[Angelika Fleischer 01] - Honour of the Grave

by Robin D. Laws - (ebook by Undead)

She kicked him, placing real force behind the blow this time, and again. Franziskus reached them. She expected him to pull her off, but he didn’t, so she kept on kicking, moving from his ribs to his legs.

  “I beg you stop!” Lukas wailed.

  She stopped, and moved a couple of yards away, leaving Franziskus to help the boy up and lead him back to camp. When next she looked at them, when they were halfway up the hill, she saw that Lukas’ face was red, his teeth clenched, and his cheeks stained with tears. This made her want to knock him down for another round of pummelling. Instead, she waited until they got back to Franziskus’ unlit fire. Then she trussed Lukas to a tree, as tightly as she’d done the two halflings and the elf. He would have to sleep standing up. If that left him weaker tomorrow, so be it: he wouldn’t be so ready to escape then.

  Franziskus got a flame going. They sat on their cloaks and warmed themselves.

  When the silence got too loud, Franziskus spoke up. “He will be very sore tomorrow.”

  “Pain reminds you you’re alive.”

  “He lied to me, and so I am angry with him. You expected him to run. Why are you angry?”

  “You damn bluebloods are all the same.” She slid forty-five degrees away from the fire, so he could no longer see her face.

  “What injustice have I done you?”

  “I mean the whole lot of you. Your rules elevate you and permit you to tread on everyone below you. But the minute it looks like you’ll have to follow those rules yourselves… That’s when the truth comes out. He gave us his word, as a gentleman. Then it transpires he’s not a gentleman anymore, which gives him permission to lie.”

  “He’s still only a frightened boy, just as he was an hour ago.”

  “I’m only sorry I won’t personally witness him receiving the axe.”

  Franziskus went quiet. “If we aristos are as you say, then he will not get the axe. An accommodation will be made.”

  “You’re right.” She had difficulty getting even those words out of her mouth.

  “Angelika, you seem… not yourself.”

  “I preferred it when we were just sitting here, thinking our own thoughts.”

  “I merely wonder if you need a reassuring word.”

  “Not from you, or your kind.”

  “Is there something you wish to speak of?”

  “Shut up,” she said, “before I start kicking you, too.”

  “Goblins,” Angelika said, bending down to point at a bare spot in the trail, where many markings could be seen in the dirt. They’d found the spot where she’d left Toby and his cronies, the day before. The cords she’d used to bind them lay tangled in the branches of a thorny bush.

  “I can see marks on the ground,” Franziskus said, “but how can you tell goblins made them?”

  “It’s easy when you know what to look for. Have you ever seen a pack of goblins? No? Well, the nasty things can’t stand still for even a moment. They’re always skittering back and forth. And when they move, they move in a sort of sideways manner. See how they slide their feet when they go?”

  “I still see only disturbed dirt.”

  “No one scuffs up a trail like goblins do.”

  “Do you think they came upon Goatfield and the rest, and brought them to grief?”

  She squinted at the trees where they’d been bound. “I see no blood. If they found them still tied up, goblins would certainly attack them. But they don’t usually have the inclination to take prisoners—they’re too cowardly and dull-witted for that. I’d guess our friends got free—either on their own, or with help from Benno and Gelfrat—and then the goblins came sniffing around later, sensing something amiss.”

  “Goblins!” Lukas exclaimed. For appearance’s sake, Angelika had tied his wrists, out in front of him. She’d left his ankles free, though, there was no telling when they might have to suddenly run from something. “I hate this place! Bandits, beastmen, now goblins—is there any creature or villain that does not lurk in these godforsaken mountains?”

  “Nearly all the places on this earth are godforsaken,” Angelika said. The estate where you were brought up, with its nurses and its polished floors and its all-day games of paille-maille—that was the exception.” She spoke without looking at him; purple bruises covered his face, throat, and wrists. There would be worse marks under his clothing, and she was responsible for most of them. She’d woken up ashamed of her violence against him—at least, of the kicks she’d dealt him after his surrender. Several times already this morning, she had found herself on the brink of an apology. But each time she took a look at him—his haughty posture, and the childish way he rolled his eyes at her when he thought she wasn’t looking—the impulse went away.

