It had taken mere seconds for him to realise what a mistake he had made, but by that time it was far, far too late. He was already lost in the forest as he sprinted away from his former comrades, and the acrid stink of smoke seemed to grow stronger by the moment. With a quick glance behind him he paused, wiped the sweat from his forehead and took stock.
This far from the path the undergrowth had closed in around him like some sort of vast, endless snare. Yet although its thickets and thorns were now tangling every step he took, they did nothing to slow the fire which seemed to be pursuing him. Far from it. Even as he struggled to catch his breath in the thickening smoke he could see the first flames lapping eagerly up a not-too-distant tree trunk.
“What have I done?” he moaned, and looked back towards the path. At least, he thought that he was looking back towards the path. He suddenly wasn’t so sure.
The crash of a falling branch brought a scream to his lips and he was running again, blood seeping through the tears in his breeches as he crashed through the forest. The smoke and exertion started to burn his lungs, but he ignored the pain and pressed on until, suddenly, he was falling.
The edge of the ravine had been hidden by the undergrowth. Hofstadter dropped the bag, which burst open with a heartbreaking clink of lost treasure, and clawed at the sheer mud of the slope. It came away in his hands, great clumps of it, but he carried on scrabbling until he finally hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud.
It was cool down here, and darkly shadowed. A stream gurgled beside him, and no doubt it was responsible for this deep, trench-like ravine.
Hofstadter got to his feet, and his heart quickened as he saw the gold scattered amongst the pebbles. He was already scrabbling around after it when it hit him that he could go back to the company. At least if he could find it.
He didn’t think that anybody had seen him. Alter certainly hadn’t. He had made damn sure that the sergeant had been looking the other way before he’d whacked him. If he left the gold, he could find his comrades again. Perhaps he could even escape from the burning hell of this forest.
Slowly, scarcely able to believe that he was doing it, he dropped the coins and the chains he had been collecting. Even in the shadows they gleamed, but Hofstadter just turned away and started following the river towards what he hoped was the east.
Then he paused and turned back. Surely one little keepsake wouldn’t cause any harm. Would it?
As if in answer to the thought, he saw a flash of silver in the stream. He stooped to pick it up, and found that it was a fine silver chain which held a pendant of some green stone. He wasn’t sure what the stone was. It was too opaque to be an emerald, but too hard to be jade. It looked… fascinating.
The sudden realisation that he had no time to waste struck him and, with hardly a thought, Hofstadter looped the pendant around his neck and raced off in search of his comrades.
Chapter Twelve
It took them four days to reach the edge of the forest. Four days of sweat and exhaustion and terror. Four days of empty bellies and burning muscles and sleepless nights. Four days in which the fire had played cat and mouse with them.
And during these four days Erikson lost a further half a dozen men.
The three who had been caught beneath the falling stone had been the first to go, dying in the night in fits of screaming agony that seemed to bear no relation to their physical wounds. A couple more had fallen too far back. By the time Erikson had realised and returned for them they had been devoured by the fire. Their bodies had been as black as burned pork in the glowing embers. One man had fallen in a stream they had fled across, cracking his head open on a stone before drowning, and another had simply vanished.
All in all, Erikson told himself as they finally emerged from the forest, it could have been worse. At least he still had Sergeant Alter, and young Dolf. And Porter, of course. The man seemed to be as indestructible as he was cheerful. Even now, he was whistling over an open fire, heating stones upon which to bake the company’s flatbread.
“I’m looking forward to this,” Erikson told him. “It feels like a lifetime since we had any kind of meal.”
“Won’t be much of one I’m afraid, captain,” Porter told him as he turned to a leather bucket in which he mixed the dough of flour, salt and water. “We don’t even have any lard left to go with the bread. And there’ll be no gruel until we get another cauldron.”
“We’ll replenish our stocks when we get back to Nalderstein,” Erikson reassured him.
“In the meantime,” a voice behind him said, “find a spit for these.”
Erikson turned to find that Freimann had materialised behind him with his usual stealth. He carried half a dozen game birds, and Porter seized them eagerly.
“Thank you very much, sir,” he said. “I always did say you were a scholar.”
“Where the hell have your lot been?” Erikson asked him. “You disappeared as soon as we were clear of the tree line.”
“We’ve been busy,” Freimann told him with a carefree smile. “Doesn’t it feel nice to be back out in the open?”
“Yes,” Erikson had to agree. “It does. I’ve never seen a place as close as that damned forest. I feel like I’ve spent the last week underground.”
“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” Freimann told him. “By the way, the rest of your men seem to have made it out, too. Most of them, anyway. We found their spoor.”
“That’s fantastic news,” he said, and slapped the rifleman on the shoulder. “I was worried that they might have been caught by the enemy.”
“Yes, it’s odd.” Freimann’s forehead creased. “I thought they would have been too. The forest is usually swarming at this time of year.”
Erikson chose to ignore the callous disregard Freimann showed for his men. After all, his company had survived, there was hot food on the way and they were finally in the clean warmth of a sunlit field.
