03 - Call to Arms (26 page)

There was a vengeful tone to Rieger’s voice. Usually, Rieger was inclined to
sarcasm rather than anger, but in the case of von Nieder he seemed to view the
man’s behaviour as almost a personal affront. Dieter had heard whispers that
Rieger had once trained to become a priest before he fell under the spell of the
hellfire and brimstone sermons of men like Luther Huss. Disgusted by the
corruption and venality of the priests he saw around him, Rieger had decided on
the life of a simple soldier, hoping to find inner peace in the task of fighting
Sigmar’s enemies.

“Yes, well,
everyone
has heard that,” Hoist snorted. “That rumour has
been through the camp like the Bretonnian Two-Step. If you want my opinion, I’d
say Old Iron Britches has decided to hang von Nieder to make an example of him.
It’s always the way when you get a new general—he wants to hang a few men just
so the rest of the army know he’s not a man to be trifled with. Although,
admittedly, I’ve never heard of a general hanging another general before. You
think he’d be worried he’s setting a precedent.”

“Quiet all of you,” Gerhardt said, his voice sounding a warning note. “A man
is about to die. He was a soldier—even if he wasn’t a very good one. Show some
respect.”

The drummers standing by the scaffold had begun to beat a rhythm. Watching
with the others, Dieter saw two men step up quietly behind the scaffold. They
wore black hoods to cover their faces. Dieter had heard the two executioners had
been chosen randomly by lot—the hoods were to conceal their identities from
the rest of the army and save them from retribution from anyone who might have
held a good opinion of the man they were about to kill.

With a shiver, it occurred to Dieter he himself might have been chosen for
that unpleasant duty—as could any man. It was a nasty thought. It was one
thing to be called upon to kill a man in battle, quite another to administer his
execution.

There but for the grace of Sigmar, thought Dieter. He shivered again.

There was no trapdoor in the scaffold von Nieder stood on, that particular
device having proven beyond the wit of the army’s carpenters. Instead, his
executioners moved behind him and simply pushed him from the scaffold.

Von Nieder’s fall was broken with a jerk as he reached the end of the rope.
His legs flailed beneath him as his body swayed back and forth under the elm.
Watching the man’s struggles, Dieter felt sick to his stomach. He had never seen
a man hanged before. He was struck by the cruelty of it. Even as he watched, the
former general’s struggles seemed to grow more frantic, more desperate.

“Sweet Sigmar,” Hoist breathed, making the sign of the hammer. “They didn’t
give him enough rope to break his neck. The poor bastard’s strangling to death.”

As von Nieder’s body continued to sway under the elm with his legs kicking
wildly beneath him, the two executioners looked at each other as though
uncertain as to their next move.

After a pregnant pause, one of the hooded men jumped down from the scaffold
and advanced on the hanging man. He turned to look toward the watching General
von Grahl as though asking his permission. Then, at a nod from von Grahl, he
grabbed hold of von Nieder’s wildly flailing legs and pulled down hard on them,
trying to add his weight to the load on the hanged man’s neck in the hope it
would end the matter more quickly.

Realising his comrade’s aim, the second executioner leapt down to join him.
Together, they pulled down on von Nieder’s body. Slowly, the hanged man’s
struggles subsided. With the combined weight of the executioners added to the
task, it ended quickly. Von Nieder’s neck broke with an audible snap. With a
last forlorn twitch, the body stopped moving.

“A bad business,” Hoist said, once it was over. “That’s the problem when you
have men draw lots to decide who will be hangman. You never know whether the men
who are picked have any idea of what they are doing. I’ve always said, if ever I
found myself scheduled to die on the gallows, I’d bribe the gaolers to give me
some weirdroot or mandrake. At least that way, you wouldn’t suffer.”

He fell quiet. As the drums signalled the end of the execution, and the
sergeants shouted orders for the soldiers to return to their duties, the
Scarlets dispersed in a sombre mood, each man made mindful of their mortality by
their former general’s execution.

