“I feel it’s important to maintain one’s standards, even during times of
hardship,” he explained. “At all times I include in my entourage a chef of the
very best quality,”—he waved at the musicians dancing around the growing
campsite—“as well as entertainers and artists of renown.” He paused and looked
earnestly at Anna. “I’m something of a patron of the arts,” he said. “In fact,
I’m more than just a patron.” As a bowing Christoff opened the door of the tent,
Gryphius strode inside and gestured to an array of canvases that were scattered
across the silk cushions within. “Many of these are my own work.”
“Really?” replied Anna, feigning interest. They all paused to look at a large
canvas that Gryphius held up to them. It was a seemingly random collection of
black brushstrokes.
“As you can see, it’s after Vridel,” he explained, looking at them eagerly.
“Are you admirers of the Heinczel school?”
Anna turned to Wolff and Ratboy for support.
“Generally, Ostlanders don’t have a lot of time to study paintings,” answered
Wolff.
“Is that so?” replied the general, shaking his head sadly. He dropped the
canvas to the floor and waved at the cushions that filled the tent. “Well, make
yourselves comfortable, please.”
“Did you mention food,” asked Ratboy, eyeing up a heavily laden table at the
back of the tent.
“Of course,” exclaimed the general, “tuck in, my boy, tuck in!”
Ratboy and the others hesitated for a moment, daunted by the exotic array of
strange dishes. Brightly coloured fruits with thick rubbery skins and unfamiliar
cuts of meat were arrayed in a fantastically gaudy display. None of them had
ever seen anything like it before; but Ratboy’s hunger soon overcame all other
concerns and he began to wolf down the strange food, murmuring with pleasure as
he devoured the rich morsels on offer.
“Please, I insist,” said von Gryphius, nodding encouragingly to the two
hesitant priests.
“Well, maybe a little bread,” replied Wolff and began to eat.
Anna followed suit and all conversation ceased for a few minutes as the
grinning general watched them eating.
A little while later, sprawled sleepily on silk cushions and surrounded by
the soft glow of a dozen candles, the three travellers finally began to relax.
They stretched out their aching, bruised limbs and massaged their stiff joints
as von Gryphius’ servants flitted discreetly back and forth.
The general was slumped on an ornate throne and the sherry was finally
starting to take effect; every few minutes he would make himself jump with a
little snore, and then gradually nod off to sleep again. At the far end of the
tent, a harpist played a gentle lament while a dancer twirled back and forth,
dressed as a signet.
“Obermarshall,” said Wolff, causing the general to snort in surprise and sit
bolt upright.
“Yes?” he replied, giving the priest a bleary eyed grin. “Make yourself at
home,” he muttered. “Christoff has seen to your men. You can sleep here in my
tent tonight. We’ll sort out your own accommodation tomorrow.”
“I just wondered, lord. If we might make a slight detour tomorrow.” He looked
at Anna, struggling to stay awake at his side. “Sister Fleck’s hospital is not
far from here. Could we escort her home? I’m sure she has little desire to
travel any further in my company.”
“Of course,” replied the general with a dismissive wave of his hand. He
looked at Anna with heavy, half-lidded eyes. “I should be glad to assist her in
any way possible. We can leave most of the troops to rest for the morning and
head out by ourselves.” He grinned toothily at Anna. “In a more intimate
group.”
“I was a foundling—like many of the sisters,” explained Anna as her horse
picked its way through a grey smudge of clinging mist and drooping, dew-laden
boughs. “The matriarch is a wonderful, inspirational woman—an abbess, called
Sister Gundram—and she made me a ward of temple. It’s a very isolated
existence, as you can imagine. For the first ten years of my life I never so
much as laid eyes on a man.”
At this, Gryphius looked up from the churned muddy path they were following
and gave her a sly smile, but Anna was lost in her reverie and carried on
oblivious.
“I couldn’t have wished for a more caring family—the sisters even taught me
to read and write.” She nodded at Wolff, who was riding a few feet ahead,
talking to some of Gryphius’ guards. “And, unlike other priesthoods, the
Shallyan faith is not above explaining the beliefs of the other churches, so I
gained an understanding of the less,” she paused, searching for the right word,
“open-minded faiths.”
“It sounds like an idyllic childhood,” said Gryphius, nodding his head and
adopting a more serious expression.
