Changing of the Guard
By LordAnubis & Tastyfish

Standing outside the huge bronze doors to the council chamber, Jalrhek shifted his feet uncomfortably as he watched the dark clouds of ravens circle beyond the walls of Tor Ardansal. As another muffled shout echoed out from within the chamber behind him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the scene outside was unsettlingly apt.

The day had started out gloriously as the combined legions of Ulthuan had finally broken through the city’s defenses, slaughtering the last of its beleaguered defenders and taking scores of captives from amongst its wretched inhabitants. Jalrhek himself had taken nearly a year’s worth of wages in loot when the squad he was leading broke into one of the manors where some of what passed for the nobility in this blighted land had hidden themselves during the siege. So great had been the massacre that the evening sky itself appeared as stained with blood as the stones of the street, and yet that omen of victory was now tainted by the Crone’s black garbed heralds, their harsh calls echoing the dire news another dark clad messenger had brought from the docks at Kithanan.

Not a single member of the Witch King’s Black Guard had returned, and Jalrhek and a host of other veterans had found themselves pressed into service as the High Council’s bodyguards. As loyal as he was, Jalrhek was experienced enough to recognize a power vacuum when he saw one and to know that being a bodyguard during one was more dangerous than anything he had encountered during the siege. As he looked around, he saw in his fellow guards’ faces the same realization. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash and the great bronze doors swinging open as Sirhael Malenti, one of the battle group captains, strode out angrily.

“She’s gone too far this time Karkhadath!” The Vaulkhar shouted back at the rest of the council. His eyes passed over the gathered nobles to finally fix on Drachau Hanzin Karkhadath, “I’ll not stand idly by whilst that witch drags our homeland into depravity. Our heritage will not be debased for the glory of some barbarian’s religion.”

Jalrhek watched the young Vaulkhar’s glare falter under the withering gaze of the ancient Drachau, the anger visibly draining from his body to be replaced with a sudden realization of what he had just done.

***

Durza Viricarsi, Vaulkhar of the Hand of Khaine, watched while his fellow noble strode from the hall, those under his command straggling behind him. As the shouting began to break out, he stood and gave an ironic bow to the Drachau before spinning on his heel and following Malenti from the hall. Once outside he beckoned one of his guards over.

“Find Lords Raneth Nailo and Mal-Fait Ephialtes, and bring them to my chambers immediately. Then….”

He paused, considering what he was about to do.

“Then go to Lord Malenti and tell him that I wish to meet with him as soon as possible concerning a matter of great importance to our future. Go.”

As the guard obeyed, Viricarsi stared after him for a long moment before waving another messenger over. Plans of treachery or not, the war had to continue.

***

Later that day, as the sun drifted down towards the horizon, two figures wrapped in heavy cloaks stood on a balcony and stared out over the mist-shrouded city. From their high perch, they could see the guards moving along the walls, the camp of the army outside and the lands beyond. A grim smile drew across the face of the first figure as his attention turned from the vista in front of them to his scowling companion.

"We are agreed then?"

"Yes. I have the pendants, and my guards are ready"

A leather pouch exchanged hands, vanishing silently into the interior pocket of a robe.

The second elf shifted uneasily, his eyes still on the army beyond the walls.

“And what about the other? She is loyal to Morathi. It is foolish to leave her alive. We should make a clean sweep tonight, while we have the opportunity.”

The other shook his head. “Perhaps. But we need her for the moment. With Karkhadath dead and Drannath out of the way, their replacements must be appointed by either the remaining Drachau or Morathi. Once she has done so, then there are plenty of ways to eliminate even a High Sorceress. After all, we are at war.”

The second figure sighed and turned away from the view. “In that case, I shall go and ensure that I am in a public place for the next few hours. I suggest you do the same. We must not be seen to be linked to these tragic events.”

With that, he swept out, leaving his colleague to his thoughts.

***

Hanzin Karkhadath was at the height of his power and influence. He was a Drachau, one of only three Druchii who ruled the colonies. As the dominant Triumvir, it would inevitably be he who ruled the new empire that the elves would found in the Old World, an empire built on the skill of the army that Slaaneshi witch, Morathi, had sent to him. The irony was delicious and he savoured it as he walked slowly back from the assembly to his quarters. Even the dramatic exits of Malenti and Viricarsi had lost the power to trouble him. They would be dealt with soon enough; along with any others he could not trust to remain loyal to him.

