the Dark Gods. Horses would be a liability in the confined spaces and likely draw the enemy upon them - it would be best to rely on stealth rather than speed.

They moved quickly through the shadowy, sun dappled woods, following the elf scout but still moving quietly so as to reduce the chances of detection. Hans kept to the rear as he knew the area and could round up any stragglers should they become separated. Several times they avoided large groups of bestial creatures, resting in darker parts of the forest and squabbling noisily over their spoils.

As night began to approach, Hasir led the party through a clump of bushes into a stream etched and now overgrown crevasse, guarded by aged and rune etched stones. The forest was becoming increasingly noisy with the screeches and other more unnatural sounds of the beastmen and their unfortunate prey. With all present being veterans they were well aware that beastmen were predators on anything they could catch, including those of other tribes or even weaker members of their own in times of need or to prove dominance.

A small cave provided a dry if somewhat cramped resting place for the night and with the protection of the waystones, no creatures of chaos came near, although a single deer fled into its familiar safety as the nightly slaughter continued, providing a welcome gift of venison for all.

Cold breakfast was nothing new and the streams cool clean water provided everything else they needed as the day began. Hasir seemed more than content to chatter away to anyone who would listen, and indeed anyone who wasn't - he was especially interested in hearing about the wonders of Ulthuan - an appetite that Lucarius tried his best to sate before they moved out of the protected area.

He was however quite shocked when Hasir and his mercenary friend began to frankly discuss the various merits of elven and human women over their lunch. Hans and Dieter ignored them both, and the elf captain decided that he could better spend his time emulating them and spending his vigilance on his surroundings. The hillock was quiet and peaceful, although nearby a well trodden path of cloven hoofmarks showed that this was but a lull and not a safe place. Discarded skulls and bones littered the muddy ground along its length, human and animal alike, stripped of all meat.

By the time they reached their resting place for the night, they could all hear the faint reverberating sound of massed cannon fire - at least it seemed the siege still continued and the city still held out. As the centre of worship for Ulric it was a great prize for the followers of the dark powers and a prefect staging and rallying point for the Empires forces. Middenheim was the most well defended settlement in the whole Empire, perched atop a great outcrop of rock with dwarf crafted walls and towers - if anywhere could hold out against the hordes of Chaos it was the city of the White Wolf. Conversely if Middenehim fell, it was unlikely anywhere else could.

xx

The graveyard that surrounded the temple of Morr had sent relatively little use in the course of the siege and its aftermath. Most of those that died had been quickly cremated and their ashes scattered hastily in its hallowed grounds. Only the incumbent Priest of Morr and his initiates had been buried in the earth and they had died early in the conflict. A few others had been interred in their family tombs but many of the more ornate statues and structures had been canablised as projectiles or to help shore up defences.

Now, more than ever, it was seldom visited and as night fell, there was no one to light the torches and stand vigil over the dead. Several rats scattered in panic as the ground moved beneath them and small bloody fingers emerged, nails gone and flesh torn to the bone. The rest of the battered hand followed and then another broke free as well, three of the fingers on this one evidently broken and useless. It took several minutes for the head to surface, cloaked in mud and with various insects and worms clinging to the boys slack face and matted hair.

The Daemon that now wore the boys body had taken several hours to claw its way out of the ground and emerge into the rapidly cooling night air. It slowly pulled the rest of its form from the clinging grasp of the wet earth and flopped onto its back, allowing the weak mortal form to rest and recuperate for a time.

Suppressing the young creatures soul long enough to have it declared dead and subsequently buried was both easy and amusing, keeping it alive in the ground, harder but equally rewarding. As it gazed up at the stars and the twin moons it considered that inhabiting the flesh of a creature from this realm was exhilarating, irritating and exciting in equal measure.

The way the creature perceived the world was both limited and so very interesting - in truth, the Deamon often found itself caught up in the experience when it possessed them. The feel of the cool earth around it and the struggle through its black depths had been equally exhilarating. although less so for the remnants of the mortals soul that nourished and supported the Daemon, It marshalled its will power and directed the creature to rise to all fours and then upright and began walking to the edge of the graveyard where there was no fence to impede, the solid iron railings having again found a use in the siege.

For several long minutes it gifted the mortals eyes with the ability to see the firmaments of the Aethyr as they played across the town and the world beyond. It was intrigued to see how the creatures brain interpreted these ethereal strands as cloud like formations and rivers of churning coloured energy. It enjoyed the beauty of this oh so limited perception of the merest excretion from its home realm and it was with some reluctance it shut off the vision as a distraction which could hopefully be enjoyed later at its leisure.

The boy began walk purposefully through the shadow strewn streets, it had much to do before the mortals body would be allowed to expire and it could return home.

xx

When the armies of the dread lord of Sylvania marched, they did not stop save to engage in battle or at the whim of their master. This, Viktor reflected to his companions as his carriage bumped and swayed unpleasantly, was not always a good thing.....

Predictably Gabriella tittered, holding a delicate hand up to her mouth, her green eyes wide as she waited for the next pearl of wisdom - a recent creation of Lady Ariette, she was like her blood mother, young, pretty and not overly bright. In contrast, Ludvig merely nodded in vague agreement, he was only partially aware of what was happening for, after being nearly hacked to pieces by a chaos champion he was still recovering his full mental faculties. The other two passengers in the vehicle made no response, unconscious from blood loss, the comely brother and sister had been propped up in the corner next to Ludvig, in case he needed yet more blood on the journey.

As the silence lingered, the young vampire leaned forward towards Viktor, artlessly exposing a swathe of generous cleavage, more out of habit than with any real purpose and met his eyes. "Dahling, you simply must tell me about your little friend". Both the affectation of her voice and the nature of the enquiry were pure Ariette, perhaps Viktor considered, she was not as stupid as he and others assumed.

He retained his relaxed pose, although with one foot braced against the side of the carriage to avoid being thrown off balance and smiled broadly, only a hint of his feeding fangs showing. "My dear Gabriella, what is there to tell," he paused for effect, but not long enough for her to interrupt, "Indeed, it might be better for you to tell me what have you heard so I can enlighten you with any errors that have occurred?"

She coyly looked down before dramatically dropping her voice to a stage whisper, another artefact of her previous life. "They say that you are in league with a renegade, that our Lord even considers you to be a spy for other forces". Viktor sighed as she looked about her as if they were alone together rather than in the middle of entire army which included other vampires with pre-natural hearing.

"Ahh, one should not listen to all that they say," he raised a knowing eyebrow, "I have travelled widely and enlisted many in my service, much indeed as our Liege did long ago...."

"Soo, who is your girl in the Empire then? Is she of your make, or a lover perhaps?" She twirled an errant strand of her pitch black and obviously dyed hair.

"Not at all dear lady, my reach encompasses more than just the children of my blood or even those who company I enjoy, we grow stronger and more connected as we age - unlike our food source." He gestured languidly towards the siblings, before catching her as she was flung against him by another violent lurch from the carriage.

"You must retain your balance in this world, sweet child, there are so many ways to fall..........."

Her answering smile was broad, but never reached her eyes, despite their closeness "tell me all about her then...............what is she like, how did you meet."

Viktor smiled, remembering their first meeting and made to speak but the moment was lost as Ludvig began a coughing fit and violently threw up a torrent of blood all over Gabriella and her immaculate dress. The next few moments were a mixture of her screams and curses, the continued coughing and spluttering of Ludvig and Viktors laughter.

The sun broke through the grey clouds only occasionally, and the warmth it shed was limited, seemingly sapped by the approaching autumn. As a light northerly wind drifted through the quiet streets, it also took its toll on the temperature which encouraged all those who could to stay indoors.

Sabina had been less than comforted by the words of her friend in the East and had slipped off into the forest to slake her anger on a few lurking beastmen. She had taken due care to ensure her clothing had not again been drenched with their blood, although she grimaced to herself about Han's view on her hunting trip.

A swirl of leaves distracted her attention for a moment, drifting through the iron railings from the graveyard across the muddy street. She seldom spent time near temples, always feeling uncomfortable in their presence - they reminded her more than she cared to admit of what she had lost in her ascension. The leaves continued to dance in the wind and now moved towards the other two nearby temples, the shattered ruin of the Empires Patron and the more plain but still sturdy stronghold of Ulric.

She found herself walking slowly towards the structure until she stood before the formidable oaken doors, the great carved wolf emblem above them was unwelcoming, almost appearing to snarl at her presumption in even approaching the gods realm. The wind increased in strength and grew colder and she started as she thought she heard the sound of wolves in the distance. Carefully she stepped back from the threshold and almost into a small figure, wrapped in furs that had been approaching the temple.

The girl in turn gasped in surprise as she stopped in her tracks, her blue eyes wide as she met the woman's gaze, although for once it was the vampire that broke the connection with a troubled expression.

"My lady," she made a clumsy attempt at a curtsey, swaddled as she was in her mothers furs that were too big for her. "Have you come to pray?"

She continued, filling up the silence that emanated from Sabina, "I came to give thanks for........Albrecht......for his life," her look became more defiant, as if expecting a contradiction, which did not come.

Silence enveloped the two of them before the girl broke away and slipped by her towards the doors, pushing one open to enter the cool, plain interior, leaving Sabina alone in the street. As the door closed, she turned away from the hallowed building, attempting to shake herself from her mood.

As she did so, she found herself confronted by an apparition, something she had only ever seen once before when she had fought for her the mortal life on burning and blood slicked streets far to the west. At the end of the street was a ghostly white wolf, lips drawn back from its large fangs in defiance or warning. Horrified, she could do nothing more than stare at the apparition, her body leaden and useless, her faithful blade hanging forgotten at her waist.

The wolf locked its ancient eyes on the undead creature standing before it and still she could not move, merely waiting for it to spring upon her and tear her throat out. Long moments passed and neither moved, then without warning, the wolf turned its back on the woman and faded from view, a harsh wind blasting through the street as it departed, knocking Sabina to her knees.

She remained there, bloody tears flowing down her face.................

XX
"We could kill her"

Granny snorted in derision, "Who is going to do that - you Kurt Sigval? I think not."

She looked hard at the man and he did his best not to quail under that scrutiny - he might have been a successful merchant and had proved a surprisingly effective fighter but she had helped deliver him into the world nearly four decades ago (and would when the situation called for it remind him of that fact?).

She continued, "We have all seen her fight and if that was not enough - she is not alone either - I doubt her men would stand idly by?"

Captain Schiller grunted in agreement but said nothing, nursing his mug of spirits.

Kurt looked at them both, rallying somewhat, "Then what do you suggest? Simply ignore the fact that she is a Daemon? Let her dwell amongst us until she kills us or makes us like her. We have to try and kill her surely?"

"We don't even know what would kill her", Granny returned, "Our priests are dead and the woods swarm with the beasts, what would we even do if she was gone."

"Maybe she lures them here................?"

"I don't know, she seemed keen enough to kill them"

"But who knows what is in the mind of such a creature?"

"I have fought its kind.......before." Holding their attention now, the ageing captain took another draught of his drink.

"A monster arose in the West and we marched on it before it could grow too strong and yet we were barely in time. It raised the dead as we approached and when we crushed those it sent against us, even as we hacked the enemy down, it made our dead comrades rise up and fight against us.

It defiled good men and evil bastards alike and we put them down too. I wasn't there at the final ending but the priests of Morr had told us what to do in case they fell. Brave men and women they were, Morr was strong in them." He had stopped coughing now, Granny noted and his renewed strength was evident in the strident tones of his voice.

He spoke now almost by rote, "Steel may cut them but its wounds are seldom lasting, use silver for it burns them like the sun, cleanse them with fire to banish their unclean and unnatural form from the world. Ram a hawthorn stake through their hearts to keep them from moving, cut their heads from their body then burn the corpse lest they rise again. Let Morr have mercy upon them for we shall have none"

"When we marched on the monster we had an army of more than a thousand men - yet barely a third of them returned home. The priests of Morr, Ulric and Sigmar were with us then and even wizards from the city. More of them came back but not all, fighting such a creature is dangerous."

"What then would you have us do," Kurt leaned back in his chair, hands raised in exasperation.

"We are told that the Emperor comes with a great army of men, elves and dwarves, let them deal with the vampire, let them bleed for us for a change."

Both Granny and Kurt nodded, but they looked no less troubled than when they had entered the small room.

"What do we tell the rest of the town? Most people feel they owe her their lives." Granny's voice was unusually hesitant, contemplating her own words.

Again Schiller grimaced, "likely that's what it intended all along, who knows what is in the mind of a monster." He looked hard at both of them, "We say nothing till the time is right, we do not risk the lives of the few left in this town.....understood?"

Slowly they both nodded.

XX


Chapter Six - Fire from the Sky

The blood of the beastman was black and sticky, clinging to the blade as the creatures mangy body slipped to the ground. Haisr smiled as he turned from his prey, eyes wide as he took in the scene - the dead monsters at the feet of the other hunters. Travelling throughout the day and most of the night, the roaming packs had been now become almost impossible to avoid.

The killing had been quick and relatively quiet, although the noise of the siege was now ever present in the background, cannons and strange screeching explosions reverberating through the trees. The pack had been small, already battered from clashes with others of its own kind, no match for a determined foe but its blood and bodies would draw others, the scent of slaughter an intoxicating lure to the beasts.

"We must move" Hans removed his axe from the skull of a multi-horned beast and flicked the remnants into the bloody undergrowth.

Even as they prepared to head back into the shadows a ear splitting screech sounded from above and something vast and burning plummeted into the ground nearby, somersaulting and screaming, crushing ancient trees and saplings alike.

"Well you don't see that every day", Hasir sheathed his sword and grinned at his companions, even as the dragon thrashing about in its death throes. Shrugging at the bank looks from the others, he set off towards the dying monster.

Hans caught his shoulder and pulled him round, "We really don't have time for this," he rasped, one eye bruised and half closed from a flailing beastmans fist.

The elf slipped from his grasp and petulantly responded, "I've never seen a dragon, dead or alive."

Lucarius yanked a crossbow bolt from the skull of a beast and handed it back to the mercenary, both shaking their heads as fatigue now overtaking the recent adrenaline rush of the ambush. Dieter merely glared at the retreating back of the elf whilst he cleaned the oversized blade of his knife of his trousers.

The burnt flesh of the Dragon overwhelmed every other scent and was still smouldering like the shattered stumps of the trees. An entire purple scaled wing had been ripped off in the descent and was partially buried in the torn ground, whilst the rest of the vast carcase was draped across a pile of trees it had propelled forwards in the impact.

Malformed dual tails still twitched as the elf strode towards it, cheerfully humming a tune, his eyes swept across its bulk noticing the multitude of twisted thorny spikes that had erupted from its flanks, although many had been torn out in the crash. The smallest of the hundreds of thorns were the size of the elf's sword and for a moment he considered taking one as a souvenir.

Deep in its belly was a large iron bolt, glowing Dwarven runes now slowly fading on its length, their duty achieved as the last remnants of life left the dragon. Hasir worked his way round to the head, the sinuous neck twisted and broken with shards of bones protruding from the burnt flesh. Mutation had warped the skull of the monster dramatically and likely painfully, several of the large distorted eyes had burst and the creatures severed tongue, lay quiescent nearby, itself larger than the elf.

"Malitha would have loved to see this.............." Hasir kept his eyes on the mass of dead flesh, fixing the vision in his mind.

"Perhaps, but I know she wants you to stay alive, so let’s leave..... NOW"

Satisfied with what he had seen, Hasir joined the others as they headed quickly away into the forest.

Hasir led the small group through the forest, moving up hill now as they approached the city, looking for a suitable vantage point to view the siege. As they progressed, the corrosive presence of the forces of chaos became more and more evident. Trees had arcane symbols burnt into their charred bark or were hacked to produce jagged stumps and mutilated remnants, a few had been used to mount gory trophies upon. Skulls and bones were scattered or piled up with a variety of other ordure surmounting them, marking out victories, defeats or simply temporary territorial claims.

It was obvious that many of the dead were animals or weaker members of the hordes that had swarmed to the siege, following their own champions of the dark gods or drawn from hiding to feast on the weakened remnants of humanity. Here and there amongst them were the remnants of the forces of Middenheim as well as those they sought to protect, many had not died quickly and most had been consumed on their death. Proud knights and their mounts had suffered the same fate as wood cutters, peasants and foot solders

The Elf had spoken to his companions of a watchtower that should prove a suitable vantage point, all knew it would not have held out, but it was hoped that the host of chaos had not garrisoned it. They need not have worried, it was clear as they approached that there had been a battle around the outpost - but that had been weeks ago, and very little had survived it. The trees and bushes were blackened by fire, explosions and sorcery, and the once strong tower was now just a shattered ruin, eight of the defenders impaled around it on rune carved stakes.

Despite the lack of activity, the five approached with caution, the only noise coming from intermittent exchanges of cannon fire in this distance. The stout wooden palisade was now nothing but stumps, scarcely visible above the muddy ground with still rotting corpses of beastmen and mutants littering the land around the ruin.

Once the central tower had had an oak and iron reinforced door, but that lay blackened and broken some distance away, evidently ripped from its hinges by some powerful monster. The smell of death and decay was potent, but they had all become complacent about such things, as they were inured to the dead themselves.

Dieter and Hasir kept watch at the door as the others entered the ruin. Stale blood cloaked much of the interior, mixed with scorch marks and the marks from powerful weapon blows that had bitten deep into the stone. Some of the mutilated and defiled dead still littered the stairs and ransacked rooms of the tower and when they reached the top floor they found that the last survivors had detonated whatever gun powder they had had left, blasting the entire apex away.

Still, despite the devastation, there was enough of the blackened floor to stand on, viewing across the trees into the valley in which the besieged city stood and burned. Rearing up from the valley, Middenheim stood upon a great haft of rock - the Fauschlag, where Taal had smashed the top of the mountain in a single divine blow from of his fist, gifting the remnant to Ulric for his followers.

The city smoked and smouldered under the assault of its enemies, but it was still defiant - even as they watched a massive cannon was unleashed against the enemies that swarmed around the base of the pillar. Above, large dark shapes circled the city, but they did not stray close, likely due to the recent proof of the continued effectiveness of the aerial defences.

Even as they gazed upon the undulating hordes that surrounded the city, seeing flaming weapons launch themselves up at its defiant walls, movement closer to home caught the eye of the elf captain. Moving at pace through the trees were predatory shapes, heading directly for the tower on which they stood.

The hunters were upon them.

xx

Chapter Seven - Riders from the West

The lone sentry at the western gate house was just settling down to his lunch of bread and hard cheese when he heard the call. Stowing his repast safely, he locked home a crossbow bolt and now grumbling, looked out across the killing field, seeking the source. At least he considered, the monsters from the woods were not normally polite enough to announce their presence, and the Lady had smote their latest champion most effectively.

At a nominally safe distance from the wall were a small group of riders, the evident leader standing up in his stirrups as he again hailed the town. His voice was more strident and demanding now, even across the gap, his noble accent was distinctive.

"Hail the town, Captain von Hirschfeld approaches your gates with the Emperor at his back, open and receive relief."

For several long moments, the sentry was stunned by the mans words, and he looked beyond the small knot of cavalrymen, fully expecting a great host to materialise from the woods, led by the Emperor himself. When this did not happen, he merely crossed to the alarm bell and rang it, unsure of what else to do in the circumstance. Save for patrols by the Lady's men, he had not seen anything other than the enemy emerge from the woods in his short time as a warrior defending his home.

Even as activity in the town began in response to the alarm, the riders began to approach, their demeanour confident but weary. The sentry could quickly see that they were battle worn, both man and mount, dried mud and blood splattering them from a long and hazardous journey.

By the time they had reached the gate and stopped, the walls were manned, the bolt thrower in the turret covering the muddy road behind them and a reception committee formed at the gate led by Schiller and Sabina, swords in hand. At a gesture from her, three of her remaining men flanked the gate, ready to support her and she was about to call out to the men by the door when the Schiller spoke.

"If you don't mind, my Lady, it’s still my town, I'll see to their welcome." His voice was softer than usual, but he had no trace of the cough that normally plagued his speech. Surprised by his words, she said nothing but merely nodded and stepped back slightly, eyes narrowed in contemplation as he advanced past her.

"Open the gate," only on the last word did his control break and it turn into the familiar harsh hacking whilst Sabina's nostrils flared as she smelt the blood on his lips. Slowly the battered wood and iron structure creaked open and allowed the townsfolk gathering their first view of the Imperial army of Emperor Karl Franz.

Six men sat astride tired looking horses, their pistols and swords sheathed for now in leather holsters, their leather and metal armour battered and scratched from their time in the field. Once proud plumes were ragged remnants atop no longer polished helms and several bore grubby bandages, but all sat bolt upright behind their leader as his cool blue eyes swept across the gathering before him.

"Welcome to Untergrad.........." Schiller began, his cough defeating him for a moment, but no one interrupted him. "On behalf of all......... here, we are damn glad to see you.......I am Captain Schiller, I command the town."

At this the leader of the small force smiled slightly and swung down from his mount with a fluid grace - well trained the horse remained in place as he approached the growing but still quiet crowd. Sabina and the older mercenaries noted that the horsemen were scrutinising everyone as their captain moved towards them, hands casually placed near their pistol holsters.

He reached the elderly solider and locked eyes before nodding in respect, seemingly satisfied with what he saw there. "We are honoured to be welcomed by those who stand against the forces of darkness," although he continued to look at Schiller, his words were loud enough to be heard by all. "Be it known to all here that your deliverance is at hand - Our Emperor is near, with all the hosts of the Empire with him." Most of the townsfolk said little, simply gazing at the warriors and waiting for more, but the captain said nothing further to them, but rather dropped his voice to a more normal tone.

"I would have you speak to me of the situation here - perhaps somewhere less crowded?"

Again there was a pause, before Schiller glanced towards Sabina and spoke again.

"Captain, this is Lady Hafna, who............. commands a mercenary force here."

In response Hirschfeld glanced at the woman briefly, eyes sweeping across her and then her men with little interest. "Indeed," he gave a perfunctory nod to her in grudging acknowledgement of her proclaimed station, before returning to the captain. "Shall we Captain?"

Schiller nodded and they began walking toward the centre of town, the townsfolk and mercenaries parting before them. As Sabina made to follow them, Hirschfeld obviously noted this for he paused and turned to her.

"Perhaps, Madam, you could see to the people of the town, they seem to need some instruction and my men will require food and warmth, their mounts stabling.............my thanks.........." He did not wait for a reply and turned away even as anger flushed across her face.

She had already taken a step to follow in his wake, her right hand dropping to the hilt of her sword, when one of the riders stepped into her path. He was a tall well muscled man with a polite but fixed smile, the aromas of the road and previous battles drifting around him. He bowed slightly, but his eyes remained on her.

"My Lady, I am Sergeant Raamstedt, we have travelled a long way and would avail ourselves of your hospitality." He waited for her to master herself, his smile remaining, eyes empty of emotion and she noted his troop had moved closer, even as her own men had moved to flank her. Around them the townsfolk had begun to chatter and discuss the new arrivals and what it meant, although those near the two groups of warriors had begun to move away, giving them more room.

"As I have been recently reminded Sergeant, this is not my town to grant you anything, we are just here to keep the people alive." She paused and managed to force a cold smile herself before glancing at the senior member of her men, "However, Julius here will do what he can."

The mercenary in question, a rangy dark haired man in his thirties with a bandaged leg and bearing a formidable looking axe and unmarked shield stepped forward. "As you command My Lady." He then smiled insincerely at the sergeant and his men, "You had better come with me lads." He headed off towards their billets, limping slightly, "Hey Klaus, go and see if we have anything we can warm up for these brave boys from the big city."

"Albrecht, get them to shut the gates behind me before half the beastmen in the Drakwald wonder in, I am going hunting." Sabina commanded as she stalked through the open gate.

Granny watched the exchange between the two and shook her head before starting as she realised that someone had spoken her name softly. Ulrike Stengal stood before her looking nervous and fidgeting in her fine but too large furs.

"Come with me child," Granny had been expecting her to come and see her ever since she took the mercenary as a lover, she just hoped that the girl had come in time and drastic measures were not needed.

By the time that Lucarius and his companions reached the foot of the tower, deaths had already occurred. Two war beasts had not survived their heedless dash towards the ruin, each succumbing to several well placed arrows, any of which would have killed a lesser creature. The third had proved even more resilient, arrows glancing from its glittering feathered hide and seemingly not even noticing the single arrow that protruded from its left eye.

It had leapt at the two defenders and the elf had twisted lithely aside and shot his last arrow deep into its body, the power of the bow at short range finally punching through its unnaturally tough plumes. Dieter had however not been quick enough and its slavering jaws found brutal purchase on his neck, blood and drool mixing as it savaged him, propelling both of them through the doorway into the ruined building.

Even as Hasir was calling out for assistance, drawing his own blade as he discarded his bow - his companions arrived and set about the beast tearing into the hapless man. Swords and an axe cut and slashed at the creature, which was now shaking its unmoving prey in its great jaws until, with a nauseating crunching sound, the mans head came off and rolled to the feet of the remaining mercenary who had drawn back to get a better swing at the beast. Crimson blood sprayed into the hound’s throat and against the blackened wall, even as Hans buried his axe into its thick malformed skull.

The others each plunged their own swords into its body and it roared in pain, spraying blood and tissue over its tormentors before suddenly collapsing to the ichor slick stone floor. Its eyes began to loose their purple hue, returning to their normal colour only as it died.

Yet the dogs had a master and their sacrifice had given him time to gain the foot of the tower, his large unwashed body tainting the air as he moved. The man’s legs were huge and powerful, marked with fading scars and bite marks from his charges. His fabric covered back was hunched and almost appeared that he had a great pack mounted upon it. Wrapped around his right hand was a now unravelling strand of barbs, forming a vicious whip that lashed out towards its unsuspecting prey.

The unkind thorns of the tendril dug in deep to the tanned throat of the elf, drawing blood and pumping poison into his veins. Hasir could not even scream as he was dragged remorselessly back to the feet of the hunt master. Grinning with black and yellowed fangs, he scooped up the elf, whose body was wracked with convulsions, his mouth foaming as the poison took full effect.

Even as the three remaining warriors moved swiftly to the entrance, huge scaled wings ripped from the hunt masters back and he launched himself up into the air, powering back towards the deep woods and his lord and master. Impotently they could only watch as the mutant gained height and speed, but before they could contemplate pursuit a braying snorting pack of beastmen erupted from the woods and charged towards the tower.

"Taal's teeth, where do they all come from," the mercenary spat into the blood soaked ground even as he drew a knife to off set his sword, matching the actions of the elf captain.

"I don't know where they come from, but I do know where they are going," Lucarius smiled grimly and began to walk towards the mass of creatures, his sword loose in his grip at his side, eyes focused on the leader of the beasts. Shrugging, the sell sword followed, muttering a short prayer to Ulric as he did so.

Hans had spent precious moments retrieving the fallen bow and wrenching arrows from the corpse of the hound. He stepped to one side and placed a arrow into the kneecap of an oncoming beastman, sending it tumbling and subsequently two of its fellows as they failed to avoid the falling creature.

As the two disparate groups closed, Lucarius switched to Eltharian - gifting the creatures souls to Khaine, the elven god of War and asking Isha, the mother goddess to protect his own body and soul. The beastmen merely increased their howling, braying and battle screams - whilst just behind the elf captain, the human contented himself by shouting

"C'mon then, you hairy bastards!"

The elf captain smoothly ducked the champion’s initial swing, the gnarled and blood stained club whistling over his head. He did not break stride, but hamstringed the creature with a reverse knife cut even as he moved to engage the next enemy. As the off balance champion tried to adjust it found a sword sheathed briefly in its heart as the mercenary finished it and shifted aside to let it fall.

The second beastmen was unarmed, relying on thickly corded muscle and ferocity as it attempted to grapple the supple elf - a vain hope as he twisted and danced aside, leaving its throat ripped open by a precise cut from his sword. He moved on to the next beast.

As he did so the human dropped low and repeatedly rammed his knife into a flanking beastmans crotch before rising and slamming the stricken creature back into its fellows. He smiled and spat a graphically descriptive insult at the roaring pack and the indulgence nearly killed him then and there.

A club smashed the knife from his hand and a return blow clipped his head, even as he back peddled out of the way, momentarily stunning him with the force of the impact. An arrow found purchase in the triumphant beastmans throat as Hans expended the last salvaged arrow, dropped his bow and reached for his trusty axe.

Lucarius lost himself in the melee, finding the name of Khaine now ever on his lips as he took each life, and his face and body became slick with the blood of the fallen. His knife was gone, buried in the armpit of a beast; several blows had found him already, only the quality of the ithlimar armour saving him from a debilitating injury.

He reached the rear ranks of the pack, even as its remaining members closed about him, although by this time a few of the smaller creatures had broken and ran as he had cut his way towards them. In the far off distance he registered the roar of Hans as he joined the fray, but he retained his focus and concentrated on sending the damned creatures to Khaine.

Another fell to the ground as he employed a complex slashing technique his sister had spent hours fruitlessly trying to show him how to master. Now for the first time he found the beauty and ease in the form, effortlessly turning the attack into a deflecting blow and shifting back again to the attack, it seemed her time had not been as wasted as she had thought.

Hans met the beastmen on their own terms, matching anger and ferocity with his own as he took a head off with a powerful swing of his axe and allowed its momentum to bring him round to another enemy. A crunching blow slammed into his stomach sent him reeling back, but he returned the favour with his own axe haft and ducked away as another creature came in for a strike. He roared in triumph as its blow connected with its fellow, sending it senseless to the ground. Even as it turned back, Hans hacked his axe into its neck, as he would the trunk of a tree, wrenching the weapon from its expiring corpse and turning for more.

However the last few beasts still standing seemed in no hurry to engage, their still defiant bellows less convincing as they began to edge backwards away from the hungry blades of the warriors. The point of no return was reached as Hans and Lucarius simultaneously charged, one screaming in pure rage, the others blood covered face impassive as he mouthed the name of his God. The remaining beastmen broke and ran.

As adrenaline faded, the elf captain dropped to one knee, using his sword for balance as he watched the creatures run. He levered himself to his feet and turned to exchange words with his companions and he saw Hans standing unmoving over the limp and blood figure at his feet, his bloody axe hanging lost and forgotten in his hands.

XX

The cavalcade that accompanied Lord Damar had established itself around the stinking and shrinking corpse of the slain dragon. Scavengers and slaves of Nicias squabbled over the remains of the great beast, some risking their lives to gain scraps of befouled flesh or delving deep into the twisted innards for some arcane morsel.

The appearance of the hunt master in the midst of the lord’s followers caused a stir as plate clad warriors formed a loose ring of steel around him. At the same time a huge rolling mass of limbs, tentacles and other outgrowths hooted in pleasure and bounded towards the returning mutant, its many mouths slobbering in pleasure as its tiny brain recognised its master.

Many of the beastmen and lesser mutants moved towards the new arrival, growling and snarling at each other as they pressed together. Minor Champions jostled in the multitude as they assessed what the returning hunter could mean for their own place in the retinue; how they could best exploit the prize it carried and perhaps gain additional favour.

Holding the unconscious elf up by his legs, the hunt master strode through the gathering horde, snarling at some in his path whilst exchanging huge grins with others he considered an ally. Grudgingly all made way for him, knowing that obstruction could mean death or worse. He smiled as the chaos spawn nearly bowled him over in welcome, its tongues sweeping his body in greeting, leaving trails of foul smelling slime. He spoke a few words and ruffled its mottled primary crest, sending it hooting and whistling back to its feeding.

Lord Damar sat upon his burning throne, finally brought up from the strange and straggling baggage train that stretched across much of the north eastern Empire and even deep into the chill lands of embattled Kislev. Chaos Warriors and their followers still came from the depths of the Chaos Wastes, far to the North, even as some returned home, slaves and other booty in tow.

As his attention was caught by the approaching figure and he emerged from his contemplations, the fire that enveloped the golden structure blazed higher, threatening those who stood close with immolation. His glittering armour hung on a gilded platform to his right whilst a favoured champion bore his glittering obsidian blade, standing unmoving, even as flames licked across his purple hued armour.

Lukara and Nicias watched from nearby, both considered the hunt master useful, Lukara enjoyed sparing with him and occasionally used him for her own pleasure, whilst Nicias valued his abilities in training strange beasts and seeking out unusual creatures. They watched and waited, seeing if the offering would be well received.

The blazing figure atop the metal edifice raised a hand and the fires suddenly shut off, in response all movement and sound stopped, many creatures not even breathing lest they disturb their master. The hunter proudly approached the throne before flinging the hapless limp form to his lord’s feet and swiftly dropping to one knee, his head bowed.

For a long moment, there was no response, but then came the sound of clapping and a murmur ran through Lord Damar's followers. The small man arose and surveyed all about him before stepping down and striding across the muddy ground, his still burning boots scorching the ground as he walked.

He stopped and gazed upon the recumbent figure and nodded in apparent satisfaction, his voice cutting across the buzz of voices from his gathered followers.

"Well done Paulus," only Damar dared addressed the hunt master by his given name, a hated reminder of his past.

"This is as I commanded" he gestured to the elf, "take our guest to his quarters".

Lesser creatures scrambled forth to drag Hasir away, ensuring that they did not gaze upon their lord or his more favoured companions. The rumbling comments continued until Lord Damar silenced them all with a sharp gesture.

"But not all my commands were obeyed," he turned to face the huntsman.

"One was killed, the others slaughter my children.............I am.....in fact...............displeased."

