SIX

Council of War

 

 

“With the passing of spring into summer the earth quickens, the sap flows, blossom gives way to fruit on the tree, and the Coil of Life surges from the ground again. Look to the forests and the meadows and the babbling streams for therein lies our power and our strength. A man who would forget this and abandon nature would condemn himself to death.”

 

—From Wulfhir’s Almanac

 

By the end of spring there was no longer any doubt that a storm of Chaos was building, the likes of which no man living had ever witnessed. Word had reached Wolfenburg of the Chaos hordes cutting a bloody swathe through Kislev and now the northern borders were feeling the sting of the enemy’s swords. So it was that as spring gave way to summer, Valmir von Raukov, Elector Count of Ostland and Prince of Wolfenburg, called a council of war.

 

Wolfenburg.

It sat on a hill, above a bend in the river—a brooding conglomeration of grey towers and walls that enclosed a myriad of age old buildings. It was a city that had stood the ravages of time and invading armies for centuries and had never fallen. Towering over the ancient city was a castle, an impenetrable gothic fortress as old, in parts, as the Empire itself.

An air of solemnity hung over the council chamber of Wolfenburg castle. There was silence as the dignitaries gathered around the round table, to digest the news they had just received. The pale-faced messenger, exhausted from his desperate ride, hovered at the elector count’s side on ceremony. He was obviously eager to be dismissed so that he could retire and get some much needed rest.

No one spoke for several long, drawn-out seconds. It was the Lord Chamberlain Baldo Weise who eventually broke the silence.

“Aachden has fallen?” the old man said in astonishment.

“So it would appear,” Valmir von Raukov confirmed, looking over his shoulder at the messenger who nodded hurriedly in agreement.

“First Zhedevka, now Aachden? Then nothing now stands between the barbarian horde and our fair city of Wolfenburg,” Captain Volkgang of the palace guard opined.

“Quite so.”

The inclement weather that had plagued the people of Ostland for so many weeks had given way to clearer skies and brighter, warmer days. With the closing of spring it seemed that summer would open once again like a honeysuckle blossom, golden and sweet.

And yet there had been terrible tales from the north: tales of murder and pillage, of disorder and destruction, of the advance of the servants of evil, of the rise of Chaos.

Valmir von Raukov considered the party seated around the table now. His councillors included men of action but also men of thought. Amongst them were military commanders as well as sagely scholars.

To Valmir’s left was Baldo Weise, the elector count’s lord chamberlain whose wise counsel had proved invaluable over the years. The grey hair swept back from his balding pate and the severe cut of his beard, combined with the dark look of concern etched on his hawkish features gave the chamberlain an even more stern appearance.

Then there was Siegfried Herrlich, grand master of the knights of the Order of the Silver Mountain, who kept their temple in the city. Siegfried was a soldier of many years experience and an accomplished tactician. In his gleaming armour and mounted on the back of his charger, sword in hand, he made an imposing figure on the battlefield that inspired men fighting alongside him. Out of his armour he was no less imposing: the near white hair at his receding temples and the lines of age that coursed across his drawn and ageing features made him seem distinguished. He was a grandiose figure of authority and nobility, untouched by the negative attributes of old age.

Then there was Captain Franz Fuhrung, commander of the city’s garrison. Franz had acquired his position through ability alone, rising through the ranks of Wolfenburg’s army to become captain and be given responsibility for those units of Ostland’s standing army that were garrisoned within the city. If Wolfenburg were to come under siege, it would be the soldiers of his garrison that would form the backbone of the ancient city’s defence. His uniform was quartered black and white, like the garb his men wore in battle.

Others among the council included the usually taciturn Captain Volkgang of the palace guard, the rough-and-ready Udo Bleischrot, master of the city’s guns, and Konrad Kurtz, Wolfenburg’s own siege engineer specialist, whose expert knowledge would help the city’s defenders, should Wolfenburg be besieged.

At Valmir’s right hand sat Wolfenburg’s own counsel concerning the matters of magic, the battle wizard Auswald Strauch of the Jade order. The wizard stood out from all the others because of the outlandish garb he wore.

