by ich du
He sat gazing across the camp, towards the tall marquee where Vapold was staying, along with members of his court. And Ursula. He wanted to go and speak to her, but even more than ever, she was ignoring him. He told himself it was unintentional, that she was simply preoccupied with other matters. He simply didn't have the heart after a long day's riding to be rebutted again. Perhaps tomorrow he'd talk to her.
'So you've known her a long while then?' said Gastren, a middle-aged knight with thinning hair that he plastered over his scalp with pungent oil in the hopes of hiding his encroaching baldness.
'Hmm, who's that?' asked Johannes, turning his attention to his new companion.
'Ursula, the maiden of Sigmar,' Gastren explained. Johannes suppressed a smile at hearing the title used by someone else. He had meant it half in jest when he had first coined the term, but now it seemed fitting.
'I've known her for nearly two years, by my reckoning,' Johannes said.
'Looks a feisty enough lass, you know,' Gastren said, scratching at his armpit. 'Odd hair, mind, but a nice face.'
'She used to be,' said Johannes, trying not to sound too wistful. 'I think she has a higher purpose at the moment. Feisty doesn't come into it, really.'
'I know what you mean.' added Fakje-Stohl, a lean-looking knight who had long moustaches that hung below his chin, though full beards were currently the favoured fashion for facial hair about the court. 'Strutting around with that sword of hers, she cuts a fine figure.'
'Strutting?' said Johannes trying to keep his temper in check.
'Well, you know, I expect she waves it around well enough, you know, giving speeches and such.' explained Gastren. 'There's worse for a soldier to follow. They're not too bright, you know, and a pretty lass like that telling them Sigmar's with them might give them a bit more backbone, you know.'
'Waves it around?' Johannes was lost for words for a moment.
'What, you don't want to tell me that she actually tries to fight?' laughed Fakje-Stohl. 'I mean, I've heard the fanciful stories, about killing Norse and such, but everyone's heard them, haven't they?'
Johannes cast his mind back to the battles along the Norscan coast. He could picture Ursula clearly, Ulfshard flaming in her hands, beheading and gutting the northmen with clean, quick strokes. She had confided in him, back when she confided anything at all, that it was mostly the sword, but that hadn't made it any less impressive for Johannes to watch.
'If we're lucky, those stories will be all you know.' said Johannes. 'When she draws that sword, the blade of Marbad remember, you know that there's serious fighting to be done.'
The other two exchanged amused glances, but Johannes allowed it to pass. If Ursula was right, and Johannes feared that she was, then perhaps they would all come to look to the maiden of Sigmar for far more than just inspiration.
THE SOUND OF voices outside disturbed Magnus as he read, and he looked up from his small book. He recognised the deep tones of the big Talabheimer, Ruprecht, talking to the guard posted outside his tent. He slipped the grimoire under the blankets of his bed and lay back, closing his eyes. Magnus did not know much about the burly man, but what he had heard worried him. He had served with a witch hunter, one of the Grand Theogonist's Templars of Sigmar. Lately Magnus had felt himself being scrutinised by Ruprecht more than he cared for, and was irritated at the intrusion.
'Just let him in!' Magnus snapped as he caught the general topic of the increasingly heated discussion.
As Ruprecht ducked through the tent flap, Magnus opened his eyes and sat up, as if rousing himself from quiet repose. Ruprecht stood there uncertainly until Magnus nodded towards one of the chairs set on the rugs covering the bare earth, and the tall man sat down, perched uncomfortably on the edge of the small chair.
'I am sorry to intrude.' Ruprecht began, stroking at his artificial hand nervously.
'Do not give it a second thought.' Magnus said, intrigued by Ruprecht's unusual demeanour. 'You are after advice?'
Ruprecht nodded and glanced away for a few heartbeats, before returning his gaze to Magnus, his eyes now steady.
'I am very worried about Ursula.' he said. 'She is very capable, you know this.' replied Magnus, swinging his legs off his cot and leaning forward. He reached for the pitcher of water on the low table and poured some into a goblet. 'What is your concern, and how do you think I might help?'
'I can't put my finger on an exact cause.' Ruprecht said, flicking his glance around the tent. 'Something is wrong, something about the visions and dreams is having a bad effect on her.'
'In what way?' said Magnus, delicately sipping the water. 'One with her gifts often has their perception of the world and others altered.'
'That's just it.' said Ruprecht with a nod. 'It's like she doesn't see anything else any more. She's, I don't know, removed from the rest of us. Her mind is somewhere else most of the time. She's becoming heartless, almost inhuman. It can't be good for her.'
