A/N: So there is probably only one more chapter to wrap things up in this story. Next we'll be moving on to the opening stage of the war between the High Elves and Darkelves with Daemonpact, featuring Morathi, Alith Anar and others. Keep your eyes peeled if interested.

"How many?"

"Are able to fight, or how many have we lost?"

"Either."

"If the enemy attack tonight we'll have barely enough to man the walls of the citadel. Every day more of our wounded recover but..."

"But there is no reason for our enemies to give us days, there is no reason for them to give us more than a few hours." Aldebrand sighed, and shook his head. "Very well then, have the men ready, for if this is to be our end, I will have them make an end worthy of Hochland."

"Yes sir."

"Captain," Aldebrand halted the captain just as he was to make an exit. "I don't suppose... is there any news of..."

The captain bowed his head, to keep his gaze away from his Count's. "No, my lord, there is no sign of Captain Ottilia."

"I see, thank you." The captain left and Aldebrand looked down at the desk, his fingers curling into fists. The tears began to fall. "I was meant to keep you safe," he whispered. There was no one to hear.

He cuffed the tears away and turned his mind to strategy, planning, forethought, hoping that it would be enough to drive his daughter's memory from his mind for a few hours.

Since the siege had begun, half the defending army had been lost; death or injury taking them from the battle lines. He had to think that they had inflicted heavy losses on their foes for them to make such gains, but it hadn't been enough to force a retreat. And he knew that even such a tally of death had only been made possible by the herald.

Aldebrand had never been the most pious man, but the herald... He'd seen him fight twice now, both here and at the battle of Alderfen at Gelt's Folly and he was a warrior unlike anything Aldebrand had seen, his fires never dimming, fighting on beyond what any other could achieve. With the great hammer of Sigmar in his hand and burnished dwarfen armour wrapping his muscled body it was easy to see why he was seen as a saviour by so many.

But that had doomed Hergig.

Had he not been taken in by Valten's successes, he wouldn't have ordered such an attack, he would have carried on doing what worked, he would have bled the enemy against his walls, with his army safe and ready. Was this a punishment for arrogance? Or something worse. He remembered the cackling Changeling, the beast the Herald seemed to have slain, that had sown such discord among them at the Auric bastion. Had his unveiling been just another ploy, a cover to bring the Herald into their circles?

It would make sense, after all, the Folly had fallen even with the Changeling's 'death' and now, here Valten was, on the frontline again, still making people love him even as he undermined the defences.

No, it couldn't be, could it?

If the Herald escaped here, with a retinue of survivors, his legend would only grow, even as he handed another victory to Chaos. And then, would the process repeat, until the last defenders of the Empire were gathered around him, for him to turn on or abandon to their fate. Was this all the work of the great trickster god of chaos?

The more Aldebrand thought about it, the more everything fell into place. If it hadn't been for the Herald he would still have half his city, he would still have most of his army, he would still have Ottilia. Seething, Aldebrand snatched up Goblin Bane, drawing the Runefang from the ornate mahogany scabbard. The blade glinted, the edge as sharp as it had ever been. Aldebrand sheathed his blade and made for the door.

The courtyard of the city was littered with the wounded, sprawled in the dying light of day. Doctors, apothecaries and priestesses of Shallya were tending to them as best they were able. Only one in three seemed to be on a suitable bed, the rest lying on the hard stone.

"My Lord Count," one man struggled to his feet but Aldebrand waved him down.

"Ease, soldier, rest, all I need to know is where the Herald is currently."

"He was heading for the chapel, my lord."

Aldebrand rested a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you soldiers, rest now, recover your strength." Steeling himself, he made his way for the small chapel at the edge of the courtyard.

The bodies seemed to be concentrated there, many probably hoping for the blessings of the Herald to help them recover. Would they be left disappointed as well.

Aldebrand cracked the door open a little and peered inside. The Herald was knelt before the Altar of Sigmar, his witch hunter ally talking down at him, sternly. He tried to listen, but couldn't hear quite what was being said.

He made to enter, but a voice stopped him. "My lord!"

He turned, a messenger was racing over as fast as his limp could carry him. "You're needed at the gate my lord, now!"

Aldebrand glanced back at the chapel. "Are we under attack?"

