Warhammer - [The Ambassador Chronicles 02] - Ursun's Teeth

  THE SCREAMS OF the Tilean regiment were piteous as the monstrous beasts devoured them, but Pavel forced himself to shut them out as he spurred his horse forward. Sixty lancers followed him, leaning forward in their saddles with their lances lowered. Smoke swirled around them, obscuring all but the closest men, but he did not need to see his prey to know where to find them - they could all hear the sickening sounds of snapping bones as the creatures feasted on human flesh.

  They rode from the smoke and saw the remains of the Tilean regiment, butchered almost to a man. Many of the beasts had charged wildly after the fleeing men, but many more remained, tearing great chunks of meat from the corpses of their victims.

  'Charge!' shouted Pavel, lowering his lance and placing his weight into the stirrups as he leaned over his mount's neck. The ground trembled to the thunder of hooves, the shrill, shrieking whistle of the wind through their back banners driving them forward with even greater fury. The horned beasts looked up from their monstrous feast, snouts bloody and teeth bared in hunger.

  The Kislevites charged into the creatures with a furious thunder of hooves and splintering lance shafts. Pavel thrust his lance into the chest of a massive, goat-headed beast, the impetus of his charge driving the tip straight through its chest. Blood jetted around the lance and the creature howled as it was punched from its feet. The lance snapped under its weight and Pavel threw aside the now useless weapon, dragging out his curved sword.

  Lancers circled their horses, butchering the last of the beasts, but the damage was already done. Pavel could see that the charge of these bestial monsters had broken through the Imperial right flank. Regiments were moving to plug the gap, but a fresh tide of Kurgan warriors were already charging forwards to exploit it.

  'Lancers, with me!' shouted Pavel, dragging on his reins and wheeling his horse once more.

  VIII

  KASPAR SENT YET more runners to order his reserve regiments forward, fearful that the attack on the right might yet overrun his forces there. But his reserves were running low and there was only so long they could continue in this way. His practiced eye swept the portions of the battlefield he could see through the smoke and the snow that had begun to fall.

  The cannons were punishing the enemy and the centre was still holding. Spitzaner's army of Talabecland was fighting magnificently, and Kaspar was forced to concede that perhaps his former officer had matured into a halfway decent commander. Terrible reports of monsters attacking the mercenary regiments on the right had filtered back to Kaspar and he had been forced to reposition soldiers earmarked for the centre.

  'We're too weak on the right,' he said, running a hand across his scalp.

  'Shall we send Captain Proust forward?' suggested one of his staff officers.

  'Aye, send his men into the gap on the right between the Ostermark pikemen and Trondheim's men,' ordered Kaspar.

  The noise of the fighting was tremendous: screams, cannon fire and the discordant clash of iron weapons. He heard screaming from somewhere nearby and twisted in his saddle, trying to pinpoint its location.

  'You!' he shouted to one of his few remaining runners. 'Find out where that's coming from and get back here as soon as you know something!'

  He felt a strange sensation crawl up his spine and glanced round to see the Ice Queen with her hands raised, shouting into the wind in a language Kaspar did not understand. Flickering mist gathered around her, sending questing tendrils of light into the ground and he briefly wondered what sorceries she conjured.

  Such thoughts were banished from his mind as the cold wind blew again and the smoke cleared long enough for him to see further along the valley.

  'Oh no...' he whispered, seeing the huge, dragon creature charging towards their lines accompanied by a huge mass of gigantic horsemen. His eyes were drawn to the massive warrior who led them. Even though he was some distance away, Kaspar could see he wore shimmering armour and a helm of a snarling wolf.

  There could be no doubt about it.

  This was the High Zar.

  IX

  THE CANNON CREWS sweated despite the cold, dragging their heavy cannon back to the covered embrasure once the blackened loaders had rammed the powder charge and ball down the barrel. As the rammer cleared the barrel, the master gunner kept his leather thumb patch over the touchhole lest a stray spark or smouldering ember ignite the charge prematurely.

  For the men of the Imperial Gunnery School, the battle had become little more than a series of repetitions: load, aim, fire... load, aim, fire. They could see nothing of the battle through the stinking smoke and simply kept firing towards the enemy.

