Embers of light appeared in the face of the smoke-figure. Sudobaal's chanting reached a crescendo, and he flung his arms into the air. The creature of smoke solidified slightly, the face gaining features, and it stared around the clearing. Hroth felt the power of the daemon as its gaze passed over him, and he almost staggered back from it. Its mouth opened, exposing dagger-like fangs, and it began to speak. A second or two later, the sound of its voice issued forth, out of sync with the movement of its lips. The sound was like a thousand voices screaming in a howling gale, and the words made no sense to Hroth, although they scratched at his sanity. The daemon reached out with long arms of smoke towards Sudobaal, but jerked its hands back as it touched the barrier formed by the sorcerer's careful preparations, and electricity sparked.
The daemon roared in sudden rage, its maw opening impossibly wide, and its eyes glowing intensely. It grew larger, swelling to over fifteen feet in height, and it spoke quickly, anger evident in its tone. Sudobaal shouted back at the daemon. Blood had begun to trickle from his ears and nose. The daemon was silent, and the sorcerer screamed out again, speaking the true name of the creature.
'Yyfol'gzuz'cogar!' screamed Sudobaal at the towering daemon. 'Yyfol'gzuz'cogar!'
The daemon struggled against its bonds, roaring and thrashing about madly. The swirling wind that whipped around the clearing intensified, throwing sticks and branches through the air. One of the braziers grazed Sudobaal's head as it was hurled through the air, knocking him closer to the circle and the daemon. Regaining his footing, the sorcerer shouted again. The daemon began to speak, compelled by the foolish mortal who had learnt its true name, each word dripping with evil and malice.
The swirling wind intensified as the daemon was once more silent, and a sudden gust burst past Sudobaal's defences, scattering the powder that marked out the circles surrounding the daemon.
The daemon's scream of triumph turned to rage when Sudobaal threw the last remaining contents of the bowl over the creature. The boiling blood dispersed the figure of smoke, and with a word of banishment Sudobaal sent the raging creature back to the Realms of Chaos. He slumped to the ground, black blood dripping from his nose and ears and eyes. Silence filled the clearing.
Hroth stepped towards the crumpled figure of Sudobaal. 'You know where it is?'
It was a long while before the sorcerer answered. 'I know where we must go,' he breathed finally. 'Gather the warbands. We move for the coastline this night,' he managed before falling into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A
sharp horn
blast sounded. Stefan von Kessel swore. The horn was echoed by another, further off.
'They know we are here.' said Albrecht.
Stefan had directed his army to the east onto the top of a plateau, where the height and angle of the hills had hidden its approach towards the besieged castle. They were close to the tops of the plateau, and would soon be able to see down onto the castle and the coastline. Sounds of battle could be heard in the distance.
'There is nothing for it. Double-time march. Make sure the cannon are set quickly once over the brow of the hill.' Stefan ordered. His sergeant nodded and moved down the line of soldiers, shouting orders.
The plain of the plateau was almost bare of trees, and the army of Ostermark marched towards its peak in a long battle line. Rank upon rank of halberdiers, swordsmen and spearmen marched steadily, increasing their pace at the sergeant's barked commands. Regiments of crossbowmen and handgunners were interspersed with the halberdiers, jogging lightly, unencumbered by the breastplates and heavy helmets worn by the other soldiers. Far out on the right flank was the mob of flagellants, working themselves up into a crazed frenzy. The Reiklandguard, their armour shining brightly and pennants flapping from their lance tips, cantered behind the ranks of state troops, and behind them, the artillery moved forwards, pulled by heavy draught horses.
Stefan kicked his steed forwards, galloping the final five hundred yards towards the brow of the hill. Before reaching the top, he dismounted and dropped to his stomach, crawling forwards the last yards and looking down. He surveyed the scene for some time, before remounting his horse and galloping back to his army.
He rode along the front of the marching columns, and rained in beside the reiksmarshal.
'The enemy are some eight hundred yards distant once we pass the summit, reiksmarshal.'
