Fellblade

II

A Knife in the Dark

The clash of tankards rang against the roar of drunken men, the laughter of mercenaries, and the melody of minstrels' lutes and horns, all sharing the tavern atmosphere of the Black Prince. Amidst the cracked, wooden tables, the stench of dried blood and the din of drinking fools, the Red Wolves gathered to celebrate their victory. Magnus lived, against terrible odds, and even though they didn't get on that well, it was still a time for feasting and alcohol. Siareth, mumbling something about more important matters, had not joined them.

This of course was met by the rolling of eyes and an impatient huff as the rest barged through the doors, eager to quaff vast quantities of their favourite drinks.

'So,' Magnus bellowed, tipping back his fourth ale, 'this is where we are treated like lords, eh?'

'Perhaps that ale has gone to your head quicker than you realised,' Legless chuckled. 'You seem to have lost your memory.'

'Of course, the Black Prince, how could I have forgotten,' the knight guffawed.

'Another Bretonnian red, elf?' Merideon slapped Legless on the shoulder, and hailed the barkeep jovially. 'After all, only peasants drink that foul brew they call beer.'

'Indeed,' Legless agreed. 'Bring it to us, man, or I'll use you for target practice!'

'There's nothing wrong with beer!' Kurt laughed, draining his tankard and shouting at the barkeep for more. The poor man was rushing back and forth, carrying a silver tray laden with pewter tankards. Kurt breathed in the atmosphere. This was the life, away from the heavily regulated townships of the Empire. The smells, the sounds, the tastes, this was for him. Plus there were plenty of things to touch as well, he thought as a barmaid passed by him. He seized her around the waist and dragged her onto his lap, while she blushed furiously and tried not to struggle.

He grinned as a bottle flew across the room to shatter audibly against the far wall. There was an explosion of cheers as one of the barmaids got up on the table and started showing off her petticoat in a rather crude dance to the music. Men, heavily under the influence, roared and banged their fists on the table, their eyes blazing with open lust. There was a loud crash as a brawl started in a corner. Yes, Kurt thought, this was the life.

After a while, the four of them were drunk. But they were the lords of Aldenheim; no one was going to throw them out.

'You know, Siareth's quite mad,' Magnus whispered conspiratorially.

'Yes, I noticed that before,' Kurt snapped, 'he's not drinking!'

'Ah, but he must have a plan,' Legless joined in, 'these filthy humans, they're cunning, you know!'

'Watch your tongue,' Merideon spat.

'Impossible, human, my tongue doesn't come out far enough.'

'Oh, very funny, I laugh at your non-humanness.'

'Back to the topic,' Magnus roared, slamming his fist down on the table, spilling ale and knocking aside wooden bowls. 'I'm taking a journey. Who's with me?'

'And where would a peasant like you go,' Merideon scoffed. 'Have you even any money?'

'Silence, boy!' Magnus rose to his feet, unsheathing his sword. The dark blade glinted evilly in the lamp light, silently hungering for the souls it craved. 'Peasant, huh?'

'I…keep forgetting you picked that damned weapon up,' Kurt said momentarily. 'I guess it could come in handy every now and then.' He eyed the blade's edge.

'Very well, let us duel, as we are destined to,' Merideon said coolly.

Kurt grabbed both and wrenched them back to their seats. His head was spinning, but he had to know what Magnus was on about. A journey?

'Where are you going, sir knight?'

Magnus was silent for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

'I haven't been to Middenheim for so long! City of the White Wolf, that's where I'm headed! Who's with me?'

Kurt sighed. Back into the Empire…he knew he couldn't do that without great risk. And just when he was beginning to enjoy this evening's session. He frowned.

'What do you mean, it's been so long…have you ever been to Middenheim?'

'Of course I have! Many years ago, when I was deciding which templar order to join! Though I ultimately chose not to enlist with the White Wolves.'

There was an awkward silence.

'It must be your head,' Merideon mused. 'I think you hit it hard…'

'I will accompany you,' Legless cut through, his eyes glinting. 'There are rumours that an inhuman assassin prowls there. Such a challenge is one to be met by elven abilities.'

'Yes,' Magnus growled, his eyes strangely alight. 'The scum of evil will perish!'

'Waldheim, are you coming?' The elf was eager to get away from this blight hole. It was too close to the Worlds Edge anyway, realm of the hated Dwarves.

'Well I certainly am,' Merideon nodded his head. 'I'm sure Gabrielle will enjoy the sights of the Empire. She's barely been out of that backwater she was born in.'

Kurt was suddenly aware of three pairs of eyes staring at him.

He frowned, connecting up the dots in his mind. Suddenly, out of the blue, Magnus had decided to go to Middenheim. Legless and Merideon were going too. There was no way he was going back into the Empire; it was too dangerous. He was an outlaw, a wanted criminal. But if he stayed, it wouldn't be much fun with only the old warlock for company. Sure, the girls would be interesting, and were interesting, but it wouldn't be the same without the lads. Would it?

