03 - Call to Arms

by Mitchel Scanlon - (ebook by Undead)

  “The scouts are still checking everything,” Dieter told them. “But, so far, the place looks empty.”

  “Good,” Gerhardt nodded. “Sergeant Bohlen will stay back with the main body of the regiment until we are certain the coast is clear. If and when we are, he’ll bring the rest of the men forward and we’ll start sweeping the place for food and supplies. As long as the mill still seems defensible once we’ve scouted it, we’ll be spending the night here.”

  “Well, thank the gods for that,” Hoist snorted. “It will be good to have a night’s sleep with a roof over our heads. Who knows? Maybe this is a sign? Maybe the worst of it is over now, and from now on it will be clear sailing all the way to Hergig.”

  “I wouldn’t tempt fate,” Rieger cautioned. “Nor count your chickens before they’ve hatched.”

  “Feh, you’re too grim, Rieger,” Hoist grunted. “Always looking on the dark side. Believe me, I have every reason for confidence. There is a pattern to these things, you know. And, after all we’ve been through so far, it stands to reason our luck has got to change some time.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SENTRY DUTY

  “All right, you needn’t say it,” Hoist muttered as the rain fell in great torrents and soaked their clothes to their skin. “I should have kept my big mouth shut.”

  They were standing on the ramparts of the wall encircling the mill. Several hours had passed since the mill buildings had been scouted and pronounced clear. Night had fallen and, much to Hoist’s displeasure, he had been among the men posted on first watch alongside Dieter and Rieger. While the rest of the regiment slept, the three of them manned the walls on sentry duty along with another dozen men.

  “Of course, how was I to know I was putting my foot in it?” Hoist grumbled, continuing his diatribe. “How was I to know the gods are spiteful, thrice-damned bastards? How was I to know they were listening? Imagine. They hear a man make a perfectly innocent comment in the heat of the moment along the lines that things can only better. And what do they do? They unleash the heavens and piss in his eyes just to show him who’s in charge.”

  “Let us accept for a moment that all of that is true,” Rieger said, his body huddled under his cloak in the shadow of the wall as he tried to escape the worst of the downpour. “Let us assume for the sake of argument that the divine powers spend all their time listening to you and trying to find ways to spite you. I don’t see how calling the gods ‘thrice-damned bastards’ is likely to improve things.”

  “I suppose it won’t if you think about it,” Hoist said, glumly. “Do you think I just damned us to another month of rain? Although, actually, when you consider the facts it is really Sergeant Bohlen who is at fault here. It would hardly matter to us how hard it is raining if it wasn’t for him putting us out here on sentry duty.”

  “Surely he did that because he trusts us?” Dieter said. He was as wet and as cold as the others, but he was struggling to find some cause for optimism. “It is a weighty responsibility being on sentry duty, after all. Especially considering that those wolf riders could still be pursuing us.”

  “Feh. You’ll excuse me if I fail to see that as a subject for great rejoicing at the moment.” The rain was so heavy that Hoist’s usually luxurious moustache hung down limply by the sides of his face, adding to his hangdog look. “Right now, I’d prefer not to be trusted. Especially if it meant I could be with the rest of the men, where it is warm and dry.”

  Privately, Dieter had to admit he could see Hoist’s point. The rain showed no sign of abating, while their comrades inside the mill house luxuriated in what had seemed like relative comfort after the deprivations of the last few weeks. The miller and his family had evidently taken as much food and milled grain as they could carry when they fled the mill, but that had still left plenty of supplies to be looted when the Scarlets arrived.

  In the course of scouring the mill and its buildings for any usable foodstuffs, the Scarlets had found a few forgotten sacks of grain, some churned butter, a few vegetables, salt and some dried meat, alongside a variety of other useful supplies including lanterns, lamp oil and blankets. After the Scarlets’ recent experiences since the army’s defeat by the orcs, the mill seemed like a palace.

