Free Mark of Chaos by C.L Werner

Khazags in ritual celebrations.
    Hroth knew that the moon was powerful. He had witnessed its power several times when it had appeared large in the skies. On one occasion, it had heralded the change in the warrior Glukhos, and mouths had appeared on his bare flesh. He had eventually been ripped apart by the mutations that wracked his body. The celebrations had been great the night that the tribe had witnessed the touch of the gods. Hroth knew that the closeness of the moon was bringing about the changes he felt within his own body.
    'The Chaos moon will be close, tonight. It heralds our victory,' continued Sudobaal.
    'With the ritual complete, I will know the resting place of the great zar, the anointed Asavar Kul. The cursed elf-kin took his body, seeking to hide it from us forever. But I shall learn where it resides, and we shall travel there. The blade of Asavar Kul, the Slayer of Kings, holding the essence of the great daemon U'zhul, lies with his body. Any whom the gods deem worthy to wield the Slayer of Kings could unite the tribes that lie scattered throughout the lands. I shall lift it, and the world will tremble! With you at my side, Hroth, we shall take up the challenge where Asavar Kul failed, and bring bloody ruin to this land!'
    'Blood and fire and death.' agreed Hroth, fingering his axe.
     
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
    Stefan found it hard not to smile, as the comical figure of the engineer berated the soldiers of Ostermark that towered above him. He was a small, balding man wearing clothes far too fine to be travelling to war in, and two pairs of spectacles were perched precariously on the end of his nose. The soldiers of Ostermark were silently ignoring him as they lashed additional ropes around the wagon, while four others hammered wooden chocks under the mired wagon wheels, which had sunk deep into the clinging mud. A thick, waterproof canvas sheet covered whatever was held within the wagon; probably gunpowder, guessed von Kessel.
    'Buffoons! Imbecilic, inbred Ostermarkers. Don't tie the rope around that bit - there, put it there, dammit! No, no, no, not there you fool! Around that there - see, there it is.' flapped the engineer. No one was paying him any attention.
    Most of the convoy had halted. Shouts came from behind the mired wagon, urging the soldiers to hurry up. The soldiers shouted back at them good-naturedly, swearing profusely and colourfully as only a soldier, or a sailor, can.
    'This is precious cargo, you buffoons.' shouted the engineer. 'Pay attention to what you are doing!'
    Von Kessel trudged down to the mired wagon, sinking to his ankles in the thick mud.
    'Engineer Markus, you seem a little flustered,' said von Kessel amiably.
    'Flustered! Damn right I'm flustered. Excuse my crude language, captain, but your men have not been listening to a thing I have been saying to them!'
    'I shall listen, Markus. Calm yourself.' Stefan said, trying not to smile. The front pair of spectacles was slipping closer and closer to the tip of the engineer's nose. He was certain they would fall into the mud any second.
    'Right, right. Very good of you, captain,' said the engineer. He cleared his throat, as if he was about to start a great speech. 'This wagon contains a most precious and intricate apparatus, one that must be handled with great care,' he began. He cast a venomous glance towards the soldiers straining to pull the wagon from the mire.
    The horses strained, a dozen soldiers heaved on the ropes, and another four pushed at the cart from behind it. The wagon moved ever so slightly, inching forwards, before slipping back into the mud with a jerk. The soldiers at the back fell to their knees in the mud, much to the amusement of those behind. 'Gently gentlemen, please!' shouted Markus the engineer. 'If anything is damaged, I'll see you all held personally responsible!'
    'Nothing will be damaged, Markus,' assured von Kessel.
    'Well, I hope not. That's an expensive and rare piece of field equipment in there,