Mark of Chaos (20 page)

'Josef and Mikael.' said Gunthar, introducing the two to Stefan. 'Mikael, be a good lad and help the soldiers with their horses, and see that there are enough blankets.' The younger man nodded his head, his red curly hair bobbing, and ran off. 'There is room enough in here for your men to sleep the night. Mikael will get you blankets. Think nothing of sleeping within the church of Sigmar - what better place for warriors to sleep, eh?'

An ancient wooden statue of Sigmar stood at the back of the chapel, the great warhammer Ghal-maraz clasped in his hands before him. The priest ushered Stefan towards a small door leading to the living quarters at the rear of the building, but the captain excused himself and approached the statue. Dropping to his knees, Stefan bowed his head and said a prayer to the warrior god. Standing, he followed the priest through into the next room.

'A devotee of Sigmar, I see.' said Gunthar approvingly, entering the small kitchen. Walking behind the priest, Stefan mused that a bear dressed in the regalia of a priest would look much the same; such was the size and power of the man. A good man to have on your side in a fight, he decided.

The kitchen was spare, little more than a solid wooden table, a couple of crates for seating and a black cooking pot hanging over an open fire. A small door led out into the courtyard behind the chapel, probably where the horses were stabled. There was another man here, an older stooped figure stirring the contents of the pot. The smell was delicious. The man turned, and he recognised him at once.

'Physician Piter.' said Stefan warmly. 'It is good to see you well.' The older man gave a weary smile. The old man had always been kindly to Stefan as a child, giving him special roots to chew on when his teeth ached, and telling him far-fetched stories when no one else would talk to him.

'I look well? Ha! My bones creak when I walk and I lose my breath climbing a flight of stairs. I am old and weary, young man, but it
is
good to see you.' he said, his voice rasping. 'It's a shame we meet under such circumstances.'

'Indeed it is, but it
is
good to see you none-the-less.' Gunthar sat the older man down on a crate, and ushered Stefan to sit. Then he picked up some bowls, looking ridiculously small in his massive hands, and began to serve the meal. Once he had dished out to Stefan and the old physician, he called to Josef to find bread for Stefan's soldiers. Having seen to the needs of his guests, the priest sat himself down on one of the crates.

'We have much to discuss,' said Piter. The old man sighed wearily. 'May Morr have pity on my foolish old soul. I am hunted, Stefan, you know that? I have been called a traitor and a worshipper of the dark arts. Imagine that? Me worshipping the Dark Gods! Can you think of anything more ridiculous? But I am getting ahead of myself.' The older man leant forwards, staring intently into the captain's eyes.

'This good priest here,' he said, motioning to Gunthar. 'He is as trustworthy a man as ever I have met. He is willing to sacrifice himself for the Empire - utterly devoted. You have known me since you were a lad, Stefan, and I would like to think that you trust me?'

'Of course,' said Stefan. 'As if you even needed to ask.'

'Then trust this man as you do me. Doubt not a word that he speaks.' Stefan turned towards the priest, who returned his gaze impassively.

'I will do as you ask, Piter,' said Stefan solemnly.

'Good. You may have heard of him, actually. His exploits during the Great War are quite well known, I believe.'

Stefan wracked his brain, and then his eyes widened. 'Gunthar... Gunthar
Klaus
?'
The warrior priest nodded his head grimly. The man was a living legend. He had fought tirelessly during the years of the war. If the stories were to be believed, mighty daemons had been slain beneath his hammer, and armies on the point of routing had been rallied by this man alone. 'It is a great honour.' breathed Stefan.

'I am glad that you received my letter, captain - I feared that you would not. Now,' said the physician, leaning back in his seat, 'you deserve to know the truth. As you know, I have been the physician of the royal house of Ostermark for decades. I served your grandfather, not that he needed my services often, but it was I who tended to his family when they were poorly. A strong man, your grandfather. So too, I was the physician of Otto Gruber, curse his name, when he took the title of grand elector.'

'Now, the man had always been ill. He had the wasting sickness as a child, you know. It is said that no one held out much hope for the boy, but he managed to pull through and get over the worst of it. Still, his health was ruined - always he was to be wracked with illness.'

