Slaves to Darkness 02 (The Blades of Chaos) Read online

  Kurt had changed as well. He studied his own body. He had always been tall and broad, but since becoming one of the Chosen he had grown considerably. He was fully a head taller than any other man in the village. His arms were as thick as a normal man's thighs and it was impossible for Anyata to reach around the massive expanse of his chest and back. Despite extra leather strapping and plates, Kurt's armour barely fit him.

  It was not just his build that had changed. His skin felt more leathery, tougher like a calloused foot. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest, magical blood filling his arteries and making them bulge under his skin. He was always ravenously hungry, no matter how much he ate, and it took a whole barrel of ale to make him drunk. His hair, once cropped in the manner of the latest Ostermark fashions, hung down past his shoulders, braided with bronze clasps and animal skulls.

  'Troubled?' Anyata asked, breaking his self-contemplation. 'You look at yourself as if ashamed.'

  'You don't think it's... unnatural?' Kurt said, turning to her and holding his arms wide.

  'You are beautiful,' Anyata said with a coy smile. 'It is the mark that the gods favour you. Many are our people who show the touch of the gods, you know that.'

  'And you are not ashamed that you married a Sutenmjar?' he asked quietly. 'Would you not prefer a Norse husband?'

  'You have been Chosen, that makes you the finest man in the tribe!' said Anyata with a giggle. 'The other women are very jealous, they do not know why you chose me, with my strange hair.'

  Kurt did not reply He had not really considered the reddish tinge to Anyata's locks before. It was nowhere near as red as Ursula's hair, but remarkable amongst a tribe almost universally blond. The association troubled him and he changed the subject.

  'I have decided that this year I will go raiding,' he said to her, studying her face for a reaction.

  'That is good.' Anyata said, a broad smile on her face.

  'You are not upset that I shall be away for many months?' Kurt was puzzled.

  'You will return.' Anyata said with confidence. 'And while you are away you will earn great honour and glory, and bring back treasures for me and little Heldred!'

  She carefully placed the sleeping child in his bed and pulled the blanket over his shoulders.

  'Would you still love me if I was not the Chosen?' Kurt asked, suddenly suspicious.

  'I do not know. You have always been the Chosen, so I cannot imagine you any other way.' Anyata said, stepping towards him, closing the front of her dress.

  'So you only love me because I am the Chosen!' said Kurt with a grin, opening the front of her robe again with a soft stroke of his hand.

  'Who says I love you now?' she said with a wink, placing her hands on his chest as he pulled her close.

  Hrolfgar sat in the chieftain's chair at the head of the table in the great hall, Bjordrin to his right. As the doors swung in and the firelight was drowned by the spring sun from outside, he looked up, his face haggard. Bjordrin scowled at the intrusion, but his expression lightened when he saw that it was Kurt. Softly closing the doors behind him, the Chosen walked down the hall and lowered himself onto the bench to the chieftain's left.

  'I will lead the raiding this summer,' Kurt said quietly.

  'That is good, that is very good,' Bjordrin said with a nod, nudging Hrolfgar. 'Isn't that good?'

  Bleary-eyed, scratching at his beard, Hrolfgar regarded Kurt for a long moment before he also nodded.

  'Yes, that is very good,' he said, but his voice was despondent.

  'I thought you would be happier,' Kurt said, taken aback by the sombre mood of the others. 'Isn't this what you wanted?'

  Hrolfgar merely grunted and moved his gaze away, so Kurt looked to Bjordrin for an explanation. The chieftain's brother glanced at Hrolfgar, weighing up his words.

  'Last night, the men gathered here to talk about this year's raids.' Bjordrin said, standing up and beginning to pace a few steps back and forth behind Hrolfgar. 'They said they would not follow you, they want Hrolfgar to lead the raiding this season.'

  'I do not mind.' Kurt told them. 'Hrolfgar is the chieftain, it is his right to lead. I may be the Chosen, but I will gladly follow him.'

  'No!' snapped Hrolfgar, thumping a fist into the table, before his head drooped once more and his voice dropped to a mumble. 'I may have the right to lead, but I am not fit to lead.'

  'He thinks too much about Tungask.' Bjordrin said with a concerned look at his brother. 'He believes it was his fault that we ran aground, and lost so many men in the fighting against the witch hunter and his knights.'

