Masters of Magic Read online

  “I can’t,” he mumbled, miserably.

  Marius roared with frustration. He bent down and grabbed Ambrosius by his robes, hauling him up off the ground, his fury lending him the strength to manhandle the much bigger man as if he was a child. Ambrosius didn’t resist. He wavered slightly in the rain, his energy gone, his face gaunt.

  “What do you mean, you can’t?” screamed Marius, spitting his anger at the reeling Gold wizard, looking as if he wanted to tear his eyes out.

  Ambrosius shook his head slightly, trying to clear it. He leaned heavily on his thick staff.

  “There is no spell, you fool,” he said, heavily, his eyes heavy-lidded.

  For a moment, caught in the rain, Marius looked back open mouthed. A dozen different emotions flickered through his mind at once.

  “Of course there is,” he said, uncertainly, the torrent of his anger replaced by a sudden, terrible feeling. “You nearly killed me with it. I’ve spent ten years looking for it.”

  Ambrosius shook his head.

  “It suited me for you to think that. As you rightly guessed, though I could never openly admit it, the belief that I had found a unique power over you, the mightiest acolyte of our generation, was useful to me, but it was a lie. I had no such master spell. Yes, something was unleashed that night that nearly destroyed you, but I didn’t do it. You did.”

  Marius suddenly felt dizzy, as if everything around him was swimming and insubstantial. He staggered backwards, collapsing against the hillside hard, his staff loose in his hands.

  “Lies,” he mumbled, but without conviction.

  Ambrosius sat down heavily opposite him. His wheezing had subsided slightly. He shook his head, almost sadly.

  “Why would I lie?” he asked, sounding almost as miserable as Marius. “I’ve nothing to gain; you could kill me now if you chose. It’s the truth. That night, you attempted something, a spell I’d never seen before. There was a new presence alongside you, a new colour, dark as ink, as if it were a combination of all the others. You tried to use it, or it tried to use you. It was a mistake, Marius, a dreadful mistake. You presumed it had come from me. I let you believe that, in my pride and foolishness. It couldn’t last, such a lie. I knew one day you’d discover the truth, or come after me to find out. There, it’s done. I’ve spent my magic, and still you’re stronger. If you wish to kill me, I can’t stop you.”

  Marius only half listened. A terrible knowledge had suddenly re-emerged, buried under years of forgetfulness, a memory that filled him with a deep unspeakable dread. Like a key turning in a door, the Gold wizard’s words unlocked the hidden secret he had searched so long for. An agony of pain and futility welled up within him. His anger, briefly quashed, flared up again. His eyes blazed with a yellow light, like a feral cat. He stood up, his face turned towards the heavens, his fists balled, teeth clenched. Then he lost control. Emptying his lungs, he howled his grief towards the hidden stars, his fury and horror blasting the grass flat on either side, his staff blazing with a mad amber incandescence. Ambrosius, cowering, hid his eyes. There was a rush of movement, and it seemed as if the wind surged in sympathy, the elements augmenting and amplifying the grief of the Amber wizard.

  After a few moments, Ambrosius let his hands drop from his face, and shivered from the cold. The hillside was empty. The wind moaned. Rain fell like tears from the wide, storm-scoured sky. Marius had gone.

  The pale light of dawn crept furtively over the camp. Grey fingers of mist and dampness had settled in the shadows and curled around the tattered standards. The sun was weak behind layers of thin cloud, but the worst of the storm had passed. Grumbling and cursing, soldiers were kicked from their sleep by officers. Their clothes were heavy and chilled from dew. Awkwardly, slowly, the mass of men stirred into life, shaking stiff limbs and stretching like cats.

  Lothar walked uneasily towards Schwarzhelm’s tent. The new staff felt strange in his hands. Its wood was dark and smooth, worn away by years of use, and there were strange marks carved into its surface. A wizard and his staff shared a bond that took time to cultivate. Lothar felt it would take him a while to get used to his new instrument, but he couldn’t deny the craftsmanship. It was a rare item, and he handled it cautiously, knowing he would have to use it soon enough. Even so, part of it chilled his soul, especially the knowledge of who had wielded it before him.

  As he neared the tent, he saw the tall form of Karsten making his way towards him. He waited. The castellan looked rested and alert, his pale eyes sharp and eager.

