Ulkjar grabbed the severed head of the latest challenger and stalked through the press of warriors, striding up the snow-covered hill to where the Daemon Prince Hroth awaited him with his Khazags and the other chieftains. Approaching the gathering atop the hill, he saw that Hroth the Blooded stood in the middle of the rise, towering over everyone present. The daemon prince nodded his heavy head at Ulkjar as the Skaeling approached to join the other chieftains.
There were about thirty of them gathered there. Glancing around at the chieftains, Ulkjar saw that the black-robed sorcerer Sudobaal was there too, as well as three diminutive, hooded figures. Skaven, he thought with distaste.
Ulkjar pushed several of the chieftains roughly out of his way. They turned towards him, hands flashing towards their weapons, but none drew a weapon against him. He stared down at them, for he was at least a full head taller than all present except for Hroth. There was a small pile of skulls at Hroth's side, and he tossed the head of the Norscan to join the others. 'A skull for you, Warlord Hroth, and for great Kharloth, the Blood God.' he said.
The massive daemon chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. 'Another challenger, Ulkjar?'
'Indeed, warlord. My Skaelings are mighty warriors, but they are not the smartest of men.'
The sorcerer struck his staff on a rock for silence. The chieftains stopped their conversations and turned towards Sudobaal, who stood at the daemon prince's side. He appeared even more twisted and hunched than usual, thought Ulkjar. His face was pinched and full of hatred. He was the daemon's pawn, as were they all, but he was a powerful sorcerer still.
'Our advance scouting tribe was annihilated this day.' spoke the sorcerer. The chieftains shuffled their feet in the snow. 'With sorcery. Our rat-kin friend, the Blind One,' said Sudobaal, indicating one of the hunched skaven, who bowed his head, 'brings us news that our ally in the west has been slain. He died with only part of his duty done. Although he - '
'I will feast on the failure's soul in the Realm of Chaos,' growled Hroth, interrupting the sorcerer.
'Although he did manage to spread plague and dissent across the breadth of the lands of the pitiful weaklings, with the aid of the Blind One and his minions, and cleared our approach southward of enemies, he failed to enter the city, failed in his preparations for our coming.'
'What can you expect from the weakling followers of Nurgle,' snarled one of the chieftains. Another chieftain swore, and turned towards the speaker angrily.
'Enough,' rumbled Hroth, silencing them instantly.
'We also learn through the agents of the Blind One that the slayer of our ally is even now fortifying the Eye of the Forest.'
The chieftains began to murmur amongst themselves. Ulkjar spoke the words that they were thinking.
'Our ally failed to enter the city, and his killer has begun to fortify it, ready for our attack. Why do we not alter our plans, Lord Hroth? We could bypass the Eye of the Forest, and strike out at another target, surely? Sack the cities to the south, those that have never felt the fury of our people? Else could we not head east, and take the fight to the city of the White Wolf?'
'The city of the White Wolf will fall in time, but it is not I who will lead that attack,' growled Hroth.
'The Eye of the Forest will be nigh-on impossible to take, if fully manned, warlord,' said another chieftain.
'We will rip it down, smash it underfoot, and slaughter every man, woman and child within.' rumbled the daemon, staring malevolently at the speaker with eyes of fire.
'What says the Blind One? Will you aid us to take the Eye of the Forest?' hissed Sudobaal, nodding his head to the skaven.
One of the creatures extended a hand from beneath its robes. Its fur was grey, moth-eaten and mange-ridden. With pale fingers it pulled back the hood from its face, exposing its pox-ridden features. Its eyes were milky white, weeping pus down its grey fur, and its whiskers were stubby and rotten. It opened its mouth, exposing large, chipped and yellow front teeth, and exhaled sharply several times in what may have passed for laughter. The skaven nodded its head to Sudobaal, and then again to Hroth, pledging its support.
'It is a foolish venture - ' began one of the chieftains. Having heard enough, Hroth stalked towards him, the other chieftains scattering before him. He grabbed the man in his massive red hands, ripped his head from his body and threw both to the ground.
'No more talk. I hunger for battle. We attack. Chieftains: move your tribes with all speed towards the city in the crater, the Eye of the Forest. I will see it toppled.'