  'You led us to victory, not I.' Hrolfgar said with a shake of his head. 'It was you, Kurt, who defeated van Diesl. It is you who should lead the raids.'

  'I couldn't have done it without you.' Kurt said. 'It was you and your men who fought bravely alongside me. It does not matter to me if you lead the raids.'

  An uneasy silence settled on the hall, broken by the crackle of the fire and the padding of Bjordrin's boots on the packed earth as he continued to pace. Kurt stood and walked to the fire, grabbing a large branch and stoking it into more life, the sparks dancing from the pit. The sight, coupled with the conversation, stirred memories of Tungask. He saw the town in flames, torched by the men of the Osterknacht. He also saw Marius van Diesl bursting into flames on the end of Kurt's sword, his death scream echoing like a victory cry in Kurt's mind.

  'I will lead the raid.' Kurt said, not turning around.

  'But the men, they refuse to follow you.' said Bjordrin.

  'Gather them here, call them to the hall.' Kurt said, still gazing into the flames. 'I will persuade them.'

  'They will not listen.' Hrolfgar said in a depressed whisper. 'I talked to them last night. If I will not lead them, they say that I should no longer be chieftain. Perhaps they are right.'

  'No, they are not.' said Bjordrin. 'You are chieftain by right of the gods and your own deeds. The Fjaergard have been strong with your leadership, now you must be strong.'

  'Listen to your brother, Hrolfgar.' Kurt said, tossing the branch into the flames and striding to stand over the chieftain, leaning down beside him. 'Call the warhird, stand tall and proud next to me and follow my lead.'

  'I will do what I can for you, Sutenmjar.' Hrolfgar said with a nod, pushing himself to his feet. Kurt watched him walk the length of the hall and out of the doors. He gestured to Bjordrin to sit down, and took the place on the bench next to him.

  'There's a problem, I didn't want to mention it in front of Hrolfgar.' Kurt said, with a glance towards the doors. 'He seems low enough already.'

  'What problem?' Bjordrin asked with a frown.

  'I was a knight, not a sailor.' said Kurt.

  'I don't understand.' said Bjordrin.

  'Your warriors are all sailors as well.' Kurt said. 'They can man a ship as easily as hold a shield and swing an axe. I was trained to ride a horse and wield a lance. I've never even been on a ship, and if I am to lead the raids, I will need to captain one of the longships.'

  'I see your problem.' Bjordrin said with a rueful nod.

  'You have to help me.' Kurt said, laying a meaty hand on Bjordrin's arm. 'None of the other men will, they will see it as another sign that I am unfit to be Chosen. Say you will come with me, and captain my ship. Hrolfgar may be losing faith in himself, and the men can feel it, but they still set store by your counsel. If you will stand beside me, it will sway their minds in my favour.'

  Bjordrin laughed, and slapped a hand to Kurt's shoulder.

  'Of course I will follow you!' Bjordrin said. 'It's a raid, why wouldn't I? And don't worry, I will guide your hand, teach you the ways of the wind and the wave.'

  'Promise me!' Kurt said.

  'I swear by the gods it will be true,' Bjordrin said immediately, his jollity replaced by concern. 'But why do you need my oath?'

  'I hope I don't give you cause for regret,' Kurt said. 'But there is something else I must do.'

  Bjordrin's retort wa
s cut short as the doors opened again and Hrolfgar entered, a throng of warriors at his back. The two of them stood respectfully as the chieftain approached. Kurt noticed how he stood straighter now: there was a swagger to his step as he strode back to his tall chair. His face betrayed the lie of his false bravado, but at least he was trying. Kurt watched the men taking their places at the feasting benches, a movement to the side drawing his attention to Jakob. The wiry shaman skulked along the wall, trying to remain inconspicuous. Kurt caught his eye and with a barely perceptible nod indicated for Jakob to join him by the firepit.

  'What are you planning?' Jakob said bluntly, pulling at his straggly moustaches in irritation.

  'We will go raiding this year,' Kurt said in a whisper, and Jakob's eyes narrowed in alarm.

  'What?' the shaman said, hissing in irritation. 'Didn't I warn you that raiding was dangerous and stupid? You are the Chosen, you don't have to go raiding!'

