by Warhammer
The meeting was nearly over as soon as it began. Sir Teobalt started it by recounting their journey so far, and when he told of asking that Emil von Kotzebue and his army come aid in the fighting of the beastmen, Lord von Volgen jumped from his seat.
‘By Sigmar, it is a plot after all!’ he cried, hammering the table with his fist. ‘These beastmen are a mere excuse to allow that damned Middenlander to cross the river with his army while we are undermanned! I’ll warrant he stirred up the beasts just for this.’
Sir Teobalt controlled his temper with an effort. ‘Baron von Kotzebue would not be coming at all had I not invited him. Indeed, if we are unfortunate, he still may not come. But you are thinking only of yourself again, my lord. Can you not understand that we fight for the survival of the Empire itself?’
‘Aye, with von Kotzebue as Elector Count of Talabecland, no doubt,’ snarled von Volgen.
‘You want the title for yourself perhaps?’ sneered Plaschke-Miesner, throwing his blond hair back from his face.
Von Volgen was about to retort when Gotrek cleared his throat and both young men fell silent.
‘It is a matter of numbers,’ said Teobalt. ‘Not politics.’ He held up his fingers. ‘The beastmen herd numbers between five and ten thousand. How many troops do you both command?’
‘I can muster a thousand from Volgen within a day,’ said von Volgen. ‘Seasoned cavalry and spearmen just back from the war, as well as a few hundred militia.’
‘I can bring seven hundred,’ said Plaschke-Miesner. ‘Swords, spears, handgunners, and my father’s two Gunnery School cannons.’
‘Then we are outnumbered by at least three to one,’ said Sir Teobalt. ‘It will not be enough. This is why we need von Kotzebue. He can bring four thousand men to the field.’
‘It is too many,’ growled von Volgen. ‘We won’t be able to fight him if he turns on us.’ He glared at Plaschke-Miesner. ‘Particularly not if he is joined by turncoats.’
‘You have little choice,’ said Sir Teobalt before young Oktaf could respond. ‘Unless you know of some other lord who can muster the necessary troops by Hexensnacht.’
Von Volgen turned to his knights and they muttered amongst themselves, but none of them could think of anyone close enough who had enough men to make a difference, so at last, after more such convincing, the grim-faced young lord agreed that von Kotzebue’s help was needed, and they were finally able to turn the discussion to where they would fight the beasts and how.
When Teobalt related what Ortwin had told him about the ceremony being performed in a stone circle atop a hill, one of Plaschke-Miesner’s knights suggested that the herd must be heading for the Barren Hills, which was known to be littered with such remnants of the old religion.
Plaschke-Miesner was pleased to hear it. ‘For it gets them out into the open where we can use our cavalry and artillery against them.’
‘And my militia can rain a cloud of arrows down upon them,’ said von Volgen.
The two lords agreed to set a combined force of scouts on the herd’s trail while they gathered their forces and led them by road to the Monastery of the Tower of Vigilance, where the scouts would bring them word of the herd’s final position. Then they would wait until von Kotzebue arrived with his army, at which point all would advance to do battle with the beastmen.
‘And if the baron doesn’t come?’ asked von Volgen.
Plaschke-Miesner laughed musically. ‘Oh, you want him to come now? There’s a new tune.’
‘If von Kotzebue fails to arrive,’ said Sir Teobalt, ‘then your fathers shall hail you as the heroes who saved the Empire with your brave sacrifice.’
Felix saw young Plaschke-Miesner pale at that, but von Volgen’s chin raised, and there was a sudden fire in his eye.
‘Of more concern than von Kotzebue’s arrival, however,’ said the old templar, ‘is the stone that the beastmen carry. With it, they are nigh invincible, since all who charge against them are in danger of changing into beasts themselves, and turning on their fellows.’
Now von Volgen paled as well. ‘How can we defend against such a thing? Should we summon priests? Shall I raise the brothers of the Temple of Leopold?’
‘Can it be destroyed?’ asked Plaschke-Miesner.
‘We don’t have to destroy it,’ said Gotrek.
Everyone turned to him.