'Good,' his commander said. 'We will unlimber the cannon once we move over the ridge, and ready them to fire. The enemy will close on our position quickly. Ensure your troops are ready. When we defeat this first attack, leave two full regiments to protect the cannon, and drive your foot soldiers towards the castle. Be wary, and do not let yourself become surrounded. I will lead my knights towards the north after the first attack, and strike from there. We must clear the beaches.' Stefan nodded. 'And captain,' said the reiksmarshal, 'Sigmar guide your sword.'
'He will.' said von Kessel with certainty, and he turned to his sergeants to relay his orders. He stepped from the saddle and gave the reins to a waiting boy, who took the horse away from the battlefield. He pulled his sallet helmet onto his head, and strode in front of his army to join his regiment of greatswords. The battle-hardened warriors occupied the centre of the Empire line, their massive two-handed swords held over their right shoulders.
Albrecht, marching with a regiment of halberdiers, crested the brow of the hill, and his eyes widened.
'Sigmar save us!' exclaimed one of the halberdiers. Other soldiers swore as they too saw the battlefield arrayed before them.
The crumbling castle was about a thousand yards off, and completely surrounded by the besiegers. The clash of weapons could easily be heard, together with the roars of charging men and the screams of the dying. A living sea of Chaos surrounded the besieged castle, hundreds upon hundreds of savage Norsemen struggling to breach the defences of the defenders. Furred beastmen fought alongside the Norse, each taller than a man, with curling horns growing from their bestial heads.
Arrows descended from the walls in great clouds, cutting down swathes of the attackers with each volley. Those that fell were trampled underfoot by the press of the Norsemen, but there were dozens left to fill the gaps where their kinsmen had fallen.
Hundreds of Norscans were gathered on the beachhead, waving their axes and swords at the elf ships that skimmed across the water just outside the small bay. Massive cliffs towered up on either side of the bay, and rocks jutted from the water at their base, sharp and treacherous.
Figures could be seen on the crumbling castle walls, wearing tall gleaming helmets and spotless white robes. Their weapons flashed as they struggled to repel the waves of attackers that surged up the steep hills surrounding the castle. Ladders were hoisted up against the walls, and ropes thrown over its walls. Many were cast down, sending those warriors climbing them tumbling into their comrades, but the walls were too low, and the defenders too few, for the siege to last much longer.
The southeast wall was little more than a crumbled pile of stone, and here the battle was at its most fierce. The Norse were scrambling over the piles of rocks, and being cut down in their scores by the archers on the intact sections of the wall on either side of the gap. Those few warriors who did manage to survive the hail of death were met by elf warriors artfully wielding massive blades that they swung around them with deadly efficiency, and were cut down mercilessly.
As he watched, Albrecht saw a massive bull-headed creature, standing easily twelve feet tall, leap into the breach, clambering swiftly over the boulders, desperate to kill those before it. Arrows streaked down into the beast, and soon dozens of shafts protruded from its thick, furred hide. Uncaring, it carried on, intent on slaughter.
A slight figure stepped into the breach alongside the warriors, wearing a long flowing robe and cloak of pale blue. The figure held a tall staff in its hand, which it pointed towards the charging bull-headed minotaur. Flames, bright and searing, burst from the tip of the staff and hurtled towards the creature, which exploded into flames. Bellowing in fear and pain, the creature stumbled blindly for a few steps, before falling to the ground, a blackened, smoking corpse. Several of the halberdiers around Albrecht made signs of protection.
'Was that a woman?' asked one man.
'Dunno,' said Albrecht. 'Can't always tell with those elves.' He shouted for a halt, the call echoed by the other sergeants up and down the line. The army of Ostermark came to a stop, looking down upon the chaotic battlefield before them. Men below were turning to face this new threat, and shouts and horns could be heard, the sounds carried up to them on the wind. A group of about fifty lightly armoured horsemen, armed with bows and spears, peeled off from the rest of the force in a wide arc, and began to ride to the south.
'They're trying to get around our flank,' muttered Albrecht.
With a braying roar, three hundred beastmen, led by a giant bestial creature with three arms, began to run up the hill towards the Empire force. Their cloven hooves pounded the ground, making it tremble. Huge, slavering hounds ran at their sides, massive creatures the size of small ponies. Behind them, several hundred Norse warriors turned and began to trudge up the hill. Many carried round shields with flayed skin pulled taut across them. Cursed symbols were painted onto this flesh, and Stefan gripped the twin-tailed comet talisman hanging around his neck tightly, muttering a prayer. Others of the Norse had no shields at all, and loped up the hill carrying massive axes, requiring two hands to wield them.
