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Authors: Chris Wraight - (ebook by Undead)

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03 - Sword of Vengeance (36 page)

BOOK: 03 - Sword of Vengeance
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“That’s
all
you know?” Volkmar snarled, leaning
forwards, his hands gripping the chair arms tightly. His hard face was twisted
with disbelief.

The man standing before him didn’t look like he was lying. He
hardly looked like he could stammer his name out. Hans von Bohm, mayor of
Streissen, had had plenty of time to regret his delay in coming to terms. The
stench of smoke and burned flesh was a potent reminder of his failure.

“It is, my lord,” the mayor insisted. “The elector—”

“The traitor.”

“The
traitor
sent us men from Averheim to bolster the
garrison. They were all normal men, good stock from the land around these parts.
None of them were tainted. If they had been, we wouldn’t have taken them.”

Volkmar grunted with dissatisfaction, turning to Roll.

“Is he telling the truth?” he asked his confessor.

Roll shrugged. “There’s no aura of a lie.”

Volkmar turned back to the mayor.

“If you weren’t in league with Grosslich, why did you not
submit earlier? There are many deaths on your head.”

The mayor looked dumbfounded. “We had barely lime to read
your demands! No war has been declared. What was I supposed to think, when an
army suddenly appeared from the north and began to deploy? I was charged with
the defence of this place.”

“And the column of fire did not alert you? The lack of
contact from the Empire? At no stage did you doubt the loyalty of your new
masters?”

“There had been no time!” cried the mayor, his exasperation
getting the better of his fear. “We are loyal subjects of the Empire, and you’re
asking us to know the impossible!”

Volkmar rose from his seat, glowering like thunder. The mayor
shrank back, looking around him for some kind of support. None came.

“There are no excuses for ignorance,” the Theogonist said,
looking like he wanted to leap across the floor and tear the man apart. “You
were placed in authority here. You should have acted sooner.”

The mayor said nothing, and hope left his eyes. Like a
bewildered child asked to learn some lesson beyond his capability, he froze.

“Go now,” ordered Volkmar, bristling with suppressed anger.
“Gather what remains of your men and see that they’re re-ordered into marching
companies. They’re under my command now. Fail me in this and I’ll have you
hanged.”

The mayor bowed and scuttled from the chamber, face flushed
and sweaty. As he left, Volkmar slowly took his seat again. He sat, brooding,
for a few moments. The sound of men working to clear the streets rose up from
outside the townhouse, mixed with the sound of weeping and bells tolling.

“How quickly can we move again?” Volkmar asked at last.

“Whenever you order it, my lord,” said Gruppen.

“Then we leave within the hour,” said Volkmar.

“The men need rest,” objected Maljdir.

“They will get none.”

The big Nordlander raised his bearded chin, looking defiant.
“If you expect them to fight when they reach Averheim, they cannot march again.”

Volkmar looked at his priest darkly. It was one thing to have
dissension from others of the command council, but to have it from one of his
own retinue was intolerable.

“Are you telling me how to conduct this war, priest?” Volkmar
asked, and there was a low note of threat in his gravelly voice.

Maljdir held the Theogonist’s gaze. “It is my counsel,” he
replied. “Why have a council of war, if you will not listen to its views?”

There was an intake of breath from one of the more junior
captains. Roll, used to the fearless ways of his comrade, made no sign.

Volkmar’s face went pale with anger. When he spoke, the
muscles in his broad neck tensed.

“In the years we have fought together, you and I, you have
never dared to speak thus. Perhaps you have more to say.”

“I do,” replied Maljdir. “There were deaths here that should
never have taken place. You know me well, Theogonist. Never have I hesitated to
kill in the name of the law, but we could have taken Streissen without this
bloodshed.”

“They were
heretics
,” hissed Volkmar, eyes blazing.
“They deserved nothing better. This will warn the others.”

“Heretics? They were instruments, as blind as moles.”

“So you
are
telling me how to conduct the war.”
Volkmar’s voice lowered, and the threat remained in it.

“And if I am? You’ve not commanded an army since your return
from the wastes, my lord. What happened to you would change any man. You never
relished slaughter before.”

Volkmar leapt to his feet and grabbed the Staff of Command.
The shaft burst into a blazing golden light, cracking and spitting as it
channelled his rage.

