Kristoff shook his head again. “No, no fires,” he explained softly. “Beastmen like their meat raw.”
“We must save them!” Surprisingly, it was Kleiber who shouted out. He had both blades unsheathed, and a manic gleam in his eye. “We must not allow them to sully our companions or taint their souls with such foul appetites!” For the first time since they’d left Middenheim, Dietz found himself actually liking the witch hunter. Well, perhaps “like” was too strong a word, but he certainly appreciated Kleiber’s sudden show of loyalty.
Alaric seemed to agree, for he nodded enthusiastically. “You’re right. They aren’t long gone, and we’ve horses while they’re afoot. We can catch them, cut them down from behind, and rescue the others, but we have to go now!” Without waiting to see if the others were following, he charged off in the direction the beastmen had disappeared. Kleiber was right behind him, as was Dietz. Kristoff, Holst and the soldiers followed a moment after.
They made no attempt at subtlety. That time was past. Now what they needed was speed, and Alaric spurred his horse on recklessly, weaving among the trees and frequently ducking low branches or leaping upthrust roots and small bushes.
Dietz, not far behind him, worried that they might be riding into yet another ambush, and he patted the comforting bulk of the crossbow he’d retrieved from where Fastred fell. He was not an expert shot by any stretch, but it was far better than a thrown knife, particularly if he needed to fire in a hurry.
They had ridden almost an hour before Alaric slowed his horse to let the animal breathe. The others reined in around him.
“Are we sure we’re going the right way?” Kristoff asked, glancing about. “I’d have thought we’d be upon them by now.”
“As would I,” Kleiber agreed, gripping his sword hilt tightly. “Perhaps they doubled back?”
“Perhaps,” Alaric started to say, but Dietz stopped him, raising one hand for quiet.
“Listen,” he whispered, and the others strained their ears. After a second they heard what he had already noticed—the sound of snarls, barks and whines, accompanied by an unmistakable noise that chilled them all to the marrow: the sound of bone cracking between teeth.
“Close, very close,” Dietz murmured, dismounting and edging first to one side and then the other. “This way,” he said finally when the sounds grew slightly louder. The others dismounted as well, ground-tying their horses in the tall grass, and Kleiber inched forward behind him, his steps almost silent on the dew-damp grass.
“Yes,” the witch hunter said softly a moment later. “I see them. A small clearing, not forty paces ahead and to the left. There are perhaps twenty in all. They are gathered around”—he paused for an instant, and then hurried on—“around a pile of bodies.”
“We can take them by surprise,” Holst hissed, signalling his remaining men. One stayed with the two injured soldiers, but the rest readied their spears. The travellers remounted, moving carefully to keep the jangle of reins, spurs and saddlebags to a minimum. It was only at the last minute that Holst remembered to look to Alaric for permission to attack.
“Kill them,” the young noble snarled, giving a tight nod. He spurred his horse on at the same time, and together the group burst into the clearing, shouting and cursing and waving weapons aloft.
It was over quickly. The beastmen had not been expecting an attack. Flushed from their apparent victory, they had left the battle far behind and stopped to enjoy their spoils. When the soldiers and the other riders fell upon them, most of the beastmen were unarmed, their weapons leaning against tree trunks or resting on the ground beside them. Those died before they could reclaim their weapons, most of them trampled by the horses. The soldiers’ spears pinned several to the ground or to trees, and Alaric, Kleiber and Kristoff’s swords cut down many others. Dietz shot one through the eye with Fastred’s crossbow, and almost dropped the weapon when he felt another bolt slide into place from a compartment by the trigger. He recovered in time to shoot a lunging beastman through the chest, however, and then took another through the throat with a lucky shot.
Within minutes the battle was over. Holst and Kleiber dismounted and dispatched those beastmen still living, while Kristoff searched the clearing. It was Alaric, however, whose shout caught them all by surprise.
