01 - Empire in Chaos (14 page)

At Black Fire Pass the mighty Sigmar had stood with the united human tribes
and their dwarfen allies and fought the greatest battle ever to have taken place
in the Old World. A horde of greenskins the likes of which had never before been
seen was set to pass through the valley and into the fertile lands beyond—it
would have spelt the end of human civilisation. Sigmar stood against this force
and fought it to a standstill for days on end. He slew the mighty greenskin
warlord and the unity of the orc and goblin tribes was shattered. It was the
most important victory in the history of mankind, and it heralded the dawning of
the Empire itself.

Annaliese had listened as a child at the knee of her father, her mouth agape
as he recounted the tale of Sigmar’s victory. She never grew tired of the story,
and would beg her father each night before bed to retell it. He would embellish
it and invent new, super-human exploits for the blond warrior-god, but the
essence of the tale was always the same. A single man refusing to be beaten that
brought about salvation for all.

A single man was all that stood between victory and defeat, her father had
always said. If just one warrior had turned to flee that day, it would have
caused an unstoppable rout that would have been the end of the Empire before it
was even formed—but none ran, even though most must have believed that their
doom had come. And they held only because of their belief in a single, brave
warrior.

All it takes, her father would often say, is one person to stand up against
oppression and overwhelming force for others to stand with them—just one
person to show bravery in the face of death for others to overcome their fear.
This, he said, was the most important lesson he could ever teach her, and he
would repeat it often. The smallest things win battles, he said—a single man
turning and running, a single man standing tall and defying the enemy when all
seemed lost.

There was the distant howling of a wolf, and she shivered, glancing back at
the way they had come.

In the far distance, there was a score of tiny flickering lights. More
travellers coming late at night to Black Fire Pass?

The vista would have been stunning in daylight, and she wished that she could
see it. Still, it mattered little—she had decided that she would stay at the
temple to aid the Sisters of Shallya in their sacred duty. She would have many
days before her to witness the grandeur of Black Fire Pass.

She felt a sense of calm come over her as she thought about the years that
lay ahead having made the decision. To spend her years dedicated to the goddess
of mercy tending the ill and the wounded would be both heart wrenching and
satisfying, she thought. And it would allow her to remain with Tomas and Katrin,
and that in itself made her pleased.

Her long journey was almost over, and she was glad of it. She felt stronger
than she ever had done, and she had travelled Sigmar knew how many miles across
the Empire, but her journeys had brought her to where she felt in her heart she
was meant to be; a pilgrimage of sorts.

They came upon an impassable, crenelated wall that protected the approach to
the temple. A powerful, squat gatehouse was positioned squarely in the road, its
massive gate barred and a black iron portcullis standing before it.

Sentries stood upon walls lit with burning braziers, and Annaliese saw the
glint of metal from the tips of halberds. One of the sentries gave a shout as
the weary-travellers approached, and crossbows were aimed down at them through
the crenelations. Even this could not dampen Annaliese’s feeling of well-being,
and she felt a shiver of anticipation as she saw the bronze icon above the gate
of a twin-tailed comet, the symbol that was said to herald the coming of Sigmar
himself.

Eldanair loosened the tension on his bowstring as more crossbows were aimed
towards them, and he lifted his hands into the air to show his weapon was not
readied.

“Who goes there?” came a shout, and Katrin stepped forwards so that the light
of the braziers fell upon her.

“I am a Sister of Shallya, come to rejoin my order who have come to the
temple to give aid where it is needed,” she said. This was met with a muffled
conversation, and Annaliese could hear the sound of a heavy bar being lifted by
several men. A small door inset into the massive double-doors of the gate was
opened and a sleepy looking warrior appeared. He blinked as he saw Katrin
standing before him, and cast a quick eye over Annaliese and Eldanair, who had
drawn his hood over his head. He nodded, yawning.

“You will have to wait for one of the priests, I am afraid, good sister. None
may pass through here after dark without their express permission.”

Katrin nodded her assent, and the wooden door closed. It was opened a moment
later by the same sentry.

“Can I get you anything, sister? Water? Bread? It’s nothing fancy, I’m
afraid.”