  “Well,” he said, stamping his feet to shake off the cold, “here we are at last, the Council of War. I hope you’re not going to say anything stupid. Talking of which, where’s Marius?”

  “No idea. Maybe he’ll be along later.”

  In truth, Lothar was worried. He knew more of the ways of duels than Karsten, but kept his fears to himself. This was their business, and none of his concern. The castellan looked hard at him for a moment, but seemed to decide to let it drop.

  “Well, we’d better get inside, mustn’t keep the Emperor’s Champion waiting.”

  They went up to the large, long tent, and were admitted by a sour-faced guard captain. On either side of him, his men stood making a great show of being alert, as if they had something extra to prove to their commander for some reason.

  They were the last to arrive. Inside the tent, the knights of Schwarzhelm’s retinue, grim men with scarred faces and notched armour, were already seated around a long, rough table. Before them were lists and diagrams covering the army’s composition and strengths, as well as sketched maps of the area. The tent smelled of damp grass, old clothes and sweat. Karsten went to take his place among Schwarzhelm’s captains, getting a curt, respectful nod from many of them as he sat. On the other side of the table, Lothar saw Ambrosius and another wizard, no doubt the second of the two Schwarzhelm had mentioned. The fat Gold wizard looked in a bad way. His face was pale and tired-looking, and his jowls were mottled and greasy. The woman, an Amethyst wizard, by her aura, was entirely different: slim, dark-haired, cool, wryly amused. He noticed that it was she, not the senior wizard, who was seated in the position of honour next to the vast armoured form of Schwarzhelm. He bowed politely to her in greeting, and received an amused nod in return. As he sat next to Ambrosius, who seemed lost in thought, he couldn’t resist one whispered question.

  “What happened between Marius and you?” he asked, arranging his robes around him.

  “You’ll find out,” said the Gold wizard, looking tired and irritable. “Don’t bother me with it now.”

  Schwarzhelm sighed deeply, looking as if he hadn’t slept a wink during the night.

  “Very well,” he said in his rolling, deep voice. “We’ve had the reports from the scouts; the orcs will be here before nightfall. They’re working their way from the valley towards our position. Weissbruck has been burned, but that couldn’t be prevented. Thanks to the Castellan of Helmgart and his company, the march has been delayed for long enough for us to muster our full strength. They know where we are, and they’re coming to meet us. We’re prepared, provisioned, and ready. The plan of our deployment is agreed. The only question is this: what do we do about the shaman?”

  He looked around the room darkly, fixing each of the council members with a penetrating stare. No one responded.

  “Now, I place my faith in very few things,” he said, a hint of rough pride in his voice, “steel, good gunnery, proper formations: simple stuff. But we’ve been told this is different. A force is coming that honest men cannot fight alone. I’ll wait and see before I believe all of that, but we soldiers have had our time to debate and plan, and now we must listen to the masters of magic who sit amongst us. There are some here who have already encountered this fabled beast, and it’s right that they speak first this morning. So let’s hear it, how are we going to stop this damned horde?”

  Lothar felt his face reddening again, and looked down. He sensed the heavy gaze of Schwarzhelm on his shoulders.
But, as was proper, Ambrosius spoke first.

  “My lord,” he said authoritatively, “a shaman is a primitive beast, a slave to the rhythm of the horde that drives it. I have encountered such creatures before, and on each occasion they have been destroyed. They do not have command over a sophisticated system of magic as we do. They are limited to channelling the raw field of energy created by those around them. We do not fully understand how it works, but if you can blunt the power and anger of the massed ranks, then the power of the shaman will be diminished.”

  Karsten frowned.

  “That’s what my battle wizard told me at Helmgart,” he said, dryly. “It didn’t seem to help us much there. The shaman entered the castle ahead of the horde, blasting the walls aside as it did so. There were too many behind it. We couldn’t even dent its power.”

  Ambrosius waved his hand dismissively.

  “Your battle mage was a Grey wizard,” he said. “What do they know of such things?”

  Lothar started, his anger rising at the casual reference to his master, but before he could speak, Katerina had intervened.

  “There are more colours in the world than gold,” she said coolly. “Perhaps the Lore of Shadows may prove stronger than you think.”

  Schwarzhelm grunted disapprovingly.

