The sight of a dragon soaring in the heavens stirred all the soldiers on the march. They began to squint their eyes and speculate on who the rider of this formidable creature could be. A sorcerer? A great warrior?
It was already clear to us that this was no wild beast. Ornaments of gold glistened upon its neck and chest.
— Perhaps it is Gelt?! — exclaimed one of the recent recruits in my unit. — I heard he is a mighty wizard. Who else could break a dragon?
— No way! — Stefan argued back. — I think it is the Emperor himself! They say there are dragons in the capital's menagerie. Karl Franz must have saddled one to see if everything is in order with us.
A doubtful theory. My own thoughts turned to the Imperial sorceress Elspeth von Draken. She definitely rode a dragon. However, as the winged monster began its descent, the cries of wonder and admiration turned into a terrified murmur. The dragon was a foul, mutated thing. Ash-black and covered in spikes, it possessed a second enormous maw right in the center of its torso. It gaped open in flight, spewing forth acrid smoke, sprays of some vile liquid, and an entire swarm of insects. A Chaos Dragon. A monster in the service of the Ruinous Powers.
I could now see its rider, clad in dark-green armor. He raised his sword, and it was instantly engulfed in iridescent flames. The dragon roared, unleashing a stream of green fire mixed with brown vapor from its mouth. I didn't even want to think about what kind of filth this monster, rotted through by the gifts of Nurgle, was breathing.
— Bring it down! — shouts rose from everywhere. — Death to the beast! Fire!
Following the cries to kill the creature came the desperate wails of those struck by drops of the caustic substance. It seemed the victims were in agonizing pain.
Then came the thunder of shots. Some soldiers with arquebuses or long rifles decided to try their luck. However, the dragon soared high, and its hide was likely of great durability. Besides ordinary bullets, several spells cast by Imperial mages flew toward the Chaos monstrosity. I noticed a flurry of metallic projectiles and a fireball. Yet both spells weakened in transit, flying wide of the beast.
"How poorly suited human creatures are for the application of magic," Loom-Pyah lamented. "Had I the opportunity to channel the Winds, I would have swatted this parasite without trouble or foolish fuss."
"How poorly the locals have upgraded their firearms," I mockingly supported the Hypno-Toad's grumbling. "Had I a Barrett M82, or better yet a ZPU-2, I would have swatted this parasite without trouble or unnecessary fuss."
Alas, neither powerful toad magic nor machine guns were at hand. Thus, after performing a few risky somersaults and showing off a bit more, the Chaos dragon rider dived back behind the veil of clouds. Neither the griffons nor the pegasi of the Empire dared to challenge the monster.
— When the fateful hour arrives, Sigmar's lightning shall strike this abomination from the skies! — Markus Schlossberg declared optimistically.
However, I doubted that even the most devout Sigmarites took his words seriously.
In a much more somber mood, our army approached the city. Hoch's adjutants began distributing units along the defensive perimeter surrounding Pfeildorf. Additionally, reinforcements from the local militia and evacuated garrisons awaited us here. Not the most battle-ready troops, but a couple of thousand extra men certainly wouldn't hurt our army.
My unit halted at the line of fortifications, waiting for our assignment. To our right was an earthen rampart, equipped with a trench and positions for infantry on the far side. About sixty meters away, a redoubt with five cannons could be seen behind it. City artillery. We had brought a fair number of guns with us as well.
— Ah, there you are! — Sergeant Max Kress moved toward us with a quick stride. — Guards, follow me! Left, turn!
The veterans executed the drill command more or less in unison. The newcomers from the ruined village stumbled a bit. One way or another, we followed Max almost to the city walls. There stood a large redoubt where few cannons were placed—only two ordinary guns and an organ gun. However, on the fortification, one could observe four uniquely dressed people, two of whom I already knew.
The young Shamaness we had rescued, as well as the Life wizard who had treated Liandra. Beside them were two other mages. I easily understood their specializations by their appearance. A Bright wizard of the Wind of Fire and a Gold wizard, whose robes likely weighed as much as a suit of armor due to the sheer number of metallic elements. His torso was covered by a mosaic of steel, bronze, and silver plates. The Fire wizard was dressed far more simply: a red robe, over which he wore ordinary armor.
