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El trasfondo de esta sección o artículo se basa en la campaña de El Fin de los Tiempos, que ha sustituido la línea argumental de La Tormenta del Caos.
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+++ORIGINAL. TRADUCCIÓN EN BREVE. RECE A SIGMAR XD+++
Balthasar Gelt regresó a Alderfen como un hombre reflexivo. Las palabras de Vlad habían calado al mago más de lo que esperaba y encontró que su mente ya no rechazaba la posibilidad de una alianza. Por supuesto, el mago fue testigo de los horrores que El Sin Nombre se deleitaba en infligir a sus "aliados", o si hubiera sabido que Vlad había sacrificado a la guarnición de Agujadolorosa por conveniencia, entonces tal vez hubiera desarrollado una opinión diferente. Así las cosas, Gelt no tuvo más remedio que centrarse en el hecho de que, por una vez, los hombres del Imperio y los vampiros podrían tener realmente una causa común.
Gelt no le dijo a un alma acerca de su reunión con Vlad. Sabía que tal conversación sería tratada como una traición como poco, y herejía en el peor de los casos. Y lo que era peor: en su interior no podía sentirse totalmente en desacuerdo con esa evaluación, no dentro del ámbito normal de los acontecimientos. Pero esa era la clave; estos días oscuros estaban lejos de ser normales. El mundo estaba cambiando, las viejas certezas se deshilachaban y se perdían en la distancia. Ninguna de las amistades del Imperio había quedado del todo incruenta. Los Elfos, los caballeros de Kislev, y los Bretonianos habían derramado sangre en el reino de Sigmar, no pocas veces con la más débil de las excusas. Incluso los enanos, aliados incondicionales pese a todo en muchas ocasiones, habían sido lo suficientemente listos para alzar sus hachas contra el Imperio por cosas que los hombres percibían como el más insignificante de los asuntos. Si la amistad era tan inconstante, pensó Gelt, ¿Por qué no la enemistad?
El Patriarca Supremo sabía que esos pensamientos eran peligrosos, y durante los días después de su regreso intentó perderse en la lucha por mantener la frontera. Allí había mucho trabajo en ese sentido, pues las hordas de norteños crecían cada vez más en número y ferocidad. Ahora, cada brechas que se producía en el Bastión Aúrico invitaba al desastre para las tierras del más allá y Gelt se encontró en cada vez más ocasiones que sus propia magias era la única barrera contra la derrota. Aun así, la victoria se obtenía por un estrecho margen. En Kragvost, el mago transformó el acero de las armas de los atacantes en plomo y desató una plaga que devoró y corroyó sus armaduras. En ((Snaldren Keep)), donde llegó demasiado tarde para salvar a la guarnición, Gelt utilizó las armas de los muertos para forjar golems de hierro semejantes a los defensores y con ellos mantuvo el puente sobre el Talabec superior durante doce horas. Miles de norteños perecieron a lo largo de la sección del Bastión Aúrico de Gelt, pero el mago sabía que quedaban cientos de miles, listos para derramarse hacia el sur cuando se presentase la oportunidad. Era obvio para Gelt que simplemente no había suficientes hombres para mantener la frontera, pero sabía que la historia era la misma desde allí hasta Erengrado. Tendría que conformarse con lo escasos refuerzos que le llegaban y esperar que los Dioses Oscuros regresaran a sus sueños una vez más, como lo habían hecho tantas otras veces en el pasado.
A medida que las semanas se apilaban en el suelo como sedimentos en un lecho, Gelt estaba cada vez más cansado. Cada batalla se cobraba un precio con su fuerza, y donde otros hombres podrían buscar consuelo en los brazos del sueño, a Gelt se le negó ese lujo desde la Batalla de Alderfen.
