01 - Empire in Chaos (28 page)

Three hours later the battle-weary warriors stumbled from the mine, out into
the cold, clear night. The gibbous silver moon of Mannslieb shone brightly in
the heavens above, overlapped by the smaller, green-hued moon of ill omen,
Morrslieb. That glowing green orb seemed surrounded by distant flames of
viridian, and Grunwald made the sign of Sigmar as protection against its
malevolent effects.

There were only a score of Karl’s knights remaining, the others having been
lost in the nightmare darkness of the abandoned dwarf mine. Of those, all
sported injuries and wounds of varying seriousness. Indeed, none had escaped
unharmed. Annaliese was bleeding from several cuts, including one deep wound
upon her left cheek. Eldanair’s left arm was strapped where a crooked blade had
pierced his bicep, and Karl’s shoulder was bleeding profusely beneath the
twisted gash in his pauldron. Even Thorrik had suffered wounds where the enemy
had found gaps in the nigh on impenetrable suit of armour he wore. Grunwald’s
head was still ringing, and his legs were shaky beneath him as he walked out
into the night.

They walked over the snow-covered ground, an icy wind whipping at them as it
roared across the immense Kadrin valley spreading out before them.

Tens of thousands of fires blazed in the night—an army of greenskins that
was beyond comprehension. And yet, if the dwarfs’ information was correct, and
Grunwald had no reason to doubt them, this was but a fraction of the immense
army of destruction that was pushing ever nearer to the Empire.

In the distance, battle raged, even though it was long past the witching hour
of midnight, and the moons were sinking towards the horizon. The immense bridge
leading to the mighty gates of Kadrin Keep that spanned a vast chasm was heaving
with bodies, tiny figures moving in the distance. Fire burst from cannons high
in the cliff face, and giant winged beasts armoured in green scales turned in
the skies. As they watched in silence, a giant wooden siege engine, the crude
carved representation of a greenskin deity’s head at its top, toppled from the
bridge to fall into the darkness of the chasm beneath, flames blazing up its
side. Hundreds of dark figures fell with it into the gloom, and a distant cheer
went up from the dwarfen defenders.

Thousands of warriors fought against each other, the lines surging, and
hundreds would be dying with every passing minute. Had they been fighting
without rest since they had descended into the mines? Grunwald presumed that
this was so.

The arms of trebuchets of immense scale flicked forward, driven by giant
counter weights of carved stone, hurling rocks lit with sorcerous green fire
towards the dwarf keep. They shattered against the mountainside, showering those
below with burning shards.

A pocket of perhaps a thousand dwarfs could be seen fighting in a large
square formation on the far side of the bridge. As they watched they saw the
formation inching towards the enemy war machines.

But the foe arranged against them seemed utterly limitless in number. As the
knights turned away from the epic battle zone, Grunwald could not fathom how the
dwarfs could hold such an enemy at bay. Karak Kadrin would fall, and the Peak
Pass would be held by the greenskin hordes. And without the dwarfs blocking
their progress, the savage tribes would descend on the Empire, slaughtering and
butchering everything in their path. They did not come for land, or for food,
nor even for the spoils of war. They came to destroy, driven by the urge to kill
and to maim, to rip down the cities and towns of the civilised and to wipe
mankind from the face of the world.

The witch hunter could sense the tension and anger in Thorrik, and he placed
a hand upon the ironbreaker’s heavily armoured shoulder.

“Come,” he said at last. “We must move with swiftness into the Empire.”

“Kadrin will not fall, manling,” said Thorrik, as if he had been reading the
witch hunter’s mind. Still, his voice did not sound convinced, and Grunwald was
shocked to hear the doubt in the resolute dwarfs voice.

“I pray that it will not, for all our sakes,” said Grunwald.

“If Kadrin falls, it heralds the end of the dwarfs,” continued Thorrik.

“The end of us all,” added Grunwald.

The pair turned their backs on the war being waged within Kadrin valley. To
the east they marched, towards the rising dawn and the lands of the Empire.

