KALEN
IX
Only an imperceptible shade of greyness separated the sky from the ground. A series of snow-laden hills sloped into the lowlands. A few trees struggled to raise their thin fingers above the deep white drifts and even these were skeletal and long dead.
Such was the land of Norsca.
As Dark Elf Duke Kalen looked out into the wilderness from the coastal Norse settlement, he could understand why the Norse had never mastered land warfare. Inland of this place there was nothing to look to but vast drifts of snow and the forbidding realms of the Chaos Gods. Kalen shivered and wrapped his cloak more tightly around him.
The Dark Elves were here because of geography. Norsca, although an inhospitable wilderness, was directly north of the lands of Men. For sea-faring raiders such as the Norse, it was an ideal location from which to launch raids into the Sea of Claws and beyond. As for retribution, who would want to risk the treacherous ice-flows and freezing temperatures only to fight the Norscans on their home ground? The Norse were without battlefield tactics as Kalen knew them, but they more than made up for that in their bloody minded determination and love of slaughter.
Which made them perfect allies of the Witch King Malekith. The Druchii had made a pact with these men of the north, securing their raiding prowess in return for the loot they could steal from Elven merchants travelling from Ulthuan. It also provided the Druchii with hidden strike bases in the coves of the Norscan peninsula, where Dark Elf ships would lie in wait for the ships of the Empire to leave port. However, the men of Kislev planned to bring an end to this gold-trimmed arrangement. Even now they marched north of Erengrad to burn and pacify the villages of the Norse. The Norse homeland had never been attacked over land and they pleaded aid from their elven allies. The Druchii had come, albeit reluctantly, and with half an eye on reaping a substantial payment from the Norse afterwards.
So the army was here. And so was Kalen. Though as he stood in the deep snow and the whispering winds, he suspected his purpose here was somewhat different from that of the army's. Kalen had been created from a freak accident of nature, the conception of elf and human. His confused mother had died trying to bear him and his father, the former Duke of Abyiss, tried to murder the infant with poison, hoping to watch those wriggling limbs shiver as the venom took hold. But the child was bizarrely immune to even the most toxic substances the Hags prepared and the Temple of Khaine pronounced the mutant child a portent of the fall of the Asur and the reclamation of Ulthuan.
After his fathers' death, Kalen had inherited the title but none of the privileges. He was shunned at court, existing merely because the brides of Khaine were curious about him, though that didn't stop several attempts on his life and Kalen had become quite apt at avoiding death. But in a way he would welcome death, he felt alone amidst a people he didn't belong to. He desired to prove himself worthy of their praise on the battlefield, risking his life where other Druchii might hesitate, and yet he was strangely ashamed when he did.
And now he had been sent here by the word of an assassin and a witch elf. All he knew was that it had something to do with Lord Harkan, the army's general, and despiser of the Temple of Khaine. Even the drippings of gossip that reached Kalen's ears informed him that the general was sympathetic to the cult of Slaanesh. Now the Khainites had decided their reluctant prodigal son was to play a part in the secret war between Khaine and Shornaal.
Kalen watched a pure white snow owl skim across the flat sheet of snow, its flight silent and its wings held taut. His fear was that Harkan would know more about the Khainites plans than he did (which was scant) and decide to strike first. The snow owl suddenly dived into the snow, pulling away from the ground a second later with the pierced body of a rodent between its claws.
Kalen turned at the sound of crunching snow behind him. Duke Vraneth was making his way unsteadily to the top of the slope where Kalen stood, his boots sinking deep into the ground. Behind him the small town of the Norse huddled together, each thatched roof arcing a tendril of black smoke into the white sky. Fires had been lit outside too and in the eerie light of the northern afternoon, several Norse and Druchii warriors spared against each other.
'May I enquire what you're doing up here?' Vraneth cursed as he pulled another step against the snow, 'Looking out for Kislevites?' Vraneth was the closest Kalen had to a friend, but this was perhaps more because Vraneth cared little for the company he kept. He reached the top with an easy if slightly wicked grin on his face. His brow was beaded in sweat and his lip was bleeding.