“You
dare
to accuse me!”

Gruppen and Roll rose from their seats, consternation etched
on their faces.

“We don’t have time for this,” warned Roll.

“That is right, confessor,” spat Volkmar, staring
belligerently at Maljdir. “Retract your words, priest, or this matter will be
taken further.”

For a moment, Maljdir’s fingers crept towards the handle of
Bloodbringer, still by his side. He remained seated, his vast bulk crammed into
a scholar’s chair. His broad face was sullen and defiant.

Then, slowly, he withdrew.

“I do not intend disloyalty,” he said, his jaw tight. “But
the men need more time.”

Volkmar remained on his feet. The Staff continued to shimmer
with angry golden energy. No one spoke. Eventually, grudgingly, Volkmar let the
aura fade and flicker out.

“I will consider it. For now, this council is over. We have
real work to do.”

He shot a final look of warning at Maljdir, then swept from
the chamber, cloak streaming out from behind him, staff thudding on the floor as
he went.

Once he’d gone, Gruppen moved his hand discreetly away from
the pommel of his sword and relaxed.

“What’re you
doing
?” said Roll to Maljdir.

“He’s losing it. Surely you can see it.”

“I see nothing but your thick neck.”

“This is personal for him. He wants to make up for Archaon.
Tell me truly, does this fury seem
normal
to you?”

Roll shook his head. “You should have spoken out earlier.
Averheim beckons. He will lead us there, whatever qualms you’ve suddenly
developed.”

Maljdir clambered to his feet. “If he directs it at
Grosslich, I’ll be right beside him. If he takes it out on our own kind, I’ll
not stand aside again.”

He hefted Bloodbringer lightly, and his expression was grim.

“You may count on it.”

 

Bloch froze. The dagger parted his skin, worming through the
flesh. The pain was sharp. His day had just gone from surprising to downright
insane.

“Get back!” he yelled at his men, some of whom had started to
edge forwards. He knew something of Reiksguard from his time in the ranks. They
were terrifying bastards and he had no doubt the preceptor would twist home his
knife in an instant if he felt the slightest justification for it.

“Time’s running out,” the preceptor warned, keeping the metal
close.

Bloch felt a line of sweat run down his temple. After all
he’d done, this continual ingratitude was getting ridiculous.

“I’ve no idea where he is,” he said, trying to keep his voice
as steady as possible. “On Sigmar’s honour I don’t. Now why don’t you tell me
why you’re so happy to kill me to find out?”

The Reiksguard kept his scarred, ugly face close. Bloch could
feel the man’s breath on his cheek.

“Not good enough,” he snarled. Something had made him very
angry indeed. “One more chance.”

Bloch swallowed. The knife dug a little deeper. A hot trickle
of blood slipped down his collar. It would be important to get the next few
words right.

“I can’t tell you, because I don’t know,” he said, .peaking
slowly and carefully. “The last time I saw him was weeks ago. He ordered me to
retake Black Fire Keep from the orcs. I did that. Now I come back here, and
everybody wants to kill me. Perhaps I wouldn’t be so angry about that if I had
any idea why.”

The Reiksguard paused. Bloch dared to start hoping again.
From the corner of his eye he could see Kraus, itching to pile in.

“You weren’t in Averheim with him?”

“No, though I was hoping to find him there.”

Another pause.

“You really have no idea why I might want to spill blood to
find him?”

“No idea at all. Less than none. Though if you do find a
lead, perhaps you’d let me come along with you. There’s a lot I’d like to ask
him too.”

As suddenly as he’d struck, the preceptor withdrew the knife.
Bloch spun out of the armlock and staggered away, feeling his neck gingerly. His
men took a menacing pace forwards again.

“Enough!” he rasped, waving them back. Something very strange
was going on, and this was his best chance to find out what. “Morr’s balls, that
hurt
.”

The preceptor didn’t look obviously sorry. He and his men
radiated aggression.

“Be thankful I didn’t finish the job. If I hadn’t seen you
fighting against Grosslich’s men, you’d have died a lot sooner.”

Bloch winced. That didn’t make him feel a lot better.