Oh, podía descansar quizás una hora cada noche, pero sus sueños siempre eran atormentados por secretos medio vislumbrados cuando trataba de controlar el viento de la Luz junto al del metal. En una ocasión, Gelt temió que se estuviera volviendo loco, pero si así fuera era una locura extraña, llena de asombro y potencial, como un sabor que no se marchaba de su lengua, o una joya preciosa que estaba justo fuera del alcance de los ansiosos dedos de un ladrón. De haber estado Valgeir, tal vez Gelt le hubiera hablado de su cansancio, pero Ar-Ulric se encontraba más al oeste, manteniendo una estrecha vigilancia sobre Huss y Valten; Gelt estaba solo. Dreist y los otros capitanes eran gente mundana, poseídos por los deseos terrenales y pensamientos simples; ellos no le entenderían, o por lo menos eso se dijo Gelt. El mago no se atrevía a mostrar debilidad ante los hombres que eran tan obviamente inferiores a él y, además, temía que uno de ellos llevase la noticia de su fragilidad al Emperador. Karl Franz había dado a Gelt un deber sagrado, y el Patriarca Supremo estaba decidido a no defraudar a su señor. Esto era sin duda paranoia, pero tras semanas de casi insomnio le robaron a Gelt un sano raciocinio.
Valgeir no estaba del todo ausente, pues muchas veces estaba en los pensamientos de Gelt. Las cartas de Ar- Ulric llegaban esporádicamente a Alderfen, detallando el progreso Valten a través del norte del Imperio. La "teoría" de Huss de que el muchacho era heraldo de Sigmar fue ganando credibilidad por toda la zona, para gran y poco disimulado disgusto de Valgeir. En sus cartas, Ar-Ulric preguntaba si Gelt había hecho algún progreso en la búsqueda del cambiaformas, pero el mago estaba tan cansado y desconsolado que rara vez respondió. De hecho, Gelt se volvió gradualmente más retraído y solitario. Alegando que tenía que centrarse en la lucha en el norte, delegó casi todas sus responsabilidades como Patriarca Supremo a sus subordinados.
Más batallas vinieron y se fueron, cada una más sangrienta que la anterior. Las paredes de Moorholt fueron destrozadas por fuego demoníaco, y el torreón central de la ciudad-fortaleza habría caído también de no haber sido por la valentía casi inhumana del Capitán Pieter Hanseld, quien dirigió una carga para reclamar la torre del homenaje. Hanseld pereció en el momento de la victoria, y sus compañeros Wissenlanders lo sepultaron a la sombra de la torre que había conquistado. El pueblo de Eska fue asaltado y arrasado por los norteños una primera vez, y una segunda por los Hombres Bestia atraídos por la carnicería. En cada ocasión, los hombres de Gelt lucharon y murieron en su defensa, aunque tal vez hubiese sido más rápido y práctico destruir la aldea.
Al mismo tiempo, la oferta de Vlad volvió varias veces a ocupar los pensamientos del Patriarca Supremo.
Although Gelt had threatened to burn Vlad’s gift of the Revelation Necris, some instinct had prevented him from doing so. Instead, he had sealed the tome away from prying eyes, but its temptation was ever close at hand. After the second Battle of Eska. His mind's eye still fixed on the fields of bloodied and mangled dead, Gelt broke open the hasps of the Revelation Necris, and surrendered to the secrets therein.
It quickly became obvious to others that something was wrong. Upon arriving on the border all those long weeks ago, Gelt had requisitioned a mansion owned by a local nobleman who had fled south to Heffengen at the first sign of trouble. Such was the wizards reputation that few folk had since approached the building. Servants occasionally made the journey up the winding slope to tend to the wizard's spartan needs, whilst Dreist and his follow captains were sometimes summoned to councils of war held within. Soldiers billeted in Alderfen talked of strange lights dancing on the mansion’s spires by night, and of ghostly figures treading the woods nearby.
The wind changed direction when it touched that hill, or so it was said, and always blew cold. To begin with, Captain Dreist discounted such tales as rumour, but tellingly could not bring himself to make the journey to Celt’s iron door.
It was only a week later, during the Battle of Akkerheim, that Celt’s descent into forbidden magics became obvious. Akkerheim was by far the largest conflict since the Supreme Patriarch's arrival in those parts. When a section of the Auric Bastion collapsed, the northlanders urged two mutated giants into the breach, who, through feats of monstrous strength, kept the stones from re-sealing. Though the giants were at last felled by keen-eyed Stirland archers, and the wall healed soon after, the behemoths had bought enough time for many hundreds of fur-clad marauders to spill into Akkerheim’s fields.
Without Balthasar Celt, the resulting battle would have been a slaughter, but the salvation he brought to Akkerheim was not to everyone's tastes. At the wizard's gesture, cloying black fog streamed across the battlefield, and where it touched the slain, they rose to carry' arms against the invaders.