'How's the training going?' Kalen asked nodding towards where a dark elf lieutenant was trying to prise a gang of Norse away from beating each other to a pulp.
'Not well. I'm a cavalry officer so what can I teach? Those primitives eat their mounts!' Vraneth laughed pressing his finger against the blood on his lip, 'But there is strength behind their ungainly moves, if not finesse.'
'Perhaps 'finesse' isn't a trait the Norse can learn.' Kalen said.
'Surely not! After all, we taught you to fight didn't we?' Vraneth flashed his ice white teeth.
Kalen ignored him. He saw Lord Harkan emerge from his hut a little way across what was ambitiously called the 'town square'. The general stood, cloaked in a sea-dragon cloak watching the troops drill, Herald Firlaith, commander of the light cavalry, stood behind him. Vraneth followed Kalen's eyes, 'We better start looking as if we can turn this mob into a fighting force.' Vraneth growled.
The two officers retraced their steps back down to where the troops were drilling. There were only a handful of Druchii warriors teaching the Norse. The rest preferring to stay in their makeshift barracks rather than demean themselves. Two Dark Riders watched idly from horseback, the horses' breath clouding their black forelocks. Lieutenant Ambran was attempting to take charge of the proceedings. Ambran was a young elf, whom Kalen favoured because he was as still naïve enough to respect him. Ambran even saluted as Kalen approached.
The large crowd of Norsemen looked at the dark elves with barely restrained contempt. They were proud warriors and though appreciated the necessity of the Druchii army's presence, it was obviously a bitter pill for them to swallow. They were familiar with the basic tongue of man so Kalen used the plain language.
With Harkan's eyes on him, Kalen stood between about a hundred Norse and seven dark elves. 'On the battlefield, the most important formation is the shield-wall!' He gestured to the few Druchii warriors and they brought their long shields up as a demonstration. 'The shield wall is an infantryman's most effective weapon against cavalry.' The dark elves overlapped their shields and bowed their drannach's over and between the recesses of the shields. The wickedly curved blades had been muffled with cloth to both prevent frost weakening the metal and to avoid unnecessary 'accidents' between the troops during drill.
'The warrior relies on the shield to his right to protect his flank whilst he thrusts his weapon and covers the man to his left with his own shield.' Kalen illustrated. The heavy brows of the Norse merely glared at him. 'You, bring the steed!' Kalen shouted to one of the Dark Riders. The cavalryman hesitated and then slowly trotted the grunting horse forward.
When the rider was positioned in front of the short shield wall Kalen continued, 'When attacked by cavalry, you'll be tempted to go for the rider because he'll be jabbing at you with a lance or spear. Don't. The cavalry will usually run down the front of the wall after an initial impact and even if you do manage a accurate swipe at the rider, you'll be committing yourself to a counter strike.' Kalen made to lunge over the wall with a drannach and the rider satisfactorily brought his own spear to press against Kalen's neck.
'Remember he has the advantage of height. So take that advantage away. A cavalryman is only a cavalryman because he has a mount. If you target the mount-' Kalen thrust the spear towards the chest of the horse which stepped back hurriedly, '-the rider falls and he can be dragged between the shields and his throat slit.' The rider paled but some of the Norsemen, who traditionally hated cavalry, smirked amongst themselves.
Just then a huge Norseman stepped forward, his body covered in armour and fur and his long hair and beard masking his dirty face, 'What about a challenge?' He growled sliding out a gleaming broadsword from its scabbard. Lieutenant Ambran looked nervously from the warrior to Kalen who stepped out from behind the shields.
'Hand to hand?' Kalen hated challenges on the battlefield; they were the ultimate mark of ego in his opinion. Fighting should be about killing not necessarily about looking good while one did so. He had not drawn his own sword and was wearing no armour, but the Norse still wavered the massive blade in front of him. 'What's your name, Norseman?' Kalen asked.
