‘A village,’ breathed Stürm. ‘I didn’t know there were any out here.’
‘A xenos village?’ Zoransky wondered.
Kramer shook his head. ‘Captain Venig believes the aeldari of this world are outcasts. His company found one of their settlements four days ago. They live in primitive hide tents. They could build nothing like this.’
‘Even so,’ said Stürm, glancing back at the strung-up corpse, ‘we should proceed with caution.’
No sooner had he spoken than a gunshot shattered the silence. It was loud – far louder than the report of a lasgun. A projectile hit the ground only feet in front of the troopers, kicking up a miniature dirt storm.
Instinctively, the Guardsmen sprang into action, separating and seeking cover. Before the shot’s reverberations had died down, Stürm was crouched with his lasgun to his shoulder, its barrel resting across a stout tree branch.
‘Stand fast,’ came a voice from between the buildings, ‘and identify yourselves.’
‘Sergeant Vulfgang Kramer of the One Hundred and Ninety-Third Mordian Regiment, the Emperor’s Iron Guard,’ Kramer responded. ‘My Guardsmen and I are engaged in His holy work, but have lost our comrades and our way. We require shelter for the night, no more. Praise be to the Emperor.’
There was a short pause – slightly longer than Stürm would have liked – before the disembodied voice repeated, ‘Praise be to the Emperor.’
Nothing happened for several minutes, during which time the Mordians maintained their rigid stances. Stürm heard low voices – too distant for him to make out. Then, a group of six men emerged from the settlement. They wore shabby breeches, shirts and jerkins. Their faces were steeped in grime, and most had straggly hair and beards. Five of them wore crude-looking pistols in holsters, strapped to thick leather belts at their hips. The sixth had an equally crude shotgun, which he had drawn.
This man rode a four-legged beast of burden, similar to a horse but with larger, nastier-looking teeth. His pinhole eyes, shaded by the broad brim of his hat, gave nothing away, while a drooping moustache lent him an air of melancholy. He halted his mount a few yards away from the troopers.
‘Magistrate Gideon Lymax,’ he introduced himself. ‘I’m the law in these parts – and any servants of the Emperor are welcome to our hospitality.’
The shotgun dangled lazily over his left knee, its threat implicit. His comrades’ fingers twitched close to their pistol grips. Stürm saw little discipline in their rounded postures, however. The Mordians may have been outnumbered and battered, but they were better equipped than these six men, and far better drilled.
Kramer stepped into the open. His lasgun was in its sling, allowing him to display empty hands. He called to his men to follow his lead and form up on him. Lymax’s beady eyes darted from tree to tree. ‘Is this it?’ he asked. ‘Five of you?’
‘Five of us,’ Kramer confirmed.
The magistrate gave a curt nod. ‘Then, gentlemen, welcome to our home – to our little sanctuary out in the wild here. Welcome to Solace.’
‘I don’t like this,’ muttered Zoransky as the wooden buildings closed in around them.
‘These people have been nothing but helpful to us,’ said Stürm, ‘and have probably saved our lives.’ He shared his comrade’s misgivings, however. A backwater village like Solace seemed out of place on a developed world such as this one. How could it even survive here, in the forest, surrounded by enemies?
Lymax had dismounted to stroll alongside his guests, leading his beast behind him. ‘How do you come to be here,’ Stürm asked him, ‘so far from civilisation?’
Lymax shrugged. ‘Our forefathers struck out from the city a hundred years ago.’
‘That can’t have been long after Silva Proxima was settled.’
‘Some dispute with the city overseers, so the tale goes.’
Stürm’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Your ancestors were lawbreakers?’
‘Pioneers,’ the magistrate gainsaid him. ‘They set out with the loftiest ambitions – to tame the forest. In the name of the Emperor, of course.’
‘Of course. Praise be to Him.’
‘Only they learned that the forest was already inhabited.’
Cheerful voices drifted out of a broad, two-storey structure ahead of them. They tramped on wooden planking, which strained and creaked beneath their boots. A crooked sign nailed over the building’s door read ‘Solace Tavern’.