This first summoning was clumsy, as could have been expected of a man newly come to the path of necromancy, and many of the awakened cadavers collapsed within minutes of their raising. Yet what Celt lacked for in finesse, he compensated for through sheer quantity. Soon a horde of twitching corpses surged forward onto the northlanders who, with the Auric Bastion sealed behind them, had no line of retreat. Some Imperial soldiers watched with approval as their foes vanished under a tide of bone and rotting flesh — these were the veterans of Alderfen, who had already seen the undead come to their aid once, and were cautiously content for them to do so again. Others looked on aghast as one nightmare fought another, and only truly relaxed when the battle had ended, and Celt allowed the dead to crumple to the ground.
Once the initial shock had passed, few in Celt’s army realised it had been he who had spurred the dead to rise, and fewer still questioned what he had done. To the common soldiers, all wizards commanded powers that bordered on the unholy, and the slim distinction between what the Supreme Patriarch had done and, say, transforming the foe into living but immobile golden statues, was hardly worth dwelling upon. For centuries, it had been rumoured that wizards of the Amethyst College called upon similar feats in times of need, and the events of Akkerheim seemed only to confirm these tales.
Not all were so indifferent, however. Captain Dreist still had nightmares about the Battle of Alderfen, of the gruesome presence that had taken control of his body, and feared something similar was now at work with Gelt. In the days following Akkerheim, he found his concerns mirrored by Hans Kreiner, a priest of Sigmar recently come to the borderlands. Kreiner had no doubt that Gelt had fallen into corruption. He disappeared a week later, last seen walking the lonely road to Gelt's mansion. No explanation was forthcoming, and it seemed to Dreist that no one save he had even noticed. At that point, Dreist did the only thing he could - he lied west along the Auric Bastion until he reached Castle Skarlan, the fortress from which Aldebrand Ludenhof oversaw a section of the border.
When the captain was brought before him, Ludenhof tried to ignore Dreist s restless eyes and squirming hands, and listened to the jumbled account of recent days. The Elector Count didn’t want to believe that Gelt could have fallen from grace, but knew that he could not ignore the possibility. The next day, Ludenhof rode to Alderfen under an outrider escort. He had wanted to take Dreist also, but the captain had reacted with such violent fear that Ludenhof eventually relented and left him in the care of the Sisters of Shallya.
After three days on the road, Ludenhofs doubts concerning Gelt were swiftly and brutally dispelled upon reaching the outskirts of Alderfen. Seeking to strengthen the Auric Bastion, the Supreme Patriarch had reinforced the wall with great bone buttresses. Skeletal gargoyles perched upon the buttress summits or in nearby trees, the unblinking witch fires in their eyes scouring the approaches. What appalled Ludenhof more, however, was the fact that the soldiers and villagers toiling in the shadow of the wall seemed completely unconcerned by the horrors that surrounded them. Had Gelt's corruption claimed them also? Ludenhof wasn't sure.
As Ludenhof and his escort made their way warily into the centre of Alderfen, they were greeted by Gelt himself. The wizard certainly seemed little different to when Ludenhof had seen him last. If anything, the Elector Count had the sense that a great weight had been lifted from the wizard’s mind. Hospitality was offered, and carefully refused, but this didn't prevent Gelt from waxing lyrical about the discoveries he had made, and the steps he had taken to preserve the lives of the Empire’s citizens. Why should the living perish in the realm’s defence, the wizard argued, when the dead would serve just as well?
Fora time, Ludenhof listened with mounting horror, then extracted himself from Celt s excited soliloquy as politely as he could manage. Truth be told, the Elector Count made a poor job of hiding his disgust, but Gelt was so engrossed in his explanations that he hardly noticed. As Ludenhof rode htistily back towards Castle Skarlan, his mind was already awhirl with the work to be done. Whatever madness had seized Gelt, it would have to be ended, and soon. Had the Elector Count turned to cast his gaze upon Alderfen one last time, he might have seen Vlad von Carstein watching dispassionately from a shadowed window. But he did not, and thus had no forewarning of what was to come.