The smile on the warriors face fell and he raised himself up a little, 'Ulgrath Machtheitersonn.' He boomed
'The Norse love of syllables…' Vraneth tossed his eyes.
'Okay, Ulgrath, please, show me your talents.' Kalen said smoothly. He didn't want to fight the Norseman but it would be necessary if he were to get the co-operation of the rest of the tribe. Kalen drew his sword, which looked frighteningly fragile in comparison to Ulgrath's thick edged blade.
Ulgrath charged forward with a cry, swinging his sword in a move that Kalen had expected and he easily avoided it. However once to the side of him, Ulgrath brought his elbow into Kalen's ribs and pushed himself away from danger. The Norseman had a speed that belied his bulk. Ulgrath swept his sword downwards and Kalen met the swing with his blade, the noise of scraping metal grating across the snowy silence. Twice more their blades parried before Ulgrath used his strength behind his blade to force Kalen to lose his footing. Quickly, Kalen swung the sword underarm but Ulgrath blocked it, twisted his blade against the haft and forced Kalen's sword away from his hand. The dark elf's sword clanged against the shield wall and fell to the ground. He looked up at the Norse who immediately looked for the adulation of his fellow tribesmen. They cheered their encouragement.
It was all Kalen needed. Bringing his foot sharply up into Ulgrath's groin, the warrior bent forward in pain long enough for Kalen to drive a fist into his throat. As the Norseman staggered, trying to bring his heavy sword to bear, Kalen pulled a still sheathed dagger from his cloak. Closing the sheath around the back of the man's knee, he pulled with both hands and the leg immediately gave way. Kalen was on top of the larger man as soon as he fell, quickly unsheathing the blade and holding it before Ulgrath's stunned eyes.
'Never forget,' he called out to the rest of the Norse who had gone suddenly quiet, 'hand to hand combat is exactly that. You use anything you can.' He looked down again at Ulgrath, smiled and sawed off a lock of blonde hair before releasing him.
'Duke Kalen!' The voice that shattered the atmosphere belonged to Harkan. Kalen sheathed his dagger again and picked up his sword, nodding to Ambran to carry on.
'Excellent sport!' Vraneth relished as Kalen passed him.
Lord Harkan did not look so pleased. 'My Lord.' Kalen said bowing and catching the eye of Firlaith.
'Not quite the practice promoted in Naggarond's training dungeons, do you not think?' Said Harkan.
'No sir.' Kalen said without meeting his eyes, 'I thought it prudent to teach them such techniques that would compliment their obvious savage nature.'
Harkan considered this, 'Well perhaps you are right. Then they should learn from one who is master of such behaviour! Carry on, Duke.' He turned away before turning back catching Kalen in mid-bow, 'I will be discussing the strategy for the coming campaign at dusk tonight, please attend once you have finished with your 'friends'.'
'My Lord.' Kalen acknowledged watching Harkan's back intensely.
X
The night came quickly in this part of the world and the temperature dropped with similar rapidity. By that time most of the dark elf garrison were inside and crowded round the hearths they had 'appropriated' from the townspeople. Lonely soldiers on punishment duty took shifts at guarding the perimeter. They clutched their drannachs to themselves and shivered as they heard howling in the darkness, never sure whether it was the wind or wolves.
Inside the Norse chiefs hut, a large room had been set-aside for Harkan and his officers to construct their plans. The chief himself, an old and corpulent man named Narsanor, sat beside the fire and listened in confusion at the poetic elvish tongues, noting when his name was dropped into the conversation. Lord Harkan planted his arms either side of the map Admiral Thorn had given him. It was basically a record of the shoreline and coastal towns for nothing inland was of any note. However Harkan assumed the Kislevites would tie themselves to this coastline on their march north. He had not explained to the others why he thought this was the case, but the officers knew well enough not to question such judgements.