'You pack of curs,' he spat, generally angry. 'Are we really going to pack up and…'

'Yes. I feel a need to…travel,' Magnus's voice droned. 'It's time to break away from Siareth's will.'

'You have a point there, old one,' Merideon said. 'He seemed to have you on a leash…but now something's different.'

'It is, and I intend to get some freedom, at least for a while.'

'Well okay, okay, I'll come,' Kurt snarled. 'I don't want to be stuck here with Siareth while you fellows are out having all the fun…'

The tall man had a bristling, black beard. He stared out from beneath heavy brows, his blackened teeth fixed in a devilish sneer.

'I can take ye down the Blood River all right. Tis a dangerous waterway, it'll cost you five crowns.'

'Five gold crowns?' Merideon gasped. 'That's preposterous. How about…'

'That's me price, landlubber, you can take it or find your own way down.'

'Then that's what we'll do,' the noble spat. 'We've done it before, we can…'

'No!' Magnus burst out. 'It's too dangerous this time. The Border Princes are full of beastmen and orcs – we must take the quickest route available.'

'Your leader has a point,' the captain leered.

'He's not our leader,' Merideon snapped. 'I am, and I say…'

'Let's put it to the vote, shall we?' Legless was calm as ever. 'I vote river.'

'And I concur,' Kurt spoke up. 'It's about time we set sail!'

Merideon glared at them both. He huffed, clearly annoyed.

'Very well then, we shall hire your…boat.'

'It's a ship, matey. I set sail at dawn tomorrow. Be ready.'

'Oh yes sir,' Merideon said silkily, imitating the sailor's salute as the captain turned and stomped away.

'Enough, boy,' Magnus growled. 'Now that we've secured proper transport, I suggest someone break it to his majesty we're going to Middenheim.'

'His…' Merideon raised an eyebrow.

'Well,' Kurt scoffed, 'that's all he seems to do, sit on his throne and brood, or study spellbooks and the like.'

There was a massive explosion from inside the Councillors' Chambers and the door burst open. Magnus came striding out confidently. His hair and armour were a little singed but he was unharmed.

'He didn't understand why he couldn't send "bolts of power" in my head anymore,' the knight hissed. 'I nearly raised my blade and struck him down right there, but that wouldn't do, would it. I'm no murderer.' Magnus' eyes seemed to shine with a strange light. 'Come, we've an adventure to embark on.'

The Black Otter bounced and bobbed over the water as it slid downstream on the Blood River. Kurt stood on the forecastle with Captain Grubb, breathing in the cool, morning air. It was a long time since he had been aboard such a vessel, and it didn't worry him that this wasn't the finest specimen he had sailed on. It was a relatively small craft, but it was seaworthy and its black sails offered no respect to Sigmar or any other such loathsome deities. Instead, they depicted a vicious looking beast with small fangs and glowing eyes and a narrow, water-slick body. It was the logo of the Black Otter.

'It'll take a couple o' days to get down to Barak Varr,' Grubb sighed. 'But it'll be quicker than on foot or horseback, I can tell ye that.'

'Believe me, I…we are grateful for this,' Kurt replied hastily. 'Ah…did you say Barak Varr?'

'I did, boy, what of it?'

'Well, I, you see, I have a bit of history with that place. If you could, drop me off a league or so before we reach Barak Varr. I'd be much obliged.'

'Done,' Grubb nodded, 'and it won't cost a crown extra.' He squinted at Kurt. 'So, how come ye to this Aldenheim dump?'

'Tis a long story, and not one that I'm keen to tell right now,' Kurt answered. 'But basically I wound up there to escape the clutches of other men.'

'Maybe you should join the crew,' Grubb chuckled. 'You seem to know your way around a ship. I could use a man like you.'

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

'Where are you headed after you drop us off?'

'I'd be making my way downriver, towards the Black Gulf, and a certain treasure cave.'

'Hmmm…look old chap, I'd love to join you but these here fellows,' Kurt indicated his mates who were sitting in various positions around the main deck, with the exceptions of Merideon and Gabrielle, who were below deck, 'are too eager to go to the city of the white wolf. But my thanks anyway for the offer.'

'Here, take this small talisman.' Grubb handed him an animal's tooth. 'It's an otter's fang. It'll give you good luck. And if you're ever in Sartosa, show 'em this and they'll tell you where to come.'

'Well, I appreciate this, mate.' Kurt peered closely at the gift. 'Thanks.'

The Dwarven Sea Fortress was huge. It sat at the meeting points of the Blood, Skull and Howling Rivers, at the top of the Black Gulf. As the Black Otter cruised slowly through its massive sea gates, beneath a giant portcullis of steel and bronze, they felt intimidated by its strong, powerful presence. All around them dwarfs bustled, shouting orders and packing their Nautilus ships full of goods and weapons. Human vessels too, were coming in and out, stocked up with packages to trade and barter.

