KALEN

I

A warm wind, coming from the north, rippled the water around the boats that crossed the narrow river. The boats were laden with the necessary weapons and armour that were going to be needed on this campaign into the northern lands of Naggaroth. However the wood of the boats also strained under the mass of luxuries that the Druchii officers deemed it necessary to bring on such expeditions.

Dark elf Duke Kalen watched idly from horseback on the far side of the river. It was his job to supervise the crossing of the baggage train over this aquatic step on its road to the main assault. Reconnaissance reports from Shade scouts had confirmed the existence of many humanoid tribes living close to the Chaos wastes. Oblivious to their precarious position between the Druchii and the phantom armies of Chaos, it was too good a natural resource not to tap and Lord Harkan had been tasked with raiding the settlements for their fleshy treasure in slaves.

He'd selected several officers from noble Druchii families and, when no one could be found to take charge of the baggage train, the shunned Duke Kalen of Abyiss had been called forth from his shameful place amongst the shadows of the great halls of Naggarond. He could not decline; after all, he was not likely to receive any other command in the near future.

The reason was because of a night perhaps one hundred years ago or more, when a Druchii Lord had lain with a slave. The slave had miraculously survived the night in the Lord's chambers and bore him a son, though she did not survive that ordeal. The Lord immediately ordered the mutant brat to be poisoned, but the young child drank the sweet poison and happily gurgled for more! Curious, the Lord let the boy live and let him grow. Each day that passed the reluctant father became more and more impressed with the child's abilities.

The time came however when the boy became a youth and his origins could no longer be hidden. His curiosity sated, the Lord ordered the young Elf-human to be murdered as the freak he was. But the Brides of Khaine had taken this boy to be a twisted blessing from the bloody handed god and the darkness of that night kindled a new twist. The boy not only dealt with his would-be assassin but also, in his own 'special' way, released his father from his wretched life. Each night since then had been a struggle for survival amongst the predatory Druchii nobility. The dark elves did not suffer the imperfect…

Kalen, shook himself fully awake, lulled by the percussion of the waters edge. The baggage was nearly all across, it only remained for himself and the small rearguard to cross and follow the trail to where the main army was probably even now relishing in the slaughter of these puny barbarians he'd been told about.

Then he smelt something. Burning…burning flesh…

'Duke Kalen!' an aid shouted from the hill that rose behind him. The dark elf scurried down the hillside, his repeater crossbow slamming against his side as he ran. 'Sir…' he panted.

'What is it, Dalarion?' Kalen spat, already a foul mood had settled over him since the day began.

'Savages, sir! Hundreds of them!' Dalarion waved his gloved hand in the direction of the hill's crest.

Kalen dug his sharp spurs into his steed's sides and it raced up the hill faster than Dalarion had descended it. As the plain came into view, Kalen caught his breath.

Still some distance away but spread out like a dirty mist, were several hundred of these so-called 'barbarians' marching straight towards him. It looked like most of the barbarian army had given Harkan the slip and maneuvered themselves behind the dark elves.

He glanced down at his own force. Two regiments of warriors, one of spear, one of bow, and a handful of light cavalry. Dalarion had made it to the hill top once more, 'We should take the last boats and get across the river, sir.'

Kalen turned to the older dark elf with a frown, 'Do not tell me my duty, soldier.'

Dalarion gulped and tried not to let his eyes wander to the strange ear-lobes Kalen had been disfigured with, 'I'm sorry sir, I only meant-'.

'There is a bolt thrower packed onto one of the boats still on this side of the river. See it's unpacked and set it where we stand.'

'But sir…you mean to fight?'

'That is what our king bids us to do, Dalarion. Kill and be killed. Do you have a problem with that?' Kalen glared at the elf with his blue eyes.

Dalarion straightened and resigned himself to his fate, 'It shall be done, sir.'

Kalen slow trotted his muscular steed down through the long grass to where his troops had been lazing in the warm air but were now gripping their weapons unsurely and looking north towards their doom. He saw Ambran, the young Lordling given the mild command of taking charge of the baggage train guard. Kalen remained in his saddle as Ambran and another warrior came up to him.

'Kalen…' the youth's face was even paler than a Druchii's usual complexion and Kalen smiled, which branded a look of confusion on Ambran's features.

'Your men are not in battle line, Ambran. Why not?' Kalen said calmly.

Ambran stared aghast, 'Sir, there are too many, surely-' his body fidgeted sporadically in comparison to the rock still warrior that stood behind. Kalen gave a glance to the warrior, who was much older than either of his officers, but Kalen appreciated the veteran expertise so obvious in the elf. At least not all of his force were harpy-feed then, he thought.