Though Stromlath had died on the journey here, Harkan had not nominated a second-in-command. Druchii tradition deemed it necessary for the elf to be an infantry or heavy cavalry officer, Kalen or Vraneth respectively, but Harkan had purposely refrained from mentioning such matters. Firlaith, the wily commander of the Dark Riders, had taken the opportunity to follow Harkan whenever he could and 'advising' him on the Lord's good judgement. He stood at Harkan's side at the top of the table, backing up his theories with ones of a very similar nature and content.
'Somewhere to the north east of our position is a bridge that has been built to cross this inland river here.' Harkan jabbed a gloved finger approximately five leagues up the coast, 'It is my intention to cross this bridge and make a pre-emptive strike on the Kislevites as they cross this regions of foothills.'
Firlaith seemed to look intensely at the blank area, 'Splendid, my Lord. Yes, splendid…'
Kalen stood at the far end of the table. Even from here he could tell the map was next to useless. He looked over at Vraneth, but the muscular elf was glaring moodily into his goblet of wine. Hecate was here too. It was the first time Kalen had seen her since Karond Kar; the Brides of Khaine preferring to keep themselves apart from the main army and had only recently come ashore from the Ark. Her black hair was held back by a comb, inscribed with skulls and her face was pale and without blemish. She eyed Harkan with her sharp silver-coloured eyes. They flicked to Kalen and he realised he was staring and looked away quickly.
'A regiment of Corsairs and some of Narsanor's 'lesser' warriors will remain here to garrison the town. I think we can safely assume the Kislevites will have little in the way of artillery so the Bolt throwers may remain here also.'
Firlaith was the only officer nodding, but Harkan had hardly looked up.
'Do we know when the enemy left Erengrad?' Kalen heard himself say. Harkan looked up sharply, 'My Lord.' Kalen finished.
Harkan murmured something to the Norse chief who seemed to be slumbering. He woke and said that a messenger had reported that an army had left Kislev for Erengard six days ago. Given that the human army would be re-supplied in Erengard it was possible that Harkan could be correct about the location of the Kislevites thought Kalen. However it would depend on how far along the coast the Kislev general strung out his marching army. This point stung his thoughts, 'Will our march be covered by a cavalry screen?'
'Not mine.' Vraneth groaned. His beloved Cold Ones had not reacted well to the temperature and seemed even more sluggish than usual.
'If I may my lord,' Firlaith soothed, 'I will string out my riders close to the coast where the ground is better and cover our flank.'
Kalen interrupted him, 'But surely the sea will do that task just as well? And what about our other flank? If the humans attack from the interior whilst we are on the march-'
Firlaith let out a yelp of laughter, 'I think you give too much credence to your savage cousins Duke Kalen! Their horses will be as indolent as ours in this snow!' He said as if pointing out the obvious.
'If we can conclude,' Harkan growled, 'we march at reasonable light tomorrow, I expect the Serpents Kiss regiment to form a vanguard.' This was Kalen's regiment. First into the ice cold fire, he thought. Though it was as close a confession of auxiliary command as he was likely to get. He noticed Firlaith chewing his lip.
At this point two Norse women entered with bowls of food. Placing the two large bowls in the centre of the table, the dark elves glared at their contents. Narsanor perked up and rambled a few words as he ladled some of the stuff into a clay bowl. 'Apparently they call this gruel, 'Goat Soup'.' Hecate said enjoying the look of disgust on the faces of the others.
Vraneth shipped some of the grey mixture into his bowl, 'Well if it tastes as bad as it sounds, we'll all be homesick by the morrow.'
Kalen's appetite was suddenly quelled, 'If you'll excuse me, my Lord.' He stood, 'Got to review the sentries.'
The chill of the wind stung his face as he budged the rugged door aside and stepped into the snow. The sky was clear, with a scattering of stardust peppering the dark heavens. Guided by his lantern,Kalen trudged along a path worn in the snow towards the barracks.