To Valmir he looked like one of the druids that were rumoured to live on the wild island of Albion beyond the dangerous, storm-wracked waters of the Sea of Chaos. His robe was the colour of damp moss and was decorated with a complex pattern of bramble thorns. Leaves were pinned to his cloak and tied with twine to his strong maple staff which rested against the back of his chair, always within reach. The top of the staff bore one of the symbols of the Jade order in beaten copper, the shape of a spiralling coil. Other amulets hung from Auswald’s neck on leather cords and gold chains.

The sorcerer had the hood of his robe pulled up, to keep his unruly thick brown hair under control. Like so many who followed the practice of magic Auswald had a thick, bushy beard, nut-coloured and streaked with grey.

From where he was sitting Valmir could see the jade wizard’s ceremonial sickle tucked into his belt. Although it was used for certain spells, the sickle doubled as an effective weapon. Valmir knew that Auswald was accustomed to travel about bare-footed, which he claimed helped him to channel the winds of magic.

A notable absentee from the council was Captain Jurgen Enrich, commander of the branch of the knights of the Order of Sigmar’s Blood. Captain Enrich had left almost a month ago now. It was hard to predict how long their journey would take, because their progress would be hampered by the horses and oxen that hauled the great gun carriages. Valmir was beginning to wonder if he had been rash in allowing the knights of Sigmar’s Blood to ride out with the ancient war banner of the city.

The elector count stroked his long dangling moustaches.

“The time we have been anticipating is almost upon us. I had hoped it would not come, but if Aachden has fallen then Wolfenburg could well be the next target.”

“And there is still no word from Captain Enrich or the cavalcade travelling from Schmiedorf?” Udo Bleischrot asked.

“Sigmar’s bones, no!” Valmir growled.

“But they carried the Wolfenburg Standard before them,” Baldo said.

“I know they did,” Valmir said sullenly.

“But legend has it that if the city is attacked without the standard present then it will fall.”

“I know!” Valmir shouted sharply, bringing his clenched fist down hard on the table.

“It’s nothing but superstitious nonsense,” Siegfried Herrlich objected.

“Is it?” Valmir snarled, rounding on the grand master. “The Wolfenburg Standard is one of our city’s—and Ostland’s—oldest relics. Whatever other powers of protection it may bestow on our bastion’s towers and walls, it is a symbol of hope in the face of adversity.”

“Then if it is lost, so shall be the morale of the people. A populace without morale… If that happens then Wolfenburg may as well have already fallen!” Baldo spoke as if thinking aloud.

“Over my dead body!” Valmir bellowed. “Wolfenburg has stood as a bastion of the Empire’s defence for centuries. We have held back the tide of Chaos and repelled those who would ravage the Emperor’s realm on more occasions than I care to remember. Why should this be any different? We shall face the enemy and drive them from our lands!”

Valmir was abruptly made aware of a commotion at the door to the council chamber, and a heated, if muffled, exchange of words.

“We shall be ready for whatever the enemy may throw at us, I can assure you of that, my lord,” said Konrad Kurtz.

Valmir could hear the tap of boots on the flagstones of the chamber floor behind him. Doubtless another messenger had been admitted to the chamber.

“We should not worry,” the jade wizard Auswald Strauch said soothingly. “The standard will protect Captain Enrich and his men. They shall return, and with the cannon train. Then our city will be strengthened, ready to face the enemy and repel them.”

“Is that what you would do? Wait to sit out a siege?” came a gruff voice from behind the elector count.

The council turned as one to see who had invaded their sanctum. Striding towards the table was a lean man, of dishevelled, scruffy appearance, who Valmir judged to be in early middle age. At the stranger’s side, and trying to keep up with him, was a man whose livery marked him as a guard captain.

The stranger looked quite similar in overall appearance, and dress, to Auswald Strauch. But where the jade wizard’s robes were green the new arrival’s were red. Where Auswald’s staff was topped with a bronze-beaten badge, the other man’s staff was without ornament. In fact it appeared to be burnt at its tip. And where Valmir’s sorcerer carried a silver sickle, the newcomer had a scabbarded sword at his side.

The elector count would be having words with this fool of a guard captain who had allowed an armed stranger into his council chamber. But for the time being he would have to let it pass. The arrival of this stranger intrigued him and if the red-robed man tried anything he would soon regret it.

Valmir saw shock, surprise, indignity and suspicion written on the faces of his councillors. He observed their reactions with interest.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Siegfried demanded. “This is a private council of war.”