'Where're Kurt and Legless?' Magnus looked around from his position at the bow.

'Dropped them off a little way back,' Grubb yawned. 'Seems Barak Varr and Kurt have history. As for the elf…he's an elf. Barak Varr is full of Dwarves.'

'Kurt's history,' Merideon sneered. 'I guess they'll skirt around the city and meet us on the South Road.' He leaned against the starboard rail, polishing his rapier. Beside him sat Gabrielle, sunning herself on a large, wooden crate.

The metallic tune of the tin whistle Kurt was playing rang out over the windy moors. It was a military marching tune, short and lively, but very repetitive. Legless rolled his eyes and pulled his hood further down over his head.

'Must you persist with that irritating noise?'

Kurt stopped playing and tucked the whistle away in his pouch.

'What was wrong with it?'

'With this wind the sound will be carried vast distances. Any orcs in the area will be drawn to us like flies to a heap of dung.'

'Are you suggesting I'm…'

'Nothing of the sort, friend.' Legless smiled tactfully.

'Good, good, but you do have a point there about the sound.' Kurt glanced about nervously.

'It won't take us long to reach the South Road. Hopefully the humans are already there, that will save us waiting for them.'

The pair continued riding across the plains. Then, not surprisingly, the outlaw spotted a group of humanoids emerging from a clump of trees. He dismounted.

'Iron Claw Orcs, a whole school of them, dead ahead!'

'We're not onboard ship now, Waldheim,' Legless sneered, glancing at the man. Then he followed Kurt's gaze. Six orcs, armed with a variety of weapons, were gathering, intent of blocking their path. 'Oh, time to have some fun then.'

Kurt's twin blades lashed out as the orc bellowed and slashed at him. There was a bright spark and then the outlaw dodged as the orc threw its weight forward. He twirled his sword and plunged it neatly into the orc's back before it could turn to face him.

'You have met your match.'

Legless spurred his steed forwards. Feeling the wind rushing over him, he tensed, then, just before impact, he leapt into the air. Twisting, he felt the orc's neck break as his boot made contact. He landed, his blade slicing across another orc's torso. The return slash took its face off and then the elf was in the midst of combat, ducking and weaving amongst the stinking orc bodies.

The twin swords span end over end as Kurt sent them flying into the next orc's chest. They bit deep, gouging into the meat either side of the monster's heart. A throwing knife finished the job, flicked dextrously from the outlaw's outstretched hand. He watched Legless cut the legs from under orc and decided to take the last orc for himself. Unsheathing his orcish blade from across his back, he ran forwards and twirled the jagged edged blade, before bringing it down between the orc's shoulder blades. Pulling it out, he brought it around in a deadly arc, taking his foe's head from the shoulders.

'Now that's a killing.'

Legless got up from the legless orc he had just impaled. The elf and the human grasped forearms and locked eyes, sharing a mutual bond. It was a bond of blood.

'The South Road awaits,' Legless said. 'We cross the Howling River and…'

'We can get there faster by taking the East Trail. Just what I was thinking.'

Mounting up, they hurtled away towards the raging waters.

The Howling River looked like an angry snake, twisting and writhing. Its waters were never still, smashing against the rocks on either side and crashing down in huge torrents and deadly rapids. As they searched the banks for the safest ford, Kurt and Legless realised it would be a difficult crossing. The waterway was deep and fast, and anyone falling in would be swept away downstream within moments.

'Here's what we'll do,' Legless said casually. He unlimbered his elf rope and tied it to a nearby tree trunk. When he was satisfied that it was tight enough, he walked to the edge of the river, trailing the rope behind him. Then he took an arrow from his quiver and tied it to the rope, before nocking the arrow and taking aim at another large tree on the far side.

'You cannot be serious,' Kurt stammered. 'I take it we then wade out and get across by holding the rope…'

'Do you have any better ideas?'

Kurt was silent.

It was a difficult crossing.

Legless went first. Kurt followed, wishing there was a bridge of some sort. There probably was, further up where the East Trail met the river. The current was strong, and it tugged at them as if water daemons were pulling them down to a watery grave. Their boots alternatively sank in the mud or slipped on the rocks. It was very cold, and they were exposed. Legless' eyes scanned the tree line. If they were attacked now, they were dead.

'My breeches are soaked,' Kurt complained. 'I guess it's better than being thrown back into prison by a bunch of stunted greybeards.'

'You're an outlaw, Waldheim. I would've thought you'd be used to this by now.'

'Ah, well, the pleasures at Aldenheim seem to have dulled my adventuring skills. And riding about on horseback and in carriages…well, I can see why those fat merchants can't be bothered walking.'

'Humans,' Legless muttered.