'I can see how many there is, Serf.' Kalen said to Ambran, 'I will ask you to get your men into battle line; bows between the spears, if you please.'

The lucid words seemed to calm the young officer somewhat, and he nodded before turning back to the front. Kalen caught the older warriors eye before he too followed Ambran, 'Stay close to your Lordling, soldier.' The warrior gave a rough grunt and turned away.

The Herald of the small dark rider squadron trotted up to Kalen. He was cloaked in a smothering grey cape, but Kalen could see the glitter of a host of jewels beneath. Kalen had time to wonder what this man's crime had been to serve penance under Kalen's command before he spoke.

'I recommend that my troops take an easterly route alongside the river until we can find a ford that will allow us to cross.' The lean featured elf said haughtily. He would never have dared speak such to a 'real' dark elf commander, but that was not the case here was it?

'I recommend 'my' troops take their horses out of sight in those scrubs and await my orders.' Kalen said acidly, 'We are not going to run in the face of a few savages.'

The herald sneered, 'With due respect, 'sir', I would advise against attempting to claim some mis-guided honour in the face of these odds.'

'Whom do you suppose will gain Harkan's favour more? Those that stand and die this day or those that run and live? Or his wrath for that matter?'

The Herald knew well of Lord Harkan's displeasure and thought again, he gave a short and stubborn bow in the saddle, 'The enemy closes, sir. I await your orders.'

'Good. Wait until the horde is within charging distance from our front line, release one volley and than hit them in the flank. Is that satisfactory for you, Herald?'

Kalen was glad he could not hear the dark riders inner thoughts as he nodded and spurred his horse back over to the infantry.

Kalen let out a long sigh as he watched Ambran fuss over the battle line. He had done it, they were following the orders of the infamous half-elf noble, albeit reluctantly. He'd deal with the repercussions later, now it was time to do what he did best. Fight.

Dalarion had the bolt thrower set up some distance above and behind the pathetically thin line of blue coated shields. Kalen dismounted and went to the front, donning his helmet and drawing his sword as he did so.

The savages had closed until their ugly, distorted features were visible, screaming unintelligible curses across the plain. Most of them were naked, armed with clubs or crude axes, some even with bloody animal bones. Dark streaks of what looked like blood coated their filthy chests in some parody of war paint. They were hardly a disciplined force, charging forward in a mass of flesh and rage. Their threat lay in their huge numbers.

Kalen glanced along the line of his men. Grim faces set in sleek steel helmets, shield and drannach held forward in a solid phalanx, between each, a crossbow poised to spit. Ambran was close to the middle but still looked nervously towards the oncoming tide of death.

Kalen stepped forward in front of his line, turning his back to the savages and blocking the sight with his body, 'This is what we are going to do!' Kalen shouted above the rising noise from across the plain, 'Bows will wait until the enemy is within twenty paces and then unload their weapons! Bows will retire to the rear and replace any spear that falls!'

'The enemy outnumbers us, but we are Druchii and will prevail!' Kalen said a quiet word of thanks that none of the elves flinched at including himself in this description. 'They are nothing but scum to be cleaned from our blades. We will relieve them of their sullied lives and return to Naggarond in glory! If you fight well today, tonight you will each have two naked witch elves to clean your wounds!' The elves smirked at this and some of them even looked his way.

Kalen raised his sword as the enemy closed. They came screaming across the grass, much faster than he'd expected, bloodlust fuelling their charge. Hundreds of them.

'Make ready….'

II

Closed beneath his eyes, it sounded like the coming of distant thunder rumbling down the cragged slopes of the Blackspine Mountains. But as Duke Kalen opened his eyes, the sight he saw was far more fearsome than any Naggaroth storm. A huge horde of frenzying, half-naked humans were stampeding across the plain towards his own thin line of Druchii warriors, intent on ripping their bodies apart and feasting on their flesh.

'Make Ready!' Kalen shouted to his elves. Behind, he heard the thick ropes of the Repeater Bolt Thrower stretch taut behind deadly sharp bolts and all along the line, those warriors without spears leveled their repeater crossbows at the oncoming mass.

There was a moment when the dark elves waited for the humans to come within range. Close enough so that the hail of barbs could hardly miss. Kalen noticed something scurrying in the long grass and watched the unseen animal scramble away from the pounding footfalls of the humans.

The humans were screaming at the tops of their guttural voices now but Kalen blocked out the sound. Instead he concentrated on a warm breeze that touched his skin between his interlocking plates of armour. He waited. The tension was unbearable and he sensed it amongst his line of warriors, especially the nervous ones, which were most of this sub-standard soldiery that he had been given. But he knew he must wait. Every shot must count or they would die.