Sheltering between two huts was a crowd of human slaves. They wore rags but had managed to procure themselves a dirty woollen sheet and five of them were attempted to warm themselves under it. Kalen looked at them; they would be dead by morning. As usual he made a conscious effort to ignore their plight. However, looking around him, there were no Druchii in sight. Across the alley was a stable door. He went to it, laid the lantern in the snow and prised his dagger against the lock. The rusting metal broke. Pulling the door open he motioned to the slaves to enter. They looked at him with incomprehension. He shouted once and it seemed to force them into action. The pathetic huddle crossed the alley; some of them in bare feet and entered the comparative warmth of the stable. Kalen shut the door after them, hoping the stable didn't hold the army's Cold Ones.
Walking onwards,he saw his killers. In the freezing temperatures, their breaths were visible, rising from their hiding place behind one of the wagon carts. Obviously they hadn't learnt the trick of placing snow in the mouth in order to mask this, Kalen thought and made ready. He passed the wagons nonchalantly, but his mind was racing. However he had no time to wonder whom his attackers might be or from whose leash they had been released because several figures stepped out of the darkness.
There were three. One behind, one at his side and one in front. They were Norse. Kalen recognised Ulgrath's bulk even before he spoke. 'Dark Elf!' Ulgrath grunted as a greeting, his gloved hand around a hefty looking mace.
Kalen didn't reply, he dropped the lantern and drew his sword. By the light of the small flame he looked anxiously to his side where the other Norsemen were approaching. However as he had guessed, they were going to leave it to Ulgrath to dish out the punishment first. Ulgrath had obviously not learnt from today's lesson because once more he charged clumsily at Kalen. And again Kalen dodged the charge easily, this time stroking his blade along Ulgrath's abdomen. He heard the Norseman grunt in pain, but the larger warrior was quickly at the ready once more. The other two attackers took their cue and surrounded the dark elf.
They circled him. Kalen held the blade out, keeping the Norse at bay. However, he could not cover them all and eventually one of the warriors saw a gap. The mace came down on Kalen's shoulder. Fortunately the ferocity of the man's swing had made him slip in the snow and the head of the mace did not shatter bone, though Kalen reflexively dropped his sword. The other two closed on him fast.
Through a haze of pain, Kalen saw the mace descending down on him. Quickly he reached to meet it, catching the baton with both arms, stopping its cruel impetus towards his skull. But as he struggled with his attacker, he could do nothing about the other two. In the flickering firelight from his fallen lamp, the other Norseman smirked through snow-flecked whiskers. But beyond them Kalen caught sight of a shadow moving across the white ground.
The Norse warriors scream became a gurgle as his throat was slashed from behind. The other warriors had no time to react as this fur clad figure moved between them silently. Kalen managed to grapple the mace from his attacker, stunned as he was by the ferocity of the strangers attack. Kalen could only watch as his now weapon-less opponent curled himself around the crooked dagger of the stranger. Only Ulgrath was left. He staggered backwards a stunned look in his eye, his will to fight seemingly forgotten.
Kalen realised why when the stranger, pulled back the heavy hood of animal skin to reveal grey eyes and ruby lips. Hecate. The Witch Elf approached Ulgrath; even in the dim firelight and coat she seemed to have something of the seductress about her. It was not surprising Ulgrath was enthralled. The Norse women tended to be stout, flat-faced creatures and certainly had no tendency towards the art of fighting. It was easy for Hecate to give Ulgrath a short nick on the cheek with her dagger. He stepped back again but did not raise his weapon.
Hecate ignored him now and turned to Kalen, 'You'll have to do better than that if you want to see Abyiss again.'
'You were watching?'
She shrugged, 'I thought about leaving you, but I couldn't see them kill you. Even if you are a half-elf.' Behind her Ulgrath had fallen to the ground and begun to twitch violently.
Kalen was dusting the snow from his body, 'Your generosity knows no bounds, lady.'