Others at the table muttered similar responses.

“And a wizard’s counsel in war can be as decisive as a soldier’s sword,” the stranger said.

“The elector count is already well aware of that,” Auswald piped up. The red-clad wizard turned to face the jade sorcerer, but his expression did not change.

“As you can see,” the elector count said, indicating the jade wizard at his right-hand side.

Valmir saw that Auswald Strauch was scowling daggers at this upstart stranger. He sensed a rivalry between the two already.

“Who are you and how did you get in here?” Valmir asked, his voice as cold as the Kislev steppes in winter, and as sharp as a fractured shard of ice.

“My name is Gerhart Brennend. I am a fire mage of the Bright order, holder of the keys of Azimuth, and I gained entry to this council by telling the guards at the door what I am about to tell you,” the stranger said in a tone of voice that suggested he was used to being listened to.

Valmir stroked his long moustache again and after a moment said, “Go on then. Tell us what I suspect will be dire news.”

“I have travelled many leagues and braved many perils to warn you of the terrible danger that is facing your city,” said the stranger. Many towns and villages have already fallen to the foul machinations of the Dark Powers. A stand must be made here once and for all and I offer you my aid in beating back the enemy hordes.”

“This is ridiculous! I cannot believe what I am hearing!” the jade wizard suddenly blurted out, furiously. “This vagabond fire wizard is a complete stranger to us—we have no proof of his identity—and he is trying to tell us how to defend our city? He has no business here, no authority. He is intruding on a highly sensitive secret meeting, is he not? By all the gods, he could be anyone. He could even be a servant of the Dark Powers! I demand that he be expelled from this meeting before he does any more to disrupt us!”

“I have defended many settlements from the enemies of mankind and the servants of the dark,” this Gerhart Brennend countered, anger ringing clear in his voice, “How dare you suggest that I might be one of those black-hearted fiends who follow the fell powers?”

“My lord, please. Throw this man out now!” Auswald persisted.

“Enough!” Valmir bellowed, losing his temper. “And you would tell your elector count what to do now, would you?” Valmir challenged, raising one eyebrow at his court sorcerer.

Auswald said nothing more—he knew better than to rouse the anger of the champion of Ostland, scourge of the Barbassons and slayer of the Beastmaker. He cast his eyes down. The elector count had made it clear that the matter was in his hands.

“And you,” Valmir said to the fire wizard, “you march in here, demanding that we listen to you and do as you tell us? You have not told us anything we did not already know. I would advise you that you are only still standing here because I have permitted it. If you have something to share with the council, then tell us. But remember your place, wizard.”

The wizard Gerhart did not looked cowed, and met the elector count’s strong gaze with his own. Neither broke eye contact as the fire mage responded to Valmir’s chiding.

“I speak not only from my own experiences and discoveries but also from the researches of a noted member of the Celestial order, one Kozma Himmlisch. I speak of plague, mutation, beastmen raids, the malignancy of Morrslieb, and the corruption of good men by the powers of darkness. I speak of a disruption in the winds of magic the like of which I have never known and which chills me to the marrow. Unless we make a stand here against the forces of Chaos, the way will be open for them to march into the middle of the Empire and rip out its heart.”

“You think that we are unaware of this disruption in the flow of the winds of magic, being as close as we are here to the lands of the north?” Auswald blurted out. “I have already detected this disturbance myself!”

“So what have you done about it?” Gerhart asked, his voice dangerously calm.

It was clear to Valmir that the jade wizard was taken aback by the fire mage’s deft riposte. “What do you mean, what have I done about it? What can anyone do about it?”

“I would have thought someone in your position would have gone on to study what measures could be taken to stop it, or at least to encourage the focus of the winds, or store their energy somehow,” Gerhart explained, his tone still entirely reasonable. “But I wouldn’t want to be telling a court wizard his business.”

“Wolfenburg always stands in a state of readiness,” Franz Fuhrung suddenly spoke up. “My men are trained and stand ready for anything the enemy might throw at us.”

“We are deeply concerned by the news coming to us daily from the north,” Valmir said, reinstating his authority. “That is the reason for this meeting and the purpose of this council of war.”