As the elf and the man dragged themselves up onto the far bank, dripping and shivering with cold, they prayed that no ambush awaited them. They made camp, and drove burning brands into the ground all around the encampment. The extra warmth would dry their clothes quicker and a number of potential flaming weapons would help them in case of an attack.

As the sun rose in the east, Magnus, Merideon and Gabrielle made ready to ride north. They had spent the night in Barak Varr, stocking up on food, water and equipment, and had made good progress down the Blood River. Normally it would've taken them double the time to reach this point. Magnus dreaded to think where Kurt and Legless had holed up; the Iron Claw Orcs' territory lay east of Barak Varr, exactly where the duo would be travelling through.

'So, now we take the South Road through the Varenka Hills, and then to where the South Road meets the East Trail,' Magnus said confidently. 'This is where we'll meet Kurt and Legless. From there we trek north along the road to Black Fire Pass.'

'Very good,' Merideon said lazily. 'You know, we've been this way before. Not long ago, in fact.'

'But he's explaining for my benefit,' Gabrielle chirped. 'Aren't you, Mags.'

'I am? Of course, my dear sister, I am. It will be a long journey, but you have…us to protect you.'

As they rode, Magnus munched on a strip of tobacco. The wind howled around them from a grey sky, disturbing the long grasses like a current rushing across reeds on the seabed. He glanced across at the white charger. How predictable. Gabrielle and Merideon were having a fine time, he realised. That had better not interfere when it came to fighting.

Suddenly he noticed a cluster of dark figures on the horizon. They stood between two hills, and he could see the sun's rays glinting on weapons. The figures were hunched and brutish, and they had gangly arms.

'Beware! Orcs! Prepare to repel them in the name of Sigmar!'

Merideon glanced up as the chestnut mare galloped off towards the approaching foes, the knight waving his gold sword above his head. He raised an eyebrow. Since when did Magnus pay homage to any god, let alone that god? Dismounting, he unstrapped his pistols and handed them to Gabrielle.

'They're loaded and ready. Aim true.'

The chestnut mare thundered through the orcs like a titan, the raging knight swinging the Blade of Leaping Gold in a vicious arc. The first orc's head jumped visibly from its shoulders, blood spattering Magnus' armour, and the second one was crushed beneath the horse's hooves. Another was smashed aside and then Magnus hauled on the reins, turning his steed. A fourth orc raised its scimitar and charged him, but its reach was much shorter than the knight's. The gold blade flashed and the beast died a bloody death, clutching at its nearly severed neck.

There was the blast of gunfire and another orc's head exploded as Gabrielle pulled the flintlock's trigger. She twirled the pistol and holstered it before pulling out the other and aiming at the last orc closing on Merideon. The beast was corded with muscle, a rusted cleaver gripped in its filthy claws. The noble stood his ground, one hand on his hip, his boots dancing lightly as his blade flicked back and forth.

'Come on, bring it on!'

As the orc rushed into the attack and the rapier speared forwards to strike, the beast's head exploded, showering Merideon with brain matter. He stepped back, disgusted, as the corpse collapsed. He twisted his head towards Gabrielle, naturally irritated.

'That one was mine.'

'Oh, sorry, I seemed to be caught up in the thrill of the moment.'

'Yes…' Merideon sheathed his blade and gave the body a good kick.

A trail of dust rose up behind the two horses as Magnus, Merideon and Gabrielle sped up the South Road. The wind whipped past them, tugging their clothes and hair. Behind them rumbled a massive boar, its tusks capped in iron. On its back sat a huge orc warlord, a gigantic axe grasped in one hand. A bloodthirsty howl tore through the air as the beast revelled in the chase.

'It's only one orc,' Magnus shouted back to Merideon. 'Perhaps we should take it?'

'No its not, you fool,' Gabrielle shouted back, her wide eyes gazing at the nine or ten boar riders emerging from the hills to join their leader. 'It's a boss, and his whole stupid army! Keep going!'

'Damn,' Magnus growled. 'A few orc heads on me belt, a warlord's would've been a good addition.'

'I agree with Gabrielle,' the noble snarled, not turning his head. 'It's not a fight that we can win! Not this time.'

'Well, Kurt and the elf had better be there when we get there,' the knight roared, struggling to be heard above the thunder of hooves and wind. 'We're not stopping!'

The duo flew across the plains like daemons, their own dust trail spreading out behind them like an undulating serpent. Sweat poured off the horses' flanks, and the stink of it was thick in the air, but they cared not. It was more important that they reached the rendezvous point and met their companions. Splitting up was risky enough, they were lucky no more bands of orcs had attacked them.

When they reached the East Trail, they didn't stop but continued westward down the road. The dust saturated the air long after their horses had passed.

Finally they reached the meeting point where the East Trail met the South Road. The Skull River, which flowed alongside the South Road, was forded by a small, wooden bridge, and the tranquil bubbling of its waters created a somewhat serene atmosphere. Exhausted, the horses made to sit down and Legless leapt clear in a single, fluid motion. Kurt was not so agile, but he quickly dismounted and splashed some water over his steed to cool its hide. As he rubbed his horse down, Legless moved to a hillock overlooking the South Road and crouched down.