— Captain Jurgen! — Max addressed me in a commanding tone, snapping to attention by the redoubt. — By order of his Comital Excellency Olger Hoch, your unit is instructed to guard this fortification, its guns, and the esteemed Masters of the Imperial Colleges with all due bravery.
"And one little brat," I added mentally, catching the girl's spiteful glare.
— And could the Margrave find no one more... ahem... experienced for us? — asked the Gold wizard, whose face was hidden by a gilded half-mask.
— I assure you that this unit possesses the necessary experience! — Max bellowed just as cheerfully. — Its commander and distinguished warriors have been repeatedly noted for their extraordinary feats.
— Do not underestimate them, Mein Herr, — the Jade wizard intervened on our behalf. — They have challenged Chaos sorcerers several times and, imagine that, are still alive.
— Well then... — the Metal mage chuckled slightly. — Fought Chaos sorcerers? That explains the unit's ragged condition. Remember, soldiers, from now on your primary task is my survival and that of my colleagues. Each of us is equal in importance to an entire regiment.
— Do you get rations for an entire regiment too? — Mugg clarified.
The wizard replied to the ogre quite calmly and even politely:
— Our supplies are indeed expanded, but this is reflected in additional gold, not the volume of provisions.
— Expanded... — Mugg scratched his beard. — Good word! Must remember that. Look at me, Erik. Am I expanded?
— Compared to us—of course! — the halfling assured him.
Thus, we were assigned to the position guarding the Imperial mages. Not the worst option. An important task and not the most dangerous spot. It would be much harder for those who would meet the first Chaos onslaught.
I could see that work on the fortifications was still ongoing. Volunteers and militiamen attempted to extend the defensive lines around Pfeildorf. Especially since the direction of the enemy's attack was quite predictable. Pfeildorf sat at the confluence of two large rivers. They protected most of the city far better than any walls or trenches. Only from one side was the city vulnerable to assault. It was this direction we would defend from the invasion.
Such a strong position was encouraging on one hand, but there was a dark side to this arrangement. If the enemy began to win, we would find ourselves in a trap. The rivers would not let us retreat easily. I truly hoped that some river transport or crossings were planned in case of a flight.
Units began to settle in, pitching their tents a short distance from the fortifications. Local volunteers had prepared firewood and water for us to make it easier to settle into the new place. Overall, the atmosphere was anxious, but people were ready to support one another.
— Oh Sigmar, heavenly shepherd, do not forsake me... — Markus muttered, crossing himself with the sign of the hammer. — Give me strength, give me faith, give me fire.
I glanced at the young Shamaness. She held herself wildly. The Master of the Jade Order tried to speak with her, but she answered in monosyllables, clearly having no desire for contact. This girl was unpleasant to me, but at the same time, I was counting on her. She was one of the changes I had made to the destiny of this world. Are they enough already to break the current flow of events? I don't know. I saved her, Liandra, dozens of ordinary people, and got rid of cultists near Friedrichsburg and in the city itself. Only the first steps toward my main goal.
Ahead lies a grueling battle that could instantly erase all traces of my presence in this world. Bury our potential under a toxic, rotting wave. Of course, I will resist this. To paraphrase a certain famous Roman: Pfeildorf must not be destroyed.
INTERLUDE. Orval Vipergath. Champion of Nurgle.
The dragon rider Orval Vipergath watched the scurrying of thousands of weak little humans below him. Soft Southerners, for whose souls and bodies the mighty hosts of the Dark Gods had now come.
Orval could have called them pathetic worms, but Vipergath loved worms too much. After all, hundreds of these little creatures now dwelled within his bloated body.
The dragon rider looked intently at the city's fortifications and the strength of its defenders. Soon, he would test their resolve.
