01 - Empire in Chaos (16 page)

He heard a dull, rhythmic pounding sound and knew instantly that it was a
battering ram being used on the temple’s entrance.

“Annaliese,” he hissed, and broke from his cover, heading in the direction of
the temple.

“Tomas!” Annaliese shouted, hearing her own voice disappear in the cacophony
of shouts and screams. She ran up the corridor towards the temple proper,
passing beneath severe archways and the cold stare of Sigmarite saints, frantic
with panic. The tolling of the bell continued to resound deafeningly from
somewhere high overhead.

Servants of the temple and the devout who had come to the temple on
pilgrimages were bursting from dormitories on either side of the passageway,
fear on their faces. They clutched icons of Sigmar and wailed. Annaliese tried
to ask several of them if they had seen a little boy, but she was buffeted by
hurrying people, and no one wanted to listen to her.

A deep, commanding voice bellowed down the corridor. The milling, scared
people were silenced by the authoritative tone, and they began to shuffle
towards the speaker, a tall warrior priest adorned in armour and robes.

“The temple of our lord is besieged,” the priest said, his voice loud enough
to carry to everyone gathered. “Any man able to fight should remain here to aid
in the defence of the temple. I want all the women and children to come to the
front now, and you will be taken to the undercroft.” The corridor suddenly
erupted in a cacophony of noise, people crying out in fear, and assailing the
priest with questions.

“Enough!” he roared, silencing the crowd. “There will be no argument here!
Initiate Alexis here will guide you to the undercroft. I want women and children
to go with him. Now! Take nothing with you, you go with what you are carrying
now.”

People began to bustle and push, and the sound level rose quickly once more.

“Be silent!” raged the priest. “You are all children of Sigmar—do not
dishonour him with weakness and tears! Go now, in silence, and Alexis will lead
you in prayer once the undercroft is sealed. Go now!”

Women made hasty farewells to nervous looking husbands and fathers, and an
argument broke out between a boy and his mother.

“You are too young!” the mother said severely, cutting him off mid-sentence.
The tall priest placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned tearful eyes up at
him.

“The boy has Sigmar’s fighting spirit—let him stand alongside us and defy
these enemies,” he said, his voice stern. Tears began to roll down the woman’s
face, and she hugged the boy to her chest, sobbing.

The young initiate Alexis, who could not have been older than eight years
old, took the woman’s hand and led her away with the others.

The tall priest turned his green eyes towards Annaliese, who was craning her
neck, trying to see Tomas in the crowd.

“Go with the others,” he said. She merely shook her head, ignoring him as she
continued to scan the corridor. He gripped her arm firmly, urging her towards
the departing women and children.

“I will not,” she snapped, shaking her arm free. She glared at him fiercely,
tears welling unbidden in her eyes. “I cannot find… there is a boy… Tomas.”

“There is no time for this, girl!” barked the priest. “Your child is probably
already down there, with the gentle sisters.”

“The sisters…” muttered Annaliese. That must be it! Tomas had gone to find
Katrin. “The sisters are already down there?”

“Yes, yes they are,” said the priest, distracted now.

“Now go! Hurry!”

She left the priest who barked at the wide-eyed men to follow him to the
armoury. Running lightly, she headed in the direction that the women had been
ushered in. She passed through several corridors, hearing a rhythmic pounding
in-between the ringing of the bell.

She ran out of an archway and came upon the central chapel to Sigmar, lit
with candles and braziers and she gasped in awe.

It had been darkened when they had been bustled through earlier that evening,
but now that it was lit, she gazed around with her mouth wide open.

The room was immense, the walls rising impossibly high and disappearing into
darkness above. Statues of Sigmar’s warrior saints lined the walls, standing
within arched alcoves twenty feet above the ground. They posed heroically,
holding mighty weapons and standing on top of slain enemies. Each statue was the
size of a giant, and candlelight flickered over their forms, giving the illusion
of movement.

But the statue of Sigmar himself in the centre of the domed temple, standing
on a plinth and surrounded by statues of fierce horsemen, took her breath away.