  “I never got to play paille-maille,” said Lukas, using the back of a restrained hand to rub the damp off his nostrils.

  Before her retort had fully gelled, Franziskus stepped up. “So how do we propose to catch up with his brothers again?”

  “I expected to see signs of them by now. Benno had no great love of mountain travel; maybe he decided to stay in the lowlands to await our return. For that matter, they might have gone back already, with some suitable set of bones that they could pass off as Lukas’. The only way to know for certain is to return to the hollow and track their movements from there.”

  They crossed the nearby alpine meadow, where the fight against the mercenaries had begun, and jumped down onto the slope of rocks. Lukas made small complaining noises as the stones gave way beneath him. They paused at the bottom to dump pebbles from their shoes, then Angelika led them into the pine wood, heading south. After a few minutes, she gestured for silence.

  “Do you hear it?” she asked Franziskus.

  “No.”

  “Horses.” She crept to the edge of the trees. Franziskus made to follow, but Angelika told him to wait with Lukas. He nodded gravely; she did not need to specify that waiting with Lukas meant making sure he did not run.

  Angelika looked down onto the plain and saw the Averlanders. Most, including Benno, milled about a fire, where a cooking pot hung, steam escaping from around its lid. They had four ill-fed horses with them, one brown, the others grey and dull. Angelika wondered whether they’d been purchased or commandeered. Travelling horse peddlers were not a common feature of the Blackfire Pass.

  One of the greys had slipped its reins and was cantering in circles around the soldiers. Heinrich and Gelfrat loped after the nag, trying to flank it. It did not seem like it was trying very hard to escape from them; it was only testing them. The nag was far from Angelika, but she thought she could detect a churlish grin on its yellow teeth.

  The hill, like so many others they’d seen, was thick with pines and spruces, with no clear path down to the valley floor. She found the slope steep at first, but it became less severe as the trees gave way to weeds and ground-hugging vines. She called out to the soldiers, waving her arms: this was not a situation where it would be good to surprise them. One of the men nudged Benno, who swivelled first his head, then the rest of his body, in her direction. He stood and half-ran, several of the men puffing to keep up with his rapid pace toward her. He shouted to Gelfrat, who broke off from chasing the horse, leaving it to Heinrich. They were at the foot of the hill by the time she reached it.

  “So you return to us,” Benno said, crossing his arms.

  “At first I was disheartened by the way you threw rocks at me, as I left. But gradually I came to realise how much I missed your company.”

  “Your companion is not with you.”

  “Franziskus is back in the forest, his watchful eye fixed on a person who may be of interest to you.” She walked past Benno, toward the fire and the cooking pot.

  He took her arm and seized it, preventing her from moving further—as she’d predicted he would. “There are limits to my tolerance,” he said, releasing her arm.

  Having made her point, she stood, gazing past him, up into the hills. “You should have told me you were looking for two von Kopfs
. It would have made the search much easier.”

  Gelfrat joined the group. He was winded. “He lives? The little maggot!”

  “I see you’ve met him before.”

  The muscles of Benno’s face twitched with annoyance. He looked haggard, as if sleep had been eluding him. “We know him by reputation. Father feared he would turn out to be a runner.”

  “Old Jurgen will be pleased to get his son back in one piece, I’m sure.” She looked into his eyes, to study his response.

  He was examining her expression, too. It was obvious to her that he was trying to work out how much the boy had revealed. “Few things please my father, save victory. How did you find him?”

  “Let’s call it a hunch.”

  Gelfrat scowled at her, and muttered; Angelika thought she caught the words tiresome bitch. She turned to smile sweetly at him. “Now,” she said, “the question of my revised fee.”

  Benno closed his eyes and turned away in disgust.

  “You mean to bleed more from us?” Gelfrat blustered.

  “Naturally. The fee we negotiated was for me to take you to Claus’ bones. Lukas’ rescue from beastmen surely goes beyond the bounds of that agreement.”

