CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Guido was wrong in one respect: the two pirate ships did not reach Altdorf before they did. The one upon which Konrad and Ustnar had been held captive was sunk by the Imperial forces that had attempted to block the river. The other vessel succeeded, however, its guns blasting a fiery passage through the defensive flotilla. It sailed on up the Reik towards the capital.

The three of them had managed to pass upstream of the blockading ships before the battle commenced, and they watched the conflict from the riverbank. Units of the Altdorf city guard were patrolling each side of the river, to kill any survivors from the first corsair, and to ensure that no hostile battalions could reach the city by land. They probably believed the river boats were part of a combined assault.

It took quite a while for Konrad, Ustnar and Guido to evade all the patrols. After his hours of confinement, the dwarf was eager for action, to seek vengeance for what had happened to him, and it did not really matter who he killed. At one point they were hiding only a dozen yards from a foot patrol. Ustnar gripped his axe tightly, as if restraining the weapon, that without him it would launch itself at the soldiers. He recognized that he must subdue his bloodlust for a while. They were far too outnumbered and could not take on the military might of the city’s army and hope to survive.

Once they reached Altdorf, Konrad realized, they would be up against far more than the army. Everyone was their enemy: the pirates who were attacking the city, as well as the forces who were defending it, and also all the creatures of damnation who dwelled beneath the capital. And what of the Imperial guard? Had every human who wore the uniform of the Emperor’s bodyguard been subverted, become transformed into a slave of Chaos?

Long before they came in sight of the white walls of the city, they heard the sound of gunfire once again. Altdorf was under bombardment from the surviving pirate ship. They saw many fires within the capital, and clouds of thick black smoke rose from the various conflagrations. It seemed that Wolf had conjured up the diversion he had wanted.

“Where is Wolf?” Konrad asked.

“We meet him at sunset,” said Guido.

It would be almost then by the time they reached the city. Their journey had been long and slow, keeping away from all the woodland tracks in order to avoid the soldiers.

“And Litzenreich?” asked Ustnar.

“Who knows?” said Guido.

Konrad wondered if the wizard had been aware when he left the ship that Wolf had arranged for Guido to release de Tevoir’s hostages—even though Konrad and Ustnar themselves did not know—or whether he even cared. But Litzenreich had made sure that Konrad’s new weapon had included warpstone in its fabrication, and he knew the sorcerer never did anything without a reason.

Ustnar would do whatever Litzenreich required. Guido seemed to be after as much plunder as he could steal. Having arranged the voyage to Altdorf and all the current mayhem, Wolf must also have had a course of action in mind.

As so often, it seemed that Konrad was simply carried by events. But there was far more to it than that, he had come to realize. The disparate parts of his life were at last falling into place, forming a pattern that he could almost recognize. He intended to thwart the plans of the armies of damnation, to prevent them from placing an impostor upon the Imperial crown. Skullface was at the centre of this nefarious scheme, Konrad was sure—which meant that he would inevitably be in conflict with the mysterious figure.

But Konrad wanted more than mere conflict, he wanted a confrontation with Skullface.

And, no matter what had happened to her, he also wanted to find Elyssa.

Last night he had been a prisoner on board de Tevoir’s ship, and he had begun to believe he would never see another day. Instead it was the pirate chief who had died. Konrad had watched the captain being butchered when he waded ashore after his vessel had been destroyed.

Another night was falling, and this time Konrad more than believed he would not see the subsequent dawn. He knew…

From their vantage point, he was able to observe that the other pirate ship had not penetrated the city walls, where it could have bombarded Altdorf to more deadly effect. It was mid-river, firing at the fortifications and repelling all boarding attempts. It was difficult to distinguish precisely what was happening, however, because of the gloom and all the smoke from the guns and the fires.

As they came closer to the city, Konrad noticed that it was not simply drifting smoke which was obscuring their vision. A pale mist was forming on the river itself, rising eerily up to blend with the impending night, apparently causing the sun to set earlier than it should have done. It was not only the eyes which were affected by the thick mist, but the other senses. Some sounds became magnified, whilst others were severely muted.

The distant clash of weapons and the screams of the dying that echoed across the river seemed to be made by a whole legion of warriors fighting another army. There appeared to be far more damage within the city than could have been caused by one renegade vessel, no matter how many cutthroats were on board—and none of the pirates had yet invaded the capital.

Had the regiments of Chaos chosen this time to rise up against the Imperial forces? Was that the true purpose of Wolf’s diversion? Konrad had discovered that his comrade, like himself, was touched by Chaos. But had Wolf’s infection completely corrupted his whole body? How much had his body mutated beneath his black armour?

