KALEN (2)

IV

Waves crashed against the sides of the ship even here in the docks of Karond Kar. It was as if the sea was determined to drag the monstrous hulk to a more peaceful place beneath the water. 'The sail of elegant torture' had docked the day before but the sheer number of slaves confined aboard had meant the work of their corsair captors was not yet done. A simple narrow ramp, rotten and sodden, bridged the gap between ship and dockside. Below a long drop onto shell encrusted crags. The corsairs gave mock encouragement as each slave tentatively made their way across the wobbling bridge trying to keep their balance whilst being buffeted by fierce coastal winds.

'They'd get them out far quicker if they didn't play these games.' Kalen said as he watched from a small harbour tower at the base of the steep bank. The shadows of the tall thin spires of Karon Kar swept over the tower towards the sea's edge like a huge taloned hand.

'Where's your sense of humour, Kalen?' A palm slapped Kalen hard on the shoulder as Duke Kurl Vraneth stepped up beside him in the light of the window. 'You've got to let the pirates have their fun after putting up with the smells of those beasts for so long!' Vraneth was taller and wider than Kalen with a thickly set face and smooth cat-like features. The times Kalen had seen Vraneth in battle had been a savage and stomach churning sight for he revelled in the slaughter and the smell of spilt blood as much as his beloved heavy cavalry did.

Outwardly he was all a Druchii warrior should be, but Kalen had found Vraneth to be a blithesome and boorish elf away from the battlefield. These were traits he was reluctant to hide and perhaps this was the reason that despite many victories, he remained a simple duke. Still, Kalen counted him as a friend, because he was honest and said what he felt, a rare quality amongst Druchii.

Outside on the dock, a female slave, an older woman whose sense of dexterity was perhaps not as keen in her setting years, swayed violently on the bridge. The plank below her bucked further with her struggles as she waved her arms frantically trying to regain balance. Kalen closed his eyes. He felt a deep shame blossom in his stomach. He must watch it. He opened his eyes.

A Corsair was now prodding a long spear in the direction of the struggling woman. They were eager for her to hurry up and die. This entertainment was all well and good, but the elves had homes to return to.

The tip of the spear caught at the woman's tattered clothing and she recoiled back from its sting. Kalen watched her step back into air, pause for a second, before her screech pierced the damp air as she fell. Falling out of Kalens' view, the scream was silenced apart from an ethereal echo that seemed to spice the air like salt. Kalen found his eyes had closed again and quickly opened them before Vraneth noticed.

Vraneth was leaning forward as he bit into a leg of pale bird flesh, his eyes surveying what would be the crushed and broken body of the slave, He swallowed, 'Wouldn't have lasted long in the mines anyway.' He grunted. The elves on the boat dragged another slave from the reluctant crowd that had been herded topside and shoved them onto the still quivering bridge.

'Let's go seek further entertainment!' Vraneth grinned and Kalen followed him from the tower and down the short parapet to the ground and into the city. 'From what I heard you deserve it! Though no doubt that were-bear Harkan is fuming for your heart!' He was referring to the battle three days ago when Kalen's small force of baggage train guards had repelled a barbarian force that despite Lord Harkans' careful plans had managed to elude him and attack the Druchii army from the rear.

'I will get no credit, he should have no fear.' Kalen replied sullenly hating his cross-bred body of elf and human.

Vraneth only smiled, 'That is because you are a freak of nature my friend!' he said nipping Kalen's curiously round ear-lobes, 'You also fight with the rage of a starving Cold one which is the reason your throat hasn't been slit before now! Kill or be killed. I like that kind of motivation and so does King Malekith. Enjoy it whilst it lasts,' Vraneth leaned closer, 'For when the order comes I may have to gut you on my lance myself!' He bellowed laughter though Kalen knew he meant every word.

A young slave, hurrying from a building with a stack of bread collided with the solid figure of Vraneth and fell back into the dirt.

Barrages of perfuse apologies scattered from the slave's mouth even as t boy he scrambled for the bread. Vraneth snatched his dagger from his tunic and stopped the words dead in the slaves' throat. Kalen looked at the boy, perhaps ten years old, it was hard to tell in humans, but he displayed the bravery of a knight as he slowly stood up. He raised his chin minutely for Vraneth's blade to slit the skin.