Anna nodded. “Having seen the conditions of other children in the province, I
think I was probably very lucky.” She looked Gryphius in the eye. “You must
understand though, the abbey is a working hospital, so from as soon as I was
able to hold a pail of water, I’ve been helping the sick and the injured. It
wasn’t always the easiest place to grow up. My childhood prayers were often
drowned out by the screams of the dying.”
Gryphius leant a little closer and placed a comforting hand on Anna’s arm.
“Obermarshall,” called one of the soldiers and Anna and Gryphius followed the
man’s finger to see an even darker smudge up ahead.
“I think that’s the abbey,” muttered Anna, peering through the morning mist
and frowning, “but I’m not sure. There’s something not right. Why does it look
so dark?”
Wolff’s heavy brow knotted in a frown as he led his warhorse towards the
building.
As they moved closer, the explanation for the darkness was clear: the Temple
of the Bleeding Heart had been put to the torch.
Ratboy felt Anna’s pain, as he saw that the simple, white-washed building was
now little more than a blackened ruin.
“What kind of monsters could do this?” Anna groaned, pawing desperately at
her pale scalp as she rode closer. “What of my sisters? What of the children?”
Wolff shook his head in anger, before steering his horse up the hill at a
quick canter. Ratboy rode quickly after him, along with von Gryphius and his
guardsmen.
“We must find Sister Gundram. She’s the abbess,” gasped Anna, looking around
desperately as they rode closer. The fear in her voice made Ratboy wince. “I beg
you, help me find her.”
The temple must once have been an impressive complex, thought Ratboy as they
approached it: infirmaries, chapels and a domed chapterhouse in the centre, all
surrounded by a low wall in the shape of a teardrop, but almost all of it had
been razed to the ground. The violence went beyond mere vandalism, though. As
they reached the top of the hill, they began to notice charred human remains
littered throughout the ruins.
The colour drained from von Gryphius’ face and he turned to Anna. “Wait
here,” he snapped, signalling for his men to guard her. “Let us scout ahead
first.”
Anna’s eyes were wide with shock and she seemed too dazed to disagree. She
gave a mute nod as Gryphius rode ahead.
As they entered the central courtyard, Wolff dismounted and approached one of
the corpses. The blackened bodies were barely recognisable as human, but as the
priest crouched next to them, he gave a little sigh of relief. “These aren’t
children,” he breathed through gritted teeth. “State troops by the looks of
them.” He gestured to a broken sword lying on the ground. “There was some kind
of defence here at least. The priestesses didn’t meet their fate alone.”
“Maybe the children were evacuated then?” said Ratboy, dismounting and
rushing to his master’s side.
Wolff nodded. “It’s possible. We must look inside.” He looked up at the
general in surprise as he realised he was unaccompanied. “We might need at least
a few of your men, Obermarshall.”
Von Gryphius gave a loud, slightly forced laugh. “What, and share all the
fun? Is that wise, priest?” he asked. He gestured to the swords and pistols that
hung from his belt. “I’m sure we can handle a few cowardly temple thieves.”
“Obermarshall, the minions of the Dark Gods may not be the easy prey you’re
expecting. These creatures are unlike anything you will have faced before.”
The general grinned. “Of course, Brother Wolff—that’s why I’m here.” He
looked at the shattered buildings. “I can’t imagine there’s anyone alive in
there anyway.” He toppled from his charger and drew his rapier, swaying slightly
as he squinted into the smoke-filled ruins. “Lead the way, priest.”
More bodies were scattered around the cloistered pathways within. Ratboy
tried to avert his gaze, but couldn’t help noticing that some of the shapes were
clad in white robes and were clearly not soldiers. He pictured Anna, waiting on
the hillside below, and felt his eyes prickle with tears. Who could do such a
thing, he wondered?
“It looks like we’ve found your prey, Obermarshall,” snapped Wolff, kicking
one of the corpses.
They rushed to his side and saw a large, smouldering body lying at his feet.
It was as scorched and broken as everything else, but even the ravages of the
fire couldn’t hide the thing’s monstrous shape. Ratboy grimaced at the stink
emanating from it, but stepped closer nonetheless, curious to study the monster.
