“You dirty ranker,” burst out Erich. “What about us? We face death if we fail in this mission. You condemn us to die for your backward superstitions.”
Veirt glared at him. “Would you rather hundreds, maybe thousands, of your comrades died if we succeed?”
“We only have your word for it that anything would happen. Your word against the lady’s.”
Reiner raised an eyebrow at this. If Erich couldn’t feel the blood-soaked banner’s evil influence he must have a head of solid granite.
Veirt ignored the novice knight and held out a hand to the sister. “Give me the banner, lady. I beg you.”
“I will not,” she said, drawing back.
“Then I’m afraid I must take it from you.”
“Touch her at your peril!” shouted Erich.
As the lancer struggled to draw his sword, Veirt grabbed the haft of the banner and tried to tug it from Lady Magda’s grasp, but with an angry cry, she shoved at his chest with her fingers.
Veirt stood a head and a half taller than the woman and must have been double her weight, but at her touch he stumbled back, gasping, and sat down heavily on the stone floor. To Reiner it appeared that the old warrior had tripped over something. Lady Magda had hardly touched him, and even with all her strength he doubted she could have budged him an inch.
Reiner and the others gaped at Veirt, who sat on the floor, clutching his chest and sucking air.
Hals knelt. “Captain, are you hurt? Has the witch hexed you?”
Lady Magda raised the banner. Reiner could feel it behind him like a great eye watching over his shoulder. It felt as if it was pulling at him, forcing him to turn and face it.
“Leave him be,” said the woman. “He has disobeyed the command of his lord. He is a traitor to Baron Albrecht and the entire Empire. From now on you will take your orders from me.” She pointed to Veirt. “Now slay this traitor and escort me back to Smallhof.”
Reiner moaned. He had come to like the grizzled old bear and knew he was in the right, but orders were orders. Lady Magda was in command now. And it was for the good of the Empire. He drew his sword as the others were doing and turned to face Veirt.
“Just… just a minute… lassie,” said Pavel. It sounded as if he was pushing each word out through his teeth with his tongue. “Baron Albrecht… put us under… command of Captain… Veirt. And until… he says otherwise… I take my orders… from him.”
Reiner paused in raising his sword and looked at the one-eyed pikeman. The ranker’s brow was beaded in sweat and his arm shook as he forced his dagger to stay at his side.
“You will obey me!” cried Lady Magda. “I am your leader now.”
Now Hals shook his head, less like he was disagreeing, and more like a bull trying to shake off flies. “Sorry lass,” he said, straining to speak. “I… don’t think y’ve… got a… commission.”
Reiner frowned, trying to focus on what Pavel and Hals were saying. It was what he felt himself, so why was he still raising his sword to kill Veirt? Why was he, who had never followed an order in his life without making sure it was in his own best interest, blindly obeying a woman who had no official authority over him at all? He might have a weakness for commanding women, but he was no love-struck pup either. He hadn’t let his little head rule his big head for years. What was causing him to act like a flagellant following a firebrand priest?
The banner. It had to be. Though the daemon’s blood had corrupted it, it still gave its bearer a supernatural aura of authority, a presence so commanding that it could bend men’s will and make them do whatever he—or in this case she—ordered, no matter how much it went against their natural inclinations.
Reiner tried to lower his sword, but to his chagrin, even knowing that he was being manipulated, he found it hard to fight the banner’s power. It took every iota of will to force his arm down. The feelings of pride and patriotism that so rarely moved him, that he sneered at in the stiff-necked knights and mindless boobs who thought the Empire wasn’t just the centre of the world, but the world entire, were welling up in him and making him want to kill. He wanted to strike down Veirt for the glory of the Empire. He wanted to slay all that questioned Lady Magda or doubted her motives. He wanted to…
“No!” Reiner slapped his own face, hard. The pain broke the banner’s spell, only for a moment, but it was enough. He made eye contact with Hals and Pavel and was strengthened by their rage. Beyond them, the others were frozen in tortured poses, all fighting the urge to kill Veirt. Little Franz stood shaking, his short sword frozen over his head. There were tears in his eyes. Reiner shook the boy’s shoulder.