“Over here!” He was already dismounting and raced across the small clearing to the pile of mail, shields, and weapons. It was only when he shoved a shield aside that the others saw what he had noticed from his higher vantage—a hand thrust up from the mound. In an instant Holst and Kristoff were beside him, tossing the equipment aside. Beneath what had obviously been the soldiers’ gear was Fastred, still unconscious. Beneath him and all but smothered by his bulk were Adelrich and Renke.
“Stand back!” Kristoff demanded as they all gathered round their comrades. “Give them some air!” They obeyed silently, watching as he laid each of the three out on the ground and bent to rest his head against their chests in turn. Finally he straightened and grinned. “They’re alive,” he pronounced. Alaric felt like cheering, but one glance at the discarded armour and weaponry sobered him again and he turned to Holst.
“I’m sorry about your men,” he told the sergeant, who nodded.
“It could have easily been them we saved,” the warrior pointed out quietly.
“We would have been just as relieved,” Alaric replied, which earned him a grateful look and a sharp salute. Then Holst set his remaining soldiers to guarding the clearing’s perimeter, and he and two others began building a small fire and collecting the remains of their comrades. Alaric knew the fire might draw attention from other beastmen, but couldn’t bring himself to forbid it. The ground here was rocky and hard, digging near impossible, and those men deserved a decent funeral. A pyre was the best they could offer, and even if it brought all the savages in the Howling Hills upon them, they would honour those soldiers properly.
Thinking about that, and about how this was one more scrape they had survived together, Alaric glanced around and had a horrible realisation, followed immediately by a panicked shout. “Where is Dietz?”
After shooting the beastman through the throat, Dietz had glanced around for another target. Most of the other beastmen were already dead, or engaged by one of his companions, and Dietz knew himself well enough not to risk shooting that close to an ally.
Then he saw a bestial figure off by itself, and slipping out of the clearing.
“Oh no you don’t,” Dietz muttered, spurring his horse after the figure. He remembered what Adelrich had said earlier about this band’s scout, and knew that if this one escaped he could potentially bring more after them. He was not about to let that happen.
The beastman moved quickly, racing on all fours and darting between trees Dietz’s horse could not clear. He considered dismounting, but knew he could not match the savage’s speed on foot. The delays caused by backing and turning were balanced by his steed’s speed through sparser terrain, and he managed to at least keep the beastman in sight, though never well enough or for long enough to loose a shot.
Finally, after an hour or more, the beastman faced a low hill. He charged up it without pause, and Dietz, a short way behind, reined in for a moment. The creature was framed perfectly against the rocks, and Dietz raised the crossbow and sighted down it carefully.
Twang!
The bolt slammed the beastman into the hillside, its arms and legs collapsing under it, and it half-slid half-rolled back down. It was dead by the time its head slammed into a rock near the bottom.
Dietz rode up to be sure and it was then he heard the noises: barks and growls, all too familiar—and coming from the other side of that hill.
It was a sombre group that dined together that night. Adelrich and Renke had recovered quickly and seemed fine other than bruises and tender skulls. Fastred had taken a harder blow and was having trouble focussing his eyes, but Kristoff assured him it would pass with a few nights’ sleep. Their good fortune was offset by the loss of
the soldiers and by Dietz’s mysterious disappearance.
No one, not even Kleiber, suggested that Dietz had fled. They had all seen him fighting the beastmen, and more than one had noticed his reluctance to leave the earlier battle when Adelrich had fallen. Nor could they find his body—or that of his horse. It was the last that convinced them he had not simply fallen victim to the beastmen.
“He’ll turn up,” Alaric had announced after he had explored every inch of the clearing and its surroundings. He repeated this several times, both out loud and to himself. Dietz would turn up.
Adelrich had examined the area as well and had found a horse’s tracks off to one side, well away from where the party had entered. Beastman tracks were there as well, though he could not be sure which had come first. He had offered to follow them, but Alaric shook his head.
“No, we can’t risk losing more people,” he decided, but the nods he got from both Holst and Kleiber did nothing to make him feel better. This was why he’d always avoided command before—the hard decisions. No wonder his father, brothers and cousins had always looked so miserable.