“Thank you but no,” she replied. “We will wait until I am rejoined with my
sisters to take refreshment.” The door clicked shut once again.

Ten minutes passed before the sound of turning gears and levers heralded the
lifting of the spiked, iron portcullis. One of the large double-doors opened
with a heavy groan of wood to show a powerful warrior priest waiting for them,
leaning on an immense double-handed hammer. He was thickly set, and dressed in
armour of plate steel beneath his robes. He looked every inch the veteran
soldier.

“Sister, it is late to be travelling these parts,” he said, his voice
surprisingly soft as he ushered her forwards. “There are dangers abroad.”

“Thank you, brother,” said Katrin. “These are my friends and they seek refuge
within the temple.”

The warrior priest nodded, and his eyes flicked to Eldanair, then to
Annaliese and her young charge, then back to the hooded elf.

“The girl and child we welcome with open arms. But I would see the face of
the warrior before allowing him to pass,” the warrior priest said softly.

As if he understood the words, Eldanair pulled the hood from his face, his
bearing proud and noble as he looked into the priest’s eyes. One of the warriors
of Sigmar’s eyebrows rose slightly, though his expression did not change. He
held up a hand towards the elf, and Annaliese felt a flutter within her, as if
something ethereal and invisible stirred within.

“Your heart is pure and that of a brave warrior,” said the priest.
“Nevertheless, I regret that you may not pass within these gates.”

“What?” said Annaliese sharply. “If it were not for him, we would all have
perished. I was not aware the temple was so unwelcoming.”

The priest turned his gentle eyes towards her, and she felt an aura of
strength and calm descend over her.

“Would we humans be allowed within a temple of elven kind? Would we be
allowed within the ancestral halls of dwarfenkind? It is not through being
unwelcoming that I bar his entrance. It is merely out of respect to the temple.”

Annaliese glared at him, pushing away the feeling of calm that he was
exerting.

“Fine,” she snapped, and turned towards Eldanair. With hand signals and
gestures, she quickly made the situation known. She tried to communicate that
she would come back out once Tomas was safe. He shrugged slightly, and looked
down his nose at the Sigmarite priest. Turning swiftly, he pulled the hood down
low over his face, and melted into the fir trees.

“The temple will provide food and firewood should the elf require it, lady,”
said the priest softly. Annaliese flashed him an angry glance.

“He would not accept them,” she said. The priest merely shrugged in response,
and turned to lead them through the gatehouse. Gravel crunched underfoot as they
made their way back onto the road beyond.

It seemed like a dream to Annaliese when they finally rounded a bend and saw
the glory of the temple of Sigmar, and her foul mood evaporated instantly.
Braziers of warming fire welcomed them, and lights could be seen through the
small, high windows that had been constructed with as much thought to defence as
to architectural beauty.

In the dim moonlight, Annaliese could see that at the apex of the domed roof
of the temple glittered a golden statue of man, a mighty hammer in his hands.
Her mouth opened in awe. With the coming of sunrise, the statue would be lit up
as if blazing with divine light.

The doors of the temple creaked open, and warmth and light spilled out.
Annaliese felt a surge of well-being as she entered.

“I am home,” she whispered.

Udo Grunwald walked his horse alongside Thorrik, giving the tired beast a
rest. It was skittish, and he could feel it trembling as wolves howled in the
distance. It must have been nearing midnight, but he was determined to press on
to the temple. It was around three hours further on, he estimated—they should
reach it an hour or so before dawn.

Karl Heiden, preceptor of the Knights of the Blazing Sun, was leading the
column, and the night was filled with rhythmic clopping of hooves on the black
rocky ground that gave the pass its name. There was but a score of the knights
accompanying them, the remainder of the order having set up camp just outside
the valley, so as to enter at dawn. Grunwald and Thorrik had both been keen to
continue on, and Karl had requested permission from the Templar Master of his
order to escort them. It was a noble gesture, and Grunwald was thankful for the
company. Every fourth knight carried a burning brand aloft in his armoured hand,
letting off a warm, flickering glow.

The mountains rose up on either side of the valley, and the trees were thick
on their slopes.