At dusk on the second day after leaving Alderfen, Ludenhofs party retraced their journey through Kang Wood. The outriders travelled with weapons primed, for the northlander threat was ever-present, and the wood was notoriously goblin-infested. But that eve’s danger was not to come from greenskins. When the travellers reached the crossroads known as Dead man's Pike, their path was blocked. Gelt had arrived before them, for Quicksilver was swifter than any ground-bound steed, and now the wizard begged Ludenhof to hark at his counsel.
Ludenhof had little choice in the matter. He could see the monstrous shapes of Celt’s skeletal watchers lurking in the trees, and feared they would attack it he refused. Besides, unlikely as it was fast becoming, the Elector Count still hoped that the wizard could be turned from the path he had chosen. In this, he was soon dismayed, for Gelt repeated the ideals he had spoken of in Alderfen. Worse, the wizard talked of a necessary alliance with the von Carsteins of Sylvania, and of how ultimate salvation lay at the gift of none other than dread Nagash. So saying, Gelt spread his hands imploringly, but one of Ludenhof’s outriders misread the gesture as the start of some enchantment. Bringing his repeater pistol up, he pulled the trigger. The gun roared, and the bullet struck Gelt high in his shoulder, throwing him back in the saddle.
Anarchy reigned as Gelt’s skeletal guards burst from the trees and fell upon their master's assailant. The other outriders, their nerves already frayed, opened fire. Heavy bullets whined as the soldiers defended themselves, but though many a bone was shattered, the creatures came on. Ludenhof’s sword came out as he tried to organise his escort, but the outriders scattered in panic, and so became easy prey. Soon the air was full of terrified cries, and Ludenhof’s orders were drowned out.
Blinking past the pain of his ruined shoulder, Gelt became aware of the unfolding slaughter and commanded his minions to cease the attack. These were not mere mindless dead, but constructs crafted from much older and more difficult magic, and with his thoughts disrupted by the agony of his wound, Gelt could not marshal the necessary control. All the creatures knew was that their master was imperilled, and they ruthlessly and efficiently crushed the threat.
By the time Gelt regained control, only Ludenhof still lived. The Elector had been unhorsed, his clothes were bloody and torn, but he fought on despite his wounds. Ludenhof was tiring fast, and his last swing had left his guard open for the stroke that even now came to sever his head. Ludenhof saw the blow come about, and knew at once he could do nothing to prevent it, so instead whispered a last farewell to his wife, though she would never hear it. A heartbeat later, Celt's word of command rang out across the clearing, and the blade halted in mid-strike. Ludenhof flinched away from the stalled blow then, recovering his composure, stared contemptuously across at the Supreme Patriarch.
Gelt returned the Elector's gaze, searching for an explanation to undo the damage of the preceding moments, and convince Ludenhof how necessary his actions had been. But no matter how much the wizard tried, he could find no words. As he sat in a silence that felt altogether too much like cowardice, Gelt saw the other constructs cluster unbidden around the bloodied Elector Count. There could be no reasoning, the wizard realised sorrowfully, no words to bridge the chasm that now lay between them. As the blades came down for Ludenhof one last time, he spat defiantly at Gelt, who turned away in shame. Though the wizard saw it not, the Elector Count died unbowed, his sword still gripped in his hand.
When Gelt returned to Alderfen, he did everything he could to put Ludenhof´s fate from his mind. He wasn't concerned that the murder would be uncovered; though the Elector Count would quickly be missed, it was inevitable that the work would be blamed on the goblins of Fang Wood, if the body was even discovered. No, Celt’s attempt to bury the matter was due entirely to guilt. In killing Ludenhof, the wizard had crossed a line; as violent as the reprisals would be if the deed were discovered, Gelt feared the changes in his own personality far more.
Thus did the Supreme Patriarch throw himself into other matters, chiefly the unheeded pile of correspondence from Emil Valgeir, which Gelt had neglected as his studies into the Revelations Necris proceeded apace. There was little solace to be found in those letters, for they painted an increasingly grim picture of events further west. Under Huss guidance, Valten had travelled far and wide across the northern Empire, faith and hope blooming wherever he took to the battlefield. Even Karl Franz was convinced of the lad’s divine patronage, or was at least canny enough to feign such recognition. Valgeir had many unkind words to say about Huss' shameless exploitation of the situation, but this was not what seized Celt's attention. Rather, this dubious honour went to Valgeir's increasingly fervent suspicions that the Alderfen shapeshifter was trailing Valten s path. Valgeir was himself following the youth around the Empire, and at every town, village and fortress there were tales of inexplicable mischief and disaster, much as those the priest had witnessed at Alderfen. Ar-Ulric had no proof, or he would have laid it before the Emperor, but he was increasingly convinced that Valten was not who he claimed to be, and Valgeir's penultimate letter begged the Supreme Patriarch to come north.