After eating they had turned in, leaving one person posted on watch at all times. It was Olgen, one of the soldiers, who was pacing by the pyre’s remains, who heard something or someone approaching.
“Something’s coming,” he announced to Holst after nudging the sergeant awake. Holst was on his feet in an instant, tugging his mail shirt over his head and grabbing his spear as soon as his hands were free. He woke two other soldiers and together the four of them readied themselves to face the noises. Hands tightened on spears, mail rustled as their muscles tensed, leg muscles tightened, ready to spring…
…and a horse rode into the clearing, stopping just shy of the first spear point.
“Careful,” Dietz called down, grinning. “I’ve not been called a beast since I was knee-high and raising havoc in the marketplace.”
His arrival roused the others and soon they were all gathered round to hear his story as he wolfed down some food and followed it with draughts from a wineskin.
“Caught him just in time,” he finished, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand and idly tossing a piece of meat to Glouste, who had emerged from his jacket and was stretched out along his legs. “Other side of that hill was a camp, and a big one. Big enough for three, maybe four times as many as we just fought.”
“An army,” Kleiber whispered, anger written across his face. “These foul creatures have gathered to strike at us a second time!”
“They’re not smart enough for that,” Fastred argued, still rubbing one temple with his hand and wincing from the torches they’d lit upon Dietz’s return. “It would take a powerful leader to unite beastmen into a proper militia. More likely this is a single tribe—they were called to war together and now the battle’s over they’re too far from home to return safely, so they wound up here.”
Kristoff agreed. “All the ones we fought today had the same markings,” he pointed out. “They’re a single extended family, and you just found their base.”
“Hooray for me,” Dietz muttered, but Kristoff smiled.
“Yes, actually,” the trader agreed. “Now we know where they are, we can travel around them.”
“Or straight to them,” Adelrich pointed out. “We do need to find that statue and a strong tribe might have it.”
“I didn’t see it,” Dietz admitted, “but I wasn’t looking that closely.”
“We can check in the morning,” Alaric suggested, clapping a hand on Dietz’s shoulder. “For now, get some sleep. You need it.” He had meant to say how glad he was that Dietz was all right, but something in the older man’s nod told him he didn’t have to.
The next morning, Dietz and Adelrich scouted the base. The others rode behind, far enough back not to draw attention, but near enough to ride to the two men’s aid quickly.
“Definitely a village, or at least a settlement, rather than a military camp,” Adelrich confirmed quietly when he and Dietz lay on their bellies just below the crest of the hill, glancing down into the small valley below. In the daylight, Dietz could see what he meant. Last night all he’d noticed was how many beastmen were crouching or stalking, or sleeping down there. Now he could see the lack of organisation. Beastmen milled about, apparently eating and sleeping, and relieving themselves anywhere they liked. He saw one try to lie down next to another, only to be kicked by a third—the first one then got up and slouched away to a fourth and lay against that one instead. It definitely looked like an extended family.
“No sign of the statue,” he reported when he and Adelrich had crept back down the hill a short while later, “and they’ve got no buildings or tents so we’d have seen it if it was there.”
“Definitely not there,” Adelrich agreed, “and definitely one tribe. It’s a big one—too big for us.”
“We go around, then,” Alaric decided, ignoring the glare from Kleiber. The others nodded and they backed away from the hill, letting Adelrich lead them a short distance back before looping around well clear of the valley.
They made good time, though they had no idea where they were within the hills and nor where they were going. Several times, Adelrich spotted more beastmen, and when it was a small band Alaric let the party attack. When it was a larger band or a lone scout he held them back, though Kleiber frothed to go after the savages. Twice they encountered beastmen from the same tribe, though both times in much smaller packs.
They were just finishing a late lunch one day when Adelrich stepped out of the trees and approached Alaric.
“You’d better see this.”
Alaric nodded and followed the scout, with Dietz right behind him. The three of them walked for perhaps an hour before reaching another hill. Adelrich led the way up, motioning them to stay quiet and keep hidden, and paused just below the top. Feeling as if he had done this not long before, Dietz crept up to the scout and lowered himself to his belly so he could peer over the edge.
