Ernest Rosengart didn't know how long he'd been running. His mage's robes flapped and tangled about his weary feet as he went, constantly reminding that they were not designed for running away from danger. The ornate key he'd retrieved from the battlefield was still safely tucked away under his robes, but he had had to detach his spellbook from its beltchains in order to carry it under his arm. Hanging from the belt, the heavy tome had made running all but impossible.
Ernest crashed through yet another set of bushes and leafless boughs. He could hear his clothes tear, but he did not care. Not anymore. After climbing a small stony hillock, he finally caught a glimpse of Averbury heraldry.
"Fersen!"
The Gunmaster was sitting under a thicket of trees just below the hillock, accompanied by the three arquebusiers and a single halberdier that had managed to escape. Their faces were glistening with sweat. He was leaning against the rough bark of the largest trunk, with the men sprawling on the ground around him. Hearing his name, Wolfgang raised his gaze to the hillock.
"Rosengart! How glad I am too see you in one piece!"
"Likewise... it's good to see you made it out. But... same cannot be said for the poor lieutenant," Ernest panted as he limped down the rise, leaning heavily on his staff.
Wolfgang froze for a moment, staring past the wizard into nothing in particular.
"Were you followed?" he said finally.
"Not... that I know of. I... pulled a few tricks before departing the site."
Placing his tome back to its beltchains, Rosengart reached inside his robes and presented the key. The soldiers around them were listening closely, some of them slowly getting up to a sitting position. Their weapons were lying on the ground where they had been dropped. One of the handgunners was rubbing his temples. Another one coughed dryly.
"This... is all I managed to retrieve. I... do not know whether it is the correct one, but it is all we have. We... have to presume it is, and press on towards that mystical prison you spoke of."
Fersen stood up, frowning.
"Back there you said there were five sources of power in total. Are you suggesting we'll soldier on with only one-fifth of a chance that this artefact will work at all?"
"Someone... far more learned in the arcane arts has made these copies. There... is no way to ensure this key's authenticity without an entire conclave of mages to aid me," Ernest returned, thumping his staff on the ground for emphasis. He was clearly vexed that something was beyond his skills.
The soldiers were all up and listening by now. Their faces were without expression, covered in sweat and mud. Wolfgang met the gaze of every man in turn.
"We do not have the time to call for conclaves. Is there no other way?" he asked, turning back to Rosengart.
"There... is a chance we can try and purify this artefact at an altar dedicated to any of the gods of order. This... purification would scour the key clean of any Chaos taint, thus unraveling the deceptive enchantment should there be one," the mage replied, stroking his pointed beard thoughtfully.
"There... are many such altars scattered across the Realms, many abandoned and forgotten since the Age of Chaos. I... can trace any such locations within leagues of us, but that would require some of the arcane equipment from my tent at the camp."
Gunmaster Fersen sighed, rubbing the back of his head. The men around them seemed livelier after the mention of the regiment's camp, which would mean warm beds, food and safety. But it would also mean delay. Wolfgang was no leader of men, but even he knew that a large portion of any military forces' fighting power came from the morale of the troops. Which, as of now, was very low.
"We return to Breuer's regiment. We report the events that have taken place thus far and request more troops and officers to our cause. You will get your gear and locate any suitable altars here in Hysh, after which we'll direct patrols to check each of them out. By the end of the second sunset from now, we'll have us an altar of the order pantheon to purify this key upon," Wolfgang said, his voice growing more confident with each word.
"Any questions?"
The Averburians mumbled their agreement and turned away to fetch their scattered weapons. Ernest seemed amused.
"You... are starting to sound like Scholz, my friend," the wizard said softly, a smile tucking at the corners of his mouth.
"I did learn a lot from him during the brief time we travelled together. He was an exemplary leader. The men loved him," Wolfgang replied. He has meddling with his repeater's mechanisms now, trying to hide his confused feelings after giving orders to men who'd set their lives in danger for this mission.
"May Sigmar bless his soul," Rosengart said without stammering, causing Fersen to pause and raise an eyebrow.
The mage took his spellbook and opened it, the old leather bindings creaking as they stretched. He took his staff and began drawing complex shapes in the ground, slowly but surely forming a circle filled with strange runes. The soldiers had retrieved their weapons and were standing by, watching Ernest work his magic. The moment he connected the final lines and uttered the last word of the spell, the drawn circle burst to life in a bright blue flash of light.
"Step in... gentlemen. We... are off to the encampment!"
The freeguilders shuffled into the circle, and Rosengart raised his staff. Another flash of light, a crack of thunder, and they disappeared. Nothing was left at the edge of the thicket except for some footmarks and a circle drawn in the dirt.
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