Despite Valgeir's desperate tone, Gelt had no intention of leaving Alderfen until he read the final letter. This one, dated just a week prior, had been composed in a much more rushed hand, and spoke of how the Emperor, in a moment of madness, at least as far as Valgeir saw it, had decreed that he would grant Valten use of the hammer Ghal Maraz, thinking it only fit that Sigmars herald wield the weapon of his divine master.
Gelt did not need Valgeir to explain the danger. As Gelt read on, he realised that the situation was worse even than he had first thought; Karl Franz intended to make the presentation in person, at a ceremony in Castle von Rauken. Gelt was struck by the fear that the shapeshifter could have crafted the Valten persona precisely to create the opportunity to assassinate the Emperor.
Checking the date of Valgeir’s final letter, the Supreme Patriarch realised he could reach Castle von Rauken in time, but just barely. Summoning his pegasus, Quicksilver, to his side, Gelt sped north.
Quicksilver brought Gelt to Castle von Rauken moments alter the Emperor’s arrival. The wizard saw the scaffold that had been erected on the muster field, its rough planks adorned with pennants in the colours of Altdorf, and blazons bearing the icons of the House of Luitpold. Dignitaries of all ranks sat upon the makeshift stage; amongst them four of the surviving Elector Counts, the Grand Theogonist and Ar-Ulric Emil Valgeir. In front of the stage, the Emperor brandished Ghal Maraz high in salute to the cheering crowd. Deathclaw screeched his own greeting, a sound that provoked an even louder response — the majestic griffon was scarcely less beloved by the common soldiers' than his regal master. At the Emperor’s side, Ludwig Schwarzhelm viewed the proceedings with what was presumably his usual dour expression. 11 is eyes would be watchful, Gelt knew, but would they be watchful enough? Would the Reiksguard, arrayed in their full splendour around the Emperor, be able to reach their master in time if the shapeshifter launched an attack?
As Quicksilver carried Gelt nearer, the wizard saw the broad corridor that ran between the centremost parade squares, at the far end of which Valten and Huss waited. The former was on foot, the latter on a restless horse. As the pegasus carried Gelt lower, an
Imperial herald urged the waiting pair to begin their advance towards the Emperor. A moment later, there was uproar as Quicksilver alighted a dozen feet in front of Deathclaw. Schwarzhelm's sword was out in a heartbeat, a challenge springing from his lips soon after. The worthies upon the stage rose to their feet in outrage, though Gelt thought he detected an approving smile flicker beneath Valgeir s fulsome beard.
Outraged, the Emperor demanded an explanation, and Gelt hurriedly explained his suspicions about Valten. He spoke of the peculiar happenings at Alderfen, and how those acts had followed the youth as he had journeyed around the Empire. While Gelt spoke, Huss and Valten hastened forward; they could hear Gelt’s voice, but could not make out his words. For his part, Karl Franz believed little of what the wizard said. Luthor Huss had been a rock of certainty since the dark days had begun, and the Emperor trusted the warrior priest’s judgement in this matter far more than Gelt’s. I le was saddened to see a man who had once been a trusted councillor so obviously deranged, but refused to let the wizard’s delusions upset a day crafted to inspire hope. When Gelt would neither be quietened nor dismissed, Karl Franz sadly bade a troop of Reiksguard escort the Supreme Patriarch away.
As the knights closed in, Gelt felt panic rise. Reacting instinctively, he reached out for a spell that would delay the Reiksguard long enough lor him to convince the Emperor. Unfortunately, in his haste, the wizard drew not upon the alchemic lore to which he had dedicated his entire life, but the darker sorceries that had haunted him in recent weeks. Too late, Gelt realised his mistake: skeletal hands burst forth from the damp sod of the muster field, grasping at fetlock and barding as worm-eaten warriors hauled their way of out the soil. For a heartbeat, silence reigned as every man present wrestled with his astonishment that such an hour could come to pass. Then the Reiksguard drew their swords, and Schwarzhelm gave voice to that most damning of words: Treachery'. Before the echo had faded, others in the crowd took up the cry and surged forward.
