03 - Call to Arms

by Mitchel Scanlon - (ebook by Undead)

  Krug took a step forward. He stared at Dieter menacingly.

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stand off—right now. I was in the army when you were still sucking greedy at your bitch-mother’s teat. You don’t want to make me an enemy, boy.”

  “I killed at least six beastmen yesterday,” Dieter told him. “Not one of them was as ugly as you are. They smelled better, too.”

  Without realising it, he had swapped his sword over to his right hand. Now, he saw Krug unsheath his own sword.

  “I warned you, boy,” Krug said. “Looks like I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

  Seeing Krug take up a fighting stance, Dieter went into his own stance. Some small part of him said he had let things spiral out of control. He had been a Scarlet for barely a day, yet he was about to fight one of his fellow soldiers. Part of his mind told him he should withdraw, report the matter to Sergeant Bohlen and let military justice deal with Krug and Febel for their looting. Still, pride would not let him back down.

  Febel had retreated to the side of the hut, but Dieter knew he should keep an eye on him. He didn’t trust Febel not to stab him in the back while he was dealing with Krug.

  Krug took another step forward. Already, matters had gone too far for a peaceful solution. There would be blood.

  Suddenly, Dieter heard a low, mournful sound from out in the forest. He recognised it at once.

  It was clear Krug and Febel had recognised it as well. Embarrassed, Krug lowered his sword. For a moment they stood in silence, listening to the sound, trying to work out its direction.

  It was the sound of a hunting horn—the one Captain Harkner carried with him. It was a prearranged signal, a call to arms.

  Somewhere, out in the mists, the Scarlets had met the enemy.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RISING SUN

  “The horn,” Febel said as the last notes of it died. “The others are in trouble.”

  Their conflict abruptly put aside, the three men rushed to the door of the hut and pushed outside.

  “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you, Lanz,” Krug said as they stood in front of the hut and attempted to find their bearings. “We will settle things later, you and I.”

  “You can count on it,” Dieter replied. “Now, shut up. I’m trying to listen.”

  The horn sounded again. Its tone seemed eerie in the haze. Listening to its elongated, keening cry, Dieter was reminded of one of the tales Helmut Schau had told him as a child. It was said the daemons of the Ruinous Powers sometimes hunted in the forests, driving a pack of monstrous hounds before them. Dieter was not sure whether he believed the tale, but he suspected the horn used by the huntmaster of the damned when he summoned his hounds sounded something like the noise they could hear in the mists. He suppressed a shiver.

  “It’s coming from over there,” Febel said, pointing in an approximate direction.

  Hurrying as fast as was possible given the conditions, the three men raced off in the direction of the sound. As he ran with the others, Dieter was careful to keep his senses sharp. The fog was so thick, it would be all too easy to blunder directly into the enemy.

  For a second, Dieter wondered whether the mist was entirely natural in character. He had heard the shamans and sorcerers of the Empire’s enemies were capable of every manner of trick: spells that could conjure storms, plagues of insects, pestilences and other miseries. Surely an impenetrable wall of fog, to better be able to ambush their human opponents, would not be beyond them?

  As swiftly as the idea occurred to Dieter, he rejected it. He told himself the haze around them was simply a natural phenomenon, typical of the season. It was an early morning mist, nothing more.

  Suddenly, three brutish shapes reared up out of the mists. Catching sight of them just in time, Krug and Febel raised their shields and made ready to meet their new opponents. Falling in beside them, Dieter raised his shield as well. Wary of the fact that he had not yet drilled with the Scarlets, he was careful to leave some space between himself and the others—standing close enough so he could cover their flank, but not so close he might get in their way and endanger them all.

  The monsters were orcs. Dieter had never seen them in the flesh before, but one look at the creatures’ jutting jaws and slab-browed, bestial features was enough for him to identify them from the descriptions of Helmut Schau.

  Each of the orcs was armed with a shield and a heavy sword with a huge, cleaver-like blade. Where their human opponents were quick to adopt battle formation, the orcs fought without regard for any such tactical subtlety. Bellowing with rage, they charged forward, red eyes shining at the lure of bloodshed.