Lymax pushed through a pair of swinging gates. Stürm and the others followed him. The air inside the tavern was hazy, diffusing the blue light of flickering lumoglobes. The odours of lho-leaf and cheap amasec played about his nostrils. Civilians were perched on wooden benches and stools, around circular tables. Fifty or so pairs of eyes turned to the newcomers, while as many tongues were abruptly stilled.
Lymax spoke into the ensuing silence: ‘As you see, we’ve picked up a few strays from the forest. They’ll be staying a night or two, perhaps longer. I’m sure no one needs telling to treat them right. They’re good Emperor-fearing folk.’
A thin-faced bartender stood frozen, eyes bulging at the newcomers, holding a glass and a towel. Lymax snapped his fingers to get the man’s attention. ‘Our guests have had a hard day. I’m guessing they might be a touch thirsty.’
‘Just water for us,’ Sergeant Kramer intervened. ‘We are on duty. We can pay.’ He dug into his pockets.
Lymax grinned a lopsided grin. ‘Your Imperial credits are no use to us. You can work for your keep, though, if you stay long enough.’
‘We’ll be leaving at dawn,’ said Kramer.
‘You sure about that? People have struck out from Solace before. We sent out scouts, to find the city and fetch help. Not a one of them ever returned.’
‘As soon as we are rested, we will be returning to our camp,’ insisted Stürm. He hesitated for a moment, before adding, ‘If you have a map of this area of the forest, that would be very helpful.’
A low buzz of activity was already resuming around them. They were still the recipients of many sidelong glances, but the novelty of their arrival was wearing thin. The bartender provided two jugs of water and five glasses. Stürm hadn’t realised how dehydrated he was. He had been rationing the contents of his canteen, until there was barely a sip in it. He emptied his glass in one gulp and poured another.
‘So, you came from the big city? I only know it from tales of old, of course.’
A man had sidled up alongside Stürm. He was in his sixties, balding, overweight, his slack chin carpeted with grey stubble. His cheeks were ruddy. He drained a glass of amasec, slammed it down and called for another. He hauled himself onto a stool, took Stürm’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. ‘Jerebeus is the name. Round here, they call me Old Man Jerebeus. I can’t imagine why.’
‘Maximillian Stürm. I haven’t seen your city. I come from another world.’
‘You don’t say. What brings you to this one?’
‘Xenos. The aeldari. The forest is infested with them.’
The old man’s rheumy eyes twinkled. He grinned, exposing gaps between his yellowed teeth. ‘You don’t say.’
‘No one in the city knew of them,’ Stürm recalled from his briefing, ‘until they started to clear the forest for development. Then they came under attack. My regiment was dropped in three weeks ago, to eradicate the xenos threat.’
‘Good luck with that. Elusive critters, aren’t they? Impossible to pin down.’
Stürm’s surprise must have shown, because the old man grinned again. ‘I wasn’t always this broken-down wreck you see before you. I did my share of sentry duty in my younger days, went on my share of hunting parties.’
‘I’m sure you did.’ Jerebeus still wore a gun at his hip. Stürm could see no man in the tavern who didn’t.
‘You see a shadow out the corner of your eye. Next you know, there�
��s a blade through the heart of the man beside you. Mocking eyes, boring into your head like a challenge. By the time you’ve drawn your pistol, they’re gone. Oh, I got off some good shots in my time, don’t get me wrong. I drew some blood. Once the wood sprites – your ‘aeldari’ – have set their sights on you, though, best thing is to run.’
‘Mordians don’t run,’ Stürm intoned stiffly.
‘You don’t say.’
‘Especially not from aeldari. It’s what they want. They’re faster than we are. They want the pleasure of hunting you down.’
His mind drifted back to the morning’s battle. His squad had walked into an ambush. The enemy had been everywhere at once, their swords a blur. They had shattered the Mordians’ regimented lines. The fight had raged for hours, and yet there had been no time to think, to plan, only to react. At last, when Stürm had thought he could endure no more, the ordeal had ended. Perhaps the aeldari had been hurt more than he had seen. Perhaps they had just got bored. Whatever the reason, he and his squad had found themselves lost and alone.