"Not... quite my lord."

"Very well." He loosened his grip on Goblin Bane and turned to follow the soldier to the wall.

At the parapets he looked down on the city beyond. The norscan army had formed a ring, exposing a wide circle just in front of the main gate. A stage.

Their leader was calling up to the walls, but not to the soldiers, and not to him.

"Come out come out Herald!" Wulfrik cried. "Come out and face your destiny! Face me!" He continued, issuing his challenge to the absent Herald of Sigmar. After a short while, he paused, and waited.

"Sir, should we take the shot?" Aldebrand looked. Half a dozen riflemen had their weapons pointed at the enemy champion. Much as Aldebrand would have loved to have given the order, he knew it would be pointless. Wulfrik bore chaos cursed armour, unless a lucky shot took him in the head, a few rifle rounds wouldn't stop him.

"No, stand down," he said. "Let him rant, every second is needed."

"Yes sir."

The tense standoff continued, until the champion spoke up again. "Very well Herald, it seems you need some motivation. Bring the prisoners!"

With a roar of eager anticipation, the ranks of marauders parted and rank after rank of bound prisoners were dragged forward, filth stained, bloody and nearly broken. They were forced to their knees. The champion of chaos gestured and one of the prisoners was brought forward, his breastplate cut from him. "Very well Herald, if you're not going to give me some fun, I'll have to make some for myself." The champion drew a hand axe and stepped behind the prisoner.

Death did not come quickly. Spurred on by the watching horde, the champion carved into his soldier's back. The champion held out a hand for silence, so all that could be heard was the prisoner's screams, as the axe tore away at the flesh of his back. Aldebrand closed his eyes. He'd heard of this technique of the northmen before – the Blood Eagle, Valkia's Gift.

"Count Aldebrand." Aldebrand looked away from the torture, the screams like nails driving into his ears. "Look there, third prisoner from the left, isn't that..."

Aldebrand looked and his face paled. "Ottilia," he breathed.

()()()

"I lost," Valten whispered, knelt in the chapel. "How could I lose, I thought I was... How..."

"You are a herald of Sigmar, not Sigmar himself," Emil reminded him. The witch hunter had managed to make it back the previous night, though the older man looked more haggard than Valten had ever seen him. "When he was but a king among men, Sigmar made mistakes, his story was not a glorified path to the godhood that awaited him, it was paved in glory and gore in equal measure, but unlike everyone else he followed the path right to the end. Are you going to fail here, at the first hurdle?"

Valten looked up. "But Sigmar had the strength to move on, he had loyal armies and kings knelt before him. I led an army last night, and it got cut down because of me."

Emil nodded. "You did, and it was, but this is a war for the very world we live in," he replied. "Armies will die, cities will burn and we will be very changed by the time it is done. But tell me this, Valten, herald of Sigmar, do you still have strength in your limbs?"

"I... yes."

"Are you still clad in the finest suit of armour ever worn by a human, do you still bear the hammer of the greatest of us?"

Valten nodded. "I do."

"Then it is up to you to not stop, just as I must not stop so long as I can still swing my sword and fire my gun and chase my foes. We cannot stop fighting, because there are those in the world who cannot fight, whatever setbacks your foe deals you, you must rise and stand tall again, or the countless thousands who rely on you to be their sword and their shield will all perish." Emil knelt so that he was at Valten's eye level. "Tell me, did you ever hear the story of how Sigmar vanquished Nagash?"

"Bits and pieces," Valten replied.

Emil stood tall again, as a teacher standing over a student. "It was Sigmar himself who had drawn the Great Necromancer to the fledgling Empire," Emil intoned. "With the arrogance of man, Sigmar had come across the Crown of Sorcery while purging greenskin tribes from the Darkwood. When he held it in his hands, he heard the whispers of the crown. A hundred whispers all at once: Place me on your brow, and power over life and death shall be yours, place me on your brown and an empire of power and glory shall be yours, unending until the breaking of the world. These promises and more poured into the mind of our great saviour and, unable to resist, he placed the crown atop his head. With the pain of lightning and fire, Sigmar realised his mistake, and cast the crown aside, sealing deep in the vaults of his capital.