  What was more, they had eaten well for once. Demonstrating an unexpected culinary ability, one of the handgunners—a man named Groetsch—had combined some of the food found in the mill to create the most delicious stew Dieter had ever tasted. Frankly, he suspected his opinion of Groetsch’s cooking might have been unduly influenced by the lack of appetising food over the last few weeks, but he had enjoyed the meal tremendously all the same.

  Even granting the rain, which drummed down relentlessly, Dieter found it was difficult to be entirely pessimistic when his belly was full—not that he was much inclined to pessimism anyway. In the wake of a decent meal, the world seemed brighter somehow.

  In some ways, literally so.

  Despite the fact they had every reason to fear the wolf riders might still be on their trail, Sergeant Bohlen had decided to forgo the fire and light discipline of the last few nights. Light shone through the shutters from several of the mill house windows. The combination of the rain and a cloudy sky meant they could see little luminance from the moon, but in comparison to the gloomy night the mill house seemed like a shining oasis of light.

  Then again, Dieter was well aware there was a reason Sergeant Bohlen had decided to allow so much light in the farmhouse. It had been agreed that Gerhardt would amputate Kuranski’s leg. To stand any chance of successfully completing the operation, Gerhardt would need a great deal of light to see what he was doing.

  “At least, that’s one advantage of being outside.”

  Noticing that Hoist and Rieger were staring at him, Dieter realised he had spoken the last thought aloud.

  “I was thinking about Gerhardt operating on Kuranski,” he said, trying to explain. “I was almost glad in a way when the sergeant sent us outside on sentry duty. I wouldn’t like to be in the mill house when the operation starts. Poor Kuranski. I know Gerhardt found a bottle of wine and has tried to get him drunk. But can you imagine the pain Kuranski is going to have to go through?”

  “They are poor bastards—both of them,” Hoist said sombrely. “Kuranski, for being on the verge of death. Gerhardt, for having to hack at a comrade’s leg with a knife and hope for the best. Right now, I wouldn’t want to be either of them.”

  Just then, a scream came from the mill house. The scream went on for long seconds before it fell silent.

  Suppressing a shudder, Dieter mentally said a prayer for the suffering Kuranski.

  “A bad business,” Hoist said. His face darkened. “If you have to die, I’ve always thought it is better to go quickly—say from an arrow through the heart or having your head split open by an axe. Anything has to be better than getting a wound infected and suffering a long, lingering death.”

  “You don’t think the operation will be successful, then?” Dieter asked. “You don’t think Gerhardt can save Kuranski?”

  “Miracles happen, but I wouldn’t count on them,” Hoist answered. “It would be wrong to gamble money on whether or not a comrade will die. But, if I was asked to make odds on it, I’d say Kuranski’s chances are no better than one penny for compared to twenty against. Still, he is a comrade. A fellow Scarlet. Even with the odds stacked against him, there is no harm in doing everything we can to give him a fighting chance.”

  “Despite that, though, you believe Gerhardt is wasting his time?”

  “That is not for me to say.” Hoist shrugged. “Anyway, that is the kind of man Gerhardt is. He’s not the kind to give up. He’ll always risk life and limb to try and save a comrade, even if everyone else thinks it is a hopeless cause. He puts others first, before himself. He couldn’t be more different from Krug in that regard.”

  “Krug is an animal.” Dieter spat the words out with venom.

  “He’s more cunning than that,” Hoist said. “Be wary o
f him, Dieter. You can rest assured that me, Rieger and Gerhardt will watch your back, but keep your eyes skinned all the same. It doesn’t matter what Sergeant Bohlen said—I wouldn’t put it past Krug to risk cutting your throat in the hope he’ll be able to talk his way out of the hangman’s noose later. It’s only gossip, but rumour has it Krug made his living as a grave robber and bodysnatcher before he became a soldier. That tells you what kind of man he is. Don’t trust him with your back.”

  “I wouldn’t have anyway,” Dieter nodded. “How does a man like that become a Scarlet?”