Old Man Jerebeus was right about the aeldari’s eyes. The memory of them would haunt Stürm for the rest of his life.
‘Where would you run to, anyway?’ he murmured.
‘Back here, of course,’ said Jerebeus. ‘Where else but back to Solace?’
The old man was distracted by something over Stürm’s shoulder. Suddenly, the Guardsman’s neck hairs prickled with foreboding. He turned. Someone new had entered the tavern. The gates were still swinging behind her.
She was a young girl, no older than five or six. She wore a dark red tunic and breeches like one of the men. A red bow nestled in her flowing, clean blonde hair. Her bright blue eyes shifted from Stürm to each of his comrades in turn; and each of them broke off from his conversation, or lowered his glass, transfixed by her.
‘Magistrate…’ Jerebeus sounded concerned.
Lymax had been talking to Kramer. At the old man’s urging, he turned and saw the girl. He snatched his hat from the bar and jammed it over his ears. He hurried up to her. ‘Now, Alyce,’ he cajoled her, ‘you know you shouldn’t be in here.’
‘Who are they?’ asked Alyce, still staring at the Mordians.
‘I’ll tell you as we walk,’ Lymax offered. He made to place an arm around Alyce’s shoulders, but changed his mind. He fixed her with an expectant look instead. She drew a breath and blinked – and Stürm blinked too, and tore his gaze away from her. The young girl allowed the magistrate to guide her outside, leaving Stürm to wonder what it was about her that had unsettled him so.
Jerebeus drained another glass and motioned to the bartender for a refill. ‘Should you be drinking so much?’ asked Stürm, with a hint of disapproval.
The old man wiped his lips on a dirty, tasselled sleeve. ‘Who’s to tell me I can’t? I’m the senior member of this community.’ He slurred the words a little. ‘I’ve lived here longer than anyone else – and this is my party, after all.’
‘What are you celebrating?’
‘It’s my leaving party.’
‘Oh? Where are you going? I thought the magistrate said–’
‘Although… I guess it isn’t, is it?’ Jerebeus laughed, exposing his ragged teeth again. ‘I guess I’ll be staying in Solace a time longer yet. Seems a shame to cut short the fest… festivities, though. So, I know, let’s call this my staying party.’ He hefted his freshly charged glass, sloshing amasec over its rim.
Stürm heard a crash behind him. Sergeant Kramer had slumped over the bar and knocked over his water, smashing the glass. In a second, Guardsmen Stürm and Ludo flanked him, hauling him upright by the armpits. Kramer shrugged them off, his eyelids fluttering. ‘I’m fine,’ he insisted. ‘Just tired. Why is it so warm in here?’ His dose of stimm was clearly wearing off. He fumbled in his belt pouches for an injector.
Stürm glanced around his comrades. In their faces, he saw approval for what he had to do. After Kramer, he was their squad’s most senior member. He had served longer than the sergeant, even. He had always felt more comfortable following orders than giving them, but now he had no choice.
He teased the injector from Kramer’s trembling fingers. ‘You don’t need this, sergeant. There is no enemy here. You need sleep – and a medicae to stitch that wound and redress it.’ He called over his shoulder to the room: ‘Is there a medicae in Solace?’
A pair of young men stood. ‘We can take you to Doktor Matthias,’ one of them offered. ‘We may not have the drugs and equipment you’re used to, but you won’t find anyone with a steadier hand than his.’
Stürm nodded, gratefully. ‘Thank you.’ As the men came forward, however, Kramer shrank away from them. He gripped Stürm’s arm with an urgent strength. Stürm saw the forbidding look in his sergeant’s eyes and knew what it meant.
‘Guardsman Zoransky.’ He was the strongest, and right now the healthiest, of them. ‘Stay with the sergeant. Don’t leave his side for anything.’ Kramer seemed content with that decision. Leaning on Zoransky, he allowed the two locals to lead him away. Moments after they had exited the tavern, Lymax returned alone.
Stürm looked for Old Man Jerebeus. He still felt unsettled, though he couldn’t put his finger on the reason. He had more questions about Solace. Jerebeus had been hijacked by other revellers, however, who were toasting his health exuberantly.