'Looks like we got here first,' he mused. He glanced at the falling sun. 'They better arrive soon…I'd like to cover more ground before sundown.'

'That would be good,' Kurt agreed. 'It's still another two hundred and fifty miles to Black Fire Pass.'

'Can you feel that?' Legless slitted his eyes.

'Feel what?'

'There's a tremor…' The elf stood, looking south, further down the road.

Far off, a black smear on the horizon appeared. It was moving, fast. In front of it came two horses, one with two riders. As they approached, he realised it was their companions being chased by a warband of enemy riders.

'Legless, what do your elf eyes see?'

'It is our companions. Hurry, get the horses up and ready!' Legless rushed back to his steed and urged it up.

'What is it? What's wrong?' Kurt stood and readied his weapons.

'They are pursued. A score of orcs, mounted on their vile beasts. It is not a fight we can win. We must flee!'

'But…'

'Waldheim, we cannot linger.' Legless was already in the saddle. 'Come!'

'The others…'

'They will catch up, or they will die,' came the cold response. 'Hurry!'

Cursing under his breath, Kurt mounted and followed the elf across the bridge.

In the evening light the army of boars rampaged after their prey. The horses were swift, but weaker. Soon they would tire, if they weren't tired already. Warboss Urgor Redaxe grinned evilly. His boyz would feast well tonight. He hoped. Giving another mighty warcry, he urged his boar onwards.

'We can't hold them off much longer!' Gabrielle was generally frightened. Both Magnus and Merideon started thinking quickly, their minds working overtime. The noble glanced left and right, looking for somewhere to hide. There was nowhere. All around them the plains of the Border Princes spread out; vast and featureless except for the Skull River that rushed southward alongside them.

'This is pointless, we have to turn and fight,' Magnus roared.

'No!' Merideon snarled. 'We fight, we die.'

'Look!' Gabrielle pointed, her other arm clinging tightly to Merideon's waist.

Ahead of them were two dark figures, riding north.

'It's them,' Magnus growled. 'They must've spotted the orcs. Keep up, we need to catch them.'

'What do we do about the orcs?' The noble grimaced.

'No choice. There's nowhere to go except forward. And just pray the horses don't die under us.'

After an age of galloping, Gabrielle's head resting against Merideon's back, they reached the edge of the Forest of Gloom. The stars shone down on huge, black trees with gnarled, aged trunks. Here was Black Spider Forest Goblin territory. Perhaps that would earn the companions a little respite, in one way or another…

Legless came dashing out from between the trees. Kurt was waiting for him.

'Find anything?'

'The goblins are on their way. Let's fly.'

'A cunning plan, friend Legless.'

The elf grinned sinisterly as they mounted their rested horses and rode off.

As the orc warband crashed and tore their way through the fringes of the forest, making as much noise as possible, the Red Wolves fled, considering the option to flee into the forest. But the South Road ran along on the forest's edge. If they struck off from the road they would take much longer to get to Black Fire Pass. Not to mention the risks of getting lost in the forest's twisted heart.

As they passed a dark thicket they heard the shrill war cries of forest goblins riding furry, black spiders as large as a horse. Gabrielle turned her head to watch with a mixture of horror and delight as the orc boar riders promptly smashed their way into the emerging goblins and the fighting began. The angered goblins, confused as to who was intruding in their forest, elves or orcs, responded with fury and the clash of weapons rang out through the night.

Magnus slowed his mare when they were a fair way from the battle. Merideon also tugged on the reins and they all dismounted, eager to rest from their flight. They wouldn't have long, but the horses needed to rest after their exertions.

'Hopefully the orcs don't win too quickly,' Magnus said, his eyes on the battle.

'With their charge expended, the boars will lose their advantage,' Merideon replied. 'I've heard that giant spiders are not to be trifled with. The poison that fills their fangs is deadly indeed.'

'I guess we owe it to Legless and Kurt,' Gabrielle admitted.

'Yes, remind me to thank them when we see them next,' the knight rumbled.

As the sun rose from behind the towering points of the Worlds Edge Mountains, the Red Wolves were finally reunited. Kurt and Legless had made camp at the intersection where the South Road met the Old Dwarf Road, fifty miles from the mouth of Black Fire Pass.

'Took you long enough,' Kurt sneered, nevertheless pleased to see his fellows.

'My thanks are in order for the diversion,' Magnus responded. 'If not for that…'

'It doesn't bear thinking about,' Merideon muttered. 'Let us away, we have a long road ahead of us.

