Ratboy tried to imitate the knights’ unruffled precision, but as the sneering
marauders crowded around him, his horse reared in panic and Ratboy lashed out in
a desperate frenzy. The strange sword felt light and swift in his hands and his
frantic blows were surprisingly effective. Few marauders made it past Wolff’s
pounding hammer, but those that did met a blur of flashing steel.
Across the hillside, other knightly orders were entering the fray and for a
while the enemy’s advance slowed. The winged figure of Mormius was still gliding
towards Hagen’s Claw and as he approached, his horn rang out once more. The
wavering note was now so loud that several of the Ostlanders had to clamp their
hands over their ears to block out the trilling sound. The marauders exploded
into action—driven onwards by the close proximity of their general’s rallying
cry. Even Maximilian’s knights struggled to defend themselves against such
unhinged aggression. The bare-chested barbarians threw themselves at the
polished armour of the knights with no thought for their own safety. For every
one that fell, gutted, to the bloody ground, a dozen others clambered up onto
the horses, their eyes rolling wildly as they wrenched and hacked at the men’s
armour.
The crush of bodies slowly halted the knights’ advance. In fact, as the horn
drove them to even greater fury, the marauders began to push them back up the
hill. As the marauders swarmed over them, Ratboy saw one of the knights dragged
from his charger. A crowd of enemy soldiers had grappled and shoved at his horse
with such fury that it eventually toppled onto its side, thrashing and kicking
in fear as the marauders plunged knives beneath its scalloped armour. The knight
rolled clear of the horse and continued to fight with calm dispassion, but down
on the ground he stood little chance against the seething mob. The other knights
showed no sign of recognition as he vanished beneath a flurry of blows; they
simply closed ranks and continued to fight with a quiet dignity as they were
forced slowly back towards the monoliths.
A furious roar echoed across the hillside as the marauders greeted the
arrival of Mormius. He dropped gracefully down amongst them and folded his
flashing wings behind his back. Ratboy found it hard to look directly at him. It
seemed almost as though a fragment of the bright, gibbous moon had broken away
and fallen to earth. He could see quite clearly how tall the man was though; he
was almost as big as the ogres that had led the attack. But as he strode towards
the Empire troops, he showed none of the ogres’ animal simplicity. He sauntered
casually through the carnage, as though promenading into a ballroom, flicking
his red hair back from his face as he drew a long, two-handed sword.
The first Ostlanders to face him were so paralysed with fear that Mormius
simply ignored them, strolling past the rows of shocked faces and leaving the
marauders that followed in his wake to hack them to the ground.
Two of Fabian’s honour guard attempted to rally the Ostlanders, charging at
Mormius with their two-handed swords above their heads and calling furiously for
the ashen-faced onlookers to follow. As they neared the winged colossus, a
detachment of swordsmen grudgingly shuffled after them, wide-eyed and trembling
in the face of such an unholy vision. As the wolf-helmed Oberhau reached
Mormius, they dropped into a low crouch and edged slowly towards him.
At the sight of the two officers, Mormius revealed his perfect teeth in a
broad smile. His regal gait became a lurching, twitching stagger, as a fit of
laughter gripped him; but then his pretty face twisted with anguish. “Be calm,”
he hissed, in a desperate voice, shaking his head furiously as the soldiers
approached. “It’s not funny.” He took a deep, calming breath and his crystal
wings spread out behind him, creating a flash of moonlight so powerful that it
temporarily blinded the Oberhau. They faltered, raising their hands to try to
block the glare and, with a casual flick of his wrist, Mormius lopped their
heads from their shoulders.
The swordsmen baulked in the face of such incredible speed and as the
giggling, cursing champion stepped towards them they backed away, raising their
shields defensively against the glare of his glimmering breastplate.
Mormius continued up the hill. As the terrified Empire soldiers shuffled
back, they created a broad path ahead of him, leading straight towards the
distant banners of the command group. The only possible danger to the champion
seemed to come from himself; as his expression alternated from a leering grin to
an agonised scowl, he began slapping his armour-clad fists against the side of
his head, punching himself with such force that blood began to flow from his
ears.
“We must stop him,” cried Wolff, leaping back up into his saddle. “If he
reaches Fabian something terrible will happen, I can feel it.”