Vraneth looked at Kalen just as astonished and laughed heartily. Putting away the dagger he asked the boy his name. 'Henri.' The boy stammered as he clutched the mud-stained bread to his chest. 'From Brettonia.'

'Brettonia!' Vraneth spat, 'A land of weakling knights more interested in posing in finery than slitting bellies!'

The boy just nodded. Kalen picked up a loaf that had landed beside a puddle, 'Here boy,' he handed the bread to him, 'Take care to clean it before you take it to Rakarth's kitchens.'

'Now go away before I eat you!' Vraneth barked and the boy ran, leaving Vraneth laughing once more.

The sloping archways to the meeting rooms were like giant ebony fish bones as Kalen and Vraneth entered into the gloom beyond. Away from the screeching winds, the air inside was suffocating. Lit from the corners by steel candelabra's, Kalen could only just make out the huddles of cackling figures hunched over tables in the shadows. He sat in the high backed chairs in one of the few that were vacant. With the newly arrived troops, these rooms would do fine business.

'Wine!' Vraneth barked at a nearby slave, dressed in rags as he scampered around the clientele with dirty feet. A few figures at nearby tables raised their heads momentarily in their direction before leaning back into their conversations. Some stared at Kalen as they carried on talking. Kalen noticed a lithe figure sprout from a table and make her way towards them. She was dressed in the barest clothing despite the draughts that invaded the room. The candlelight flickered on her porcelain white skin, making her bare thigh glow. He felt a surge of blood as the witch elf approached, a heady combination of lust and fear that the brides of Khaine induced even in their kin.

Vraneth noticed her only when she was at his shoulder. He grinned widely, 'Hecate! The mistress of my senses!' Kalen caught his breath, expecting trouble, but the elf merely formed a slight crescent of a smile with her dark lips. 'Join us.' Vraneth motioned to the empty chair beside them and Hecate lowered herself into it. A slave appeared with their wine and placed a thin pitcher of dark red liquid with several goblets on the table. Vraneth immediately poured a healthy amount and drank lustily. Kalen was all too aware of Hecate staring at him, though he dare not meet her gaze.

Vraneth wiped scarlet droplets from his elegant jaw line, 'The nectar of Nagarythe!' he cried. 'I apologise Hecate, this is Duke Ka-'

'I know who he is.' Hecate said smoothly.

Kalen managed a quick glance up into the witch's pearl-like eyes; unable to steel himself sufficiently against the blade he expected to pierce his gut from under the table. 'Who in the temples of almighty Khaine has not heard of the freak, the oddity, the aberrant Duke of Abyiss? Mutated from birth, a portent not yet understood, but strangely immune from Khaine's vicious poisons…'

Kalen was still not sure if this meant he was closer to death now than on the battlefield, but Vraneth broke the chariest mood with a mocking laugh, 'Ha! He is that!' and thumped Kalen on the arm. Kalen gave him a harsh look and turned to Hecate.

'Honoured, m'lady of Khaine.' Kalen nodded and Vraneth sniggered.

Hecate, however, gave him a smile, 'My sisters are intrigued to meet the soldier that pushed Harkan's face in the dirt. He is an oaf that will be on my temple's altar next Death Night.' She said pouring wine with her nimble fingers. Kalen noticed the tips of her sharp fingernails were stained a reddish-brown.

Kalen wondered if he should show gratitude, but kept silent. 'Word has it,' Hecate continued, 'that an Ark is already on its way from Clar Karond to take part of the army on campaign.' she said with tantalising delicacy.

Vraneth spluttered on his wine, 'What? On which field will we spill blood, witch?'

Hecate looked at him with half-lowered lids, 'Calm yourself, Kurl. I'm sure someone will tell you in time.'

'If you know, you would be wise to tell me now.' Vraneth growled.

Kalen watched the two of them warily, 'Will your sisters be at the festivities tonight?' he asked Hecate hoping to break the tension.

'We will, I expect to see you there Kalen.' She stood, downing the wine in one mouthful, 'I need you to be at the central fountain during the final quarter.' She said and left.

Vraneth looked after her scantily clad figure, a look of ruthless lust on his face, 'I know what she needs.' He grumbled.