It was vaguely man-shaped, but its shoulders and limbs were grotesquely swollen
and muscled, and covered with a thick, greasy hide. Wolff used his iron-clad
boot to roll the thing over onto its back, revealing a head that was bloated and
distorted into a roughly bovine shape, with great gnarled horns sprouting from
its face.
“What is it?” whispered von Gryphius, his eyes wide with shock.
Wolff looked up at him in surprise. “This is the evil that plagues us,
Obermarshall;
this
is the great prize you’ve been seeking.” He ground his
boot into the thing’s hide and grimaced. “This is the embodiment of corruption.
‘By the simple undividedness of Sigmar’s being, the faithful will find truth;
as surely as the deceiver’s form will reveal that which his words would hide.’”
He shrugged and led the way towards the chapterhouse, which was the only
building not to have been completely destroyed by the flames. As they approached
it, the number of bodies increased, as did the awful stench that came from the
fallen beastmen.
“The fighting seems to have been fiercest here,” commented Wolff as he
stepped up to the shattered door that led into the building. As the others
gathered behind him, weapons at the ready, Wolff used his warhammer to shove the
door open. The splinted wood screeched noisily as it swung inwards, but the
darkness inside was complete. The pale grey sun seemed afraid to cross the
threshold and illuminate the bloodshed within.
Wolff gripped his hammer tightly in both hands, and then disappeared into the
blackness.
After a second’s hesitation, Ratboy followed.
At first the gloom seemed impenetrable, but as his eyes grew accustomed to
the dark, vague shapes began to emerge and he saw that the floor was littered
with overturned tables and chairs. It looked like the scene of some final
defence, with the priestesses and soldiers barricaded inside the chapterhouse.
From the shattered state of the door and the broken furniture, Ratboy guessed
that some kind of battering ram must have been used to smash the barricades
aside. He looked around but could find no sign of such a weapon.
Movement caught his eye, and he saw a towering shape rush towards him out of
the darkness. He lifted his knife, and then lowered it again as he recognised
Wolff’s chiselled features glowering down at him.
“They’re all dead,” muttered the priest, shaking his head and gesturing to
the white shapes slumped on the floor around them. “I believe I just found the
Abbess.” He held up a ring. It was hard to make out in the darkness, but as the
metal rolled between the priest’s fingers, Ratboy realised it was decorated with
a white dove carrying a golden key. There was an unusual note of emotion in
Wolff’s voice as he continued. “These women desired only to help. They bore no
allegiance to any army or lord. They didn’t deserve to meet their end in this
way.” He closed his fist around the ring and secreted it within his robes.
“Come,” he said, stepping back towards the door.
The light vanished before either of them could reach the doorway, plunging
them into a darkness even more profound than before. A colossal shape had
blocked their way, towering over even Wolff. Ratboy heard the deep, rattling
breath of a large animal.
Wolff shoved the acolyte violently across the room and as he tumbled over the
broken furniture, Ratboy heard a great weapon slam into the ground where he had
just been standing. He gasped in pain, winded by a chair leg that jabbed him in
the stomach as he landed. As he rolled onto his back, groaning, shapes whirled
around him in the darkness, crashing into walls and tables and grunting with
exertion.
Sparks flew as weapons collided and in the brief flashes of light, Ratboy saw
Wolff fighting desperately against a creature so big it had to stoop beneath the
chapterhouse’s vaulted ceiling. The light was gone too fast for him to be sure
of the monster’s shape, but he was left with a vague impression of massive,
coiled muscle and long, curved horns.
Ratboy tried to draw breath, but retched instead, powerless to call for help.
As he felt around in the dark for his knife, he heard Wolff muttering something
nearby. Then, as the priest uttered a final, fierce syllable, glittering light
flooded the chamber and the creature looming over them was revealed in all its
monstrous glory. It was obviously the same species as the bodies outside, but
even more grotesquely oversized. As holy light poured from Wolff’s hammer,
shimmering and flashing off the whitewashed walls, the creature bellowed and
swung an axe at the priest’s head. The weapon was almost as big as the priest
himself, and as he leapt out of the way it smashed into the wall, cutting into
the stone with such force that the whole building shook, sending masonry
tumbling from the ceiling. The priest’s warhammer slipped from his grip as he
landed, clattering across the flagstones and disappearing from view.