'Come.' She took his arm, somehow hiding the dagger she had been holding. They left Ulgrath to die and walked to the edge of a small clearing, put aside by the villages to grow meagre crops in the summer months. It was covered in frost and snow and Hecate walked to its stonewall border before turning to face him. Away from the alley, the two half-moons shone side by side like vibrant, slit eyes. The light leant some lustre to Hecate's face; she seemed to be studying him.
'Appraising your experiment, my lady?' Kalen said and then regretted it. Although he was frustrated with the unseen plans that were going on around him, he could not bring himself to dislike the witch elf. It was not her beauty (for allowing oneself to desire a Maibd was a sure path to the bloody altar) but the fact that he remembered the witches being there in his torturous youth. He could not clearly recall much of the events, only the pain and fear as his father had tried to murder him. No doubt the witches tried too, but once they found he was immune to their harshest potions they treated him with curiosity. In the desperation of a child longing for love, he had perhaps come to see the beauty of the witches as mother figures. It was mistaken, he now knew that, but still he could not shake it and thus there was always an affinity he felt with the temple of the Bloody Handed god.
'Despite you nearly getting yourself killed by a group of Norse bears, its going as expected.' She said.
'Maybe if you told me more I would be better able to satisfy such expectations.'
Hecate breathed in the icy chill, 'I doubt it.'
'Why do you keep me alive, Hecate?' Kalen asked her plainly. 'You could get any noble to spy on Harkan.'
Hecate paused for a moment, her pearl eyes glowing like a cats' in firelight. 'You will do as we demand and afterwards who knows, you may be faced with your reckoning.' But something in the way she said this made Kalen think.
'What else?'
Hecate turned to leave, 'Don't flatter yourself, Duke. You're twisted body is not worth it.' She tried to go past Kalen back into the village. Kalen grabbed her roughly and pushed her to the ground. His frustration over-ruling his judgement at handling a witch in such a way. He pressed his bulk over hers as their bodies pushed into the snow, their faces only a fragment apart.
'Do you know what its like having to live like this?' Kalen hissed between his teeth. Hecate stared up at him not with fear but perhaps surprised at his strength. 'I will die and I'll die for you and your blessed Khaine, but even a freak like me needs a reason!'
'You may be immune to the poisons, but not the blade, Kalen.' Hecate whispered and Kalen indeed felt the witches knifepoint against his stomach.
Kalen didn't flinch, 'Do it then. Murder me. I beg you.'
'Such drama!' Hecate laughed but the sound was hollow.
'Your choice, witch.' Kalen kept his eyes locked on hers, the mist of their breath dancing together in the air between them.
The snow began to fall softly around them. Some flakes melted on Kalen's neck but he hardly felt them. Hecate spoke quietly, 'You are to kill Harkan and take his place. That's all I can tell you.'
Kalen had suspected that the temple of Khaine wanted Harkan dead but he didn't understand why his demise would have to be by Kalen's hand. 'The troops will never accept it.' He said.
'Harkan has sympathisers, but only amongst the nobles, the troops will be with you once you have my backing. We are hoping that if someone like you kills him then it may force other Slaanesh sympathisers out in protest. There will then be a cull.'
'Why Harkan?'
Hecate was silent for a moment, 'Harkan is planning an uprising.'
A civil war. Perhaps another Sundering. Kalen thought about it with dread. 'How far does this go?'
'That's something I don't know and don't want to. Neither should you. Play your part Kalen and you'll survive, otherwise tell me now and I'll happily grant your wish.' Kalen became aware of the knife again. He slowly got up and helped Hecate to her feet. She went to leave, but paused by his round lobed ear, 'This never happened Duke. Like you said, we can find others to do this. Breathe a word and I will kill you.' She sneered and walked away into the shadows.
Kalen watched her go. The snow fell on the icy ground around him. He would freeze to death if he stayed out much longer. Only with reluctance did he return inside.
Louis Verlaine