V

Kalen entered the central plaza of Karond Kar, darkness having already long since fallen. Buildings of burnished silver, sprouting like smooth daggers, looked down upon the mass of dark elves that crowded around the huge onyx fountain. Twisting street lamps were ablaze, illuminating the pale faces of warriors and citizens alike as they sounded their mirthless laughter at the spectacles on offer.

Merchants attempted to ply artefacts from excursions into Araby and Cathay onto passers by. Nimble acrobats performed feats of agility on large woven mats whilst hurling sharp throwing knives skilfully at a target. A beastmaster had captured a young griffon in a cage and yelled about its fearsome attributes, perhaps hoping to sell the creature as a guardian to a noble's fortress. The scents of exotic fruit from Lustria and spiced liquids from Nippon blossomed to Kalen's nostrils as he passed by. A harp played by the fingers of a young girl caught his attention, standing proudly in front of her, an elderly Druchii with pale eyes relayed stories of battles on mysterious lands such as the volatile isle of Albion.

As Kalen carried on through the throng, he came to a wide podium surrounded by many frantic spectators. The slave market. Two mighty pyres lit up the bowed heads and scarred shoulders of thirty slaves, their collared necks bound together with a sloping chain that ran from human male to female to child. A thin-limbed slavemaster dressed in a sable robe waved his arms theatrically in the direction of his goods, another slavemaster collected bids from the crowd. Kalen wondered if they were the remnants of the savages he had fought in the northern lands. But he recognised the slave boy he and Vraneth had ran into earlier. He barely recognised him however. Lord Rakarth did not like his bread damp and the boy had paid for the error with his lips. Amongst the firelight, the boy's teeth gleamed in the gaping gash that used to be his mouth, his upper and lower lip cut away.

Kalen tried to remember the boys' name, though he didn't know why. He doubted the boy would live long in any case, wounds such as his were prone to disease and even as he was dragged forward to be perused by the crowd, his thin legs shook. He wondered whether he should bid for the boy and then wiped away the idea. It would look bad if the freak of the Druchii nobles was seeing buying similarly disfigured slaves! Reluctantly, Kalen turned away.

'Duke Kalen.' An elf with the eyes of a daemon appeared before him. Kalen knew who he was. He'd met the like before. An assassin of the Temple of Khaine. Assassins generally preferred to do their work in the private solitude between murderer and victim, but public killings were not uncommon. It seemed as if the assassin preferred the customary option for he offered Kalen an alley in which to walk with him.

Kalen followed. Afraid as he was, a part of him wished to end the nightmare existence he had come to know as life. Constantly in fear of his life and mocked when he wasn't threatened, Kalen had hoped to glean some simple honour by dying on the battlefield. It seemed the world of the Druchii would deny him even this. Some of the crowd muttered amongst themselves as they watched the assassin and the outcast duke disappear between two buildings.

The alley stank of dying vermin and its greasy walls warped inwards as if trying to close the gap on the two figures that walked amongst its shadows. The hooded assassin stopped a few steps ahead of Kalen and turned. Kalen thought he caught something akin to a smile on the master killer's features. 'You are brave to follow me in here, Duke.' His voice was like the rustling of dead leaves, 'Or perhaps just foolish.'

'Get it over with.' Kalen said smartly, 'I assure you though, you will not collect a plentiful bounty from my carcass.'

'The only bounty I would receive from such an act would be Black Lotus through my veins.' The assassin said.

Kalen looked more directly at the elf, 'Then what-?'

'Khaine in his merciless wisdom has plans for you, freak. You are to be spared the death you deserve in order to serve Him.'

Kalen's gratitude was not enthusiastic. 'I'm sure Hecate and her sisters over-estimate my usefulness.'

'Lord Harkan is a traitor to the King and God.' The assassin said smoothly, 'It will serve Khaine greatly should he be 'replaced.'

Kalen did not doubt Harkan's treachery or his favouritism towards the cult of Shornaal, though he did not see the part he could play in the power games between the two Druchii deities. He questioned the assassin.

'You will accompany the army to Norsca, when you reach that land you will be informed further. To tell you too much now might mean you would refuse this simple mission, and that would most certainly jeopardise your safety.' The Assassin glinted a knife in the gloom.