Stefan von Kessel
surveyed the defences carefully as he led the army of Ostermark through the grand portals of the fortress. Giant statues of Ulric, the ancient god of battle, winter and wolves, and his brother Taal, god of nature and the wild places, flanked the approach to the massive gates. The fortress was built into the side of the crater of Talabheim, and was an imposing and powerful structure. It guarded the only entrance into Talabheim - a tunnel half a mile long carved straight through the crater.
The engineer, Markus, gazed at the fortress with his trained eye, and could find no fault in its design. 'It is a marvel of siege engineering,' he gushed to Stefan. 'See how the towers are placed? And how the walls angle inwards? That forms the killing ground - any attackers would naturally be filtered there, and would be cut to pieces, slaughtered by crossbowmen and handgunners in the towers and on the walls - they would be fired upon from all angles. If the walls were taken by the enemy, the towers themselves would act as small fortresses - see the towers have clear lines of fire across all the walls - nowhere to hide from there, no! No square towers here, oh no! Square towers have corners, and corners are vulnerable. Destroy the corner, and the tower will collapse. Simple, really.'
'Yes indeed, engineer,' said Stefan as they passed through the gates. Looking up, he could see the pointed tips of the portcullis that would be dropped when the attack came. There were countless murder holes on either side of the portcullis, holes where soldiers in the rooms above could drop boiling oil and rocks down upon would-be attackers as they tried to batter their way through.
Past the gates, the tunnel through the crater extended before them. No end was in sight.
'Great Verena above!' exclaimed Markus, invoking the goddess of learning and justice. Stefan was equally impressed. Wide enough for two carriages to travel side-by-side, the tunnel was lit with torches every twenty paces or so. 'This must have taken a lifetime to construct!'
'It would be difficult to storm.' said Stefan, casting his warrior's eye around the heavily defended tunnel. The army of Ostermark marched through the portal behind him, and Stefan strode forwards into the half-mile long tunnel. 'Why is it called the Wizard's Way?' he asked the red- and white-clad Talabheim sergeant who had come to meet him.
'No one truly knows. Some think this tunnel was carved by magic, others that it was named for the countless hedge wizards and sorcerers who were led through it to face trial in Talabheim, but the truth? I daresay we will never know. A wizard
has
walked this tunnel in the last weeks, mind, or to be more correct, a witch. An elf, if you would believe that, skin as white as death.' said the man, giving a dramatic shiver. 'She gave me the fear, that witch. Here to aid the defence, so it is said.'
Stefan raised his eyebrows. 'Aurelion. Her powers will come in useful, I have no doubt.' he said after getting over his surprise. 'I would have thought,' he said, 'that the baron would have come out to meet us personally.'
The sergeant coughed uncomfortably. 'The young baron is ill, bedridden. No one has seen him outside of his bedchamber for months.'
Albrecht threw von Kessel an alarmed look. 'Ill, you say.' said the captain. 'What ailment plagues the Baron of Talabheim?'
'I know not, captain. Some say that it is plague. I must say, captain, that I am glad that you have arrived. Maybe now we stand some chance.'
'We will hold. I am sure that your baron has a great knowledge of the grand defences of his city.'
The sergeant laughed. 'That young fool? His father, now, there was a warrior and a leader, but the young baron? No, he is a scared young man, afraid to do his duty. Word is that he has a priest of Morr with him at all times. Expects to go at any moment, he does, so word says. No, he ain't thinking of the defence of Talabheim.'
'Oh good,' said Albrecht. They neared the end of the tunnel, and approached another fortress guarding the exit. Again, murder holes were carefully positioned in the roof, and others could be seen on the curved walls. High above, the muzzles of cannon could be seen protruding, pointing up the tunnel. Another portcullis could be dropped here, and there was another set of stout gates.
Walking through the open gates, Stefan entered what Markus pointed out was another killing ground. Balconies behind them allowed defenders to rain death down upon any who had fought their way this far, and he saw more cannon barrels. 'Grapeshot,' said the engineer. 'Those cannon will be loaded with hundreds of handgun shots, as well as all manner of nails and other pieces of metal, all wrapped up in canvas. When fired at this range, it would be devastating, shredding everything here.' He winced. 'Any force that somehow made it this far would be torn apart.'