The human charge was only thirty paces away now, their raging features clearly visible. A little closer. He held the sword aloft, ready to swipe the blade down to signal the flight of the volley of bolts. Once that was done, it would be spears and blades, whilst the group of Dark Riders he had hidden in the nearby scrubs would charge the humans flank. But not until the savages had closed with the dark elves and each elf had fought for his life.

Twenty paces. Bracing himself, Kalen let the sword fall and roared, 'Loose!'

Sounding like a cacophony of angry wasps, the hazy air was filled with the hissing flight of hundreds of bolts. The front line of the humans visibly flinched as man after man fell prickled with barbs and blood. A longer bolt from the thrower behind the Druchii line skewered three naked humans on a pike that crashed through their chests.

But still they came. More frenzied than ever. The bowmen retired to the rear and the spears locked their shields and prepared for the impact.

Kalen felt the blood surging through his veins, that part of him that was different raging with the cold cruelty of his dark elf heart. When it came the human charge crashed into the line in a torrent of axe blows and shoving bodies. With a roar, Kalen threw his blade down upon a savage, drooling face and watched it split. A stubbled axe rebounded off his armour with no more than a sting and Kalen stabbed and twisted his sword into another twitching body.

Rough, grasping hands clawed at his arms. They tried to force crude knife blades between his armour. Kalen threw off a body with a yell, and drenched his sword blade in red once more. Faces appeared before him spitting curses and bringing down weapons but Kalen parried as best he could in the crush. As more humans pushed from the rear the dark elf line wavered and became a wrestling mass of stabbing and thrusting. Snarling, sweating flesh interlinked with razor steel and slavering blood. Kalen allowed his sword to be ripped away from his hand and instead pulled a wickedly edged knife from his side. He swiped around him, feeling the blade reach and cut into skin, catch on bone and bring forth screams of agony.

Kalen screamed himself in bloodlust as he forced his body deeper into the morass of humans. His armour was shaped into a weapon in itself, each limb edged in sharp spines. He was bleeding, an axe blade had found flesh and he felt the wetness of blood run down the inside of his armour. He held one human before him long enough to slit his throat and allow him to fall.

And then suddenly, he could see the plains again. The backs of humans fleeing desperately back across the ground. He saw a dark rider running down a human, piercing the wriggling body on his lance.

A human slammed into him and Kalen flinched, but the man kept on running past, dropping the short club in the grass. Kalen looked back to his troops. Too many dark elf bodies lay limp in the grass, but it was small compared to the stacks of dead and wounded humans before them. Kalen loosened his helmet and let out a cheer that was gladly taken up by the few troops remaining. They were bloody and wounded, but most grinned with a newfound emotion for their deformed commander.

III

Admiral Thorn hated riding these things. The massive bulk of the lizard's back forced his legs wide until he could nestle his ankles into the ornate stirrups. The beast gave a deep, guttural growl, emptying a flood of slimy drool onto the floor of the forest. Thorn cringed and dug in the spurs. The Cold One lurched forward slowly, though its large strides gave good pace as it followed the other riders.

Thorn was used to discomfort. Years at sea on the deck of a Black Ark, prowling through everlasting freezing mist and turbulent dark waters held no misery for him. But these lizards were only ever partly under the command of its rider and the foul slime one had to coat themselves with to even get on their backs without being torn apart did not fill him with anymore confidence.

Still, Lord Poisonblade had bid him to accompany him on this hunt and so endure the touch of these creatures he must. The train of six lizards moved through the undergrowth of the forest with a stealth that belied their bulk. They were following the trail left by ten slaves that had been 'given their freedom' this morning. Of course before their shackles had been undone, each had been cut in the leg with a blade that was coated in a viscous substance that would make the wound bleed for a day or two. It wasn't much, but it was enough for the sensitivities of the Cold Ones to pick up and follow their trail.

The recent rains had set off the smells of the forest, Thorn picked up the spice of herbs, leaves and mushrooms that mingled with the acrid stench of the beast below him. He was unused to the flavour of these dark forests and made a mental note to try and return home more in order to take in these wonderful scents. At sea there were no such smells except that of a hundred Corsairs crammed into the hull of a ship. Hardly exotic.

A diminutive spotter wyvern flew above the riders, appearing alternately between the tall pine tops as it searched the land ahead for the slaves. Thorn imagined the terror that must be running through the veins of their prey, staggering with tired legs through cold streams and stinging bush, wanting to rest but hearing a noise far behind and picking their tired bodies up once more to carry on reluctantly. He hoped they did not simply give up and wait for death to find them.

