Part XXVI: The Price of Glory
Or: Dead End
The wind blew dark clouds over the shores of Ulthuan, and the land was covered by an endless sea of dark tents and dark-clad warriors that the Arks have brought upon it. Already they had defeated the army of the Asur that came out to meet them at the coast; and now they were preparing to follow the High Elves into the passes of the Anullii mountains.
In the part of the encampment that was inhabited by the army from Karond Kar, the anticipation of battle was making the Druchii and the beasts they brought with them excited. Close to where Makareth was standing, a young, but already grown-out hydra roared and turned its heads to the two Beastmasters that were leading it to the position where it would have to wait till it was needed in battle.
Makareth heard Sameira shout and crack her chain whip, forcing the monster back on its path. He remembered her beastmasters training this same beast when it was much smaller; it was on the day they first met. He grinned; it had taken her not very long to reconsider her decision about not bedding him once Hadranir, Makareth' rival and Sameira's last paramour, was dead. Lykaon, completely dedicated to the new political developments in Karond Kar, neglected his wife quite a lot after she had given birth to the twins. Makareth raised a hand to his ear, touching the golden earring that she had given him two weeks ago as a lucky charm; the pendant on the small golden ring was depicting an exotic bird, but if one looked closely, it was possible to discover a faint pattern resembling the symbol of the Prince of Pleasures on it.
The call of the signal horn rang through the air over the encampment. Makareth closed the saddle belts on Rage's flank and corrected the sit of the armor plates on the nauglir's body. The long-legged reptile sniffed the air. As always, Rage was calm and obedient. Other Cold One Knights of Makareth' small regiment threw him and his mount envious looks. The other nauglir were already growling and biting the air, encouraged by the angry calls of greater beasts close by.
The army of Karond Kar consisted mostly of the Beastmasters and their monsters. Hydras, manticores, even two dragons – three, if one counted Bracchus, whom Rakarth rode – were waiting for their feast on the Asur. Harpies had followed one of the Black Arks, traveling on its towers, and were circling above the campsite, shrieking with their unearthly voices. Four regiments of corsairs and two small groups of Cold One Knights were stationed with the Beastmasters. The infantry was mainly there to guard the flanks of the hydras, while the role of the knights would be to guide the enemies directly into the beasts' jaws.
The bigger part of the Cold Ones in the Naggarothi encampment belonged to the Knights of Hag Graef. About a half of them would pull chariots, the other half carry their riders into the battle on their backs. Somewhere among the warriors of Hag Graef, the bigger, luxurious tent of their Drachau stood. Makareth grit his teeth thinking about the man. Malus Darkblade, the one who had slain Belladon; the one who was responsible for Naggor's destruction. Darkblade was Drachau of Hag Graef now; even more, he was the general of the Witchking's army, chosen to attack from the Dragon Gate while Malekith himself lead his forces against the Phoenix Gate. Makareth would have preferred to go with Malekith to the Phoenix Gate instead of following the hated Malus. But almost all of the Beastmasters from Karond Kar were ordered to attack at the Dragon Gate, and in the end he had decided to go together with Sameira.
Another section of the encampment belonged to executioners from Har Ganeth. Makareth didn't like to be near them – a deep, visceral fear clutched him when he saw one of their golden and black figures walking through the camp with firm steps. Everytime he looked upon one of them he was reminded of his treason, of his crime against the priestesses of Khaine. He couldn't help but think that the Khainites would somehow sense his corruption, know of his guilt.
Makateth knew that somewhere were also the tents of the slave warriors; the Naggorites. They would be sacrificed in this war, there was no doubt about it. He chased away the melancholic thoughts. Makareth, and Lykaon too, had escaped this fate, as well as Karelion, who was right now sitting on the back of his nauglir next to his liege, chewing on a piece of courva root with concentration. Makareth laughed. "Why so serious today, Karelion?"
"How could I not be serious? We could all die in this war." The retainer put on his helmet.