‘What’s this, Herr Slayer?’ asked Sir Teobalt, hopefully. ‘You have some way to protect us? Some ancient dwarf rune of warding?’
Gotrek shook his head. ‘The stone does nothing itself,’ he said. ‘Only when the shaman strikes it does the blue lightning flash. If the shaman dies, it is no longer a danger, and your armies may attack.’
The two lords looked at each other, frowning.
‘But how can we kill the shaman without going to battle against the herd?’ asked von Volgen.
Gotrek smiled a terrifying smile. ‘Leave that to me,’ he said.
And me, thought Felix with a resigned sigh. It was always the way.
‘One moment,’ said Plaschke-Miesner, licking his lips nervously. ‘If this dwarf can render the stone harmless on his own, then what need is there to bring the herd to battle?’
He shrank back as everyone turned cold eyes on him.
‘I will assume that it is out of concern for the lives of your men, rather than your own life that you ask this,’ said Sir Teobalt stiffly. ‘But there are several reasons. First, stone or no, your land has been invaded by thousands of the vilest enemies of man, and left to their own devices, they will spread wrack and ruin amongst your people. Second, though the death of the shaman will take the stone out of the battle, it is still a thing of great and fell power and must be destroyed before another shaman rises, or its evil influence spreads. We cannot destroy the stone without first destroying the herd.’
The youth hung his head and thrust out his bottom lip. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘It was only a question.’
In the end it was decided that Gotrek, Rodi and Snorri would join von Volgen’s and Plaschke-Miesner’s scouts, and once the scouts found the beastmen’s location, the three Slayers would – no one was really certain how – infiltrate their camp and kill the shaman. Once this was done, the scouts would report back to the armies and the battle could commence.
Of course, where Gotrek went, Felix must follow, so he was going, and when Kat heard this, she said she wouldn’t be left behind, so she was joining them as well.
Only Sir Teobalt was not coming. Instead he would be travelling with von Volgen and Plaschke-Miesner and their armies as military advisor. Felix was glad to hear the old man would be looking after them, for if the rivals’ command of tactics was anything like their command of tact, the battle might go very poorly indeed.
Of course, if von Kotzebue’s four thousand troops didn’t show up, it would go even worse.
The scouts assembled before dawn the next day – four from von Volgen’s force, and four from Plaschke-Miesner’s – with Felix, Kat and the Slayers yawning sleepily among them. Two of the lords’ men held swift ponies, which they would use to bring messages to their masters once they had discovered the herd’s position.
As they started south on their way out of town, a hunched silhouette stepped out of the swirling grey fog and approached them, bobbing its head submissively.
‘Greetings, my masters, greetings,’ it said in a high, wavery voice. ‘I hear you go to the Barren Hills.’
The party stopped and looked around. Felix frowned. It was the old man in the dirty grey robes who he had seen watching them so intently the day before, though he couldn’t imagine why he had earlier thought him sinister and suspicious. This morning he only looked harmless and slightly batty.
Gotrek, however, didn’t seem to agree. ‘Who are you?’ he growled, reaching for his axe.
The old man shied back, cowering behind his hands. ‘Please, your worships,’ he wailed in a trembling voice. ‘I mean you no harm! Please don’t kill me!’
‘Who
are you?’ repeated Gotrek, as cold as before.
‘Only Hans the hermit, my masters,’ said the old man. ‘Who deals in rags, bones and trinkets.’
Felix stepped back and covered his nose as the man sidled closer. He certainly smelled like a scavenger. Kat waved her hand in front of her face and edged upwind.
‘And what d’ye know about where we’re going?’ asked Plaschke-Miesner’s sergeant of scouts, a lean, clean-shaven man named Huntzinger.
The hermit tittered. ‘Soldiers talk, my master. Soldiers talk. I heard you go to fight the beasts that brought ruin to Brasthof.’
‘What’s that to you?’ asked Felke, a ginger-moustached tough who was von Volgen’s scout sergeant.
‘Glad tidings is what it is!’ cried the hermit, bobbing his head again. ‘I hate them beasties. I want ’em dead. If you go to kill ’em, I want to help.’
The scouts guffawed at this, and Felke grinned.