  'Yes I do.' Kurt said, casting a pointed look at the other warriors. 'Soon they will decide that challenges aren't enough.'

  'You are afraid?' Jakob said, cackling softly. 'Kurt Leitzig, Kurt Sutenmjar, Kurt the Chosen, is scared?'

  'Not for me, for my wife and child.' said Kurt, grabbing the front of Jakob's furs and dragging him close so that he could whisper in his ear. 'And you, shaman, will start to earn your keep.'

  'What do you mean?' Jakob said, struggling against Kurt's iron grip. 'Did I not make you the Chosen? Did I not bring forth the servants of the gods to aid you in Tungask? You forget so easily!'

  'You did nothing of your own free will.' Kurt said. 'You may have fooled me once with your northern wisdom and silver words, but not any more. I am the Chosen, you were simply the vessel of the will of the gods. And now, you will be the vessel of my will.'

  Jakob sagged and Kurt released his hold on his jerkin and pushed him away. He returned to his place at Hrolfgar's side, as the chieftain raised his hands for silence.

  'This year, we shall raid again!' he bellowed, greeted with a tumultuous cheer from the assembled Norse. Waving his hands for quiet once more, he turned to Kurt. 'This year the omens bode well. The hunting will be good. The gods have given us a great gift, they have delivered to us this mighty warrior, their Chosen, and he shall lead the raids.'

  There was angry murmuring, and a few of the warriors got to their feet and shouted their discontent. Hrolfgar was about to shout back at them but Kurt gently placed a hand on his chest to restrain him and stepped forward. The hall fell into a bitter silence.

  'I am Chosen of the Fjaergard.' Kurt said, his gaze passing along the rows of warriors. 'I am the finest warrior of the village. There is no doubt. But I have come to realise that there is more to being the Chosen than simply winning by force of arms.'

  He paused in his speech, drew his sword, and laid it on the table, where its keen blade glinted in the dim firelight. Stretching himself to his full height, Kurt began to slowly pace down the hall.

  'To be the Chosen is to be the greatest servant of the gods.' he continued. 'It is to light the fires of conquest in the hearts and bellies of my fellow warriors. It is to be a burning brand of destruction, feared by all. And this past year, I have failed you, and I have failed the gods. This year I will make amends, I will show the gods and I will show you why I am the Chosen. This year I will lead the raiding, and such raiding you will have not seen in your lifetime. At Tungask, my saga began, and this summer my saga will continue. I will give you stories that the children of your children's children will tell and sing in this hall. Those of you who join me will live in these great times and share in the glory I will bring to the Fjaergard.'

  A few warriors still looked surly, but many now were listening with interest, and some were smiling at Kurt's promise.

  'Not for us the weaklings of the Empire.' Kurt said with a grin, and turned to Jakob. 'Tell me, shaman, of the great sea of sand that lies to the south. Tell us of the riches of the desert that you once told me of.'

  Startled by the sudden attention, Jakob looked as if he would bolt rather than answer. However, he pulled himself together and stepped out of the shadows so that the assembled Norse could see and hear him.

  'Far, far to the south, beyond the Sea of Claws and the Great Ocean lies the great desert,' he said in his thin voice. 'The land of Araby it is called. As snow settles on the mountain here, so the sun settles on the great wastes of the Arabians. Golden temples and ancient cities full of gems and jewels lie in the desert, or so it is said. The Arabians are a fierce, independent people, with skins of tanned leather, long flowing robes and they ride upon strange horses with great humped backs that can walk for days without water. And as well they should, for the sun drinks all water except for a few pools and trickling rivers. It is death to travel the desert without knowledge of these places, and your bones will whiten under the harsh sun within the week, picked clean by the circling carrion birds.'

  'Treasures and glory await us in Araby!' said Kurt. 'Merchants and traders, with chests of wealth and wearing golden finery travel to the Empire. They bring spices, the hides of exotic spotted and striped beasts, and diamonds the size of a man's fist. Not for the Fjaergard the stinking fishing hovels of the Empire coast. Not for the Fjaergard the ransoming of a burgomeister for a few measly crowns. We shall set sail for Araby and return with the wealth of ancient kings. We shall buy steel and employ the finest smiths, carpenters and goldworkers and arm ourselves for further war. The tribes to the north and the west and the east will kneel before the might of Fjaergard, and those we cannot buy we shall overcome with blade and shield. The Fjaergard, the name of Chieftain Hrolfgar, your names, will be sung through history as the greatest Norse to have lived, and the generations to come will revere us as lords of battle. The gods will look down upon us and be generous with their gifts. You too will become Chosen, and we will go out into the world to bring terror and fear to our foes!'