Maximilian nodded and with a wave of his sword, ordered his men to abandon
their futile attempt to advance. He led them sideways across the hill, through
the moonlit jumble of corpses and broken guns. The crush of bodies was just as
great in that direction though, and they soon found themselves mired once more
in the mass of struggling soldiers. The knights hacked and shoved with all their
strength, but the marauders seemed endless. Ratboy’s face and hair were slick
with blood and his voice was hoarse from screaming. He paused, mid strike, as a
familiar face looked out at him from the heaving throng. He could see no more
than a pair of pale eyes, glaring at him from behind the flailing mass of swords
and limbs, but something about the face chilled him. He had no time to dwell on
it though, as another lumbering brute lashed out at him, swinging a battered
sword straight at his head. He parried the blow and kicked the marauder to the
floor and when he looked again, the face in the crowd was gone.
Wolff suddenly gave a howl of frustration and Ratboy looked over in alarm,
surprised by the desperation in the priest’s voice. Wolff’s face was purple with
rage and his scarlet robes were drenched with sweat and blood. His inability to
reach the champion seemed to have driven him to distraction. There was a feral
look in his eyes that Ratboy had never seen before.
Wolff leapt from his horse, diving face first into the enemy. His heavy frame
hit the northmen with such force that a whole row of them toppled backwards
under his weight. Before they could clamber to their feet, Wolff grabbed the
nearest one by his greasy hair and slammed his warhammer into his face. “Bow
down before Sigmar!” he screamed, pounding the weapon repeatedly into the man’s
shattered head and shaking him violently back and forth, even though he was
obviously already dead. “Receive His judgement!”
Ratboy watched in horror as his master ripped and pounded his way through the
struggling men. He seemed unhinged; inhuman even. As he bludgeoned his way
towards Mormius, the priest was no longer taking heed of who crumpled beneath
his bone-crunching hammer blows. Ratboy saw several Empire soldiers, smashed to
the ground by his blind, uncontrollable rage. The sight of such untrammelled
fervour reminded him of someone and with a sickening rush of fear, Ratboy
realised who he had seen in the crowd. It was the witch hunter, Surman: alive
and here with them on Hagen’s Claw. He must have trailed them right across the
province, but for what purpose? He looked around but could see no sign of the
frail old man amongst the crowds of struggling warriors.
Ducking beneath a spear thrust, he dropped from his horse and ran to his
master’s side. On approaching him, he paused. As Wolff screamed a tirade of
furious blessings into the pulped faces of his victims, he suddenly seemed
indistinguishable from Surman. Is that what I will become, wondered Ratboy,
lowering his sword in horror. A vision of Raphael’s corpse filled his head,
surrounded by his adoring crowds of penitent followers, tearing their flesh for
the glory of Sigmar. Where were they now? Broken and forgotten on a muddy field.
Sacrificed on a whim of his master. Anna’s intense, grey eyes suddenly filled
Ratboy’s thoughts and he looked back up the hill, wondering if he had made a
terrible mistake. I can’t do this, he suddenly realised, blanching at the sight
of so much bloodshed. He turned away from his master and began to climb back up
the hill.
Rough hands grabbed him beneath the shoulders and hoisted him up onto a
horse. He found himself sat behind Maximilian. The knight’s helmet was gone and
his steel grey beard was splattered with blood, but he had a fierce grin on his
face. “We’d best keep up with your master, eh lad?” he said, giving Ratboy a
suspicious look. “A wolf needs his pack around him at a time like this.”
Ratboy flushed with embarrassment and nodded, gripping his sword a little
tighter.
Wolff’s frenzied attack had cleared a path across the hillside, and as
Maximilian rode after him, Ratboy got his first clear glimpse of Mormius. The
champion was only about two-dozen yards away, and he noticed again that some of
his crystal armour was stained and dark. The black shadow had now spread from
his left hand all the way down to his waist, and, from the awkward, one-handed
way Mormius held his sword, Ratboy guessed he was in a lot of pain.
“He’s wounded,” he yelled into Maximilian’s ear, pointing at the champion’s
arm.
The knight nodded as he steered his horse around the struggling figures,
closing quickly on Wolff. “Doubdess his corruption is eating him up from the
inside. Should make our job a little easier.”