  When she spoke the word “beastmen”, the soldiers clustered around. Benno paled and gazed fearfully into the mountains. A couple made the sign of Sigmar.

  “You met Chaos things?” Gelfrat asked. There was a quiver in his voice—perfectly justifiable, given the topic at hand.

  Angelika remained outwardly nonchalant, though the mere mention of the creatures constricted her chest. “Several waves of them, in fact. And, oh yes, we also had to fight some of Davio’s men, who also sought him. Your half-brother seems quite popular in these parts.”

  “It was that treacherous swine, Isaak?” said Gelfrat.

  “No, a smaller, better-informed group. An elf and two halflings. Elennath, Toby Goatfield and Henty Redpot. Do those names strike any chords with you?”

  Benno puffed out his lips blankly. “No. They served Davio, you say?”

  “He seems to want your Lukas for some nefarious scheme or other. Once you pay me for him, I advise you to protect him well.”

  “You slew these rogues?”

  “We left them hog-tied for you, up in the woods. I guess you didn’t find them. The halflings are extremely formidable for their kind. I suggest you let Gelfrat handle the big one with the war-axe.”

  The brothers exchanged fretful glances.

  “To return the subject to my reward,” said Angelika. “In addition to the hundred and twenty-five you owe me for Claus’ bones—”

  “That was never the true aim of—”

  “But you are officers and would-be gentlemen, so let’s pretend you were being honest. That’s one twenty-five for Claus. And a live brother should be worth at least three times as much as a dead one. So that’ll be five hundred: an agreeably round figure. I won’t charge you extra for the fights we fought, or the mountain we had to climb.”

  Failing to contain his anger, Benno shook. “We told you: we are not wealthy men.”

  “But your father, I now learn, is not just a warrior but also an illustrious politician. Meaning that the pillows he sleeps on are no doubt feathered in gold. You’ll get the remainder from him, and send a courier down to the Castello to deliver it.”

  Gelfrat grinned. “Of course; I’ll agree to that.”

  Angelika grinned back at him. “And—of course—you’ll swear to it, on your honour as officers of the Black Field Sabres.”

  The smile fell from Gelfrat’s face.

  “Generally,” Angelika continued, “I feel a man’s promise isn’t worth the rag he wipes his sweat with. But in this case, seeing that you’re both hoping to curry your father’s favour, and knowing how much stock he places in the upholding of vows—”

  Benno waved his hands at her. “Enough! You’ve made your point.”

  “Then you, Benno Kopf, swear on your honour as an officer of the Black Field Sabres that in exchange for my delivering Lukas von Kopf to you, you will make haste to send a courier to deliver to me the sum of three hundred and seventy-five crowns?”

  He placed his palm on his heart. “I so swear.”

  She repeated the vow for Gelfrat. “Yes, I swear to it,” he grumped.

  “Then I’ll go retrieve him for you.”

  She found Franziskus and Lukas—with his hands untied—crouching near a log. They were engaged in earnest discussion, about their upbringings, or some such nonsense. When they heard her approaching, they shut up. They seemed embarrassed. She slapped her hands together, as if she was brushing the dust off some old business, now completed.

  “Time to go,” she said.

  Franziskus laid a comforting hand on Lukas’ back and whispered something too softly for Angelika to hear. Lukas stood and thrust his hands out for Angelika to bind them. She did so, ignoring one of Franziskus’ more effective looks of disapproval.

  On her return to them, she’d found a more navigable trail to the valley floor, so now she led Lukas along it. As they passed through the tree line, and could see the soldiers camped below, the boy began sniffling.

  “Stop that,” she said.

  “I can’t.” With bound wrists he tried to hide the tears that dampened his cheeks.

  “Have courage,” Franziskus said.

  “I don’t.” He stopped. Angelika tugged on his sleeve. He started up again.

  “Remember what we talked about,” said Franziskus. “It is your duty.”

  “I don’t see you doing your duty!”

  “My duty is to discharge my debt to the one who—”

  “Both of you shut up!” snapped Angelika. She grabbed Lukas by the crook of the arm and urged him onward. He pulled his elbow away from her, but she kept hold of it.