  One of them made for Dieter. Stepping forward to meet its charge, Dieter reminded himself of the lessons learned fighting beastmen the day before. When the orc lashed out at him with its sword, Dieter was careful not to meet the blade directly with his shield for fear the orc’s attack would smash right through it. Instead, he feinted with the shield as though he was going to parry with it, before sidestepping the attack at the last moment.

  As the orc’s blade slashed through empty air, Dieter thrust his sword at the gap created in the creature’s guard. The blade struck home, stabbing deep through the monster’s hide and into its chest. Pulling the sword free as the orc grunted in pain, Dieter resumed a high guard position, confident his enemy was about to fall.

  He was wrong. Turning to face him once more, the orc spat out a mouthful of dark blood and showed its teeth in a snarl.

  Dieter was sure he had stabbed the creature in the heart, but incredibly the orc seemed hardly fazed by the wound. Redoubling its efforts to kill him, the orc charged forward once more, swinging its sword as it uttered a roaring cry of defiance.

  Trying a variation on his previous tactic, Dieter dodged the blow and tried to slash at the back of its legs, aiming to hamstring the orc for an easy kill.

  This time, the orc was ready for him. Catching him with the edge of its shield, it swatted Dieter like a fly, hitting him with a force that sent him reeling. Barely managing to keep his feet, Dieter took a more open stance as the orc turned to face him again, hoping to tempt his enemy into making another charge.

  He did not have to wait long. With a roar, the orc lumbered forward. Making another feint, Dieter jinked as though he was going right, before he suddenly rushed to the left. The movement exposed the orc’s right side as it lifted its sword to strike. Dieter thrust his own sword forward with all his might, the blade stabbing between the monster’s ribs and digging deep. Pulling the weapon free with a twist, Dieter stabbed at his target a second time before the orc could react. Disengaging swiftly, he took a step backward, moving to a safe position beyond the orc’s reach.

  Again, the orc snarled in defiance. But, this time, the damage done was more than it could shrug off. It moved a step forward. Then, another step, its sword falling from a dying hand even as it tried to shuffle onward to revenge itself on its enemy. Before Dieter’s eyes, the orc collapsed to its knees and slumped forward as its lifeless body fell to the ground.

  Breathing an uneasy sigh of relief, Dieter looked about him, checking on his companions. Krug and Febel had defeated their opponents, but Dieter felt a brief sliver of pride as he noticed the orc he had killed was larger than either of theirs.

  In the course of the fight, with his mind focused on his duel with the orc, he had been only dimly aware of the sounds around him. Now, Dieter realised he could hear the noises of a nearby battle.

  Without a word between them, he pushed on into the mists with Krug and Febel beside him, seeking its source.

  After another few minutes’ progress, the origin of the sounds became plain. As ever, it was difficult to see clearly through the film of the mists, but it was quickly apparent they had come upon the main centre of the conflict.

  All around them, Scarlets skirmished with orcs and goblins. Throwing himself headlong into the struggle, Dieter caught two goblins unaware as they made ready to shoot arrows into t
he backs of the soldiers with their bows. Smashing one to the ground with his shield, Dieter split the other goblin’s head in two with a blow from his sword.

  Spotting one of the Scarlets was in trouble, Dieter raced over to support him. The man was facing two orcs armed with spears. Hemmed in on either side, the man had lost his shield. He had been forced back against a tree as the orcs closed in on him scenting victory.

  Charging to the man’s aid, Dieter attacked one of the orcs. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, he stabbed his sword into the thick mass of muscle where the orc’s head met its shoulders. It was like cutting through bundled layers of cowhide, but by putting all his strength and momentum behind it Dieter killed the creature with a single blow.

  Becoming aware of Dieter’s presence, the second orc turned to meet him—only to be spitted like a piece of meat as Dieter and the trapped Scarlet thrust their swords in tandem, running the monster through.