“Good road, this,” commented Thorrik, lowering the burning brand he held
towards the ground. Grunwald grunted in response. He hadn’t paid the road much
notice. “Made by my kinsmen before the War of Vengeance.” He stamped one of his
feet solidly onto the stonework, making Grunwald’s horse shy. “Good, solid,
dwarf work,” continued Thorrik. “Will last until the end of the world, when
Grimnir himself will return to us.” The dwarf glanced up at Grunwald. “We must
part ways soon, lad. I must deliver this,” he said, indicating with a thumb to
the wrapped item on his back. “I am oath-bound to one now drinking in the halls
of the ancestors,” he said gruffly, obviously uncomfortable with such talk. He
cleared his throat. “I won’t be around much longer to keep saving your neck.”

The witch hunter smiled. In truth he would miss his dour companion. His horse
shied again, whinnying sharply and tugging at the reins in his hand. “Hush,” he
said, patting it on the neck as Thorrik glared at it hatefully from beneath his
helm. The horse pulled at its reins again, more forcefully, its ears flat
against its head.

“What is wrong with that confounded beast?” grumbled the dwarf as Grunwald
tried to calm it.

“Something’s spooked him,” said Grunwald, struggling with the horse. He saw
that the knights’ horses were uneasy as well, though their training kept them
from acting up. He saw Karl raise his hand for the column to halt, and Grunwald
held a hand to his trembling mount’s neck, whispering quietly to it. Its eyes
were wide.

There was another howling of wolves, closer this time, and he heard Thorrik
hiss as he swung to stare into the dark fir woods that walled the roadway.

“Have you never heard wolves before, dwarf?” scoffed Grunwald. His grin
slipped when more howling sounded, closer again than before.

“Grobi,” snarled Thorrik, dropping his heavy pack to the ground and hefting
his axe in one hand, the other still holding his burning brand aloft.

“What?” said Grunwald.

“We are being attacked!” roared the dwarf as the first shape streaked from
the darkness of the trees, hurtling towards the column of knights.

Teeth bared and a feral growl emanating from deep in its chest, the huge wolf
bounded across the uneven ground. A greenskinned creature clung to its back,
grinning broadly to expose a fearsome array of needle-like teeth.

Before the knights could react to Thorrik’s warning, the wolf leapt at the
closest warrior of the Blazing Sun. The wolf was immense, easily the size of a
small horse, and it closed its slavering jaws around the steed’s armoured neck.
The horse screamed in terror and fell beneath the weight of the wolf, as the
creature perched upon its back thrust its crude spear into the chest of the
knight, denting but not piercing his breastplate. Nevertheless, his legs were
crushed as the weight of his panicked, barded steed fell upon him. The hateful
green-skinned creature leapt from its mount onto the knight, ramming the spear
tip through the knight’s vision slit, as the blood-hungry wolf killed his horse.

“Goblins,” snarled Grunwald, as more of the creatures swarmed from the
concealing darkness of the tree line, bounding towards the column. He released
his grip on his horse’s reins, and it reared, hooves flailing, before a hurled
spear drove into its chest. It bolted, its lifeblood pumping from the mortal
wound.

At a shout from Karl, the knights wheeled their steeds to face the threat,
maintaining their discipline despite the confusion that was erupting.

Thorrik roared a dwarfen war cry and hurled his burning brand into the face
of one of the charging creatures before hefting his axe in both hands and
slamming it into the side of the head of a wolf that leapt towards him, caving
its skull.

Grunwald drew and fired one of his pistols, sending a goblin flying from the
saddle, blood spraying out behind it. He threw himself to the ground as the
monstrous wolf leapt at him.

The knights flailed around them, discarding their lances in favour of their
heavy cavalry blades. They hacked down at the wolf riders, killing several, but
other knights were being knocked from their steeds as more wolves launched
themselves at their warhorses.

As he rose to his feet, Grunwald slipped his mace from its belt, and leapt at
a wolf that was tearing at a fallen knight. It turned as he closed on it, baring
its teeth and its feral eyes filled with animal ferocity and hunger. The mace
smashed into the side of the creature’s head, smashing teeth and bone, and it
fell with a whimper.