With that word, Gelt felt the life he had known shatter, but that loss brought sudden clarity. Though he be damned for a traitor, the wizard knew he could still accomplish his goal. Valten - or the thing claiming to be such - could still be slain. But this could not be achieved if the Emperor's ingrates ended his life. Stabbing his staff into the ground, Gelt gave himself over to the magics of undeath, and the entire muster field shook and heaved as the wizard granted new life to those buried beneath.
Many leagues away to the east, Vlad von Carstein felt a flicker in the Wind of Death, and knew at once the tale it told. The vampire gave a brief smile then, returning to the matter at hand, buried his sword to the hilt in the throat of the northlander chieftain with whom he fought.
Back at Castle von Rauken, the finely ordered discipline of the muster field collapsed as the dead rose. At once, the men closing on Gelt checked their advance, their efforts redirected to their own survival.
None could reach the wizard, for a ring of dead had formed around him, and wailing spirits spiralled through the air above. As the bloody minutes ticked by, knights were dragged from their horses and valiant warriors torn limb from limb. The mustered troops had been arrayed for celebration, not battle, and their disorder cost many lives. Little by little, sergeants and officers brought discipline to the ranks, but the dead were in amongst them by now, their numbers growing all the time as Gelt raised the fallen to do his bidding.
Once perhaps, Gelt would have striven to spare the duty-hound soldiers who fought against him, hut now the wizard cared only that the Emperor lived, and Valten died.
These were perhaps not the actions of a rational man, hut then Gelt was no longer entirely sane. Gnawed at by the guilt of Ludenhofs death, shamed by the Emperor's rejection and his perceptions subtly twisted by the sorceries he now employed, the Supreme Patriarch teetered on the brink of abiding madness. Then, without knowing it, Gelt lost his grip on the precipice, and fell.
The wizard did not truly see the slaughter that unfolded before him, as terrified men gave their all in battle against the worm-eaten dead. He felt no remorse as rusted blades split skulls and hacked through flesh. Like a drowning man reaching for driftwood, Gelt was focussed entirely on the one thing he was sure would be his exoneration — the death of the daemon that called itself Valten.
Yet even this small goal lay beyond Gelt’s grasp, it seemed, as Valten ran towards the Emperor, his reforged hammers ready in his hands. Huss too had spurred his horse forward, but by an accident of fate the Prophet of Sigmar was quickly pulled from his steed and overwhelmed by a heaving mass of corpses. With a bellow, Huss regained his feet and sent holy fire coursing through the dead, but he could make no headway through the horde. Valten spared Huss not so much as a backwards glance, for he knew where his priorities lay. On he ran, to where the Reiksguard sheltered their Emperor. The youth knew his purpose, clearer than he ever had, and he would not be stopped. Zombies grasped at Valten's legs, but he tore free. Skeletons clattered unthinkingly into his path, but the youth scattered the vengeful bones with a sweep of his hammers. Spectral figures swirled before him, singing siren songs to numb his mind and scatter his senses, but a golden light burned upon Valten's brow, and the ghosts fell back before it.
Kurt Helborg fought his way forward, the runefang, Grudge Settler, glowing as it sliced through mouldering flesh. Kill the wizard, end the battle. Those words were the Reiksmarshal's mantra as he urged his destrier forward. He had fought many campaigns against vampires and their ilk, and always those words had served him well. Kill tbs u'Luird, end the battle. It mattered not to Helborg that Gelt had once been his ally - Helborg had no friends - the Supreme Patriarch was a target, another foe to be slain so that the Empire would endure. Kill tbs wizard, end tbs battle. Helborg swore as Grudge Settlers blade stuck fast in a bloated zombie, then he kicked the corpse clear and rode on. The Reiksmarshal gave a ragged war cry as his steed vaulted a line of undead, the momentum delivering him to Gelt's side. Down came Grudge Settler, and the blade would have taken Gelt’s head had the wizard not raised his staff to parry it. Sparks flew as the enchantment of the runefang fought that of the Staff of Volans, but the blow was checked.