To Dieter, it seemed Hoist was right in declaring it a bad business. He would
not have wished von Nieder’s death on any man—not even Krug, who with
characteristic tenacity had managed to survive the siege at the mill house.

The enmity between Dieter and Krug was as palpable as ever. Even as the
Scarlets made their way back to their tents in the eastern quadrant of the
encampment that housed General von Grahl’s rapidly growing army, Dieter saw Krug
glaring at him from afar. It seemed inevitable there would be a reckoning
between them one day.

For Dieter’s part, he hoped it would be sooner rather later. He had grown
tired of having to be wary at all times, watching to ensure Krug did not slip a
knife between his ribs when he wasn’t looking.

He had toyed with the idea of challenging Krug to a duel. Strictly speaking,
duelling between men who were not either of the nobility or officer rank was
forbidden. In swordsmen regiments, however, it had long been the practice to
turn a blind eye to such restrictions. Although duels to the death were rare, it
was not uncommon for men to settle their disputes at the point of a blade.

Upon taking command of the army, however, General von Grahl had made it clear
he intended to zealously enforce the strictures against duelling. He had issued
a proclamation announcing that, with Hochland in the midst of a “time of
peril”, it was no longer permissible for men to risk injury or even death in
private quarrels. What was more, the general had made it plain his wishes in the
matter would be enforced in the strongest terms possible. Henceforth, any men
found duelling, along with any men who were found to have aided the duel, were
to be sentenced to death.

The former general, von Nieder, may have been the most prominent figure to be
executed, but he had hardly been the first. General von Grahl had shown no
compunction when it came to assigning the penalty of death. In the last month,
by Dieter’s reckoning, two dozen men had been hanged from the same elm tree for
crimes including desertion, looting, theft of army supplies, and a range of
other offences.

It was widely understood that the general was doing this as part of a stern
policy intended to restore discipline to Hochland’s army. In the dark days of
the retreat before the orcs, discipline had been completely lost. The Scarlets
had fared relatively well in that regard. Dieter had heard rumours of units that
had mutinied and turned on their own commanders. There were tales of entire
regiments of deserters fleeing Hochland altogether and trying to cross the
border into Ostland or Nordland. There were even tales of cannibalism, of
soldiers who in their search for food had turned on each other.

Dieter was not sure whether he believed all the tales he heard. He was
learning that gossip was a popular pastime among soldiers—the more outrageous
the tale the better. It helped to pass the time and stave off boredom. Dieter
had even heard wild rumours that the orc army had bypassed them and was already
besieging the gates of Hergig. That last tale at least he completely discounted.

Still, amid all the mad tales of soldiers turned cannibal and wild rumours of
the enemy advance, there had been at least one cause for celebration among the
Scarlets. Despite theories to the contrary, their regimental commander Captain
Harkner had turned out to be very much alive. Having been reunited with his men
in the wake of the Scarlets’ stand against the night goblins at the mill house,
Captain Harkner had reassumed command—a fact which had come as a relief to
many, not least Sergeant Bohlen.

They had lost men, and the progress of the war against the orcs was far from
clear, but to Dieter’s mind the fact they had their captain back could only be a
good omen. Having recovered from the worst effects of the long retreat from the
orcs and the draining siege against the goblins, the Scarlets were once more
ready to fight. Meanwhile, all around them, the rest of General von Grahl’s new
army was taking shape. Come what may, they were ready to fight the greenskins.
Now, it was only a matter of time.

From

The Testimony of General Ludwig von Grahl

(unexpurgated text):

…It is never a pleasant duty to kill a man, much less order him to be
executed with a rope of hemp around his neck. Still, in the case of Erich von
Nieder, I maintain I had no choice.

Admittedly, I may have exceeded my authority. Von Nieder was a nobleman, with
all a nobleman’s rights. Among those, he had the right to be judged by a jury of
his peers and the right to appeal to the Count of Hochland to reprieve his
sentence. He also had the right to die on the headsman’s block, not to be hanged
like a common criminal.