'When he first became elector, I thought nothing of it. He was a clever man, very cunning. He duped me as he had duped all the others. Disease seemed to be a part of him, and as the years went by, he seemed to get the symptoms of some of the most deadly illnesses that I had ever encountered. I did what I could for him, preparing tinctures and healing broths, and always he managed to pull through. At the time, I had no idea how. For a while, I deluded myself into thinking that it was my remedies, but that was just pride, I see that now.'

'No, as the years continued to roll by, and I became the frail old man I am now, I began to understand that something was not quite right.' The old man paused for a moment, playing with his spoon. 'He should have died years ago. Something was keeping him alive, and it was not my doing. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the position I was in. Everyone knew that the elector had been sick for decades, but never was overcome by the illnesses, and that
I
was his physician. Counts and barons sought my services from far and wide. Again, pride.'

'I finally learnt the truth. All I was doing was holding back the rottenness that was inside the man all along, and I do not mean that in any metaphorical sense - truly, the man is
rotting
from the inside out. He is rotting, but he is not dying. Indeed, I think he somehow
enjoys
the sicknesses that he experiences, comfortable in the knowledge that he will not succumb to the finality of death as a result.'

'He is a creature of Chaos, Stefan, a worshipper of a foul, pestilential dark god of Chaos. I shall not speak any of its many names; suffice it to say, it is the antithesis of the natural order of things. I believe, and this is but conjecture, but I truly believe that Gruber probably would have died as a result of his wasting sickness when he was young. Certainly he would not have lived past his teens. No, I believe that to avoid this fate he sought any god who would protect him. Maybe he did not mean to turn to evil, but it was a god of Chaos that answered him. It saved him, and damned him.'

The room was utterly silent. Stefan sat motionless, his disgust plain upon his face. He cleared his throat. 'And my grandfather?' he asked.

'All I can think is that your grandfather discovered his secret. A man of true honour and purity, your grandfather would have been distraught. They were close friends. Nevertheless, Gruber must have turned upon him. Like an animal backed into a corner, he lashed out in order to protect himself and his secret.'

'Your grandfather was accused of consorting with the Dark Powers. He laughed these accusations off, but, at Gruber's prompting, a witch hunter was brought in to conduct an investigation and adjudicate on the matter. This witch hunter, a vile snake of a man, "interviewed" the household servants, and the members of the court. Many screams could be heard echoing through the castle during these "interviews".'

'On that last fateful night, he entered your grandfather's personal chambers and discovered a shrine to the Dark Gods. Human hearts had been left there as offerings, and blood was scrawled across the walls - vile Chaotic symbols.'

'Gruber framed your grandfather, of that I am sure. So, your grandfather was put to death, your father was exiled, and you were branded with that cruel mark upon your face.'

'But... the whole court turned against him. They collaborated with Gruber's story.' said Stefan.

The old man shrugged. 'Politicians are easily bought. Perhaps they too had been granted longevity through the worship of the Dark Gods. We shall probably never know. Long years passed. Once I learnt the truth, only months ago, I knew not what to do. I could not speak out - a physician's word against that of an elector and his entire court? Ha! I would have been flogged and hanged from the gates of the castle to be pecked over by the crows. So I fled, and here I am.'

'It is a dark tale,' rumbled the massive priest, Gunthar.

'I don't understand why he kept me alive,' said Stefan. 'Surely it would have been better for him to have killed me as a babe. If the truth came out, I would always try to kill him. Plus, as much as I dislike the thought, I am the rightful heir to the position of elector. It makes no sense.'

'Well, I agree with you on that. It doesn't make sense,' said Gunthar, 'but from everything I hear, the man lost his mind many years ago. Who can guess the motivations of a madman?'

'He did try to kill me,' Stefan said, only just realising it himself, 'but it was much later. The mission to guard the pass. It
was
a suicidal mission. Why wait so long to remove me?'

'You've got me, lad.'

'Well, there is my truth. There is nothing for it now, but to gut the wretch.'

'There is the problem, lad,' said Gunthar. 'He ain't an easy man to kill.'

Stefan frowned. 'A sword through the heart should do it.'

'That's where you are wrong. If I smashed this great hammer into his skull,' he said, hefting his massive two-handed hammer up for emphasis, 'it wouldn't kill him. I'm sure he wouldn't look too pretty afterwards, but it would not kill him.'

Stefan frowned, looking dubious. 'In my experience, staving a man's head in usually does the trick.'