As the battle continued to rage, Emil Valgeir jumped down from the scaffold with an ease that belied his old bones. Some of his fellow worthies were calling for steeds that could not reach them; others were cowering from the undead. Valgeir ignored them all and ran on to the Emperor’s side, using the butt of his axe to knock aside rotting cadaver and Imperial soldier alike. If the priest felt fear for the Emperor’s safety, or even for his own, there was no trace of it written upon his brow. A hulking northlander skeleton lurched into Valgeir’s path, but Ar-Ulric’s axe dashed the brute to the ground. Valgeir vaulted over the body and reached the outer ring of Reiksguard knights. The priest wasn't even breathing hard. Valten was but a few paces to his right and closing fast, the Emperor and his griffon, Deathclaw, as far again to Valgeir s front. It would be close, Valgeir reckoned, but it could yet be done.
Thus far, Karl Franz had hung back from the battle. While it was clear to him that Gelt had gone mad. he was wise enough to know that there was more to the matter than he saw.
Thus Karl Franz had reluctantly sheltered behind the shields of the Reiksguard; it irked him to do so, but knew that sometimes the duty of the Emperor was to live whilst others fought so that he could remain so. That all changed when Valgeir reached the Reiksguard. Astounded, the Emperor watched as pink lire billowed from the priest's outstretched hands, incinerating a dozen of the stalwart knights. Before the screaming had ceased, Valgeir launched himself skyward, slamming into Karl Franz and knocking him sprawling from Deathclaw s saddle. Ghal Maraz jarred from the Emperor's fingers as he struck the ground. Schwarzhelm and a handful of knights saw their master fall, and spurred forward to reach him. But they were engulfed in another cloud of pink flame. Valgeir — or something very like him — was on the Emperor before the other could stand, the Ulrican axe loosed to a final, decapitating blow. Whatever else Gelt may have been, Karl Franz realised he had been correct about the assassin's existence - not that the information was of much comfort.
In that fateful moment before the axe struck home, Valten slammed into the Changeling from behind and the blow went astray. Over and over in the mud they rolled, the daemon s form dickering and shifting as he sought advantage. Karl Franz was quickly on his feet, Ghal Maraz in his hands once more, and he went to his rescue’s aid. Though, where once Valten and the ersatz Valgeir had fought, now there were two Valtens, identical down to their wounds. The Ulrican axe lay discarded close by, as did Valten s hammers, and now the two combatants hammered at each other with fist, knee and forehead. Karl Franz checked his blow, not wanting to pulp his saviour along with the assassin, but could see no way to tell the two apart.
Perhaps the Changeling would have succeeded - or at least escaped - but for Deathdaw. As it was, the griffon sensed what man could not, and with an ear-splitting roar, swept the nearer of the two Valtens aside. As the Changeling tumbled away, his features collapsed into a hooded mass of fire and tentacles. With a cry of indignation, the daemon writhed upright, determined not to be thwarted so close to his prey. Then he screeched in pain as Schwarzhelm, his burnt skin livid and his armour blackened, charged forward to thrust the stall of the Emperors standard deep into the daemon's threshing mass. Before the Changeling could pry his way clear, Schwarzhelm a sword hacked deep into the creatures cowl. With a final shriek, the daemon collapsed, his body deliquescing into vile fluid as he fell.
None were stricken so profoundly by that sight as Balthasar Gelt. Even as he strove to survive beneath Helborg’s blows, the wizard saw the proof of how he had been used; the Valgeir who had been his friend was not Valgeir at all, but the very shapeshifter they had sought. In his desperation to save the Emperor from murder, Gelt had provided a distraction for the daemon. Giving voice to a gut-wrenching cry of despair, the wizard drove Helborg back with a desperate sweep of his staff, and urged Quicksilver into the skies. As Gelt fled, the winds of magic shifted once more, and the power he had used to bind the dead scattered upon the breeze. All across the muster field, corpses fell lifeless once more, and the survivors were left to piece together the puzzle of what they had just witnessed.
Though not so costly in lives as the conflicts that preceded and followed it, the battle later knowm as Celt’s Folly w ould have far- reaching ramifications for the Empire. First of these was the ascension of Gregor Martak, head of the Amber College, to the office of Supreme Patriarch, Balthasar Gelt having revealed himself to be irrevocably corrupted.
