03 - Sword of Vengeance Read Online Free Page A

long. At the centre
of those spikes would be his sanctum, far above the rolling plains. That would
be the heart of it all, the fulcrum about which the realm would be moulded to
his will.
    There was still so much to do. The lower levels of the Tower
were little more than a tangle of naked metal. Piles of beams, trusses, stone
blocks, nails, rods and other paraphernalia littered the churned-up earth. The
disarray offended Grosslich’s refined senses, and he made a mental note to order
the workers to take more care.
    As he neared the centre of the works, a door loomed up out of
the darkness. It was imposing—over twelve feet tall and nearly as wide—and
decorated with friezes of pure, dark iron. Here and there, a face of tortured
agony could be made out in the night air, lost in a morass of limbs and torsos.
The iron doors themselves were covered in a filigree of sigils and unholy icons,
all traced with formidable skill and delicacy. Grosslich had no idea what they
all signified, but he knew he would soon. His abilities increased with every
passing day.
    The wall behind the door was barely started and rose no more
than a few feet above the iron frame. Beyond it, the bone-like scaffolding was
obvious. It was a door that seemingly led nowhere. And yet, for all that, it was
guarded by two heavily-armoured soldiers. They wore strange armour, quite unlike
the standard gear his men in the citadel were given. Each was clad in a suit of
segmented plates, glossy and polished. The soldiers carried double-bladed
halberds, though the steel had been replaced with what looked like polished
crystal. Both were short and stocky and stood strangely, as if their legs bent
the wrong way and their shoulders had been dragged out of place. Most
disconcertingly, their closed-face helmets had long snouts, carved in the shape
of snarling dog’s muzzles. No unaltered human could have fitted into those
helms. These were Natassja’s creatures, the product of her endless
experimentation.
    As he gazed on her progeny, Grosslich felt a surge of love
for Natassja bloom up within him. She was everything to him, the one who had
taken him from a minor landowner in the border country with Stirland and turned
him into the most powerful man in the province. Her imagination and beauty were
beyond those of anyone he had ever met. Particularly her imagination.
    “Open the doors,” he said. The soldiers complied without
speaking, though there was a strained wheezing from their helmets. So many of
them died after having the alterations made. That was a shame, but a small price
to pay for art.
    The iron doors swung inwards, revealing a staircase that
plunged down into the foundations of the Tower. The smell of jasmine, Natassja’s
smell, rose up from the opening. There were other delights too, such as the
pleasing chorus of screams, just on the edge of hearing. Things were so much
better now that she had the time and freedom to truly give rein to her
inclinations. This was just a foretaste of what was to come. Soon, the screams
would be ringing out across all Averland.
    Grosslich smiled and descended into the depths of the Tower.
Behind him, the doors clanged closed.
     
    Ludwig Schwarzhelm finished writing and placed the quill next
to the parchment. He sat back in his chair, rolled his massive shoulders to
relieve the ache, and looked up from his desk.
    The walls of his study in Altdorf looked alien in the
candlelight. He’d hardly visited it in the past decade of constant campaigning.
Now they were an indictment of him. He’d been ordered to stay in them, to keep
out of Imperial affairs for as long as it took the Emperor to forgive him for
what had happened. However long that might be.
    The rooms were minimally furnished. Most men of his rank
would have lived in opulent state chambers, attended to by scores of servants
and surrounded by priceless treasures from across the known world. That had
never been his way. His