It was not yet a death sentence, but all around watching were aware that it could quickly become one. Paulus did not dare look up or speak, his master would have seen all that had transpired through his own eyes, the eyes of the now dead hounds and perhaps even through the eyes of the beastmen that he had led to the tower.

He could now feel the heat as Lord Damar approached and stood before him, could feel the intensity of the gaze of all his followers. He had punished many others in his time, seen them torn apart by his hounds, flensed by Lukara or stripped of their very souls by Nicias and knew that no one would even raise their voice in his defence. He had never questioned the punishment inflicted upon other - in truth he had enjoyed conducting them.

"Our beloved patron loves to twist our best laid plans, to set us upon paths undreamt off." All listened intently as the voice of their master resonated around the packed ranks, waiting for his judgement.

"He tests us and tasks us - but we are his children and so blessed." He stepped forward and his hand caressed the bald head of the kneeling man, as one would a favoured pet and he smiled down indulgently. Many watching now relaxed, whilst others felt opportunity passing or merely realised that the prospect of an exciting bout of violence was escaping.

"and yet..........." All the watchers tensed at this, Lord Damars voice had been pitched lower and he turned away from the supplicant "I do not reward failure."

All eyes turned to the hapless mutant, who had gone rigid, his muscles tensed as he prepared himself for whatever the lord had in mind. As he walked away Damar continued to pass judgement.

"Lukara, my sweet............ express my displeasure."

The Woman strode forward, muscles rippling and an expression of expectation spreading across her broad face as her full lips pealed back to expose her razor sharp teeth. Even as Damar settled himself once again upon his throne, the hunt master looked up at the approaching woman, seeing nothing but desire for the pain she was going to inflict, he saw no trace of mercy for the creature she had shared pleasure and pain with before.

"Do not kill him," again everything stopped, "He did bring me a prize to savour."

Lukara did not respond as she stood assessing the meat before her, deciding which piece to carve first.

xx

Lucarius stood beside Hans, looking down at the butchered remnants of a brave man lying amongst the beastmen in the mixture of churned mud, blood and faeces. His neck was snapped, his face a mass of blood and broken bone where one or more of the creatures had pounded on it until his life had finally left him.

"He deserved better".

Hans said nothing, but slowly turned to look at the elf, pain etched across his craggy features before he recovered himself. He made no move to wipe away the tears etching their way through the dried blood splatter on his face. With visible effort, he hefted his axe to his shoulder and began to walk away.

The captain took a deep breath and made to follow the big man.

"I never even knew his name" he mused quietly.

Evidently not quietly enough, for the unlooked for reply rumbled across the bloody clearing.

"Werner................his name was Werner." He stopped walking for a moment, one foot on the crushed head of a bestman. " He was my son."

XX

Chapter Eight - Eastern Promise

They had hidden for days, the exact time uncertain to them as they huddled in the darkness, breathing the increasingly fetid air of the cellar and speaking in the barest of whispers, lest they hear. They had been lucky. Food and drink had kept them alive, even as the screams and cries of their friends and neighbours tore at their nerves over hours of and days of their torment.

It had been quiet now for some time, but they were not fooled, the monsters always came back and they always brought back new prey to torture. Not one of them had spoke of those heart rending cries, feeling either shame at their lack of action or that they were so relieved that they were not with them.

The crash of a weapon into the cellar door was however, unexpected and provoked a scream from the daughter, finally letting loose the built up terror. She carried on screaming, nothing her frantic mother could do could cease the wail of fear and anguish coming from the small child.

Her elder brother simply sat and stared at the intermittent shafts of light now dancing across the floor of the room, shifting and changing as more shattering blows crashed into the thick wood. Sobbing in despair, the father clutched a large knife, remembering the promise he had made to himself and his wife should they be discovered.

Yet as the grunts and calls resounded through the cellar as the beasts broke through, he lost his courage and fled to the back of the room, desperately trying to bury himself in the debris. Horrified, his wife clutched her child to her, burying the girls face in her dress and praying to gods, she had little faith in, for salvation.

When the first beastman dropped into the basement, the boy stared at its muscled bulk, its animal stench even stronger than that of the room and his family. It looked down at him, but its attention was drawn to the thrashing man and his attempts to escape as he began to claw at the stone with increasingly bloody fingers.

Like many predators it was excited by a panicking prey animal and paid no more attention to the child as it bounded forward and launched itself onto the adult male. Snorting, it used its teeth and horns to tear into the hapless flesh and began to devour its quarry alive, rejoicing in the flow of hot blood into its throat and taste of fresh meat. It was anxious to take as much as possible before larger, more powerful members of the pack arrived for their share.

Several long minutes passed and as the man painfully and messily expired, the beast’s snout deep in his innards, the screams of his daughter the last thing he heard. The creature did not notice the sounds of conflict erupting in the room above, and was content to enjoy the unexpected luxury of being able to feed at its leisure.

Above in the wrecked house, the first wave of attackers had been destroyed and the pack was grunting to each other in reassurance, boosting their confidence as the dominant male and female both stood snarling in defiance at the empty doorway, looking out at their enemy. Several carried out the barked commands of their leader and smashed the skulls of the fallen where they lay, lest they rise again.

xx

The village had been large and prosperous, located on the main eastern road and hence benefiting from the trade that was not confined to the great Talabec river. Now its once strong walls were rubble and ash as were most if its buildings, its population was now scattered, enslaved or devoured and once again it bore witness to the clashing of warbands.

The followers of Chaos were ever fractious and took as much pleasure in killing their own as they did the inhabitants of the Empire, with champions and their followers eager to fight over the spoils of the village on several occasions since the main army had swept through on their way to besiege Middenheim.

Now as the sun began to dip towards the tree cloaked foothills, elements of another army had arrived, trudging through the mud without concern, splattering the bare bone and rotten flesh of the walkers. Several regiments of skeletons manoeuvred precisely, their bones still clad in the tattered livery of the lord of Sylvania, proud banners flying aloft as they marched.

In contrast, a mass of stinking and decaying corpses shambled towards the remaining inhabited buildings, some were freshly raised, the animated shells of beasts and men formerly in the service to the dark gods. Others had lurched to un-life long ago and more than once, their limbs fitted with spikes and rusty hooks, their decaying bodies still impaled by the weapons of old foes.

Safely behind the horde stood a dark clad woman, although her emaciated form had little more flesh on it than the skeleton regiments that flanked her protectively. She softly whispered to the air, speaking to the unseen winds of magic as she urged the corpses on towards the bellowing beasts.

Viktor strode forth to stand by her side, taking a long look at the woman, remembering her when she had first come to the attention of the great and good of Sylvania. Her long brown hair was now lank and lifeless, her left arm withered and apparently useless as it hung at the side of her lean body. He could see that her flesh was saturated with Shyish, death magic, and it twisted the fragile bodies of mortals so very terribly.

Noticing his attention, Letta glanced up at him, her broken smile revealed her few remaining and rotting teeth, but her vivid green eyes were full of the life the rest of her lacked. Her voice was soft and indistinct even to his unnatural hearing, seeming to drift into other realms as its cadence shifted.

“There are few of the beasts left to dance with the dead, Lord.” She cocked her head on one side with an audible crack of her neck, “but these are big and strong ones, I just hope they are not too rough on my creations.” She pursed dry and cracked lips but her eyes were brighter still as she contemplated increasing the dead under her control.

As Viktor was about to reply, he felt something icy move swiftly through him, a not unpleasant sensation and then he could faintly see a indistinct shape hovering by the necromancer in the last fading rays of the sun. His eyes adjusted to the encroaching darkness and he felt the familiar predatory thrill as the night began.

“Thank you Ernst” Letta whispered.

“A few mortals remain within, Lord,” she stepped closer to the tall vampire, but her gaze was on the largest building. “You will have to be quick if you want to save them………”

He glared at her, but she quickly forestalled his command, conscious regret in her exaggerated body language, “My apologies but I am here merely to guide the dead, Lord………..it’s lucky they have a hero here to save them?” She winked at him, her eye lid sticking for a moment until she shook her head slightly.

He laughed, he had wondered if anything of the woman he had known before had survived her apprenticeship in his homeland and now he knew. Invigorated by the knowledge, he caressed her cool dry cheek affectionately and in remembrance of a past life, “I shall endeavour to prove ever worthy of your confidence, dear lady.”

The necromancer watched his powerful form move swiftly through the shambling dead before she lost sight as leapt on to the roof of the building and disappeared from view. The dead were now approaching the same building and focussing her will on them, she began to chant in the language of ancient Nehekhara as she invigorated them with the malign energies of Shyish.

Some thirty paces away, Gabrielle seethed, her eyes narrowed as she stared at the witch. How dare he waste his attentions on a half dead creature like that – she had spent days and all of her most reliable techniques in trying to secure the other vampires affections or recently merely to acknowledge her very existence.

He had remained polite but distant and the mocking laughter of her sisters was becoming increasingly irritating and clarion whenever she joined the small court that accompanied Ariette. Distractedly, she twirled her favourite stiletto and considered her next move.

xx

It was not in the nature of beastmen to wait behind walls whilst they were attacked and so the leader and his mate led their pack straight at the oncoming dead. Bellowing their battle cries they struck the uneven line with ferocious power, some running straight through the corpses, other flinging them left and right from their path. Clubs and axes shattered bone and crushed flesh. The dead paid no heed, although annoyance swept across the face of Letta.

“Having trouble are you girl?” the vampire circled the necromancer who paid her no attention, focussing on the dead under her command. She winced as two more of the dead were smashed down and trampled underfoot. In response to the quickly dwindling ranks of zombies, she called out a new command in Nehekharan and the two regiments of skeletons locked their shields together and lowered their long spears in readiness.

Her eyes widened in fury as she realised she was being ignored, Gabrielle had killed mortals for less and in her current mood, it took an effort of will for her not to slit the woman’s throat and drink her blood there and then. Letta was however a student of Manfred’s human acolytes at Drakenhof Castle and hence valued - killing her in a fit of pique would be a good way to end her second life.

Ten of the beastmen had succumbed to the relentless advance of the zombies, but six still fought on, and the dead were thinning out. The remaining beasts were packed close, working effectively together to dismember or smash down their remaining enemies, leaving many twitching and groaning but useless as they struggled to rise. As the last few animated corpses that stood before them fell, they were confronted by ranks of spears as the skeletal soldiers advanced in perfect unison.

Two of the beastmen were unable to check their advance in time and were impaled on several spears, choking out their lives. The four left held their ground, snarling in frustration but the remaining zombies were now closing in to their sides and behind and their formidable strength was all but exhausted.

The pack broke left and hammered through the shambling ranks again, but only the larger female and her mate made it through completely, and his guts were torn out in the process. The skeletons shifted direction smoothly but although precise, they were still relatively slow and the pack leader was able to screen his mate long enough for her to bypass them, even as he was speared and killed.

Ahead of her, the female could smell her prey, its scent only a little different from the dead meat that walked. All of her focus was on the creature that caused the death of her pack; she leapt forward bellowing her anger as she did so. The quarry was backing away, mumbling and gesturing as it did so.

xx

Viktor had crashed through the damaged roof of the once fine inn, cursing as he adjusted his balance to land in an aggressive stance, although he had not yet bothered to draw his sword. He could hear the sound of the beastman feeding in the cellar below and separate the various scents, including that of the formerly confined humans and the small nest of well fed rats that were presently fleeing out of the back of the building, away from the scene of the battle.

The hairy backs of the beastmen were disappearing out of the door, the sounds of their own anger had covered the earlier sound of the vampire breaking through the roof. He dropped down into the half darkness of the cellar and was confronted by a small and evidently terrified boy staring at him in surprise, tears streaming down his face. Beyond him were a feeding beast and a silently screaming girl child, whose mother was trying to shield her from the horror nearby.

It must have detected something amiss for its long, scarred snout emerged from the chest of its victim, dripping blood and morsels of meat. Sensing the armoured man standing watching, it reached for its club, rising and turning as it did so, ready to fight for its meal.

Contemptuously, the vampire smashed the beast into the back wall and onto its victim, broken teeth arcing through the air in its wake. It scarcely felt the impact before its face was grasped in both hands and wrenched round to face the wall. The lifeless corpse dropped to the ground and the victor turned back to those he had saved.

Viktor looked at the terrified humans, he doubted that anything he could say would reassure them but he spoke the words that his liege demanded in such situations.

“It is my pleasure to inform you that you are now under the protection of Count of Sylvania.” He paused for a moment and sighed at the lack of reaction.

“Ah well, I suggest you all wait here where it is……….. safer.”

He hefted the two dead bodies and made his way to the cellar steps, leaving a trail of black blood in the half darkness.

xx

The female beast screamed in frustration as she clawed at the air, inches from her prey, held back by the iron grip of a dead thing that whispered into her ear, using the prey’s too loud speech. She writhed impotently in its grasp then stilled as she felt the cold metal touch her throat. It continued to rasp out words in its strange tongue, she could sense the triumph and mocking nature of them even if she could not understand the words.

Laughing the dead thing slashed the blade, opening up her throat and thrust her away to watch the beast drop and bleed out. She would be disappointed as the beast woman pivoted swiftly and turned to face the vampire, a line across her windpipe leaking a thick yellow fluid, the wound already healing. The female beast had been blessed for much her life by the dark powers and her blood did not flow easily.

She followed up before Gabrielle could react, her complacency leaving her vulnerable for a long moment, an iron mace slamming into her chest and a sword blade piercing up through her chin as she screamed in pain. The vampire had not been truly threatened since she had been granted unlife and now the unexpected pain and rising fear overtook her.

The female beast grunted in pleasure as she drove the dead thing to its knees and then on to its back, leaping on its frail form and tearing at pale exposed throat with her own enlarged incisors. She ignored the pain as the dead thing plunged claws into her own torso and desperately raked them across her face. She leant back and smashed the mace into its face, once, twice and then a third time, shattered bone and driving it deep into the brain.

As its muscles twitched spasmodically, the female grasped hold of the delicate head in both hands and wrenched at it with all of her strength. The screaming began again before being shut of as with a bellow of triumph she pulled the dead things head free in a shower of thick blood. Her taloned hand plunged through the ribcage and tore free the creatures heart, which she ripped apart with her teeth. She rose to her feet, throwing the battered head off towards the advancing zombies with a snarl of defiance and turning back to where she had left her original prey.

She was immediately confronted by a solid line of spears held by unflinching and advancing skeletons and even as she turned they were already thrusting them with deadly accuracy. Five of them found purchase in her body as she tried to twist aside and more followed as she fell to the ground, darkness overtaking her for the last time in her short brutal life.

xx

Leta looked up inquisitively as Viktor strode across the corpse strewn street, resplendent in his ornate armour, his long dark hair flowing in the slight wind. She admired him for a moment, a smile tugging at her damaged face before she returned to the work at hand. She had dragged the vampires and beast woman’s bodies together, and had both needle and cord in her hands and her stitching bag placed carefully by her side where she knelt in the mud. Viktor was not at all surprised to see that her patchwork bag appeared to be made of human skin.

“Very nice my dear, however I am not sure that this will be accepted by others…….” Viktor’s voice was amused as he reached her.

The long term effects of her practice of necromantic magic meant that she could no longer appear innocent, but she tried for that look as she cocked her head one side and looked up at him. The vampire merely raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at her latest creation. The heads of the two slain, beast and vampire were laid out, but ready to be stitched to the others body.

“Gabrielle was annoying, yet I have found that her maker lacks a sense of humour in these matters and I am sure she will not appreciate your……….inspiration.”

The necromancer merely shrugged dismissively and rearranged them so that the heads matched the bodies. She looked back at him and began to put the corpses back together so that she could bring them into her service. As she worked she began to sing softly, as she had done in her childhood when she had helped her mother make and mend her clothes.

Viktor continued to consider the ravaged face of the now truly dead vampire, she had been very young and very foolish. He would not miss her.

Xx

Chapter Nine – Best Laid Plans

The woods around Untergrad were cool and dark, something that Sabina was grateful for as she stalked through the undergrowth. The vampiric bloodline of ancient Lahmia meant that she did not burn in daylight like the truly dead, but at best sunlight gave her a headache and at worst sapped her strength. She was also tired, angry and looking for something to vent her frustrations on – had Hans been still with her he might have calmed her and kept her out of the woods, but he was far away and she was once again on her own. The encounter at the Temple to Ulric still caused her pain, reminding her that she had turned her back on the gods of her people.

To add to her frustration, the beasts seemed to have fallen back from the town since their most recent assault failed. She had found their tracks on several occasions in the damp earth but like the animals that usually haunted the area; she saw no more sign of them. She found herself standing in a small clearing, clenching her fist so hard that thick blood dripped slowly from the wounds on her hand, speckling the grass.

She paused and emulating her most trusted companion, found a tree and seated herself, closed her eyes and listened. For long moments she enjoyed the relative quietness, which whilst it should have been screaming a warning at her, simply made a pleasant change from the inevitable noise of the settlement.

It had been the same when she had been growing up, the occasional hunting expeditions with her father was something she lived for, enduring the restrictions of life in her home town with as much good grace as she could muster. Those joyful days and nights had contrasted strongly with the visits to the capital of the Grand Duchy, trying to fit in for her father’s sake with the other scions of minor nobility.

Her father, who had served with distinction in the armies of the Elector Count had hoped for a boy child but the death of his beloved Elsa in bearing Sabina put paid to these ambitions. Her father managed to find appropriate marriages for his two older daughters, with their dowries using up the majority of the remaining coin he had. In recompense, Kurt indulged himself and his younger daughter in allowing her to practice the arts of war more than the finer arts that women of her status were increasingly expected to be accomplished in, inadvertently making her marriage prospects even less appealing.

To her father’s distress (but not surprise) and her irritation, she was unable to gain access to any of the Templar orders and the small standing army Talebheim maintained in those days had no use for a woman in its ranks. She managed to forge a temporary place amongst the more adventurous of her peers but this was always fragile and depended on them enjoying her "uniqueness" as an exotic amusement rather than any real achievement.

On the death of her father, her last support mechanism was removed as his debts become demanded paying, using up all of their remaining assets including her family home. Her sisters were vaguely sympathetic to her plight but neither of them was keen on having an unattached young woman lodging with them for any length of time especially considering her unusual upbringing.

Sabina decided to try and forge a life as a sword for hire but the first mercenary captain she offered her service to explained bluntly that "he would be damned if he needed some spoilt bitch in search of adventure disrupting his company". Others had been less direct, but equally disinterested in her proclaimed abilities. Increasingly desperate, she offered to help her brother in law with the escort of goods to a trading post to Kreuzdorf, her mother’s home village.

There adventure had indeed found her, along with the woman who would many months later transform her into the creature she was now, balanced precariously between the worlds of men and the monsters of legend. She had seen so much more of the world than she had ever dreamed was possible and now she realised she might meet her end here in the woodlands of the Empire.

Her eyes snapped open as the barbed claws plunged into her right arm and left leg, she screamed in pain and tried to move, but found her body and limbs were unresponsive despite her growing rage. She could barely move her eyes to gaze upon her assailant, her mouth now fixed in place, her fangs slipped from their sheaths and bared to the world.

The creature that held her in place was nearly twice her height, its lean vaguely feminine body covered in fissured grey-brown bark, the head elongated and featureless save for a pair of dark holes that could be eyes. A curling mass of thorns and branches grew where a woman would have hair. Its arms were slender and ended in thorny claws that delved deep into the vampire, she could feel them twitching inside her – an unsettling and unpleasant experience.

“Hello Leech”, the mixture of satisfaction and venom in the elf woman’s voice was as worrying as the paralysis the monster had produced.

Malitha stood a few feet away, arms folded as she looked at the undead creature that befouled her forest. It was not enough that the creatures of Chaos defiled the woods, that the foolish humans hunted her creatures and attacked her trees, dead things trespassed and tainted her domain.

A smile flickered into being, but never reached her eyes, “This, Leech, is a Laith-Oriou. She is of hawthorn, a child of light, an anathema to creatures of darkness and death.” She stepped forward and dropped to her knees so she could look into Sabina’s eyes. “Damned creatures like you.”

The Vampire understood now, not that it was any help, she had been warned about stakes made from hawthorn, but no one had spoken of actual tree spirits rising up to strike her down! Sabina tried to move, exerting all her willpower and managed to do no more than make a single finger twitch.

“She could tear your shrivelled heart out, Leech.” She pulled out her own glittering blade, “Or I could do it.”

“We…..we had a……..agreement.” Sabina managed to cough out, before the dryad claws twisted deeper and she gurgled into silence.

In response the Elf went silent, staring hard at the impaled creature.

“Yes we did,” she sighed and stood up again. “See that you live up to your part, Leech.”

She began to walk away, singing softly in a strange tongue, mixed with odd clicks and rasps. Slowly, painfully the tree creature withdrew its talons and drew itself up to its full height before it began stalking after the witch. Sabina did not move for several long minutes, allowing her wounds to close and heal, shaken by the whole experience. As she finally stood up, she touched the bloody rents in her tunic, remembering the touch of the talons.

xx

Captain von Hirschfeld was tired but from habit refused to let anyone see it, something his father had taught him and his three brothers, his firm but fair manner providing a solid and uncomplicated upbringing. He had work to do and would rest when it was completed, not before.

The old man that had taken command of the small forest town had coughed his way through his assessment of the situation, at least as much as he knew and paused, obviously waiting for a response. Hirschfeld looked down at the basic map that showed the surrounding area, he considered the pitiful numbers of men under arms the town could provide and shook his head, wondering how they had survived this long.

“The vanguard of our forces is at least a day away – once they arrive, we will secure the town against any threats from the enemy before we will march onwards to the relief of the city.” He looked down again at the map before them. “Your efforts in holding out will prove vital in maintaining our supply routes, once the bridge across the river is restored. You must ready yourselves for the town will need to accommodate many soldiers.” His cool gaze moved upwards to meet the other man’s, he did need not speak of the potential problems this could cause, both of them were veterans and well aware of the nature of some of the men under arms.

Schiller nodded, “We will be ready…………” It had been the same when the first siege had taken place, the influx of soldiers living and dying amongst them had not been easy and then the townsfolk, at least at the start, had been considerably more numerous.

“You are aware…………of the elf heading for Middenheim?”

Hirschfeld looked surprised for a moment before comprehension arrived, “Lucarius? He is still alive?”

“As far as I am aware”

“Hmm, we had heard nothing of him since his departure and had assumed him lost,” he paused for a moment, somewhat ruefully. “As I recall he was a formidable wielder of the blade.”

“He left three days ago – he should be at the City by now………….if he lives.”

“On his own?” the question was laced with incredulity.

“No, he had help; a guide, some men and…….some of his kin folk, from the woods.”

Hirschfeld nodded, “we have seen their work in days past, a good many beasts have met their end at the point of their arrows. We have not seen them though.”

Schiller grunted and took a long draught of the mug at his elbow.

I assume the Priests of the Gods come with you?”

The younger man nodded, “Yes, Sigmar is with us and with him comes the wrath of all the Gods”. He spoke the words with more conviction than at the start of the campaign, for now he had seen the works of the priests first hand in smiting the enemy.

“Good………We shall need them…….I would speak to you more on that matter”.

xx

The walk back to Untergrad did not take long but she was pleased to see the watchers as she approached, her enhanced hearing catching the sounds of the inhabitants moving about. As she reached the gate, she was met by an unsmiling Julius who greeted her loudly and respectfully, before speaking in a careful undertone.

“Those men are asking questions about you, My Lady, asking lots of questions….” His eyes were concerned and she noticed that one of her men was positioned between them and a nearby pistolier. Both men had their right hands hooked in their belts, near their sword hilts, their postures overly casual.

Sabina nodded distractedly, which did not serve to dispel his obvious unease. “Where is Hans?” She looked about her, “I need to speak to him.”

Julius shuffled slightly, easing the pressure on his injured leg, “He is still with the Elf, My Lady, to the East.”

Again she nodded, her left hand absently moving across the torn rents in her tunic and then she seemed to take more notice of her surroundings. She shifted her attention to the newcomer, meeting his assessing gaze until he looked away.

She began to walk through the small town, noting the few people about, people who would be dead without her aid. For a moment she paused, watching two children likely evading chores, dashing through the town, laughing and screaming at each other. Behind her, the two mercenaries followed at a respectful distance, unsure of her mood and what she wanted, or where she was going.

In truth she was as unsure herself – she remembered the advice of her blood sisters, echoed later by Hans that she should be discrete, circumspect, work behind the scenes – but that had never been her way, in fact it was something she thought she had escaped from. Deception and deceit had its place but it was not something she had ever become adept at.

A sharp voice cut through the chill air and she recognised the authoritative tones of Grammy Moescher who had evidently located the now suitably abashed and likely soon to be chastised children. She saw Albrecht practising sword cuts in the town square, although the shirtless aspect seemed more for the enraptured Ulrike who sat nearby watching, her cheeks glowing. The Dwarf Orzad nodded to her in passing, his weather beaten face almost breaking into a smile.

The pistolier sergeant was approaching from the other direction, talking quietly to a merchant she remembered giving rudimentary lessons in swordsmanship before the attacks began. They stopped as they noticed her, the solider making a slight bow, the merchant flushing in apparent embarrassment.

Sabina considered them for a moment, aware that her men were behind her, awaiting her lead. She was confident in their loyalty, she paid them well and in advance which helped, but she had also saved more than half of them from certain death. They all now knew what she was, which again was something she had been specifically warned against humans were unpredictable in their fear. She walked on, choosing to say nothing at this time as her confidence and sense of righteousness were rebuilt.

That was when they all heard the screams……

xx

Captain Schiller had directed the pistolier officer to the Brandt household, where he was assured of a warm welcome and more importantly good food and a bath. Hirschfeld had no need to check on the arrangements made for his men, he had spoken to others to provide this and so assumed that they and his sergeant would ensure it took place.

He swept into the house after briskly knocking on the solid oak door, hardly noticing the two women welcoming him, his mind still on the disquieting information that the old soldier had provided. Distractedly he made vague noises of agreement or disagreement in answer to their questions, wondering why they did not take the hint and simply get on with preparing his food.

The bath was warm enough and the flagon of warmed spiced wine was good enough that it roused his awareness enough to thank the bigger of the two women as he settled into the water. The stew was also good and he finished off two large helpings as he scrawled a report of the journey to the town, again grunting out generalities when he felt the halting conversation of the two women required it.

On request, the younger woman showed him his room, prattling on a bit about the previous occupant – which he discouraged by his lack of response. Once she had finally gone he looked about the small room, tested the bed and considered it all about as adequate as a northern town was going to be able to provide.

When the breathless runner arrived, he had been about to set forth for a tour of the town, assessing the defences for himself, ready to add to his report. When he heard what the man gasped out, he followed immediately, pistol in hand.

xx

The screams had come from the two children, heading back with Granny to their home – they had been confronted by a terrible apparition. Lurching out of the shadows of a side ally was a young boy, or what was once a young boy, now dead and decaying but still walking.

As people ran towards them, drawing a variety of weapons, the corpse dropped to its knees on the muddy street, its one remaining eye staring at the terrified children and their minder. In minutes half the armed members of the town plus several of the pistoliers all converged on the location, the others had gone to their stations on the walls as per standing orders, conscious that the enemy could causing a distraction.

Granny covered the children’s eyes and pulled them away, even as one of them, the girl Gretchin, began to throw up. Everyone stared at the dead boy as they arrived, several of them had helped bury him, the corpse looked around the gathering crowd, before it called out in a hoarse voice.

“Mistress! I am here Mistress”.

xx

very good addition...i like sabinas character development...looking forward to more

Thanks much appreciated - amy trying to put a bit more expostion and character background in as the stroy continues

Chapter Ten – A Reluctant Courier

The screams that finally awakened Hasir from his poison induced slumber trailed off into hoarse coughing and dry retching, his own throat felt dry and painful as he fearfully opened his eyes. He found himself chained naked to a solid iron frame, its chaffing roughness becoming painfully evident as his senses awakened.

Opposite him was a vast, partially clad female form, strange tattoos crawling across her pale skin as her body moved in tune to the renewed screams of agony that she was again producing from her victim. Short dark hair did not cover the large growths at the base of her neck, undulating spongy forms that bizarrely captured the Elf’s attention for several long moments. Even as he watched, one of the protuberances opened a small red rimmed eye and returned his stare. In response, the woman paused briefly abandoning whatever horrific work she was engaged in and turned to face Hasir.

In retrospect, he would be relieved that her very bulk concealed the results of her recent work, but her face and formidable upper body were covered in scarlet gore, some congealed or dried, some still dripping. In her left hand was an obviously well used skinning knife, whilst a rusty pair of heavy pincers was held loosely in her right, portions of torn flesh still tumbling from their grip as she stood and assessed the Elf.

She was also chewing something which she sucked fully into her mouth and down her throat, between her too sharp teeth. He watched the subtle movements as it moved down her oesophagus as she swallowed loudly and smacked her broad lips in satisfaction.

Unwillingly his eyes returned to her face and he found he could not breath, so great was his fear. He did not even notice the loosening of his bowels as she took her first step towards him, their eyes now locked upon one another in a perverse mockery of the looks that lovers gave one another. Her breath was powerful, redolent of recent meals like many pure carnivores and it was obvious that the only time her skin felt water was in the rain.

“Awake, Elf Man?” she smiled widely, exposing fully her bloody teeth. “Feeling lonely?”

In his hundred years of life, Hasir had faced death before, hunting on his own, fighting alongside his kin against invaders, but this prospect of torture was new and unwelcome. He had of course seen the results of it first hand, the Drakwald was a place where many monsters lurked, he had even seen in from the other side, watching Malitha loosen the tongue of some beast with magic, fire and her ever sharp knife. It had had simply never occurred that it could happen to him.

Now he found himself at the mercy of this terrifying creature and her instruments, fear coursing through him and he began to beg her for mercy, not realising that he was speaking in his own language, a tongue she was unlikely to understand.

Carefully, without any hurry or breaking eye contact, she replaced her instruments on their hooks on the broad leather belt that was all she wore when she was working on the meat. Ogres usually had formidable bellies and she was no exception, despite the blessings of the dark gods that she been received over the years spent in the Chaos wastes. Where most others of her kind took care to cover with armour the most important part of their bodies - their guts, she disdained such weakness, trusting to the thickness of her pale skin to guard her innards.

Lukara regarded all other living creatures as a mixture of food and entertainment, something that could be transformed into an instrument of pleasure for her and then consumed when it’s mewling and screaming had ceased to amuse or interest her.

All Ogres prided themselves on enjoying the consumption of living creatures, but few amongst them bothered to play with their food as Lukara did. It was one of the reasons that she had left her tribe long years ago, growing tired of the grumblings of the others as they awaited their food, complaining that it was tenderised enough already!

It was a long time since she had had Elf meat – it was a delicacy not often sampled by her kind who mostly dwelt far to the south east within the vast mountain range know as the Mountains of Mourn. The precipitous mountains, deep delving caves and craggy valleys were filled with dangerous creatures, many of which were predators on and the prey of the many Ogre tribes that dwelt there.

She broke eye contact and swept her eyes across the chained creature, assessing first the potential for pleasure – disappointingly limited it seemed. This meat produced an unusual flavour, but she was sure she could savour something about it. Indeed she vividly remembered members of her old tribe fondly grunting with pleasure as they recalled that one time they had had the legs of Elves fried in horse blood.

“I didn’t say talk, Elf meat” she drawled, clamping a powerful hand over the mouth and muffling the sounds it had been making.

“I didn’t even say bleed…………yet” Her smile was less than reassuring.

Then she simply stopped and went rigid, un-moving as her eyes went a deep purple and beads of sweat began to flow down her face. The she was free and looked down at the Elf, her smile less broad.

“Time to meet your new Master.”

Xx

Lucarius refrained from commenting as he watched the human complete the small pyre for his dead son. He had done what he could to help, gathering wood, hoping to speed up the process if truth be told, aware that every moment they lingered increased the likelihood of a new wave of attackers arriving.

He had seen plenty of death in his years of warfare in service to the Phoenix Throne and had spoken words of comfort to those who had lost sons and daughters, fathers and mothers at his side. Yet these were humans and he did not know what to say, also he recognised the desire to mourn in peace – he had seen it even in his homelands in the taciturn warriors of Tiranoc and the bitter inhabitants of the Shadowlands. So he stayed silent and merely helped gather some more wood.

When the fire finally caught, it was a mean thing and barely spluttered into life as Hans said a few quiet words over the smouldering body of his son. Again the Elf Captain said nothing, he saw no help in praying to Isha as he would for another Elf, she was the mother of his people and her blessed tears were only shed for them. The gods of the humans were not his and he doubted they would listen to his words.

For long moments Hans stood unmoving, watching the fledgling fire smoke and shift, trying to gain a firm purchase in the world. It stuttered and nearly seemed to go out, but then rallied and began to build in strength as it burrowed into the drier wood. Yet its life would be short, the muddy ground was soaked with churned blood and water and it would likely fail before the body was fully consumed.

A pair of Ravens announced their arrival with a long gurgling croak, Lucarius looked over at the two dark birds alighting calmly nearby and meeting his searching gaze. It was a common superstition that such birds were the messengers of Morai-Heg, the Weaver of Prophecy and he had seen enough strange things to be wary when they appeared. All of those who practised the art of the archer in Ulthuan knew the stories of her birds and he made a swift and silent sign of respect to their mistress as they watched him.

Seemingly satisfied one now ignored him and began to probe energetically at the dead body of beastmen with its beak and taloned feet. The other hopped closer, cocking its large head on one side to get a good look at the two humanoids.