  “My thanks, young blood,” the man said. “You’re like an answer to my prayers. I thought I was done for there.”

  It was Rieger. Before, in the mists and the confusion of battle, Dieter hadn’t recognised him. Looking about him, Dieter realised he had lost sight of Krug and Febel when he leapt into the fray.

  “Where are the others?” Dieter asked as he and Rieger paused for a few seconds to catch their breaths.

  “The rest of the file, you mean?” Rieger gestured with his sword at the tumult around them. “Somewhere in this disorder. True to form, we blundered into the greenskins in the mists. I’d almost think they were waiting for us, but they seemed as surprised at the turn of events as we were. After that, it was all blood and madness. A typical battle in other words.”

  Hefting his sword, Rieger picked up his fallen shield and strode on to rejoin the skirmish.

  “Come on, Lanz. We’ve rested long enough. Stay close to me and let’s show these greenskins what war really means.”

  Letting Rieger take the lead, Dieter followed him into combat. At first, he was unsure whether the older man was not just charging blindly back into the fight. It quickly became clear, however, that Rieger had a specific aim in mind.

  Ahead, an embattled group of Scarlets were desperately trying to hold off a much larger force of orcs and goblins. Yelling at the top of his voice, Rieger charged at the nearest orc, his sword swinging in a deadly arc.

  “Forward the 3rd!” Rieger shouted. “Forward for Hochland! Forward the Scarlets!”

  Around the battlefield, the battle cry was repeated as other men took up the chant. Standing close to Rieger, matching him stroke for stroke as they cut relentlessly into the greenskins before them, Dieter joined in the cry. Rising above the cacophony of battle, the sound reached a stirring crescendo.

  “Forward the 3rd! Forward for Hochland! Forward the Scarlets!”

  The cry did its work. It seemed to spur the Scarlets on to greater efforts. With renewed ferocity, they laid into the greenskins. Goblins and orcs died in ever greater numbers, lessening the disparity between human and greenskin forces.

  Almost imperceptibly at first, a change came over the enemy. Whether it was the result of his and Rieger’s unexpected attack from behind them, the Scarlets’ renewed efforts, or the battle cry booming across the field of slaughter, Dieter could not be sure.

  It started as the goblins broke and ran, leaving their larger cousins to fight on without them. No longer possessing superior numbers, the orcs were left at a sudden disadvantage. Making their own numbers tell, the Scarlets redoubled their assault. Outnumbered two to one in places, the remaining orcs were swiftly dispatched.

  The fighting ended with unexpected abruptness. Finishing a fallen orc with a stroke from his sword, Dieter looked about him to find another enemy and saw there were none left standing. In their place, the surviving Scarlets stood on the battlefield, surveying the scene. The sense of relief was all but palpable. For an instant, blessed silence reigned.

  It was only a brief respite. Within seconds of the fall of the last enemy, a new tumult replaced the receding storm of war. Men wounded in the battle called out for aid, their comrades rushed to them, sergeants yelled orders. Other men, glad to be alive, clapped their hands, shouted oaths, exulted to the heavens.

  “You survived then?”

  Turning at the sound of a voice behind him, Dieter saw Gerhardt approach him, followed by Hoist. Their weapons and armour were splattered with orc gore. Glancing down at himself, Dieter realised he was in the same condition.

  “Well?” Gerhardt asked. “What did you think of your first time in the field with the Scarlets? I take it you did your duty?”

  “He did fine, Gerhardt,” Rieger said. “A credit to his teacher. I never met Helmut Schau, but he must be a lion to raise such a fierce cub.”

  Dieter had briefly lost sight of him in the scrum of battle, but the blond man appeared at his side once more, polishing blood from his sword.

  “I did my best,” Dieter said. Ordinarily, it was his habit to project a shield of bravado, but in the aftermath of so much bloodshed he felt strangely humble.

  “Don’t get cocky,” Gerhardt warned him. “I won’t belabour the point now, but I told you to stay close. We thought we’d lost you in the mists. You were lucky you didn’t run into the orcs on your own. If that had happened, your head would be adorning some chieftain’s trophy-pole right about now.”