Braziers lit the mighty golden statue from beneath, forming deep shadows upon
its heavily muscled torso as the representation of the warrior god lifted his
warhammer Ghal Maraz high into the air. His hair was long and flowing, and upon
his face was an expression of utter determination—it was the expression
Annaliese imagined the man-god had worn when he defied the endless hordes of
greenskins in the blackened pass nearby, and it spoke of awesome strength and
nobility.

Clockwork cherubs circled around the statue, metallic feathered wings
clicking as they flapped jerkily and raised trumpets to their pouting lips.

Her attention was distracted from the awe-inspiring statue as a trio of
heavily armoured warrior priests hurried past. One of them was the gentle-spoken
priest that had escorted her to the temple earlier that night, though she almost
did not recognise him wearing his open-faced helm, and he stopped at her side.

“You should be with the others,” he said gently, his eyebrows furrowing in
concern. “Come,” he added and began to hurry her towards the back of the temple.

“I can fight,” she said defiantly, standing her ground, The priest paused and
smiled, transforming his face. He was very handsome, she thought, and felt a
blush coming over her cheeks. The priest placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.
The metal of his gauntlet felt cold.

“Of that I have no doubt,” he said. “Someone needs to guard over the women
and children. Come.”

She knew he was humouring her, and she felt her blush deepen, but she allowed
herself to be led to the entrance leading beneath the temple. It was a narrow
staircase spiralling down into the rock. Light flickered up weakly from below.

There was a resounding boom that echoed through the temple, followed by the
sound of splintering wood.

“We are breached!” came a shout, followed by the sound of weapons clashing. A
blood-curdling, bestial roar resounded across the temple, and a warrior cried
out in pain.

“I must go,” said the priest. He squeezed her shoulder briefly, and turned
away, holding his hammer in both hands, his face grim. She bit her lip as she
looked at the spiralling, stone steps. Seeing her indecision as he glanced back,
the priest shouted to her, all softness gone from his voice. “Go now!” he
commanded.

She heard a roared prayer to Sigmar, accompanied by a flash of golden light
from across the temple, and the roars and bellows of inhuman foes. A man cried
out in pain as Annaliese began the descent beneath the temple.

Down and down the staircase spiralled. She passed a landing where a burning
torch burnt in its brazier. She touched an ancient shield emblazoned with the
twin-tailed comet that hung on the wall, and continued further down in near
darkness, feeling the way along the smooth walls with her hands. Sounds of
battle filtered down from above, and her breath was heavy—it felt like the
walls were closing in on her, and she imagined herself tripping and falling
headlong down the treacherous steps into the darkness.

At last she began to be able to see again, and she stepped onto a wide
landing carved out of the rock. Torches burnt on the walls, and she began to
dash down the wide corridor towards the heavy door at the other end, passing by
numerous shrine-alcoves holding the bones of saints.

She paused at one of the shrines as she passed, seeing a skeleton in highly
polished, ancient armour lying on a plinth carved into the wall. A gleaming
shield hung above the long dead warrior’s resting place, and a hammer was
clasped in skeletal hands over his chest. Faded parchment hung upon the walls,
doubtlessly speaking of the deeds of the warrior priest, and strips of velum
hung beneath sconces of candles, covered in intricate writings. She turned away
as a horrible death scream echoed down from above, and ran to the door at the
far end of the corridor.

It was a heavy door of oak, reinforced with iron strips and spikes. She
hammered on its surface. “Please,” she cried. “Please open the door.” She
realised then that she was not wearing the sword blade that Eldanair had given
her, and she cursed herself. If the enemy did manage to slaughter the warrior
priests above, how was she going to defend the women and children down here?

Still cursing herself, she spun on her heel, eyes flashing around for a
weapon. She noticed a dull light emanating from one of the alcoves, and she
stepped warily towards it.

She barely noticed the sound of a heavy bar being lifted, for she was certain
that something was drawing her towards the resting place of this ancient
warrior.

“Annaliese!” hissed a voice as the door behind her was opened, and dimly she
registered the voice of the Sister of Shallya, Katrin. “Annaliese, come inside,
quickly! Tomas is with me here!”