Three hours into the march away from Kadrin Keep, Eldanair sighted the first
of their pursuers. The elf stood tall on a rocky bluff, a silent and brooding
sentinel staring to the west. Dawn had risen, bathing the land in cold light,
and a freezing wind howled up the mountainous slopes, blowing his long ebony
hair around him like a dark halo.

Little grew on the sharp crags of the valley save for low, hardy grasses and
thorny bushes—there were few places to hide. With narrowed eyes Eldanair
watched as the greenskins picked their way down a slippery slope of shale, a
path treacherously close to a sheer drop that they themselves had descended but
an hour earlier.

The elf cursed as he saw the greenskins were gaining on them, and that there
were too many to be able to face in battle. There was a spindly goblin leading
the group as a scout, a pair of bulbous beasts straining at chains wrapped
around its hand. They were similar to the massive-jawed creatures that had been
unleashed against the dwarf steam engine far beneath the ground, being little
more than balls of muscle dominated by massive slavering jaws, with a pair of
powerful, short legs that carried them forward. These appeared to have large,
overdeveloped slits for nostrils, and they snuffled on the ground, no doubt
following the scent of those they pursued.

Behind this goblin and its pets came other greenskins, a motley array of
goblins and orcs—Eldanair could see over fifty figures picking their way down
the treacherous slope. Even as he watched, one of them, a bare-armed, hulking
giant of an orc wearing a furred hat, lost its footing on the loose shale and
slid over the precipice. It caught itself before it fell, gripping a sharp
outcrop of rock while its legs swung over the thousand foot drop below.

None of the other creatures went to its aid, but it seemed as though they
found the incident highly amusing, slapping their legs and their bodies shaking
with crude laughter. The orc managed to pull itself over the edge back to safety
and it clobbered a smaller orc over the head with one meaty fist before
launching one still giggling goblin off the edge of the precipice. The flailing
figure disappeared into the fog hugging the mountainside.

Black carrion birds circled and weaved lazily in the air above the
greenskins, riding the winds pushed up by the sheer cliffs. Clearly they
followed the orcs, knowing that they would supply them with a feast of death.
Eldanair regarded these birds with cold eyes, and for a moment he could hear
their raucous cries carried to his sensitive ears on the winds.

He leapt easily down from the rocky escarpment, stepping lightly on the snow,
his bow held in his hands.

With hand movements and silent actions the elf conveyed the number of the foe
pursuing them to Annaliese, and managed with some difficulty and increasing
frustration to communicate the idea that they were an hour behind. The girl
nodded and passed on the information to the others.

“I say we stand and fight,” growled Thorrik, and though Eldanair could not
understand his crude words, he understood their meaning. “I will not run like an
elf away from battle.”

An argument developed, and strong words were spoken amongst the humans, the
dwarf speaking sullenly in short, curt sentences. At last the group began moving
once more, the dwarf looking angry and unhappy about the situation. Eldanair
glared at the short warrior, the disdain clear upon his face.

The dwarf said something sharp and crude as he stomped past the elf, his eyes
glittering from beneath his full-faced helmet. Eldanair snapped back a retort in
his own language, the words scathing and arrogant, making the dwarf round on
him, hefting his axe. Eldanair stared down at the glowering warrior, an arrow
nocked to his bowstring. The dwarf took a step towards him and the bow came up,
the bowstring taut.

There may well have been—blood spilt then, but Annaliese stepped in between
the pair, speaking swiftly, her words laced with anger. The dwarf turned away
with a snarl, and stomped away from the elf. Annaliese gave Eldanair a
reproachful look, and she too turned away and continued along the path.

The elf’s eyes narrowed as he watched the departing figure of Thorrik
marching heavily through the snow. He lifted his head high, and began walking
back in the direction of the orcs and goblins that were nearing the base of the
shale trail behind.

“Where is he going now?” voiced Karl as he watched the tall figure of the elf
moving away and Grunwald shrugged his shoulders.

“Probably covering our tracks, or some such thing,” he replied.

“Makes my blood run cold, that one,” said the preceptor. “The way he haunts
the girl’s steps. It’s not natural.”

Again Grunwald shrugged. The knight was watching the figure of Annaliese as
she picked her way across the rough ground up ahead. Her hair shone brightly in
the rising sun.