  The loader hauled aside the wicker gabion in the embrasure and ducked back as the master gunner lifted the long, burning taper to fire the weapon. He pressed the flame to the touchhole and the massive gun rocked backwards, filling the emplacement with noise and smoke. The crew began hauling the gun back when the master gunner was snatched from his feet in a spray of blood.

  Deafened by the sounds of battle, the gunners had not heard the howls and roars of the charging beasts that swarmed over the ridge. Dozens of monstrous, bestial creatures overran the artillery pits, tearing the gunners apart with long, bloody claws and powerful, snapping jaws.

  X

  KASPAR WAS SUDDENLY aware of the silence of the guns and his worst fears were confirmed when he saw his runners horse galloping back through the smoke, its riders headless body still clutching the reins. He saw howling beasts rampaging across the artillery ridge, smashing aside wicker gabions and hurling severed body parts before them.

  The monstrous creatures were drunk on blood, frenzied to the point of intoxication by the slaughter. The beasts smashed through the gun emplacements and ran downhill towards the Ice Queen, bellowing in ferocious hunger.

  Kaspar dragged on the reins of his horse and shouted, 'Kurt!'

  Kurt Bremen had already wheeled his mount and yelled, 'Knights Panther, with me!'

  Kaspar and the knights galloped desperately across the hard ground to intercept the charging creatures. He knew he should not be exposing himself to this kind of risk, but the old instincts of a soldier had kicked in and it was too late to stop now. The howling beasts saw them coming and altered their charge, rushing to meet them head on.

  The knights smashed into the beasts, their heavy lances skewering the fierce creatures on their points. Lances broke and horses lashed out with iron-shod hooves to stave in ribcages and smash bestial skulls. Dozens of the monsters were trampled to bloody pulp beneath the heavy warhorses and as the knights wheeled their mounts, there were only four still standing.

  Kaspar blew out the back of a beast's skull with a well-aimed pistol shot as the knights surrounded the remaining three creatures and hacked them down with their heavy broadswords. As the last creature fell, Kurt Bremen rode alongside Kaspar and said, 'Ambassador, that was... unwise of you.'

  'I know,' said Kaspar, breathless with exertion and exhilaration. 'Don't worry, it won't happen again.'

  Bremen chuckled. 'We shall see.'

  Kaspar reloaded his pistol before riding back to where he had been observing the battlefield. The allied line was bending back under the force of the enemy attacks and as he watched, he saw the massive beast of ancient times finally strike his men.

  XI

  THE MONSTROUS DRAGON creature smashed into a regiment of Talabecland pikemen, their weapons shattering against its thick hide. Swords bounced from its ancient flesh and in reply, its huge axe swept out and a dozen men died. Another score fell with every stroke of its blade and its huge claws crushed men beneath its weight with every step. Its roar cracked the earth and lightning flared around it, incinerating friend and foe alike. There could be no standing against such a terrifying creature and the men of the Empire turned and fled, their standard falling to be trampled by the vast beast.

  Nearby regiments, already hard pressed by the Kurgan tribesmen, stepped backwards despite the shouted demands of their sergeants. Seeing this horrifying go
d of war amongst them spurred the Kurgans to insane heights of bravery and they hurled themselves at the men of the Urszebya pulk with unremitting fury.

  As the courage of the men of the Empire hung on a knife-edge, hordes of armoured horsemen, led by the High Zar himself, charged through the swirling smoke and mist and hammered into their ranks.

  Against such terrifying violence, the allied soldiers broke almost instantly as the ferocious warriors killed and killed and killed. Streams of men began sprinting away from the bloody horsemen, who pounded after them and hacked them down as they ran with great sweeps of huge swords and axes.

  The centre had broken.

  XII

  KASPAR SHOUTED AT his runners to send word to the flanks of the army. The centre had broken and enemy warriors were pouring through the gap, butchering everything in their path. Snow was falling more heavily now, deadening the sounds of battle and misting everything in flurries of white.