  “That’s enough. I won’t have this meeting turn into a squabble between magicians. The only thing I wish to know is how to kill it. We’ll be hard pressed as it is, with all those greenskins to cope with. I don’t want a rogue shaman making things worse.”

  He turned his heavy gaze back to Lothar.

  “You,” he said, looking him directly in the eye. “You had something to say about this last night. What’s the matter? Lost your tongue?”

  Lothar stole a quick glance at Karsten, who gave an encouraging nod.

  “Well, my lord,” he began, hesitantly, “the horde is enormous, and the shaman has learned to stay hidden at the heart of it. I don’t believe it will show itself as it did at Helmgart. Despite the perceived weakness of Grey wizards, it was severely tested by my master in a duel, and will fear to enter another.” He allowed a little bitterness to enter his voice, but didn’t look at Ambrosius as he spoke. “So we have a problem. The horde’s power is nearly unstoppable. It will be hard, perhaps impossible, to break through its ranks to strike at the beast, and yet, if we can’t do this, its magic will wreak havoc on your soldiers. Some of it may be countered by battle wizards, but having seen the monster in action, I fear much will get through. With respect, I cannot agree with Master Ambrosius’ prediction. There’s nothing primitive or simple about this shaman.”

  Lothar swallowed nervously, and stole a quick glance at the Gold wizard sitting next to him. Ambrosius didn’t respond, apparently preoccupied with his thoughts. Katerina looked thoughtful, her mind obviously working away at something. One of Schwarzhelm’s captains, a lean, bald man with a giant black moustache and eye-patch, snorted derisively.

  “So what you’re saying is that the horde protects the shaman, and the shaman protects the horde. They’re interlinked. We have neither the men nor the magic to deal with both at once.”

  “That’s my view,” said Lothar, his cheeks burning. He felt small, and young, and out of his depth.

  Katerina, her dark eyes intently following all that had been said, placed her elegant hands on the table.

  “The solution, my lords, is obvious to me,” she said, her voice quiet but compelling. “We have three wizards amongst us. Deploying us all in the same place will solve nothing. One of us must attempt to engage the shaman directly, hoping by stealth to accomplish what cannot be done by force. The orcs, as we all know, fight in a direct way. When the madness is on them, no troops are kept in reserve; they will come at us in a single surge. If luck is on our side, a small band, kept hidden on the flanks, may be able to penetrate the lax defence of the rearguard and strike at the shaman at close quarters. Even if the attack is not successful, the distraction will aid the main army. This is the answer we seek. I am experienced in the lore of deception, just as the wizard Anselmus was. If there are no other volunteers, I’m willing to go.”

  She had a look of quiet excitement on her face. Lothar wondered what her motivation was: duty, or glory? Schwarzhelm frowned, weighing up the options.

  “What do you think, Fenring?”

  The man with the eye-patch, evidently Schwarzhelm’s second in command, placed his hands together and looked sourly at the wizards.

  “It doesn’t affect our main preparations. I’d prefer to have an extra wizard at the rear of my own men to give us extra cover, but we already have more spellcasters than we expected. If the threat is so great from this thing, then I have no objection. Let a small group try and creep around to the rearguard. At the very least, it’ll create a disturbance our main forces can exploit.”

  Katerina seemed satisfied with this, and looked hard at Schwarzhelm, as if she could persuade him using only her thoughts. The old warrior remained impervious, however, evidently still thinking the matter over.

  “I couldn’t spare many men for such a thing,” he said. “We’ll be outnumbered as it is, but perhaps it does offer a chance. Castellan, where is that other wizard you dragged here from the mountains? The one that looks like a vagrant tinker?”

  Karsten shook his head.

  “I haven’t seen him since last night, my lord. I will send out soldiers to seek him out, but if it’s men you need, I can offer mine. We’ve fought the shaman twice, and many of those still with me have seen it face to face. They won’t run. They fear nothing now. As for me, I’m beginning to think it’s my fortune to oppose this monster. It destroyed my castle and killed most of my garrison, so I owe it something in return. There are only two dozen of us left. By your leave, I’ll lead them on the mission. Perhaps I’m fated to do so.”

  “I don’t hold with fate,” Schwarzhelm said, irascibly. “What counts is how many men you have, and how much stomach they have for a fight. But you’ve earned the right to choose your role in this, castellan. I’ll give you leave to try it, if your men will follow you.”