  “I don’t know,” Hoist shrugged again. “Bear in mind, the regiment may be well thought of—but we’re not the nobility. The pistoliers and the knightly orders may ask to see proof of a man’s wealth and breeding before they allow him into the ranks, but in the infantry we keep these things more simple. If a man can use a sword, show some brass, and carries some steel in his britches, like as not the recruiters won’t turn him away. You’ve met the Ripper, of course?”

  “Sergeant Rippner?” Dieter remembered the scowling face of the Scarlets’ recruiting sergeant in Hergig.

  “Yes. In your brief acquaintanceship, you may have noticed the Ripper is a bastard of the highest order. A fiend in human form. Still, even fiends occasionally make mistakes. Even with the best efforts of men like the Ripper, sometimes a bad apple slips into the regimental barrel.”

  “And that’s what you’d call Krug? A bad apple?”

  “Well, admittedly, I can think of less pleasant things to call him. But bad apple will suffice for now.”

  Throughout their conversation, Rieger had stayed silent. Keeping to his own counsel, he had remained huddled under his cloak. Dieter had almost wondered whether the man was falling asleep.

  Suddenly, Rieger stood up straight. Turning to look hawkishly over the wall’s ramparts, he stared into the darkness.

  “Did you hear something?” Rieger said.

  “Yes. Raindrops. Lots of them,” Hoist replied. “But then, it is raining. I mention this just in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Quiet.” Rieger raised his hand. His every movement was tense, his posture alert and watchful as he stood facing the blackness of the night. “Dieter, get the lantern.”

  Complying, Dieter bent forward to collect an oil lantern from under a cloth on the rampart floor. It was one of the lanterns they had found in the mill house.

  The lantern was already lit—Rieger had seen to that earlier. To prevent its light giving away their position on the wall, the lantern’s shutter was closed and its wick had been turned down, while it had been hidden under the cloth to further obscure its brightness.

  Picking up the lantern in his left hand, Dieter pulled open the shutter and fiddled to turn up the wick. The lantern flared more brightly, its light gleaming through the raindrops as they fell in front of it.

  “Use it to have a look on the other side of the wall there,” Rieger said, his finger pointing. “I’d swear I heard a scratching sound.”

  Following the other man’s instructions, Dieter moved toward the spot Rieger had indicated. Leaning over the top of the wall, he lifted the lantern to shed more light on the area and looked downward to see if anything was below him.

  He saw a half a dozen dark shapes clinging to the wall, with more waiting on the ground below them. The creatures’ eyes glimmered redly in the light as they looked back up at him. His breath catching in his throat, Dieter realised they were goblins.

  For a moment, the goblins seemed frozen in the light as though they were uncertain whether to flee or continue climbing. Reacting more quickly, Dieter pulled out his sword and shouted a warning to the other men manning the walls.

  “Goblins!” he yelled. “Look to your swords!”

  Spurred into life by the noise, the goblins hurried to finish their climb. Slashing one of the goblins savagely across the face as it tried to climb over the iron spikes at the top of the wall, Dieter found he was forced to take a step backward as two more of the creatures vaulted over the spikes onto the parapet. Mindful of the parapet’s narrow nature, Dieter met them head-on before they could get their bearings.

  The goblins were armed with wicked, curved-edged knives. Dodging a wild slash from one of the greenskins, he responded with a well-aimed blow that split the head of the first goblin down the middle. Turning to face the second one, he parried another slash, before dispatching it with a fast thrust of his blade to the creature’s heart.

  As the second goblin fell, Dieter realised the fight was over. Hoist and Rieger had made similarly swift work of their own opponents. Looking around him, Dieter could see other sentries running to join them, but it appeared the short-lived crisis was already at an end.

  “Shine a light over the wall again,” Rieger said. “Quickly, before the rest of them withdraw.”

  Doing as his comrade asked, Dieter saw the remaining goblins scurry off into the night. It was difficult to be sure, but he counted about another dozen. Like the goblins that had climbed the wall, the ones on the ground wore black cloaks and hoods. He supposed it could be considered a sacrilegious thought, but the creatures’ appearance brought to mind some manner of species of stunted, ugly, greenskinned monk.