  The mists were starting to clear. In the east, the sun had become visible above the treetops, a baleful eye staring down at the carnage. Looking up at it, Dieter realised it felt good to be alive.

  He did not have the chance to savour the emotion for long. As he stood talking with Gerhardt and the others, a warning cry attracted their attention. Spotting a soldier standing a little distance away, waving frantically to beckon them towards him, they went over to see the source of his unease.

  The soldier was standing at a place where the ground unexpectedly dipped. The early morning mist having lifted, burned off by the rising sun, it was possible to see their surroundings properly for the first time.

  As Dieter walked forward, he took advantage of the improved visibility to scan the area. With the clearing of the mists, it had become obvious they were standing on the lip of a river valley. Looking downward, he saw a gentle slope falling down to a snaking river which had carved its way over thousands of years through the surrounding woodlands. Dieter did not know what the river was called, but based on their location he judged it to be one of the tributaries of the Talabec, carrying cold melt waters from the Middle Mountains down to join the Talabec south of the Howling Hills.

  Whatever the soldier had seen had caused no little consternation. At first, as Dieter joined the small group of men standing at the lip of the valley, he could see no sign of anything untoward. Then, glancing in the direction of the soldier’s pointing finger, he saw something that turned his blood to ice.

  There were greenskins in the valley. There were tens of thousands, more of them than he could count. Comparing their numbers to the relatively limited force of orcs they had fought in the mists would have been like comparing a raindrop to the wide expanse of the ocean.

  The orcs were crossing the river, coming in their direction. Fortunately, they had not yet spotted the group of men standing on the vantage above them.

  Looking down through the cover of the trees, Dieter saw massed ranks of goblins hauling siege engines, orcs riding boars and chariots, goblin wolf riders; he even thought he caught a glimpse of a troll. He swallowed hard, finding his mouth was suddenly dry.

  This was no mob of raiders or scouting party. It was an entire greenskin army, he suspected larger in size than anything General von Nieder had expected.

  To make matters worse, the orcs were headed straight for the Hochlanders’ camp.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A STRANGE THUNDER

  “I have spoken to Captain Harkner,” Sergeant Bohlen said. “The good news is that the regiment is retreating. The bad news is that we are th
e rearguard.”

  Several minutes had passed since the presence of the orc army had been discovered. In that time, decisions had been made.

  A runner had been sent to find Captain Harkner. Arriving at the scene to see things for himself, the captain had immediately ordered the men to pull back from the lip of the valley. So far, the greenskins had been too busy squabbling amongst themselves as they crossed the river to notice they were being watched, but Harkner was wary the enemy might have sent scouts on ahead of them. Accordingly, he pulled his troops back into cover, leaving only a few men as lookouts to monitor the greenskins’ progress.

  After that, the captain had summoned the senior men from each file to a terse conference.

  To Dieter, they seemed the longest moments he had ever known. Excluded from the deliberations, ordered to wait with the other men of his file while Sergeant Bohlen consulted with the captain, he was painfully aware of the orcs’ proximity.

  In reality, he supposed the greenskins were at least half a league away as yet, all of it uphill and across heavily forested terrain. As long as the enemy cavalry remained unaware of their presence, it might take them as long as half an hour to reach the Scarlets’ position. They might even bypass them entirely, missing them in the cover of the woodland. Still, Dieter did not relish the prospect of betting his life on those odds.

  By the time Bohlen returned, it was clear the other members of the file held similar views to Dieter. They gathered around the sergeant eagerly, hoping for good news.

  They were quickly disappointed.

  “Ours is the most dangerous job,” Bohlen told them. “But someone has to do it. When the captain asked me if I thought we were up to it, I had no hesitation in telling him we were.”

  “Lucky for us,” Krug muttered under his breath, his words attracting hostile stares from those close enough to hear them.

  “Do you have a problem, Krug?” Bohlen glowered at him.