‘And what can you do, y’old bag of bones? Are ye hiding a sword under those rags?’
The hermit shrieked as if that was the best jest he’d ever heard. ‘Oh no, your worship, old Hans can’t fight,’ he said, slapping his matchstick knees. ‘But he does know the Barren Hills, and for a few coins, he would be pleased to serve your worships as a guide.’
Felke rolled his eyes. ‘Ah, now we come to the real issue. A few coins.’
Huntzinger sneered. ‘What need have we of a guide? We’re all scouts here, old fool.’
‘And the trail’s as wide as a temple and straight as a pike,’ added Felke. ‘Be off with you, beggar.’
He turned and motioned his men forwards, and the party started off again. But the ancient was not to be denied. He stumbled after them, bleating piteously.
‘But, my masters, please!’ he cried. ‘I know the hills. I know their dangers. I can keep you safe!’
Gotrek turned at this, though he did not slow. ‘What dangers are these, old man?’
‘Oh, Herr dwarf,’ chuckled the hermit, hobbling along beside him. ‘The hills are a cursed place, withered by Morrslieb’s glance, and filled with all manner of barrows and circles and stones of ancient and evil power. Why, a single mis-step, a wrong turn, and one might find oneself falling into an old tomb, trapped forever with nothing but dusty old skelingtons for company. But with me to guide you, naught will befall you. Oh yes, old Hans will see you right, so he will.’
‘And how do you know so much about it?’ asked Rodi, sounding as if he didn’t believe a word of it.
The hermit giggled. ‘Why, the hills is where I find all my things. The trinkets and bits that I sell to the city men. I know them barrows like I know my own fingers and toes.’
‘A grave robber,’ spat Gotrek. ‘Robbing from your own ancestors.’
Felix smiled at the Slayer’s disgust. There had been more than one occasion that the two of them could have been accused of the same thing, but maybe Gotrek put robbing someone else’s ancestors in a different category from robbing one’s own.
‘A recoverer of beauty,’ said the old man proudly. ‘Gold, gems, wondrous swords. What need have the dead for these things? I rescue them from their selfish grasp and return them to those who can appreciate them.’
‘Aye, aye,’ said Huntzinger dismissively. ‘A turnip is still a turnip, no matter what y’call it. On yer way.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Felke, pausing and turning back. ‘What’s the harm in it? I don’t want t’be falling down no holes. If he knows the lay of the land down there, why not bring him along?’
‘Because the smell of him’ll spoil our food,’ said Rodi.
But Huntzinger was fondling his chin, thinking about it. He looked towards the hermit. ‘How much d’ye want, grandfather?’
Old Hans smiled, showing the stumps of half a dozen teeth. ‘Only a few pennies, my masters. Ye’ll be doing me a service, so you will, if y’chase them beasties away from my hunting grounds. I’ll not be able to go about my business ’til they’re gone.’
Gotrek crossed his arms over his broad chest and shook his head. ‘I don’t want him,’ he said.
‘Snorri doesn’t want him either,’ said Snorri. ‘He smells like cheese.’
‘We don’t need him,’ said Rodi. ‘Dwarfs know all about holes and barrows.’
‘Aye,’ said Huntzinger. ‘But we ain’t all dwarfs, are we?’ He fished in his belt pouch and tossed the old hermit a few coins. ‘Come along, grandfather,’ he said. ‘But stay at the back until we get to the hills, far to the back.’
Hans caught the coins and bowed and giggled with excitement. ‘Oh, thank you, my masters. Thank you. Old Hans won’t steer you wrong, no he won’t.’
Gotrek growled as the scouts started forwards again, clearly unhappy. Felix felt the same. The old hermit unnerved him somehow. He didn’t want him along either, but they weren’t the leaders of the party, so there was nothing they could say.
He took a last slantwise look at the filthy old man, who was kissing each of the coins as he pocketed them, then turned and followed the rest as they started into the gaping wound that the beastmen had cut into the forest.
The scouts were as amazed and unsettled by the scar as Felix and Kat had been, and cursed aloud when Snorri told them how it had been made. They were wary of it too, for though they could make good speed on it, it left them exposed, and they posted men far ahead and far behind, and wide to the east and west as well, to keep an eye all around.