  A great shout went up from a good many of the warriors, and there was much cheering and waving of swords and axes. Snari Gold-tooth stood up and indicated he would travel with Kurt. Then Aelfir of the Long Axe also stood, and then another and another. There were still over a dozen who sneered and shook their heads, stalking from the hall exchanging bitter words with one another, but the rest pressed in around Kurt, slapping him on the back and shoulder. Hrolfgar shouldered his way through the crowd, Kurt's sword in his hand. The others fell back to give him space.

  Drawing the sword across his palm, Hrolfgar offered up his bleeding hand to Kurt. Kurt took the sword and cut himself similarly, and then they grasped each other's fist, their blood mingling and dripping down their forearms and onto the floor.

  'So shall it be!' said Hrolfgar with a roar, and Kurt could see the worry lift from his face, see the sag of his shoulders disappear. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Jakob sidling towards the door.

  'Ho there, shaman!' he shouted after Jakob. 'I cannot go without my messenger from the gods!'

  Jakob opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again, his body slumping in depressed acknowledgement. The crowd began to file out, eager to make ready the longships, to sharpen weapons, fix armour and set in stores. Soon only Kurt, Hrolfgar, Bjordrin and Jakob were left. With a nod to the chieftain and his brother, Kurt turned to leave, draping a long arm over Jakob's shoulders and pulling him along.

  'What do the gods think?' Kurt asked quietly, switching to his native Reikspiel so that if he were overheard none would understand him.

  'Not know what gods think,' Jakob said in the Imperial tongue. 'But I think you a bloody fool.'

  CHAPTER TWO

  Djinn

  Marienburg, Early spring 1711

  Thick purple smoke from seven incense burners hung heavy in the air of the chamber. The furniture was piled crudely on the wide bed, leaving an open space on the floor. There, drawn in goat's blood, were marked a succession of seven circles, which inter-weaved with triangles, squares and each other in a disturbing fashion, seeming to shift
and coalesce. It might have been a simple trick of the light though, for the windows were shuttered and the only illumination was from a red-glassed lantern set at the centre of the ring.

  The room's only occupant was sitting inside another circle of flowing script of waving lines and dots. She was dressed in a loose silk robe of deep pink, a similarly coloured veil about her head and face so that only her dark eyes were visible. Her bare arms, laid on her knees, were ringed with gold and bronze circlets that were hung with silver pendants shaped into arcane sigils.

  She began to murmur softly, the incantation spilling from her lips in a slow, constant stream of strange syllables. The language was known to only a few, a bastardised version of the Dark Tongue - the speech of Chaos. As she intoned the spell, the sorceress began to make motions in the air in front of her, the soft jangling of her bracelets and armbands matching the rhythm of her words. For several minutes nothing happened, as she repeated the magical verse over and over, slight variations of inflection and volume accompanied by subtle changes in her gesturing: a lifted finger, a twist of the wrist, a sigh of breath or inhuman whistle.

  The light of the lantern began to dance, creating shapes in the cloying smoke that flittered and swayed around the woman, darkest at the centre of the summoning circle, unable to penetrate the warding line around her. Her breath came in quickening gasps as she increased the speed and volume of her incantation, her chest heaving under the silk, a fine mist of sweat gathering on her bare flesh. The smoke writhed with a life of its own, surging along the walls, creeping over the shutters, sliding through the pile of furniture in exploration.

  With a shriek that increased in pitch until it was beyond human hearing, the enchantress brought her hands together in a loud clap. In an explosion of red light, the lantern shattered, the fragments spraying out then dropping at the edges of the circle as if they had hit a wall. With an implosion of air, the smoke was sucked into the summoning ring and the incense burners flared and went out. The blood on the floor began to burn and bubble, hissing as steam rose from the mystic signs.