An artifact fixed to Orval's helmet vibrated so strongly that it was felt even through the armor with its thick coating of rust. The filth of a certain wretched sorcerer. Orval would have gladly thrown it away or tried to break it, but Tamurkhan had ordered the artifact to be kept safe, which meant he had to obey.
The Southern mages below strained and puffed, yet they could cause no harm to the blessed champion and his mighty dragon. The only thing they achieved was that, due to the active maneuvers, more pus than usual flowed into Orval's left eye. The Chaos warrior tried to blink it away, but the viscous substance still blocked half his vision. Then, opening his toothy maw as wide as possible, Orval extended a long tongue to clear the pus. He succeeded.
Having properly surveyed the Southern troops and frightened them slightly, Orval ordered his winged beast to climb back to the clouds. The dragon Korrasan dived into the misty substance with a few strokes of its mighty wings. Cold moisture began to seep under the armor Orval had not removed for a decade. His clothes and gambeson had long since rotted or been devoured by the countless parasites inhabiting the champion's body.
But the damp cold of the clouds did not bother the rider much. His bloated carcass had long ceased to feel pain or any discomfort. Inside Orval, spasms constantly churned, gases bubbled, and an endless agony burned his decaying organs. It had been painful for the first year. Then it became tolerable. Now Orval was fully accustomed to the Grandfather's gifts, enjoying it when the symptoms of endless diseases gripped him particularly hard.
Something small stirred and tickled inside his nose. Orval sneezed thunderously, splattering mucus across the inner surface of his enchanted helm. The dragon rider laughed. Recently, for the first time in many years, he had lifted his helm slightly to show his face, warped by gifts, to a Southerner cowering in fear and disgust. The man at his feet had vomited. He could not accept the visage of a Northern warrior, naively failing to understand how far Orval surpassed him in everything.
The Champion of Chaos needed no food and almost no sleep. He was always alert, strong, and pleased with himself. Passing through hundreds of trials, Orval had proven he was worthy to bear the great gifts of the Lord of Blights.
The pale-pink, frail little human at his feet could drop dead after a dip in icy water or if he ate the wrong berry. Diseases did not strengthen him; they killed him. Pain could drive him mad. A pathetic, foolish creature that, in its ignorance, dared to feel disgust at the sight of a plague lord of the skies who had managed to tame a dragon.
Orval flew carelessly through the cold clouds. The icy water only slightly refreshed the champion and washed away particularly bold parasites that had decided to crawl out of their sores to frolic inside the armor.
However, Orval then began to descend. He didn't want to wash out the contents of his armor too much. After all, there was filth, sweat, sloughed-off skin, and other very pleasant-feeling things that the champion had been accumulating for many years.
The dragon Korrasan reached the main camp of the horde in an hour and a half. Below lay a sea of the most diverse creatures, united by the will of the Great Tamurkhan for the glory of Grandfather Nurgle.
Warriors of the North, mammoths, giants, countless other monsters, Chaos Dwarfs, beastmen, local cultists, trolls, ogres, and even greenskin servants. Not since the time of Asavar Kul had the world seen such a powerful and diverse horde.
Orval felt pride in being a part of it all. Moreover, he had been one of the first to swear fealty to Tamurkhan back in the ruins of the fallen city of Zanbaijin. He had become one of the Maggot Lord's closest lieutenants.
After flying over the camp for a while, Orval began looking for a place to land.
"Dwarfs gathering slaves? Not here. They'll complain. Dolgans? No. Ogres? No. Aha! Beastmen!"
Orval gave the dragon a mental command to descend directly onto the area crowded with beastman hovels and sleeping mats. Ungors bolted away in terror, but the diving dragon was faster. Korrasan managed to snatch two of the goat-legged creatures in a single bite. There was his snack.
Leaping from the dragon, Orval walked fearlessly past the crowd of beastmen bellowing at him. They hated him, but were too afraid to challenge him.
Beyond the beastman camp, Kayzk the Befouled, leader of the Rot Knights, awaited the dragon rider.
— Krp.... Blee... Krpaallll... — the mutant uttered with what remained of his mouth and throat.
In the entire host, only Tamurkhan understood Kayzk, or at least pretended to.