"We have already defeated them on the coast. Don't worry too much." Makareth jumped into the saddle. A servant came running to him, carrying the lance; with a fluid movement, Makareth gripped it. A black and purple pennon with symbols of Karond Kar, a dark tower and a hydra, and the golden Kythonarh runes under it, flowed in the air when he raised the lance.
The regiments moved. Makareth saw the Naggorite slave regiment march up into the pass. Reapers were positioned upon mountain slopes on both sides of the pass. The executioners, swift and disciplined, moved even further, walking upon the rocks as easily as they would upon the bloody cobble stones of their city, and disappeared from view between trees and stones. To the right, he saw the Cold One Knights of Hag Graef take position, hidden by the mountain side; the chariots had stayed away from the pass, on open land where they could use the advantage of speed; on the narrow road, they would be useless and not maneuverable.
He sighed. The beasts of Karond Kar would only move into battle later, once the pass fell and they could move on to attack the Dragon Gate. Since he had to stay close to the hydra tamers, his chance to really spill blood would only come if the Druchii managed to get so far at all. He whispered an order to Rage, and the nauglir leapt up onto the mountain slope, its clawed paws scratching upon the stones and breaking twigs of tree saplings. Riding as far up as possible without making the distance between him and the hydra drivers too great, Makareth brought the Cold One to a halt upon a small ledge. From here, he had a better view on the pass, but would still be able to return to his regiment in a couple of seconds. He heard a clumsier reptile following him noisily, and a Druchii swear, and turned his head to see Karelion joining him.
"Shouldn't we go back to the regiment, lord?" The knight's voice sounded troubled. Of course, since Makareth was the commander of this small regiment, no one could tell him to return. But Karelion was almost a friend, and the young Highborn didn't take his criticism as an offence. He knew that Karelion would give his life for him; he had already proved it more than once. Sometimes, Makareth thought that Karelion, despite being a thief – or maybe because he was a thief, careful and planning ahead – was the only voice of sanity to which Makareth would listen. He was the only one of his retainers and personal allies that was not a member of the Cult.
"No. Your prayers have been answered. I don't think we will fight today." Makareth pointed towards the pass with his gauntleted hand. "Watch."
Watching was all they could do for now. And as Makareth did so, he had to acknowledge the brilliance of the general; indeed, Malus Darkblade was a genius.
The Naggorite slave warriors were driven into the pass, attacking the defenses of the Asur. Swords and spears clashed against a wall of bright-colored shields. White-feathered arrows pierced black armor. The Naggorites fought with desperate fury, but the Asur were well-prepared to meet the attack; the advantage of knowing the terrain was on their side.
"They retreat! Isn't Darkblade going to do something about that?" Karelion snarled. "What a shame!"
Makareth saw the slave warriors from Naggor break and run. "It is not the fault of your compatriots, Karelion. They were merely…" His eyes widened as he saw the High Elf shield wall part, and knights on horses thunder down the pass, following the running Druchii. They chased them down the narrow road, and the first of the knights already reached the fleeing regiment, slaying them with triumph in their war cries. The spearmen of the Asur followed, motivated by the enemies' retreat. And that was when the bangs of the Reapers were heard, and a storm of spear-like bolts ripped through horse flesh and Asur armor alike. Falling elves and their dying mounts blocked the way, making the surviving knights stop in the pursuit. More bolts were released, turning the organized rows of High Elven spearmen into a bloody chaos."…A pawn sacrifice."
The knights retreated, trying to get back into the pass riding or running, slowed down by their own infantry that had been drawn out too far down the road. Makareth laughed as he saw the executioners from Har Ganeth descend from the slopes, cutting down spearmen and knights with their Draichs, efficient and deadly in each of their movements.
The narrow mountain road was flowing red with Asur blood. The defense of the pass fell.
Makareth turned to Karelion. "Let's ride down again. The army will be moving towards the Dragon Gate now."
"I hope not too fast," Karelion murmured.
Again, Makareth had to laugh at his vassal's words. He knew Karelion well enough to be sure that once it came to battle, all his cowardice would be gone.