Xx

Lukara had not bothered to release her captive from his chains, merely hefted the iron rack and carried it before her triumphantly through the encampment. Branded and tormented slaves scattered quickly from her path, seeking to extend for a few more moments their miserable existence.

Lesser members of the warband, warriors clad in ornate armour, silk clad witches with too many limbs and powerful beastmen made way for her and her charge. Some called out suggestions and comments, others merely watched through darkened slits in their helms and not a few began to follow the ogre female.

Her lord and master presently dwelt and gave audiences within a huge pavilion, erected by his chosen slaves, their skills honed despite the removal of their eyes when they were permitted to enter his service. A pair of silken pendants flowed and floated above the entrance, despite the lack of wind, the golden sign of Tzeentch resplendent against the purple background. No guards stood outside, or even patrolled nearby, a deliberate proclamation of the strength of the champion within. Only those who had actually been summoned or had duties dared approach the pavilion and few would actually wish to enter their master’s presence.

The Ogre grunted as she bent low and pulled both the chained Elf and the iron rack into its interior. The air within the great tent was strange and almost murky, colours shifted and moved within it and shapes seemed to manifest out of the corners, although never quite enough to make out their true appearance.

Heavy hooks hung from an unseen support pole and Lukara hefted the rack into place, swearing under breath as she nearly dropped it. She vividly recalled the one time she had done that before, leaving the occupant to be crushed into the floor by its weight, severely damaging him. The lord had been amused on that occasion by the unexpected she doubted he would be again.

Lord Damar himself sat quietly on his throne, the flames now quiescent and returned to mere flowing decoration on its surface. A few slaves attended him in silence, another hung motionless in mid air to his right, her naked body bleeding from numerous cuts and inscribed runes into a great brass bowl.

Around the room on crystal or bone stands were trophies, weapons taken from the many enemies that the Champion had defeated. The diamond sharp bone spurs of Klaasa, beloved spawn of Slaanesh were displayed next to the brass axe of the Sublime Raptor, a favoured warrior of Khorne. A battered Dwarven hammer, its runes drained and dulled sat beside a glittering blade from an Elf lordling, its surface polished as bright as when it had been first presented to the long dead youth.

A powerful recurved bow, covered in razor sharp thorns was displayed beside an obsidian dagger and pride of place, nearest the throne was a rusty bloodstained mace, confined in crystal lest its malign energies – the antithesis of Damar and his God were unleashed again. A pair of beautifully crafted Cathayan longswords counterpointed a primitive and jagged metal sword whose pockmarked surface was bathed in malign green energies from the chunk of warpstone crystal embedded in its hilt.

Lukara stood unmoving in his presence, she was favoured by him, but his temper was mercurial and no one was ever completely safe who served him. She wondered if she would be allowed to return to her prey, or would be required to cut and slice the Elf meat instead. She was not really concerned, she had had plenty to opportunities to slake all of her thirsts in her years of service to the worshiper of Tzeentch and had relished them all.

The Chaos Champion gazed upon the Elf, who had ceased struggling and begging, sensing it would avail him nothing and now slumped in his chains. The lord’s face was presently that of a handsome youth, barely an adult, a mismatch to his short gnarled body, his lean form clad in a pale tunic and criss-crossed with the scars and other reminders of past battles nearly lost.

He roused himself from his contemplations and strode over to the new arrivals, glancing for a moment at the towering woman and dismissing her with a nod. She lumbered out without a backwards glance, already anticipating her renewed session with the hunt master.

Damar moved so he stood close to the prisoner and looked up at the Elf, considering for a long moment, his solid purple eyes showing no emotion. As ever, the face of the Chaos Champion face shifted when he began to speak.

“I look upon you and I am disappointed.” The face of an old man gazed up at Hasir, now at last some emotion flickering across the wrinkles. “Still we must make do with what we have I suppose.” Unsurprisingly, the captive made no response.

Then without warning there was a skittering noise from behind him and fearfully the Elf tried, to no avail, to see what it was. It moved beneath the slightly swaying frame and then moved towards the Lord, moving into the flickering light.

Rapidly now clambering up the unmoving body of its master was a small bright pink beast, now emitting little squeals and giggles. Its proportions were strange, gangling arms with too many pulsing veins and joints, ending in huge hands with suckers at the end of the dextrous sinuous fingers. Large stumpy legs tipped with wickedly clawed feet that dug into the flesh it was clambering up. The familiars neckless head and body were one, with growths and bumps spread across surface, its face that of a leering crone.

It finally stopped moving when it reached the head, using the long dark hair to pull it up to the top and teetering for a moment before settling into position and fixing Hasir with a penetrating look from its unblinking bird like eyes. A long muscled tongue swept over sharp teeth, but it said nothing.

As if nothing had happened, the devotee of Tzeentch moved closer, now chanting out a short spell in the language of Chaos, drawing on the energies that swirled through the great pavilion. Strands of magic emerged from his eyes and lashed out towards the Elf’s head, manifesting vicious barbs as they entered reality and the flesh of their victim. Hasir wanted to scream again as he felt the tendrils insinuate themselves into his brain but he could not.

“Now, let’s see what you can tell me.”

xx

very nice addition man

Xx

“We need to go”. The words came reluctantly but with an understandable undercurrent of urgency as Captain Lucarius waited for a reaction from the mourning father. He wished his sister could see this….he remembered the last time they had spoken on one of her infrequent visits to their family home in the city state of Lothern.

“Foolish creatures, they breed so quickly that they will overrun the world, they are little better than the orcs or the beasts in the woods.”

Salatha had been drawn into a debate on the nature of the other races by their mother’s current lover, a handsome youth and self proclaimed philosopher and artist who both siblings had hated immediately upon being introduced to him. Still they had consoled themselves with the knowledge that their mother was mercurial in her choice of bed partner and assumed he would be swiftly discarded once she had actually spent time talking to him.

The argument had swung back and forth with Salatha growing more and more annoyed with the increasingly amused nobleman. He argued without passion, apparently content to perfect his rhetoric arguments without any real interest in their content – more interested in provoking a reaction in his subject. Her brother had for the most part kept his own council, having seen far more of the world beyond the island paradise of Ulthuan than either of them.

“They walk and talk as we do, should we not consider……….”

“So do some of the trained monkeys from Lustria, it does not mean they have a soul, or do you contend that this is fact the case?” the coldness in his sisters eyes and disdain in her voice made her brother sigh and exchange a glance with his mother.

She had shrugged, looking distinctly bored as she twisted a strand of her gleaming silver blonde curls idly, obviously contemplating once again imbibing something stimulating or soporific to pass the time until the argument stopped and she could regain her lover’s attention. He had not been surprised when their mother had discarded him mere days later in favour of a well known duellist – at least he could find something to talk to Salatha about – swords normally………the hours did not pass quickly at home that spring.

Watching the still unmoving man, he wondered if his sister had found any more wisdom, he doubted it even if she spent her days at perhaps the greatest repository of knowledge in the known world. Like her mother and brother, her spirit was enraptured and enthused by the physical rather than the spiritual. Unlike them she sought perfection in her chosen field and consequently had been drawn to those exemplars of martial arts that guarded the Tower of Hoeth.

The wind changed again and battle horns could be heard resounded from the siege lines, the rumble of cannon and the shrieks of unnatural weapons being unleashed against the city. Lucarius looked east; to where the smoke was rising and wondered how much longer the human fortress could last. He sighed as he recalled the broken fortifications of his own realm, sundered by the Druchii – the Dark Elves in the unceasing war against their cousins. It seemed that everywhere civilisation was under siege by the forces of disorder and it also seemed that Chaos was winning.

His own mission was in flux, he was supposed to discover the state of the siege – this he had done – but there appeared no hope in gaining entry or even contacting those behind the battered walls and within the burning city. His report would be little help to the great lords, merely confirming that the enemy seemed without number.

It seemed that they were at least unaware of the approaching army of relief, or perhaps he thought with a sinking heart, they merely did not care. He looked over at the fire and the smoking body within the small wood pile. When he had been given the responsibility of his task, it had been an opportunity, an adventure even……now all his warriors were dead and he standing watching yet another father mourn…………

He wondered what the man, what Werner would have said – likely something flippant no doubt. Lucarius had forgotten how important humour was to help balance the impact of the everyday evil they were fighting and was surprised how much he would miss the human.

Without warning, Hans drew out his axe and tossed it away, falling near to the spluttering fire and turned to face the Elf, his tears having etched through the grime and soot. His voice, when he spoke, was low, harsh and broken, but still coherent.

“I need a favour, Captain.”

Startled the Elf nodded, anxious to depart the area as quickly as possible, “Of course, if I can be of any………..”

“I need you to kill me.”

Xx

Lord Damar examined his prize once again, the blood had by now stopped flowing from the puncture wounds on his face and head and all the knowledge of interest had been retrieved from his captives mind. He was ready for the next stage – he hoped the Elf was too, as it was going to hurt, a lot.

He conjured the energy again, allowing the magic to flow over, around and through him, basking in its touch for a long moment before drawing it into a coruscating ball centred on and around his left hand. The familiar atop his head did not move but mouthed the words of the spell in unison with its master, adding its strength to his.

Slowly he brought up his right arm, igniting the blue fire within, feeling it begin to rise to its optimum temperature. Slowly, savouring the moment, he raised the limb towards the naked chest of the prisoner, who desperately tried to squirm away from the rising heat, but to no avail. Damar paused before it reached the skin, the heat merely beginning to blister its surface

“Very soon I am going to hurt you again Hasir, but for now I need you to listen very……very carefully, you will need to understand every word, your life and soul will depend on it.”

He paused again, as the imp stared into the captive’s eyes, flames flickering within its mismatched orbs. “You will take my message to your sister, speaking the words exactly as I recite them to you, do you understand?”

At the lack of response, a flicker of anger moved across the face of the champion of Tzeentch, irritation that the messenger did not seem to understand the mercy he had been granted. Mortals were such ungrateful creatures….the sooner he was done with this petty realm the better.

“Let us try again, Hasir,” he moved the burning arm closer and drank in the shriek of pain. “Just tell me when you are ready to listen………..no hurry, we have all night…..”

XX

Chapter Eleven – Blood Ties

“Anyone would think that you were not trusted, my Lord?” Leta stood near Viktor who was gazing at the advancing army of Chaos, his right hand clenched tightly on the hilt of his long sword, a scowl transforming his face as he digested the biting words of the other vampire.

She glanced at the departing figure, a malformed creature now stalking away towards the front line of the army of Sylvania. In turn, Viktor looked hard at the necromancer, wondering why she was trying to provoke him but he said nothing.

Around them stood several large regiments of skeletons, several proud banners proclaiming the lineage of Viktor’s family. Large packs of rotting wolves, even a fully formed battalion of heavily armoured foot soldiers with gleaming halberds, axes and sword that were at odds with the rusty plate mail that cloaked their true form. Her own shambling dead were, as normal at the forefront of the army vanguard, deployed in the valley below them; they and many others like them would absorb and blunt the initial onslaught of the enemy.

Breaking the silence, she said brightly “Still, it’s a nice day for it?”

She looked up now at the storm clouds that shrouded the dim autumnal sun, lightning flashing in the depths of the dark boiling mass. Two of Viktor compatriots would quickly immolate in direct sunlight and consequently required such powerful magic’s to protect them.

The low hill they had positioned themselves on did give a good view of the battlefield – already powerful bolts of energy were being exchanged between the two forces. Magical bolts detonated and cascaded through the malformed mutants and lumbering corpses that made up the initial fodder of both sides. A few desultory arrows and crossbow bolts flew, but they were like leaves in the wind as the armies moved closer.

Below them, the ranks of undead were impassively awaiting the horde of malformed creatures that were rushing headlong towards them. Ordered lines of armoured skeletons stood behind the twitching mass of animated corpses, the flags of several great houses fluttering in the rising wind. Obediently they prepared their weapons, ready at the command of the other necromancers and the three vampires in the force who could actively command the dead.

Viktor was supposed to be leading his meagre forces into combat but only if they were needed – he had, to his disgust been put in charge of the reserves for this battle. As he had expected, the destruction of Gabrielle had not improved his standing within the ever shifting hierarchy of the army, in truth he had welcomed the coming battle as it would distract Ariette and other enemies. He also knew that she would not be anywhere near the actual fighting, ironically in many ways she was closer to the Lahmians that her maker and his liege despised.

Above the battlefield, strange creatures duelled, vast screeching be-fanged bats sought the throats of winged monsters that were once men and were in turn impaled on the poisonous stingers of roaring manticores. A Sorcerer raced at breakneck speed through the swirling melee above, his feet nestled safely within the flesh of a sky shark – a disc like daemon that trailed pure magic behind it. He flung fireballs at a pack of wolves, laughing as they were consumed in flames or exploded before fleeing back to his own army. As he reached the sky above his own forces, a huge winged vampire tore down from above and ripped his head off, releasing the disc to spiral down into the creatures below and explode in a expanding cloud of mutating magic.

At an unheard command, the mob of corpses moved forwards, silent save for the occasional eerie moan, contrasting with the hooting, hollowing and screaming of the first wave of mutants and beastmen, breaking away from the ranks of heavily armoured warriors that made up the true core of the forces of chaos. Despite the spectacle before him, a rustling noise by his side drew Viktor’s attention and he looked down.

Having made herself quite comfortable on a intricately carved bone and canvas chair, Leta was now unwrapping what appeared to be her lunch. She had already taken her first bite of the rather dubious looking meat when she realised that she was being stared at and looked up at the Vampire.

“What?” she said around a mouthful of food, “I’m hungry and this could take a while you know……….”

The Vampire shook his head silently, a sudden urge to burst out laughing bubbling inside him in response to her easy nonchalance.

Impressive in its brutal glory, the initial impact of the two armies resounded across the field of battle. On the right wing, corpses were flung aside by a champion of the Dark Gods and screeching mutants torn asunder by a rampaging Vampire, both being caught up in their battle frenzy as they surged towards each other.

“Oh dear, I really don’t think charging headlong into the horde is the wisest choice.” She looked less than concerned about the vampire’s fate as she took another bite of meat and washed it down with some recently acquired white wine, balancing the small bottle precariously on the arm (literally) of the seat.

“Silviu was an idiot even before he was turned, and I always said his maker took too much blood out and did not put enough back” Viktor sneered dismissively, his hand still clutching uselessly at the gilded hilt of his quiescent sword as he watched the slaughter, nostrils flaring as the wind shifted in their direction.

“Ah well, it appears that his lack of judgement is not going to be an issue, for anyone ……….I wonder if they will let me have his body when we have won”. She broke off to finish the sliced and somewhat pungent meat, tilting her head back to drop it all in at once “Mmm, that was good.”

She refocused her attention on the battle where the lead forces were increasingly engaged in a brutal exchange of attrition. Over the last few weeks, she had witnessed similar scenes a number of times, beginning when the invading hordes had entered the lands of her liege lord. The great sprawling fortress of Drakenhof had stirred itself as its master arose from his slumber, gathering its full strength and flinging itself at the infection that had begun to spread on its South-Eastern border.

As the warriors of Chaos quickly discovered, invading Sylvania was not like assaulting any other province of the Empire. Even as they were slaughtered or enslaved, the inhabitants were not consumed by fear, but rather a grim acceptance of their fate, ingrained by centuries of service to the Carnstein family and the harsh nature of their existence. They usually fought without any real hope of victory but rather enjoying the opportunity to in turn vent their anger and frustration on others, however equally damned they might be.

The living was not the only foe that the chaos hordes had to face for the lords of Sylvania had long seeded their territory with the restless dead, buried in shallow graves and soon they began to rise in great numbers to assail the invaders. Cutting through the walking carrion that had confronted them, the marauders soon faced more formidable threats as wraiths and wights answered the call to arms and joined the living and the dead who were marching on the enemy. Packs of rotting wolves fought the tormented forms of the hounds that accompanied the chaos forces who had in turn been lashed into a frenzy by their malformed masters.

She watched the latest battle unfold in an all too familiar way – the invaders might have had great generals and strategists in their ranks but she had yet to see any evidence of it. The thrashing and screaming main body of the enemy was held in place by the animated corpses, skeleton regiments and fully armoured battalions of grave guard – the elite of the walking dead.

At the centre of the serried ranks of the undead was the massive form of a once proud dragon, its rotting flesh dripping as it reared up and unleashed pestilent breath across the armoured marauders and mutants alike. Leta frowned and wrinkled her nose in distaste as she watched, for mounted in a howdah atop the huge enslaved reptilian corpse was one of her own rivals, the necromancer Mahjub Izz.

Skeleton and Wight cavalry swept round both flanks led by young vampires on night black steeds and clad in far too ornate armour. They crashed into the body of the horde, compressing it against the centre and all the while the freshly dead struggled to their feet to turn on their comrades with sword and axe, tooth and claw.

She sighed heavily and shifted her vision so she could see the streaming winds of the Aethyr as they swept across the carnage. The undulating flow of the vivid purple Shyish magic was powerful, almost overwhelmingly so, drawn to the mass of dead and the growing butchery, swirling in small distinct vortices above the necromancers and vampires. It mixed with the pure Dark Magic that powered the forces of Chaos and Undead alike, breaking into rainbows and whirlwinds of stunning colour as sorcerers manipulated it to their own aims. It was beautiful and entrancing and she was aware it was so very easy to lose her mind and soul in its magnificent splendour – she had seen others fall into madness that way.

Leta could also sense that greater powers were having their attention drawn to the conflict, even though it was part of a larger war that was raging across the Empire, even spilling into other realms. The Dark Gods were undoubtedly watching with some minor part of their unfathomable intelligence, whilst the entity that humans called Morr likely grew ever angrier as souls were stolen from his realm. Leta wondered if the Great Necromancer himself, dread Nagash, was aware of the growing war, watching from his blasted lair far to the South.

Just as she was about to return to the more mundane visualisation of the world, her attention was caught by a growing cyclone of fractured dark magic at the edge of the conflict, its power swirling and crimson, glittering like blood - she could feel its raging anger and desire from where she sat, producing a powerful cloying copper taste in her mouth.

Alarmed, she sprang to her feet, her swift unexpected movement ensuring that Viktor had already drawn his sword and was looking for an enemy by the time her vision had snapped back to dull normality. He did not have long to wait.

Coalescing into reality on the left flank of the battlefield was a distortion in reality as part of the Aethyr began to tear into the world, powered by the death and destruction being meted out nearby. As it widened, a roar of pure rage was unleashed, flattening a pack of wolves and stripping the flesh from their bones, before slamming into the embattled combatants nearby.

Following the sound wave were new monsters, daemons of Khorne, the Chaos God of rage incarnate, of slaughter, the Blood God. Lean and sinewy forms, tipped with elongated horned skulls and bearing blades of bloody stained iron and brass stalked into the world as the vanguard of ravening Fleshhounds raced towards the two armies. Beyond them, too large for the present portal was a greater servant of Khorne, a Lord of Skulls, a Bloodletter; indistinct for now, its brutal form was beginning to solidify as the waves of carnage washed over and invigorated it.

Viktor was in motion by this point, mounting the dark nightmare that had swiftly appeared at his side, balefire alight in its fleshless eye sockets. His bodyguard formed up quickly around him, clad in armour of ancient bronze and black iron, bearing lances and swords glittering with cold blue fire. Like their lord, their once mighty warhorses were now withered flesh and dried skin, mere sorcerous constructs of sinew and bone. A slightly larger contingent of skeletal cavalry followed in their wake, a black and gold banner streaming in the wind.

In turn Leta was calling out commands to the dead regiments in Nehekharan as she forced them into motion to follow Viktor’s small cavalry formation. She was relieved to see that he had not galloped headlong into battle but was rather awaiting her support as he moved towards the manifesting enemy, restraining his impulse and that of his knights and their mounts. She strode forwards, invigorating both herself and her charges with Shyish so their movements were now as fast as the cantering former horses. They would not arrive before the daemons struck, but they would not be far behind.

The great hounds of Khorne were first to taste mortal blood, hugely powerful frames of muscle and hate some eight feet in length, leaping into the ongoing fray, smashing bone, tearing flesh and armour alike with fangs and claws. They were swiftly followed by the skull takers, the blood letters, their blades and claws reaping more skulls and souls to feed their master and hasten the arrival of the crimson lord who raged beyond the gate. They did not differentiate between the two forces, caring nothing for who they served – it was a dark truth that Khorne did not care from where the blood flowed, as long as it flowed.

As both cavalry and infantry gained speed, charging down the grassy slope, Leta fell back slightly to ensure she was safely within a solid square of armoured Grave Guard, their drawn blades glittering with cold fire like their mounted counterparts guarding the vampire. Her body was flooded with power, she could feel it coursing through her and out in all directions to the animated dead she commanded – it was as always, totally intoxicating.

Viktor and his riders struck the uncaring flank of the daemons, cold flame meeting uncanny flash and rending it asunder, smashing crimson bodies aside and banishing them from the world. Some now turned upon this new foe with glee and unrestrained hatred, their twisting thirsting blades proving equally as effective in ripping through the thick armour of the knights.

The cavalry swept through the onrushing pack and round to face the expanding rip in reality, its edges rent further by the greater Daemon that sought entry into the world. The infantry followed in their wake, but now the daemons were turning in numbers to face them and they were held in place as their front ranks were scythed through, only the Grave Guard proving any challenge for the forces of rage incarnate. Several amongst the Daemons screamed as their fury was raised even further as they sensed the presence of a sorcerer within the armoured ranks, redoubling their efforts to reach her, rip her into pieces and set her tainted skull at the foot of the throne of their god.

The rune inscribed steel of the vampire’s sword smoked with fading daemon ichor, his armour marked with a single long slash that had broken his near flawless guard. Half of his knights were gone, torn and shattered and the skeletons were now nothing but dust and scattered bone save for the standard bearer. He watched the portal, awaiting the inevitable emergence of the Daemon, aware that in such a beast he could be facing the end of his existence.

When it emerged, wrenching open the gateway with the force of its wrath, dripping with gore as it was born into the world of mortals. It was several feet taller than the vampire lord, its body formed of rippling muscle, crimson fur and iron. Behind the massive canine faced, horned head were two mottled black and red wings, tipped with great talons to match those on its hooves. In each hand was an axe, dripping blood and screaming their hatred of the universe. It gazed upon the vampire with its milk white eyes and without preamble flung itself at him, preceded by a deafening roar.

Viktor did not hesitate in directing his remaining knights into its path, preparing himself for the monstrous creatures attack. He was not surprised to see that they were no match for its brutal ferocity, barely managing to raise their weapons as the first two were cleaved in twain, the return swing doing the same to their snarling mounts.

A cold blade bit deep into its flank, but this was all that the wights achieved before they were rendered asunder by the Deamon and it confronted their master. He did not wait for its impact but leapt above and to his right, twisting past one axe blow and slicing his own sword into the slowly closing wound inflicted by the knight’s blade, before shifting back and taking off the Deamon’s left hand with a return blow.

The snarling axe did not have time to hit the ground as the lashing prehensile tail of its owner swept round and caught it, even as the Daemon itself spun round with a speed that belied its bulk. The other axe powered towards the Vampire’s head, its serrated edges impacting with the rune blade, sending sparks and shards flying from both. The first axe followed in quick succession and Viktor was forced to give ground to avoid its screaming impact, the Deamon giving him no respite to regain the initiative, raining blows upon his increasingly desperate defence.

Axes bit into both his blade and his armour, proof of their power that they protected him at all from its wrath. If anything his continued survival enraged the Daemon even more, the speed of its hammer blows increasing in line with volume of its incoherent bellows. Yet the Vampire was now getting the measure of his opponent, steering its blows to leave it open for a potential counterstroke and increasingly anticipating its frenzied onslaught.

In a split second, the battle shifted as Viktor began to take advantage of the openings he was creating to land several telling blows that opened armoured flesh to the bone. One of the disadvantages that Daemons suffered when they took material form was they were at least partially limited by the rules of the mortal world. Suffering a brutal plunging incision from the twisted hooks from one arching wing, Viktor rammed his blade up through the Daemons chin, quickly withdrawing it and wrenching free from the talon.

For a moment, it was stunned and staggered left, shaking its powerful jowls, spraying burning blood from the deep wound. Like any predator, Viktor knew that a wounded animal must be finished quickly and he spun back into the attack, the finesse with which he had fended of its attack discarded as he summoned every ounce of unnatural strength and used his blade like a great butcher’s cleaver. The rune blade screeched and sparked as it was repeatedly notched on the bones of the Blood Thirster, but he paid it no head, hacking at his prey until it fell. At last as it began to expire and fade and its anger and hatred with it - he saw something else in its eyes – recognition.

The defeat of their lord disrupted the always fragile hold the Daemons had on their intrusion into the world and in turn they also began to loose strength. Scrabbling backwards on all fours, screaming desperate commands at the last few guardians, Leta could see nothing other than the rising and falling of the terrible blades, cleaving through the wights even as she channelled her power into them.

She closed her eyes as the last warrior fell, taking a Bloodletters head with its own blade as it did so, but there were several snarling Skull Takers already leaping forward. As she waited for the end, she wondered what would happen to her – she knew her soul was damned in the eyes of Morr and she had never pledged it to any of the darker powers, whatever others might think. She guessed it would all just end.

“So dear lady, are you just going to lie there?”

Smiling, she opened one eye, the other being stuck again.

“My hero” she breathed, looking up at her torn and battered saviour, his left arm nearly severed, her fear of oblivion gone and relief flooding her magic infused body.

He sheathed his sword and held out his right hand, returning her smile with his own, the large feeding fangs still extended as his passions were still subsiding.

“Come now, we have a battle to win.”

xx

Chapter Twelve – Allies of Convenience

Even as the undead child reached forward, many of the horrified onlookers drew back from its grasp, weapons being reluctantly raised against the monstrosity that had once been one of their treasured children. Granny narrowed her eyes as she pulled her living children behind her, her gaze shifting to include the Aethyr as she looked upon her former charge.

Smoky tendrils of Shyish curled around the animated corpse but there was more, at the centre of the body was an ever changing orb of energy, pulsing and radiating with all the varied colours of magic. She could see no sign of anything else, nothing within the cadaver beyond this strange, somehow compelling force. It was like nothing she had ever seen before, almost pure magic but something more. As she stared directly at the ball its form shifted, now resembling a shimmering plume of violet fire, now an undulating mass of lidless eyes, all focussed on her.

With a dismayed start she realised what it was, a true Daemon from beyond, not the mere wisps and minor imps that she had encountered before but a powerful servant of one of the dark powers. As they gazed upon each other she could feel its horrifically powerful intellect flowing through the unseen connection, tasting her own mind and flicking through her memories, as she would leaf through a book in search of a particular passage or image.

Granny could feel its pleasure and amusement coursing through her as if it was her own emotions; felt the grasp of insubstantial claws as it seized her mind firmly lest she try to escape its malign influence. She experienced its surprise as her own psyche fought against the intrusion and they both savoured the pain of her resistance. A confusing myriad of images flashed through her exposed raw mind, tempting and tantalising with what could be; what she could have and what they could be together.

All she had to do was welcome a new ally, a companion, a helper; she just had to relax and let it take care of her wants and needs. She would not have to hide her powers, what made her special and so much more than the other mortals in the tiny little town, in a small forest within an unimportant kingdom on an un-regarded world amongst un-counted numbers of other similar and unremarkable worlds. It gave her an unwelcome sense of perspective and she fought to retain her sanity in the wake of the revelations that it brought to her.

It would be so very easy to succumb, to allow the intruder to lull her mind and soul and subsume it within the comforting blanket of its power and sheer energy. Visions, tastes, smells and other sensory stimuli flowed through her, distracting and entrancing her soul. For a moment, as the offerings washed over and through her, she thought she felt another voice or presence, fading even as it tried to call out to her.

Then without warning, the connection was broken as the boys head flew and hit a nearby wall with an unpleasant squelching noise, before dropping to the muddy ground below, dented and its unnatural life fading from within its dark rimmed, sunken eyes. The trunk stood for a moment, black sludge leaking from the gaping wound that had been its neck, then fell forwards into the mud.

“That needs to be burned,” a gesture with the still clean sword, the dwarf forged steel gleaming brightly, “See to it Sergeant”.

Captain von Hirschfeld looked about him for a moment, wondering why everyone was not getting on with the various tasks he assumed they should be undertaking, even as his subordinate stepped forward to carry out his orders.

Mentally he shrugged and without further ado approached Sabina, smoothly sheathing his sword as he did so. He made a slight bow, just within the bounds of politeness and fixed her with a piercing gaze, nurtured in his childhood and perfected from his years in the Pistolkorps.

“Madam, I would speak with you on several matters of importance – perhaps you could join me shortly at the Brandt residence where we can discuss these matters over a glass of wine.”

He did not wait for a reply, unused to contradiction and was already turning away when she spoke.

“Captain, I shall endeavour to find the time, but I have many things that require my attention”, her voice was controlled this time, her eyes narrowed in assessment of the man and his words.

He paused and considered her reply for a moment, his face impassive, “Indeed, well as long as it is before sundown, that would be entirely satisfactory” She watched him walk away, without a backwards look.

As he did so, his men were collecting the dead child; the townsfolk having drawn away from the scene, the beasts of the woods were one thing – a known and understood danger – like a forest fire or an injured bear. The walking dead were the stuff of horror stories and legends centred on the once proud Eastern province of Sylvania.

Granny still stood unmoving, the two children behind her, now peering round to stare wide eyed at the men, one of whom was hefting the small corpse onto his shoulder, the other casually grasping the head by its matted dark hair. The big merchant, Kurt Sigval moved towards the children, pulling the small group away as he spoke of the dead being out to final rest in Morr’s arms, a lie but one that might comfort the children a little.

Sabina watched them all, she had fought alongside and against the animated dead and she was wondering who or what had brought the child back to un-life. Given the vast numbers of corpses now littering the Drakwald, a necromancer would have plenty of raw materials to build a powerful army. Unwillingly, she again measured the recent words of her Sylvanian associate, considering the possibility that the lord of that land had dispatched sorcerers to prepare the path to Middenheim and beyond.

She saw Sigval looking at her as he hustled the small group away back to their house, yet when her eyes met his he flinched and looked away quickly. The Vampire frowned; the merchant had never done that before, in fact quite the opposite as before he had been keen to accost her with the possibilities of future trade with her family. She had indulged his rather grandiose ideas, she realised that he had needed this potential future to keep him going, even as others needed their family, or the opportunity for vengeance.

Disquieted, she wondered what his problem was………….

Xx

Albrecht held his lover close as she sobbed; the dead child had affected her considerably, bringing back terrible memories of things she had seen in the previous months. He had pulled her away when the scene began to unfold as his Lady was in no danger from such a minor manifestation of the enemy.

As she subsided and merely began reciting a soft prayer to Morr, he began to lead her home, not noticing that he was being trailed by one of the pistolier’s. The man was confident despite his recent arrival in his backwater hovel in the woods; he strolled behind them at a safe distance, aware that everyone else was likely still watching the dead thing be put down.

It had been a long hard ride from the capital city, he had been fighting hard for much of the journey and he needed some rest and recuperation and he figured there was a perfect opportunity here. After all, he had done it before and he knew his sergeant would protect him should anyone be foolish enough to make a complaint.

Xx

Sabina had not let the officer wait long, but she did not go alone, taking both Julius and Klaus with her as she made her way to the home of the Brandt family. She was met at the door by Petra who smiled nervously at the woman, hesitating before she let her in, but this was nothing new – the girl was in Sabina’s mind scared of her own shadow.

Captain von Hirschfeld was awaiting her in the front parlour, a bottle of wine and pair of glasses on the table before him. He sat alone, scribbling quickly in a small notebook as she entered the room. Politely he rose from his chair, ceasing his writing for the moment and gesturing to the single other chair in the room. Noting the presence of her men, a flash of irritation flickered across his face.

“Young Lady, please look after those……….gentlemen.”

Startled, the young woman looked at Sabina for inspiration and instruction.

“Petra, you heard the Captain, be so kind and see if Inga can find some refreshments for my companions.” Sabina spoke as much to her men as to the girl, her voice quiet but firm.

As they closed the door quietly, she walked over to the second chair, nodding to the captain who waited till she had sat down before returning to his own seat. Without haste, he put down the small book and laid aside the beautifully crafted pen, an artefact to be treasured in its own right, the uncertain sunlight catching the delicate silver inlay work.

Sabina watched it roll slightly on the table and come to rest; she assumed that it was made by dwarfs, whether they were from an actual mountain hold or Imperial citizens, the quality of their work was unmistakeable. It was beautiful work and his casual usage of it gave a clear indication of the wealth of the man’s family. She shifted her gaze to assess the man.

He was dressed plainly, evidently more of the Brandt households clothing having been gifted to another martial visitor. She realised that he was not quite as young as she had first thought, the first signs of age insinuating themselves into his face around the eyes. His dark hair was not as long as many in her employ, his moustache carefully groomed and his nails now clean and trimmed whilst his eyes were clear and unblinking as they returned her frank assessment.

“We have matters to discuss I understand?”

The captain leant back in his chair for a long moment and continued to study her; for once she detected a slight hesitation or even uncertainty in his manner. She smiled a little, just enough to increase the feeling and make him shift just slightly in his seat before he took a breath and continued.

“Ahmm, I am given to understand by Schiller that…… you…… command the bulk of the fighting men in this town?” His deliberate pauses and shift in tone communicated clearly that he found this objectionable but she maintained her poise and confined her response to a simple word of confirmation.

“Our Emperor” Sabina raised an sardonic eyebrow at this but said nothing, “requires every warrior he can get, including those who fight for coin,” again his tone portrayed his feelings on those who did so.