'Ah, but he is not truly a man any more. It's the power of Chaos,' said the priest, giving the protective sign of Sigmar to ward off evil. 'It protects him. He sold his soul into damnation, and now the gods of Chaos protect their pawn greedily. Even with all the power of my faith, I could not kill the fiend. Damn me, but I wish I could.'

'So... how can we kill him?'

'There is something that can kill him, but it will not be easy to recover. I have learnt that...' Something rattled in the chimney, and the priest stopped talking. An object fell into the flames, scattering embers and sparks, and rolled out onto the floor. It was a metal globe about the size of a fist, covered in small perforations.

'What in Sigmar's name?' boomed Gunthar, leaping to his feet. Green smoke began to seep from the holes in the metal globe, and the stench made Stefan gag.

'Back,' shouted Piter, coughing. 'Poison!' Stefan drew his sword. His eyes began to weep, and the foul smoke entered his lungs, making his head spin. Coughing, he put his hand over his mouth, and followed Gunthar through the door into the chapel. Bustling the old physician into the room, he slammed the door behind them. Piter dropped to his knees, coughing blood onto the flagstones.

'Bar the doors!' barked Stefan, wiping at his watering eyes. The soldiers sprang into action, loading crossbows and handguns, and taking up positions at the windows. Two of them barricaded the main door of the chapel, and another pair began to shift a heavy wooden pew in front of the door leading to the living quarters.

'Where's Mikael?' boomed the voice of Gunthar. 'Where is he, damn it?'

'The lad? Tending the horses,' the scout Wilhelm replied. The massive priest swore, pushed the pew out of his way with one hand, and stormed back into the kitchen.

'Damn!' spat Stefan. 'You two,' he said, indicating a pair of his soldiers, 'go with him!'

Green smoke filled the room, and the pair covered their faces with their arms, and ran into the room, following the massive priest. Gunthar slammed straight into the small door leading to the courtyard, smashing the door off its hinges with his shoulder, and burst into the fresh air. His eyes were stinging painfully, and tears ran down his face. A pair of black crossbow bolts slammed into his chest, and he grunted, but did not fall. The soldiers appeared behind him, gasping for air. There was the cracking sound of a handgun, and one of the men fell, the shot striking him in the throat.

Ducking his head, Gunthar lumbered across the courtyard and pushed his way into the stable. The horses were kicking at the doors, whinnying in terror. He saw the young lad Mikael lying on the ground in a pool of blood, and one of von Kessel's soldiers slumped against the wall. A small, black-clad figure stood above the corpses, a pair of blades held in its hands. It spun as Gunthar entered the room, its movements swift and inhuman. Gunthar saw cruel slanted eyes glinting beneath its black hood.

With an evil hiss, it sprang towards the priest, darting forwards with great speed. Gunthar had his two-handed hammer in his grip, and he swung it at the approaching assassin with all his might. The creature anticipated the move, and leapt at the wall to avoid the blow. Spinning in mid-air, the creature hit the wall feet first, and sprang off it, taking it sailing over the blow and past the priest. It plunged one of its blades into the neck of the soldier following Gunthar, as it descended, and he fell to the ground gurgling blood. He convulsed violently, and blood-specked foam emerged from his mouth. Gunthar noted that the blades the creature wielded were smeared with a dark greenish substance. As he watched, a drop of it fell to the ground, hissing and smoking slightly: poison. The creature rolled easily to its feet, crouching, facing Gunthar once more.

'Hellspawn.' growled the priest. He saw that the creature had a tail, wrapped to its tip in black cloth, which ended in a barbed metal spike. It hovered dangerously just over the creature's shoulder. It too was slick with poison.

'In Sigmar's name, I will cleanse you from this world!' He raised his hammer over his head and charged at the assassin, shouting wordlessly. The creature bared its sharp yellow teeth, bobbing lightly on its feet, twirling its blades. It leapt to one side at the last moment, but the big priest predicted this, and moving with a speed and deftness defying his size, he changed the angle of his blow. The hammer smashed into the chest of the assassin creature, and it was sent crashing through one of the wooden stable stalls. Gunthar followed it in. The blow crushed its chest, white bone splinters piercing its black robes. It looked up at him with hateful eyes for a moment before Gunthar caved its head in.