“Look, we could put all this behind us if you’d just tell me
what in the nine hells is happening here. When I headed east, there was a battle
for succession going on. Now it seems like this Grosslich is in charge and he’s
killing anyone left who isn’t him. I’m pretty sure that’s not what Schwarzhelm
intended.”

The preceptor regarded him suspiciously. His knights stayed
poised to attack. It didn’t seem to matter to them that it was thirty knights
and a rabble of ill-trained peasant filth against two hundred battle-hardened
infantry. Reiksguard were crazy like that. They’d take on anyone.

“You haven’t heard about Lord Helborg, then?” asked the
Reiksguard darkly.

Bloch shook his head. The last he’d heard, Helborg had been
in Nuln.

“Then we have much to discuss, you and I,” said the
preceptor. “I will tell you what I know. Perhaps you can explain the rest. Then,
once things are a little clearer between us, I’ll decide what to do with you.”

 

Another drear, cold day was drawing to a close. Blankets of
cloud obscured the sunset, but the darkness stealing from the east came on
quickly enough. Helborg stood on a ridge, his gaze drawn north. He was alone.
The rest of the army was busy erecting camp half a mile away. While the light
remained, the Marshal surveyed the country ahead, planning the next day’s march,
weighing up the dangers ahead, choosing where to recover more supplies, horses
and fodder to fuel their onward progress.

The army had reached the edge of the highlands. To the north
the land fell away sharply, turning from barren scrub into the rich grassland
for which Averland was famous. From Helborg’s position, right on the summit of a
scarp on the borders of the moor-country, he could see for miles. The heart of
the province beckoned, its grasses ruffled by the ceaseless wind, its open skies
marred by storms.

The column of fire weighed on his mind. Now, just as the army
was poised on the cusp of descending into the interior, it was ever-present,
visible even during the middle of the day. The broken clouds swirled above it,
drawn inwards as if summoned by a Celestial magister of awesome power.

The Marshal gazed at the angry glow for a while, reflecting
on the paucity of men he had under arms. Nearly two thousand now marched with
him, the gleanings of Leitdorf’s ancestral lands. As a result of Skarr’s plunder
he had money to pay them, supplies to give them and weapons to arm them with.
That might well not be enough. The more Leitdorf told him what was in Marius’
notebooks, the more he dreaded the encounter to come. Not for his own sake—he
was a fighting man, and battle had never held any terrors for him—but for the
sake of the Empire. If the corruption was not staunched at its source then it
would spread as surely as the pox in a whorehouse. The Empire was already
overstretched with the endless war in the north. A drawn-out campaign in
Averland would be disastrous. Maybe even fatal.

Two thousand men. On such meagre forces did so much depend.

“My lord.”

Helborg turned to see a group of Reiksguard standing to
attention. They were led by Rainer Hausman, the one he’d sent ahead to scout the
flanks of the rearguard.

“I gave instructions to be left alone,” he said.

Hausman bowed in apology.

“I know. We have a prisoner.”

As the man spoke, his captive stepped forwards.

It was perfectly clear the man was no prisoner. He stood
nearly a head taller than the knights around him and was more powerfully built
than them even out of his armour. His beard looked a little greyer, his skin a
little tighter, his stance a little less upright, but there could be no mistake
about it.

It was him. After so many nights of dreaming of that mighty
face, contorted with rage and madness, he was back.

Helborg felt his blood begin to pump. The wound in his
shoulder suddenly flared, as if recognising the man that had dealt it. His hand
flew for his sword quicker than thought and his fingers curled around the grip.
His jaw locked. For once, his fluent speech deserted him. His knuckles went
white.

Schwarzhelm stood motionless. His face was as grim as it had
ever been. He said nothing. The Reiksguard withdrew, leaving the two peerless
warriors alone, exposed on the escarpment, facing one another as the wind
whipped about them. From the northwest, a rumble of distant thunder rolled
across the plains.

Helborg took a step forwards, face taut with rage. The anger
burned him; the deep, smouldering sense of injustice that had burned since the
duel in Averheim. For so many nights, drifting on the borders of death, that
rage had sustained him. For so long he’d lived for nothing more than the thought
of vengeance. Now his fury flared into the real world, animating his sinews,
firing his lungs, screaming at him to wield the blade.

BOOK: 03 - Sword of Vengeance
6.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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