“My men fight for me,” she for stalled his next obviously scathing remark with a raised hand, ignoring the man’s apparent irritation. “I pay them well and they are as loyal as any family retainer.”

“Be that as it may, the Emperor has proclaimed that all……..sell swords…. must answer to Imperial authority and obey the orders of his captains. With that in mind, I wanted to make sure that you were fully aware of this fact and would appraise your….men as to the new chain of command.”

For a long moment, the silence stretched between them, her right fist clenched and unclenched before relaxing as she spoke again.

“I assume that you have a copy of this proclamation?” Her tone was without inflection.

It was now von Hirschfeld’s turn to stiffen in indignation, “You…you doubt my word?”

“I have found in the past that misinterpretation can occur and I would prefer to read the actual document myself in order that I may understand all the intended nuances.” She leaned back in her seat, awaiting his response.

“I have a copy Madam, I trust that will suffice and you don’t require the original document penned by the Emperor?”

“That will be acceptable.”

He glared at her for a moment before reaching down to his side and retrieving a leather document satchel and quickly extracted a small scroll case and placed it firmly on the table between them. Without haste Sabina reached over and pulled the out the proclamation which she took her time in reading before replacing it slowly in its leather holder.

“Well?”

She sighed “It would seem your assertion is not without basis…….well then, do you have orders for me at this time or shall my men and I merely continue to safeguard the town until the rest of your army can join the fight, I trust they won’t be much longer?”

Whilst his eyes blazed, the captains voice was even, “If you simply explain that you are discharging your men into my care there will be no need………”

“They are my men, Captain, don’t make me repeat that”

“Madam, why are you….”

“Lady, my title is Lady, Captain, I would trouble you to remember that.”

“Lady Sabina” he enunciated every syllable carefully, “If you wish to persist with your amusement,” this time he raised a hand to forestall her outrage for a moment, “I will humour you.”

She stood up, placing hands flat on the table top and stared into his eyes, “I suggest that you keep on humouring me, Captain.” Sabina could feel the anger rising inside her, the call to let loose and tear the insolent bastard limb from limb and drink his blood. She could do it so easily, he was alone and only human.

He held her gaze. “I intend to, My Lady, as long as you are clear who is in charge now. I make no secret of the fact that I presently need your men’s sword arm, indeed the Empire needs them, and if that means I must humour one woman, By Sigmar I will do it.”

Again silence reigned until she regained her self control and took her seat once more, pushing the beast back down to slumber till she made the choice to unleash it on her true enemies.

“Now that we have established a working relationship,” he ignored the answering scowl and continued his voice more confident now. “I have another matter to discuss a far more troubling and ah…… intimate matter.”

“Intimate?” Sabina was off balanced by the new direction.

“hrrrmm yes indeed – there is a suspicion that you are not exactly what you seem,” he paused and she could almost hear his added “whatever that may be”.

“I suspect my blood is at least as blue as yours, Captain, do you wish me to recite my families’ pedigree?”

He flushed slightly at the implied slight but kept his temper this time.

“That will not be necessary, at this time. No in point of fact I am not questioning your ancestry, My Lady but rather your humanity….” He trailed off and again locked eyes with her.

Startled, she could see he was only a little worried about her possible reaction to the question and that, against her will, impressed her – a little. She wondered what he knew, what others suspected and whether she should fight, flee or simply answer the question.

Xx

It was only when they reached her house that Albrecht realised they were being followed, he glanced back to see who it was, he had previously endured some good natured ribbing from his comrades but they had been equally keen to sample what was left of Ulrike’s parents’ wine cellar.

He was therefore surprised to see the pistolier trailing them, who evidently realising that he had been noticed, stopped and leant casually against the wall of a nearby burnt out building. The soldier smiled insincerely at the young mercenary and languidly swept his eyes across the girl’s body. Albrecht gently eased his lover behind him, into the doorway of her home, where still sniffing and oblivious to his current concern, she retrieved her key.

The veteran soldier moved forward, he was tall and lean, with his well made clothes and armour stained from battle and the road. Most members of the Pistolkorps were young noblemen, eager for glory and excitement but their hot headed enthusiasm was usually balanced and tempered by professional soldiers who were veterans of many campaigns.

Captain Von Hirschfeld had gathered some of these men to him and they now formed an elite force within the ranks of the renowned regiment. His father approved of the glory he had gained so far, and whilst he remained hale and hearty (and he had other sons) he was content to indulge his son in his campaigns with both time and money. The captain rewarded his men well, and protected them as well when it was required; in exchange he expected them to obey his every command, without hesitation.

Augustus himself had no problem with any of this, a noble patron who provided everything he wanted. Currently he was torn between which was going to provide more amusement – cutting down the young man in “self defence” when he inevitably drew his sword on him or the bed sport with his pretty little wench that would follow.

“Hello, boy” Augustus drawled in answer to his unspoken question, advancing now on the young couple. The young sell sword looked like he might even be somewhat competent with his blade, but the pistolier had been doing this for nearly a decade and half although he still considered himself to be in his prime.

“What do you want?”

“An hour or so with your whore, that would be a good start……I’ll even give her back to you afterwards if you ask nicely and she still wants you.” The smile that followed the words was equally provocative.

Albrecht was not smiling as he growled, “Ulrike, go inside.”
“Yeah girl, you go wait for me inside – I won’t be long.”

Ulrike had been shocked by the exchange but now she merely remained behind her young man, her hand reaching inside her belt to where she kept her knife. After glaring at the pistolier for a long moment, she turned her head away and spat in disgust, which only amused the man more.

“Why don’t you walk away, Pretty Boy.” Albrecht’s companions had been derisive about the Empire’s “toy soldiers”, as they also named them.

“I really want you to make me.”

The sound of the two men’s swords clearing their scabbards was not quite simultaneous but it was close. Albrecht’s sword was straight and longer, its blade formed of well made and maintained steel, the pommel surmounted by a snarling wolfs head. In comparison, the older warrior had a slightly curved modern pattern cavalry sabre, its blade gleaming and razor sharpened.

Both men were quick to act once their blades were drawn, avoiding each others killing blows and lashing out with precise brutal strikes. They exchanged unfriendly grins as they drew back and circled before exchanging blows once again, but this time Augustus was just a little quicker and took part of the younger mans left ear.

Arrogantly he blew Ulrike a kiss as she watched in horror, but was then forced back by her lovers attack. He recovered quickly and whilst he suffered a slash across his cheek, he opened up a deeper gash on Albrecht’s left arm as he was forced to scuttle backwards to avoid a mortal wound. The duel continued and as neither of the two men was wearing armour, they were both quickly bleeding from minor cuts in addition to that stream of blood from the remnant of the younger mans ear and the deeper cut on his arm.

As his blood dripped onto the mud below, Albrecht could feel his energy draining out of it, could feel that he was loosing and increasingly that his opponent was mocking him, prolonging the inevitable. He nearly slipped in the dirt and was driven backwards again, hitting the wall of the former home hard, barely parrying the follow up blow in time and straining to keep it from cutting into his chest.

“A Good fight, but time to die, boy.”

xx

“I have encountered Vampires before……Destroyed one myself.” Sabina did not reply, so the captain continued, his voice calm and even becoming a little detached, especially surprising considering the subject.

“The first one was a whore,” his eyes flickered to hers again, watching for any reaction or even recognition.

“Some enthusiastic friends of mine thought that I needed a little something extra for my coming of age and so they dragged me off to the Crescent Moon – do you know it? ….I can’t say the experience was entirely unpleasant but when she happened to mention my grandfather I found nausea hard to overcome. I can’t remember her name, but I imagine it was assumed anyway. Still my several of my friends seemed enamoured of her associates – personally I think Sierck has a lot to answer for in this matter.”

“I am aware of the establishment but I have not visited, I do however agree that many people of quality do enjoy Sierck’s work.” Her voice was also flat and controlled.

“Well, my next encounter was far less fragrant and to be honest, and we are being honest here are we not?” He smiled, a little fire rising into his eyes, “far more satisfying.”

“It dwelt in the sewers, preying on all it could catch, but it grew careless and profligate in its feeding and so its existence was discovered. We drove it from its hiding place with fire and we cornered it as the monster fled through the graveyard, it was a foul creature, bestial in nature and form. Five of us where there when we met it that night and it killed three, I still bear the scars…………….with pride.”

“Evil dwells amongst us and comes in many forms – some are pleasing to the eye, others have a visage that matches their soul.”

“That may well be true but how then are we to recognise them?”

“I was brought up to take the measure of man…..or a woman by their deeds and actions – but that may be an old fashioned way of looking at the world…….”

“Perhaps, but your words are not without worth.” Sabina inclined her head in recognition, with a slight smile which was not returned. ““and we are back to the question of honesty………..”

Silence was heavy for a long minute, before the woman took a deep (and unnecessary) breath, “Ask and I shall answer…… honestly.”

He leaned forward, “and now we are getting somewhere.”

xx

The blade plunged into the throat from the side, several times in quick succession, even as the girl shrieked in time to the blows. Blood spurted from the jagged wounds as the man staggered back, clutching the wound, eyes wide in shock and horror even as Albrecht stepped forward and rammed his sword through his mouth and out the back of his head. Ulrike watched the man die, even as his blood soaked her clothing, her knife still clutched tight in her hand.

Her lover cleaned his blade and sheathed it, his breathing shallow and fast as the adrenaline began to fade and the effects of his wounds took effect. He looked surprised when Ulrike gave the soldier a solid kick to the mid section to make sure he was dead before suddenly bursting into tears once again. Taking a moment to awkwardly wind some cloth around his wounded arm he carefully took the bloody knife from her and wiped it clean, shoving it safely into his belt.

“You should go inside” he said softly, starting to steer her back towards her home.

“It might be a little late for that, laddie.” The gruff voice of Orzard Falker was not without sympathy but his face was stern as he looked at the scene. The Dwarf shook his head, “best we all go and see the Captain before it gets any worse.”

He turned away, evidently expecting the young couple to follow him and he was not disappointed.

very nice addition thoroughly enjoyed it

 alabamaheretic wrote:
very nice addition thoroughly enjoyed it

Thanks presently working on the next chapter

Now this was good! Really good, your work of fition really captures the grittyness and all around despair of the Warhammer Fantasy world! Well done sir!

Thanks I am glad you enjoyed it

In the middle of the next Chapter..............

Chapter Thirteen – Heart of Darkness

“I have no intention of killing you.” The Elf looked down at the broken man, who glared up at him, sorrow and rage warring in his usually cool eyes and across his rugged soot stained features.

“Then go, I am sure that the beasts will soon return and finish their work.”

“I need you Human, I need your knowledge, your skills, to get Hasir back and I must have your insight into this area so I can retrieve him and hence complete our mission.” Lucarius was not sure how to bring the man back to a useful level of sanity and reverted to his military training, his voice growing harsher. “Now get up and pick up your axe, you’ll need it where we are going.”

“Why don’t you go F…….”

The crack of the hand against the face of the man resounded loudly, “Because I don’t have time for this – now GET UP!”

Hans rose to his feet slowly, his large fists balled and straining against themselves as anger rose further.

“Tell me Human, Do you want to fight me………………… or the things that killed your son?”

For a long moment, the stricken father considered those words and his next action, the Elf watching his eyes to see if he would strike or come to his senses, ready for either eventuality. Then Hans simply looked away and down, the tension faded from his hefty frame and he walked over to retrieve his abandoned axe.

“So do you have a plan, Elf?”

“I thought I would start by following the beasts back to their master and for that I need your tracking skills.”

In response, Hans merely nodded and by this time he had retrieved his bow as well, but only a few arrows remained in a usable state. “I pledged that I would guide you safely and that I will do, now let’s get this over with then.”

Lucarius watched him walk away, unsure if he meant the rescue attempt or his life.

Despite what the Elf had said, the tracks of the beastmen were not difficult to find or follow, whilst they could move stealthily when they chose to do so in this case they had been routed and were more intent on saving their lives. Eventually it appeared that they had slowed and grouped together to restore their confidence and moved off in a new direction – it seemed the Elf could be right.

There was a thin blood trail from one of the beasts, but shortly after they had regrouped, the tracks clearly showed a short lived scuffle, the muddy ground soaked with more blood and tufts of gore soaked hair. A long arm bone lay nearby, cracked open to get at the marrow, teeth marks were scored deep into its bloody surface and a few insects feasted upon the remains.

Both paused as a strange bellow resounded through the woods, its unnatural pitch undulating through them, setting their teeth on edge.

“Fire of Asuryan, What was that?”

“Well it’s not going to be good,” Hans hefted his axe and slowly moved forward, by habit more than intent his movements were quiet and measured. Lucarius followed suit, his stained and now notched blade in hand. The bellow sounded again, and they could hear something large moving ahead on the other side slope and a thicket or razor sharp brambles. Even as they watched, the plants seemed to respond to the sound, moving, twitching and twisting before subsiding into immobility once again as the call faded.

As the unsettling sound resounded once more, both Man and Elf stared at the undergrowth before them as it began to grow before their eyes, reaching towards the uncertain light of the sun as if it was spring, two nearby trees groaned and creaked as they flung out new growth in sympathy with the mass of brambles.

The swelling roar began again and this time its creator was sighted, or at least part of it – a huge tentacle lazily twisted into the air, eyes and other sensory organs erupting along its length as it twisted and climbed into the air. The two warriors froze in place as it swayed before them and then equally slowly returned to a dimly made out and horrendously bulky form that was evidently still climbing up the slope beyond the brambles.

“Run?” Lucarius had long since discarded the romantic notions of a heroic death.

The plants around them were becoming increasingly active and growing fast now, throwing out new growth as if the seasons were flashing by in moments.

Hans shrugged and moved right, axe still at guard as he walked, eyes on the monstrosity that was growing closer every moment. “Run where, Elf Man?” He rasped, his voice as tired as his words, “These woods are now full of things that want to kill us, why prolong the chase?”

In response, the Elf sighed and shifted left, moving to flank the creature and hopefully strike when its attention was drawn by the apparently still suicidal human. There was a strangle slurping sound and a vast mucus covered tongue lashed out and curled around the giant clump of brambles, their sharp thorns making no impression on the residue that coated the straining appendage.

Its formidable strength was apparent as it pulled the entire tangle out of the ground and back towards the grinding maw that sat at the centre of the creature. Now revealed, the monster was some thirty feet in length and nearly half that in height and width, its flesh a patchwork of spines and sores, fungal looking growths and greasy hair. Several vast tentacles were attached to its bulk, extending and withdrawing into the depths of the beast as its vast flanks breathed in and out.

A large blister above the maw opened and a bloodshot eye gazed upon them, whilst all around them the plants still exploding into un-natural life. Its gaze slid lazily off the watchers as it spied a clump of saplings thickening near their parent oak tree. Like a vast slug, its body reverberated and undulated to provide traction as seemingly ignoring both of the warriors, it began to move off towards it next meal, stimulating the vegetation even more as it bellowed again. However one swaying tentacle kept watch on each of the two smaller creatures, rising above the main mutated mass, a variety of different eyes, reptilian, mammalian and avian focussing on them.

Sharing incredulous looks, Hans and Lucarius continued to edge away, ready to react to any malevolent sudden movements from the great beast. They watched it for a long minute as it began to envelop the trees with its great tongue and crush the still thickening trunks ready to be propelled into its crushing jaws.

“Let us go before it decides to change its diet…….” The Elf was already moving further away as he spoke, and they quickly moved back to the trail, hoping that beast was unique or at least did not travel in herds.

Hans lingered a little longer, unsure of what to make of the increasingly strange world that he now inhabited, that contained such monsters – he wondered how long before everywhere was swallowed up by them and their more malevolent kin.

Time passed as they carefully followed the trail, watching for more apparitions of the rising power of Chaos and although they twice had to hide from large bands of evidently hungry beastmen they saw nothing else to threaten them directly.

The tracks of their prey had grown easier as they evidently reached an area that they considered safe or at least less dangerous, but the tension was again evident as they grew closer to what swerved them as a camp. Once again their tracks bunched together again, and evidently even a few scuffles had broken out as their agitation was expressed on their fellows.

Strange symbols, runes and carvings now desecrated many of the trees, blood offerings and worse decorating the flensed limbs of the trees, matching the bones that littered the base of their trunks. Skulls of men, beasts and those with elements of both watched from stakes, blood signs anointed onto their surface, resisting the light rain that had begun to filter through the canopy.

An unnaturally warm wind swept suddenly through the woods, carrying the scent of burning blood and then was gone, leaving the autumn chill in its place. In its wake a single tree ignited, blazing for an instant, enveloped in purple flames that screamed and screeched in an unnerving mixture of laughter and pain. Then the fire was gone and the tree stood once more untouched, as if it had never been caressed by the unnatural flames.

Like the beastmen they were following, the tension in the two warriors was rising as they moved deeper into this tainted area of the Drakwald. A pair of glittering blue and gold birds suddenly emerged from the bole of a tree, their eyes having been transformed into sparkling diamonds, although it did not seem to inhibit them. The Elf captain watched them for moment, suspecting that those that had suffered more debilitating mutations were no longer alive.

The birds circled the pair, their beaks moved but no sound came forth just dark blood that dropped to the ground as they darted close, the liquid hissed and burned as it touched the mud and then the birds moved away, weaving rapidly through the surrounding woodland.

“What is next I wonder?”

Hans merely spat in response, “Something we can kill I hope”. He did not expect a reply, received none and they continued in silence.

Nearly an hour passed and still nothing attacked them, although many strange things watched them, either from the safety of the trees or as part of the very vegetation that surrounded them as they progressed. They had expected patrols or sentry’s but found that their enemy had, on this occasion at least, disdained such precautions as if inviting a worthy foe to attack.

Quietly, Hans intoned to his companion of the moment, “We are circling back to where the Dragon fell”

Lucarius was surprised but merely nodded, trusting to the human’s superior local knowledge and field craft.

A strange mist began to rise as they continued, shot through with forks of silent and ethereal purple lightning which danced about them in a most disconcerting way. Both warriors forestalled cries of alarm with some difficulty when the shape of a pair of beastmen loomed out of the fog. However it was quickly clear that they were both very dead, fly blown with trails of long dried blood drooling from their slack jowls. They had been lashed to stakes and twisted runes carved into the matted fur of their chests, evidently from the blood flow, whilst they were still alive.

From the tracks, it seemed that the pair of corpses formed a crude gateway, and echoing beyond, through the shroud of mist were discordant notes, drumming and flute playing, interrupted and at odds with one another. Distantly a few shapes, large and small, humanoid and bestial, moved in and out of perception. No guardians could be seen standing vigil beyond the dead – it seemed that the forces of Chaos either considered their realm inviolate or more disconcertingly, were happy to invite enemies in to their home.

Carefully Hans and Lucarius moved past the restrained corpses and entered the encampment, blades drawn and readied. Their nerves were afire with tension as they moved quietly, avoiding the movements of the malformed and cursed inhabitants of the camp. A series of gurgling cries of pain suddenly erupted nearby before being brutally silenced by the sound of something large and heavy repeatedly impacting with softer flesh, followed by the satisfied grunts of a feeding beast.

A naked man, emaciated and filthy, collared, branded and castrated ran headlong into Hans and then dropped to his knees, begging for forgiveness in some unknown tongue as he crawled away. A large beastman with the head of great grey wolf swaggered out of a crimson tent, swigging some liquid and scratching in evident satisfaction. It looked with bleary eyes at the human warrior for a long moment, spat iridescent phlegm at his feet and then lurched off into the mist, growling to itself.

Even as Lucarius relaxed a little, he felt a small soft hand suddenly slip into the grasp of his left hand, ghost white and moving without scent or sound, a woman had appeared at his shoulder. Her well fed body was clad in the remnants of an expensive gown, made for another whose blood still marked it and the entry points of the weapons that had ended her life.

The woman was still relatively human in form with smooth ashen skin and save for her face, mostly free from the marks of violence that was so prevalent in this place. Her face was young and was once pretty but now her long nose was broken and her eyes were crudely sewn shut, the unpainted eyelids tattooed with many swirling symbols, all impossibly small and intricate. She bore no weapon but seemed unafraid, even as the sword blade touched her neck lightly as the two intruders exchanged questioning glances.

“Come” she whispered, pulling lightly in a new direction. As she turned away, the men could see through the thin material that her spine was a surmounted by tiny sharp spines that pierced the once expensive silk.

Hans shrugged as the elf held his ground, despite the tugging of the woman and her increased perplexed expression. Lucarius sheathed his sword and with a swift movement was next to her, her fragile neck in his right hand whilst his left tightened his grip on hers. She whimpered softly but did not move as he whispered back to her.

“Where and why?”

She did not respond for a long moment as Hans watched a bulky figure lurch past behind the interlocked pair, manifesting in and out of the mist, snuffling and grunting as it moved. Then she leaned in close to the elf, her segmented and forked tongue flickering and caressing before she murmured into his ear.

“To my master,” another pause before she resumed her attempts to drag the elf in the direction she wanted, as he resisted she spoke again, less quietly. “He wants you to live a little longer.”

Again his companion shrugged and waved his axe in the direction that she seemed to be desperate to take them,

“I would wager that it is equally likely she, and her master wants to kill us as help us, but you could be lucky once I suppose.”

Reluctantly Lucarius allowed her to pull him where she wanted to go, but as quickly extracted his hand from hers even as a satisfied smile spread across her features. She paused mid step, then continued, paused again to see if he was following, which he was, at least for the moment – although the tension in both men was if anything now higher.

“Stay close” she called over her shoulder, “Please don’t stray.”

She led them through the encampment, pausing to allow plate clad warriors and hulking troll like creatures to stomp past and slaves to scurry quickly from their path and view in the clinging mist. It seemed there was at least some protection in her presence, as there was no challenge from the various twisted inhabitants they glimpsed.

They emerged at the far end, where they found the source of the mist, two humans stood at metal stakes, burning, their charred and tormented flesh exuding the immaterial vapours. Beyond the two smoking corpses was the great mound of the slain dragon.

Its flesh was gone, discarded or eaten, but the mutated thick skin and scales still remained and now formed a crude tent over the vast chest cavity framed by the remaining unbroken tree like ribs, their structure showing signs of the blight that had twisted its form to its physical core and deep into its soul.

The woman moved lightly through the churned and foul smelling mud, uncaring of the fetid remnants that stuck to her soft flesh. A few brave rats, their bodies large and well fed on the tainted flesh peaked at the new arrivals apparently unafraid and anxious to bare witness. She ducked under a heavy fold of skin which still glistened with the threads of the potent ichor of the dragon, with only a last, almost frantic gesture to beckon them on.

When they entered, they found that the interior was warm and damp, but brightly lit by a globe of energy that floated near the roof that the mighty carcass now provided. The space was cluttered with many bulging leather bags and bottles filled with liquid and organs, leather backpacks were pilled in one corner as a counterpoint to several sturdy wooden chests, their impressive locks gleaming in the golden light. A clutter of old boxes lay discarded above which hung lumpy hessian sacks - a few even shook spasmodically or simply moved briefly in response to the new arrivals. The girl they had followed now knelt submissive and silently to one side, her dark head lowered to her chest.

In contrast, the sorcerer Nicias was standing as they entered his most private domain, his large scaly head cocked on one side of his powerful neck as he examined each of them in turn. He did not pay any heed to their drawn weapons – he himself, as was his habit bore no weapon, armour or even garment, for it amused him how much his nakedness unsettled other beings.

On occasion his master would make elaborate jokes about it and it had certainly drawn the dubious pleasure of Lukara’s avid attention when they had first met, but in general it was an advantage and Nicias had lived a life that required taking every advantage he could.

“Welcome Child of Ulthuan,” he fixed the elf with his gaze, trying to read his soul as he examined his aura.

Hans shook his head and spat in evident disgust, drawing the sorcerer’s attention as his heavy head swung to face the man. “Ah yes, you are of course…… equally welcome.” The tone did not match the words and did nothing to improve the human’s mood nor did the wide fang filled smile the creature briefly showed.

“Your pet brought us here, Witch – what do you want?” Hans gripped the axe’s haft and made sure he was standing well aware for the various containers in the large humid space.

“It is simple really - I want to help you,” his wide mouth gaped open, exposing his fangs in what was evidently what passed for a smile. “I want to tell you where to find what you are looking for, but most importantly I want to keep you alive.”

“Why?” The elf spoke for both of them, his eyes trying to read the alien countenance.

“Again, simplicity itself, I myself can not rise further in my god’s favour whilst in the service of another, one way or another I foresee that one of you will enable his passage from this world. However prophecy often requires a helping hand and I am that hand.”

“Yeah, is that right?” Hans stepped closer, a belligerent scowl masking his features, “Maybe we should just end you here and now, Witch, you sound pretty damn dangerous to me.”

Nicias took a step backwards, raising his black scaled hand in a gesture of peace, his heavy head shifting his gaze from one to another of the two warriors. “I fail to see what that would achieve in retrieving your comrade, or in keeping you alive, I would suggest……….” He tailed off as the human interrupted.

“Well, I am pretty sure it will make me feel better.” He glanced at the elf for a moment then stepped forward and swung his axe, catching everyone off guard.

As the head of the sorcerer bounced and rolled up against an ornate oak chest, emblazoned with a brass insignia of the Empire, Hans shook his head.

“Guess I was wrong, I don’t feel better at all.”

Xx

Chapter Fourteen – Courting Danger

Mannfred Von Carstein, Elector Count of Sylvania was truly a thing of beauty Letta mused to herself as she stood in the great pavilion. The silk and skin structure that served her liege as a temporary court away from the gothic splendour of Drakenhof castle was teeming with the undead and a few of the living. Most of those were mere toys and sustenance, sometimes both, but there were a few necromancers dotted about the room, in the background, lurking in the corners and behind patrons and allies. Beyond the red silk walls, the mournful moans of the dead echoed, currently un-regarded by their masters.

She ignored the others that swirled about her, tense and snarling – predators confined together and only kept in check by the fear of their alpha male. She gazed upon their liege, the sheer potency of the Shyish and Dhar that infused his immortal frame was breathtaking and she shivered in pleasure as she had done so many times before, deliciously considering the possibility that she might command such a wealth of energies in the future.

Unlike so many of his kindred, he did more than merely embrace the winds of death that allowed his form to endure, in defiance of age, disease or injury, he nurtured and grew his mastery of the power. She respected that, as she recognised the iron will that ruled the collection of factious, jealous blood suckers that squabbled at his feet, often literally – as they were doing once again.

Even to those with more mundane senses, he was a tall powerfully built creature, muscles honed as much as his arcane abilities over millennia. He had in those centuries of seeking knowledge and power often taken the guise of a powerful dark prince, charming and deadly in the same moment – the seductive embodiment of forbidden pleasures and darker pacts. When he had walked the world in disguise, his malevolent beauty had entranced and ensnared not a few beautiful mortals. Yet he had now cast that mantle aside as he marched to war.

Deliberately he had allowed the magic to seep through and manifest itself more clearly in his form, choosing to inspire fear and respect rather than provoke lust in chosen mortals. His face was feral, his cheekbones as sharp as the distended fangs that he had unleashed, yet unlike many of his kind (including Letta’s favourite), when he took this form he shed his hair and now his gleaming scalp writhed with magical energy.

Hanging from the side of his gilded wooden throne – a contrast to the true obsidian throne that now sat empty in Drakenhof – was his famous blade, Timor Noctis. A massive sword designed to be wielded, even by the Elector Count himself in two hands, its long hilt was wrapped in crimson and gold dragon-scale and ending in an onyx pommel stone, whose depths were for once quiescent.

He had disdained any guards as he reclined at apparent ease, behind him was draped the defiant standard of his realm, constantly shifting in an unnatural breeze. Fanning out, on a suitably subservient level were the proud and tattered banners of those noble houses that had accompanied him. Very few had dared to openly refuse his summons to war, but some had sent disposable scions or token forces in deftly calculated insults or more subtle expressions of a particular dissatisfaction or even censure for some long forgotten insult.

The argument between the two rival warlords was finally concluded as one head was wrenched from the battered body and tossed to the feet of the Count who rewarded the victor with what could have been a smile and was part recognition and part threat before his eyes swept across the gathering of the nobles that had followed him to war.

As ever his gaze did not linger on Letta, she was a talented student of the art, but not someone who he needed to take notice of – yet. She was not quite sure how she felt about that……to take her mind off the issue, she retrieved a meaty snack from her bag and chewed thoughtfully, considering the would-be Emperor on his brazen throne.

“My Dear, do you ever stop eating?”

For a long moment she ignored him, pointedly swallowed with relish and then replied, “Well My Lord, I do have to keep my strength up, we live in dangerous times………….apparently.” She glanced towards the two liveried servants dragging the body through the increasingly bloody mud and ornamental rug remnants and shrugged.

Viktor watched the body, his senses heightened by the bloodshed. Like most of those gathered, his form was still clad in battered and torn armour, but few who stood or knelt in the court were bothered by the stench of death, blood and sweat, most did not even notice it anymore. In truth it was the ever present stink of any army on the march but its pungency was heightened in the horde of walking death that Mannfred had led into the greater Empire.

“Not thirsty again are we My Lord? I thought you had drunk your fill not an hour ago, certainly your loyal servant looked suitably drained when I saw her staggering from your tent,” she looked away with a smile, “Are you so very insatiable?”

A fang filled smile was turned her way, “Is that an offer, sweet child?”

“Ahhh, My Lord, surely not here?” she glanced about her in mock horror, “In public no less!”

He laughed and then stooped to whisper softly in her ear, ignoring the tiny stitches that now held it in place and it was her turn to smile as she enjoyed the reverberating tone and suggestion, conscious that nothing would ever happen but that they both took pleasure in the interplay.

On her other side, a muscled mass of animal fur, fangs and hair, vaguely humanoid, turned her way as well, growling lustfully at her. Viktor moved instantly between them, his expression now dangerous.

“Walk away.”

The other vampire looked at him, his anger growing as Letta stepped back into view, smiling broadly and waved at him provocatively. She knew the other vampire of old, Lutz he was called and he was sometimes used by Mahjub Izz as literal muscle in exchange for mere snippets of knowledge and power. The vampire himself was brutal and powerful but normally he was kept at the borders of the court due to the suspicion that he was tainted with Strigoi blood somewhere in his ancestry. In truth, she would be quite pleased if that asset was removed from her rival’s inventory.

The Von Carsteins took the purity of their bloodline very seriously both in terms of the mortals they turned and the vampires who did the turning. Whilst the mingling of blood between vampires in the height of passion was not unknown it often led to those involved (or created) being ostracised, banished or even destroyed.

Yet the war meant that the bestial vampire’s talent for violence was being more appreciated. Sadly for her, before the confrontation could truly unfold, the herald’s icy voice cut across the multitude gathered in the pavilion, announcing the next candidates granted an audience.

“Letta Karla Diefen, Mahjub Izz - Come forward and gratefully receive our Lords attention.”

The woman’s smile as her name was called shifted to an unflattering scowl as her name was joined with the other. For his part, the named man flushed in anger when his rival’s title superseded his own. Both detached themselves from their associates and supporters and moved through the throng, ignoring the speculative eyes focussed now upon them.

They both made suitable obeisance as they reached the appropriate distance from the throne, Letta’s curtsy low and deferential, despite the threatening creaking from her bones, her skin bag hanging pendant for a moment. Mahjub bowed deeply from the waist, bone and gold bracelets jangling as his arms snapped into place, before and behind him with a flourish. Cautiously, both held their position for the correct period before straightening and awaiting their master’s words, eyes cast down respectfully as Mannfred inspected both supplicants. His heavy lidded gaze boring deep into their bodies and souls as he gazed upon them in both the material realm and through his witch sight.

Letta was a searing contrast, a whirlwind of controlled power, dazzling and enthralling to view, drawing the winds of magic to her, but like many Necromancers, the continued neglect and growing disdain for her mortal frame was evident in the mundane. She had taken some time to dress for the occasion, even wearing a fitted and intact silken gown, but its hem was now stained with blood and varied sludge. The fine lines of the dress were creased by her ever present bag, but she had not noticed and even if she had, there was little she could do about it now.

Mahjub was a little taller and retained both muscle mass and tone on his light frame, his tanned body well revealed in the blue-black robes with ancient Nehekharan picture script in red and gold crawling across the fabric. Sable hair was cropped short to his skull, the skin on his face was stretched taught and his left eye was gone, a scorched reminder merely festering in its cracked bony socket. Clashing violently across his arms was an eye catching mixture of tattoos, bracelets and torcs, several glittering with arcane power to the perceptive eyes of the vampire that commanded him.

His power was more muted, subtle and coiled but still formidable, inter-twinned Shyish and Dhar wrapped around and twisted protectively through the core of his soul. In raw power and skill there was little to choose between the two necromancers, both were promising additions to the army and burgeoning empire that Mannfred was seeking to build.

The rivalry between the two was well known to any that were paying attention to such things, and the lord of Sylvania was always interested in the schemes and squabbles of his subjects. Almost every vampire and being with any power in his realm spent considerable time plotting against his rivals, enemies and those that they proclaimed friends and allies. At times it worked well to cement his own power, reducing the chance of a rival amassing a power base to threaten him yet at others it would frustrate carefully wrought plans. Luckily, all the nobility agreed that expanding their borders (and feeding grounds) was a “good thing”.

Mannfred spoke to the two students before him, but his voice resonated easily to all, mostly from practice but with a touch of magic to help.