Perhaps it was this sense of impending triumph that caused him to fail to see the slave before the half-breed fool cannoned into the Drachau, sending them both to the ground in a heap. The ceramic jar the slave had been carrying smashed, drenching Karkhadath from head to toe in a clear odourless liquid. The other elf had somehow managed to avoid the deluge and was just standing when the enraged Druchii grasped him by the throat and squeezed.

”Next time, watch where you are going, fool.” Karkhadath spat, throwing the slave back to the ground. He began to turn and then stopped, his eye caught by a pendant around the neck of the servant. His attack must have shaken it loose. The Drachau stooped to see it more clearly, knowing that it was somehow familiar. As he did, his blood ran cold. A silver flame; the symbol of the Cult of Asuryan. Almost simultaneously, it struck him what exactly had been in the shattered amphora. Oil.

As he turned, too late, to flee, he saw the flame ignite in the shadows before him. Saw the other Druchii smile. Then all he knew was pain and finally darkness.

His screams of agony brought aid swiftly, but it was too late. The guards seized the slave and the assassin, both wearing the badge of the forbidden sect, and dragged them away but they were unable to save the Drachau or even to extinguish the flames. Eventually, they surrendered to the inevitable and summoned a noble. The news swept through the citadel with the speed of lightning, and in the panic, the commanders of the garrison seized their moment.

***

Accompanied by a contingent of his household guards, Lord Viricarsi marched through the hallways of Tor Ardansal with an air of triumph, his blood red cloak streaming behind him. From the courtyards adjoining the palace, he could hear the screams of the ‘traitors’ as the soldiers of the dead Drachau tore them apart. His fellow conspirator, Lord Malenti, would be supervising the executions even now, leaving to Viricarsi the task of bringing the last remnant of the old Triumvirate into line. A pair of guards flanked the entrance to what had been the wing housing the Drachau, but they stepped aside as Viricarsi neared.

Within, there was a short corridor, with a single doorway at its end guarded by a pair of stoic Druchii bearing the arms of the House Cadsane. They snapped to attention at the first sound, crossing their spears in front of the door. Viricarsi eyed them for a long moment, a calculating look crossing his face.

“Your devotion to Lady Cadsane’s well being is most admirable. However, I merely wish to speak with her. Stand aside.”

The guardsmen did not move.

The Druchii lord’s eyes narrowed.

“Stand aside.”

When they did not do so, he stepped back with a small shrug. A moment passed and the two guards slumped silently to the ground. A slender Dark Elf woman with long brown hair stepped over the bodies and curtseyed to Viricarsi, before retrieving a small dagger from each corpse and wiping it clean on their cloaks. Without acknowledging his aide, the new Drachau gestured and a pair of his escort moved to drag the deceased away. Two more stood beside the door, leaving one to either side of Viricarsi as he strode into the room beyond.

A tall Druchii was in the process of standing from behind a table on the far side of the room. One hand clutched at a scroll, whilst the other slammed a heavy tome closed. She glared at the intruders, her identity confirmed by the triad of purple lines that slashed across her right eye. Viricarsi simply smiled at her.

“Ah. Lady Cadsane, it is good to see that you are unharmed by the disturbance of last night. It is a pity that your guards were murdered outside your very door by the treacherous cultists. I will, of course, leave two of my own personal warriors here to ensure your safety. After all, we must protect our leaders especially carefully now that Drachau Karkhadath has been murdered by the Cult of Asuryan. There must be no more accidents, would you not agree?”

He stepped casually across the room, ignoring the woman in favour of reading the titles of some of the books on her shelf. Running his fingers along the spines, he pulled one out, and began to skim through its pages.

“On a similar topic, you may not be aware that Kharan Drannath has disappeared. Perhaps he also felt that his life was threatened? Nevertheless, the Triumvirate must stand united for the duration of this war against all threats – both from within and from without. To this end, the last surviving member must appoint two more captains to fill the places that have opened. That would be you, my Lady.”