Guido had been leading the way, and they cut across from the Reik, heading diagonally towards the south-west corner of the city walls. The river battle was obscured from sight, but not from their hearing. Konrad kept watching the battlements. If one of the defenders happened to look down, the three of them would have been immediately visible and would soon fall victim to a volley of arrows. But the observation turrets seemed deserted. The mist from the river had begun drifting across the land and encircling the city, as if following the three of them. At first it was at ankle height, but slowly began to rise. The fog was cold, very cold, biting through Konrad’s clothes like a winter Kislev wind. He shivered, chilled to the bone.

They reached a narrow door by the side of one of the main entrances to the capital. Both the heavy gate and the smaller entrance were firmly closed, which demonstrated the seriousness of the situation within the city. Altdorf prided itself on allowing access even during the middle of the night; it was no isolated village frightened of the dark, terrified of the creatures which inhabited the midnight hours.

Guido halted and leaned against the wall. He put his hand to his mouth, trying to mask a sudden cough as the mist rose up to his face. Konrad could hardly see him, and Ustnar had vanished beneath the rising mist.

“We wait,” whispered Guido, pulling his collar up to cover his mouth.

“You seem to know your way around,” said Konrad, gazing up towards the towers above the massive gate. They also appeared unoccupied.

“I’ve been everywhere,” Guido replied, as the fog enveloped him. He was only a yard away, but totally invisible.

Konrad drew his new sword. He had done this many times since Barra had made the blade for him, although never on board the corsair. Previously, his only purpose had been to admire the sword, to wish that he could wield it in combat. Now he held the blade because he felt safer with it in his hand, but this was also the first time he believed he might need to use the weapon.

The fog was as cold in Konrad’s nostrils as it had been on his skin, and he attempted to breathe shallowly, taking as little of the unnatural air into his lungs as possible.

He heard the peal of a bell, a sound he knew must have come from a distance, although it appeared quite near. He had heard the same sound every evening during his stay in Altdorf. It was the sunset bell, although because of the mist this could have been any time of the day or night.

Then he heard another sound, and he spun around. The gateway where they stood was suddenly open, and two figures stood on the other side of the wall. Wolf was clad in his black armour, Litzenreich wore his dark robes. The three newcomers hurried through, and Wolf swung the gate closed behind them, cutting out the pale mist.

“You took your time,” he said.

Konrad jerked an inquisitorial thumb towards Guido.

“He’s with us,” said Wolf. “Did I forget to tell you?” He grinned, baring his sharpened teeth.

He carried his helmet under his arm. If his body had become transformed, it had not yet affected his tattooed face.

There was no sign of the fog within the walls, or of anything else. No one was in sight except the mercenary and the magician. It was as if the entire capital were deserted.

Wolf turned then suddenly halted, gazing into the city.

“Why is it dark?” he demanded, drawing his black sword and glancing at Litzenreich. “And where is everyone?”

It must have been light a few seconds ago, the streets full of people.

Now everything was almost black. Outside it had been sunset, here it was the middle of the night. Only Morrslieb was visible in the sky, casting its greenish hue over the Imperial capital. The spectral moon seemed larger, nearer, than Konrad had ever seen it previously. It appeared to be directly above the Imperial Palace, almost touching the replica of Sigmar’s warhammer mounted on top of the spire.

Everything was silent, as if there were no desperate battle taking place beyond the walls, as if there had been no uprising by the Chaos legions who lurked within.

Konrad saw a sudden movement at his feet, and he thrust out his sword. There was a screech. He raised the blade, upon which was impaled a rat. He flung its writhing body aside, noticing that there were thousands of the creatures scurrying through the streets. It was as if it were a rodent city, that nothing human dwelled within the walls of the capital.

Shrouded by the freezing mist, the entire city was in thrall to a potent magic spell.

He glanced at Litzenreich who was muttering under his breath and ritually pointing his staff, evidently conjuring up his own enchantments to protect himself and his comrades.

“Now what?” he asked Wolf.

“We save the Emperor, of course,” Wolf told him. “What else?”

“Save the Emperor?” echoed Guido. “Save him from what?”

Konrad turned his gaze back to Litzenreich. It seemed he had no objection to what Wolf had said. The wizard was watching the swarming rats, and he nodded with approval. The skaven must have been responsible for what was happening to the Imperial capital—and that meant they were using warpstone for their depraved sorcery.

“To the Imperial Palace,” said Wolf, and he lowered his helmet into position. The palace was where Karl-Franz resided when he was in Altdorf, and so he must have returned from his sojourn in Talabheim.

Wolf turned and hurried away. Litzenreich and Ustnar followed, as did Konrad.

“I don’t know about saving the Emperor,” said Guido, who ran to catch up with Konrad, “but I’m not staying here on my own.”

Altdorf was the largest city in the Old World, yet it seemed totally uninhabited—except by a plague of rats. There were lights in the houses, the taverns, but there was no sign of anyone within; no one else was on the streets except the five of them.