But their advance didn't follow as fast as Makareth had hoped. They had to wait a week for Darkblade to return from the council with the Witchking. When he returned, with him came a bigger army.
Sameira shook her head, the high ponytail on her head swaying with the movement. "I cannot believe this. The Witchking is here!"
Makareth turned onto his stomach and raised his head to get a better look of her. The reddish evening sunlight pouring in through the entrance of the tent outlined her perfect silhouette, and the young Highborn relished the sight. "Well, they certainly have some cunning plan. After all, the attack on the Phoenix Gate didn't go all too good, while Darkblade has succeeded more than once here. It is not astonishing that they would concentrate their forces here."
She turned her head to look at him and smiled. "I have heard the Asur have been pulling their army back from the Dragon Gate, reinforcing the Phoenix fortress… It seems our leaders indeed have some clever plan."
He sat up, throwing the wool blankets away, and reached for his flask. Spiced red wine containing a mild narcotic, his current favorite drink. He gulped it down, thirstily, and then stood up. "The Naggorite slave regiment is gone. I suspect Malekith and Darkblade want to use them to make the Asur believe that the next attack will be on the Phoenix Gate."
"But just look at the army here!" Sameira's eyes gleamed. "They would be stupid to believe that…"
The signal horn was blown. Both Druchii looked at each other, and grinned with joyful anticipation.
The Beastmistress reached for her clothing, dressing with precise and graceful movements. Just a moment later, she ran out of the tent. No farewell, no kisses, Makareth thought. No one knew if they would survive the next battle; and still, Sameira was as heartless as ever. It didn't bother him that much anymore, though.
Makareth closed the belt of his leg harness and put on the khaitan. The drug circling through his blood system made him awake and euphoric at the same time. "Tirael!"
The young retainer came in, already fully dressed in battle attire. "My lord?"
"Help me with my armor. It seems we finally get to fight."
The high, white walls of the Dragon Gate were besieged. Black dragons hurled their fire onto the battlements and threw themselves onto the walls, breaking stones out of it with their mighty claws.
Rocks were heaved into the air by magic and thrown upon the defenses by the spells of Sorceresses. Siege machines were pushed and pulled into position.
The Asur on the battlements rained arrows down onto their enemy, their wizards trying to interfere with the power of the Dark Elf Sorceresses, but they were outnumbered.
Through a powerful spell, the Druchii had created an illusion, multiplying the images of the Naggorite slave army that was forced to march onto the Phoenix gate. Tricked into believeing that the Dragon Gate would not be the center of the Druchii attack, too many warriors had left to reinforce the army of the Phoenix Fortress, and now the few remaining regiments were faced with an enormous army of doom.
Beastmasters on manticores descended onto the battlements, throwing dozens of High Elf archers down from the gate's walls; the executioners hooked ladders onto the walls and climbed up, slaying the defenders in holy Khainite fury.
Already the first breach in the walls let in the infantry and the Cold One Knights from Hag Graef; another one was entered by the Black Guard of Naggarond. The ground regiments of Karond Kar, the War Hydras and their Beastmasters as well as their support troops, would finally join too, to wreck havoc on the defenders.
Makareth' Cold One Knights from Karond Kar followed the Hag Graef cavalry into the breach. It was big enough to let through the hydra that was following.
Inside, the huge nauglir regiment lead by the Drachau of Hag Graef was slaughtering the spearmen that tried to defend the breach. Another Asur company was running to the help of their comrades, following the course of the wall.
Makareth shouted an order, and the twenty knights that rode with him rushed forwards, as if to join the battle that Darkblade's men were fighting. The Asur spearmen reinforcement was quick to follow, creating two fronts for the Cold One Knights, trying to take away the main advantage of the cavalry, its ability to move fast.
But Makareth let his regiment stop and turn around just before joining the battle. The Asur that were hoping to strike from the back were at once faced with the foaming jaws of the nauglir and the weapons of the Druchii Knights. They were stopped in their advance; and then a towering shape with serpentine necks rose behind them. The hydra's heads plucked one High Elven warrior from the ground after another; corsairs and the second regiment of nauglir riders from Karond Kar followed the monster into the breach.