Sadly, I had no choice. There was no question of von Nieder’s guilt. The bags
of gold pieces he was carrying when he was captured stilt bore the wax seals
that identified them as part of the army paychest. I had already ordered other
men hung for less serious offences. If I had let von Nieder go, or allowed him
the luxury of any other death, it would have suggested I expected less of those
of my own class than I do of the common soldier. If such notions were allowed to
spread, it would prove damaging to morale and unity at a time when I am trying
to rebuild these men into an effective army.

Von Nieder had to die. It was a hard decision, and I feel sorry for it. But
there was no other decision to be made.

Still, I find I feel guilty. Not just for von Nieder, but for the others as
well. He was not the first man I had ordered hanged, nor sadly is he likely to
be the last. In some ways, it is a worse thing to command a man’s execution than
to have to see him die in battle. At least in the latter case, it is the enemy
who is responsible.

In the meantime, matters continue apace. My regular consultations with the
wizard Emil Zauber have begun to bear fruit. He assures me a series of heavy
autumn storms are about to begin, drenching this whole area in rain. At the same
time, the orcs have been reported some leagues to the east, moving towards us.
With Sigmar’s grace, all my plans may be about to come together.

Accordingly, I have sent a prearranged signal to Count Aldebrand who is at
camp some distance southwards, overseeing the muster. I sent the message via
carrier-hawk—one of half a dozen such birds the Count gifted to me before I
left Hergig. The message the bird carries is brief and to the point:

“We are ready to destroy the enemy. Come north with all due haste.”

“Rain,” Hoist snorted in derision as the storm fell to earth around them.
“I’d hoped we’d seen the last of a storm like this when we fought those damn
night goblins at the mill house. But, no, the curse of the poor infantryman
holds good. The gods are taking pleasure pissing down on our shoulders once
more.”

It was night, and they were standing guarding the entrance to the army
encampment. Hugging his cloak around him as he shivered against the cold, Dieter
listened to the beginnings of another one of Hoist’s diatribes with a weary
sense of resignation.

“You know what month this is?” Hoist asked, warming to his theme. “It’s
Kaldezeit—‘cold time’. Now, I’m not saying it isn’t cold, but you think
they’d name these months properly. Rain time would be more apt. It would make
more sense.”

“The killing time,” Dieter said, half to himself.

“Hnn? What?” Hoist raised a wet eyebrow.

“The killing time. That’s what they used to call it in the village where I
lived. At this time of year, the farmers are making their choice as to which
animals they’ll keep over the winter and which ones will be slaughtered. They
slaughter them now, before the worst of the winter comes, so they don’t have to
waste any winter feed on them.”

“Really?” Hoist shook his head in mock wonderment. “You know, you are a
constant source of information, Dieter. I’m not saying any of it is actually
useful. But you know some things, to give you your due.”

Hoist laughed as though he had said something enormously funny. Then,
squinting to see through the rain falling in great sheets around them, he stared
down the trail and suddenly unsheathed his sword.

“I see lights in the distance,” Hoist said, his good humour evaporating to be
replaced by a more businesslike manner. “Someone’s coming. Go get the others.”

Turning away, Dieter ran to a nearby stand of trees where the rest of the men
on guard duty were sheltering from the rain. Seeing the friendly faces of
Gerhardt and Rieger, he nodded and hurried past them to the spot where Captain
Harkner was standing with Sergeant Bohlen.

“Captain, come quickly! We saw lights in the distance! Someone is coming!”

Motioning for the other men to follow them, Captain Harkner ran with Dieter
to rejoin Hoist. Behind them, the other Scarlets spread out in a well-practiced
pattern, doing their best to stay hidden from sight until the nature of the
individuals headed towards them could be ascertained.

“There’s a good few of them,” Hoist said as Dieter and the captain appeared
alongside him. “They’re using torches and they seem to be moving in good order,
so I don’t think they’re greenskins. Could be they are a new batch of
reinforcements.”

Further up the trail, the lights had grown brighter. As the new arrivals drew
nearer, the sound of hoof-beats made it clear they were travelling on horseback.
The light of their torches snaked down the trail behind them as though some
fiery dragon was headed toward the encampment.