But then Konrad realized they were not alone, that there were numerous faint shapes in the square. Scores of immobile translucent figures only became visible when he was almost upon them.

These were the citizens of Altdorf, and they had become like characters in a painting—although far less substantial.

Were they all dead, and these their spirits?

But a wagon could not have a ghost, and directly ahead was such a vehicle being pulled by two horses. Konrad reached out to touch the flank of one of the animals, and his left hand sank through its ethereal flesh as easily as if it were water. His fingers were instantly numb with freezing cold. He drew back his arm immediately, flexing his fingers and shaking his hand to restore heat and vitality, then hurried on past the frozen apparitions.

Civilians who had been fleeing the assault, troops who had been rushing into combat: they were all ghosts, more than dead but less than living.

And they would become truly dead once Chaos took its final fatal grip on the capital.

Konrad ran without sound, his body casting no moonshadow. When he noticed the other four, it seemed as though they were moving at half-speed. They ran like figures viewed in a dream landscape. He felt that he was running normally, but he was maintaining the same pace as the others, and so his own movements must have been similarly slowed.

Konrad was glad of the sword hilt in his hand, something he could feel and could trust. He wished for an enemy, even for a hundred enemies—and he knew he would not have long to wait.

They entered the palace by way of the main entrance. The gates were wide open, but the intruders went unchallenged because there were no sentries at their posts, not even spectral ones.

The Imperial guard were responsible for protecting the palace, but if they had all become servants of Slaanesh their absence could be explained. Whenever Morrslieb was full, it was a night when Chaos was on the ascendant.

And Konrad had never known a time when the portents were more menacingly auspicious. It was as if the legions of Chaos were massed directly outside Altdorf, and at any moment the city walls would burst asunder and the capital would forever become a part of the benighted Wastes.

Wolf had halted in the courtyard, deserted except for a wraithlike cavalry troop. The knights were Templars of Sigmar, riders and horses petrified into intangible equestrian statues. Litzenreich and Ustnar caught up with him, then Konrad and Guido joined the other three, and they all stared up at the immense building which lay before them.

“What’s happening?” Konrad asked Litzenreich.

“Nothing,” answered Litzenreich. “Nothing at all. The world has ceased to move. All of time is standing still.” He gazed around him. “It is very impressive, is it not?”

Konrad and his comrades were unaffected, as were the rodent vermin which normally inhabited the sewers beneath the city. And time could not have been frozen for the ones who had cast the powerful temporal spell—the creatures of damnation who had claimed the Imperial Palace as their own.

Wolf held his black sword, Konrad his new blade, Guido his cutlass, Ustnar his axe, and Litzenreich his sorcerer’s staff. Side by side, the five began to climb the curved flight of wide steps which led up towards the palace entrance. The stone steps were huge, as if built for giants, and everything within the main building had also been constructed on an exaggerated scale.

The first doorway was almost big enough for de Tevoir’s corsair to have sailed through. The chamber beyond was vast, its high vaulted ceiling supported by flying buttresses upon which were carved all kinds of mythical beings and fabulous beasts. The walls on either side were lined with enormous statues of every previous Emperor, like a rank of troops all arrayed in their Imperial finery.

Flights of marble steps to either side led up to the higher levels of the palace, where the day to day business of administering the Empire was conducted, and to the Emperor’s private quarters.

“That way,” said Litzenreich, his staff pointing directly ahead.

Wolf hesitated, but Konrad did not. He ran towards the arch. Beyond, he knew, each successive room was dedicated to a different Imperial ruler. Filled with trophies and the spoils of forgotten campaigns, the chambers were decorated with paintings and tapestries depicting the entire history of each reign.

And in the centre of each room was a stone plinth bearing the mortal remains of each Emperor. Sometimes there would be a stone coffin, sometimes a gold sarcophagus; sometimes there were gilded bones, and sometimes nothing. Altdorf had not always been the Imperial capital, and many Emperors had been interred elsewhere. But each of them had their own chamber within the palace, and by each plinth, whether empty or not, stood a member of the Imperial guard. Not only were they the guardians of the present Emperor, but of every previous one.

The other four followed as Konrad entered the first room, which was that of Luitpold, the father of Karl-Franz. His body lay encased within a bejewelled casket, upon which his effigy had been embossed. It was illuminated by the haunted light of Morrslieb, which filtered through the panels of the stained glass circle in the high ceiling. His bodyguard stood on duty by the coffin, resplendent in his shining uniform. Everything appeared as it should have done— except that the guard was not human…

Unlike everyone beyond the confines of the Imperial Palace, the sentry was more than an immaterial spirit. But, like those who had attacked the Grey Stoat tavern, he was a beastman with bovine features. His face was tusked, his head horned.