— Errrkr arrr? — the mutant added with a questioning intonation.
— Yes! — Orval answered decisively.
— Orrrr.... Arkrrr!
— Precisely!
Well, that was that conversation done.
Kayzk gestured for him to follow. This was what Orval expected. He hadn't flown on reconnaissance just for his own whim. The chieftains wanted to know the results.
Soon Orval stood before the three leaders of the horde: Tamurkhan himself, the Maggot Lord; the Dawi-Zharr Drazoath the Ashman, leading the Legion of Azgorh; and the sorcerer Sayl the Faithless, who commanded the Dolgan tribe and many non-Nurgle elements of the host. Behind the chieftains stood champions, cult leaders, and sorcerers. Devoted or not-so-devoted supporters of the lords.
Tamurkhan was the largest of the chieftains. The essence of Nurgle's beloved son now occupied the body of an Ogre Tyrant whom the Maggot Lord had defeated in a duel. The fat man had been massive to begin with, and the Grandfather's gifts had increased his immense carcass even further. A great mountain of pale flesh, riddled with sores and worm-holes. This body was merely meat-armor, within which the true essence of Tamurkhan was hidden.
— Glory to the great chieftains! — Orval wheezed, feeling phlegm bubbling in his throat. — Hail Tamurkhan, the Maggot Lord, the prophesied son of the great Kurgan, the Herald of Ruin, Favored of Nurgle! Soon you shall sit upon the Throne of Chaos! Glory to Drazoath the Ashman! Lord of the Black Fortress and leader of the mighty Dawi-Zharr! And greetings to you, Sayl.
The sorcerer, whose entire body was completely covered in armor, did not react to the jest. He reached out a hand to Orval and spoke only one word:
— The artifact.
Orval did not move.
— Come now, Vipergath, — came Tamurkhan's gurgling voice. — Give him the trinket. Grandfather does not want us quarreling yet. Not even with sorcerers who praise Grandfather Nurgle and Tzeentch equally.
— Well, if my chieftain says so, then I do it, and I do it with pleasure, — Orval said good-naturedly, removing the amulet shaped like an eye framed by tongues of flame that was stuck to his helmet.
— Arrkrrrr... — Kayzk added.
Orval took the amulet and wiped it with his palm, smearing the thick grease of his blessed skin over the artifact. Only then did the rider hold out the bauble to the sorcerer. However, Sayl, to Orval's great disappointment, bathed the amulet in blue fire before touching it. He burned away such sticky and wonderful grease. The sorcerer's lone magical eye flared. A pinkish beam stretched from it to the artifact. The amulet hovered, accumulating light. After a few seconds, it unleashed many thin beams that projected an image of the Imperial fortifications. Everything the dragon rider had managed to scout.
The great chieftains and their champions began to study the magical picture intently.
— Was it all like this? Sayl's magic does not lie? — Tamurkhan clarified.
Orval looked closer. He desperately wanted to spite the sorcerer somehow, but the man had indeed truthfully reflected the city's fortifications. To lie now would be to deceive the beloved son of Nurgle himself. At the very thought, a long-forgotten pain sliced through the dragon rider's rotten guts. No. He was no pathetic schemer like the Tzeentchians.
— It is all as shown, lord, — Orval nodded. — The Southerners will fight. They have brought cannons, gathered sorcerers, dug all sorts of pits. The city has strong walls. It will be a good battle.
— This city... — Tamurkhan pointed a bloated finger at the magical image. — ...is the final barrier before my ascension. We shall crush it so that I may take my place beside Grandfather, as was promised. Но I do not like these walls. So smooth... Not a single breach. What say you, Drazoath? Will your guns shatter them?
— Walls? — the Sorcerer-Prophet chuckled hollowly. — I see only sandcastles built by children. Let my brothers move closer to them, and we shall fulfill our part of the bargain. This absurdity shall be destroyed!
— So be it, — Tamurkhan nodded, as far as his thick neck would allow. — Tomorrow, I lead you into battle. Tomorrow, we feast on flesh and despair!