Continuing out into the light, Stefan blinked and shielded his eyes. Talabheim proper was still some miles away. Farmland spread out before him, and he saw men tilling the icy fields, as if there was no war coming. He sighed.
'Take me to the baron,' he ordered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Baron Jurgen Krieglitz
, Elector Count of Talabecland, turned over in his sweat-drenched bed, surfacing from his restless sleep as the knock on his chamber door sounded once again. His stomach churned as he came awake and reality sank in. His skin was burning with fever, and his breath seemed to catch in his throat. Coughing painfully, a dry, wracking cough that left flecks of blood on his pillow, he called out weakly.
The man was young, but his unwashed hair was already streaked with silver, and his face was haggard. His father had fought in the Great War during the previous years, leaving his only son behind to maintain his affairs. A quiet young man full of self-doubt, he was easily manipulated by the politicians, priests and advisors of his father. Not a stupid man by any count, he saw exactly what was going on, but was at a loss to know how to rectify the situation. His father was a bull of a man, a warrior born and adored by all in Talabecland. He knew how to handle the politics of court, a skill that he had not been passed onto his son. None had grieved more than Jurgen when news of his father's death had reached Talabheim. Almost the entire standing army of Talabecland had perished with him, leaving Talabheim with only a nominal force to protect the ancient city. Jurgen's face had been pale as he was made elector the very next day.
The chamber doors opened and a manservant entered, an elderly statesman in tow.
'My most honoured lord. Do you fare better today?' asked the statesman grimly. He was a true politician, his words silky smooth, but Jurgen knew that he was a manipulative snake. He also knew that he did not have the mettle to compete with the man's endless machinations. Without waiting for a response, he continued. 'My lord, the Chaos forces close upon Talabheim, but praise great Taal, for hope is at hand - a large armed force from Ostermark has arrived to aid our defence. A council of war has been called, and sits in the war room - are you well enough to attend, my lord, or shall we conduct matters as best we can in your absence?'
'I'm not well,' said Jurgen, coughing for emphasis. He drew the covers of his bedding tightly around him, and rolled over onto his side, away from the man. 'Attend to matters without me.'
'As you wish, my lord, rest yourself. All the matters of state will be attended to,' said the statesman, bowing deeply. Jurgen listened to the men back out of the room, and the door close quietly behind them.
Jurgen was dying. He would live no more than a year, the lady of Shallya had informed him, tears in her eyes. At first, he had believed his illness had come about from the pressure of his role. He hated the intrigues of his court, the politicking and the back-stabbing. He was weak, he knew. His stomach churned constantly, the acids in his gut burning him from the inside. As the months rolled by, his headaches got worse, and he had taken to bed, distancing himself from his duties. There was a cancer in his head, the lady had said. One day soon it would take him.
Closing his eyes tightly, the pain in his head a pounding throb, Jurgen hoped it would take him soon. He closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.
Blessed oblivion was denied him as he heard raised voices outside his chamber doors. Closing his eyes tightly, his stomach knotting, he hoped they would go away and leave him to die in peace.
The voices got louder, and the doors to his chamber were thrown open. 'You cannot go in there, sir. The duke is an ill man!'
'Talabheim and the Empire have need of him!' came an angry, authoritative voice. 'I must speak with the elector!'
Jurgen closed his eyes tightly, feigning sleep. Heavy footsteps approached his bed, halting at his side.
'My Lord Krieglitz, you must awake and attend your duties. Your city and your people need you,' said the voice. 'Krieglitz?' A hand shook his shoulder, and Jurgen opened his heavy eyes. A man, his face horribly scared, stood before him. 'I have need to speak with you, lord.'
Wearily, Jurgen pushed himself up in his bed. His flustered manservant hopped forwards to push cushions behind his back. 'I am sorry, my lord. He burst in.
'There was nothing I could do to halt him.' said the man, obviously distressed.
Jurgen waved the apology away with a weak gesture.
'It matters not.' Jurgen said resignedly. He turned his tired gaze upon the intruder, looking him up and down. 'Ostermark. Long has there been antipathy between Talabecland and Ostermark. Who are you to burst in here?' he asked, trying to sound strong, but hating the weakness he heard in his own voice.