Mark of Chaos by C.L Werner Read Free Book Online Page B

skulking around in the shadows. Again, he knew it was necessary, for his warband, though growing, was not large enough for him to march straight through the Empire. Nevertheless, it rankled. Facing the enemy on the field of battle, that was what he longed for. To face the might of the enemy head on, and to triumph, that was the way of Khorne.
    Hroth stalked into the clearing. The ground was blackened with fire, and a group of warriors stood at its centre. They saw the approaching Khorne champion and his warband, and turned to face him. One of them, wearing fully enclosed black armour, walked forwards to meet him. A dull red glow could be seen through the slits in his helmet, emanating from within. He halted in front of Hroth, who folded his arms and stared at him hard before nodding his head in greeting.
    'I see you, Hroth of the Khazags.' the warrior intoned, his voice muffled. 'I see you, Borkhil of the Dolgans.' 'You were the victor then. I was not so sure that you had the power to take Zar Slaaeth.'
    'I am pleased to have proven you wrong.' growled Hroth. 'The Blood God is with me.'
    'Just as the Dark Prince was with Slaaeth. Then the Lord of Pleasure is a fickle one, easily bored by those whom once he favoured.' 'The devious one is not to be trusted.' said Hroth. He had met Borkhil on several occasions, for he was never far from Sudobaal. Borkhil and his ruthless black armoured warriors were utterly dedicated to the sorcerer, hailing from the same tribe, and recognising the power that he wielded. Looking over Borkhil's shoulder, Hroth stared at the other warriors. Two were Kurgan chieftains known to him, powerful warriors both. Another was a tall, broad shouldered chieftain of the Norse, his eyes blue and piercing, and his long blond hair knotted with charms and fetishes. The last was a shorter man wearing heavy furs and no armour upon his chest. His skin was daubed with paint, and a bestial skull obscured his face. Another Kurgan chieftain, Hroth reasoned. He saw that the man's legs ended in cloven hooves.
    'Did you find what our Lord Sudobaal sent you to retrieve?' asked Borkhil.
    Hroth bit back an angry reply. 'I brought your lord what he wanted, yes.'
    'This is good. The word can be spread to the scattered tribes. Our grand success and our Lord Sudobaal's ascension grows ever closer.'
    'Where is the sorcerer?' asked Hroth sharply. The black armoured figure of Borkhil was silent for a moment, looking at the glowering champion of Khorne before him.
    'You are a powerful chieftain, Hroth the Blooded of the Khazags. Your victories are many, and all can see the favour of the gods upon you. You have been blessed, for you have become chosen. You have proven yourself a valuable ally of Lord Sudobaal.'
    'But always remember that he is more powerful. His skill in the Dark Tongue is the equal of the most favoured shamans of the far northern tribes. He surpasses the skill of any witch of the Khazags. When he speaks the Dark Tongue, the gods themselves hear him, for he is their oracle, and they grant him great power. He commands a dozen powerful chieftains. You are but one of them, remember. Never let your foolish pride make you his enemy.'
    Before he could reply, Hroth saw the black robed figure of Sudobaal making his way down the rocky rough ground that rose above the other end of the clearing. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as the sorcerer approached, and could taste the sharp, electric taste of magic in his mouth. He hated the sensation, but repressed his dislike.
    'The sorcerer is powerful, yes.' snarled Hroth at Borkhil, out of the earshot of the approaching sorcerer, 'but one day soon I will be more powerful even than him. On that day I will cut you down, Borkhil, and offer your skull up to the Blood God.'
    'If such a day was to come, then I would welcome the chance to face you, Hroth of the Khazags,' intoned the black armoured figure, before stepping aside for his Lord Sudobaal. The other chieftains bowed