“She is a beauty though, isn’t she?” said Karl, his eyes locked on the figure
of the girl.

Grunwald merely grunted in response.

The knight smiled broadly, his features handsome and unmarked. How unlike his
own, Grunwald thought, scratching idly at his heavy, stubbled and scarred jaw.

“The mountain air, a beautiful woman at my side… Under different
circumstances this might have been a pleasant journey,” said the knight.

“She’s not your woman, Karl,” Grunwald pointed out.

“Not yet,” said the knight with a lascivious wink that made the witch hunter
snort.

“Good luck with that,” said Grunwald. “It will come to nothing.”

“You underestimate me, my friend. Women the length and breadth of the Empire
rejoice when I come to their towns and cities and cry rivers of tears when I
leave. My skills in the bedchamber are legendary.”

“Spread by you, no doubt,” said Grunwald, laughing as he shook his head. The
knight gave him a look of feigned hurt.

“We shall see,” he said, his eyes bright with passion.

For the better part of the day the group marched, winding their way down
lower as the valley began to spread out before them. Eldanair returned some
hours later, silent and ghostlike, and Annaliese told them that he had been
laying some sort of traps for their pursuers. They heard witness of one of these
traps as the sun began to dip low towards the mountains behind them, a clatter
of stones and a strangled cry, though what manner of trap the elf had
constructed was unknown.

Through the night they continued their trek, and sign of their pursuers could
be seen by all—torches bright and flaming in the darkness followed their path
unerringly, despite all the efforts of Eldanair to throw them off the scent.

They ate in silence as they walked, chewing the hard, salted meat. It was
strangely filling sustenance, but none of the group was at ease as the hour grew
late. The air was freezing, and they struggled through a snowstorm, each step
agonising and laboured. At last the storm passed by them, and then they could
see the stars once more, millions of tiny lights that pierced the heavens.

Still the enemy came after them—if anything, they seemed to be getting
closer.

“Don’t they need rest too?” grumbled one of Karl’s warriors. The group was
slowed by the knights, whose heavy armour was more of a hindrance than a help on
the long march. Still, not one of the knights would have considered stripping
off and abandoning their armour, and no one mentioned the idea.

They were weary and aching as the first light of dawn began to seep across
the skies. They stopped for a short break, sitting down on the rocks gratefully,
passing the water-skins around between them.

“Where is the elf?” said Karl, and the others glanced around, realising that
he was nowhere to be seen. Annaliese frowned and stood up, turning fully around,
concern clear on her face.

“Never know with one of them,” said Thorrik. “Probably left us to fend for
ourselves while he is making a run for it.”

“He would
not
abandon us,” said Annaliese fiercely.

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” said the dwarf matter-of-factly. “It’s in their
nature to be deceitful. No understanding of honour, elves.”

“Thorrik, hold your tongue,” said the witch hunter, while Annaliese glared at
the dwarf hotly. The ironbreaker merely shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m sure he is fine,” said Grunwald to the girl. “And it does us no good to
wait here for his return. We must push on.”

Grunwald marched at Karl’s side as the group resumed its march.

“You really think the elf will come back?” said Karl. “I think there is
something in what the dwarf said, you know.”

Grunwald looked over at the knight. “He’ll be back.”

“So certain?”

Grunwald sighed. “If it were just you, me, your knights and the dwarf, then
no, I don’t think he would be back. But he will not abandon Annaliese.”

They walked for some minutes in silence. Glancing over at the knight, Grunwald saw
the warrior’s face was dark.

Where was the elf?

Eldanair crouched low behind the rocks, all but invisible in the darkness.
His face was hard as he listened to the sounds of the pursuit drawing closer. At
last he rose from his position, aiming swiftly.

The first arrow slammed through the left eye socket of one of the foul beasts
led by the goblin, and it fell to the ground heavily, stubby legs twitching.

The creatures seemed able to follow a scent in the manner of hunting hounds
their nostrils wide and flaring as they snuffled along the ground. No matter
what efforts the elf took to conceal the trail, these creatures led the
greenskins unerringly, and so they had to die.