“Letta Karla Diefen, blood of Karla and Friedhelm of that name, child of Eschen, I am proud that you have fulfilled the promise I saw in you. It is now time you take your rightful place as a Magister of your arts for you have proven your mastery in battle, in peace your artistry and in my service your loyalty.”

He paused, ignoring the clenched fists of the male supplicant and swiftly he allowed his gaze to sweep across the swathe of courtiers that were gathered, gauging their interest and desires for the pair of necromancers. Some had already sought his favour to foster one or both of the pair in their care, others were equally keen to drain both dry, many vampires were loath to share any power with mortals. Mannfred had, once again, had to forcefully explain to them his need for such men and women.

Why else would he train them at his own castle? He had been truly exasperated and growing angry with such foolish and short sighted creatures that sought to give him advice. In a conscious mockery of the famed Imperial colleges of magic, the Count of Sylvania had established a formal college of necromancy at Drakenhof, whose students were under his direct protection and patronage. He was now beginning to reap the reward of this expensive and dangerous experiment, for some it had unsettling echoes of Nagash and his spiritual descendants, the twisted and insane Necrarch’s.

“As is our custom, you will join the household of one our great families, enjoy their support and protection as you grow further in knowledge and power.”

Letta risking glancing up at the vampire lord, enjoying her moment in the limelight and sure of her intended patron, she was wrong…..

“I am gladdened that Lady Ariete, blood of my blood, has acquiesced to my request to take you under her wing and teach you all she knows.” He locked his searing gaze with her own and she was unable to even flinch away. “Obey her words as you would my own, for this is my will and command.”

He brutally broke the eye contact and languidly raised his right hand where glittered the fabled ring of his name, the talisman that protected him, even from the True Death that had claimed so many of their kind over the long millennia. Stunned, Letta’s body responded in a practised action as she bent to kiss his hand and then backed slowly away, her face stricken and eyes full of confusion.

Watching the scene, Viktor was suddenly enveloped by a cloud of unsubtle perfume and a soft voice whispered to him, even as he turned to face the woman.

“Check! I do believe it is now your move, yes?”

XX

Its been a while but the story continues......

Chapter Fifteen – Choosing Sides

Sergeant Raamstedt looked down at the bloody corpse of the dead pistolier, noting the various wounds on the cooling cadaver with a practiced and knowledgeable eye, considering their implications. A coupe of fat, glossy feathered crows watched from the shattered roof of a nearby building, neither of them were in a hurry, pickings were very good across the Drakwald at the moment. He shook his head and with feeling spat at the feet of the dead man.

“You always were a stupid arrogant donkey-cave, Augustus.” The Sergeant glanced back towards the two approaching men of the town, the old captain that had welcomed them so recently and the one armed Dwarf, before re-addressing himself to the corpse again.

“Now you selfish bastard, I have to sort this bloody mess out – again. Not that you care…..” his voice dissolved into bitter muttering.

It was not the first time that the Sergeant had had to deal with the aftermath of the man’s activities off the battlefield. In the past he had often had to deal with outraged fathers and brothers with either threats or coin depending on the situation and then given Augustus a summary field beating in a vain attempt to get him to be more careful.

Now he was dead and although he had not liked the man, he had valued his sword arm in a fight and like all of his small company of men they had rode, fought and bled together, saving each others lives more times than they bothered counting any more.

He bent down and retrieved a tarnished locket from inside the bloody shirt, with difficult unclipping it from around the corpse’s now stiffened neck. Augustus had no wife or child, or at least none that he acknowledged and his parents were dead but Rammstedt knew that all the money he had not spent on food, drink and whores went to his younger sister. He guessed he would have to write and send her what was left – minus his “funeral expenses” of course.

“A bad……….. business and no mistake.” The elderly man looked tired and worn, his voice was shaky and the cough intrusive.

The Sergeant straightened up without a word, and flicked open the locket, looking at the smiling face of the dead mans sister for a moment before snapping it shut and turning to face the speaker, his own expression hard and ice in his eyes.

“It is treason, a loyal soldier of the Emperor lies dead,” He flicked his gaze from the tired blue eyes of the captain down to the craggy face of the Dwarf, whose brown eyes remained neutral and unhelpful, his expression impartial. “I want to know who did it and then we can get to the hanging.”

“I am an officer of the Watch and the……” Schiller’s voice had regained its strength but his statement was cut off by the sergeants snarling riposte.

“I don’t care, my Lord Captain won’t care, and the Sigmar blessed Emperor won’t care.” He stepped closer to the old man, “Raise your arms against one of his men, and you raise your arms against him. That is the Law now.”

Silence was total for a second, before one of the watching carrion birds restlessly flapped its wings and called to its fellows circling nearby on an updraft. One drifted down and alighted nearby and a fourth found purchase in the blackened branches of a scorched tree and began to preen itself.

“I’ll ask again – who is responsible for this crime?”

“It is not……….that simple.”

“It really is that simple, old man.” The sergeant growled, his temper rising, he was not sure what the problem was but he wanted to have it all nicely in hand before his captain’s attention was drawn to the matter. He grasped Schillers arms in his own gnarled hands, ready to shake some sense into him before a vice like grip locked onto this sword arm.

“Easy there Laddie.” The Dwarf looked up at the soldier, his own muscles slightly shifting as he exerted a little more pressure and elicited a gasp of pain from the veteran soldier. Rammstedt was a strong man, although it was evident he was now slipping into middle age, yet he knew better than to match his strength against the Dwarf. Like all his people, the former gunner was formidable in stature, rooted to the ground by powerful legs and with a deep broad chest from which his remaining heavily be-muscled arm sprouted.

“The Law will take its course and no mistake, but it must be done properly.” Orzard rumbled, expecting nothing other than compliance.

Scowling, the Sergeant relented, releasing the older man and stepping back as in turn, the Dwarf detached his remaining hand from the soldiers arm and watchfully, also stepped back. Rammstdedt forced his attention back to the towns leader, forcing the anger back down as he did with bile after too spicy a meal.

“Let’s get to it, then….. My captain will want to see Justice done.”

With little else to say the man and the Dwarf merely nodded and turned back toward the Watchhouse, and after a moment the Sergeant followed, without a glance at the dead solider or the crows that were watching the corpse with speculative eyes.

Xx

They had come to an understanding of sorts, Sabina and von Hirschfeld, for the moment he would not act against her and she would not challenge his authority. What would happen when and if the crisis was over, the battle won and city relieved, neither thought it necessary or indeed wise to speak of.

She had answered his questions, mostly pertaining to her intentions in the town and barely touching on her unnatural nature or its needs, beyond her stated and renewed pledge to defend the townsfolk against the enemy. At the last he had asked her what she had dreaded ever since the walking dead boy had been discovered.

“What do you know about the child that rose from the grave?” The level of tension had revived as he posed the question, the stiffness of his pose betraying his concern that as a fellow creature of un-death she was the obvious culprit and as such could not be trusted or indeed tolerated.

“Nothing more than you,” she stated firmly and without hesitation.

In reply he said nothing but merely stared into her eyes, trying to read whatever passed for a soul in this dead thing that still looked like a woman. She did not baulk at his scrutiny, but continued.

“Our enemy has many powers and necromancy is not something they shy away from, but I do not know what they hope to achieve by such a manifestation.” She paused, now speculating out loud, “perhaps it was a side effect of the enemies growing presence or the winds of magic drawing something to us………maybe even a lost soul in torment…..I don’t know” she sighed and raised her hands in a gesture of obvious helplessness at her lack of knowledge.

Forestalling his question she concluded with her confirmation that she herself could not (and would not) do such a thing, which was a truth. Yet she did not mention that she had seen necromancy first hand and innately her kind had some limited control over such risen dead – as long as they were not already commanded by another, more powerful entity. She also did not share her suspicions about the actions of the Von Carsteins – they were already a name that evoked fear and hatred in the Empire from past deeds and wars.

“Perhaps Morr himself has turned from this place?” Again he watched her reaction, narrowing his eyes as he noted her slight flinch as she broke eye contact.

“Perhaps” Her voice was for the first time hesitant, “I would not have to so, but perhaps…………..”

“I will leave that for the Priests to determine when they arrive.” He leaned back in his chair, his self assurance returning. “You would be wise to be gone by then, Madam………….” Her eyes flicked back to his with a trace of irritation and he languidly raised a consolatory hand, “I meant of course…..My Lady.”

“Now, I think we are concluded with our business?” He stood as he spoke, ready for her to leave his presence, the dismissal clear, but she did not respond in the expected manner.

“We should discuss strategy, how we can combine our forces to better protect the town?”

The disdain was obvious as it swept across his patrician face, “I have no time to explain the complexities of warfare to you, you and you men can fight, correct?”

“Of course we can,” her voice rose as her temper flashed to the fore again, “We have been for some time, but we should……….”

“Enough,” he punctuated the word with flat of the hand against the table.

“I need you to explain the reality of the situation to your sell swords,” – the last words were given the same tone as an expletive, “Lead them into battle if you must, but you will await my orders to do so. You are a part of the army of the Empire now – are we clear?”

The silence was thick for a long moment as they stared at each other, confidence now in the face of the officer, flushed anger cloaked her features. Her sword hand dropped to the hilt of her trusty blade, in response he did not move a muscle, never doubting for a moment that she would submit to his rightful authority.

“Good, now I think we both have matters to attend to eh?”

Not trusting to words, she merely nodded, her jaw clenched tight as she turned, vowing silently to recall this moment. She did not slam the door on her way out, which was a miracle she did not dwell on but rather swept into the house in search of her men. Inga’s cooking skills were well known and her no nonsense attitude appealed greatly to several of her men who had similar wives and mothers.

Xx

The noise of the children was a constant background clamour now in her recently acquired town house, where once she had had the solitude of the woods and merely the fluctuating noise levels of nature. Granny Moescher was not sure she enjoyed the change.

She watched Dieter attempting to teach Elsa the fundamentals of chess, their brows furrowed, hers in concentration and his in frustration as she tentatively touched a piece on the battered and scorched board. She jiggled the bone priest back and forth slightly as she considered what to do with it, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Slowly, not daring to look at the older boy she nudged it across the board and sat back with a nervous grin.

Dieter shook his head and quickly moved the dark wooden knight to capture the piece – adding it to the growing number of bone figures on his side of the old worn table. Elsa looked confused for a long moment, unsure what had happened and for a moment the old woman thought she was going to erupt in tears or screams – or both.

She did neither, but nodded, her brow again wrinkled in thought.

“Bad?”

The boy nodded, “Yes”

“This is very hard!” She sighed and looked again at the dwindling number of bone pieces on her side – examining each carefully in turn – the emperor, her lone remaining knight and three swordsmen. They stood silent, unhelpfully mute and blind to the entreaty in her gaze. Scattered around them, menacingly awaiting her next move, were the dark horde of her opponent who watched her contemplation with impatience.

Granny left them to it, she was glad they were suitable distracted and head up the stairs to her own bedroom, ignoring the twinges of pain that her arthritic limbs plagued her with. Autumn was no friend to the old, winter even less so – she wondered if she would survive yet another one – there had been so many and she had seen so many others fall to its biting winds and chill embrace.

She closed the sturdy door to the master bedroom, one of the few rooms in the house with a lock and looked around at her domain. The bed was large and she had to admit both warm and comfortable and the book shelf to its right was now much fuller than the previous owners had left it. They had been content with a few well used prayer books, the substantial tome that told of the life of Sigmar and the equally formidable Legends of Ulric, the White Wolf. Granny had taken to having one of the older children read stories from both to the others before bed, much as she suspected the family had done in better times. She recalled her father doing the same so long ago. All her life, she had treasured and enjoyed books, ever since her father took the time to make sure she learnt her letters – an unusual proficiency amongst the common folk.

Below these were a few books on herbs, a rather fanciful discussion of the lives of the Elder folk – the dwarves and the elves. She had met enough of both races to know that they bore little resemblance to the creatures described in that tome. Still she had enjoyed the writing and the vivid woodcut pictures as a girl and could not consider throwing it out now. An eclectic collection of books filled the rest of the shelves, some of them her own; others more recently salvaged from the homes of the dead and departed.

There was another book there, one hidden within another larger tome, a book that was her journal and exploration of her hidden “talents”. Scribbled notes and minor essays crossed with contemplations on the nature of both her powers and its source. Her long journey along the path of wizardy was both unusual and luckily for her, cautious and slow.

She had been lucky not to be burnt when she found she had the gift, and equally fortunate not to have drawn the immediately drawn the attention of the malign things that lurked in the Aethyr. Decades had seen her grow slowly in power and understanding, her careful nature standing her in good stead in the quiet pursuit of such a dangerous art. In turn, her magic had gifted her a far longer life than her peers, something that would likely have begun to trouble some amongst the townsfolk if life had continued as normal.

Now she wondered if she had missed out on another life, perhaps shorter and more dangerous but one where she was free to express and explore her full potential. A world where those had wronged her and those she loved were made to pay for their crimes.

An insistent tapping on the window drew her attention and she could see a large crow, no a sleek feathered raven lightly knocking on the glass with its beak, now and again pausing to bring its black beady eye to the window and look for a reaction.

Granny looked hard at the bird, wondering if now, after so very long, she should finally let it in.

Xx

A watch house was seldom a happy place and all within the battered structure were as uncomfortable as any condemned criminal that had awaited the Emperor’s justice. Sitting on a simple wooden stool in one of the cells was the still bloody figure of Albrecht, whose wounds were being attended to by his lover, her tears now dried as she attended to the reality in front of her.

The cell door was not locked or even shut; no one was expecting the young mercenary to run and having fought alongside him against the beasts and monsters of the woods, its doubtful if any would have tried to stop him. Except of course Captain Schiller, his sense of duty would allow nothing else and to the dwarf, Orzard, the law was one of the cornerstones of civilisation, a civilisation that his ancestors had brought to humanity. Most dwarves considered it still very much a work in progress.

Sergeant Raamstedt was not a foolish man, he had quickly read the atmosphere when he entered – there was a time for summary justice, quick action and quicker death, and there was a time for being seen to be acting correctly. He had seen in the faces of the other mercenaries their readiness to act, their lack of bluster more a sign of strength than a lack of the same. Practised killers, he recognised the type as he would his own blood stained reflection in the still waters of a lake.

He stood off to one side with one his own men, the three sell swords near the open cell door, one leaning far too casually against the bars of the next cell, and the other two seated but their back against the wall. Every movement he or his own trooper made was noted by the companions of the accused and everyone in the room, he noted without satisfaction, was well armed. Still once his Captain arrived, all would be put to rights.

The crash of the sturdy door flying open started everyone and drew their attention as Sabina and two more of her men entered. There was no sign of the pistolier captain and Raamstedt was really starting to dislike the odds.

Sabina ignored everyone in the room and strode purposely over to the open cell, even as Julius and Klaus took station at the door to the watch house. She assessed the young man with a raking glance and seemed satisfied enough, managing a slight smile at the young girl at his side.

“Gentlemen,” she stepped back into the room and her voice filled it as she addressed the varied individuals, “What are your intentions towards my man?”

“He is a murderer and he must answer for what he has done – at the gallows.”

The noblewoman fixed the sergeant with a piercing gaze, but he held his ground.

“You are a witness?” Her voice was cold and disdainful, her accent more prominent.

“No, but…….” he began, but was cut off by a dismissive gesture as she once again addressed the room.

“Who here saw what happened, anyone?”

The only other woman in the room responded nervously, “I…I did M’lady.”

“This is not a suitable place for a trial, there………….are procedures…” the old captain tried to interpose.

Sabina shook her head at the old man’s words, “I don’t care…..You have imprisoned a member of my household, a man who has my trust, who has proved his loyalty to me……….” The subsequent pause was purposely dramatic, “…..and to your town in blood”. She swept her gaze around the room, challenging the men of Untergrad and the lone dwarf to answer or contradict her.

Ramstedt could stand no more; he stepped towards her, anger undulating across his now ruddy features “He Killed…...”

The target of his anger moved far too fast and her slim but so strong hand crushed his throat and his voice.

“If I want you to speak, I will tell you. Until then you will remain silent.”

She flung him away without effort and he staggered back against the wall, eyes wide and anger fleeing as he reassessed the woman. He was not sure what she was, but her strength and speed was unnatural. He rubbed his bruised throat and nursed his anger as he observed her men, who had their eyes focussed on him the one subordinate he had with him. Neither the sell swords nor the townsfolk seemed surprised by her abilities. He wondered what exactly had happened here, cut off by the forces of Chaos from the rest of the Empire.

Orzard spoke, his voice measured and without emotion. “A man is dead, a man that Albrecht killed; that is the truth of the matter.”

Sabina looked hard at him for a long moment, the glare having no effect on the dwarf.

“You saw him do this?”

“I saw him pull his sword out of the dead mans face, Aye.”

“I killed him…………and I would do it again.” Albrecht had gently brushed aside the concerned grip of his lover and now stood, not proudly but with quiet defiance.

It was an inoportune moment for von Hirschfeld to arrive………

Xx

The tapping on the window was now insistent and almost taking on a melody of its own, an insidious noise that drew the old woman towards it. She found herself staring at the raven as it continued its rhythmic drumming. Its feathers glittered darkly, yet they also had an iridescent oily quality about them when they caught the light.

“What do you want?” she whispered, unsure if she wanted any answer.

Immediately the bird stopped and cocking its head, locked its one eye with hers.

“What do you want?” the voice in her head was a perfect echo of her own words.

She nearly fled, then, nearly, but the temptation was strong to see what it would offer her – the return of her lost youth, her family or even just the ever present aches and pains of her age to be dispelled for a time.

Granny could feel its attention now, something vast pressing against her mind as it pressed against the walls of reality, oozing and scratching to be let in. It did not need to intrude or sift through her mind, it had seen it all before, both at the first time the entity had made contact and in the minds of countless other mortals before her. It was simply a question of the right approach.

This time there was no-one to interfere, no one to break the connection and even it there was, time meant nothing to the Daemon, it lived in a realm where such a concept was nothing more than the abstract imaging of the creatures that lived elsewhere. If it failed here, it would come again and again until it achieved its objective or the mortal was no longer dwelling in its limited but so interesting little world. Even then, there were so many other mortals……..

Xx

Captain von Hirschfeld assessed the scene with grim disdain, he had been quite satisfied with the situation when that…….travesty of a woman had left his lodgings and now he had to untangle this new mess. He had shot his sergeant an irritated glare as had entered; he expected that his man sort out these situations when they arose.

At least the accused killer was admitting his guilt in front of everyone, it should not take long to bring everything to a properly ordered state and an early morning hanging should at least brighten day. Nothing like a good hanging to start the morning, puts the proper fear of their betters into the peasant folk – he could hear the familiar tones of his father now.

“Excellent, I am glad to see you have seen the light and confessed to your crime.” The captain smiled, oblivious to the mood in the room as he continued in the same vein, his tone almost cheerful. “Don’t worry, in view of this – I’ll make sure your death is quick.” He looked about the room and was irritated to see that no one else was smiling.

“No one is being hung.” Sabina growled, the words clawing their way to the captain through the fog of tension.

The nobleman swung his gaze towards her in obvious exasperation. “On the contrary My Lady, your ….man has not only committed a capital crime but has admitted in front of witnesses……there is absolutely no doubt or question as to the action that must be taken.”

Her answering smile was that normally glimpsed by the deer as the wolf or bear tore its throat out. She moved towards and to his left, if there had been room it was obvious she would have circled him. Her men were all alert and on poised for action, sensing that violence was a hairs breath away even as pistolier’s realised the same. The dwarf was ready for the fight as well, his face stern as he stared at the woman advancing on the tall officer. Captain Schiller had not risen from his seat and looked every year of his age and more.

“No one is being hung……….and I will tell you why.” She prowled towards the man, his face beginning to flush with rising anger.
“I can hardly wait….” His voice said otherwise.

She spun away from him and addressed the rest of the room, her voice resonating around the space, wrenching everyone’s attention to her.

“Our gallant captain”, she made a vague and dismissive gesture towards von Hirschfeld, “was kind enough to inform me that all mercenaries have been granted honorary enlistment in the armies of the Empire. As such they would of course be subject to the obligations and benefits of such allegiance.”

“That’s not exactly what I said.” The captain said calmly, although now suspicious of her actual intentions.

Sabina ignored his interruption for the moment as she came to the point, “I suggest that we treat this unfortunate occurrence as what it is, a disagreement between equals settled as warriors are wont to do. After all duels between members of different regiments are not unknown…..”

Silence dominated the room for a long minute before the sergeants voice exploded into the void.

“Are you fething insane, Woman?”

The addressed party merely focussed her attention on the indignant mans superior, “Do you not agree with the logic of my assertion, Captain, we are all on the same side are not?”

All eyes in the room bored into von Hirschfeld, whose face had taken on a patrician mask as he contemplated her words and the consequences of his own response.

“Lady Sabina is correct, her and her men are now under my command as soldiers in the service of the Emperor,” his eyes now daring her in return to challenge this assertion as her men switched their gaze to their liege and paymaster. He walked slowly towards the man in the cell.

“Is this true, soldier? Was this in fact a duel of honour?” he spat the last word with formidable degree of contempt and disbelief.

Albrecht did not flinch or hesitate; he had changed much over the last few months as he had killed men and beasts, found comradeship, lost friends and finally found love in the depths of the war.

“He threatened to kill me and rape Ulrike,” at the latter he paused, visibly having to control his emotions as he avoided looking at the girl at his side, “I put him down like the rabid dog he was, and he deserved nothing more.” His voice grew in strength, “Any man here would have done the same, Captain and I know the gods saw and will judge him as I did………….as they will judge me in due course.”

No-one saw Sabina flinch slightly at the last part of his statement.

The Pistolier captain said nothing as he stared at the young man, then he gave a slight nod.

“Ahhem, well then it seems the matter is settled. Be warned however I will not tolerate future breaches in this manner, we need every…..” his gaze flickered to the watching vampire “….sword in this war.”

The Sergeant stepped forward, his sword hand twitching and scarlet faced in his disbelief and restrained anger. His office shook his head, dismissing his words before they could be uttered.

“I said the matter is settled, Sergeant. Come – we have much to discuss.” He turned on his heel and marched out.

xx

Chapter Sixteen - Weapon of Choice

“He is not dead,” the girls voice was matter of fact, but loud in the intervening silence “you need to finish what you have started.” She remained kneeling with her head down, even as the torpid ichor spread from the decapitated sorcerer and reached her unclad mud splattered knees.

The two men exchanged glances, unsure of what to do next, sable blood dripping from the humans broad axe head. The room had grown still and silent around them, even the strange sacks had stopped quivering and seemed to be waiting for the warrior’s next move.

Unseeing, she could hear their breathing, smell the blood and sweat of their bodies, even feel their slight movements through the ground. The brief time she had spent with them had given her a good idea of their physical attributes, but she was not sure how stupid they were. She only waited for a short time before continuing, having ascertained they in fact knew very little, that was for the best but she still needed to push them to where she wanted them.

“Fire” she breathed, the word said with unnatural reverence, “Fire is what you need”.

“Makes sense” Hans nodded and delved for flint and steel.

The elf stared at the unmoving woman, suspicious of her motives, then the twitching fingers of one of the dead sorcerers hands lent him motivation. Hans had by now got a small fire going inside a small metal chest, the smoke billowing from the thick and musty furs within.

“Douse him in the liquid in the large urn from Cathay, the one decorated with the fighting dragons.” Again she prompted softly, feeling her former master begin to regain some small degree of mobility as his hand jerked spasmodically.

Although he had embraced and indeed enforced her ability to see the hidden possibilities of the future as a gift from their divine lord, she had managed to twist the tales and threads enough to potentially gain her release and revenge. It would depend on the actions of these two however, for Tzeentch was a harsh and cruelly playful god, as likely to hinder as help his minion’s schemes. The rewards of service could however be great.

The elf quickly grasped the vessel and drowned the headless corpse in the glistening liquid inside, even as Hans stuck a dagger in the head rather than touch the befouled flesh and tossed it on top of the recumbent form. Without waiting he upended the chest and its fiery contents and the jumped back as an iridescent fireball erupted towards the ceiling of the flesh cavern.

She could feel the heat and it was good, she sensed the feeble movements of the dying sorcerer and a shiver of pure pleasure cascaded through her body. Soon it would be time. Soon!

“We should go”, Hans had retrieved his axe and watched the burning corpse with narrowed eyes, waiting for it to arise and fight or flee. As an already charred arm moved upwards briefly and he stepped forward, feeling the growing heat and eyes burning from the growing cloud of greasy, stinking smoke. The arm twitched and fell back into the growing inferno with an unpleasant cracking noise, more smoke issuing from the gaps between the blackened scales.

The elf was already backing away, blade in hand and equally ready to react if the sorcerer tried to rise. The girl, in striking contrast, had not moved, feeling the glorious heat through her pale skin, even as her dress began to itself grow singed. He glanced down at her as he retreated, ready to pull her to safety but noted the look of unnatural rapture on her damaged face and withdrew his hand, feeling ill at the possible implications that flashed through his mind.

Ever practical and equally suspicious of the sorcerers slave Hans’s axe flashed across the gap between them, the flames reflected and distorted in the blood stained blade. She was already moving away however, her lithe body flowing and enveloping the burning corpse of the mage, entwining her increasingly snake like limbs around his. Initially the fire was partially smothered by her body, then caught hold of the clothing and enveloped both of them in a renewed blaze.

Yet now the flames were different, shifting colour to a vivid electric blue as they cavorted above and around the knotted couple. The flesh cavern came back to life as the sacks began to gibber and writhe, bottles and specimen jars exploded and a variety of small spindly entities, released now dashed for the shadows. Some were too slow as arcs of raw magic lashed out from the vigorous conflagration and they detonated, others found themselves caught in a brief explosion of mutation before expiring messily. Those that made it cackled and laughed as the burrowed into the walls or lurked silently watching the scene develop with blazing eyes.

Hans and Lucarius did not wait to see more or try to match their blades against the rising storm of magic. They fled from the scene, their shadows in the eerie light of the flames, mismatched and undulating, changing unnaturally as they ran, laughing and taunting them. Then it all went quiet and dark.

A lumbering mass of hair and muscle lurched towards the pair, grunting questions in a language unknown to both of them, not receiving the response it wanted it seemed to grow wrathful as it raised itself to its full height on all five massive legs. Hans did not wait and buried his axe in its exposed and unsettlingly prominent groin and it crashed to the ground screaming and rolling. A pair of grumbling, snorting beastmen emerged from a mist shrouded mass of furs and blankets but did not have time to raise their weapons before the elf slit their throats.

Having dispatched the immediate threats, they spun round to face the woman emerging from the deep darkness of the dragon’s belly. She was still clad in fire, its radiance dancing about her even as the flames cackled and laughed of their own volition, shifting colours between a shocking blue, a sickly yellow and a vivid pink.

She appeared unharmed and unchanged, the only casualty being the dress she had worn but as they stepped back cautiously, the elf’s sharper eyes noted that her own eyes were no longer restrained. Her smile was wide as she faced them and flames spiralled forth from between her thin lips as she spoke.

Yet initially the screaming creature on the ground drowned out her words, in response a flicker of irritation flashed across her face and she raised her hand and intoned several syllables that caused both Hans and Lucarius a moment of pain.

An incandescent bolt of energy connected the former slave and the writhing beast for a moment, leaving a vivid after burn on the eyelids of the onlookers as they shut their eyes by reflex. The screaming was instantly silenced as it disintegrated into a large pile of pink ash.

“A moment of peace” she breathed, flames trailing from her mouth and still broken nose before she turned her pitch black eyes on to the two startled warriors. “We should embrace the calm before the inevitable storm.”

“Maybe you should embrace this!” Hans stepped forward his axe swinging for her slender neck.

The weapons blade sang out harshly as it clashed with a hidden barrier that now guarded the witch from harm and rebounded heavily, throwing the human off balance. He cursed loudly as within seconds cracks spread across the axe’s surface and the metal become glittering mist that blew away on an unnatural gust of wind. He flung the useless haft away and drew a long hunting knife, but kept his distance.

“I am not Nicias” she breathed, her voice now harsh as if burnt by the flames within her. “Your weapons will not prevail here against me, not at this time or in this place……”

“Perhaps,” the elf had his own sword raised in a defensive guard, poised on the balls of his feet “but there is little reason for us to believe anything you say?”

She laughed at that, a loud and painful rasping sounding thing – at odds with her delicate appearance.

“Have I lied to you elf, or to you human?”

They exchanged wary glances but said nothing.

She stepped closer and they both recoiled, weapons ready.

“Relax,” she rasped and when they did not she continued, “I intend to assist you, do you still want to rescue your lost friend?”

“What will cost us?” Hans nodded at the captains words and spat on a nearby corpse for emphasis.

“Nothing” She voiced the truth as she saw it; they were already doing as she wanted, at this time she had no need to bargain for souls or deeds. That might change as she watched them digest her words, if they did not get on with it – her patience was not inexhaustible.

“Follow me, or not, whichever suits you – I care little.” She strode between them, her long legs and lean body gleaming white as she moved, careless of, or perhaps amused by her nakedness. As she did so they could see the hair on her head and body was now more akin to fine feathers, a glossy sheen coating them.

“We are so deep in the cess pit, where else can we go?” Hans sounded understandably weary and turned to follow the woman. The elf hesitated a little longer - trying to pick apart her words for the hidden trap that he knew lurked within. But as the camp began to stir about him, he followed them into the mist.

Xx

Lord Damar, Prophet of Flame watched as his emissary staggered away into the woods, dried blood streaking the now mottled and bruised skin in distracting and interesting patterns. It was a pity that the subject just did not seem to appreciate the attention dedicated to him, still mortals were such petty little creatures. It was past time that he transcended this mundane existence and joined his patron in the great realm that existed beyond and around the material world.

He had taken his own augers, read in the blood and entrails of slave and minion alike, confirmed his findings with the visions of those with the sight within his retinue. All were sure that the Eye of Tzeentch was upon him, Apotheosis was at hand – although at the back of his mind lurked the remote possibility that favour could always be withdrawn and immortality could instead be granted as a mindless spawn.

In his right hand, warmly pulsing with life was a heart, plucked from the chest of the hapless elf that now sought out his sibling in the depths of the forest. Not for the first time he resisted the urge to crush the vulnerable organ, devour the soul that was linked to its fragile fleshy tissue.

Damar was not alone in this; he had noticed Lukara licking her lips as she looked upon the choice morsel and several of the nearer champions gazed upon it, their witch sight revealing the soul tethered to it, lusting after the intangible power as the ogre female sought the taste of the flesh.

Wearing of this game, he spoke a word and the heart was encased in glittering crystal – a trick he had plundered long ago from the mind of his once revered master, devouring his soul only moments before the malformed creature could himself ascend. It had been his first steps on the path to daemonhood and his patron had revelled in his plotting and betrayal in that moment of apparent triumph.

Around him were gathered the bulk of his warband, nine proud champions, clad in silk, metal and chitin, magic swirling about them. Further out were warriors and lesser minions, wizardly thralls that supplied their masters with power, even as he in turn drank it from his champions. Familiars and strange magical creations moved amongst them, bickering and arguing in conscious mockery of their masters.

Several packs of beastmen were gathered around them, eyeing the more human like members of his retinue with a mixture of disdain and hunger. Amongst all, scurried and lurked the marked and tormented slaves, those taken in battle or given in tribute.

He wondered who would lead the horde when he was gone and amused himself by imagining the conflict that would arise in the survivors. It was possible that he may even grant them favour as a servant of his patron, channelling and shaping his power to a pleasing aspect. He doubted it though, there was so much more to explore, so much to do…..

Xx

The camp seemed empty as they moved quickly through towards an unknown destination; a few slaves and servants skulked through the mud and worse, intent on their own tasks and not being noticed. None troubled the naked witch and the two men that followed her, few even noticed their existence as they approached the great pavilion at the heart of the encampment.

As they approached, the pendants that proclaimed the lords’ allegiance froze in place, the magical wind that animated them lost and dispersed. The woman paused and her long flexible tongue tasted the air, slowly and perhaps cautiously.

“Ahh that’s annoyingly unexpected.”

“Is there a problem Witch?” Hans looked at the huge construction, his grip on the knife and posture tight and taut.

“Complication, such is the joy of life – the capacity for it to surprise you.” She twisted her neck to look at the elf. “Here, stand next to me, Captain Lucarius Shuarth of the Kariandriath Curiali. When he appears, stab for the heart.”

She did not wait for confirmation or offer further explanation, speaking brutal words of power that caused blood to trickle from the ears of Hans and Lucarius. As she finished she stepped smoothly back, a predatory smile slashed across her face,

“Kill him.”

A shadow moved and from nowhere a form appeared, the silhouette of a male humanoid with blades for arms, it had no features or colouring beyond the darkness that enveloped it. The speed was horrifically quick, its total silence part of its menace, yet its twin sable limbs glanced off the witch’s invisible shield with a piercing shriek of agony but they did not perish as had the axe that Hans had wielded. With the same frightening speed it attacked again and the shield held again, sparks flying and now a trace of strain appeared on the woman’s face as she mouthed a curse under her breath that the elf was so slow.

In truth his movement was swift and sure as his sword was rammed into and through the chest of the attacking creature which did not defend itself, apparently so intent on the destruction of the witch. The shadow creature stopped instantly, arm blades dropping to its side.

The darkness began to slough from the creature, dripping down to pool at his feet, revealing the tormented features of a young elf man, strange runes carved into the pale flesh. He looked in shock at the fellow elf that had killed him, his sword still sheathed in his heart before he finally expired, black liquid bubbling up from his throat and issuing from his eyes.