  “They’ve come with me this far,” said Karsten, a glimmer of pride in his severe voice. “But there’s one more thing. At Grauenburg, Lothar concealed us from the horde. The men trust him. With no disrespect to you, my lady,” he said, motioning towards Katerina, “over the past few days we’ve come through a lot together. I’d rather take the Grey wizard.”

  Katerina looked surprised, and raised a graceful eyebrow.

  “The boy?” she asked. “He’s a novice. If the shaman is so powerful, why take him?”

  Lothar decided he had had enough of other people talking about him, and leaned over the table once more.

  “True, I don’t have the experience you have,” he said, keeping his voice flat and passionless with effort, “but my order concerns itself with illusion. If I were placed somewhere in the main army and ordered to fire magic bolts against the orcs, I could do it, but not as well as either of you. I do know that I can shroud men in the mists of magic, enough perhaps to bring a small party within range of the shaman. And, if the raid fails, it would be better to have you at the heart of the army to bolster the main defence. Believe me, I would do anything to face the shaman one more time. I’ve done it before, and I have no fear of it. It killed my master, and since then my only wish has been to avenge him.”

  He sat back, gripping his staff tightly. The captains opposite him remained unmoved. Katerina shrugged, and looked to Schwarzhelm, who seemed pensive.

  “What’s your view, Kalliston?” the Emperor’s Champion said, turning his glare on the Gold wizard. “You’re the senior wizard here. I’ll defer to your judgement.”

  Ambrosius stayed silent for a moment, pondering. Lothar looked at him closely. With a sudden cold certainty, he knew what the Gold wizard would say. Lothar was the only one who knew of the duel between him and Marius. Ambrosius would assign him to the mission, if only to keep him from telling a soul. If
he died, well that was just unfortunate. Lothar gave the Gold wizard a meaningful look, letting him know that he was aware of how things stood, and the fat man let his eyes drop. Such were the ways of his kind.

  “I vote to send the boy,” said Ambrosius at length. “He has the skill, and the desire. And he’s right: if the plan fails, only I and the Amethyst wizard can hope to combat the power of the main horde.”

  Schwarzhelm looked at him darkly, clearly in two minds. After an awkward silence, he sighed, his enormous shoulders rising and falling beneath his heavy plate armour.

  “Well, it’s your business. I won’t overrule you. Castellan, you will prepare your raiding party once this council is concluded. Take the wizard Auerbach with you. If Sigmar wills it, your job is to kill the shaman while the main force absorbs the attention of the horde. Lautermann and Kalliston will remain under my command, to deflect the frontal assault we expect. A risky strategy, but perhaps our only option. Now, we need to discuss in detail how this is going to work. We’ve a whole army to worry about, not just wizards, and I want no mistakes. Captain Fenring, talk us through the main deployment; there is still much for all of us to discuss.”

  The grizzled figure leaned forwards and began to outline the composition and planned arrangement of the main army. As he spoke, Lothar’s gaze caught Karsten’s eye for a moment. An unspoken understanding passed between them. The chance for revenge had come. Lothar smiled inwardly, only half listening to the detailed account being presented by Fenring. His heart began to beat hard with anticipation. The assault was still hours away, but now that he knew what his role would be, it could not come soon enough.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The sun was high in the sky. The clouds of the night had been driven eastwards by a fresh wind. The Imperial army was arranged on a long ridge looking south. Before them, a gently sloping field of uneven grassy earth ran away for a mile or so towards the base of the hill, ending in a tangled confusion of woodland. The pennants of the knights rippled in the breeze, and the sun glinted strongly off their armour. Chargers stamped their hooves expectantly, their reins held firmly by their riders, eager to mount when the call came. Ranks of foot soldiers stood on either side of the central block of cavalry, strung out in long lines. The archers stood behind them, their longbows held in readiness. At the west end of the Imperial lines, three of Schwarzhelm’s artillery pieces had been positioned on a hastily constructed earthwork, ringed with pointed wooden stakes and guarded by a troop of soldiers from Nuln wearing heavy armour, blackened with use and ornately carved. The final two cannons were at the other extreme, perched on a natural rise and similarly protected. Between them, the gunnery crews could survey the entire field, their deadly round shot piled high in preparation for deployment.