This was only the first indignity heaped upon the Gold College, for in the wake of Gelt's Folly, Heldebrandt Grimm, Lord Protector of the Templars of Sigmar - the Witch Hunters - began an exhaustive anti meticulous examination of the Arch-Alchemist’s order. Grimm, ever a pious and ruthless man, put many alchemists to the fire. Few of the accused were truly guilty, but so deep were the wounds caused by Celt’s betrayal that no one sought to rein in the Lord Templar's excesses, and many encouraged him. Thus began the collapse of the Gold College, and the persecution of those who had studied within its halls. Only those alchemists who laboured to maintain the Auric Bastion were considered above suspicion.
Gelt himself knew none of this. At the battle s end, he had fled to join Vlad von Carstein at Rackspire, and it spoke much for his broken frame of mind that nothing he witnessed in the vampire's halls appalled him. With his loyalties no longer torn, Gelt eagerly learned everything that Vlad could teach him, anti willingly aided the vampire in his search for Isabella's long-lost resting place.
Traumatic as these consequences may have been for those who suffered them, they would pale into insignificance as the year ground on and the Sigmarite priesthood took a fateful decision. Some months after the Battle of Celt's Folly, Grand Theogonist Kaslain informed the Emperor that the Church of Sigmar would no longer contribute to the
Auric Bastion. They had no desire, so Kaslain said, to support the tainted works of a proven heretic. Karl Franz had never missed Volkmar so much as he did at that moment. Stubborn and gruff though the previous Theogonist had been, he would never have acted as Kaslain did now. Gelt had proven to be flawed, but Karl Franz knew that this did not wash away the good works the wizard had performed up until that point. Sadly, Kaslain did not agree, and nothing the Emperor said could change his mind.
Losing patience with Kaslain, the Emperor sought to have the Grand Theogonist replaced, but the Sigmarite Church closed ranks behind their leader, and no matter what pressure Karl Franz brought to bear, he was unable to divest Kaslain of his position. Thus was Celt s foolishness compounded by the stubbornness of priests.
Though it would take another fortnight for the effects to be truly felt, that was the day the Auric Bastion began to fail. Though wizards of the Light and Gold Colleges laboured on in their ritual circles, without the faith of the priesthood to serve as its mortar, the wall was no longer proof against daemons. All along the border, the scions of the Dark Gods tore and hammered at the Auric Bastion, and little by little, it began to collapse.
Ultimately, the dominance of the Auric Bastion ended at the place where so many things had been set in motion — in the Ostermark village of Alderfen. As faith bled out of the wall, Gurug’ath, the Greater Daemon imprisoned there by Gelt long months ago, began to move. The northlanders saw the wall crack and shudder as Gurug’ath strove against it, and they gathered in their thousands, chanting and drumming their praises to the Chaos Gods as the hated wall shook apart. When at last Gurug'ath tore himself free in a shower of dust and stone, a league-long section of the Auric Bastion tumbled into ruin. As the wall fell, Gurug'ath roared in triumph; the gathered northlanders exulted, and spilled through the widening breach.
Alderfen was overrun in hours: the northern reaches of Ostermark in days. Knowing he had little time to defeat this incursion before the pattern was repeated elsewhere along the border, Karl Franz mobilised every soldier he could, and marched from Castle von Rauken to confront the invaders. Neither the Emperor nor any of his generals could fathom why the invaders had plunged deeper into Ostermark, instead of veering west to the great cities of Middenheim, Talabheim and Wolfenburg; they knew only that the invaders from the north had to be crushed.
Meanwhile, from his chambers in Rackspire, Vlad von Carstein received word of the incursion, and saw greater purpose to it than any of the Emperor's strategists. He knew why the Chaos horde was heading through Ostermark. Sylvania lay south of that land; Sylvania, and the wellspring of death magic Nagash had sealed within its soil. That, Vlad felt sure, was what the horde sought, and he knew they could not be allowed to reach it. Leaving the Nameless to protect what remained of the Empire-Kislev border, Vlad gathered his minions and headed south. His spies had kept him well informed of the Emperor's movements, and now the vampire converged his forces on the city where he was sure Karl Franz would make his stand. Like it or not, the men of the Empire would not fight alone at Helfengen.