“Fight it, lad.”
But Franz remained frozen.
“I won’t!”
The bellow made Reiner turn. Ulf, his face twisted with rage, flung his upraised maul across the room. It knocked a suit of armour to the floor with a clanging clatter. Franz jerked at the noise like a waking sleeper.
Feeling stronger now, Reiner turned to Lady Magda. “We won’t follow you. You aren’t our captain.”
“Then you are traitors,” said Erich, drawing his sword and stepping in front of the holy woman.
“You’re the traitor,” growled Hals, unsheathing his short sword. Pavel pulled a dagger.
“The captain,” said Franz. “He’s bleeding.”
“What?” Reiner turned.
Veirt lay flat on his back. Blood was seeping from under his breastplate.
“Captain?” said Reiner, stepping forward.
He heard running feet behind him and spun back around. Lady Magda was racing, with very un-nunlike haste, for the secret door, the banner in her hands.
“Stop her!” called Reiner.
Only Franz, Hals and Pavel had recovered enough to respond. They started forward with Reiner, but Erich jumped in front of them, brandishing his sword.
“You’ll go through me first,” he said.
Franz tried to dart around him, but Erich kicked the boy in the hip and sent him sprawling into the clutter of treasures. Pavel and Hals shifted left and right, feinting with their daggers. Reiner grunted, annoyed. Was there ever a more thick-headed knight? He picked up a book from a chest and threw it at Erich’s head. The knight blocked it easily, but the century of dust that covered it exploded in his face and he doubled up, choking and cursing. Reiner shouldered him to the floor and ran with Pavel and Hals for the steps.
Lady Magda stood just outside the chamber, mumbling and motioning with her free hand.
Dread dragged at Reiner’s guts. She was closing the crypt door. She meant to trap them in there forever, like the poor dead nuns. He bellowed over his shoulder. “Franz! Ostini! Cut her down.”
It was too late. Before the boy or the mercenary could ready their weapons, the door began to grind closed and Lady Magda ran away toward the spiral stair.
Reiner cursed and redoubled his speed, bounding up the stairs three at a time. Hals and Pavel were right behind him. They put their shoulders to the closing door and pushed, but their combined weight had no effect. Their boots skidded back through a gravel of crushed bone and marble.
“Urquart!” called Reiner. “Bring a chest! Something big and bound in iron.”
Gustaf, Franz and Giano reached the door and pushed as well. The six of them slowed it a little, but it continued to close. Reiner looked over his shoulder. Ulf was waddling forward carrying a heavy oaken chest, his face beet red with strain.
“Hurry, you great ox!” Reiner looked to Franz, who was pushing mightily but pointlessly. “Leave off, lad. Go after her. Warn Oskar. Tell him to gun her down.”
“Aye,” said the boy, and dashed through the narrowing gap. But almost instantly Erich ran out after him, sword in hand.
“Deserter!” shouted Reiner after the lancer. “Will you leave us to die?” He cursed. “He’ll kill the boy.”
“Go on. Catch him up,” said Pavel. “We’ll hold this. Don’t you worry.”
Reiner looked back. Ulf was humping the
chest up the broad stairs, one agonising step at a time. He bit his lip. “You’d better.”
Reiner ran through the closing door and down the passage to the spiral stair, expecting at any moment to trip over Franz’s body. He stumbled up the uneven, wedge-shaped steps and burst out into the ruined chapel.
Lady Magda, surprisingly, was still in sight. She had only just reached the great arched door that led to the garden. Must have had some trouble getting the unwieldy standard up the twisting stairs, thought Reiner.
In the centre of the chapel Erich had caught up to Franz, who was dodging and ducking to avoid the knight’s slashing sword, and shouting at the top of his voice. “Oskar! Stop her! Stop the lady!”
Reiner ran for Erich, drawing his sabre. “Coward!” he cried. “Picking on boys again? Face me if you want a fight.”
Erich looked up, but unfortunately so did Franz, and Erich, trained in close combat, took advantage. His blade caught the boy a glancing blow on the top of the head and he hit the floor in a jumble of limbs.