“So why aren’t they swarming now?” he asked. “Could they have fled from the fire?”
“No, the fire didn’t start until a day after I sent the wounded off. They must be somewhere else. And Sigmar help whoever else is there.”
“Well, at least it’s not our problem. Porter, get somebody to help you with those birds. I’m hungry enough to eat them raw.”
Nobody noticed Hofstadter. Four days ago he had slipped back into the column without anybody even noticing he had gone. Now he sat hunched over the weight of his pendant, leaning forwards so that his head rested in his hands.
The company were so exhausted that this was hardly unusual. What was unusual was the look of animal hunger that crossed his face at the mention of raw meat, and the rope of drool that spilled out from between his bared teeth. But if anybody noticed, they didn’t give it another thought.
* * *
“Wake, up.” The voice was low but insistent. “Erikson, wake up!”
Erikson rolled out of his dew-soaked blanket and stood up, buckling on his sword belt even before he was properly awake. He blinked sleep out of his eyes and, in the chill of predawn, recognised Freimann. The man was wide-eyed in the darkness.
“What is it?” he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the men who were sleeping around him. Sigmar knew, they needed as much rest as they could get.
“It’s Nalderstein,” Freimann said. “We can’t return there.”
“Why not?” Erikson asked. “I thought we were set to reach it this afternoon.”
“Tell the captain, Hendrick,” Freimann said, and another rifleman loomed up from the darkness.
“Me and Mihael reconnoitred the area yesterday,” the man said, his voice as soft as the wind which rustled through the wheat that grew around them. “I found the town in precisely the location we had calculated, but by the time I’d closed to within two miles I could see the extent to which it had been invested.”
“Invested?” Erikson snapped. “You mean besieged, I take it. By whom?”
“By the enemy
,” the scout replied simply. “We estimate a force of three to four hundred, including some larger beasts, although the proximity of the forest makes any realistic estimate difficult. After due consideration we advanced further, using the prevailing wind and the wheat that surrounds the town as cover. We got to within perhaps half a dozen bow shots before a change in the wind forced us to retreat, covering our tracks as we did so.”
“And did you see anybody in the town?” Erikson asked.
“We did see a human presence behind the stockade,” the scout said. “Although we couldn’t detect any regimental standards or uniforms. They could well have been the remnants of your own company.”
“Not that that makes any difference,” Freimann interjected. “If four hundred of the enemy are visible, we can count on at least another two in ambush. You did well to get so close, Hendrick.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hendrick said. “Although we did have to do a bit of garrotting on the way back out.”
Erikson was no longer listening. During the last few weeks, the economic imperatives of his situation had receded, replaced with the day-to-day business of keeping the company united and alive. Now, suddenly, he was reminded of why he was here, risking life and limb in a war which had nothing to do with him.
“We will have to get them out,” he decided. Although he had been speaking half to himself, Freimann didn’t hesitate with his contradiction.
“We are not going anywhere near that place,” he said. “There is nothing we can do anyway.”
“We have to,” Erikson said. “I can’t afford to lose half the company. Not already. I need another month’s bonus just to recoup my original investment.”
Freimann’s sickle of a smile was as cruel as Morrslieb’s.
“I see,” he said. “I applaud your lack of sentimentality, captain, but your financial losses are your own affair.”
“It’s not just that,” Erikson snapped guiltily. “These are my men. I can’t just leave them.”
“You have to,” Freimann said. “Think of it like any farmer would. His cattle may be his livelihood, but he would hardly throw his life away defending them.”
“That,” Erikson said, “would depend on the farmer. And anyway, I have no intention of dying.”
“Ha!” Freimann’s bark of laughter rang out across the camp. He seemed genuinely amused. “Then how will you free them?”
“I’ll break through and help them to withstand the siege.” Erikson decided. “You, meanwhile, will tell the baron that we have lured a few hundred of the enemy out into the open for him. Do you think he’ll come for them?”
Freimann shrugged.
“Maybe. The biggest problem with these damned things usually is getting them out into the open.”
“Good,” Erikson said.
“Wait, I said usually. This year, they seem to have… changed. They aren’t behaving as they usually do. And I don’t know if the baron will even have the men to send out here. And even if he does, what will you live on until they arrive?”
“We’ll manage,” Erikson said.
Freimann sighed.
“This is all nonsense,” he said. “There is no way you would be able to break through the enemy’s lines and reach the town. My lads are artists in stealth. Hunters from birth. But your gaggle of thugs? No offence, but they’re about as stealthy as a pig with its nuts caught in a meat grinder. They won’t get within a mile before they’re spotted.”
“No offence taken,” Erikson said. “But there must be a way. There must be.”
The men stood in a thoughtful silence and watched the sun rising into a blue summer sky. As it did so the breeze picked up, rustling through the high, dry stalks of the wheat which covered the land in an endless sea of husk and straw.
This had been the most glorious summer Kathgor could remember. It was not just that he had finally fought his way to the leadership of his herd. Nor was it the sweet torrent of blood that had flowed ever since, a heady, maddening draft that had thickened his fur and bulked up his muscle.