And it was well that they did, for halfway through the first day, one of von Volgen’s scouts, a bearded, buckskinned woodsman with a Hochland long-rifle slung across his back, trotted up from the rear, a grim look on his face.
‘They ain’t all before us,’ he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. ‘I spotted fifty a’coming from the west, and Gillich saw twenty or so on a southbound tack t’other side of Bekker Ridge, just to the east. Seems the local herds are joining their friends from up north.’
After that Kat volunteered to scout as well, and they posted her and the two rear scouts even further behind them so they would have plenty of warning to find cover before the beastmen arrived.
The first day, however, passed without incident, and they made camp well off the cut, just in case any beastmen came down it during the night.
Despite the constant patrolling of the scouts, Felix had felt the whole day that something was watching them – a squirmy tingle between his shoulder blades that made him constantly look behind him. This was a different feeling than he’d experienced when they had travelled north into the Drakwald. Then it had seemed as if the forest itself was watching them, like some half-slumbering nature spirit irritated by their intrusion into its domain. The feeling he had now was of some sinister entity that was following them through the forest but was not of the forest – but no matter how hard he had stared into the shadows or listened for footsteps, he had seen nothing and heard nothing.
The sensation only increased as the twilight faded and the night closed in around their camp. With the fire banked low and the blackness of the forest as close as a smothering blanket, he felt as if the presence was hovering directly over him, near enough to breathe in his ear.
Kat rolled over as he raised his head to look around once again.
‘Do you hear something, Felix?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Just… just a feeling, that’s all.’
She nodded. ‘I feel it too.’
He lay down again and forced a smile. ‘Maybe it’s just old Hans’s stench. I wish he’d sleep a little further away.’
Kat giggled. ‘He’s already out beyond the pickets.’
Felix edged his bedroll closer to hers until they were shoulder to shoulder. They grinned like guilty children. He felt better already.
‘Goodnight, Kat,’ he said.
‘Goodnight, Felix.’
But despite her warm, soothing presence, when he finally slept, his dreams were full of formless terrors and half-heard whispers, and he awoke morose and out
of sorts the next morning.
More than once on the second day they had to move off the path in order to let small groups of beastmen pass them by. The Slayers hated this, but bowed to the necessity of staying alive until they had the opportunity to try to kill the shaman – at least Gotrek and Rodi did. Snorri had some difficulty comprehending why they should wait.
‘But Snorri wants to kill these beastmen,’ he muttered again as they listened to the grunting and tramping of a passing band.
‘These aren’t important, Father Rustskull,’ said Rodi. ‘And besides, there’s only thirty of them.’
‘Snorri will share,’ said Snorri.
‘When we get to the big herd there won’t be any need to share,’ said Rodi. ‘There will be hundreds for each of us.’
‘But why can’t Snorri fight these, and then fight those?’
Rodi rolled his eyes and gave up.
The next night, as before, they made camp a good distance from the path, and banked their fire before it got dark. Felix was still plagued with the feeling of being observed, but he was weary enough from their long days of marching that when he bundled down next to Kat, sleep took him relatively quickly and returned him to his unquiet dreams.
He was awakened some time later by urgent whispers. He blinked open his eyes as Kat, the Slayers and the scouts all sat up and looked around.
In the dim light of embers, Felix saw one of Plaschke-Miesner’s scouts kneeling next to Huntzinger, panting heavily. ‘More than two hundred,’ he was saying. ‘And spread very wide.’
‘How far away?’ asked Huntzinger.
The scout swallowed uneasily. ‘No more than a half-mile.’
The sergeant frowned. ‘How did they come so close?’
The scout hung his head. ‘I… I must have dozed.’
Huntzinger cuffed his ear. ‘You damned fool!’
Everyone stood and started talking at once.
‘Cover the fire!’
‘We’ll have to run for it.’
‘Damn you, Skall, you’ve killed us all!’
At the far edge of the camp, Hans the hermit listened with wide eyes.
Felke stepped past Huntzinger and grabbed the scout’s jerkin. ‘Can we get to one side of them?’