'Admiral Thorn!' Ulirien Poisonblade called out from the head of the train. The knight in front of Thorn turned his head and looked at him expectantly with sharp eyes. Thorn avoided the gaze as he attempted to get his lizard to somehow speed its pace and catch up with the hunt's leader. The Cold One gave an angry growl when he slammed in the spurs and the sound echoed through the forest. Thorn held the reins fast and the beast quickly gave up the struggle for dominance and quickened its step.

'So glad you could join us.' Poisonblade sang in his dulcet voice. He was in full regal battle armour, only his aquiline features appeared above the smooth carapace. Ulirien's father, Urian Poisonblade, had been a legendary commander, cruelly cut down by a treacherous elf of the cursed kin at the battle of Finuval Plain. A tragedy that only added to the list of grievances that would one day be returned in full to the imposters of Ulthuan. Ulirien planned to settle that reckoning and even in his relative youth was already an accomplished commander in his father's terrible mould.

'It is my pleasure, as always, my Lord.' Thorn said diplomatically whilst trying to keep his unruly mount from veering off their chosen path and into the undergrowth.

Ulirien waved the answer away as he eyed the land ahead with keen eyes. The forest was dissipating like a clasping mist and opened out into a wide valley. 'My request for your presence is two-fold, Admiral.' Thorn already knew this but nodded appreciatively. 'Are you aware of the land of Norsca?'

'Yes my lord. An icy hulk of a land far to the east. It's waters are treacherous but my captains' have navigated it plenty of times in their raids on the Old world continent.'

Ulirien seemed not to hear, he was eyeing the distance again and motioned the riders to mount a stony ledge that wound east of the valley, 'Um? Yes, quite. In any case, we have reports that a force of savages from Kislev, which I believe is nearby, has decided to invade this land. The Norse, as you can imagine, are quite distraught about this, but have never been a force to be reckoned with on land.'

There was a piercing screech from above as the tiny wyvern swooped into the valley. All eyes followed its path and then switched from its leathery flight to the small figure it was bearing down upon. 'I think we have found our quarry good sirs!' Poisonblade shouted cheerfully over his shoulder at the group of knights behind. Thorn's eyes were every good as a veteran Shade, honed from hours of seeking enemy sails amongst the rising waves, but even he had to strain to make out the human struggling through the marsh far ahead.

'The Norse as you know, have been quite amicable to our interests in aiding pillage from Kislev and his highness King Malekith is concerned that this avenue of supply may be closed to us as a result of this action.' Ulirien said as he calmly unclipped a crossbow from his saddle. With a nudge his Cold One slowly climbed atop a flat podium of rock that looked down upon the marsh below. 'We need you to transport a relief force to our inept Norse friends.' Ulirien wasn't even looking at Thorn now, his arrogance tenable as he spoke calmly, 'You will pick up part of Harkan's force via Karond Kar and take them to Norsca. I expect most of them will be simply itching for a fight after Harkan's recent debacle in the north.' A few of the knights behind duly gave short laughs.

Ulirien cocked the Uraithen and stood up in his saddle, the Cold One making a sturdy, motionless firing platform. 'You can take that young queer fish of Harkan's. The talk around the court is that the freak actually administered himself very well. I don't believe it, but it might be amusing to see how he fares having his blood spilled in the snow, yes?'

Thorn watched the Dark elf Lord take aim and then looked at the massive distance to the target, 'My Lord, you surely can't expect to get a killing shot from here?'

The bow lowered slightly and Ulirien looked back with a wry smile as if he had expected such a question all along, 'I don't expect to kill the beast from here, my good Admiral. Only to wound, slow it down. He's moving far too fast for good sport.' He glanced at one of his knights behind Thorn, 'I do so hate it when they don't play fair.' He grinned.

'Even so, my Lord,' Thorn said before he could halt his tongue, 'The distance is too far for the bolt to even reach the beast.'

Ulirien smirked evilly, 'Right or left leg, do you think Admiral?'

Thorn held himself stolid, 'Whichever you think is best, my Lord.' Let the idiot make a fool of himself, he thought angrily.

Ulirien turned back, this time raising the bow into the air, aiming directly at the sky. What, he's going to shoot the wyvern now? Thought Thorn.

Ulirien let loose the bolt and it flew away rapidly, disappearing into the distance. The party watched the human expectantly.

Ulirien was already turning away when the rest saw the slave flinch and fall. 'By Khaine's bloody tears…' Thorn whispered as he watched the human writhe on the ground and struggle to get up.

Lord Ulirien Poisonblade brought the scaly bulk of his Cold One to the head of the valley as it gnashed its brutal jaws together, dripping with the anticipation of tearing flesh. Turning back to the others, Ulirien drew his wickedly edged sword. He grinned, 'Shall we?'

Louis Verlaine