Konrad was about to attack when he noticed that the creature appeared to be as dead as Luitpold. The brute stood without breathing, without even blinking, as lifeless as one of the statues in the outer hallway—or as everyone else in Altdorf.

Day or night, each of the sacred halls was lit by a series of perfumed candles which rested in sconces along the walls. There was something strange about the candles, and Konrad paused to examine one of them. It was lit, but the flame did not flicker. There was no smell from the scented tallow, no heat from the flame, and the light cast no shadow. He hesitated for a moment, then ran his hand through the flame, and it felt cold, almost as if the fire were frozen. He shivered and tried to blow out the flame, then to extinguish the tiny ersatz blaze between his thumb and forefinger, but all to no avail.

The five went on, and the next chamber was similar to the first: a coffin reverently protected by a beastman in the uniform of an Imperial guard, surrounded by relics of the Emperor and decorated by scenes of his triumphs, all illuminated by numinous moonlight and the ghostly candles.

Each successive room was more ancient than the one before, having been constructed upon the death of that Emperor. The halls had been added wherever there was space, sometimes at right angles, sometimes on a different level. Racing through the chambers, travelling back over the aeons, was like going through a maze.

Wolf was a few paces behind Konrad when he suddenly yelled, “This time you die!”

Konrad instinctively leapt aside, turning and raising his new sword—but Wolf’s challenge had been issued to someone else, some invisible entity.

He swung his black sword, slicing the blade through the empty air. He lunged forward, swiftly bringing up his shield to protect himself.

Konrad watched in disbelief as Wolf was thrown back by the weight of a disembodied foe, which sent him crashing against an antique lacquered cabinet containing a priceless collection of porcelain, every piece of which crumbled into powder. Then Wolf sprang back into the attack, launching himself against an opponent only visible to him. His sword thrust forward, striking at nothingness.

While the other three went on, Konrad held back, hoping to help Wolf in his battle—but he could see no enemy.

Wolf was fighting against an unknown adversary from his past. It was his own personal battle, and there was nothing that Konrad could do. He had to go on, he must go on.

He turned and followed the wizard and the dwarf and the pirate as they proceeded through the next chambers, their footsteps silent upon the marble floors.

A minute later it was the turn of Ustnar to fall prey to the spectral adversaries who haunted his past.

He was advancing past an ancient sarcophagus when suddenly he yelled out a dwarf warcurse. His axe swung, and he screamed out his battlecry, his eyes focused on something which no one else could see. The weapon which Barra had made for him caused mayhem within the hallowed hall. The bestial guard was not his foe, but a wild swing of the battleaxe sliced through the sentry’s armour—and the sentry within, splitting him in twain. The two halves of the beastman fell slowly to the floor. Like a statue, the corpse did not bleed.

Ustnar’s axe repeatedly hacked through the air and whatever else was in range, seeking out the insubstantial enemy which seemed to be taking refuge behind the material objects in the chamber. Tapestries were shredded, paintings slashed, ancient armour wrecked, the fragile stone coffin itself dislodged from the plinth where it had lain undisturbed for centuries, cracking open and spilling the ancient emperor’s fragile bones onto the floor. Ustnar kicked the skull away, yelling another fearsome oath as he launched himself once more at his unknown foe, destroying everything else that lay in his path.

Again, Konrad could do nothing. There must be no diversions, and he ventured deeper into the palace, amongst the tombs and memorials of the emperors who had lived and died a millennium and a half ago. The sound of Ustnar’s battle was soon lost, as if it were taking place far away—or long ago.

He felt cold, colder than when the mist had enshrouded his body, but his skin prickled with sweat. He and Litzenreich glanced at one another for a moment, and the wizard must also have been wondering who would be the next to succumb to the palace’s secret defences. They advanced together, separating only to pass on either side of each plinth and the mutated sentry who guarded it, while Guido followed.

“Please!” begged Litzenreich, falling to his knees and gazing up at nothing—nothing and everything.

But even as he pleaded, he was pointing with his staff and conjuring up a spell: aiming at the unseen threat, about to use his magical powers to strike out in defiance.

The chamber was suddenly ablaze with streaks of multicoloured lightning, appearing from the empty air, all of which were aimed Litzenreich. He used his staff to fend them off, as a swordsman would parry blows with his blade. Then he was back on his feet, retaliating in kind, and bolts of energy cascaded from his wand.

It was even more dangerous to be near Litzenreich than Ustnar, and Konrad left him to fight his own battle. He and Guido hurried on into the next hall of the dead, and then the next. Every chamber through which they passed was a step back in time, as if they were walking across the centuries.

Until at last they reached the final sacred hall, the one which was dedicated to Sigmar himself.