Reiner cursed and slashed at the blond knight, but kept running for the door, yelling as Franz had. “Oskar! Stop her!”
Erich caught up to him in the huge open doorway, stabbing at his back. Reiner squirmed to the side and fell across one of the massive bronze doors that lay twisted on the ground. He rolled aside as Erich’s greatsword slashed down at him, then hacked at the knight’s knees.
Erich leapt back and Reiner jumped up. They squared off, each too wary of the other to run after the sister.
Oskar was trotting across the garden from his post at the plaza stairs, long gun in his hands. Lady Magda was running right for him.
“Oskar!” Reiner called. “Stop her! Gun her down!”
“Hey?” said the artilleryman, confused.
“Stop her! She’s betrayed us all.”
Oskar looked at the oncoming woman, a puzzled frown on his face. “Lady?”
The holy woman raised the banner and he stepped back, confusion becoming fear as he stared at it.
“Back away!” she cried. “Bow down!”
Oskar shied away, throwing up his arms to shield his face from the banner. She swung it at him, knocking him flat, then disappeared down the steps.
Reiner cursed and moved to go after her, but Erich stepped in his way. “No, traitor,” he said. “You will not pass me again.”
Reiner grunted angrily. Even if he could beat the knight, which was an open question, it would take too long. Lady Magda would be on horseback and away long before the fight was over. With a sigh, Reiner shrugged and backed away. “Very well. You win.”
He turned and ran back into the chapel. Franz was picking himself off the floor, clutching his bleeding head. “Did she get away?” he asked.
“We’ll get her later,” muttered Reiner, helping the boy stand. “No woman can outpace me on horseback. Come on. Down to the vault.”
Erich came through the door. “Where are you going? Are you afraid to face me?”
Reiner sheathed his sword. “I am going to try to save my companions. The men you left to die.”
“They are traitors.”
“They didn’t turn on their captain.”
Reiner and Franz hurried down the stairs.
“You all right?” asked Reiner, looking at the gash in Franz’s scalp.
“It’ll heal.”
A loud metallic groaning echoed around them as they exited the stairs. They raced for the crypt. Ulf had placed the iron-bound chest between the massive door and the wall, stopping it from closing, but it was slowly being crushed, the iron bands bending and the wood cracking.
Ulf and Gustaf stood outside the door, taking Veirt in their arms as Pavel and Hals, still inside, handed the stricken captain out to them. “Bring him upstairs,” said Gustaf. “I’ll need more light.”
Pavel, Hals and Giano climbed out over the splintering chest and joined them. Reiner heard footsteps coming down the hall and looked back.
Erich approached, sheathing his sword. “Does he live?”
“As if you care,” said Reiner.
“I do care,” said the knight. “He is a good man. Just confused in his thinking.” He seemed calmer, almost contrite.
“Stand aside,” said Gustaf, and he started for the spiral stair with Ulf behind him, carrying Captain Veirt. The rest followed.
Erich brought up the rear, behind Reiner. “I have no wish to fight fellow soldiers of the Empire, but you must see that you are in the wrong.”
Reiner rolled his eyes. Halfway up the stairs there was a horrendous crack from below and a deep echoing boom as the crypt door at last crushed the chest and slammed shut. It gave Reiner the shivers.
As the party entered the chapel they heard a faint high screaming, inhuman and frightened.
“Lady Magda,” said Erich, alarmed. He drew his sword and hurried for the door.
“If that’s the lady,” said Reiner. “I’m a Kossar.”
He followed Erich out of the chapel and ran with him through the garden, then across the plaza to the forecourt. The screaming, which had trailed away into whistling sighs of pain, was further on. Erich and Reiner paused at the broken gates, then stepped out of the convent cautiously, looking all around. The horrible sound was coming from the hidden ravine where they had tethered the horses. They crept forward.
As they edged around the entrance to the ravine, Reiner jerked back, shocked. There was a lot of blood. The mule and the horses had been ripped to pieces, as if by some giant beast. Limbs and torsos were strewn about. One or two horses were still alive, lying on their sides with their entrails spilling out, weakly lifting their heads and wailing in animal agony.