Black Fire Pass. The famous site of Sigmar's great victory against the orc hordes. The colossal mountains stood on either side like giants, watching all who entered. As the Red Wolves made their way cautiously down the valley floor, picking their way forward amongst the fallen rocks and boulders, they could feel that they were almost certainly being watched. It was an uneasy feeling, knowing that an ambush could come at any second. And this could be no ordinary ambush. The valley walls sloped gently at first, clustered with rocks, small trees and shrubs. But after that they soared upwards, hundreds of feet high. Archers positioned in tunnels opening up like windows could send dire volleys of death upon them.

They made camp amidst the giant standing stones three miles from the far end. These stones, which stood in a line across the width of the valley, like silent sentinels, had aided Sigmar's strategy in defeating the greenskins in his battle. Behind them was a taller crest of rock called the Eagle's Nest, which had been used as a watch post.

Using the stones, they would have a little shelter from missiles should they be attacked. Merideon took first watch. It would not be an easy night.

The next day they rode out of the pass and down into the fertile plains of Averland. Before them stretched green lands dotted with hills and small woodlands. The vast fortress-city of Grenzstadt loomed directly upon the road, and even now they could see the walls bristling with soldiers clad in black and yellow livery.

They stopped in Grenzstadt only to restock on supplies, riding on before the day was out. Kurt exchanged his horse, knowing that his old nag would barely last another day's journey. Continuing along the Old Dwarf Road they soon came to Heideck, and here they spent the night, enjoying the hospitality and women the town had to offer. Another day's journey and they would be at Averheim, capital city of Averland.

Home of the late Mad Count of Averland, Marius Leitdorf, Averheim was a bustling city of trade and adventure. Here, in the last province of the Empire before the Black Mountains, all types of men and dwarves gathered, preparing for a variety of colourful and no doubt doom-laden expeditions into the mountains. Some said they were searching for lost relics; others were looking for beasts to kill and trophies to prove their manhood. The Red Wolves had their own tales to share, and a week went past as they spent their time around the wooden tables drinking and talking in the best establishments Averheim had to offer. Kurt had a fine time, gathering up a few crowns and worthless but shiny tokens from gambling with the other patrons, whilst Magnus was keen to hear about what had happened in the Empire these last thousand years. Although this raised a few eyebrows, the knight insisted he had been away in the dwarves' realms for a while and wanted to jog his memory. Free alcohol from Magnus loosened their tongues, he found, and now he had a better insight into the realms of men.

'Time to rise,' Magnus bellowed as he burst into the room and strode over to the windows. Throwing open the heavy curtains, he turned to face an embarrassed Lord Merideon. Gabrielle sank further beneath the sheets.

'What is the meaning of this, you peasant scum?'

'I am no peasant, and you'd better remember that. Have a good night?'

The noble sat up, and glared.

'Yes, not that it's any of your business. Just go downstairs and get the others.'

'Hurry up, we don't have all day.'

They crossed the River Aver and continued north along the Old Dwarf Road. Thankfully the weather was merciful and they made good progress. Stirland bordered on Sylvania, and no one wanted to linger here. They passed through the village of Vigaun, the towns of Wörden, Pötting and Tarshof in the central hills of Stirland, before finally making it to Wurtbad, Stirland's capital. With the plague-induced quarantine recently lifted, they had little trouble securing a boatride down the River Stir to Reikland.

Reikland. Home of the Emperor, His Majesty Karl Franz. The heavily forested lands spread out before the Red Wolves spoke of nobility, and grandeur. It was as if just by residing here the Emperor had made this province somewhat brighter and more heroic than the others. It was the Imperial Crown province. They passed by the town of Kemperbad, then, following the road; they marched through Diesdorf by the edge of the forest and up into Wörlitz. With the Castle Reiksguard on the horizon they decided to stop and rest.

'So, not long till Middenheim, eh?' Magnus roared, banging his tankard down on the table, spilling ale. 'Soon that assassin bastard will be quivering in fear!'

Legless narrowed his eyes. Clearly the knight had had too much to drink.

'It's still a fair way,' Kurt snapped, knocking aside an empty goblet. Merideon and Gabrielle were absent. Upstairs, probably, he thought, enviously. 'Well, due to my contacts we can sail down the River Reik to Altdorf. Then we can take the Altdorf – Middenheim Road to Middenheim. How's that for planning?'

'Very good, Waldheim. You know, you can take that mask off now. No one's going to recognise you here, in this…drunkard's pen.'

'Well said, well said,' Kurt agreed, sliding the mask up from his face.

Altdorf wasn't just the home of the Emperor, it was where he sat; his seat. It was also the capital city of the Empire. Tall, white towers capped with red rooves spread out in an elegant fashion, surrounding a swathe of buildings, plazas and courtyards. But Altdorf also had its slums: huddled together like peasants shivering against the cold. It was not a place where many ventured. The Red Wolves didn't want to spend time in Altdorf; Middenheim awaited and every day they spent travelling meant the assassin was closer to completing his unholy duty.