No, it was something more than that. Somehow the world, even outside the fastness of the forest, had begun to beat in time with his own pulse. The rhythms of nature throbbed through the land like the greatest war dram, and the warmth of the earth beneath his hooves nurtured him and his herd even as they repaid it by destroying the shackles to which humanity bound it.
Such a shackle lay before them now. It was a maddening blasphemy of straight lines and dead wood. Even the land around the town had been broken and tamed, the forest cleared and replaced with a sickening, endless uniformity of wheat.
But no matter. The new power which surged through the land had given him the strength to wait until his lord Gulkroth, the terrible and the divine, had sent him enough reinforcements to take the town. And so Kathgor, as patient as the hawks that hovered above the wheat, had waited.
This morning, he had been rewarded. Another hundred had arrived, thick-pelted and armed with mighty axes. There was no scent of submission about their leader, a giant called Hruul who stood eight feet tall. Fortunately there was no scent of challenge either. Kathgor was glad of it. The beast would be a great ally in the slaughter to come.
Now, with the stench of his brothers’ bloodlust greasing the air and the delicious smell of fresh, soft man-flesh within the town, Kathgor prepared to give the order to attack. To crush the town like the shell of a snail so that he might suck out the juicy innards.
But even as he prepared to end the agony of waiting, he caught the first, sharp scent of smoke on the wind. At first he ignored it, telling himself that it must come from within the town and that it would soon be extinguished with blood.
“Fire coming,” Hruul barked. He loomed above Kathgor, tall enough to cast a shadow over his nominal herd leader.
“I don’t fear fire,” Kathgor barked back. He could feel the fur on the back of his neck starting to rise in challenge, and fought to keep it down. There would be blood enough for both of them soon.
Hruul gazed down at him, and the insolence in his eyes brought a growl to Kathgor’s throat. He swallowed it.
“We attack now,” he decided.
“No,” Hruul said. “Wait for the fire.”
This time the impudence was too much, but before Kathgor could snarl his challenge a gaggle of skinny runts tumbled into his presence, their eyes bloodshot and their fur singed. Even as they began to chatter Kathgor realised how strong the smell of burning had grown. And how strong and how quickly.
“Fire!” the despised creatures jabbered. “Fire in the east. In the wheat. Coming at us with the wind!”
“How… how big is it?” Kathgor struggled to think through the storm of rage and impatience that surged through his consciousness. Already the world was starting to look tinged with red.
“Endless,” one of his scouts bleated. “It’s all in the wheat.”
Kathgor looked in the direction the creature was pointing towards and yes, there it was. A great waterfall of white smoke reversed up into the clear blue of the sky. And could he smell the singe of fur in amongst the reek of burning grass?
Kathgor struggled to think, but already it was too late. His herd was already disintegrating in the face of the racing fire. They fled towards the dank safety of the river and the forest beyond. As they ran so they drew others with them, and soon the entire army began to stampede.
“Make sure your herd stays intact,” Kathgor barked at Hruul. “We will return for the humans after this fire has burned itself out.”
“Yes,” said Hruul and, neither wanting to be the first to run, the two leaders slowly followed their herds back into the shelter of the forest, there beginning to terrorise them back into order.
“Come on, lads!” Erikson roared, lifting his voice above the furnace roar of the flames. They were devouring the wheat in front of his company with a terrifying speed, and he tried not to think of what would happen if the wind changed.
“You heard the captain,” Alter
shouted from down the line. The company was spread out in a long, single rank behind the fire, each man hugging it as closely as he could. As well as driving the beasts away, it would camouflage their advance.
Unless the wind changed.
Erikson felt the heat burning up through the soles of his boots. The skin of his face already felt red and raw, and as he glanced towards Dolf he saw steam rising from the lad’s clothes.
“Don’t get too far ahead,” he told the youngster, who just smiled up at him.
“I follow you, captain.”
Erikson smiled back. He did follow him, too. Of all the company, Dolf was the most loyal. The most fearless. It almost seemed a shame to be leading him into the trap of a siege. That is, if they ever made it. Even as he slowed the fire slowed too, the wind that drove it seeming to pause uncertainly.
“The wind’s changing!” somebody cried, and Erikson rounded on him.
“Hold your ground!” he bellowed. “It’s slowed, that’s all.”
The men around him looked unconvinced, and he could hear Sergeant Alter subjecting somebody who had started to retreat to a torrent of abuse. All eyes turned to the flames. They danced beneath the shifting veil of smoke above them, as playful as a cat which has cornered a mouse. Then, mercifully, the wind picked up and drove them forwards once more.
Erikson tried to keep the relief out of his voice as he ordered the men forwards once more. By now his eyes were streaming from the heat and the smoke, and soon he was coughing along with the rest of his men.
Should I have risked this, he thought?
He tried to push the thought away, but sweating through the furnace heat of the fire it nagged away at him. The problem was that there was no bold stroke he could make, no cunning stratagem or wild charge. All he could do was trudge along behind the fire, hoping that the wind didn’t change.
[Warhammer] - Broken Honour Page 20
