Magestorm by Jonathan Green

Author:Jonathan Green
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781844160747
Publisher: BL Publishing
Published: 2004-02-16T16:00:00+00:00

“So, this is Wolfenburg,” Surtha Lenk bubbled, gazing out where a forest had once stood to the great grey walls of the closed city.

“It is, lord,” Vendhal Skullwarper confirmed.

“Hmm. I had expected something greater,” the high zar said in his high-pitched voice. “It is not so different to Aachden.”

“No, lord seh,” the Chaos sorcerer answered, looking out across the cleared slopes. He did so to keep his eyes averted from the high zar.

“It does not look like the men of the Empire want to fight today. No matter, we will take the fight to them, will we not?”

“Of course, lord seh.”

“As we speak my Northmen are preparing the engines that will lay siege to this place. There is still wood enough to do that,” Surtha Lenk said. He was not telling the sorcerer anything he did not already know. He just liked the sound of his own distorted voice. “We will break this city in a matter of weeks.”

“Perhaps,” Vendhal said cautiously.

At these words, the crimson armoured giant turned to look at the Chaos sorcerer. Vendhal was half aware of the twisted thing squirming in the giant’s chest harness.

“Look at me, sorcerer,” Lenk said, all trace of levity gone.

Vendhal turned. Now there was no hiding from the full terror of his lord.

The high zar was a towering giant, a full three spans tall plated in brass and iron with a huge horned, visor-less helm on his head. Strapped across his breastplate was a deformed parody of a human child, all bloated face, warty and blistered, with twitching vestigial limbs.

Even to one as well accustomed to the ways of change as Vendhal Skullwarper, the high zar’s appearance was still sickening. It was just such warping mutation that he hoped to avoid through mastery of the warping powers of Chaos.

Surtha Lenk fixed him with a very human brown eye and another bulging, glazed milky-blue orb that spun and twisted in its misplaced watery socket. He was studying the Chaos sorcerer.

Vendhal Skullwarper was clad in his crimson cloak and brass armour, not unlike the high zar’s. The hood of the cloak kept the sorcerer’s pale face in shadow, so that the tattooed starburst over his right eye could hardly be seen. Gold ornaments glittered in his ears and jewelled amulets hung from his neck.

The sorcerer’s upper body was protected by Chaos-forged armour. He wore brass bands emblazoned with the eight points of the rune of Chaos and other blasphemous sigils: all potent devices for drawing the raw power of change to the sorcerer. Spiked iron skull-faces harnessed his cloak to his breastplate and from his belt hung more death-heads and leering daemon mouths fashioned from gold. In one claw-taloned hand Vendhal held his staff of power and in the other an eagled-clawed wand gripped an orb of opaque blue-white crystal.

“What do you mean?” the high zar repeated, his voice dripping with danger.

“The flow of magic is… unpredictable here, lord,” Vendhal replied, choosing his words very carefully.

“But how can we fail? Wolfenburg will be ours.

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