Ignoring the temptations of the Infamous Street of a Hundred Taverns, the party pressed on, not spending a night in the capital. It was too risky, especially for Kurt. The outlaw insisted on being heavily masked, hooded, cloaked and otherwise disguised. Being caught back in Altdorf was bad enough, but to be merely glimpsed by the house of Waldheim would be a death sentence.

Finally, after many days travel on the Altdorf-Middenheim road, after many weeks journeying through the Empire, the Red Wolves arrived in Middenland. Now they only had to follow the road up to the great rock, the Ulricsberg, upon which reclined the most regal of cities in the Empire: Middenheim, City of the White Wolf.

Kutenholz, Bröckel, Mittelweg, Delberz, Sotturm, Malstedt, Grubentreich and Schoninghagen were but blurs as the determined men rushed through them, perhaps staying a night or two at some towns to get a chance to drink quality alcohol and hear the latest gossip. Many mutated beasts and warriors of darkness stilled lurked in the Drakwald and Great Forests after the conclusion of the Storm of Chaos. The Empire may have won that conflict, but the cost was very high in blood. Tens of thousands had lost their lives, entire families had been wiped out, whole villages razed and populations put to the sword. Some of the towns the Red Wolves passed through were partially or mostly ruined; still being rebuilt and recovering from the horrific assault.

Middenland was in flames.

An assassin with a glowing green blade had slain Valten, "Chosen" of Sigmar, and dire times lay ahead for the realms of Men. Archaon and the hosts of Chaos may have been driven back, but now starvation, poverty, disease, famine and death all set in. Some men even joked that it was barely a victory at all; that perhaps it would've been better if all had been washed away in a tide of blood.

Middenheim may have defended itself from the Everchosen, but still rumours of the ratmen persisted about a strange device being detonated deep in the Ulricsberg. Perhaps that assassin was the same one they were after, perhaps not. Either way all evidence gathered pointed to the fact that it was one of the Skaven.

There was only one way to be sure.

'What business do you have in Ulric's city?' The guard captain was clad in the blue and white uniform of Middenheim. He barred the way with a heavy-headed halberd. A longsword hung at his side. His face was grim, as were the times.

'We are here to take care of an assassin,' Magnus rumbled. 'Stand aside.'

'Are you indeed? Who sent you?'

'No one sent us, we just heard about…'

'And you think you can waltz in here and catch an assassin that's been terrorising the city for months?'

'The least we can do is try, captain,' the knight said bluntly.

'We may be outlanders, empire man,' Merideon spat. 'But our reasons are honest.'

'I will second that, human.' Legless said firmly, lowering his hood. 'I am Legless, of the High Elves. I come from Ulthuan as an ambassador. Let us pass immediately.'

The guard captain's eyebrows rose, and he swallowed.

'My apologies my lord, your presence here is an honour.'

The guard captain stepped aside and the four men and the woman began riding up the South Causeway into Middenheim.

Whilst out searching for a particular alehouse, minus Merideon and Gabrielle, who had taken a room at the Blazing Hearth Inn in the Altmarket-Altquartier, Magnus, Kurt and Legless stopped by the Broken Knife Tavern. The wooden sign above the door showed a broken knife, depicted against a red field.

'Ah, the Broken Knife,' Magnus sighed. 'Come, at last we can drink to our hearts desires!'

'I think you'll find my heart's desire does not involve drinking,' Legless spat, clearly annoyed. 'It's taken far too long to get here.'

'I agree that it did take an awful long time on horseback,' Kurt admitted. 'Still, perhaps this new side of Magnus' character will lead us to great treasures!'

As they entered, they were greeted by the cheerful sounds of a minstrel band playing, with drums, fiddles, tambourines and a flute. The performers were clad in a variety of gaudy costumes with bells attached to their clothes and they were obviously enjoying themselves immensely. The patrons were also in good spirits, laughing and talking animatedly in equal measure. A roaring fire positioned in one corner of the common room gave off a considerable heat. Highly attractive barmaids wandered between the tables. At the bar a jolly fellow with a wide smile sat polishing glasses and making casual banter. The very air itself was filled with warmth. Compared to the stinking, rowdy, glass-breaking atmosphere of the Black Prince, this was very different indeed.

Kurt wasn't sure he liked it. There was no brawling going on, no bottles being thrown across the room, and almost no spilt beer on the floor. But they settled in soon enough, appreciating the alcohol after so long a journey. They had travelled hundreds of miles across the Border Princes and the Empire to get here. There had better be some loot involved, the outlaw thought. Or it might not be worth it.

Before long they found themselves sharing tales of their adventures with the friendly locals. The assassin had struck again, apparently. He, or it, was known to be in the area and was very dangerous. The assassin was reputed to be able to blend with the shadows so well it was nigh invisible and its attacks were always accompanied by a strange, black poison that was left in the victim's corpse. This was almost certainly a Skaven. There was little room for doubt.

It was getting late, and the Red Wolves were just beginning to think about turning in for the night when there was a disturbance behind the bar.