  “Night goblins,” Rieger said, watching them flee. “The ones we killed must have been scouts, sent to test out our defences. We’d better tell the sergeant.”

  He glanced back at the mill house. Already, soldiers were pouring out from inside it, drawn by the sound of battle. Sergeant Bohlen was visible at the head of them.

  “I suspect he won’t like the news any better than the rest of us,” Rieger continued. “But if the night goblins we killed were scouts, there will be more of them waiting somewhere nearby. A lot more.”

  He turned to Hoist.

  “You thought we were having a bad night before? I suspect it’s about to get a great deal worse.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ENEMY AT THE GATES

  “We should get out while we can,” Krug said. “Head out under the cover of darkness and make a run for it before they begin the attack.”

  “And run where?” Rieger said. “There’s nowhere for us to go, Krug. Never mind the fact the enemy are night goblins. You’re forgetting they can see in the dark. The cover of darkness works in their favour—not ours.”

  “Then, we should set fire to the mill as a diversion,” Krug said. “It will ruin the goblins’ night sight. We can use the confusion it creates to slip away without them seeing us.”

  “You ask me, you are clutching at straws,” Hoist joined the argument. “You say the fire would ruin their eyesight? How do we know that would even work? We can hardly call out to the goblins and ask them.”

  “At least it would give us a fighting chance,” Krug spat back. “Anything is better than staying here like rats in a trap.”

  They were standing in the kitchen of the mill house, part of a gaggle of a dozen men who were busily debating the merits of various responses to the goblin threat. No more than a quarter of an hour had passed since the skirmish with the night goblin scouts at the wall, but the revelation of the enemy’s proximity had thrown the entire group of Scarlets and their handgunner allies into a state of consternation.

  Every man in the mill took it for granted that the goblins were only part of a much larger force. Since it was obvious, even from a distance, that soldiers occupied the mill, there was only one reason a small group of goblin raiders could have for trying to sneak over the walls.

  Dieter had less experience of greenskins than some of the men assembled around him in the kitchen, but even he understood the basic laws that operated among such creatures. No goblin would willingly put itself at risk facing a numerically superior foe in a fortified position—not unless it had been compelled to by a leader whose orders it was afraid to refuse. In this case, it probably meant they had been sent by an orc warlord or goblin chieftain. A much larger greenskin force was probably nearby.

  From the back of the
group a man cleared his throat, the sound causing the other men in the room to turn their heads to see the source. It was Markus Brucker, the handgunner marksman. He had been listening quietly to the discussion from the back of the room. Now, he offered his opinion.

  “We’d be better off here than out in the open,” Brucker said. “I’ve fought night goblins before. It’s not just the fact that they can see in the dark while we can’t. It’s their custom to trap and train the monsters that live underground with them. At the very least, they’ll have squigs with them. Maybe other creatures besides.”

  “What’s a squig?” It was Dieter who asked the question.

  “Imagine an ugly ball of muscle with a pair of short, clawed legs at the bottom of it. Then, imagine that its most prominent feature is a mouth nearly as wide as its body, full to the brim with sharp fangs, any one of which is the size of a man’s thumb. That’s a squig. The small ones are about as wide as a doorway, though I’ve seen ’em as big as a bull. They’re good hunters, when it’s dark, and they move by jumping. They’re the strangest animal I’ve ever seen, not to mention the ugliest and probably the meanest. The goblins use them like we use dogs.”

  “So?” Krug glowered at the marksman. “You’re saying we should be scared of these squigs, is that it?”

  “Not scared so much.” Brucker shook his head. “They’re animals, and a bullet or sword will kill them—just like anything else. But you said you thought we should make a break for it and try to slip away to escape the goblins. I’m telling you it won’t work. All they’d do is set their squigs on us like hounds after a fox. We wouldn’t have a chance. We stand a better chance of surviving by staying right here and defending the mill walls. That way, night or not, we’ll see the night goblins and their squigs coming at us. Doing that, we can keep the fight on our terms, not theirs.”

  “I’m with the handgunner,” a familiar voice said.