Forged in Battle (12 page)

Gruff didn’t talk until the road started to flatten out, and
he could hear the rushing water of the Struhelflossen waterfalls.

They sat up, and saw lights through the trees, and Gertrude
began to clap when she thought of arriving somewhere safe.

Gruff let the reins go slack and the horses slowed down to a
walk. From the windows, yellow light spilt out into the main street. Gruff said
a prayer to Taal for bringing them here safely: then he saw something on top of
the village sign, and realised it was a head.

The street was full of heads: impaled on stakes. The glowing
windows took on a sinister air, the twins started crying. Struhelflossen had
become a village of the dead.

Dawn was still a few hours off as Gunter’s men made their way
onto the
White Rose.
Osric’s men were sent up the next jetty to the
Myrmidia’s Grace,
while Vostig’s men followed them and climbed aboard the
Heidi.

“Quickly now!” Osric said as his men clambered aboard. His
men sat in the waist of the boat, their heads below the gunnels, only their
halberds sticking out above the water line.

Freidel was last in. He sat at the back, on top of the simple
cabin where the crew usually slept. He hated boats and water and sailing and
shut his eyes as the boatmen cast off, praying that he would feel dry land soon.

As the boat moved out into the middle of the river small
waves began to lap against the side of it, but to Freidel they seemed like
crashing breakers. He put his hands out to steady himself, a cold sweat on his
forehead and upper lip.

“We’re going to capsize!” he said and reached to steady
himself, unable to comprehend how no one else understood this fact—but Osric
laughed.

“Don’t you worry! We’ll have you on dry land in no time!”

It took half an hour to pack the men onto the barges, but the
stubby thick-waisted salt barges were perfect for carrying heavy loads. The
barges barely moved as the men stepped aboard. Gunter’s men squatted in ranks in
the
Myrmidia’s Grace,
six men across, their halberds stacked against the
side of the boat. In the
Heidi,
the handgunners were more cautious. Water
would make their weapons useless, so they rested against the sides of the boat,
keeping their handguns across their knees.

Frantz joined the boatmen poling the barges out from the
jetty. As they inched towards the harbour mouth they threw ropes across to one
another, and lashed the three craft into a long chain, fifty feet of rope, as
thick as a man’s arm, between each craft.

As they cleared the harbour mouth the current of the river
took hold of the boats and began to turn them downstream. The sailors began to
tug on the ropes that hoisted the sails. The broad canvas sheets flapped
uselessly for a moment, then the tillers were turned and the boats turned into
the wind and the sails filled.

With the current of the river and the sails full with the
evening breeze they made good time. Sigmund stood on the prow, staring at the
green glimmer. However fast Frantz told him they were going, they seemed to be
going far too slowly.

The boats steered to the far side of the river, and Sigmund
had all the men keep their heads down. He could not be sure that there no enemy
eyes watching the river.

It took an hour for them to reach the point where the
mysterious fire was burning. For a long while the site was obscured by the
orchard trees, but as they got closer he saw they had reached the site of an
ancient burial mound. At the top a fire was burning, but unlike a normal fire
the flames were green, and they seemed to coil and lick around each other,
spiralling up in a column of sorcery. Silhouetted around the fire were horned
figures, moving round in some macabre dance. Sigmund tried to count the numbers,
but it was impossible to tell. There could be anything between fifty and a
hundred.

As he watched he saw a struggling figure being dragged
towards the fire. This figure did not have horns and Sigmund realised with a
stab of disgust that it was the figure of a woman. He knew what was going to
happen, but was unable to stop watching. He could see the woman being forced to
her knees, and then she was obscured by the dancing figures. The next thing he
saw was a round object being tossed into the flames.

The White Rose sailed past the fire on the Stirland side of
the river, and then when the low rise had obscured the mound, Ehab swung the
tiller to the left and the barge nosed across the river. Sigmund could feel the
tension in the boats rising. The sailors worked silently. Unlike the soldiers,
who were deep in the boats, they too had seen the fires, and for the first time
they had a sense of the real danger.

