PROLOGUE

"I was led unto the pinnacle of the highest of peaks, whose name has been forgotten by all, even the most ancient of races.

"He bade me look north, and I looked, and behold! I saw a black horse, and he that sat thereon wore a helm of iron. Four great evil winds sped him on his path, lending the powers of gods unto his ruinous schemes.

"And the world held its breath." – Extract from "The End of Days", author unknown.

For a moment, Master Siegward Eisler was unsure if he had successfully exited the maze-like inner chambers of the Holy Temple of Sigmar. The air was still dark and gloomy, broken only by the flickering torchlight across stone walls, tricking and drawing the gaze of every passerby.

His answer came in the form of two faintly glowing orbs, that hung high above. One dressed daintily in the palest of silver; its twin vomited evil green amidst the clouds.

Eisler felt a shiver climb up his old spine as he realised tonight was one of only two every year, when the brother moons Mannslieb and Morrslieb soared together in the sky. Across the city beyond the walls of the temple, citizens would be huddled in their houses, trembling with the portents and omens that such an event heralded. Eisler may have been a master of Sigmar's Templars, and still feeling the golden warmth that came from long hours of fast and prayer in the inner sanctum, but even he was not immune to the foreboding claws that began to scratch at his back. He set off at a brisk walk across the courtyard, and took shelter in the shadow of one of the towering walls.

Taking a moment to recompose himself, and to remind himself that the might of Sigmar was greater than any accursed moon, Eisler noticed the two men of the order flanking the door to the inner chambers. Arrayed in armour that dazzled from endless rounds of polish, the two were almost identical to the two that had stood here when Eisler had entered the sanctum, when the sun had still shone. To the untrained eye, they were the exact same guards, keeping their vigil for hours and hours. This was intentional, a harmless trick for newcomers. Guards were quietly swapped out from their posts every four hours. The easily fooled saw these legendary men stand watch for eternity.

It was a duty that Eisler had taken part in many times in his youth. The moment the myth was dispelled was the moment he had found himself counting down the minutes on that long, first watch. At his current age, with body and spirit nowhere near what it used to be, Eisler knew he would be hard pressed to stand guard for even half an hour.

There was a simple fact in life this had taught him: no-one can last for eternity. Even if empowered by a god, blessed with powers far beyond his comprehension, a crack would inevitably form somewhere. A crack soon becomes a fissure just as swiftly as a man becomes a shell of his former self. Perhaps even a corpse one day.

A horse emerged out from the gloom of an archway. The steed was coal black, with sackcloth bags tied over its hooves, muffling the loud clops that should have echoed throughout the courtyard and be heard across all the temple. A rider was crouched over the saddle, swathed in a grey hood and cloak.

Eisler held his breath and waited in the shadows. The rider was headed straight towards him. He darted a glance over, and saw the two guards had straightened up, ready should the rider's intentions prove foul on this most ominous of nights.

The rider stiffened when he drew level with Eisler. There was no further use in hiding.

"Who goes there?" Eisler challenged.

The rider sat still for a moment. Then he slowly lifted up a gloved hand and drew the hood back just enough for Eisler to glimpse the face beneath. A face that was very, very familiar to him.

"Still up, old man?"

"Dietrich," Eisler breathed a sigh of relief. "I was about to call the guards upon you."

It was the younger templar's turn to sigh. There was no relief in his; instead, something approaching sorrow.

"Where are you going at this hour?" They were not going to return to the order's home in the World's Edge Mountains for another few months.

"I'm leaving."

"Where are you going?"

"Away."

"I gathered as much. I would like to know more."

"It's complicated."

"I have time."

"Well, I don't," came the half snarl from Dietrich. "I am leaving under the cover of night, and I want to be a hundred miles away from this damned temple before the sun rises."

Dietrich kicked his horse forward, clearly finished with the old master. Eisler stepped in front of the horse, forcing the younger templar to violently yank his reigns to avoid running him down.

"Out of my way."

"You have a lot of explaining to do."

"You're not my teacher anymore. I don't have to tell you anything."

"Explain to me as a friend then."

"Friend?" The younger man scoffed. "Do you even know who I am?"

Eisler felt a sting penetrate his heart. "Almost as well as you do yourself. Maybe even better."

"You then know who my father was?" Dietrich's voice was full of contempt.

"The father you hated? A common Nordlander–"

"No! He was not my true father. The priest who cared for me before he brought me to you, he told me the truth on his deathbed. Did he ever tell you?"

"No," Eisler admitted.

Dietrich's building rage seemed to cool. He pulled the hood back over his face. "My true father was from the north. The far north. One of the barbarians we march out to slaughter every year."

Eisler took a step back. "Then, your mother–"

"He violated her. He tainted her with the corruption of the north. And spawned me."

"Who," Eisler had to pause to collect his thoughts. "Who your parents were matters little to who you are now. You are a righteous, zealous, compassionate–"

"You really don't understand, do you? I can hear them. Inside my head. Those foul northern deities that every faithful man curses. They whisper to me in the night. When I'm alone. When I'm doubting. Since I was a boy, I've heard them."

Eisler could not speak. Still, he did not move from blocking his old pupil's horse.

"I prayed to Sigmar to purge them from me. Last night, and so many nights before that, I lay on my face before his golden statue. I begged, I pleaded. I humbled myself to the point of being an animal. And do you know what he said?"

The flicker of flame in Dietrich's eyes was so violent, that Eisler had to look away. Pity and guilt were welling up in him and he prayed that the tears would be kept at bay.

"Nothing. The statue simply stood there with its hammer raised, ready to split my skull, just as the real Sigmar would have done to me in real life. If he even existed." Dietrich drew up and took a breath. Once again, the fires cooled. "I cannot serve him any longer."

"Where will you go now?"

"North. Perhaps the answer lies there."

Eisler stepped back, away from the horse. "I will not stop you, friend. But I must advise against going north. Maybe go south, to Bretonnia or Estalia. Put your skills with the blade to good use, if not in the service of Sigmar."

"Maybe I will put my sword to use by plunging it into the heart of the Ruinous Powers."

"Farewell, then," Eisler said with a bowed head. "May Sigmar and Ulric watch over you."

"That is a blessing I can do without." Dietrich sent his horse trotting forward a few paces, before stopping. "Goodbye, old friend."

And then he was gone; cantering away, towards the temple's gate, Altdorf, and the wider world beyond.

Eisler was suddenly aware of the two guards standing at his shoulder.

"Shall we follow him?" one asked, all too eager.

"No," Eisler sighed. "Brother Kastner has left the order. I will talk with the Grand Marshal and see what is to be done. Until you hear otherwise, you must not speak a word to anyone of what happened here."

The perplexed expressions were invisible, but the twin guards returned to their posts.