'Granted, but I ask a favour in return from the Temple.'

'Go on.'

'There is a slave boy for sale in the market,' Kalen nodded his head in the direction of the light, 'the Temple will buy him, treat his wounds and keep him safe.'

The assassin grinned, 'I am almost sorry that I will not spend more time in your company Duke; you amuse me.'

'Will you do it? Kalen insisted, careful to keep his voice in check.

'It will be done.' The assassin bent his head, 'Now, there is a side alley some twenty or so paces behind me. Find it and it will lead you out of the plaza. You cannot be seen to leave this alley…unscratched.'

Kalen looked into the pitch darkness wondering if he would be wandering the myriad of alleys till morning. When he turned back to the assassin he had become darkness too.

VI

The docks were alive with activity. Kalen tethered his horse to a post, his eyes fixing on a sight out to sea. The titanic hulk of the Black Ark sat some way out from Karond Kar. The vessel could not come any closer due to the vast labyrinthine bulk that drifted beneath the surface, yet even at this distance it was an impressive and horrific sight.

Expansive flat-bottomed boats rested at the sides of the piers; these would transport the Druchii cargo of war to the Ark. Regiments of warriors sat idle on the dockside, weapons and shields stacked amongst the groups whilst they waited their turn to board. Columns of slaves staggered under the weight of cargo, occasionally feeling the sting of a slavemasters' whip to spur on their efforts. Cold Ones roared and thrashed against their chains as they reluctantly stepped clawed pads onto the decks.

Kalen hauled his belongings and armour from his dark steed, and made his way to a nearby boat. A Druchii quartermaster stood at the entrance of one of the docking platforms, a team of stevedore's around him as he fussed over a stack of parchments that blew in the coastal winds. As Kalen reached them, the quartermaster was sneering at his servants, 'If I have sixteen crates of cuirasses here,' he jabbed a gloved finger at the billowing paper, 'then there should be sixteen crates on the ship!'

'Master, there were only fifteen delivered to the dockside.' The stevedore nervously replied.

'I care not!' the quartermaster spat, 'I will spill your guts into the frothy slipstream of that Ark if you don't find me another crate, I warn you!' The Druchii noticed Kalen's presence, 'What do you want?'

'My title is Duke Kalen of Abyiss' he said above the moans of the wind and the creaks of the rocking ships, 'I wish to know the arrangements for my passage to the Ark.'

The quartermaster eyed him suspiciously, 'You don't look like a Duke.' Kalen was attired only in Khaitan and cross belt, even lacking the double swords that would distinguish him as a noble. However it seemed the quartermaster was more wary of Kalen's disfigured features and dark skin than his dress.

'Well, if you would like a quick duel, for quick it would be, you may be more convinced when your insides are swimming alongside your servants in the harbour.' Kalen spoke airily.

The stevedore's gave subtle grins. The quartermaster looked at the young noble with the strange face for a moment and then shuffled through his parchments, 'Duke Kalen…' his eyes roved the sheet, 'The second vessel over there, sir.' The elf said reluctantly, 'The Serpents Kiss regiment.'

Admiral Thorn moved impatiently through the upper antechambers of the Black Ark. The boarding was taking too long as usual, he wanted to sail before the fickle tides of the Sea of Chill became too shallow. Already it was past midday and the night would soon smother the light making travel through the Dire Straits even more perilous.

He entered the candlelit navigation chamber where three sorceresses worked their magic across a bloodstained platter. He watched for a moment as the nubile trio waved their fingers across the oily pool inside the dish. One of them, Sastriss, uncorked a tube of vicious looking liquid and emptied it into the water where it hissed and bubbled. 'Well?' Thorn growled, interrupting their trance-like state.

Sastriss looked at the Ark's commander with eyes like black gems, 'She is nearly satisfied, we may make sail soon.'

'Make sure we do.' Thorn turned away, 'Another thing, we are sitting low, I'll set two Helldrakes loose before us, keep in contact with them and adjust our course accordingly.'

'As you wish Admiral.' Sastriss whispered, the words sounding like a hiss in the echoic room.