A second group peeled off from the mass below, and began to march up the hill just behind the others. There were around a hundred warriors, and they wore fully enclosed plate armour over long chainmail. Like the other Norse warriors, they wore heavy helmets topped with rising horns and heavy cloaks thrown over their shoulders.
'Fire!' screamed one of the Ostermark sergeants, and the air was filled with the cracking fire of handguns. Dozens of the charging beastmen fell to the first volley, to be trampled by those behind. Another shout sounded, and black bolts from hundreds of crossbowmen hissed through the air, driving into the enemy with sickening force, punching them from their feet and sending them sprawling to the ground.
A booming sound echoed across the battlefield, quickly followed by another, as the Empire cannon, now readied, fired their first shots. The sounds reverberated in Albrecht's ears, and smoke rolled from the massive barrels. The cannonballs streaked through the air, ploughing into the enemy with deadly force. Albrecht saw a massive, bestial warrior's head taken clean off by a cannonball, before it continued on into the press, killing dozens. Each cannonball ploughed through the enemy, kicking up clods of earth, and driving great furrows through the ground where they bounced and skidded. Legs were ripped from hips as cannonballs screamed through the foe. Warriors raised their shields helplessly, and arms and shields alike were shattered. A second volley of handgun fire tore through the enemy. Dozens more dropped at this close range.
'Right lads, here they come!' shouted Albrecht.
Captain Stefan von
Kessel stood calmly facing the approaching enemy. Another volley of black crossbow bolts hissed through the air, cutting down great swathes of the beastmen. Still others came at them, although their numbers were less than half of what had started the charge up the hill.
Captain von Kessel cocked one of his pistols with his right hand, his left hand holding the comforting weight of his shield. A litany of Sigmar was written on the inside of the shield, painted on with intricate calligraphy. He knew the words off by heart, but having them before him was still a comfort. His faith would protect him against the evil of Chaos.
The slavering hounds that ran alongside the beastmen were loosed, and they launched themselves at the lines of Ostermark state troops, growling and roaring. They were hateful creatures of Chaos, mutated and deadly. Although their sheer size was enough to indicate their twisted Chaotic breed, many of them bore mutations. Massive tusks curled from the maws of many of the beasts, while others had long bony spines that erupted from their backs. One had hands instead of front paws, and Stefan wondered in disgust if it had once been a man.
Raising his pistol, he aimed it at the head of a charging beast, a massive wolf-like creature with a tail that curved over its back and ended in a huge poisoned tip. Pulling the trigger, he saw the creature's wide head explode in a satisfying spray of bone and blood. Holstering the ornate pistol, he drew his sword. More hounds raced over the ground, and launched themselves at the greatswords. Dozens of other hounds reached the line of the Ostermark army at the same time, intent on the kill.
With a shout, Stefan von Kessel raised his sword and shield in front of him, and leapt forwards to meet the beasts. His greatswords moved with him, shouting as they heaved their massive blades.
Stefan plunged his sword into the throat of the first creature, and it fell, blood gurgling from the wound. He smashed his shield into the face of another, before its head was cleaved from its body by the sweep of a greatsword. The warriors wielded their massive weapons with brute strength, cleaving and slaying with every powerful swing.
Cannon boomed again, along with the sporadic crackling fire of handguns as they were reloaded and fired. The last of the hounds were cut down by the greatswords, and Stefan saw that the beastmen were all but broken, countless bodies littering the hill. The last of them charged recklessly against the halberdiers to his right, running straight onto the sharpened points of the tall weapons. Those that were not slain instantly were impaled by more of the weapons as those behind drove their halberds forwards into the bodies of the beastmen.
The Norsemen advancing behind the beastmen were trudging over the bodies of those beastmen who had fallen, and they readied themselves for the charge, shouting out incoherent challenges and threats. They raised their weapons to the heavens, as if imploring their gods for strength, their voices harsh and ugly-sounding to Stefan. Horns blasted out across the battlefield, and drums pounded. Dozens of the warriors fell, black crossbow bolts in their throats or chests pierced by handgun shot.