“My lord, I beg your patience,” Gerhart said. Valmir noted that the wizard had remembered to use at least a little etiquette when speaking to an elector count. “But what counsel has already been given? What, for example, does your court wizard have to say on the matter?”

“The wizard?” Siegfried blurted out, unable to contain himself. “Why would the prince consult a mage about such matters?”

“I take it he, like myself, is a battle wizard, is he not?” the bright wizard persisted. “One trained in the ways of war as well as in the ways of sorcery? Is that not so, my lord?”

Valmir turned an enquiring raised eyebrow on the jade wizard once again. “Well, what would your counsel be Strauch?” he asked.

“I… well…” Auswald stumbled awkwardly.

“Yes?”

“My lord, my counsel would be that we wait for the enemy here. We call the populace from the surrounding environs to join us in the safety of our strong city walls and then we build up Wolfenburg’s defences, whilst we wait for the Chaos horde.”

Valmir turned an inquiring look on Gerhart. This fire mage intrigued him. He was obviously in earnest and something about him suggested that the tales he told were more than just words, they were a window on the truth.

“And what would you suggest, wizard? You are eager to hear what others would have your say, what would you advise we do?”

“I would take the fight to the enemy.” the bright wizard said without a moment’s hesitation. “I would rally the forces within your city walls and go out to meet the advancing horde, cutting them off before they have the chance to get dug in.”

“And where did you come by your tactical knowledge?” Valmir asked calmly, yet pointedly.

“I have seen battle in a multitude of arenas, safeguarding our noble Empire from its enemies. I stood with the host of Eberhardt Eisling at the defence of Gastmaar Gate. I fought alongside the Averland Harnhelms at the battle of Morrfenn Field,” the wizard said proudly, straightening his back and pushing out his chest. “I rode with Count Verschalle against the bone-shard greenskins in the victorious charge of his Reiksguard Knights. Shall I go on?”

“Yet you would have us act like impatient, impetuous fools and rush headlong to our deaths against the Chaos horde?” Franz Fuhrung said bluntly.

“Despite your claims it would seem that you are somewhat deluded concerning matters of war, sir. Matters which cannot be so easily resolved,” Baldo said, derision clear in his tone. “If only they could.”

“What is so difficult about sending trained soldiers out to fight to save your city?” Gerhart challenged.

“We are down in strength,” Franz said. “One of our knightly orders is already on a quest to help bring reinforcements to our walls. But a reduction in numbers will not matter if we fight from the battlements of Wolfenburg’s mighty walls.”

“Our siege defences will hold the enemy off,” Konrad Kurtz stated confidently.

“And our own guns will make light work of any siege engines the enemy might have to threaten us with,” Udo Bleischrot added gruffly.

“The walls of Wolfenburg will hold.”

“It is as I have already said,” the aging grand master interposed. “We should take the fight to the enemy. My knights are ready to ride at a moment’s notice. You need only give the word, Lord Raukov.”

“This matter is far from resolved,” the elector count said at last. “As a soldier, part of me feels that we should take the fight to the enemy, and yet as lord and guardian-protector of this ancient city I feel we should stay and face the enemy from a position of strength.”

“My lord—” the bright wizard interjected, but was cut short by gesture from Valmir.

“We have already heard what you have to say, sorcerer. And I must say that your words of warning intrigue me. As a result, you may remain at this council, but there is still much to debate.”

“With respect, my lord,” Auswald Strauch fumed, his face now the same colour as the pyromancer’s robes, “why are we allowing a total stranger a place at this meeting? He should have been expelled as soon as he tricked his way in here!”

“Watch your tongue!” the elector prince snapped with chilling vehemence. “You would do well to remember your place as well.”

There was a crash and the door to the council chamber burst open. Everyone turned to see who it was that now disturbed them.

“This is preposterous,” Siegfried Herrlich began.

“My lords!” the desperate, sweating messenger gasped as he stumbled to a halt and then remembered to throw the gathered council a bow.

“What in Sigmar’s name is it, boy?” Valmir demanded, his chair grating on the flagstones as he pushed it back to stand.

“My lord, one of the knights has returned!” the messenger spluttered.

“One of the knights? The knights of Sigmar’s Blood?”

“Yes, my lord. Please come quickly.”

Without further hesitation, Valmir strode from the council chamber.

