03 - Sword of Vengeance (20 page)

He felt Verstohlen limp to his side before he saw him. The
man looked terrible. He’d lost weight, and his face had the pallor of one who’d
stared at his own death. Blood stained his shirt and coat, and he looked like he
was having trouble keeping his feet.

“Where’ve you
been
?” he demanded.

“We’ll talk later,” replied Schwarzhelm, supporting him with
his free hand and keeping the Rechtstahl unsheathed. “For now we need to get out
of the city. Come with me.”

He dragged Verstohlen back into the shadows, out of the
square and towards the eastern gates. There’d be more fighting before they’d be
out, but at least the guards there would be human.

Once they’d gone, the square sank back into silence. No
lights shone from the buildings around it. The only signs of the struggle were a
couple of long bloodstains on the stone, and the crumpled shape of Dagobert
Tochfel, his reign as Steward finally over, his suffering ended at last.

Clearing the orcs’ filth from Black Fire Keep had taken long,
wearying hours. Fresh from the last of the fighting, soldiers had been forced to
douse the floors and scrub them until their fingers were raw. The refuse left
behind by the fortress’ occupiers defied belief. They’d lived worse than
animals, fouling every recess or secluded corner, destroying any furniture not
made of solid stone, smearing foul slogans and symbols over every open patch of
wall.

The stench remained even after the last of them had been
rooted out of the castle and dispatched. In the narrow bunk rooms where the
exhausted infantry tried to snatch sleep, the foul reek was indescribably bad,
like a mix of all the ill-kept cattle-pens, slaughterhouses and public privies
in the seamiest and most dilapidated of Altdorf’s slum districts, amplified and
concentrated into a heady musk of singular, unforgettable horror.

Such things did little to dent Bloch’s pleasure at having
achieved what he’d been commanded to do. Once the last of the bitter combat had
ended he’d led the victorious human armies under the gates in triumph, casting
down the leering symbol of the moon and restoring the Averland coat of arms in
its proper place. Now the Solland sun flew again over Black Fire Pass beside the
banners of the Empire, Reikland and the bergsjaeger.

The toil hadn’t ended with the fighting. Bloch had been
determined to order the defence of the Keep personally before the deep of the
night fell on them. Only after many hours of labour did he retire at last,
retreating to a chamber high up in the Keep as the bulk of his men slept below.
Once sleep took him, it took him soundly. He knew that if any orcs remained
alive in the mountains, they would be pitifully few in number and unable to do
more than squat in the clefts and hollows of the hills, waiting for a warlord to
unite their fractious bands again and lead them to more fruitless bloodshed.

Morning broke cold and severe, as it did every day in the
high peaks. The sky was low, and dark clouds had passed overhead in the night.
The wind remained strong, blasting across the bare peaks and tearing down the
glens towards the lowlands to the west. It brought with it rain, which did much
to wash the scrawlings from the walls of the castle.

Bloch woke with a start, reaching for his weapon and wiping
his eyes. It took a moment for him to remember where he was and what had
happened. He’d been dreaming of the wide grasslands again, of Grunwald’s last
charge in the heart of the horde.

“I avenged you, at least,” muttered Bloch, swinging his legs
from the narrow cot and on to the icy stone flags. “You stupid bastard.”

His cell was narrow. From the curve of the wall it was
evident it was on the edge of the fortress’ outer wall, high in one of the five
towers that rose above the points of the star. There wasn’t much in it: just a
bunk, a rickety table and a pitcher of frigid water. The sole window was an
arrow slit, unglazed. A chill breeze sighed through the gap. He’d not had much
more to keep him warm than his cloak and some ragged furs he’d found somewhere
or other. If the chamber had once housed the trappings of a commander, the orcs
had long since taken them all.

Bloch shivered and pulled his cloak tight around him. He felt
as dirty and ragged as a hound. He splashed water from the pitcher across his
face and rubbed it into his eyes. His temples were sore and he had bruises all
across his body, but he could still walk without a limp, so that was better than
usual.

He found Kraus and Drassler already awake and sitting at a
long oak table in one of the tower rooms. There were four windows, all narrow
but giving a panorama of the mountains in each cardinal direction. The peaks
stretched off towards the far horizons, majestic, ice-bound and massive.

“Morning, commander,” said Kraus, rising gingerly. He’d taken
a heavy blow to the ribs from a warhammer during the last phases of the castle
recovery and only his armour had saved him. Though tough as old bones, he’d not
got back on his feet quickly and it had been the Averlanders who’d saved his
hide.

“So it is,” replied Bloch, coming to the table. Drassler
nodded as he and Kraus sat down, the mountain guard captain looking as rangy and
implacable as ever.

“Sweet dreams?” he asked.

“Very sweet,” replied Bloch, seeing a plate of stale bread
and grabbing a handful greedily. “Me and the nice girls of Madame de
Guillaume’s. Shame to wake up.”

Drassler grinned. Kraus looked disapproving.

“How’s the Keep looking?” asked Bloch, speaking through
mouthfuls of bread.

“All is in order,” muttered Kraus. In many ways he was a
lesser version of Schwarzhelm, though not quite as humorous. “The artillery and
supply wains have been recovered, though we’ll need to send for more food soon.
The Keep has its own water supply, but ale’s running low.”

“Too bad,” said Bloch. “The men deserve a drink.”

“Watches have been arranged and the company captains given
their orders. The place stinks, but it’s secure.”

Bloch nodded with satisfaction.

“You’ve got your castle back, Herr Drassler,” he said.

“That we have. It was a bold plan.”

Bloch shrugged. “The only plan. Now we have to decide what to
do next.”

“You might want to look at these,” said Kraus, handing him
some fragments of parchment.