It was twilight when the 'Spire of Bitterness' left sight of Karond Kar. Duke Kalen rested on a railing, and watched the frosted walls of Karond Kar fade into the gloom. Corsairs and slaves hurried across the decks, tightening sails with huge turning cogs placed in the hull and swinging from rigging like apes. A corsair, bare chested despite the chill, played a long mournful note on a set of ornate pipes; perhaps an ode to the spirits of the dark waters.

Kalen turned back to the rail, watching as the water far below swirled with movement. A scaly crimson hide sloped from the waves like the back of a gigantic worm. Helldrakes. They had been transported here from the Boiling Sea via the Underworld Sea and now served under the tuition and magic of the Druchii. He caught sight of the head of the beast, a yellow eye, thrice the size of an elf and terrible jaws that skimmed just below the surface. Kalen wondered how tight a leash the Admiral had these monsters on.

'Sir.' The voice belonged to a Reaver who bowed only slightly when Kalen turned. 'Admiral Thorn requests you attend dinner with him in his quarters tonight.'

Kalen could not hide his astonishment, 'Me?' The Reaver gave a sly smirk and Kalen quickly hid his surprise, 'Thank you, and tell the Admiral I would be honoured to attend.'

The Reaver bowed once more and left. Kalen couldn't help but wonder why the Admiral wished to see such a lowly officer as himself. He wondered if this had connections to the assassin he had encountered last night and a feeling of dread itched at his heart. The mighty towers of Karond Kar finally disappeared from view. Beyond the lapping of the water, the corsairs' ghostly tune continued to play as the Helldrakes howled into the mist.

Admiral Thorn's chambers were high in the towers that clung to the stern of the ship. The inner balcony that Kalen hurried along was lushly carpeted and the way lit by ornate candelabras inset into the walls. It could almost be a castle in Har Ganeth he thought. He reminded himself that it was of course once a mighty Keep in Nagarythe before it was torn away by dark magic to save it from the murky depths of the Sea of Chaos. Nevertheless, this Admiral enjoyed his comforts, Kalen thought, as a guard at the doorway to the admirals' cabin saluted and opened the door for him.

Kalen had not had time to dress for the occasion, wearing only what he had boarded with. He realised as he entered the lush splendour of the Admirals gloomy cabin, that this had been a mistake. There were seven officers sat around the long thin table and all of them (with the exception of the witch elf Hecate) were dressed in banquet attire.

'The infamous Duke Kalen.' An officer said nearest to where Kalen stood lingering in the alcove of the doorway.

'The very same.' Hecate grinned standing. She beckoned to the high backed chair opposite. Kalen moved to the chair and sat down. At the head of the table was a grey haired elf with sullen eyes; Kalen guessed this was the Admiral. Indeed, no sooner had Kalen settled than the Admiral fixed him with a glare. His eyes were sharp and yellow in the pits and Kalen was forced to look away.

The officer nearest the door, stood, he was tall with a particular aquiline nose, 'Allow me to introduce the first officer's, Duke.' His tone indicating that Kalen should be regarded as nothing more than a temporary guest, 'Our good Captain, Admiral Thorn,' he gestured to the older Elf at the head of the table, 'the famous Lord Harkan,' Harkan's skin was the colour of fog, his black mane sliced through with a stripe of white. He had ignored Kalen since he entered and did so now, reaching for a goblet of wine instead. 'Hag Hecate, I believe you know since she has kindly told us so much about you.' Hecate didn't look at Kalen either but looked sharply at the officer who moved swiftly on, 'as well as Duke Vraneth, commander of our heavy cavalry.' Vraneth nodded whilst sucking a sliver of white apple from his knife. 'High Reaver Crassfile, commands our Corsair contingent, Herald Firlaith, our light cavalry.' Crassfile was a rough looking elf with a scar across his well-rounded lips and an unusually tanned skin from years on deck. Firlaith however seemed the opposite, slight in body with jutting cheekbones and a serpentine black moustache and beard. 'And myself, Duke Stromlath, second-in-command to our Lord Harkan.'

Kalen bowed as much as he could from the chair, before turning to Admiral Thorn, 'My gratitude for inviting me to your table, Admiral.' Admiral Thorn appeared to be concentrating on peeling some fruit.

Slaves were brought in, landing platters of meat that smelt of delicate spice amongst the already crowded table. Vraneth was the first to plunge his dagger into the cooked flesh with zest.