"But the crown had achieved its desire. By donning it, Nagash's spirit was roused from its slumber, and the Great Necromancer began raising his hordes to reclaim what was his. Sigmar, rallying the tribes and armies of the fledgling Empire stood against Nagash on every field, but the armies of death were numbered beyond counting, and the men under His command could only hold so long. Seeing that his only chance to defeat his enemy was to draw him into single combat, Sigmar ventured deep into his vaults, reclaimed the crown and placed it once more on his brown. Using his immense will, he resisted the call of the crown and bore it into battle, drawing Nagash to him. Nagash, drawn by a need for the crown that outweighed all other concerns, fell upon Sigmar who, finally, was able to defeat Nagash and cast him down, destroying him and his army in a great swipe of Ghal Maraz."

Valten looked up at Emil, who had paused in his telling. "I don't understand."

"Sigmar, in his darkest moment, drew to his empire, the very enemy that came closest to destroying it. Yet he did not give up. But here is his herald, blubbering over the fact that he may have helped the enemy take one city."

"You're saying..."

"You shouldn't be here," Emil said. "You should be out there, correcting your mistake, and if you won't go, then turn that hammer over to someone who can deliver it back to the Emperor, and go hide somewhere while those who have the will to fight do."

Valten was about to reply when the door burst open. "Herald!" an out of breath voice made them both turn to see a panting soldier at the gate. "Come quickly, their killing them!"

When he got to the walls, Valten cursed. Wulfrik was onto his third prisoner, the two previous victims lay prone on the ground, their backs broken open, ribs hacked away from the spine and lungs pulled out like bloody wings. "What is this?" Valten asked.

"The blood eagle," Aldebrand whispered, the count staring, face pale and taut. "They have her."

"Who?"

"Ottilia, and she's..." Valten looked, and saw at the end of the line, Ottilia knelt, bound and defiant.

"No!"

"She's next," Aldebrand said.

"Why is he doing this?"

As if in answer, the champion called out. "Come on out Herald! Face me, and they go free, or hide and they all suffer this fate."

"He wants..."

"To fight you," Aldebrand finished.

He looked at Emil, who stared into his eyes, hard and set, and nodded.

"I'm going."

"Herald wait!"

Valten was already making his way back to the steps when Aldebrand caught him. "I know, it's my daughter, my men, but if you open that gate, they could charge in and kill us all." Valten saw the pain in Aldebrand's eyes.

"They won't," Valten said. He gripped the haft of Ghal Maraz, for his own comfort as much as anything else. "I will fight him, they'll go free, and you'll have a few dozen more soldiers."

"You have no guarantee that he will keep his promise if you go."

"Perhaps not, but I know they will definitely die if I don't."

"Herald-"

"Count." They reached the gate and he turned to face Aldebrand. "Your daughter, those men, they're out there because I failed, I owe them and the Empire this. Please."

Aldebrand took a few breaths. "You'll bring her back?" He needed this, he needed to know that there was something waiting for him, that he wasn't opening the gate for nothing.

Valten nodded. "If it is within my power, I will."

Aldebrand nodded. "Get ready to open the gate."

Valten thanked him then made his way over to a nearby crossbowman. "I'm going to need that," he said, holding out his hand for the loaded crossbow.

The gate opened and Valten left to face Wulfrik the Wanderer, champion of chaos.

The enemy all looked at him as he strode out. Wulfrik paused in his action of hacking the ribs of his victim out. Valten, knowing there was nothing else to be done, raised his borrowed crossbow and fired, the bolt punching through the heart of Wulfrik's latest victim to give him peace.

He discarded the crossbow and took up his hammer again, stepping forward. He saw the enemy horde slavering and grinning in anticipation, but when his eyes fell to the prisoners, they too smiled, in relief and joy at his coming. Why, he'd led them to where they were. He didn't turn to look, but he felt the eyes of everyone on the walls watching him as the gate closed behind him.

"I'm here, Wanderer," he said, standing firm.

"So you are," Wulfrik grinned, dropping his hand axe and drawing his great blade. "Just as I wanted."

"Yes," Valten replied, "I'm what you want. You can let them go," he gestured to the prisoners.

"Oh I will," Wulfrik replied, stepping forward, "just as soon as I beat you."

Valten didn't bother arguing, words wouldn't resolve this. He raised Ghal Maraz and stepped forward.