Only Ehab seemed unconcerned. He aimed his craft upstream of
the jetty, and as he did so his crew dropped the yardarm and pulled down the
flapping sail, then began to wrap it up and stow it amidships.

As the
White Rose
brought herself nose onto the jetty,
the crew of the
Heidi
began to haul on the rope that held her to the lead
craft. It took ten minutes until both boats were lashed together, and the
captain of the
Myrmidia’s Grace
was bringing his boat alongside.

Freidel was the first soldier from the
White Rose
to
jump from the boat onto the jetty. There were many planks missing and the wood
was wet and slimy with a layer of algae-green scum. His foot slipped from under
him and he fell half into the water with a loud splash.

“Help him up!” Osric hissed to the next man and Baltzer put
his halberd shaft down for Friedrick to grasp and then helped to haul him up.
The crew of the
White Rose
were used to slippery wood and Ehab joined
them on the jetty, helping the men out.

In less time than it had taken to pack the men aboard they
were all ashore and ranked up. Over the rise they could see the embers circling
up into the sky, but they could hear nothing. Sigmund picked out two men who
knew the land, and sent them out to scout from the top of the hill.

They left their halberds and swords behind and hurried off
into the gloom, keeping low to the sloping hillside. The eastern sky was
beginning to pale. Sigmund went from man to man checking that they were all
armed and ready. He had Gunter’s men lined up with their right flank protected
by the river. Next was Osric’s company, and then protecting their flank were
Vostig’s handgunners.

Sigmund stood in front of his men, waiting for the scouts to
return. The river gave off a chill damp air. He shivered.

The flames leapt up and lit the ancient mound with a pale
green light. Red Killer personally led the last prisoner to the side of the
fire. He kicked the man to the floor and then cut off his head with a single
sweep of his axe. The blood splashed down onto the base of the stone, and there
was a strange sucking sound as the blood flowed down into the ground.

It was done.

Suddenly the flames died down, the dying embers crackling
angrily.

Red Killer roared and moved off north, into the forest. Some
of his warband were unable to resist the call of the stones. He left those weak
fools behind. He had business to attend to: to waylay Azgrak the Abomination and
seize the leadership from him.

It took half an hour for the scouts to come hurrying back.
They were almost upon Sigmund before he saw them.

“Beastmen,” they agreed. “Maybe fifty.”

“Any scouts?”

“We did not see any on this side. The only ones we saw were
facing towards the town.”

“Did you see any prisoners?”

The men shook their heads.

Sigmund nodded. He drew his sword and the men tensed, ready
to march forward.

“I want you two to keep to the left,” Sigmund told the men.
“Keep in touch with Vostig.”

The two men nodded and hurried off to the left.

Sigmund gave the signal for the men to advance and they began
to tramp forward. The night dew on the long grass softened their footfall, and
they left a distinct trail through the meadow.

The halberdiers carried their weapons over their shoulders.
The handgunners did the same. Edmunt was at the front of the halberdiers,
carrying the company banner—red and gold with the arms of Helmstrumburg. He
looked up, the colours were limp in the pre-dawn gloom, but as they marched the
light got brighter.

As they came up the side of the rise, Sigmund signalled a
halt. He hurried up alone to the brow of the rise then lay down and peered down
at the beastmen. He was familiar with the spot from his youth, but the land
appeared to have changed.

Whereas before there had been a plain mound, now there was a
tall circle of four standing stones, jagged splinters of black rock, at crooked
angles. In the centre of the ring was the embers of the weird fire.

There were maybe fifty beastmen. Most of them were the
smaller type, like the ones they had found attacking the Reikland merchants. But
within this number there were maybe twenty larger ones: their heads, with their
curled ram horns, standing well over the tallest halberdiers.

Sigmund shielded his eyes to see to either side, where the
orchards were half-hidden in gloom. He could not see any more. The sky to the
east was paling rapidly.

Sigmund scrambled down the slope until he could see his men.
As they were not fighting a ranked unit of men, but what would be little more
than a skirmish line of beasts, they had spread themselves out. Instead of
taking up their usual deployment of twelve men across and five men deep they
were now twenty men across and three men deep. The orders had been given to
advance, and the men had their halberds ready, points forward.