“Excellent, I guessed correctly.”

She stepped forward as the elf stared at the dead figure on his blade before he slowly lowered the body to the ground, the essence that had controlled him having now dispersed into the aethyr from whence it came.

“You guessed?” Hans flung at the woman.

A careless shrug was offered in return, “Sometimes you just have to act on instinct, trust that you are right. Anyway it all worked out for the best, so let’s go.” She began to walk towards the pavilion’s entrance, her stride once again assured.

Lucarius closed the eyes of his dead kin, wondering how and when the elf had fallen into the hands of the Chaos lord who led this pack. There was nothing to give him any clues or mark the passing of the other. Despite the tainted nature of his death and the very ground he know lay on he uttered a soft prayer to Ladrielle that the soul would find its way to a peaceful rest. As he moved after the others, his next prayer was to Khaine, asking for the bloody-handed gods help in gaining vengeance, his grip on his sword hilt, knuckle white.

The entrance to the pavilion yawned open invitingly, apparently unguarded as the witch stepped through the silken portal. As the two men approached, a slight ripple undulated through the pavilion, making them pause a moment until it had dispersed. Han looked down at his unsheathed blade and considered making his own door but with a determined look on his face pushed through after the woman. The elf captain was not long behind, unsettled still by his most recent killing.

The interior smelt strongly of blood and fire, the spongy floor surface yielding and sticky. It was dominated by the great glittering throne of its absent master, blood splashed liberally across its otherwise pristine surface. Several blood drained corpses hung above it, slowly rotating in a discordant rhythm, and the glittering rune of Tzeentch prominent on the battered flesh. More bodies were heaped carelessly in the corner, toys discarded when they had ceased to amuse.

“Where is he?” Hans was first to ask, his gaze having swept across the dead and despoiled and found only human remains.

“Hasir Calvr M’trath is not here……………you need a weapon to defeat his captor.” She gestured about the room and the proud display of artefacts of war. Waiting for their choice, she did not give away her unease – it was true that they needed the appropriate means to face Damar, but such a resource would be equally effective against her, eventually. She restrained herself from slaying them – it was only a possible future that one of them was her doom and she was already taking steps to remove that possibility.

They looked around at the strange collection before Lucarius spoke, his voice scornful and bitter.

“Your offer us this? Lost baubles of defeated enemies that likely bear the taint of your foul gods or merely the proven inability to harm the one who took them from their wielder?”

“Take a chance, Elf,” her tongue flickered out again and tasted the air. “You need to be quick however, this opportunity is only fleeting.”

“So which one do we need?” Hans grated, his own eyes drawn to the dwarf hammer – if anything could resist the taint of chaos, it would be something dwarf made.

“All of them have potential – and your choice is perhaps the best for you.”

She swiftly stepped up to the crystal and plunged her hand into its apparently unyielding depths, drawing the hammer out with some effort and offering it to the human. She wondered if he would be able to wield it and if it would ever make its way back to its people, she remembered the warrior who had last wet it in battle – long dead and good riddance.

Hans took it carefully, feeling its not inconsiderable weight and excellent balance, like him it had seen better days, both having been abraded harshly by the world. For a moment he wondered what Orzald would think seeing him with a true dwarf hammer in his hand.
“How about you Elf man, anything call to you?” She shifted her gaze and watched the strands of fate swirl about the room, some had already shattered or frayed when the hammer had been taken, others branching out anew or twisting in new directions. She could the multitude coalesce around the blade of the dead elf still lying outside, it seemed the only choice for the gallant captain…….it would certainly make things easier.

Lucarius picked up the glittering sword with grim determination, feeling the black grip of Khaine once again clutch his heart for a brief but painful moment.

Ah now, there he goes, she thought, good boy, destiny awaits……...

Chapter Seventeen – Love and Loyalty

“My Lady” the hesitation was palpable, especially in a veteran fighter like Julius, “Do you intend to remain here much longer, it may not be ………………prudent?”

There was a shuffling of feet and not a few nods from the gathered men – the remainder of her mercenary company, the warriors she had taken so long to put together and fought alongside in mud and rain, shedding blood and sweat alongside them and on occasion gifting them with her own lifeblood to keep them alive and fighting.

Sabina stood in the middle of the room, ignoring the insidious water dripping through the battered slate roof and landing by her left boot. She could read a mixture of emotions in her company of men, there were now fifteen of them, all battle scared and many obviously worn down by the continual fighting. Two of them just looked bored, they were the ones she had always been unsure of – the violence so ingrained in their souls that there was little else that piqued their interest. Even the money she paid them was little more than an excuse but then they were also so very effective on the battlefield.

“Do you think anyone here would survive if we left now?” She addressed them all, her voice calm and without emotion despite the implications of her words.

“I’m not leaving.” Albrecht’s response was predictable and in contrast flushed with emotion.

“Yeah, well you have reasons………..” Lothar drawled, having removed his battered wood pipe and fixing his employer with a speculative gaze, “If Lady Sabina says we ride, we ride……..that’s what we all signed up for. Right?”

Again nods were dominant in response as he continued. “Besides, they have their shiny toy soldiers to protect them now and the rest of the army is on their way. I for one don’t want to be here when they arrive and start giving us suicidal orders or worse.” He seemed complacent, but Sabina had had to buy not only his services from an army sergeant but also his silence about the sudden death of a particular officer.

As the young man stepped forward to remonstrate, the veteran held up a restraining hand. “Look Albrecht, I didn’t see any of the townsfolk here speaking up for you recently – seems to me they would have been happy to see you swinging in the breeze……literally.” Albrecht had no response to that as the older man continued.

“You’d be better bringing that girl of yours with us - I am sure Lady Sabina would allow you to buy your way out of your contract early if you wanted to settle down somewhere else?”

Agreement rumbled around the room, having one or more women accompanying them could mean not only a pretty face to look at but perhaps some homely comforts such as decent cooking. In contrast the older veterans exchanged weary looks as the presence of an attractive girl often meant inevitable tension and conflict.

“Hans, Dieter, Werner.” Sabina intoned the names carefully, watching the response– if they were dismissed, then perhaps her company was indeed broken. A few looked ashamed or at least uncomfortable but equally a few like Lothar looked unimpressed.

“I don’t leave people behind.”

This was an evident truth - a number of the mercenaries were alive only because of her intervention, her very blood. Some had taken it well; even Lothar had seemed impressed when his wounds healed in front of him. Yet one man had not been able to accept her gift of life and before the skirmish that had seen him fight his way to his second death, he had begged her not to interfere this time. She had honoured his request, but had felt sick when he had said he did not want to damn his soul and equally again she saw the hacked and battered corpse in the mud.

“When they return, we leave, not before.”

“And if they don’t return? To be honest that elf seemed to be born on the wrong side of Ranald…” A few smirks were shown at the last remark and its reference to the trickster god of fortune, but many obviously did not like to think about more companions not returning – enough graves had been dug, or just as often men simply let to rot in the mud.

“We give them the time they need,” her tone strongly discouraged further discussion on the matter.

Lothar was not done and although he wisely changed tack, he did not leave the dangerous waters but rather forged deeper into them.

“What do we do about the gallant captain? Things would be a lot easier if he was……….removed.”

A few hard looks shot his way, which he ignored, all his attention fixed on the noblewoman.

Sabina could almost hear her blood sisters congratulating the human, as they would a hawk or hound that had made a kill. They would themselves have likely already settled the matter though seduction or mind tricks, but clever pets were usually valued and praised. It would certainly make life easier without the Pistolier captain and his men interfering…….but she also had promised to work with him in the defence of the town.

Her initial response was correct and she knew it, people would die if they left now and yet an insidious whisper said she might die if she stayed, not the like the first death in the Altdorf mansion but the true death by stake and fire. She shook off the maudlin thought and refocused her attention on to her men.

“Not yet.” The words were simple and brought a slight smile to Lothar’s ruggedly handsome countenance, there was however nothing attractive about the satisfied look of anticipation in his eyes.

“Then we await your command, my Lady.”

The acceptance of Lothar was enough for many, although several looked unhappy about the implications of their employer’s last statement whilst Julius kept his expression blank as he considered the exchange. Julius had fought in varied conflicts and with Hans had formed the backbone of the company, selecting many of the men that had taken service with Sabina.

He remembered when she had first told him her true nature, his natural fear at the revelation overcoming at least initially the offer of good solid gold coin. Yet he had seen more bloodthirsty generals leading their own men into battle, witnessed the witch hunters at work and seen what Orcs and Skaven did to their prisoners.

She had sworn an oath to him that they would make war on the enemies of the Empire, that she was no von Carstein seeking to rule the lands. He had even told her he would hold her to that, with his own blade if necessary – surprising himself that he was able to say the words without a shake in his voice. Now he wondered if in fact it may come to that, and if he could hold true to his part of the promise between them.

Xx

Around Malitha stood five deadly spirits of the forest; two were formed of hawthorn, two more of willow and the leader, a more powerful spirit was an imposing creature of tawny sturdy oak. Each had their legs, made up of interwoven threaded roots, buried deep in a still twitching corpse as they drained the nutrients from their fallen enemies.

Laith-Oriou or Dryads as lesser races named them were difficult to rouse as winter approached and even a witch as attuned to the forest as Malitha knew it was best to ensure that they if they did respond they were quickly satisfied and invigorated by fresh blood and corpse mulch, lest they take it from their summoner. On occasion they might take the form of comely maidens and lure the unwary into the woods but now they were in their war forms, standing at their full height and with powerful jagged claws to rend and tear their enemies to pieces.

Enemies were all about them at this time; much of the Drakwald was filled with pain, seeping into her soul and that of the tree-kin, rousing anger and thoughts of vengeance. Tainted humans and beastmen flocked to the brazen banners of disorder and even now Daemons found purchase in the real world and openly stalked the woods. It was all she could do not to unleash all the powers at her disposal on everything she encountered – including the humans cowering in their pathetic dwellings.

Malitha did not like humans; to be fair she did not really care for other elves but humans were noisy, irrational, needlessly destructive creatures that polluted her woods with their unwanted presence. She was aware that they were supposed to have some qualities that differentiated them from the disgusting beastmen that ran wild or the hordes of equally foul Orcs that sometimes trespassed, but she had yet to see it. It was her oft voiced suspicion that the indulgence of the humans by the Ulthuan sorcerer-lord Teclis in teaching the mere fraction of the mage craft that they could actually understand was a mistake they would all suffer for.

Whilst she might enjoy putting such foolish creatures to the knife, humans, like the other vermin, bred quickly. Yet as the darkness had began to seep deeper into her woods, the blood of many beasts had been shed by a female warrior human and her minions. This had naturally drawn the attention of the self appointed guardians of the forest and which she had grudgingly granted was no bad thing. So when the female’s chief lackey had approached Hasir about an alliance of convenience she had been unable to come up with any good reason to decline. It was only after the pact had been agreed they had discovered the creature’s true nature, and then it was too late – her word was given – the contract was made.

It was rare that her woods were invaded by the walking dead although occasionally a particularly stupid and depraved human might turn to the forbidden arts but they rarely lasted long. Until recently she had never been unfortunate enough to encounter a vampire and this one had concealed its true, foul nature well. Until it broke the pact she considered herself bound, but she knew it would break the terms soon enough and she could unleash her anger upon it and any foolish enough to be its allies.

“Youuuu Ssssaaaang…toooo…. sssummon usss…” The Elthảrin the greater spirit used was difficult to understand, its voice low and unnaturally resonating around the clearing as its fellows leaned closer to listen, their long fingers and leafy long hair shifting constantly. “Ittt issss Cooold and lateeee, weee should sleeppp noww…..Whatttt dooo youuu wannnnt?” As it finished the others moved restlessly and in sympathy, a menacing hiss emanating from several of them.

The pacts between the Elves and the great forest’s of the world were old and dated back to the great war against the dwarves when abandoned by their island dwelling kin, the remaining colonies had sought and found new allies, echoing their links with the oldest of the elf realms in far off Ulthuan – Avelorn. Whilst the Drakwald may not be that most ancient seat of the forest’s power - Athel Loren, it still had strength and power in the spirits that made up its brooding and often malicious mind.
Malitha held her nerve; she had no time for fear and she could feel the skeins of destiny swirling mischievously around her. She had been schooled from an early age in the necessary specifics and forms of an appeal to the forest and she was ready.

“Honoured Spirits – I request your aid as per our pact of ancient days that we may together destroy our enemy and protect the trees we hold in trust.”

“Perrrhhhhaaaps – whaaaattt dooo youuu Wannnt?”

“Slayers and corruptors of the trees that we hold in trust are nearby but they are beyond my mere mortal strength – I need the power of the undying forest to defeat such creatures. Will you grant me your favour?”

“Ysssss, we have felt the corrupttttiooon,” Malitha noted that as the Spirit seemed to take more notice its speech became more coherent – or perhaps more of the forest’s disparate mind was watching and listening. The other tree spirits moved a little closer, talons twitching and wavering in concert to the words it intoned.

“Yeeeet this foe requires moore strength that we caaaan provide.”

Silence as she considered this statement, unexpected and unwelcome.

“Kluthras comes.”

As the spirits voice concluded, she could hear it, the faint movement of displaced air through the surrounding woodland, the vibration of the very earth as it moved; the shimmering haze of magic building as it flowed before and around the oncoming force. As she drank in the energies her face was transformed by genuine joy and anticipation, something unseen for too long.

XX

As he walked to his lover’s home, he could see the blood stains on the disturbed ground where the soldier had been killed but at least the corpse had been removed. Pausing, he had looked hard at them, thinking on the recent exchange in the makeshift barracks. He remained unsettled by the words of Lothar and Lady Sabina, yet he felt the instant and insistent tug of loyalty to her, almost as if it pulsed in his very blood……….he moved on……

It had been a long time since Albrecht had hesitated on the threshold of his lover’s home; their courtship had been quick as both were very conscious that life was fleeting with the monsters in the forest striking at the town and its inhabitants. Adrenalin and desperate passion had flung them together but both hoped they had something more…….time would tell

He took a deep breath, considering what he would say to Ulrike, what truths should he, could he reveal about his employer and liege. Could he convince her to leave her home as had been suggested, would he remain if she refused to go – did he have any option?

Ulrike sat in the warmth of the large kitchen, snuggled in her mother’s favourite chair, its well burnished dark wood and worn but still soft covering as comforting in its own way as the thick furs she favoured when outside. The house was clean and tidy, she had spent several hours distracting herself from the events of earlier, and her worries were now somewhat abated. The last loaf of thick black bread stood ready, her now razor sharp knife nearby, there was no more butter in the pantry but the kitchen fire was well alight with the old stew pot bubbled away reassuringly and more wood sat ready in the old basket nearby, freshly chopped by her lover that morning.

She remembered the play of his muscles as he had swung the axe, the wry grin he had given her as the firewood piled up. Looking around the warm, safe but still somehow empty room, she comforted herself with a long sigh as she wondered when he would be back at their home……

Their Home, she smiled as she considered that simple phrase and its meaning and then softly murmured it out loud. Somehow she felt it was more real when she could hear it, even if it was only her in the room listening to the words. She had no parents left to approve or disapprove of her choice, her younger sister was gone too and as her remaining relatives were in besieged Middenheim and so might as well be on the pale globe of the moon Maanslieb, if they were even still alive.

Her mother had warned her about soldiers as the war began – most mothers did, but equally in unguarded moment she had let slip exactly how much she knew about a certain warrior from the city. This had been “long before her father of course”, but Ulrike had caught the slight wistfulness in her voice.

Father had never spoken on the matter, either to her or her sister; she doubted he had ever thought much about it, except perhaps to consider the possibilities of a suitable marriage to another merchant family. She immediately squashed that thought as unworthy, her face now flushed in shame – he had been a good man and she had been given much freedom, even indulged. She fought tears as she thought of all she had lost and resolved to be as good a parent as they had been to her.

She ran a hand across her still slim belly as she considered that thought, she had been scared when she went to Granny Moescher for her advice and certain herbs. Now she wondered if she should continue to use them, perhaps a child was not something to be avoided, even in these desperate times. She had seen how many people in the town, the survivors of so much death saw hope in the few remaining children – perhaps she could add to that hope, help rebuild both her family and a little of the town along with it.

Granny had been firmly against it she remembered with a frown, as equally she had been against discussing any of the required precautions with her lover. This was “women’s business” – nothing to do with the men in their lives, Ulrike had not been so sure about that but she had heeded her words, so far. Now she wondered what Albrecht would say, after all he had pledged his love to her, apparently without reservation, surely it would be the perfect way to cement their love?

As she rose to check on the stew, stirring its thickness slowly, she resolved to wait, at least until they had eaten and gone to bed. At the last thought her face became flushed for an altogether different reason, her smile returning as she slowly moved the spoon around their dinner. Unconsciously she began to hum a childhood song as she continued.

Xx

The beast that had been chosen to send word of the death of the sorcerer and the intrusion into the most sacred area of the encampment was pitifully eager to please, its dog like face matching its new nature. It was clever enough to pass on the words, but not recognise the danger in doing so.

Lord Damar received the news with a sigh, shaking his head in exasperation before conjuring the sign of his god in leaping fire in recognition of his master’s fickle nature, his head slightly bowed in respect. As he turned to give his commands, he dissolved the rune with another gesture and casually incinerated the bestial creature that had been chosen to bring the bad news.

As ascension approached he found himself caring even less than usual about instilling any loyalty in his followers. His time in the mortal world was growing short, the majority were less than nothing, toys to be discarded or played with till they broke and they broke so very easily.

Perhaps a few showed any promise, but they were the minority and as fragile as the dying world about him. He was actually surprised that Nicias was gone, he had looked forward to devouring his soul but that pleasure was now lost – it was almost frustrating, almost.

Still much to do, he considered, the constant whispering in his head was growing stronger now, an insistent discordant background noise that tempted him with sweet madness. Yet he did not succumb to the amusing blandishments, not yet, as his voice resounded across the waiting unclean mass of monsters, destroyers and killers.

“Lukara, Tobias, Krizz’Krekelln – cleanse the camp of all that still live, they have failed me for the last time, bring our lord’s fire to every crevice and hiding place, let nothing live or stand to remind me of such disappointment.”

Without question, the chosen champions moved to obey, gathering their own bands of warriors, monsters and slaves. It was clear that their lord was abandoning his mortal interests and there were many treasures still within his great pavilion, which would help them on their own path to daemonhood, immortality in the service of their god.

Lukara’s followers were exclusively male, or at least amongst those with more malleable or indistinct forms, predominately so. She had even less tolerance for her own sex and usually found the flesh more tasty, selecting and tearing off choice morsels from the screaming, writhing victim was a great delight to be savoured and even occasionally shared. Crude brands marked those in her pack for she enjoyed the searing of the meat, a portent of future meals. Given her great favour with the master of the horde, her minions were usually able to gather the choicest plunder, be that food, slaves or treasure.

In contrast those that choose Krizz’Krekelln as their master were marked in a different way, their flesh changing at his caress and the impact of his reverberating buzzing voice into that of his preferred form – the insects he increasingly resembled. A few had even vast translucent wings that; in a palpable mockery of reality allowed them to take to the air and they had proved effective scouts for Damar’s warband in the past. Several launched themselves into the air as the pack moved off, anxious to prove themselves in their master’s eyes, seeking further rewards and caresses.

Tobias was less choosy, all who proved themselves adept and imaginative at slaughter were welcome and he left the marking to their god. Mutations blossomed unchecked in their ranks, and often the now fallen beastmaster was rewarded by those whose minds and body could take no more and reverted to pure spawn – bestial creatures that had fallen as far as one could in the service of the dark powers. Insanity was treasured in the ranks that served Tobias, and he himself was close to the edge, his unpredictability amusing their master and likely their god.

As the three distinct masses detached themselves from the greater horde, the Lord spoke again, anticipation rising as he intoned the words.

“Come favoured children, we that remain have a soul to claim.”

Xx

Sergeant Ramstedt stood quietly, waiting for his captain to acknowledge him, waiting for the opportunity to speak. The fire in the sturdy hearth was well ablaze, having been stoked by the equally sturdy housekeeper before she left the room, taking the tray of pewter plates with her. She had flashed him a wide smile as she had sauntered out, but he had restrained himself to a polite nod in return, despite her obvious charms, still troubled by recent events and revelations.

His usually assured captain was toying with his glass of wine, the red liquid moving smoothly from side to side, almost hypnotically. He had finished his writing several minutes ago, the delicate pen laid aside as the ink dried on the parchment whilst nearby a small candle guttered and flickered in anticipation next to the small packet of crimson wax.

Awaiting orders was nothing new and from long practice Ramstedt was able to give the impression of watchful anticipation, whilst his mind wandered through previous memories. He had fought men and monsters in his years of service to the Empire; he had stood against the brutal charge of beastmen and orcs and smashed them down. He had cut his way though rebels and bandits, poured shot and plunged steel into a wyvern and he even survived a flowing fleeting skirmish with dark elf raiders on the western coast, killing at least one before they faded back into the mist. He had been decorated and rewarded several times for his valour and skill and he bore the scars to remind him and on cold nights the aches and pains that went with them.

The captains’ eyes were closed now as he had leant back in the chair, hands crossed in front of him; face a mask of concentration, so the older soldier continued his train of thought.

The walking dead were slow and whilst unrelenting they could be cut down, he had done it himself, get to the force that animates them and the stinking remnants lost their animus. He had of course heard stories of vampires, from fiery sermons by priests and from veterans round the camp fire.

It was four hundred years since the last Great War against the so called Vampire Counts and the desperate final battle at Hel Fenn where the fiends and the shambling hordes had turned at bay to face the wrath of men and dwarf alike and been cast down. Vaguely he recalled disturbances in the capital a few years ago when there had been debate and panic about such creatures concealing themselves in the population.

At last the young nobleman opened his eyes and fixed them upon the older man, still awaiting his command.

“Sergeant, if anything happens to me, you will ensure this report reaches the hand of my superior. We can not allow any taint to take further hold in our lands; all must be rooted out and burned.” He paused, disgust twisting his features for a long moment.

“Yes, we shall. Through necessity restrain blade and brand till our comrade’s reach us, but then there shall be a reckoning. See that the men keep their eyes and ears open, we must know who is truly compliant with…….. that creature.”

The Sergeant nodded, he could do little else. He knew faith, fire and silver were his best instrument and weapon, even if appeared that some sorcery protected against the cleansing trays of the sun. When he next faced the vampire he and his men would be ready.

Xx

The children had gathered by the fireside to hear the story, either read from one of the old books, or recited by rote from Granny’s memory. They were comfortable and safe, if not full of food then at least none were hungry, the rest of the townsfolk saw to that.

The old woman looked a little less weary as she entered the room, a little straighter in her gait, a little quicker on her feet as she moved towards the ancient gnarled wood chair. In her hands was a new book, its dark leather cover smooth and glistening in the flickering light of the fire and the remaining lamps.

As she settled herself, the children could see it had glittering gold and crimson runes, somewhat akin to those formed by the dwarves but somehow less solid, almost elusive as they caught the eye and then seemed to shift and hide. On the front cover was a sable raven, outlined in gold.

“Now children, I have a new story to tell you, something I have never told you before…………or anyone else.”

The gathered audience exchanged glances, filled with anticipation and exhilaration, they had not expected this, they enjoyed the tales of old, but something new was a welcome treat. They moved closer and looked up at their teacher as she began to speak.

Xx

Wow.... Dryads and all manners of fell things, I dare say this it looking to become quite grim indeed. And that is just the way I like my fantasy! Well done

Chapter Eighteen - Embrace the Night

“So child, what have we learned tonight?” Ariette was leaning forward, perched on the front of the chair, her eyes gleaming in the half light from the guttering candles. Her long shadowy hair was artfully arranged to frame her equally precisely made up face whilst her silk and leather gown was constructed to further enhance her lush figure, a lack of necessity to breathe making the wearing of a corset much less of a physical strain.

Either side of the young vampire were posed two of her own creations, not quite as pretty or as well dressed, one was slim, pale and with a daintily twisted blonde ponytail, the other with unnaturally crimson locks cascading down one bare shoulder. The two handmaidens were taut and tense, their eyes flickering from their mistress to the woman she addressed, who might be prey, or could be something else.

The pavilion was large but sparsely furnished with only a single chair atop a checkerboard of blood flecked and mismatched furs that cloaked the mud. A crimson silk hanging screened one part of the dimly lit tent from prying eyes, likely where the mistress took her repose. Incense slowly exuded from candles, the vapour swirling gently about the interior, its pungent aurora almost masking the stench of the charnel scene in which the camp had been pitched.

Letta considered the words for a moment, her neck creaking loudly as her head tilted slightly to one side, before she replied, as was her wont, honestly.

“You are playing games with Viktor, you plan and execute your moves with precision and a certain, effective amount of spite. You usually get what you want, even with our Liege.”

Above their mistress’s head, the two girls exchanged a satisfied, knowing glance, Ariette was not known for her forgiving nature. In turn, Ariette considered the woman’s words, her lips a thin line of crimson, dark eyes fixed on the necromancer.

“True, but not what I wanted to hear.”

“You could tell me what to say, but if you wanted a mere sounding board, I think you are already well served in the capacity?” Letta’s vivid emerald eyes danced across both the other two vampires, her expression as innocent as she could manage. The blonde’s eyes and posture remained tense but she made no obvious reaction to the statement, however her companion’s pupils dilated in anger and her fangs pushed forward into view.

There was a creak in the lushly appointed travelling chair as its owner leant back, “Provoking me is unwise, I would have hoped this was known, child.” Both of the other two vampires moved forward a little, hands curling to reveal their claws, their legs taut and ready to spring.

“Am I not under your protection, my Lady?”

The blow was sudden and stunning, the back of Ariette’s hand propelling Letta across the pavilion and to the ground, blood at her lips and unkind pain reverberating through her face and neck. Both the two handmaidens stood above her now, fangs bared as they waiting for the command to drain her dry and rip her corpse to pieces. In contrast their mistress was once again seated, appearing as if she had never moved to chastise in a blur of mild irritation.

“Mannfred has given you to me, girl.” Ariette’s husky voice lingered over the first word, she was one of a very few that dared use his given name rather than his title, “Do not mistake this for anything else. You are at my disposal, you will use what talents you have to advance my will and desire.”

“I am the mistress of this household and my word is all that you will live…….or die for. I trust this is now fully understood.”

Crimson waves of hair shifted as one handmaiden grasped lank hair in a brutal grip, pulling the woman’s face up, “Say it,” she hissed, twisting the hair a little.

Head still ringing, Letta agreed, rasping out the words.

“Good,” Ariette relaxed, a scarlet smile transforming her features and immediately the tension fled from her two girls.

“Leave her now, Jana.”

A toss of her long, glossy hair and the girl stalked back to her mistress, throwing a satisfied smirk at the other handmaiden who did not react as she in turn joined her sister on the other side of the chair.

“Nastasja, be a dear and bring a drink for Letta, I can see that she is going to be an excellent addition to our household.”

Xx

Viktor stepped back, his long blade moving smoothly into a guard position, waiting for the warrior to attack again, its form and movements difficult to follow even with his pre-natural senses. The very substance of its being seemed to shift and change with ebb and flow of the breeze that swirled around the two combatants, in moments it morphed from silk to metal and then to stone and finally to mist.

The bloody ground around them was littered with the corpses of the creatures' followers, bestial and malformed monsters, large and small. If he had a moment’s respite, the vampire might have tried to raise some of them to his aid, but his opponent kept up the pressure.

Its gender was indeterminate, enclosed in sheen of glowing golden material, perhaps it was its skin or a coating of fine scales or a suit of arcane armour; it extended weapons seemingly at will, claws and fangs, blades and spikes, hands becoming clubs or needles at a whim. To his chagrin, Viktor had yet to land a telling blow on the warrior, it was as quick as him and although his opponent was less skilled, his sword either passed through it or was jarringly deflected away.

Soundlessly, the chaos creature seemed to regard the vampire with its featureless oversized head or perhaps its helm, then it exploded towards him, one arm becoming a needle like blade, the other a spiked mace. Viktor ducked the mace and tried to take its leg with a powerful blow, but once again the rune blade rebounded of the strange golden material with a frustrated screech. In turn he was then forced to back peddle away from a combination of stabs and smashing blows, parrying and dodging as he went. It was not, he considered, going well, but then this was nothing new.

He had scarcely registered the words of Mannfred’s favourite blood child when he had been summoned away by the malformed equerry. The emaciated creature had taken great pleasure in informing him that he had been given a specific task by their liege, which would require his immediate attention. The bronze mask was of course implacable and uncaring but he could sense the satisfaction behind it, exuding from the skeletal frame as it described the enormity of the undertaking before him.

It pleased their liege that he would scout far ahead of the grand army moving towards the besieged fortress city, ascertain not only what he could of the forces arrayed against their unlikely saviours but also discover the whereabouts and strength of the oncoming relief force that the Empire had sent forth. In this he was to utilise his agent in their midst, using her enchanted cameo to report and receive further instructions – the equerry had of course kept Viktor’s own artefact for this purpose. Speed and stealth were of the essence so he would not need to take any followers, at this point Viktor had snarled if he was also expected to go forth naked and unarmed before still raging, he had walked out summoning his steed.

Progress had been swift, moving through a devastated landscape of burned villages and polluted rivers full of corpses and the waste of an uncaring horde. Shattered woodland was decorated with the corpses of man and beast alike, littering the landscape like the discarded leaves of autumn. The once verdant fields were sown with blood and bone, unkempt fires still burning on foul totems constructed from filth, entrails and the still screaming souls ripped from tortured sacrifices, desperately crying out for a salvation that was not his to grant.

He had avoided the large concentrations of monsters and half-men moving to counter the undead legions advancing on Middenheim, killed a few hunting beasts that sought his blood and lost soul and diverted the attention of other enemies by swiftly raising contingents of the dead. From a distance, he had watched briefly brutal skirmishes between rampaging orc warbands and crimson armoured warriors of chaos that few would survive – not that either force cared for anything beyond the chance to fight and kill.

All the time he travelled he had felt the anger rising inside him, it had been sated a little with the swiftly dispatched mutated hounds, but it had only eased the pressure, not released it. On the edge of the Drakwald proper he had found a small warband feasting on a rotting and likely once treasured herd of cattle, it had seemed to offer a more substantial way to express his feelings. As the golden mace crashed through his guard and crushed much of his face, propelling him backwards a dozen yards, he realised that, for now at least, his anger was gone.

Cursing through his re-growing teeth Viktor was quickly back on his feet, dodging a vicious underarm slash from his opponents newly manifested blade and propelling himself forward to slam hard into his, for the moment, solid adversary. The two of them rolled in the mud and blood, already churned by the conflict, the golden warrior’s now twin blades slicing at the vampire’s flesh, whilst he tried to find purchase on the gilded armour, his own blade abandoned in the mire as he wrestled the chaos champion.

Viktor cried out in pain as the armour suddenly developed numerous spikes on its glittering surface, lancing through his own breastplate and clothes with contemptuous ease into his flesh and still growing. He roared out his anger and wrenched the armoured creature from his body, rivulets of blood trailing across his body as he did so. Summoning all his strength and frustration he flung it from him, propelling it towards a nearby tree.

The impact shattered much of the old tree, its strength long since leached away by age and rampant fungus, but one out flung arm was impaled by a lone protruding branch, its core of living heartwood still solid and hale. As the armoured warrior wrenched it free, several dark drops of its blood fell conspicuously to the debris strewn ground. Viktor watched them plummet, his heightened senses catching every nuance of their sweet release from the confines of the golden shell and the body within. For the first time since he had left the encampment he smiled as he rose to his feet with new purpose, rolling and cracking his neck in anticipation.

“Come my friend, let us dance anew.”

The brazen helm did not respond save to fix itself on the vampire, it moved more cautiously now, the manifested weapons fluctuating as its mind processed and enacted various options to smite, cut or crush its enemy.

As one they launched themselves at each other, gilded weapons tearing and slicing armour and flesh alike as the vampire moved past his opponent to the tree. He allowed the force of a backhanded club to help propel him forwards; ignoring the shattered ribs knowing they would heal.

He rolled through the pile of wooden leftovers and rose upwards, ignoring the shooting pain of several broken bones grinding on each other. As he turned to meet the onrushing foe, both hands now clasped wood spikes, one from the remnants, the other the end of the blood flecked branch that had shown him the creature’s weakness.

The first shard he flung with impressive force at the left leg, grinning through his still torn lips as it impaled the limb just below the knee and the golden form stumbled at the impact, flailing with retracting blades as it tried to recover its balance. Viktor was already moving to take advantage, snarling at the reflecting metal head as he rammed the second stake into the chest of his opponent and once again slamming it back into the mud.

One wild flensing blade tore open his face to the bone, nearly removing an eye, but the battle was already finished as the stake was pounded deeper into the torso and the limbs began to spasm uncontrollably. Within moments it was still, the sludge beneath it now more blood than mud as its life faded, and the victor took a long moment to recover his strength. Behind him he could hear the wings and calls of several ravens drawn to the most recent conflict to see if there were any choice pickings.

Finally he stood, shedding weariness and blood as he did so and flung a crooked smile at the gathering birds.

“Still here my friends, still here, it will take more than that to finish me.”

Xx

“Do you have faith in your Gods?”

Both elf and man stopped and looked at their unwanted companion in a mixture of disgust and confusion.

“Is this a difficult question?” amusement had now leached into the voice of the not-woman.

“What is it to you?” Hans spat once more at the end of the sentence, as if speaking to her made the bile rise in his chest.