The air became still and silent, everyone watching, no one daring to breathe. Then two champions of the gods leapt at each other.

Valten had hoped for an early blow to drive Wulfrik back, but immediately he was on the back foot. Wulfik's centuries of challenging worthy foes had turned him into a master of his blade and it slashed out, forcing Valten to back off and use Ghal Maraz to block the blow. With the speed of a striking serpent, Wulfik followed up with a rapid flurry of strikes, not giving him an opening to strike.

He desperately through up Ghal Maraz, trying to ward off Wulfrik's blows, but one came close enough to slice a thin line across his cheek, and another would have taken his head if he hadn't ducked. His dwarf forged plate dented on the sides, but the steel held under the barrage of blows.

Valten realised quickly that he was outclassed in terms of skill and experience, Wulfrik had centuries behind him, Valten had only years, and only months with Ghal Maraz. He felt the hammer jolt and jar with every blow he fended off.

The two broke apart, circling each other. "Surely you can do better!" Wulfrik jeered to the roars of the crowd.

"I only want to give you a fair fight," Valten replied, launching another attack. At first, it seemed to succeed, but Wulfrik quickly regained his balance and drove Valten away again. Valten ducked under a heavy swing, and brought Ghal Maraz around, but his strike simply glanced off Wulfrik's back and he twisted his sword in his grip, driving it backwards in a powerful thrust. Valten sidestepped it and lashed out, but Wulfrik caught the blow, twisted Ghal Maraz away and lashed out. Valten barely backpedalled in time and another thin line was opened across his forehead. Valten felt the blood trickle down his face, hot and sticky as once again, the two started circling each other.

Wulfrik laughed with glee. "Is this really the best that your god could send against mine?"

Valten snarled, but refrained from charging in again. He had to shift the battle, Wulfrik had the advantage as long as they kept this going, and the next blow to his head could end him.

He approached cautiously, Ghal Maraz held to the side, inviting Wulfik to attack him.

The champion of the dark gods obliged coming at him with a powerful lunge that could punch through the hide of a saurian. Valten dodged and readied for the follow up strike which came flashing for his face. He bent backwards to avoid it, then smashed the sword with Ghal Maraz, opening Wulfrik up, seizing his chance, he dropped Ghal Maraz to the ground and drove in close, slamming a fist into Wulfrik's breastplate. The force made the champion grunt and Valten drove in, delivering blow after blow of gromril fists to Wulfrik's torso and face. He may lack Ghal Maraz's raw power, but here Wulfrik was unable to bring his sword to bear. Valten drove Wulfrik back with his fists, then staggered him with a savage kick to his knee. He drove his heel into Wulfrik's chest and leapt on top of him. He drove his fists at Wulfrik's face, who twisted away and raised his arms to shield himself. Valten's punch cracked the stone beneath the champion, but his second connected with Wulfrik's cheek. But the champion then blocked the next two and started twisting and kicking, threatening to dislodge Valten.

Do you cast me aside so easily?

The voice rumbled like distant thunder inside Valten's head. He tried to keep up his attack, but Wulfrik was now punching back as for every blow he took, and Valten was nearly shaken from his perch by Wulfrik's relentless twists of his hips and legs.

He won't be beaten by you, not like this.

Valten tasted blood as a blow slammed into his face. It staggered him and that one moment was all Wulfrik needed. He roared and cast Valten off him. Valten rolled away, clambering to his feet. He spat out a broken tooth in a wad of blood and squared himself up to Wulfrik.

Wulfik grinned a bloody grin of his own as he got to his feet. "Not bad entertainment, but not good enough!" He snatched up his sword and calmly stood between Valten and the now discarded Ghal Maraz.

Will you leave my Empire to be ravaged by him?

The voice seemed to be coming closer, but no one else seemed to hear it. He cast his eyes around, looking for anyone else who might be hearing it, but there was no one. Everyone was looking at the fight.

Will you, boy? Did I come to you so that you could fail here?

"Who are you?" He whispered.

Wulfrik approached slowly, seeing that Valten wasn't making any moves to get passed him. "I was hoping for so much more," he almost sounded disappointed.