  “Please don’t,” he said to her.

  She pulled harder.

  “I beg you.”

  They reached the flatland. The Sabres, led by Benno and Gelfrat, came at them as a group. They spread out, ready to block him if he ran.

  Lukas dropped to his knees. “They’ll kill me!” he wailed. Angelika pulled him, to drag him up, but he was making himself dead weight. He flopped prone in the grass. She kicked him in the gut. He moaned. Having knocked the fight out of him, Angelika was able to drag him upright, though he still refused to support himself. She put her knife to his throat.

  “I have no mercy for you, Lukas. Stop snivelling and pretend you’re a man.”

  Gelfrat surged forward and clamped Lukas by the shoulders, pulling him away from Angelika. She happily withdrew and put her knife away. Lukas kicked at Gelfrat, who lifted him off the ground, leaving his legs to flail like a stick insect’s. Impassively, he held Lukas aloft until the boy had worn himself out.

  “My brother, please, you must take pity on me!” Lukas cried, trying fruitlessly to turn himself in the big man’s arms, and look him in the eyes.

  “Sure, my brother,” Gelfrat said, baring his incisors and canines. Applying pressure with experienced precision, he embraced Lukas in a chokehold, watching carefully until the boy passed out. Disengaging immediately, he then released him, letting him drop to the ground.

  Benno observed from a remove. Angelika went to his side and thrust her palm out. Still regarding the boy, he pulled a purse from his belt and let it fall into her hand. She hefted it, listening for the clink of coin on coin. She resisted the urge to open it and look at the gold inside. As much as she yearned to count it, she knew the purse would contain the correct amount. She’d already pushed the Averlanders hard, and there was no good reason to offend Benno any further.

  “All right!” Benno cried, to his men. “Time to move out!”

  Angelika tucked the purse into her belt and walked over to Franziskus. She watched him watch Lukas, as Gelfrat draped his unconscious body across the back of the largest of the new horses—the grey that had earlier escaped him. He called for rope, and a soldier stepped up with a length. Gelfrat t
ied Lukas to the back of the horse, carefully checking each knot.

  “Shall we go?” she asked Franziskus.

  No response.

  The men broke camp quickly, and had their packs on their backs in less than half an hour. They gathered into ranks and waited for Benno’s word.

  “Damn me,” said Angelika, to herself. “Damn me, damn me. No, I won’t.”

  “Pardon?” asked Franziskus.

  “You said they won’t kill him.”

  “Yes.”

  “An accommodation will be made, you said.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And you’re sure of that?”

  “I am sure of it,” Franziskus said. He did not sound sure of it.

  “Damn me,” said Angelika. Abruptly leaving Franziskus’ side, she dashed at Gelfrat’s horse. Helmeted heads pivoted, following her movement. Franziskus ran with her, toward the mounts. She leapt onto Gelfrat’s nag, pivoting around to grab Lukas’ tunic, just in case he wasn’t tied on as well as he seemed to be. Shouts, angry and surprised, echoed around her. She kicked the horse’s sides. It looked back at her with a lunatic and conspiratorial expression and bolted, jerking her onto its neck. It pounded along the valley floor; she struggled to stay mounted. She could make out shouted curses, behind her. Another horse rode up towards her; she glanced back to see if she needed to throw a knife, but saw that it was Franziskus.

  “I’m going to regret this,” she yelled. Behind her, she heard the clopping of the other two horses, in pursuit. She could only assume it would be Benno and Gelfrat giving chase. Franziskus’ horse was smaller than hers, but he was a better rider, and he drew up beside her. They slapped reins and sped their mounts.

  “Damn me,” she said, and jerked the purse from her belt. She tossed it over her shoulder. It flew wide of Gelfrat, bouncing in the grass.

  Amid the pounding of hooves, her ears picked up another sound, up ahead. She looked to the right, into the trees. It was hard to tell, with the world blurring past her, but she thought she’d caught a glint of sun on polished metal. She urged her horse in its direction. Franziskus stayed close by her. Gelfrat’s voice screamed at them.