“Curiosity, a thirst for knowledge,” she paused and looked around at the still dark forest in which they moved.

“Perhaps it is just a way to pass the time till we find what we are looking for.” Lacking any meaningful response, she shrugged dismissively and once again led the way.

Lucarius did not reply, he had no wish to engage the creature in conversation and was all too aware that the words of the tainted or daemon born were often traps and lures. He would not slip further into its clutches than he was already.

They had been walking for what could have been hours, but it was difficult to tell in the misty darkness that even elven eyes found no purchase. She had led them through web shrouded paths and across ruin haunted shady glades where unnatural shadows danced in the uncertain light. Not for the first time he wondered exactly how far they had come, and where they were going.

For her part, she had been genuinely interested in what they thought, the notion of gods and worship was such a mortal thing, needing something like that to give them purpose, measure themselves against, believe in was such a alien and amusing concept. She had always been part of a greater entity, always blessed with the surety of purpose and she could not perceive of existence without it.

For all the mortals whining about their precious free will, they always seemed so desperate for someone to tell them what to do. It was, she considered, a blessing to their weak minds when they succumbed, by whatever method and joined with her, with the power that she was a part of.

Of course their souls were also very tasty………the face she wore smiled at that thought.

Still they had nearly arrived at their destination, she was unsure as to how they would react to the next revelation and the thrill of an uncertain future rippled through her mind. She stopped and turned to face her companions, smiling in a reassuring manner, something that might have been more effective if her tongue had not been flickering in and out of mouth in excitement.

“Rejoice, for I have brought you to the next piece in the rather intricate puzzle that will unlock the life and soul of you lost friend.”

Both looked at her in surprise and about them, scowls beginning to form as they realised there was no sign of the elf they sought.

“Speak quickly, Witch – where have you brought us and why?”

Her visage flowed instantly from pleasure to anger, her already hoarse voice deepening and thickening whilst her body seemed to ripple with building energy.

“…….or what Human?”

The Elf, equally angry, but retaining control, interrupted.

“You said you would help us find Hasir.” His hand was on the hilt of his new sword, but he did not draw, he was not even sure if it would hurt her.

In response to his words, one sable pupil-less eye remained fixed on Hans and the other disconcertingly shifted to glare at Lucarius.

“Yes.”

“So where exactly is he?”

“No idea.”

No one spoke for a long moment; tension an almost physical pain in the two men, whilst she seemed unconcerned.

“But I know where he will be and…………I know what else or rather who else you need to get him back.”

She turned her back on them and strode out into the clearing, admiring the death and destruction that had been wrought so recently. The lone survivor she strode towards, assuming correctly that she was still being followed.

“Viktor Reinhard Von Carstein!”

The man so addressed watched her approach; he had heard the voices in the trees and had been intrigued enough by the varied accents to await their entrance. His gaze swept across the evidently chaotic creature with disdain, neglecting to answer as he picked up his mud splattered blade. He merely watched as the human and then the elf emerged, then with a casual gesture he flicked the worst of the muck away in readiness for the worst.

“Von Carstein?” Lucarius was not as familiar with the history of the Old World as the Loremasters of his home, but he knew that name, its dark reputation. He turned to Hans and was surprised to see recognition and even perhaps a little sign relief on the man’s face. The witch drifted to one side, content to watch the unfolding drama, smiling broadly.

“Herr Baumer, it is good to see a friendly face in this wilderness.” The vampire sounded weary, his distinctive accent more pronounced than he normally allowed himself. “I see you brought……….friends.”

Hans grimaced and glanced at first the elf and then the witch and shook his head very slightly.

Lucarius stepped forward, curiosity warring with suspicion across his face, “Who are you?” It was evident that his actual question was what rather than who.

Viktor smiled enough to show his still extended fangs but said nothing, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

The elf captain stepped back, sword in his hands in a practised lightning movement, realising that the blade felt good in his hands, its hilt warm and firm in his grasp.

“Come now Lucarius Shuarth, we are all friends here.” The knowing malice in her tone almost made him test his new sword against her magic, almost.

“Well then, it seems some introductions are in order?” Viktor sat down heavily on the large golden body and began cleaning his sword, waiting for the others to approach.

xx

Chapter Nineteen – Engineering the Future

The Drakwald forest had never been seen as welcoming by those who travelled its roads; be they lone travellers or the great coaching lines that linked the cities of the Empire, all were forced to brave beastmen and bandits alike. The cavalcade that now moved along the debris strewn, muddy highway was unlike those elegant carriages; disdaining the proud beasts that rushed them along and much more formidable than the coaches.

There were no gaudy colours or hand painted signs to proclaim the allegiance of the large clanking vehicle, its body was metal not wood, the heavy armour gleaming in the uncertain light, rain water slick on its curved surfaces. It was long with six great wheels, only partially revealed by the metal skirt that guarded its underside, and it made a pair of new deep ruts in the yielding surface as it moved relentlessly forward.

Atop its high body was a turret; riveted metal and as solid as the rest of the vehicle, the vision slit was open with watchful eyes on the road ahead. At the rear was a blackened stack, belching a trail of smoke, marking its progress through the dark forest, whilst behind the large vehicle was a second, almost as large trailer, equally well armoured and uncompromising.

Surmounting the trailing carriage’s metal bulk was a fighting platform, spiked and ready for the enemy, roofed against the elements and arrows alike. Two watchful warriors stood ready, crossbows in their hands, axes at their belts. As their ancestors had fought for millennia, so they stood ready now – undaunted by the shadows in the trees or the bellows of hunting beasts. They were clad in heavy mail and defiance, armoured in simple sturdy helms and stubbornness, watchful and ready for the inevitable attack.

In the steering room sat its creator, atop a simple bucket seat of unyielding iron, an array of vibrating gears and flickering dials in front of him, absorbing his attention. His face was only partially illuminated by the light of the instruments and the lone lantern that swayed gently from the low ceiling, his heavy features were focussed and intent, the fiery beard tucked safely into his tunic. His broad waist was embraced by a thick leather belt that held him fast, however violent the motions of his craft.

Behind him was a ladder that led up to the viewing turret and beyond the ladder were the others, clad in light armour and practical clothing, about them drifting the smells and smog of men and dwarves confined for days in the same small space, some of whom also favoured pipes to pass the time. They had exhausted the obvious and less obvious topics of conversation long ago and now sat mostly in silence, save for the constant rattling of their transport.

Five of the dwarves held their blades, hammers and axes lightly across their laps; the other three, alternating with their sleeping companions, their weapons being safely secured less than an arms length away in the central rack that held both them and an impressive array of tools. The remaining two passengers were human and although they were not as broad shouldered or as be-muscled as their travelling companions – they were formidable in their own way.

Both were clad in equally practical clothing, the larger of the two men bearing a heavy breastplate, its scared surface bearing a proudly inscribed twin tailed comet, the symbol of the faithful of Sigmar. At their throats were thick silver collars, marked with dwarf runes, whilst their shaven heads were blessed with the tattoo of a silver hammer which matched the well crafted and inlaid weapons that they both held across their laps.

The larger of the two, Lothar was used to discomfort, his training in the church of Sigmar had not been without pain and suffering. His teachers had often been harsh but he had understood why, in the end he had even welcomed their uncompromising nature. The world was a dark and terrible place, those who safeguarded the Empire – physically and morally, had to be ready to face and overcome hardship, through perseverance, endurance and above all Faith.

He glanced once again at the dwarves, as ever comforted by their obvious indifference to the discomforts of the vehicle; it was not hard to understand and agree with the respect that Sigmar had held for their race. In the millennia since the man had ascended to become a god, they had never flinched from aiding the Empire, a formidable example of loyalty to aspire to.

Yet these were not dwarves of the great mountain holds, the Imperial Dwarves of Karaz Ankor as it was named in Khazalid, their own language. They were, like him, people of the Empire, their ancestors having chosen to dwell amongst the “manlings” long ago. The great army that was on its way to relive Middenheim had a goodly number of dwarves amongst its ranks, some were soldiers, others like those Lothar was travelling with were members of the dwarven engineers guild, but most of those were as handy in battle with a hammer or axe as any other tool in their workshop.

At the wheel of the metal beast was Bardin Kilifisson, a dwarf of middle years, solemnly approaching his 150th birthday. He had settled all of his affairs before he had left Altdorf, confirmed the succession of the great workshop to his elder son with both the manling lawyers and his clanfolk, it was after all the prudent thing to do. He had gathered apprentices and some of his more restless guards – stating that whilst he (and they) had learnt enough in the workshop – the greater world still had lessons to teach.

For weeks he had done what he could for the logistical nightmare that was the advancing army of the Empire, but had leapt at the chance to leave the unwieldy, unsanitary mass to prepare the way forward. The bridge at Untergrad was not now intended as the primary route for the army’s advance but it would be vital in the resupply of the army and likely the inevitable rebuilding that would follow. Bardin was, like most dwarves far more comfortable building than destroying and he was looking forward to getting down to some proper graft.

They had driven day and night, the metal beast not requiring sleep and carrying its own food with it – should that run out, it could be survive if not prosper on wood harvested from the forest all about them. It had a great eye that was only revealed at night, concealed behind a metal screen when it was not needed, allowing the beast to move through the darkness with reduced risk of damage.

Skalli, the oldest apprentice had guided it some of the way, but only in daylight and now as they approached their destination he had been given the job of lookout. They had set out from the advance camp with a regiment of light infantry but they had quickly fallen behind and were still somewhere back on the winding trail that served as a road, likely not yet even arisen from the shambles of their marching camp. The dwarves had no time to wait for tardy manlings.

Now not long after the uncertain dawn, the metal beast was arriving at its destination.

Xx

The anger that had shredded and banished the joy that she had briefly felt washed through her body and soul, invigorating her with hatred and fury, a dangerous combination for anyone who drew upon the winds of magic. Perhaps a little voice whispered this to her, but it did not help, perhaps it even fanned the wrathful energies that flooded through her.

Malitha looked at the battered husk that had been her brother, her foolish, beloved, stupid, enthusiastic, impulsive brother. She had warned him, she had warned the leech and her minions, and she was still confronted by this….. Her anger and outrage was so very strong she couldn’t even cry for her brother, for the pain that this was causing her, for the pain that had been inflicted on him.

She reached out a hand trembling with unsuppressed emotion, trailing wordlessly across the torn flesh of his cheek. He continued mouthing the same words, his voice now hoarse and broken, like the rest of him. Slowly she allowed her hand to drift down the gore cloaked body to the gaping hole in his chest, still shocked at the atrocity that had been worked on her flesh and blood.

As she had found him running through the shadows, his feet and legs bloody from the journey, she had sensed that he was linked to another, a powerful force that used its eyes to gaze upon her. Her scream of fury at seeing him had banished the connection, shattered it with that overwhelming gesture of rage, but she would find it again. It had sent a message to her, in both words and tormented flesh and she would answer that challenge in the same way.

Around her she could feel the forests greater spirits gathering, drawn to still growing rage, feeding on the building wrathful energy. She did not need to turn to look upon it, behind her she could feel him waiting, a source of power and strength, the forest embodied and now she would give it an immediate purpose, something that it usually lacked.

Her last internal vestiges of restrain and sanity tried to whisper to her of the dangers, that the forest did not give such power lightly, that she would not come back from this, but it was futile. She had abandoned herself to the bitter heart of the forest, and it had accepted her, welcomed her. Around her Laith-Oriou handmaidens bowed their heads in recognition and welcome, claws and teeth growing even more prominent as they did so.

Xx

Across the forest, on a small hill, the growth of centuries brutally cleared away to provide a gathering place, Lord Damar smiled. He had caught a brief glimpse of his chosen prey, viewed the aura of power that surrounded her, an inviting iridescent halo that he now ached to consume. The captive soul in his hand had pulsed with sympathetic warmth at the sight of its sister and he had seriously considered devouring it then and there, savouring the despair that emanated from it.

At his feet sat his ever present familiar, scowling and making faces at the gathered champions who stood in a wide circle about him, awaited his word or smallest gesture of command. To his left floated a huge crimson and purple projection of the world, slowly spinning some four feet above the ground. Damar glanced down at his familiar and then back at the glittering mini-world, smiling even more broadly before stretching out a single languid finger.

In response the globe flattened itself with a shimmer of amethyst energy, the geography shifting to show first the continent known to its inhabitants as the Old World and then shrinking to display just the Empire. It spun and flared again, stabilising to show the expanse of the Drakwald and then finally blurred and condensed to show a view of the nearby area in crystal clarity and false colour, complete with a tiny pin point of energy where the map had been conjured.

“What would you have us do, Lord?” A husky voice broke the silence, the first of the nearby champions to dare to speak in long hours. Her shape was akin to that of a centaur with a horse’s body and human upper body but with six insectoid legs, all blessed with razor sharp gleaming claws. Her delicate and sculpted female half was clad in flattering silks of purple and gold and where a maiden’s visage should be she had the head of a cephalopod, both it and her eight head tentacles flickering through intricate coloured patterns in her excitement.

Her master continued to ignore her and the others, expanding the image to inspect details, some areas remained murky and blurred, concealed from his vision and knowledge by other powers or mere lack of interest. He watched a great machine approach the small town of mortals that cowered nearby and without averting his gaze singled out one of his gathered minions.

“Varsilas, explain to me why was that machine not destroyed before now?” At the moment, Damrar’s voice was calm but in response his familiar rose slowly to its feet, making sure it remained safely ensconced between its masters legs and raised an accusing finger in the named champion’s direction.

A variety of sensory organs all alighted on the potentially doomed creature, who responded quickly. His form was that of hovering humanoid fire, its flames presently cool but constantly exuding a sweet smelling smoke and the voice that emanated from the fang filled maw crackled and sparked.

“My Lord was……most specific in concealing his forces until He wished them unleashed on his chosen prey.”

Silence dominated the scene again as Damar considered the words; it was true, he had said that, he could clearly recall his instructions but that still did not stop the clamouring voice in his head that demanded he drain the speaker of his magic, life and soul. He silenced it, at least for the moment and nodded.

“Acceptable”, he murmured distractedly as he again began to manipulate the energy chart, selecting and enlarging various elements of the nearby landscape and those that moved through it.

“Sura,” in response the centaur-like creature scuttled forward, the front of her undulating head that faced him shifting to bone white in a wave of satisfaction, whilst the rear and sides that faced her rivals flashed red in warning and disdain.

“A regiment of Empire soldiers is encamped to the South East, along the main road forest. Find and eliminate all you find there, discourage any others that might attempt passage along its length. Remain in place until I send for you.” As he finished speaking, the familiar grinned and waved her away imperiously.

She backed away only when she was sure her lord had finished addressing her, moving swiftly to martial her forces as her master turned back to the crackling map, she knew Damar expected no acknowledgment of his orders, he had spoken and so it must be done.

In turn he was vaguely aware of Sura’s departure; she was perhaps the most powerful mage in his service now that Nicias was gone. She was also physically formidable, as the many blessings of their god had been generous to her, shaping her for warfare as much for conjuring magic. He wondered if she had any chance against the forces he had taunted to rise against him.

Still smiling, he shook his head slightly in bemusement at the thought, it was highly doubtful she would even survive, but her sacrifice should at least allow him to measure its true strength and help him decide the best way to devour it and ease his ascension…….surely that was enough and a suitable ending to her pitiful existence.

“Varsilas, expend your followers on the walls of that pitiful dwelling” – he gestured to the glowing representation of Untergrad – “Keep them occupied until I bless them with my full attention.”

The fiery sorcerer made an undulating bow before drifting back and away pointedly ignoring the mocking wave of the familiar.

The remaining three champions awaited their own instructions but Damar had once again fallen silent, watching the map and waiting for events to unfold. He had tasks for them all, but he needed to see if anyone or anything was interfering with his grand design, there were now far too many powers at work in the world to be sure of anything at the moment.

Resonating and discordant, the sound of the two sorcerers mustering their followers echoed through the trees, horns and bellows mixing with a trumpets call and even a crash of thunder. Beastmen and armoured warriors gathered under proud banners, calling out insults and threats to the other massing creatures, as eager to tear each other apart as any enemy that they might encounter or be set upon.

The force that Sura led was fast moving, like their mistress who was ever at the forefront of the warband. Her Beastmen were long limbed and lithe in their movements, loping along with inhuman endurance or were mounted on larger beasts, who in their muscle and bulk resembled great apes, driven ever onwards by their brutal riders and their bloody whips. Warriors armoured in glittering scale armour rode sleek horses under a streaming amethyst banner that boldly bore the profane rune of their god. Horns and trumpets announced their departure, a gesture of defiance against the rest of the horde – their rivals.

In contrast the war band that accompanied Varsilas was smaller, but equally blessed with an abundance of bestial forms as well as mutants. In contrast to his rival, he disdained cavalry, which would in any case be useless against the walls of the town he was about to assault. His flaming figure was at the centre of the pack that he ran with, the most powerful and well armoured warriors surrounding him, huge tarnished metal shields held by the two ogre-like creatures that served him as his bodyguards.

Both forces set forth to carry out their masters orders, they were in turn followed by small flights of ravens and crows, anticipating the bloodshed to come.

Xx

Albrecht stirred in the comfortable warmth of the great broad bed, stray blonde hairs tickling his nose, his arm still numb where her weight rested on it. In response to his movement Ulrike snuggled closer, mumbling softly and contentedly, allowing his arm a little respite, but he remained awake.

As he had finally drifted off to sleep, she had been chattering happily and he had been content from time to time to murmur agreement at what he thought would be the appropriate moment as he drifted into sleep. Despite his earlier resolve, he had not spoken of the possible imminent departure of his employer and her men from the town, not brought up that they would have to choose to stay or go.

Her happiness when she had had opened the door had been too powerful to disrupt; he had immediately decided to put off the talk and likely the tears. Now in the darkness, he wondered if that had been wise or merely cowardice, he was more and more certain it was the latter.

As faint strands of light began to filter the shutters of the bedroom windows, he stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling – trying to remember exactly what she had been talking about, it had obviously been very important and exciting, but he had been so tired.

Then the unwelcome and hauntingly familiar sound of the alarm horn roared out across the sleeping town and the peace was gone. His leather scabbarded sword was safe and close to the bed, carefully placed in reach, unlike the scattered clothes that both had left on the floor.

Ulrike did not cling to him or ask him not to go, she smiled at him as he dressed quickly, helping here and there as he got clothing caught in his haste. She helped him pull the chain mail shirt over his head and mouthed a silent prayer to Ulric as she did so, kissing him passionately when all was in place and he was ready for battle.

The cold was seeping into the room now as he held her close for a long time and before he left he did not promise he would be back soon. He was not that much of a fool or a coward.

Xx

Sabina glanced distractedly at the glass of wine, it had not been long since she had enjoyed a hot bath and changed her clothes and she was still feeling pleasantly lethargic. A plate of food lay next to the simple crystal vessel, equally unwanted and unneeded, she had barely sipped at the crisp white wine – conscious that too much liquid in her body (other than blood) could make her feel light headed but feeling that she should make some effort, whilst solid food could be more painful than satisfying.

Petra Brandt had seemed pleased to see her, although she could have been just scared, Sabina considered the unpleasant thought and gave the girl a friendly smile, which after a long moment was returned with a nervous blush.

“Is the food not to your liking, My Lady?” Petra’s voice was soft and uncertain, she had consumed the slightly smaller portions laid out for her.

“Sabina………..my name is Sabina.” She winked, “we are not at court now!”

Her companion’s eyes went wide and she dropped her eyes in confusion, she had only been to the Graf’s court once and that had been as a child, it had all been quite overwhelming.

Sabina waited in vain for a reaction before continuing “I am sorry, no the food is excellent, I am just not hungry……” She sighed, “It’s been a long day”

Petra nodded, but said nothing.

Sabina took a moment to study the young woman seated opposite her, she was a pretty but delicate thing, all cascading red hair and endearing if nervous smiles. She thought for a moment of another town house far away and a girl who had looked equally innocent but had been many centuries old and anything but innocent.

She remembered that summer’s evening in Altdorf, when her life had changed so much. She recalled clearly that the night had been warm and inviting; the girl’s skin like cold silk, her voice like refined temptation and her blood like hot spiced wine.

They had revelled in her recreation as a child of the night, spilling the blood of the foolish mortal who had sought to imprison her. She had been intoxicated as she tore his throat out, enjoying every heightened sensation, the soft caress of blood falling unbidden onto her own skin and clothes, the whisper of the girls breath against her ear as she cajoled her further, her accent slipping huskily into her native Bretonian.

Walls and ceiling were decorated with blood by the time they had left, sinuously exiting through the once barred window; its metal bars nothing to her maker’s unnatural strength, bent carelessly wide. They had danced across the rooftops, laughing and giggling as if it was a glorious game, blood soaking their pale nightgowns and flesh alike. She reflected that it would be interesting to know exactly how many people had seen them that night, ghostly phantoms briefly haunting their nightmares or………their dreams.

As she thought of the woman who had reshaped her life, she speculated on where she was now……what she was doing……if she had fled Altdorf as Sabina had had to do – or if she still lingered, still flirting with the danger.

As she refocused on the present and looked upon the frightened girl, wondering what this pretty child of the north would do if she was offered the same opportunity that she had been……. Would she run or embrace a new more exciting future?

Petra was in turn watching her now, emboldened by the silence, but the smile Sabina now gave the young woman that sat opposite her was not in any way reassuring……. when they were both startled by the now familiar sound of the alarm horn calling loudly and clear through the cold air.

Xx

“Well at least it’s still standing”, the dwarf engineer growled around his well stuffed pipe, slamming the periscope back into place with a firm hand. He could see that the walls and the gate to Untergrad was battered but intact, yet he had also noted the corpses and skeletons, broken bodies and weapons and other detritus of war scattered across the fields as they approached. As they had approached there had been movement on the walls, yet the gates were firmly closed and still remained so.

“Let’s see who, or indeed what is at home.”

Bardin pushed a large button on the wood and metal panel and leaned forward to place his mouth near the now revealed speaking trumpet, after removing his pipe and carefully putting into the provided holder. He coughed loudly to clear his throat.

“Ahhem, right then, you lads in the town, lets have them gates open then – we have a bridge to fix and no time to spend idling out here.”

He shut off the speaking horn, reinserted the pipe and ran a possessive hand over his favourite hammer, hanging safely in its metal clasps. Behind him, his household were armed and ready, half of them ready at the doors, the others poised to take up defensive positions around the vehicle, a few of them had even stowed their pipes safely.

The two devotees of Sigmar were stood behind them, mouthing catechisms to their God; the younger paused in his devotions to kiss the metal head of his hammer. The engineer knew that his dwarves in the trailing vehicle would be equally ready to repulse any assault if the town was indeed lost and now a haven for the enemy.

A voice replied from the walls, but with the noise inside the vehicle it was difficult to make out the words, Bardin grunted in irritation and spoke again.

“Speak up there!”

Not waiting for the response he called over to his senior apprentice, “Skalli, take some lads out there and see if you can here what the human is saying. Careful now, take your shields!”

A clattering of armour informed him that his orders were being carried out, followed shortly by the familiar sound of the heavy door being cranked open. The three dwarves moved quickly out of the door, two holding large and curved heavy metallic shields, embossed with the symbol that showed their allegiance to Baradin’s household – a black anvil set against a gold sunburst. Cautiously they moved out from the shadow of the metal beast and looked up at the walls where the human was addressing them, watchful for any sign of an enemy.

Xx

Captain Hirschfeld looked down at the huge smoke belching metal machine that sat before the gates; unlike many nobles he was not against new technology, as long as it remained in the hands of those who truly deserved it.

He was for instance, very fond of the long hunting rifle his mother had gifted him with when he came of age, its metal work engraved with the family coat of arms and motto – “Blut and Eisen” – the latter as much a reminder of his duty as anything else.

“I doubt that they can hear you Sir,” his sergeant quietly suggested, his eyes on the road beyond, looking for the rest of the army with anxious eyes.

His officer nodded and noted that a trio of study armoured and shielded figures were emerging, weapons held ready, their helmeted heads directed pointedly in his direction. That they were dwarves was clear, any doubts he might have had were erased as two more figures emerged into view. Both were obviously devotees of Sigmar and he was quick to express his feelings on their arrival.

“A welcome sight indeed.”

“…but where are the rest of them?”

“No matter, I am sure we shall soon stand relieved and we can get back into the war…”

Chapter Twenty – Growing Pains

Friedrich was still not used to the rigours of life on campaign, whilst he often arose early of a morning to hunt; awaking early every day had become an unpleasant reality for him. His weapons, clothes and armour were hung near the fire, carefully prepared for him by Gunter who now stood ready to assist him in dressing for the day. Groaning he rolled out of the camp bed that dominated the pavilion, cursing as the cool air hit his naked flesh full force, despite the small brazier burning away nearby.

He made an attempt at washing, but it was too cold for anything more than some splashed scented water and once he had been carefully shaved, he quickly dressed before slurping down some warming broth. Gunter buckled his sword belt on for him and Friedrich smiled as he felt the weight of the blade in its scabbard, running a hand over the gilded overly ornate hilt, still pleased with his decision to embellish it. It now matched his finely crested helm and he knew its dwarven steel would be polished to a bright edge – everything about this was forged to inspire his men.

As he exited his pavilion he was immediately struck by the familiar sights, sounds and above all else, smells of a marching camp. The majority of his regiment was in the final stages of dismantling the battered canvas they had slept in, ready for the march to relieve this northern town, which he was assured, was only a short distance away.

The soldiers had been ordered to travel light and he was pleased to note the lack of the untidy groups of camp followers and their shabby if brightly painted wagons. Most of his men were spearmen, lightly or more often completely un-armoured save for a metal helm, as it was early in the campaign, their clothing still had discernable colours – the red and blue of Reikland and Altdorf. A small group of hand gunners stood separate from the rest of the men, being quickly gathered into formation by their formidably moustached sergeant.

Waiting for him were his officers, mostly fellow noblemen with whom he had spent many a happy hour carousing in the great capital city of the Empire. He also noted with irritation that Magister Fassbinder was impudently seated on his own fine black stallion, his striking crimson robes and bald head as ever a challenge to his own finery.

“Dieter,” he addressed the officer of the watch, a darkly handsome man who had recently expressed a vague interest in courting his younger sister, who it must be acknowledged had inherited their mother’s looks as well as her temper.

He sincerely doubted that Dieter was aware of the latter and saw no reason to enlighten him about her truly impressive screaming fits that were frequently aimed at the servants and indeed anyone else in earshot in their home. It would be a relief to see her safely married and occupied with the more important business of bearing children for her husband.

“My Lord”, the man smiled politely at Friedrich, raising an inquiring eyebrow. He had promised Inge he would at least try to be polite to his insufferable potential brother in law, well at least until they were safely married.

“Where exactly is …………….Rudi?” He could not see the small element of horsemen that were usually making a nuisance of themselves.

“Gone…. er Scouting……. I believe he said, although………….er, well, he did take his hunting spears…..”

“He should be punished, Lord Walmitz, this is not a time for such indulgences.” The strident tones of Volkard cut through the morning air as he trudged through the mud to approach the group. The priest swept his angry gaze across the gathered officers, his gauntleted fist clenched around the hilt of his great hammer.

“Perhaps, Volkard, I shall decide that on his return.” Friedrich ignored the answering scowl even as a shout came from the sentries.

“Riders approaching!”

“Ahh, there he is now………Gentleman! Kindly form up your commands, I would be on the road as soon as possible.”

Friedrich, Lord Walmitz turned to the gate, drawing himself up to his full height, and took a moment to project his most impressive scowl onto his face. Meanwhile his officers began to stroll to their detachments with knowing smiles, as the warrior mage and the priest merely watched and waited.

Xx

Sura would have smiled if she still had that capability, but contented herself instead with the warm feeling of triumph and anticipation spreading through her body as they sped towards the camp of the imperial soldiers. Her body was liberally cloaked in the blood and entrails of the scouts the soldiers had sent out, still suffusing her with the pleasing warmth that she had enjoyed when her followers had flayed them alive.

Her magic embraced the others that rode alongside her, infused them through the gore that cloaked them, gave them the illusion of those they had slaughtered with fierce smiles. They wore those smiles still, anticipating the carnage to come, their spears, blades, axes and serrated butchers knifes held ready. Casting such a spell was difficult and dangerous but the winds of magic were blowing strongly through the world and linking herself to her hunters had other advantages, enabling her to speak directly to their minds at her whim.

The greater element of her pack swarmed silently through the forest on either side, a little behind their mistress, equally filled with blood thirsty anticipation. They were skilled at this work, beasts at home in the dark undergrowth, pouring from ambush was something that pulsed in their very bones and blood.

She did not acknowledge the two sentries but swept on through towards the man in charge of this doomed company of men that mostly stood waiting for the scythe to sweep them away. Without a sound, the last two members of her chosen pack languidly decapitated the luckless men as they charged past, the heads dropping un-regarded into the mud.

As they approached the commander, she allowed her illusion to flicker and falter, but not completely fail, for confusion was such an amusing weapon against her enemies, her prey…….

Xx

Friedrich stared in confusion at the apparition charging toward him, one moment it was Rudi, his long hair loose as he rode toward him. Then he saw something else and he stepped back in shock as face became a monstrous visage and the hair a mass of writhing tentacles now reaching out towards him. Behind the not-Rudi was another monstrous beast, no a pack of beasts, surging towards him, all of them draped and daubed in strands of blood and viscera.

He could hear the cries of alarm from behind him, the deep bellowing of the priest as he called upon Sigmar to protect them all, the painful chanting of the magister as he also responded to the threat in his own way. Beyond that he could hear now the roaring of beasts, bestial howls and horns echoing forth from the woods. Even as he drew his sword, he knew his death was upon him.

Volkard had no such thoughts in his head and bellowing his Gods name he launched himself at the shimmering apparition in front of him. The twin tailed comet inscribed on the head of the weapon gleamed as it arched through the air, his righteous spittle only a moment behind the hammer.

Sura spun her large body to absorb the blow, lashing out with two taloned legs; one of which ripped across the Priests throat and tore it open, whilst the other smashed into Friedreich’s hand, shattering his wrist and dislodging his sword. Not yet registering the pain from the wound, he watched his weapon slowly fall useless to the ground.

The hammer of Sigmar had stuck home with righteous fury, but at the moment Sura had glanced at her nearest warrior and it was his torso that was crushed by the impact, almost breaking him in half. His horse reared up in irritation and then sensing his weakness tried to reach the rider with its elongated fangs.

As she turned back towards the dying Priest, savouring his death, she saw the fire mage had finally completed his spell and unleashed a torrent of fire at both her and her riders. She laughed in delight as the flames cascaded across them, enjoying its bright caress for her God had blessed them with immunity to fire long ago. Whilst she could have extinguished the blaze she allowed it to continue, enjoying the heated touch.

“Take his soul, rend his body and begin the reaping.” Her words formed instantly in the minds of her chosen guard; resonating easily through the blood bond.

She noticed that the human commander was still standing, staring at her in shock and horror.

“Do not kill this one………yet.” She added swiftly.

Her warriors and their now screaming horses, themselves slavering with hunger, danced round the two of them with aplomb, save for the one who was being dragged from his saddle by his hungry and vengeful mount. The entangled pair staggered off to one side, golden blood lashing at the mud around them as the horse finally got to grips with the dying man.

Amused, she tore her gaze from the spectacle back to the hapless little lord, she had wanted him spared at least until he had seen all of his command torn asunder – he might even make an amusing toy for her master.

Meanwhile the foolish mage had conjured a blade of fire and was riding to meet her still burning warriors, evidently not the cleverest enemy she had faced she considered. No matter, his soul was equally welcomed as a gift to her god, the cleverest sage or the most foolish child, each had something unique to devour or extract.

The rest of the camp was a scene of delicious disorder, a few groups of men were forming up to meet the beasts now rushing through the gate, others were still milling round in confusion and some were already running up the road, weapons flung aside in their haste.

“I think not,” she murmured as she noticed a group of men forming a ragged line to face the onrushing beasts, crude handguns raised in steady hands.

She gathered the flames that still danced upon her carapace and flesh and flung them at the men, guiding carefully the stream of fire so that it danced across their gun powder bags. She relished the ensuing detonations and screams and looked over at the now swaying lord, wondering with a little curiosity if he would try to run yet.

Xx

The beasts and malformed mutants streamed through the gates on long powerful legs, quickly and easily closing the distance between them and their quarry. However the last pair, smaller leaner beasts who were approaching the gate paused for a moment at the threshold. Even as the clamour of battle grew in stature, they sensed something approaching that unsettled them, despite their growing bloodlust.

Snouts raised and eyes wide, they looked back at the surrounding trees, the darkness growing deeper beneath the boughs and strange scents drifting on the breeze. For their trouble they both received arrows into their eye sockets and throats and dropped heavily to the ground, twitching out their last blood flecked breaths in silent agony. The foremost members of their pack had already reached the men and blood was flowing freely on both sides, none noticed the death of the two runts.

Sura’s head snapped round, tentacles flailing as she felt the winds of magic drop and fail, almost entirely cutting off her supply of magical power. She shifted her vision as she sought the reasons and quickly the fear began to rise within her as she saw a scintillating wall of energy swirling round the former encampment, now little more than a slaughterhouse.

She carefully reached out to the growing vortex of magic energy that was surrounding them, seeking to draw the power to her, bring it back under her control. The resulting ethereal blow was so powerful that her physical form staggered heavily to one side, her talons grappling for purchase in the churned mud whilst her amulets and fetishes of power blazed furiously as they kept her alive.