Wulfrik attacked. Valten dodged the first two cuts, took the third on his breastplate, but that blow left him staggered and Wulfrik stepped in, driving his shoulder against Valten and sending him to the ground again.

He pulled himself away, staggering to his feet right next to the bodies of the blood eagled prisoners. His fingers curled into anger as he saw the twisted agony on their dead faces.

Will you let him get away with this?

Wulfrik stalked towards him, clearly looking to end things.

"No," Valten hissed.

Then defeat him, boy.

"How?"

Take me up. The voice was threaded with a divine rage. Take up my hammer, boy, and smite my enemies!

Valten charged, diving under Wulfrik's slash and skittering along the cobbles. His hand closed around Ghal Maraz. He swung the hammer in a moment of pure instinct. Wulfrik, who had been preparing to drive his blade home, was unable to react in time, and Ghal Maraz connected with his breastplate. A flash of blue light stunned Valten and Wulfrik was sent flying, he landed bodily. The display of power stunned Valten as much as the flash, and Wulfrik was quick to return to his feet. His eyes were laughing again and he spay blood from his lips. The crowd around them fell silent, until one voice cried out.

"No!" Luregar Raven-Caller cried. They were meant to prevent this, not bring it about.

Valten looked down. Ghal Maraz was glowing, tiny runes carved into the hammer glinted with the light of blue crystals.

Finish this, now!

Valten charged.

Ghal Maraz spun through the air and rained blow after blow upon Wulfrik. The champion of chaos, so long on the attack backpedalled in alarm, trying to block the hammer, especially after the last blow. And Valten saw. He saw where to place his blows, he saw how much strength to put behind each and every swing, he saw when to dart out and when to step in close. He saw.

He drove Wulfrik back towards his men, and overstepped. One blow swung too wide and Wulfrik pounced, he slashed at Valten's unprotected face with a flurry of blows. Valten raised Ghal Maraz with one hand and used his gromril vambrace on the other to protect both sides of his head.

Wulfrik swung a heavy blow at Valten's head. He ducked low, letting the blade pass overhead. Wulfrik brought the blade back and Valten reached out, using the haft of his hammer to block Wulfrik's wrist, stepped back and smashed Ghal Maraz into Wulfrik's elbow. Plate buckled and with a sickening crunch, the bone of Wulfrik's elbow suddenly protruded from his inner arm. Wulfrik roared in pain, as he dropped his sword, but his left hand shot out to catch it and thrust at Valten's stomach. In a single motion, Valten stepped aside, raised his hammer and brought it down, crushing Wulfrik's other hand. Not stopping Valten span in front of the champion and brought his hammer around in a wide arc, driving it into Wulfrik's left knee. The plate metal broke and Wulfrik's kneecap was smashed out of his leg, skittering across the ground in a burst of blood, bone and gore. Again Ghal Maraz rose, and again it fell, crushing Wulfrik's right foot to paste within his armoured boot.

Screaming in pain he fell to the ground, a quivering mess. Valten's eyes scanned the crowd, the warriors in it looking upon him with a mixture of fear and rage.

He reached down and gripped Wulfrik's head, pulling him up by the hair and setting him on his ruined knees, holding him up. Unbidden, the words he knew he must say came to him, and when he spoke, he voice carried like thunder, it flanged with two tones, like a part of the voice that came upon him was speaking with him.

"This man, said that he would spare my people, if I were to face him and he were victorious. I now extend to you the VERY. SAME. OFFER!" His roar made the enemy recoil, as he raised Ghal Maraz and brought it down.

Wulfrik the Wanderer shattered in a flash of blue light that spilled like a wave from where the hammer had struck, the runes glowing like bolts of pure thunder.

The enemy began to flee.

"Run!" Valten screamed deific thunder. "Run!" The marauders turned to flee, scrambling over each other as another wave of blue light spilled around them, chilling them to their frozen northern bones, some hacked apart any who got in their way, desperate to flee from the vengeful warrior. Luregar opened a portal to flee, others who tried to join him were cut in half as it closed on them. Another rolling wave poured from Valten and chased the northmen away.

"Run! Run to your masters and run to your gods! Run to the Everchosen and give him this message!" He raised Ghal Maraz high and roared after the fleeing vermin. "The Herald of Sigmar comes for him!"