'So how do you fare our chances against the Kislevites, Kalen?' Herald Firlaith said as he stroked his beard thoughtfully.

Before Kalen could answer, 'The Duke has minimal military experience.' Lord Harkan muttered.

'Yes, it seems quite a riddle why you were assigned here.' Stromlath said chirpily.

'Indeed it is.' Harkan eyed Kalen with suspicion.

Stromlath continued unabated, 'I'm sure there must be a reasonable explanation. Perhaps even one such as yourself deserves a chance to prove themselves, yes?'

'I would die for the Druchii.' Kalen said through clenched teeth.

'Oh, jolly good.' Stromlath dismissed, 'I'm sure we will appreciate it.'

'Kalen has killed for them too' Hecate smiled, 'In abundance.'

Herald Firlaith looked at her and then Kalen, 'So, would you care to contribute an opinion?'

Stromlath spoke instead, 'Kislevites are Men, complete savages without even the meagre glimpse of military strategy as we know it.' He said knowledgeably. 'It shouldn't take us long. Take their charge and then buckle their flanks and cut them to merry ribbons!' He beamed.

Admiral Thorn grunted as he picked a seed from his teeth. Reaver Crassfile looked at his admiral and then to the group, 'I will tell you of the Kislevites.' He said in rough tones, 'They are at home in the ice and snow, by that I mean endless wastes of white landscape such as you have never seen. And yet they are still apt to ambush you. Their horses can lie still as a corpse until the snow covers them and then when your army marches past, they spring like water elementals from the ice with not a trace of slowness. Their lancers harass the flanks whilst their horse backed bowmen pick your men off one at a time. They keep bears as big as a Cold One and frothing dogs which howl into the air and threaten to rip you to pieces should you consider retreat.' Stromlath gulped on a grape. 'Then, when you are at your weakest, then, Duke Stromlath, then comes the charge; warriors, axemen, lancers and animals rush from out of nowhere with just one intention…'

'Wha…What's that?' Stromlath stuttered.

Hecate looked ecstatic at Stromlath's fear, 'You didn't know that Druchii meat is a delicacy in Praag?'

'Surely not! I declare, that's positively 'uncivilised'!' Stromlath cried.

'The 'ears' especially.' Hecate licked her red lips for effect.

'Kalen should be fine then!' Vraneth laughed and Kalen smiled with him.

'Enough!' Lord Harkan barked and silence descended on the table. 'I'm afraid I must take my leave, Admiral.' He said as he stood and walked towards the door with only a twitch of his eyes to Kalen. Stromlath and Firlaith stood, bowed and hurried after him.

'Treacherous cowards.' Hecate said with bitterness.

Vraneth shrugged, 'More for the rest of us.' He leaned over towards Stromlath's plate.

Admiral Thorn looked at Crassfile and gently tipped his head towards the door. The reaver raised himself from the chair and slipped out after Harkan. 'I don't know why you're here either Kalen.' The admiral finally spoke, 'But I warn you, leave it until you are ashore.' He looked at Kalen with yellowing eyes and Kalen nodded although in reality he was in much in shadow as the admiral. Thorn stood and placed a long nailed hand on Kalen's shoulder, 'For what it is worth, good luck.' He growled and left.

Kalen looked over at Hecate who only smiled slyly, 'Look's like the games have begun in earnest.'

'Is there any more chicken?' Vraneth said holding up a gnarled bone.

Kalen woke, the wine stinging in his head from the previous evening. In the small port window he saw shapes running around on the outer decks. He climbed from the makeshift hammock and onto the damp wooden floor of his meagre quarters. Stopping only to throw on a robe and a sword, he pulled back the bolts from the door, already hearing shouts and cries from above.

Once on deck Kalen squinted up into the white cloudy sky to where a corsair was screaming something from the aft mast, pointing out to sea. A warrior shoved him aside, loading an Uraithen with bolts as he ran. Kalen ran to the port side railings.

The waves were thrashing together, surging like the arms of some thick-skinned creature, but amongst the turbulence he spotted something. A sail. Two sails. Then more appeared on the horizon.

'Eagle ships!' the spotter shouted. The Ark prepared for battle. High Elves.