At first he thought they had made a large circle and returned to the beastman camp. Below him was a small valley nestled between three hills, and it was filled with beastmen. Then he noticed several differences.
The first was the weapons. These beastmen had fewer spears and clubs, and more axes and swords; the latter definitely scavenged from human soldiers.
The second difference was the grouping. This base was a little smaller than the first and organised in dense clumps scattered in a circle around the valley floor.
The third difference was the base’s focus. Those clumps were centred on a small clearing—and the large, rough stone block within, its shadow suggesting a hideous beast rearing up, wings outspread, limbs waving in menace. Dietz recognised it at once, and a hiss beside him said Alaric had as well.
“Well, we’ve found our statue,” Alaric confirmed as they slid back down the hill. “Now how do we get through a tribe of beastmen to destroy it?”
“We cut our way through, of course,” Kleiber announced when Alaric related the details to the others back at their camp. Everyone stared at the witch hunter, who continued, oblivious to their shock. “Sigmar himself will bolster our arms and sharpen our blades so that none may stand against us!”
“I counted at least one hundred and fifty down there,” Adelrich pointed out. “I’d guess it’s closer to two hundred, not counting any out hunting. We’ve fewer than twenty. You want us to wade in? You’re mad.”
Alaric stepped between them before the witch hunter could draw his blade, which he looked ready to do. “Let’s not do their work for them,” he pointed out, and both men retreated though they exchanged harsh glances across the camp. “Adelrich’s right. No matter how blessed we may be we cannot take two hundred of them. We need another way.”
“Can we destroy it from a distance?” Renke asked. Alaric looked to Dietz, who shrugged.
“It’s solid stone,” he said, “and well carved. A heavy enough blow could shatter it, but I doubt a spear could strike that hard
from a distance. A crossbow bolt maybe, though I’d not want to chance it failing.”
“Shame we have no blackpowder,” Holst grumbled. “That would do for it, but the count refuses to equip us with such things.”
They all glanced at Kleiber, the only member of their party armed with a pistol, but he shook his head.
“I have some blackpowder,” he admitted, patting a small horn at his belt. “But I carried only enough for ten shots—four now. That would not be sufficient to demolish solid stone.”
Dietz was eyeing the horn. “Perhaps it would, if it hit hard enough,” he mused aloud. “For that matter, one shot from a pistol might do, if it struck the right place.”
“We’d still need to be close,” Kristoff pointed out. “Closer than the top of that hill, at any rate, and once we’re over that peak they’ll swarm us under.”
“Not if they’re distracted,” Fastred commented. “Herr Kleiber could wait with that pistol of his while the rest of us charged from another hill, drawing their attention. Then he could ride down and fire at the statue.”
The others considered it, but finally Holst shook his head. “Still not enough of us,” he stated with the confidence of a trained military man. “We’d never survive it.”
“I will gladly give my life to protect the Empire!” Kleiber announced, and several of the soldiers nodded.
“Yes yes,” Alaric said finally. “But what about the other statues? Let’s not throw our lives away while those are still out there somewhere, hm?” That quieted Kleiber, and Alaric glanced around at the others. “Let’s mull it over tonight,” he suggested, “and discuss our options again in the morning.” No one disputed the suggestion and so they settled in for the night.
The next morning Dietz awoke to the sound of clattering hooves. His first thought was of an attack, forgetting that the beastmen did not ride mounts. Regardless, the sound was too near to ignore. He rolled to his feet, one hand drawing a knife while the other brushed sleep from his eyes. He dropped into a crouch, glancing around for the source of the noise. He found it an instant later, over where they had tethered their horses for the night. One of the horses was loose, and he watched as it galloped from the clearing. It was not without its rider. Despite his rude awakening, Dietz blinked his eyes clear in time to recognize Kleiber’s distinctive hat atop the rider’s head, just before horse and rider crested a low hill and vanished from view.
01 - Day of the Daemon Page 7