'Come quick!' There was a distressed cry. 'The landlord's been murdered!'

'What!' Magnus roared. 'And I thought this place was…'

'Enough,' Kurt snapped. 'At last, we get to kill something.' In a flash his blades were out and he vaulted over the counter, knocking aside an empty tankard. Legless followed like a hunting cat, lithe and silent.

'Bloody oath,' Magnus grumbled, getting to his feet. 'I'm old and tired.' Nevertheless he stepped down into the cellar to find a horrific sight. The landlord's body lay face down on the floor, several dagger wounds in his back. Clawed footprints made in spilled ale led to a small, near concealed entrance behind a partially ruined barrel.

'They lead down into the tunnels below the city,' a man said from the doorway. 'Please, you must go after it! Kill it, and make sure it doesn't return to the surface!'

'We will do what we can,' the knight growled. 'This calls for justice!'

'You mean vengeance,' Kurt snarled, launching himself into the tunnel.

The tunnel was dimly lit by wall sconces and the companions' breathing was practically the only sound they could hear. The air stank of wet fur, and filth. The passages were narrow, and they had to walk in single file. Then, two chambers in, they found the assassin. It had its back turned to them, its black cloak stirring slightly so they could see it. It was hunched over a large, wooden trunk. The telltale stench of the ratmen hung heavily in the air. Legless raised his bow.

'Die, Skaven refuse!'

Before the arrow could strike, the assassin dodged and turned to face them. It's hood fell back to reveal the horror beneath: beady red eyes and chisel-like fangs. In its hands it held a pair of gleaming daggers.

'Die-die!' With a blur of motion, the rat beast leapt upon the elf.

Elf and Skaven began a dance of blades. It was beautiful to behold, steel flashing and sparks igniting. Magnus and Kurt had their swords ready, but were unable to strike the assassin without fear of hitting Legless instead. It was up to Legless to end the duel. Moments passed as the pair watched. They could but stand by while their fellow fought viciously, blades slicing through the air faster than the eye could follow. This was a battle between inhuman forces, forces that were older and more powerful than those of youngling mankind. The speed and agility were incredible. Many times one or the other would strike a deathblow only for his opponent to dodge aside and continue the contest.

'Finish him,' Kurt shouted, waving his sword. He was so intent on the fight he hadn't noticed Magnus investigating the chest. With a gasp of pain, the knight drew back his hand, blood running from a minor cut. Slamming the chest back with his boot, he motioned to the outlaw.

'See if you can open this damned thing.'

'Willingly,' Kurt said smoothly. He spent a moment studying the mechanism. Then, with practised ease, he pulled out his tools and inserted a length of wire. Twisting and turning, he grinned in satisfaction as the lock snapped open. 'Mine.' He flicked open the chest and swept up the dozen gold crowns inside.

There was a hiss as an arrow sped through the air, followed by a thunk as it bit into the assassin's throat. The foul vermin hit the floor and a small vial rolled away across the flagstones. In a trice the elf had picked it up and examined it closely.

'It looks like a vial of toxin. The like of which one would use to poison a well.'

'Then we are heroes,' Kurt spat, disgusted. 'We've saved their water supplies!'

'Can't be helped,' Magnus sighed. He kicked the corpse. 'Vile beast.'

When a brief search of the dusty room revealed nothing more to plunder, the Red Wolves returned to the Broken Knife.

'Well done, champions,' the Captain of the Middenheim Militia said briskly. 'You have my, and indeed, Middenheim's greatest appreciation for this deed of valour.'

Magnus held his head high. Beside him Legless bowed his head in respect. Although Merideon and Gabrielle stood alongside them, slightly miffed at missing all the combat action, there was no sign of Kurt Waldheim.

'Congratulations,' the captain continued, 'on behalf of the Count Boris Toddbringer, I award you with this purse of gold.' He motioned for Merideon to step forth. As the leader of the Red Wolves, the noble bowed with a flourish and tucked the purse away swiftly.

'It was an honour to serve,' he said smugly. 'If there is anything else we can do…'

The captain raised an eyebrow, even though he had lost that eye. He tugged his black goatee beard.

'Well, there is one thing…'

'So now, instead of enjoying the pleasures of the city, instead of having at least a week's respite, we're returning to the Ulricsberg, to hunt down SKAVEN?' Kurt was pissed off.

The Red Wolves had gathered on the East Wall, overlooking the partially ruined causeway. The rising sun beamed at them, a golden disc reminding them of their inner desires. Magnus looked grim yet firm, and Legless was emotionless as ever.

Gabrielle was clinging to Merideon's waist, looking like some angel in the light.

'What do you expect, Waldheim?' Merideon was grinning. He struck a heroic pose, the wind ruffling his hair and his cloak billowing out behind him.

'We are the Red Wolves. Forget Siareth, we are heroes; this is what we do.'

14