Rage roared, tearing Asur that tried to attack him and his rider apart; the searing flames of the Black Dragons set the dusk ablaze, and the screams of dying High Elves and the triumphant battle cries of the Druchii echoed in the heights of the Anullii.
They had advanced far beyond the gate. "Banner of Blood! Banner of Blood!" The Hag Graef Knights chanted the war cry of Malus Darkblade through the night, slaying down the last of the Asur knights that dared to attack them. Some of the Druchii fell, their Cold Ones killed by the lances of the High Elves, but the sons of Hag Graef didn't tremble.
Makareth' regiment came to their help, falling into the flank of the Asur riders. The young Druchii sank his lance into the side of a High Elven knight, pushing the elf from his horse with the impact and throwing him into the jaws of the nauglir behind it. Letting the lance, less useful in short range combat, fall, Makareth drew his swords and attacked another of the Asur, his blades drawing perfect silver curves in the air and cutting into the enemy's arm and neck while Rage bit into the spine of the opponent's white horse.
The Druchii ripped the Asur army apart like a nauglir would a doe. Makareth' blood sang, the excitement of the battle, enhanced by the drug, giving him the impression of flying, of being invincible. Again and again he struck with his blades, his movements so fast that no counter-blow of the enemies came through, and each of his strikes summoned a scream or a silent death. He tasted blood on his lips, his face and his breastplate were bathed in it, and the taste made him shiver in ecstasy. The thrill of killing, though always giving him sensual pleasure, has never been as intense before.
At once, he had no more opponents in front of him. Searching for a possibility to continue the slaughter, he looked around feverishly.
His eyes were drawn to a fight between two elves. One of them was the Asur commander of the Dragon Gate garrison, in a winged helmet and golden armor, his white horse rearing in panic. He was drenched in blood of others, but seemingly not wounded. And in front of him, the lance raised, face distorted into a cruel grin, the Drachau of Hag Graef, Malus Darkblade.
The Druchii didn't strike instantly; instead, the Drachau's Cold One bit into the neck of the Asur's mount, and the High Elf was thrown down into the dust before he died; only then did Darkblade pierce his heart with the lance, laughing madly.
Makareth stared at this Dark Elf whom he had hated for a long time and admired for the last weeks, and his euphoria was suddenly swept away. A cold, creepy feeling that something was wrong enveloped him, steadying his feverish gaze and shifting it, suddenly, as if he would at once look at the Drachau of Hag Graef from another point of view, or, rather, look through him.
Swirling, intense colors unfolded before his eyes, and a deep, horrible darkness at the same time; the aethyric pattern at which he stared was attached to Malus Darkblade like a dark jewel would be encased in shiny silversteel.
A daemon, Makareth thought.
Don't look too close, the whispering voice in his head said, it might notice you too.
He forced Rage to turn, using his spurs instead of a voiced order. The nauglir growled in discontent but obeyed. Slowly, Makareth rode over the battlefield. He looked without emotion at the Druchii celebrating their victory by torturing captured enemies or stringing them to wooden poles erected everywhere on the battlefield, a horrible forest of dead to greet the morning. He didn't listen to his brethren's perverse laughter, did not smell the copper and fire and death anymore.
He was disappointed. Was everything that the Druchii did, all their greatness, all their passion, all their cruelty, all the successes they achieved, in reality just another move in a chess game of Chaos? He remembered how lightheartedly Darkblade sacrificed the Naggorites, hundreds of Druchii lives for a brief moment of fame as a brilliant strategist. Makareth had seen it clearly, the Chaos inside the man's soul; yet Darkblade was considered one of the great generals of Naggaroth; the greatest, maybe, apart from the Witchking himself.
Makareth took of his helmet, squinted his eyes at the rising sun. Why oppose corruption, if all roads to glory only lead through it, he thought bitterly. The Druchii might pretend to wield the darkness as their weapon, be proud of never falling prey to it, of always being in control. In truth, it was the darkness that used them as a tool.
All of them.