 

* * *

 

The observers standing on the battlements of Wolfenburg castle, and on the city’s gatehouse, could see the figure galloping towards them in the bright light of the sun. The horse that carried the armoured figure was running hell-for-leather, like a thing possessed. Foamy saliva was flapping from its drawn back lips. It was clear the rider did not have full control of his steed.

That the rider was a knight, that much was clear. He appeared to be riding with his arms outstretched and his head thrown back. As the knight and his terrified steed approached the walls of Wolfenburg along the dusty road the observers could see that the paladin had lost his helmet, and the tabard he wore over his armour was drenched with blood. The stain was so copious that it almost completely obscured the embroidered motif.

It was not until the horse was almost at the gates that the observers saw the crude wooden cross that had been fastened to the horse’s saddle, behind the knight. They saw the nails piercing his hands and the blood-soaked ropes around his wrists and neck.

The man had been crucified and was dead.

 

And so in the days that followed, the ancient city of Wolfenburg prepared for a siege. The people were shaken by the return of the crucified knight. Many on the council of war had felt justified in throwing their support behind the court-appointed sorcerer Auswald Strauch. As, in the end, did the elector count.

Under the direction of Konrad Kurtz, foresters began clearing great tracts of trees that bordered the ancient city, much to the jade wizard’s chagrin. But, as it was explained to the incensed sorcerer—who feared such clearing would prevent him from channelling his magic—the trees had to be cut down to remove cover for an attacking force. The cut timber was also needed to fill Wolfenburg’s stockpiles of firewood. The boiling of oil, the heating up of the forges, and the like, would also require additional fuel. Nothing would go to waste.

The call also went out to the surrounding towns for reinforcements to aid in the defence of the sentinel city. Messengers were even sent out to the other provinces, as Valmir von Raukov asked his brother elector counts to send troops to bolster the city garrison.

Whilst the council waited for news of help, Udo Bleischrot oversaw the preparation of the city’s wall cannons and vase guns. With Konrad Kurtz’s support, they prepared other, less technical siege defences such as boiling oil, sling-secured dropping boulders and wall-mounted mangonels.

Meanwhile the forest was being cleared from the front of the city walls.

But despite all the assurances he had been given, the loss of acres of woodland, with its propensity for drawing the wind of Ghyran, filled Auswald with foreboding. Within a week, the jade wizard was sure that he could feel his own power beginning to weaken.

 

Captain Karl Reimann looked up at the imposing walls of the sentinel city through his one remaining good eye. His troop of soldiers crunched to a halt behind him on the stony road. Banners and pennants fluttered from the battlements.

The way to the great gates was choked by masses of peasants who sought shelter. They had abandoned their homes in outlying villages, but whether it was through fear or because they were following the advice of messengers was unclear, but they would be available to fight if need be.

Behind the veteran soldier the road was filling up with more peasant folk and animals. There were also a number of covered wagons, one of which bore the device of the church of Sigmar on its awning. Lone riders gathered amongst the throng.

The Reikland free company, Wallache’s Champions, had been among the first to hear of the city’s plea for help. Karl’s unit had been selected by General Wallache to make its way north, whilst the rest of the company made for Bechafen in the east to fend off attacks by prowling greenskins.

Karl guessed that his soldiers were among the first reinforcements to arrive at Wolfenburg. Certainly their presence in the line had provoked some amount of excitement and discussion amongst the waiting, slow moving throng.

Karl was a figure of imposing Imperial might—his armour was polished until it shone. He had a roaring lion head on his cuirass with the scrolled inscription “Sigmar” beneath it. His close-cropped white-grey hair, fine moustaches and scarred face lent him a grand air. And the white orb of his blind eye seemed to bore into every man he faced.

If he had not been a humble man, Karl Reimann might have gone as far as to say that the arrival of his unit had filled these desperate, care worn people with hope.

 

A mere fifty yards further down the road, behind Captain Reimann and his men, a tall figure moved awkwardly among the crowd of jostling peasant folk. He was swathed in a heavy black cloak, despite the warmth of the day. His awkward, shuffling gait suggested that he had been injured in some way. The man travelled alone and made no effort to make himself known.

Instead, as he advanced with the shuffling crowd towards the great gates, and the security they promised, he patted something secured safely beneath his cloak and smiled to himself.