The last two words were sneered as Viricarsi turned back to face Cadsane across her black desk, snapping the book closed and tossing it disdainfully onto the floor.

“Given the available options, might I suggest that you support the candidacy of Lord Malenti and myself as the new Drachau. You will be able to announce this to the assembled soldiers this evening.”

He moved closer, his lacquered armour glinting in the torchlight.

“There will be little protest, as the garrison is made up of those commanded by myself and Lord Malenti. The others, including the supporters of the late Drachau Karkhadath, are away in the north, conveniently out of reach for the moment. You have no choice.”

“No.” The quiet dignity in Jesamine Cadsane’s voice echoed in the quiet room, contrasting with the malevolence that shrouded Viricarsi. She walked out from behind the table to confront him, her vibrant blue dress in stark opposition to his dark crimson armour, her appearance that of an otherworldly figure.

“No, I do not have much choice.”

Suddenly her hands flew up, a veil of violet power burning into existence around Viricarsi and his guards. Even as the warriors slumped to the floor, Viricarsi held his ground, watching the High Sorceress through the magic with detached interest. After a long moment, the fire collapsed into itself, fading as though it had never been. The Druchii lord gazed at the Sorceress, raising an eyebrow.

“Unless you have any more tricks that you wish to try, I will leave you to consider your decision. Good day to you, Lady Cadsane.”

With that, he spun on his heel and strode out, ignoring the smoldering corpses by the door. The soldiers by the door fell into step with him as their master exited, pulling a small gem from his robes and examining it carefully. Without stopping, he addressed his aide.

“Good work. Oh, and Kherith? Arrange for Lady Cadsane to suffer an unfortunate accident at the earliest opportunity.”

***

As the cool mists of morning drew around the camp of the Druchii army encamped around Tor Ardansal, the soldiers gathered around a hastily erected wooden platform draped with the banner of Ulthuan. Behind it, an unnatural mist hid the city walls, although tall shapes peeked through in places. The gathered troops muttered uneasily.

Durza stepped out onto the platform, flanking Jesamine Cadsane on her right even as Sirhael Malenti flanked her on the left. Another sorceress brought up the rear, pale and faint from the magic that she was holding in place. The Drachau stepped to the front of the platform and held up her arms for silence.

Down below, Kiraseth gripped his spear tightly, eager to learn why this gathering had been called on such short notice and why only one Drachau stood on the platform. Normally, it was Lord Karkhadath that spoke, while Lady Cadsane stood at the back watching. Now though, Karkhadath was nowhere to be seen and his own captain, Viricarsi, and another Vaulkhar accompanied Cadsane. Both wore full armour and looked grim.

“Loyal warriors of the Druchii, I come before you now with news of the gravest treachery. Drachau Hanzin Karkhadath was murdered last night by members of the Cult of Asuryan….”

Her voice trailed off as a roar of outrage rose from the assembled soldiery. The crows rose from the battlements at the sound, their mocking cries challenging the anger of the Druchii below. Sirhael Malenti strode forward, arrogantly knocking Cadsane out of his way and deliberately ignoring the malevolent snarl she directed at his back.

“Soldiers of Ulthuan. Due to the treacherous murder of Drachau Karkhadath and the recall of Drachau Drannath to Ulthuan, the Triumvirate has been reduced to one. Due to the kind assent of Lady Cadsane, the ranks will be filled by Lord Viricarsi and me. We will bring this war against the rebels to a swift and victorious conclusion, as our departed king wished, and then sail home to return Ulthuan to a golden time. To that end, we shall no longer show any mercy to the enemies of our Empire. All who opposes the ascendancy of our people will perish.”

He raised his arms to the darkened sky. “Behold the dawn of a new age for the children of Aenarion!”

With that, the shadows that had cloaked the walls of the city fell away, revealing a new forest before the gates of Tor Ardansal. Row upon on row of men and elves had been impaled upon long wooden stakes, their moans of agony echoing from the walls. Blood soaked the ground below.

As the serried ranks below cheered, Malenti drew his sword and gestured to the west. “To war!”