  Kaspar felt a chill seize him worse than the falling snow, a sickening feeling that Spitzaner had been right. Fighting in this valley with no retreat had doomed them all. Even as he shouted orders to try and plug the gap in the centre, he knew it was too little too late. Hordes of heavy horsemen were charging uphill and not even the quickest regiment would be able to prevent disaster.

  'General von Velten!' shouted a voice behind him. He turned his horse to see the Ice Queen beckoning him and spurred his horse towards her. He rode close to the Tzarina, feeling the skin-crawling sensation of powerful magicks surrounding her.

  'Your majesty?' he said hurriedly. 'The centre has broken and I fear we are defeated.'

  'You give up too soon, general. Have faith in me,' said the Ice Queen, and Kaspar could see that her eyes burned with an inner radiance, both orbs flecked with blazing winter fire. 'As we defend the land, the lands defends us.'

  'I don't understand,' said Kaspar.

  'You will,' promised the Ice Queen. 'Just hold the enemy back for a little longer.'

  'I will do what I can,' assured Kaspar, 'but they are amongst us.'

  'You must hold them, von Velten, I need only a little longer.'

  Kaspar nodded as she threw her head back and white lightning split the sky above her, swirling clouds boiling and snow spinning about her in a miniature snowstorm. Kaspar and her guards backed away from the incandescent form of the Tzarina as a low moaning, sounding as though it echoed from the very centre of the earth, issued from the ground.

  'Go!' shouted the Ice Queen. 'Hold them!'

  XIII

  STREAMS OF MEN, both Kislevite and Empire, fled before the wrath of the High Zar and his chosen warriors. Huge, armoured horsemen on giant, daemonic steeds thundered through the centre of the Urszebya pulk, killing hundreds as they rampaged across the bodies of broken men. The giant beast followed, slower as it slew and feasted on the dead it left in their wake.

  Kaspar knew they could not hope to defeat the High Zar's warriors, but the Tzarina had not asked him to defeat them, merely to hold them back for a time. Storm clouds gathered above her and, though he did not know what she planned, he vowed that he and his soldiers would give her whatever time their lives could buy. Kurt Bremen and the Knights Panther stood ready to ride with him and Leopold Dietz, holding the ambassador's banner high, shouted at the embassy guards to stand to.

  Kossars and scattered groups of Imperial soldiers rallied to his black and gold standard as the ground shook with the approach of the High Zar. Kaspar knew that getting men to fight was the easy part of any battle, but getting men to go back into a battle they had already run from was next to impossible, so he was filled with a humbling sense of pride as more and more warriors flocked to join them, called by some unseen signal to defend the queen of Kislev.

  The dark horsemen crossed the ridge before them and Kaspar could feel the fear of these mighty warriors spread through the gathered soldiers. But not one man took a backwards step.

  A swelling roar built from the throats of the men of Kislev and the Empire, and Kaspar raised his fist. His hand swept down and the Urszebya pulk swept forward to meet the High Zar, man to man, blade to blade.

  The heavy cavalry smashed into the massed soldiers, their swords and axes chopping through them with terrifying ease. Screams and blood filled the air and a score of men were dead in the opening seconds of the fight. Kaspar fired both his pistols, unhorsing an enemy rider, before throwing them aside and drawing his sword.

  Kurt Bremen hacked down a Kurgan rider and beheaded another, fighting with desperate skill and courage. Kaspar chopped at an enemy horseman's back, but his sword bounced clear of the warrior's thick armour.

  The warrior turned and swept his sword down, the blade slashing past Kaspar's head and cutting deep into his horse's flank. Magnus reared and lashed out with his hooves, caving in the warrior's skull. Kaspar tried to rein in the pain-maddened horse, but the Kurgan's weapon had bitten deep and it was all he could do to hold on, let alone fight.

  All was screaming chaos as the High Zar's armoured horsemen slaughtered them, screams, blood, noise and death. Kaspar lost all sense of direction as his horse thrashed around in agony, but it was plain to see that this battle was lost.

  Another blade lashed out and he screamed a denial as a heavy axe virtually decapitated his horse. Magnus collapsed and Kaspar was hurled from the saddle, sprawling in an ungainly heap in the midst of the swirling melee.