As they reached Wolff’s side, there was no sign of his wrath diminishing. He
was fighting towards the gleaming champion with jerking spasmodic movements that
reminded Ratboy of a marionette or an automaton. As he shouldered and punched
his way into the clearing around Mormius, the priest’s robes were hanging in
tatters from beneath his dented armour, but he still had his warhammer grasped
firmly in both hands, and it was glowing with a light almost as dazzling as
Mormius’ armour. “Blasphemer,” he gasped, slamming his hammer against one of
the stone columns with a dull
clang.
Mormius paused at the sound and looked back. He met Wolff’s bloody scowl with
a wild grin. “A priest, a priest, a warrior priest,” he sang, strolling back
down the hill towards him. “Have you come to pray for me?” He gave out a thin
shriek of laughter and looked around at the rows of terrified faces that lined
his path. “I think you may be a little late.” His laughter grew so hard that
tears welled in his eyes and as he neared Wolff, his face was flushed with
colour. “Your congregation seems to have already written me off.”
“Speak carefully,” yelled Maximilian, as his horse crashed through the rows
of cowering soldiers, a little further up the hill. As they rode down towards
the champion, Ratboy’s pulse began to throb painfully in his temples. Mormius’
towering shape was essentially human, but corruption seemed to pour out of him.
Ratboy found it impossible to meet the giant’s eyes as he turned towards them.
“What’s this?” asked Mormius, leaning heavily on his sword as the battle
raged around them. He wiped the tears from his eyes and shook his head. “A
welcoming committee? Finally. I was beginning to feel quite snubbed. Anyone
would think you people had forgotten your manners.”
Maximilian’s horse tossed its mane nervously as the knight rode towards
Mormius and Wolff. As they approached him, Ratboy realised that his master, well
built as he was, barely reached the flashing plates of Mormius’ chest armour.
“You abomination,” muttered Wolff, wiping the gore from his shaven head and
striding forwards. He pounded his gauntleted fist against the hammer device on
his chest armour. “Sigmar denounces you, with every muscle, heart and sinew of
His Holy Empire.”
The champion’s laughter faded as he saw the passion burning in Wolff’s eyes.
“I see no muscle here,” he replied, waving his sword nonchalantly at the rows of
petrified onlookers. “Maybe Sigmar has tired of His snivelling, bastard
offspring. Maybe He’s forsaken you, little priest.”
Wolff gave no reply, but broke into a sprint, raising his hammer to strike as
he raced towards Mormius.
Mormius turned slightly so that the crystals of his armour flashed in the
moonlight and presented Wolff with an image of his own, livid face.
The priest stumbled in confusion and lowered his hammer.
Mormius stepped to one side and sliced his greatsword at Wolff’s neck.
The blade hit Maximilian’s sword with a ringing sound. With Mormius
distracted by Wolff, the knight had managed to approach the champion and was now
just a few feet away. He had extended his sword just in time to parry the blow
and save Wolff’s life, but Mormius’ strength was such that the knight’s weapon
flew from his hand, spinning across the battlefield towards the crowds of
onlookers. The old soldier cried out, clutching his arm.
Mormius rounded on Maximilian and Ratboy with a sardonic smile on his plump
lips. He strode towards them, but then stumbled and winced. Ratboy noticed again
that the crystals on his left arm were dark and lifeless. In fact, now that he
saw it a little closer, he realised that his whole side was atrophied and
twisted.
There was a rending metallic crunch as Wolff’s hammer slammed into the small
of Mormius’ back. The champion’s eyes widened in shock and he stumbled towards
Maximilian’s horse. As he fell past them, Ratboy lashed out with his sword and a
flash of red erupted from the champion’s face. Mormius slammed to the ground
like a felled tree.
Wolff strode forwards and struck again, but Mormius rolled to one side and
the blow pounded harmlessly against the ground.
The champion lurched to his feet and turned to face his three attackers,
batting his long eyelashes in shock and pouting as he clutched his bleeding
cheek. Then his mouth set in a determined line as he saw several other Knights
Griffon fighting their way through the carnage and lining up behind Maximilian
with their swords raised. He lowered his hand from his face, allowing the blood
to flow freely down his pale neck and grinned. Then, he rocked back on his
heels, rolling his eyes at the moon and letting out another burst of hysterical
laughter. “Little friends,” he gasped, waving his sword at the scene behind
them. “Your determination is commendable, but can’t you see? It’s already over.”