‘You fellows must be tired,’ said Lymax. ‘Time we talked about finding you a place to bed down.’
‘A place’ turned out to be a bunkroom upstairs.
There were four beds, with feather-stuffed mattresses and pillows – and a wood-burning stove, which was cold. Stürm removed his greatcoat and boots. He collapsed onto a bed and stared up at the rafters.
The festivities below had subsided, but he heard muffled voices and occasional bursts of laughter. His muscles were glad of the rest, but his racing brain kept him from sleep. Ludo had no such problems, snoring softly. Ven Eisen was awake, however, on the bed to Stürm’s left. ‘Do you trust these people?’ he asked.
‘We could not have endured much longer in the forest,’ said Stürm. ‘We had no choice but to accept their shelter.’
‘But do you trust them?’
‘I don’t. I distrust their reasons for being out here. They claim the aeldari keep them from leaving Solace, from returning to the Imperial city, but isn’t it their duty to try?’ He was struck by a parallel between these people and the xenos in the forest. Outcasts, Sergeant Kramer had called them.
‘What use are they to the Emperor here?’ Ven Eisen mused.
‘And what keeps them safe? They are not soldiers – and you have seen their weapons. I doubt they could withstand a determined aeldari assault.’
‘You think they’re hiding something?’
‘I am sure of it.’
‘Could they have made a deal with the xenos?’
Stürm mulled that disturbing thought over. ‘It is possible – but then, what of the corpse we found at the village limits?’
‘An aeldari that broke the truce, perhaps?’
‘And what would their side of the bargain be? What do they have to offer?’
‘The magistrate talked of Imperial credits,’ Ven Eisen recalled. ‘If his people have had no contact with civilisation in a century–’
‘You’re right. Would they be familiar with our currency?’
The conversation had helped Stürm to a decision. He swung his legs back over the side of the bed, ignoring his protesting muscles. He pushed his feet back into his boots. ‘I think I’ll take a stroll around Solace – this time without an escort.’
Ven Eisen sat up. ‘Let me come with you.’
‘This is just a scouting mission. We don’t yet know of any real threat here. I’ll be less conspicuous alone – and you are injured. You should rest. Keep your gun close by. I will vox you if I discover anythin
g.’
‘What if you do not return?’ his comrade asked.
‘Give me one hour,’ said Stürm, fastening his greatcoat and checking his lasgun’s power pack. ‘Then assume the worst.’
A back door allowed Stürm to slip out of the tavern unseen.
Outside, night had well and truly fallen. He took his first long look up at the sky of Silva Proxima. It was brighter than he had expected – freckled with stars, and there was a large, full moon with a faint red tint.
This was just as well, as there was no street lighting – only flickering pools of candlelight, seeping out between the slats of window shutters. The magistrate’s mount was tied up to a post, its muzzle in a trough. Whatever it was feeding on, it stank of blood and crunched like dry bones.
Stürm kept to the shadows. Subterfuge did not come naturally to him. Mordian Iron Guard did not hide, as a rule. They displayed their colours proudly, daring their foes to come at them – but these were unusual circumstances.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have worn his colours at all. Even without them, though, he would have stood out in Solace. His shaved hair and chin would have ensured it, as would his disciplined, straight-backed posture. Even his pale skin, sunlight-deprived on the World of Eternal Night, contrasted with the callused, weather-beaten locals.
There were several locals around. He could hear their muttering and boot scrapes even when he couldn’t see them. Stürm sensed a restless charge in the atmosphere. He ducked under cover as the door of a single-storey shack flew open. A couple emerged from within. They looked tired, but were twitching with nervous energy. They crossed the road, into an alleyway between two larger structures. One of these appeared to be a general store; the other had bars on its windows.
A group of four women hurried by, into the alleyway too. They wore full-bodied, patterned skirts – finer and cleaner clothes than Stürm had seen in the tavern. From the build-up of voices in the distance, he deduced that a crowd was gathering behind those two buildings. Perhaps, he thought, if he circled around the store…
Inferno Volume 2 - Guy Haley Page 20