Several of her bodyguards were distracted by her pain and one was quickly cut down by his opponent, unleashing his mount which was already tearing into the throat of its opposite number, a thoroughbred black stallion.

Atop the dying horse, Magister Fassbinder was already sorely pressed by the chaos warriors, his own defences failing as his mounts throat was torn out. Then the flow of magic ceased and he gasped as if for air as his powers and spells failed for the last time, blades plunging deep into his body before he painfully coughed out his last moments.

Then without warning, the light of day itself began to fail and fade as at first unseen the magical energies lashed upwards and over the killing ground. Then with a crash of thunder, multi-coloured lighting danced across the increasing sable dome that was forming above the embattled figures below.

Xx

Malitha hovered alongside the massive form of Kluthras, the only way she was able to match its formidable strides as it moved towards the mass of squabbling creatures. As a powerful embodiment of the greater spirit of the forest, it was seldom awoken to wrath and allowed to flex its muscles, she had laughed as the dabbler within the dome had tried to regain control of the winds of magic before the entity had slapped her down.

Around the two of them were their handmaidens, lopping easily alongside, silent and flexing their long claws as they drew closer to the victims. Further out on the flanks and behind were the few elves that had accompanied her, sensibly unwilling to linger too close to the dryads lest they too became torn and bloody food. In addition, unlike the tree-spirits who had no eyes, they could perceive very little in the realm of total darkness that the dome was rapidly becoming.

For her part, the elf witch was relying on her link with Kluthas to comprehend the battlefield. She could feel the slight vibrations of the earth, the subtle changes in the air which formed a distinct map of the enemy; she could even already taste their soon to be mulched flesh.

The first dryads reached the rearmost beastmen and the slaughter began, for so intent on their own prey were the creatures that they had mostly paid little attention to the rising darkness, trusting to their own senses to seek out their prey. Whilst the distinctive scent of man-flesh was strong and alluring, the tree spirits were almost invisible and the faintest hint of elf flesh in the distance was nothing more than a fleeting distraction.

For most of the beasts ripping talons and tearing teeth were the first indication of a threat, bodies being flung aside and torn asunder. Blood arched through the air, coating man and beast alike and soon the hungry growls turned to uncomprehending whimpers of fear and confusion. Burning bodies still gave a little light here and there, but they revealed little more than glimpses of large but lithe creatures increasingly coated in blood, moving swiftly and decisively to rend the flesh of all that stood before them. Before they were scythed down, some caught a glimpse of an immense figure moving towards the centre of the darkness; a few were even unlucky enough to be crushed by its feet.

Neither Kluthas or his handmaidens discriminated between man and bestial imitation, all were slaughtered, whether they stood their ground, fled or begged for their lives. Now fully awake and invigorated by the forest and the blood of their victims, the dryads were as swift as they were deadly.

A chaos champion fought back, smashing one dryad off its feet with a glittering icy mace as he roared with anger, pounding it into the ground and shattering its form with powerful precise blows that sent shards of frozen wood flying. He grunted in satisfaction, spitting blood and phlegm on the remnants.

Yet even as he turned away to seek a new challenge, delicate crystals of ice coating the ground around him, Kluthas paused for a moment as he and the elf witch channelled the energies of Ghyran, the wind of life. The fallen dryad arose anew and with her sisters quickly avenged herself on the chaos warrior, every crushing blow he landed in return being healed instantly, until his body in turn coated the ground with his rent flesh and the vengeful furies moved on.

The souls began to stream forth from the dead, but few got far as most were drawn into Kluthas, feeding his power further. Yet some evaded his grasp, devout followers of one god or another, their souls were drawn elsewhere.

Desperately Sura rallied her cavalry around her, lashing out at the advancing enemy with bolts of lightning and cascades of fire, fear building as they were deflected or absorbed with little apparent effort, her light show giving glimpses of the incessant butchery taking place all around her.

“Sura! Stay where you are!” The force of Damar’s command in her mind was irresistible, even as her warband was flayed and torn apart before her, the walking force of nature now heading directly for her and her bodyguards.

“I want to see more of this; it’s truly something to see is it not. Worth dying for I should say?”

She tried to scream in response, but he had shut off her capacity to speak both inside her mind and directly to her warriors. He spoke in her name and aspect, ordering her guards forward to engage the creatures.

With a defiant blast of their golden horn her warriors charged, lances and blades outstretched, some were screaming hatred, some in the sheer joy of battle and yet others laughing in delight at the irony of their situation. Armour and faces were lit up by energy cascading around their weapons, or the fires that still found purchase on their bodies, encouraged and welcomed to linger.

They had not travelled half the distance when the ground erupted beneath them and a writhing mass of roots and thorns ripped into the mostly soft underbellies of the mutated steeds they rode. Several were simply torn apart, others lost momentum and staggered shedding blood and vital organs as they did so, only two brushed them aside, the wooden weapons shattering on the iron hard flesh and glittering armour.

Nicolai had killed many creatures in the service of Sura, humans and orcs, beasts and elves, skaven and dwarves – all had fallen beneath his curved blade. Its surface was the colour of the sunrise and its edge never dulled so it was no surprise to him when it cut straight through the first tree spirit that confronted him. He reversed the cut and sliced off the hand of another that raked its claws at him, ducking a third as he began to enjoy himself.

He never saw the great foot that descended like thunder on him and his banner bearer, smashing them deep into the ground and pulping their bodies inside their still inviolate armour. The dryads he had cut down were already fully regenerated and on the move to shred the rest of his warriors.

“Simply astounding, truly magnificent, I can’t….. wait to take the…….. power myself.” The voice in her head flickered and faded as the greater entity approached, Sura could now move but it was obviously far too late.

She began to babble and scream for her God.

As she had so often witnessed and indeed proclaimed to her followers, it was a rare thing that a God took notice of a mortal and her cries went unanswered even as her powerful body was ripped apart and ground into the earth. Unlike many of her victims over the years, her death did not take long.

Xx

The last mortal alive within the dome was a human, the elves had fled its boundaries and Malitha was now ……something else, part of a greater entity.

Lord Walmitz stood alone, watching the monstrous tree creatures that surrounded him, unsure why he was alive. Strange half light cloaked them and him as they swayed and parted to reveal an equally blood drenched elf woman, in another life he might have admired her naked form, the ichor glistening on her skin that may soon be joined by his own. She stalked towards him and there was nothing in her eyes but the promise of death and he was shocked that he was still standing.

“Youuuuuu arrrrre a gift tooo ussss Hummmman.” The elf and her handmaidens spoke as one.

Friedrich tried to for words, but nothing came; he thought of his family and wondered how they would remember him. He did not notice that he long since soiled himself.

“Rejoooiceeee worthlessss creature forrr youuu are chosen.”

He was still upright when she tore his heart out and held it up to the fading darkness above her, chanting harsh words that spat at him with their hatred. She squeezed the pulsing organ and tore into it with her sharp white teeth and then flung it down at his feet as she resumed the chant.

Slowly he dropped to his knees, bleeding from the gaping wound in his chest that tore at him with its brutal, insistent pain, but still somehow alive, still conscious. He heard the voice change to something very different, something that made him cry with its beauty even as the pain left him.

He could see now that the many corpses that littered the area were jerking and moving, not with their own life or un-life, but that of the trees and other plants rapidly sprouting. All around him the dead were transformed as plants reached fro the skies above, curling and twisting around each other.

Trees of varied hue and species grew quickly, great oaks as rapidly as grass and very soon there was little to show that there had ever been a battleground, or a road in this place. But even as he felt himself dissipating and being torn apart by the oak that was growing through him, he could see the skeletons and other husks of the dead hanging in the branches, a marker to any others that might invade the forest.

Xx

Although he had not witnessed Sura’s final moments, Lord Damar could not see clearly through his scrying orb the transformation that had taken place. He watched the new life surge forth and felt pleasure equally rush through his soul.

Truly it was a sign from his god, Tzeentch loved change and new life………

been distracted by another story but in case anyone stil reading

Chapter Twenty One – Killing Time

“Do you actually know where we are going?”

This was not the first time the vampire had asked and it was unlikely that the now familiar glare from the woman would dissuade him from asking again in due course.

“We are going to where we need to be…….that is all you need to know if you want my assistance in the future …..and I know you will need it.” Her voice still sounded burnt from her rebirth and scratched at the ears of the listeners.

Hans and Viktor exchanged looks, the human glancing meaningfully at the vampire’s hand which was at the hilt of his sword. He shook his head as he looked at the strange woman, her mud splattered and mostly naked form an unusual sight, even in these woods.

The growing madness of his situation had not escaped the elf captain, travelling through the forest with a servant of the dark powers, a vampire from perhaps the most infamous “family” of those creatures and of course a single unhappy human.

He had heard philosophers in his homeland and beyond discuss whether or not the world was a dream of the gods or even the ongoing nightmare of a single mortal. Most of those had been lovers of his mother and few of them had endeared themselves to her son, quite the opposite.

Lucarius cleared his throat, “My sister can recite various stock and meaningless prophecies and phrases…..I understand its part of her training at Hoeth. It has always struck me as being immensely annoying.”

The woman actually stopped walking this time and turned to face the elf who met her glare with an equally impressive and practised mask of disdain – his mother had not taught him much but she knew how to show her displeasure and disinterest when she wanted to be rid of a lover. He was growing tired of all the verbal trickery and less inclined to humour the witch, no matter her power.

“I could leave you all here if that is your wish?”

“Can you though?” Hans growled, “I am not sure you can.”

Everyone looked at the human, who scowled and spat, enveloping an unfortunate beetle in phlegm. He stared at it for a long minute until it finally struggled free and buried itself safely in the rotting leaf litter.

“Unexpected”, she thought as she considered her next words, “perhaps we should have taken more notice of the human.”

“I mean you are powerful, we have seen what you can do; you could likely kill us all. Why help us at all?”

“Perhaps it amuses her?” The vampire mused, but Hans shook his head.

“No, that’s not it is it Witch?” He hefted his hammer as he spoke, its formidable weight apparently reassuring him.

“No, I would rather that you retrieve your friend and destroy Damar.”

“Killing creatures of Chaos always sits well with me.” Viktor smiled, his fangs glinted in the light, “as for the elf, well he’s nothing to me.”

He glanced at the elf captain, “He’s your kin and your concern correct?”

The elf looked dubious at this, “well his people are ………different from mine, but I guess you could say….”

“I count him as a friend.” Hans cut across him.

“Good. Then perhaps we could move on?”

“I want to know why you want Damar destroyed?” Lucarius stepped close to the witch, who met his eyes with her own dark orbs.

“Because he is tiresome and I have no wish to spend eternity with such a dull mind.”

“Is that the Truth?” He could be no closer without actually touching.

“It is…… a truth.”

The vampire alone laughed, “I am afraid that this is just like being back at court. Some advice my friend, do not ask for too much from such………creatures, truth is such a difficult concept for them to grasp.”

The witch brushed past the elf and stepped up close to Viktor, who raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“Weak, terrified little entities that so fear death that they desperately hide amongst and cling to mortals - that is what you appear as to us.”

“Dear lady, why should I care what you think, you and your kind are but the ghosts of dreams and nightmares, given form by the weak willed; your ephemeral visits to our realm are both fleeting and without any true importance.”

Her smile was now as predatory as his, “We feed on what’s left when mortal shells are finally exhausted, if they are fortunate they escape us, otherwise their agony is exquisite and can last an eternity. Yet when you and your kind die there is nothing, you are merely the slowly fading memories of what you once were, inhabiting your animated corpses until you finally give up the charade of life.”

She stepped back and away so she could address them all.

“Listen carefully then you foolish creatures, for I will tell you an important Truth.” Her expression was now feral, her skin writhing as anger pulsed through the entity that wore the mortal flesh.

“I seek to forestall and delay our final victory………. because Truthfully we enjoy playing the game more than winning.”

She looked around at the three men, her anger slowly fading and without a further word stalked off into the trees.

“Well my friends, that was fun,” the vampire smiled, shrugged and prowled after her.

Hans made to follow, but the elf held him back, ignoring the surprised scowl.

“Can we trust him any more than we can trust her?”

The former forester considered his response, “Well Lady Sabina considers him an ally, the same as she does you, that doesn’t mean I trust him mind you……” his blue eyes did not flinch as he matched his gaze with the elf and left the rest unspoken.

He looked after the dark haired figure, “and I bet his hearing is even better than yours.”

Viktor briefly raised a hand in recognition or agreement but did not pause.

“The world is now just death and darkness, perhaps it matters what we do, how we die, perhaps it doesn’t, I don’t know but I figure I will find out soon enough. I’d like to help Hasir if I can, maybe even get back to aid my Lady, but if I don’t, well that’s fine too. I have done my best, lost my best……” his voice broke a little and he turned away.

“Let’s press on Captain; I am sure some kind of destiny awaits one of us.”

Xx

The arrival of the great machine had created quite a stir, the townsfolk and mercenaries alike had been confronted by monsters and Daemons, witnessed heroism and cowardice, seen magical manifestations both glorious and terrible, but this was something very new.

It clanked and hissed its way through the battered streets, having barely managed to scrape its way through the gateway arch without damaging the war stained stone. Smoke billowed from its great funnel and its belly grumbled and roared as it moved. The children stood together with their guardian watching its bulk as it passed, all of them entranced by the noise and smell of the thing.

Inside the vehicle, Bardin Kilifisson allowed himself a smile as he glimpsed the open mouths of the children nearby and tugged lightly on a nearby cord. A piercing whistle sounded out across the town, startling many and bringing uncertain smiles to the children. He nodded and grinned, remembering his first view of a steam engine and the emotions that had arose in his breast at that moment – even manlings were not immune to its charm.

Slowly he brought his creation to a stop, seeing the shattered construction he had come to rebuild; its scared surface fenced off by crude barricades. With an indulgent second whistle the machine settled in place, shuddering and hissing as it did so.

Once it had come safely to a halt, he quickly emerged to view the work ahead; he nodded to the gathering crowd, tugging his well equipped tool belt thoughtfully. Guards still stood watchful on and around it, assessing the various humans gathering about who were chattering and gesticulating at the massive contraption that now dominated the weary ruins of their town.

Leaving the vehicle, the engineer was accompanied by an apprentice, matching frowns etched on their faces as they approached the bridge, noting the brutal truncation of the structure. They clambered through the barriers without pausing, scarcely noticing them and strode to the jagged, smoke blackened edge that hung over the dark slovenly water below.

Bardin ran a hand over the old stone, feeling the pain of its wounds, shaking his head at the torment inflicted on a once proud construction. He looked over at his apprentice who nodded solemnly.

“Terrible to see a good solid build left in such a state.” Both of them had noted, to them, the unmistakable elements of dwarvish craftsmanship in the construction of the old bridge.

“This one is going to take a fair bit of work.” The younger dwarf commented.

The engineer took a deep breath, “Aye, but we’ll bring the lady back to life, lad - no doubt about that, we’ll give her another few centuries.”

He let his heavy hand trace a short series of almost forgotten runes that still proclaimed the original builder, silently mouthing the name in respect.

“Right then, lets get to work.”

As he turned he became aware of a tall human approaching, an officer in the army by his armour and clothing, perhaps a cavalryman. Still considering the work to come, he realised that he was being addressed and glanced at the human.

“Did you want something?” He hoped not, manlings tended to panic about the smallest matters, and they seemed to enjoy talking for the sake of it.

“I said; where exactly is your escort, the rest of the army?” The voice was clipped and cool, the mark of a nobleman - he recognised it and ignored it – he knew his own value, always had.

“Ah right, I should think back on the road where we left them, likely still eating breakfast I shouldn’t wonder. Lazy sods the lot of them; need a good hard kick up the backside.”

Captain von Hirschfeld had dealt with dwarves before so he had been ready for the engineer’s form of response. He vaguely remembered seeing this particular fellow before, in the camps of the oncoming army – he had had no cause to speak to him then, and the dwarves seldom bothered approaching or conversing with men without good reason.

“I am disappointed that they are not with you, Master…..?”

“Bardin, Master Engineer Bardin, Captain. My interest is in this bridge, as I have been commissioned, not the direction or discipline of the various manlings that serve our Emperor.”

He looked about him, “although I see that this town sorely needs more soldiers….”

Xx

Sabina had watched the giant contraption clatter through the streets, noisy and startling in its sheer unyielding ‘metallic bulk. She had seen many strange and wonderful things, magic’s great and terrible, the strange swamp lands and stranger inhabitants of fabled Lustria and even helped kill a dragon, been enveloped and invigorated in it’s oh so glorious blood.

She had not been surprised when the dwarves emerged, but the two men who emerged on their heels were unexpected and unwelcome. Powerfully built and bearing the symbols of their god on their head and in their hands, heavy warhammers, they had swept their gaze across the people gathered about them. She had noticed too the thick silver collars at their throats, and wondered if they were looking for her or at least creatures like her.

So when the cool blue eyes of the larger man met hers across the crowd, she felt a thrill of fear course through her slim body. He evidently also felt something for his eyes narrowed briefly and remained fixed on hers, a frown forming. She forced herself to maintain the contact and finally his expression relaxed and his eyes moved on – assessing the survivors that lingered in this damaged town.

For his part, Lothar was gladdened to see the men and women of Untergrad, too often that army had found only defiled corpses and burnt out settlements on the long hard march from Atldrof. They had taken what vengeance they could on the forces of Chaos but it was good to finally see some survivors!

Realising that the dwarves were now likely to fully engrossed in their Emperor given task, he drew breath, squared his shoulders and unleashed his voice, the powerful tones long practised in both warfare and worship.

“People of Untergrad,” He paused to allow them to focus on him, most of them having fallen silent at the booming address.

“It is good to see that such stout hearts persist in the north, truly the blessing of Ulric must be upon you to stand so firm against the enemies that have risen against us.”

He paused for effect, he had considered his words long and hard on the journey and unlike many of his brethren he realised that he must acknowledge the ancient god of his own patron deity as much as the Heldenhammer himself - Sigmar.

The townsfolk had mostly grown silent as he spoke, but their expressions were predominately neutral, most of the mercenaries had remained watchful on the wall, several having fought alongside dwarven war machines before. Lothar stood near his employer, watching the priests with suspicious eyes, his hand on his sword hilt, his teeth hard on his pipe.

“This is as it should be, the men and women of the Empire standing firm, together, united against the followers of the dark gods. So it was in the time of Sigmar and so it is now. The Heldenhammer came to Middenheim in its hour of need, with hammer and firebrand and so now does our Emperor ride against his enemies.”

His voice grew stronger now, “Not only does the Emperor himself ride to your aid, but Sigmar has come again in the form of a man!” His pause was only momentary.

“Valten is the Heldenhammer reborn, he has been affirmed as such by all and now he bears great hammer of Sigmar, Ghal Maraz, given unto him by the Emperor.”

“Not only does the weapon of the god fit truly and well in his hand but the dwarves, our ancient allies recognise and proclaim him as such, granting him the armour that the saviour of their High King was promised long ago.”

His hand gestured behind him to the great machine, steam still hissing and rising from its funnels.

“Our old alliance holds true, even the elves of Ulthuan stand behind him, with him seeing in him a god arisen in wrath against our foes.”

“It was always Sigmar’s way to stand in the front line against his enemies – I come to do the same, and thousands, tens of thousands come with me. The enemy may not know it yet but the battle, the war is already won.”

There was no resounding cheer as he finished but he saw many nods and even a few smiles – it was at least a start. Even the strange armed and armoured woman he had matched his gaze against had managed a half smile although now she looked away when she noticed his interest.

“We can’t stay here, My lady.” Lothar spoke quietly, his mouth near Sabina’s ear.

“I know,” her voice was equally quiet but also full of sadness.

Xx

Sergeant Raamstedt glanced over at the other man on his section of the wall; he was like him, no longer young. He was sure that that he too felt aches and pains at night where once he would have slept soundly and easily, both men’s hair was also thinning and greying.

“Why do you serve such a creature?” He was genuinely intrigued, “it can’t just be the money?”

In turn, Julius turned his attention from the distant tree line to the Pistolier – on the orders of his mistress, he had had joined the man and his captain on the wall as the dwarf machine had approached. Until now, both men had studiously ignored him.

“She pays well, that can’t be underestimated as well you know Sergeant.” He paused as unsure, then persevered, “She has done everything she said she would, kept every promise she has made, she has bled alongside us and saved our lives – what more could I ask in a captain.”
The Pistolier considered this, a deep frown furrowing his brow but he shook it off.

“You realise that she will burn?”

“You gonna make that happen are you?” Julius snorted in derision, “Just like you hanged Albrecht?”

The sergeant coloured, “when the army gets here, things will be different – you should consider that, think about your future perhaps?”

“What concern of yours is my future?” Julius had turned back to his observation of the woods.

“Those who consort with witches and Daemons often face the same fate as their damned patrons.”

“Lady Sabina is neither a witch nor a Daemon.” His voice was now cold and controlled, but perhaps a little too practised, “if that is indeed who you speak of and I should warn you…….sergeant, men have died for making such accusations about noblewomen in the past without evidence.”

“Do you really think that she will survive the scrutiny of the priests of Sigmar we saw arriving?”

“It matters not.” The mercenary now sounded very tired.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think we are going to survive them.”

The alarm was beginning to sound as Raamstedt turned to face where the man was looking and felt the fear sweep through him.

Emerging from the woods was a horde of beastmen, armoured warriors and creatures of the damned. They were silent and unhurried, seemingly uncaring that their approach was being noted and the defenders called to their posts.

The final siege of Untergrad had begun.

Chapter Twenty Two - Last Words

“Duck!”

The command was firm and unhurried, but by now the elf reacted immediately to the distinctive voice.

A glittering whip of energy lashed through the air where his head had been, screaming its joy at being unleashed. This was quickly transformed to a truncated screech of agony as the gore splattered runesword sliced through the undulating tendril of power.

Lucarius rose equally swiftly, not breaking his stride as he used his momentum and a supple twist of his hip to power his blade through yet another roaring bestial creature, its spittle foul and stinking as it fell back into the mud. He and the vampire warrior fluidly exchanged places and enemies, the now badly notched sword of the latter acting as a cleaver as he hacked the whip wielder in half, her malformed body already beginning to dissolve.

Running on the tormented air, a pair of capering Daemons flashed across his vision, as they leapt at the human wielding the large hammer. To his surprise, the chaos creature was suddenly just there, her naked form illuminated in flame as she caressed the two Daemons in turn. At her soft but unkind touch, the mad laughter that issued from their huge and malformed mouths abruptly ceased as they vanished from existence, and the flames around the woman grew brighter and fiercer. Her smile was in turn very wide as she unleashed some of her new fire against a pair of crimson centaurs, their screams joining the increasing clamour.

The more monsters and creatures of Chaos that Hans slew, the lighter the hammer felt, as if the destruction that he was causing was cleansing the ancient weapon of its shame in the long years since its wielder had failed it or vice versa. He took a heavy axe blow on the haft, but felt nothing as the unmarked metal absorbed the impact without transferring it; he swiftly twisted the dwarven hammer and rammed its head into the creature's face, crushing bone and flesh with ease.

Hans closely followed the creature as it reeled back, a second overhand crushing blow into the top of the skull dropping it heavily to its knees. He rammed his own knee into the ruin of its face, before a final heavy impact with his hammer finished the beast. Brutally sliced in twain, burnt or deftly cut down by their elusive enemy, the other beasts were falling as well.

Then it was once again over, the mutants, beastmen and monsters lay dead or dying, dissolving or fading in the dappled shadows of the forest trees. Quiet descended again, save for the heavy breathing of the two living members of the small group.

“How many more?”

The vampire’s voice was a little hoarse as he removed a spear head from his side, the increasingly threadbare armour, like his sword, a source of no little concern.

“Enough, are you strong enough to continue?”

The woman’s voice was deep and harsh, the fire still burning about her and in her mouth.

Out of habit, Lucarius had stolen a moment to clean his blade of the foul remnants of the dead, “Can you not conceal us?”

She threw her head back and laughed; wild and long, her hair still burning as it moved.

“I am, my gallant captain, I am. Our prey cannot currently see us, does not know what enemy approaches, there are many threats for those who would rise in the service of our Lord. Hence he sends his minions blindly forth to destroy us, but more importantly to see what or who we are. That, I of course prevent”

“I imagine that is quite frustrating?” The vampire looked happier at the thought.

“Oh yes, Very.” Her good humour remained evident.

“That is true….” The voice was soft and sweet in tone, but carried equally to all.

An angel descended to the dark, brutally mauled earth, his great white feathered wings unfurled and moving but silent, an inner light gleaming from them. He had no visible weapon, his pale lean body was lightly garbed in silk of nearly the same hue and he was barefoot, the mud and blood of the battlefield quickly staining his feet.

His face was blank, not without emotion but without the natural features and organs, a perfect oval carved from ivory, flawless flesh. Upon this canvass, an artist had tattooed crimson sigils in place of eyes, nose and mouth. Long blonde hair fell down to the slender shoulders, whilst a single long braid trailing down the left side of his face displaying a series of delicate teardrop runes.

“Alizahl, your timing is impeccable.” At a glance, the woman looked unsurprised and at ease, but several of her companions noted that her body was tense, muscles coiled.

The face turned towards the speaker and inclined slightly.

“Our Lord is most displeased……….” The beautiful voice came from nowhere and all around.

“Good.” She nodded as if this was as expected.

“………..But our Master is amused.” This time she smiled as he continued.

“For my part, I was as intrigued as he was irritated; I decided I would see what creature seeks to thwart his ascension.”

“Even better, you have chosen a side then?”

The tattooed head shifted left and right, apparently noting that the elf and vampire had moved to flank it, whilst behind the woman, Hans waited, eyes flickering around the area and his hands tight on the hammer’s haft.

“You know well my actions are not my choice, but the decision is still made.”

Viktor sighed and raised his eyes to the sky, “Oh great, another cryptic soothsayer.” He did not sheath his sword.

“I can speak more clearly, Vampire. There are two other champions you must defeat if you would challenge Lord Damar directly and it would seem that this is your intent?”

“Are we going to fight?” Hans voiced the pressing question.

“Not at this time no.” Soft and sweet the voice remained.

“Unless we want to….” The elf stepped closer, blade held ready in his hand.

For once the woman said nothing, merely stepped aside despite the concern that flickered across her face.

“Unless you want to……….” the angel waited, apparently impassive and unarmed. “Do you want to?”

“Another time……” the elf scowled, turned away and sheathed his sword.

“Not for us.” The angel leapt into the air, but his voice remained with them.

“Your sister would have fought…….” The voice was neither mocking nor mournful, merely accurate.

Lucarius said nothing and did not watch the angel disappear, leaving that to the vampire and the chaos creature in the shape of a woman.

“You know the other two champions, what can you tell us that would help?” Viktor had finally put his sword away and only the lone human remained with his weapon in hand.

“Kurt is a sorcerer of no little power, but he is not the threat, I can ensure his powers are neutralised long enough for one of you to strike him down. Be careful of his eyes, they can ensnare your soul.” She paused and glanced at the vampire, “unless of course you have none to worry about.”

Kreesha is cursed never to use the magic she draws from her enemies, she bears a weapon from another time and place, it would be best not to let her have time to use it. It is to your crude pistols as a siege weapon is to a knife. Your swords will also avail you little against her; we must rely on the craft of the dwarves to vanquish her.”

“Lovely.” Hans looked down at the hammer, still light in his hands. “Well let’s get on with it then.”

Xx

The small group of vampire nobles stood at the edge of the clearing, the once verdant expanse now clad in blood and torn flesh. Letta stood a little behind her patron, alone and idly toying with languid strands of shyish that were thickly clustered around the latest killing ground.

It seemed too many of those gathered that the war was going well, the enemy scattering before the advance of the dead, but she could see that it was a false advantage, even if others were blind to the realities before them.

“This is not the true enemy, not his true strength.” It was a little more than a whisper, but easily caught by her mistress and her companions, her children in blood.

Ariette turned speculative eyes on her charge, surprised by the sudden words; the necromancer had seldom spoken since being put in her place in her pavilion. Her silence was not truly enforced, but the vampire normally preferred her courtiers to listen and obey rather than speak, unless it was to flatter or reassure. Still, she risked chastisement by her outburst; she must consider it worth the potential peril.

“Why do you say this?” The question was honest, but Letta sensed the danger behind the enquiry.

“It’s too easy; this enemy has come too far, along too hard a road and yet his forces fall before the forces of our Liege. They seek to destroy the Empire, perhaps the world and they can not even forstal our advance, no it is clear that he sends the dregs of his army to delay us; he has other, larger or more pressing concerns.”

Surprisingly her mistress nodded concern writ large on her brow, “Mannfred says the same. It vexes him that the enemy does not see him as the true threat.”

Letta risked looking directly into the vampires eyes, now seeing a mixture of calculation and worry in the often cruel orbs. She recalled watching other vampire lords laughing as they slew the fleeing beastmen but also heard the curses of their liege as he had to once again regain control of his large but unwieldy army.

The undead horde did not need much in the way of food or supplies, but the tempestuous emotions and egos of the vampires and their little courts were worse even then that of an Empire, Bretonian or Tilean force. A few more of the more daring or foolish had even gone off rampaging, more like the invaders than any relieving force. Mannfred had made excruciatingly painful examples of several of them, but it was a tenuous balance he maintained.

“We must all ensure that we are ready to do whatever is needed to assist our liege.”

The three vampires that sat with their mistress nodded immediately, sensing the dangerous tension in their blood-mother, the almost imperceptible flexing of her nails, all too aware that they were not immune to her temper and tantrums. Letta quickly gave her own positive response too; there was little else she could do.

Xx

Lord Damar had expected Alizahl to return, he was hard to injure and killing him would be a challenge for most creatures, living, dead or immortal. His energy map was more flawed than was tolerable, more concealed than was expected – no sign of the approaching force, no indication of its strengths or weakness – although the very concealment that it managed proved it strong.

If he was still alive, his favourite emissary should be kneeling at his feet, awaiting instructions, ready to give his soul to his not so beloved master. Damar knew well that he was not loved and really did not care, for he rather treasured the fear that he had become so adept at inspiring in enemy and follower alike.

Annoyance rippled briefly through him, before he reduced and then discarded its fire – resisting the temptation to immolate all about him. He looked now on the two remaining champions at his disposal, pride and apprehension warring on their features, even as it disputed equally in their hearts and souls.

Kreesha was short and stout with smooth black skin stretched tight and taught across her thick, heavy bones. Her face was framed by a strange pale metal that grew tall above her head, its gleaming surface marked by various runes and icons of Chaos with a plume of bright crimson hair streaming down her back.

The rest of her body was a patchwork of white armour and exposed sable skin, the latter pulsing gently with her heart. Her heavy, thick waist was little constrained by a leather belt and on her left side was a holster of mottled tattooed skin, mostly concealing a heavy pistol, its protruding stock made to fit her surprisingly small and delicate hand.

Kurt, “flame born” as he had named himself was standing tall on his skirt of fleshy iridescent tentacles, their quivering mass strong and able to propel him at a prodigious speed when required. His torso was in constant motion, large worms moving blindly just beneath the skin, even occasionally surfacing bloodily to thrust blind maws into the light before withdrawing back into the corrupted flesh. In contrast, his face was one of unblemished beauty, but it was only transient, he took such pretty fancies from his lovers when they bored him, and that did not usually take long.

“Kreesha, your best opportunity to please me has arrived.”

She said nothing, her dark eyes lowered even now.

“I gift you with the rest of my retinue, I shall shortly have no use for such trifles – but they may prove useful in your journey in the service of our master.”

Pleasure and calculation chased each other across her face, but were swiftly concealed.

“Alizahl has failed it seems, do not do likewise.” His words ended on a note of dismissal as he switched his attention to the other champion.

“Kurt, you will accompany me one last time, you shall be blessed to witness my final triumph in this transient realm – others will be inspired by your words as you describe my final ascent.”

Damar banished the map and turned towards the tree line.

“Now then………..let us see what we can find in the woods today.

Xx

The trees were quiet now, the dryads sated but watchful and whilst the great forest spirit was now quiescent, standing vest and still Malitha was full of energy, still consumed by unbridled anger and the peace would not be allowed to last long.

She stood staring at the empty shell that had been her brother watching a pair of dryads that attended him; they had assumed a more humanoid form, the appearance they took when they wished to lure prey into their woods. Their long claws were now delicate, if bloody fingers and they caressed his hair and face almost affectionately, their nature attuned currently to trying to grant him comfort, something that was alien to their nature.

In turn, he made no response, could make no response, as they streaked blood upon him. The elf witch was herself only clad in the blood and gore of the enemies that they had sacrificed for the rebirth. She glanced over at the heart of the new stretch of woodland, seeing the still living human catalyst for her spell and smiled, she had at least found something that they were good for.

Then the great entity stirred, its massive head turning towards the power it sensed approaching, the challenge inherent as it rose to its full height, handmaidens gathering at its base. The pair of spirits that attended upon and caressed Hasir felt it too as their bodies grew larger and their claws longer and more dangerous. However they were connected to the mortal and so did not leave his side.

Malitha strode quickly to Kluthras, looking up at the towering entity, its immense body comforting, the magic still coursing through it, through her as well. She stepped into the air, moving to hover by the vast craggy head, some fifty feet above the ground, but still she was not above the larger trees that masked the sky and she did not want to be. For leagues around the forest was seething, alive and vengeful, animals and spirits alike tearing creatures of Chaos apart, carnivores and herbivores moved together with purpose, guided and led by the blood soaked dryads.

Kluthras began to walk and uncaring vengeance walked with it…….

Xx