In a daze, Annaliese ignored the woman, and stepped into the alcove.

Where all the other shrines had been painstakingly maintained, the armour and
weapons of the deceased being highly shined and free from dust, this warrior was
covered in cobwebs, his ornate platemail rusted and tarnished.

Shadows seemed to play at the corner of her vision, and Annaliese thought she
heard a gentle whispering, like a voice carried on a breeze. Spiders scuttled
away from her as she approached what she guessed could only be a revered warrior
priest of another era, and the whispering seemed to get stronger, though she
could not make out any words.

A deathly chill descended, but still she drew closer to the skeleton as if it
were calling to her. She knelt in dust undisturbed for centuries at the
venerable warrior’s side, and looked at its face. The flesh had long wasted away
from the bones, and the lower jaw hung half loose from the skull, but she was
not horrified or scared.

Dimly she heard a voice frantically calling her name, but it seemed like it
was coming from a long way away, and she ignored it.

The skeleton wore a circlet of tarnished metal around the crown of its head,
and tufts of hair remained on the skull. She glanced down at the warrior’s
hands. Clasped in each hand was a hammer covered in dust and cobwebs, crossed
over a plain, long-rusted breastplate. The hammers were of simple, functional
design—a short, plain metal haft that ended in a solid twin-head. The only
ornamentation upon them was the twin-tailed comet relief set into the sides of
the hammer head, but even these were far from ostentatious.

Driven more by instinct than rational thought, her hand closed around the
haft of one of the hammers. A finger bone snapped as she lifted the brittle hand
and slid the hammer from the grasp of the long dead warrior priest. Carefully
she replaced the hand upon the chest and marvelled at the weapon clasped in her
hands. She wiped away the dust and spiderwebs, feeling the strength within the
killing weapon.

Leaning forward, she planted a kiss upon the forehead of the skeletal warrior
priest.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and rose to her feet.

Sound crashed in on her. A woman was screaming in her ear, and pulling upon
her arm. The stamp of heavy feet echoed through the passageway, accompanied by
the scrape of metal on stone and monstrous growls and guttural words barked in
some crude, brutish language.

As if waking from a dream, Annaliese saw Katrin’s tearful face close to hers,
begging her to go with her.

The sound of pounding feet came from the stairway, and she realised then that
the enemy had arrived. She stared with wide eyes at the hammer held in her
hands.

Feeling a sense of peace and calm come over her, Annaliese lifted her head
and smiled at Katrin.

“Go inside and seal the door behind you,” she said to the frantic woman.
Katrin shook her head, tears running down her face, and tried to pull her bodily
towards the safety of the doorway. Beyond the open portal Annaliese saw the
frightened faces of women, and the young priest initiate wearing an expression
of astonishment.

“Go, Katrin,” said Annaliese firmly, love and strength in her voice. Katrin
stopped her sobbing and looked deep into the teenage girl’s eyes, seeing the
resolve there, but seeing something else as well. Somewhat reluctantly she
released her grip on the girl, and with a last forlorn kiss on the cheek, she
ran back through the doorway.

“Seal it,” Annaliese heard the sister order, and she registered the door
slamming shut as she turned calmly away from it. Bolts were slid into place, and
the heavy bar behind the door was locked into position.

Walking slowly up the corridor, testing the weight of the hammer in her
hands, Annaliese stared grimly at the spiralling stone stairs.

She felt the presence of the long dead saints of Sigmar alongside her, and as
the first of the enemies appeared, she let out a furious shout. With hammer
raised high, she attacked.

Surrounded by shards of coloured glass, Eldanair knelt on the tall
windowsill, surveying the carnage in the temple below. The window was some ten
feet above the tiled floor, and the stained glass set within it had depicted the
human god, Sigmar, until it had recently been smashed by a hurled spear.

The main expanse within the lofty, domed temple was seething with combatants.
A knot of heavily armoured humans fought back to back against the horde of
greenskins rushing in against them. The enemy smashed against them like a raging
torrent, and though they stood firm, they could not hold back the living tide,
and orcs and goblins were running rampant through the temple, smashing statues
and kicking over tall candelabras, whooping and roaring.