  He picked himself up as he heard a shrill whistling, but was unable to see where it came from. Bodies jostled him as he stood, stampeding horses and fighting men. He raised his sword as a huge black horse reared up before him, a length of pikeshaft buried in its chest. The beast flailed as it died and its rider was thrown to the ground.

  The warrior rolled to his feet and hurled himself back into the fray. Kaspar saw from his snarling wolf helm and iridescent armour plates that this was none other than the High Zar himself. The giant tore off his dented helmet and hefted his huge pallasz, brandishing it two-handed as he cut down enemies by the dozen.

  Kaspar limped through the worsening snow towards the High Zar, knowing that he could not defeat such a terrifying warrior, but unwilling to lose this battle without having faced his nemesis face to face. Knights Panther and the embassy guards closed in on the High Zar, but he seemed unfazed by so many opponents.

  His pallasz swept out and a knight died. A lance splintered on his breastplate and Kaspar could not believe that it had not penetrated. Another knight died as his horse was slain beneath him by the High Zar and the pallasz stabbed downwards.

  Kaspar reached the Kurgan war leader at the same time as Kurt Bremen and the two men attacked the leader of the tribesmen with magnificent heroism. Bremen's broadsword clashed against Cyenwulf's pallasz in a shower of sparks and Kaspar's sabre slid from the High Zar's armour.

  The giant tribesman backhanded his fist into Kaspar's chest and he collapsed, feeling ribs break beneath his armour. Hot pain stabbed into him as he fell and he saw Kurt Bremen stagger under a blow to his hip. Blood streamed down the knight's thigh where the pallasz had penetrated the mail links beneath his armour.

  Kaspar tried to stand, but fierce pain flared in his chest. He pushed himself to his knees as he heard the whistling sound again and looked up in time to see a tide of red-painted horsemen thunder from the smoke, their feathered back banners and long lances glorious and heaven-sent as they charged.

  Pavel rode at the head of the lancers, his sword raised high as he and his warriors charged home, lances punching the armoured Kurgans from their saddles in a crash of flesh and steel. Pavel struck left and right and Kaspar was suddenly transported back to the days when they had fought side by side as young men. His old friend was a force of nature, killing with every strike of his sword as his lancers broke through the centre of the High Zar's warriors.

  Pavel's sword struck Cyenwulf's head and the mighty war leader staggered, blood streaming from his forehead. His pallasz slashed and Pavel's horse fell, its forelegs cut from beneath it. K
urt Bremen attacked as the High Zar's attention was elsewhere, but once again his armour defeated a stroke that Kaspar knew should have split him apart. As his horse screamed in its death throes, Pavel joined the Knight Panther as the battle swirled around them.

  As Kurt and Pavel fought the High Zar, Kaspar picked himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain and went to the aid of his comrades. It was an unequal struggle and though they outnumbered the Kurgan chieftain, his strength and skill was vastly superior to theirs. His heart heavy, Kaspar knew they could not defeat him.

  Kaspar thrust his blade towards the High Zar's groin, but his sword was easily batted aside and Cyenwulf's riposte tore into his belly. He fell, pain the likes of which he had never known before gripping his body tight, and slammed face first into the snow, rolling onto his back as blood poured from the wound.

  Pavel screamed in loss and risked a high cut to Cyenwulf's head, but the High Zar was ready for him and Kaspar watched in horror as the Kurgan ducked and his mighty sword swept up and hacked into Pavel's side.

  The huge pallasz shattered Pavels breastplate and buried itself within his chest, but as he staggered under the massive impact, Pavel dropped his sword and gripped onto the High Zar's blade with both hands. Cyenwulf struggled to free his weapon from Pavel's grip, but the giant Kislevite held it firm, blood frothing from his mouth and flooding from his side. Time slowed and Kaspar saw the entirety of this battle captured in the faces of these two warriors, the brutal, unthinking hatred of the High Zar and the passionate heroism of Pavel.

  As the High Zar tried to free his blade from the dying Pavel, Kurt Bremen's broadsword struck and buried itself in the centre of his face. Cyenwulf dropped without a sound, blood and brains spilling from the shattered fragments of his splintered skull.