“Have you slept?” asked Bloch, taking them.

“I don’t need much.”

Bloch grunted and started to look at the papers. The edges
were black and serrated, as if someone had tried to burn them. There were
instructions written across them in Reikspiel. Here and there were seals and
official stamps.

“Where did you find these?” he asked.

“The garrison commander’s chamber,” said Kraus. “The orcs had
been in there, and not much remained.”

Bloch leafed through the remnants. It was as Drassler had
said. Orders for the garrison to disperse and move out to meet several threats.
There was correspondence too, from months ago. Reinforcements delayed, supplies
refused. Each item, considered alone, was routine enough. Taken together, they
amounted to a serious weakening of the pass defences.

“These came by courier from Averheim?” asked Bloch, speaking
to Drassler.

“Just as ever.”

Bloch kept reading. It all looked in order. He’d received
similar instructions himself while serving in garrisons across the Empire.
Whoever had written them knew the ways of the Imperial bureaucracy.

“They’re fakes,” he said, letting them fall to the table.

Kraus raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

“Schwarzhelm knew it. He told me we were being used. The orcs
crossed the border just when the battle for the new elector took place. This was
all part of some move to frustrate him.” He balled his fists and pressed them
against his temples, trying to think. “Have we heard any word from Averheim?”

“None.”

“Grenzstadt?”

“From nowhere, commander. We’re on our own.”

It was too convenient. All those troops, drawn east, away
from where the real decisions were being made.

“How many men do we have left?”

“A thousand men able to bear arms, plus the mountain guard,”
said Kraus. “Many of the wounded will recover, given time.”

“Not as much as I’d like.”

“So what do you intend?”

Bloch pushed his chair back and sighed heavily.

“Here’s how I see it. We know the orcs had gear and money
from Altdorf. Plenty of people in the capital have a stake in the new Elector of
Averland. Someone in the army could have issued those orders, and you’d never
have known. They had to know the codes, sure, but nothing’s impossible at the
right price. Maybe they wanted to keep us fighting for months, bogged down
against the horde. If they did, then Schwarzhelm put paid to that when he broke
them open on the plain. So they may not have banked on us recovering the Keep so
soon, and that might be a good thing.”

Drassler said nothing. These affairs were beyond his
experience, and there was little for him to contribute.

Kraus listened intently, his narrow eyes glittering. “I was
in Averheim with Schwarzhelm,” he said. “Verstohlen said there’d been letters
being sent back and forth from Altdorf, though he didn’t know what was in them.
He was more worried about the joyroot.”

“The what?”

“Smuggling. He thought it might lead to something bigger.”

“Maybe it has.”

Bloch felt indecision creep across him. Battlefield tactics
were one thing, but making the larger choices was still unfamiliar. He’d been
told to recover the Keep and wait for orders. After so much labour, so much
hardship, that would have been the safest option. It was the one he’d be
expected to take. Not so long ago, he’d been a halberdier captain, hardly more
senior than Drassler was now. Every once in a while, he still felt like one.

“I’m going back,” he said.

“To Averheim?” asked Kraus.

“Yes, and you’re coming with me.” He turned to Drassler.
“We’ll take two companies of infantry, the Reiklanders. The rest will stay here.
You’ll have supplies and artillery, and almost as many men at your command as
before.”

Drassler looked unsure. “There’s much to do here.”

Bloch nodded. “We’ll stay to secure the Keep and pass. The
way-stations need re-manning, and the damage done here repairing. A few days,
but no more.”

“Why Averheim?” asked Kraus, just as warily. “We could send
messengers down to Grenzstadt. If Schwarzhelm needs you, he’ll summon you.”

Bloch shook his head. “Don’t you get it, Kraus? Whoever
arranged this was arranging things there as well. I want to see what’s been
happening with my own eyes.”

He looked at the honour guard captain, and his expression was
dark.

“There’s work to do here, and I won’t leave until it’s done,
but I won’t stay on the edges forever. Schwarzhelm knew something was happening
in Averheim and he was worried about it. Now that we’re finished here, I’m
worried too.”

Kraus looked unconvinced, but didn’t voice any objection.

“Call it instinct,” said Bloch, feeling only half as
confident as he sounded. “Something’s not right down there. It’s about time we
found out what.”

>The sky was chopped up and stormy. Far to the east, heavy
clouds had built up on the horizon. A chill wind whipped the grass, tousling it
like hair. Stirred by the breeze, the crowns of the trees swayed to and fro, an
endless rustling that preyed on the nerves.

Verstohlen woke late. As he moved, he felt a dull pain in his
back. Slowly, the memory of the previous night returned to him. He shivered,
trying to blot it out.

He pulled himself upright, moving slowly to avoid opening the
wounds on either side of his spine. The air smelled of charred meat. Something
was cooking.

A few yards away, crouching over a fire, was Schwarzhelm. Two
rabbits were roasting, their discarded skins glistening on the grass close by.
There were trees all around, and between their slender trunks Verstohlen could
see the open, rolling plains of Averland. Not much in the way of cover, but
better than nothing.

The big man looked over his shoulder. He didn’t smile, and
went back to cooking breakfast.

“You slept late,” he grunted. He was right; the sun was high
in the sky.

Verstohlen tried to stretch, but the movement sent pangs of
pain down his back. He shuffled closer to the fire, limbs stiff and
unresponsive.

“How did we get here?” he asked. The events of the previous
night were confused. He remembered Tochfel and he remembered a chase through the
streets of Averheim. Schwarzhelm had killed men, many of them. Then the gates
had slammed open, and there was more running. After that, everything was hazy.

“I brought you here,” he replied. “When you passed out, I
carried you. We’re twenty miles east of Averheim. Not far enough. We’ll have to
move again soon.”