Vostig’s men were arranged on the left, the fifteen men in
two ranks, their handguns loaded and shouldered. This was when the hours of
training would pay off. In a normal engagement, the handgunners’ role was to run
alongside the halberdiers and use their guns to clear skirmish lines, or to
pepper the tightly massed enemy ranks with lead shot before the halberdiers fell
upon them. Now, however, in the open, the handgunners’ job was to cover the
flanks and the rear of the halberdiers.

Gunter and Osric stood at the front of their companies,
waiting for Sigmund’s sign. He gave it and the men started to march up the hill
towards him. He stood and waited for them to reach him. Their approach was
implacable. They kept their ranks and files in order, despite the curves of the
land. All together, they crested the hill, saw the beastmen beneath them, and
were half way down the slope before the cavorting beasts became aware that they
had been surprised, and with a terrible speed they charged up the slope.

There was no more dangerous place in battle than carrying the
banner. Edmunt marched at the centre of the line, each stride bringing the enemy
closer. When the first beastmen charged, Edmunt fitted the end of the banner
pole into his waist belt, felt the belt take the weight, then with his right
hand unhitched the hatchet from his belt.

The first beast he killed was for his mother’s ghost. So was
the second. He spat the excess saliva from his mouth, took in a deep breath,
felt his chest stretch wide and flexed his fingers on the grip.

Vostig led his men down the hill at a smart trot. They were
about fifteen feet in front of the halberdiers when they paused and quickly
ranked up in two lines.

The handgunners blew on their fuses to make them glow a dull
red and then Vostig gave the order.

“Front rank, present handgun!”

Richel raised his gun and tried to slow his breathing so that
the barrel would stop waving around—but it always did this when he was just
going into battle. There was nothing he could do to stop the fear.

“Open your pan!” Vostig shouted and Richel flicked the powder
pan open with his thumb.

The beastmen at the front were maybe thirty yards down the
slope, but closing rapidly. Richel blinked his eyes to clear his vision, and
made sure he was pointing his weapon at chest level.

“Give fire!”

There was a ragged splatter of shots. Each handgun threw out
a funnel of smoke that cleared as the front rank stepped backwards, pulled out
their scouring sticks and began to scrape blackpowder and scraps of cartridge
from the barrels.

Holmgar was in the second rank. He blew on his fuse and the
end glowed as he fitted the butt of the handgun into his shoulder. He could hear
the men of the first rank being given their orders: “Charge with powder. Charge
with shot,” but concentrated on the orders that were being given to him.

“Open your pan!”

Holmgar lined his muzzle up at a band of ten beastmen.

“Give fire!”

There was another ragged splatter of fire and the familiar
hum of spinning shot.

Sigmund swung his sword as he led his men down the slope. The
handgunners opened up on the left and Sigmund saw one beastman hit. Its horned
head was flung back and from the back of its head came a fountain of blood and
gore. Within moments the creatures were ten feet away and the next rank of
handgunners fired, but in the growing confusion Sigmund didn’t see how many
beastmen had been hit.

There were no beastmen where he was but he could hear the
thud as three creatures threw themselves against Osric’s men to his left. A man
screamed, but the line kept advancing, trampling down the dead and dying,
leaving the broken beastmen and the wounded halberdiers lying in the grass.

Elias was on the end, his knuckles white on the halberd
shaft. He could see the beastmen charging up the slope in ones and twos, and
prayed that he would not get charged, lust as he had this thought, two of the
smaller beastmen came sprinting out of the gloom straight towards him. As the
left wing connected with the beastmen the whole line began to wheel to the
right. The beastmen were a little shorter than him, but they had goats’ legs and
human upper bodies, man and beast blending at the waist. They carried wicker
shields and had the heads of women and children slung from their belts. Short
straight horns stuck straight up from their temples. The two that had singled
him out had leathery brown skin all over, the only difference between them being
that one had a white patch on its chest, like a farm animal.