“The lady,” gasped Erich. “Some horror has slain her and all the horses.”
“Don’t bet on it,” said Reiner. “Her palfrey’s missing.”
He turned and ran for the cliff face. Erich followed. “Where are you going? We must find her.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
Reiner looked out over the cliff. The winding path that had brought them up to the convent zig-zagged away below him. Rounding one of its switchbacks was a figure on a palfrey, hair flying in the wind, and deep red banner fluttering above her.
Reiner groaned. “Sigmar curse all sisters of Shallya.”
SEVEN
The Right Thing To Do
When Reiner and Erich returned to the convent garden, they found the others clustered around Veirt, whom Ulf had laid upon a stone bench. Gustaf had taken the captain’s breast-and-back off and was kneeling over him, unbuckling his leather jerkin, which was soaked in blood.
“What was it?” asked Franz, looking up at Reiner.
“Some terrible beast has slain all the horses,” said Erich. “Fortunately, Lady Magda has escaped unharmed with the banner.”
“Or,” said Reiner dryly, “Lady Magda has slaughtered all the horses so we can’t follow her, and escaped with the banner.”
Erich glared at him. “Are you mad? Whatever killed the horses ripped them limb from limb. Lady Magda could never do that.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Gustaf. “Look here.” He pulled open Veirt’s jerkin to reveal his chest. The men hissed in surprise. A tremor of superstitious fear shivered through Reiner for, though Veirt’s back-and-breast was without a dent or scratch, and his jerkin unmarked, deep gashes had opened his chest to the bone and shattered his ribs. It looked like some monstrous animal with enormous claws had mauled him. The wound bubbled with each of Veirt’s shallow trembling breaths. Franz choked and looked away.
“Surely you can’t be suggesting that Lady Magda did this?” said Erich as Gustaf began determining the extent of the damage.
“She barely touched him. This looks like the work of a… mountain lion, or a…”
“A manticore!” said Hals with superstitious awe. “Like the one on the banner.”
“Yes,” said Erich. “A manticore.” Then, “No! If you are suggesting…”
Re
iner raised an eyebrow at Hals. “That she killed the horses and cut down the captain with unnatural strength given her by the banner? I’d believe that before a mountain lion.”
Erich’s face was turning red. “And… and if she did, can you blame her? Veirt turned against her. You all did. You were sworn to bring her here, protect her, and return with her and the banner to Baron Valdenheim, and instead, the moment she finds what we came for, you, a motley collection of peasants and gallows trash, decide you know more of the lore of Shallya and the Empire than a noble lady of learning. You doubt her word, and when Veirt lays hands on her, do you jump to her defence? No. You…”
A wet gasp returned their attention to Veirt. With a hacking cough that sprayed blood across Gustaf’s knees, the captain’s eyes opened. He looked around at them all without any sign of recognition, then saw his chest. His eyes focused. “Damn the woman. And damn Albrecht too, for listening…”
Reiner knelt beside him. “What are you trying to say, captain?”
Veirt turned glazed eyes to him. He seemed to be looking at him from a far shore. “Count… Manfred. Tell him his brother…” He coughed again, spraying Reiner with red spittle, then forced another word out. “Tre… tre… treachery!” Blood welled up from his mouth like a spring. His head sank back until it touched the marble bench, but his eyes never closed.
The men stared down at him for a long moment, as if unable to comprehend what they were seeing. Pavel and Hals made the sign of the hammer and touched their hearts. Only Gustaf seemed unmoved, cleaning and putting away his knives and supplies like a scribe tidying his desk at the end of his day.
At last Ulf broke the silence. “So, what now?” he asked.
They all exchanged wary glances. It was a simple question, but a dangerous one. What did they do?
More importantly, Reiner wondered, what did he do. Where did self-interest lie? What course of action was most likely to keep his skin intact? Did he go back to Albrecht? Did he follow Veirt’s last order and look for Albrecht’s brother, the count? Did he try to hunt down Lady Magda and stop her? Did he go it alone? Or did he stick with his newfound companions?
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