'Well, I agree, to some extent.' said Magnus, placing his goblet carefully back on the table. 'Her belief is extraordinary, and that stems from her visions. Is it not understandable that she is very focussed? It is true, is it not, that she is being guided by the gods, and that is a heavy burden to bear sometimes. Perhaps it is for her own sake that she has removed herself from us. Perhaps because she realises that what she must do, the gifts she has, mark her out as different from us.'
'But she's forgotten why.' said Ruprecht, his iron hand clenching and unclenching as he spoke. 'She's forgotten the ends and is thinking only about the means. She's becoming obsessed.'
'What would you have me do?' asked Magnus, suppressing a sigh.
'Nothing much,' said Ruprecht. 'Just talk to her, or try to. She seems comfortable with you. Perhaps you can get her to open up more than I can.'
'I will see what I can do,' Magnus said with a thin smile. 'Do not give up on her yet, she is a remarkable young lady.'
'Oh that I know,' said Ruprecht with a grin, standing up. 'Thank you.'
Ruprecht stooped to leave and stopped and turned back, as if a thought had just occurred to him.
'It must be difficult for you,' he said. 'I mean, the count dragging you out on the march like this. I'm sure that the services of an astrologer are going to be somewhat limited for the moment.'
So this is it, thought Magnus. This was the real question. All that nonsense about Ursula was just a sham, really he was hear to find out what Magnus was up to.
'Although my post is court astrologer, I have other uses,' Magnus said with a fake sigh of resignation. 'I am a man learned in other fields, and the count seeks my advice on many matters.'
'Well, I am sure he will find it useful,' said Ruprecht with one last fleeting look around the tent. 'Good night.'
Magnus sat there for a long while after Ruprecht had left, considering what had just happened. The Talabheimer was certainly suspicious of Magnus, though he knew he was innocent of any wrongdoing. He wanted some fresh air and was about to leave when he heard the distinctive pattering of rain on the canvas of the tent. With a sour sigh to himself, he sat back down on the bed and pulled his book from beneath the covers.
FOR TWO MORE days they camped, awaiting the returning of the scouting parties. Though Steinhardt had permission to cross Talabecland, Vapold was confident that any attack would come across the more northerly stretches of the border. For a start, it was a more direct route from Bechafen, where most of the new count's forces had been billeted. Secondly, despite the cooperation of the Talabheim ruler, Steinhardt knew not to approach too closely to the capital with an army, for fear of provoking a response from his erstwhile allies. This still left a hundred miles or more of the Talabec to keep watch on.
Ursula was keen for the men to say prayers each morning, and passed among the regiments, exhorting the soldiers to look to Sigmar to protect them and guide their sword arms in the coming battle. As she passed, the soldiers' confidence grew, and her presence filled them with hope.
Magnus wa
tched her with fascination as she walked amongst the soldiers and knights. When she left, there was an afterglow of energy, a residual cloud of faith left in her wake. Spirits were buoyed along her route, the courage of the men swelled. He had never seen anything of its like, and followed her at a distance as she tirelessly moved from regiment to regiment, her hand upon the hilt of Ulfshard.
Though it was impossible for her to see every man in the army, the effect she had was like ripples in a pool, radiating out from those touched by her presence. The other priests of Sigmar acted like conductors, generating a small amount of energy themselves, but more importantly serving as conduits for Ursula's energy to permeate through the army.
Though he did not have Magnus's secret sight, Count Vapold had also observed the difference in his fighting men. As midday neared on the second day, he found Magnus some way from the centre of the camp, following in the wake of Ursula. The warlock had barely noticed the count's approach, even though he was mounted on his warhorse. As a shadow fell over him, he glanced up to see Vapold, resplendent in his full suit of armour, a black cloak hung from his shoulders, a white tabard over his breastplate emblazoned with a stylised blue griffon flanked by two swordsmen, his personal coat of arms. At his belt hung the Runefang of Ostland, heirloom of the rulers of the realm since the time of Sigmar, the first Emperor. Tied to his saddlebags were a quiver and a compact, recurved hunting bow, which had originally been made for his grandfather. Magnus could sense the aura of power that surrounded both, and had seen first hand the mighty Dragon Bow being loosed, even though it was only at a wooden target. The arrows, tipped with shards of dragon horn it was claimed, had punched clean through the thick oak, empowered by the enchantment of the bow.
'It's quite amazing, isn't it?' the count said, staring at the figure of Ursula as she disappeared into a throng of bowmen, who were now jostling with each other to get close to her.
'Remarkable, my lord' agreed Magnus. 'It is plain to see that she is no ordinary girl.'
'Not at all!' laughed Vapold. His face then grew serious and he leaned across from his horse, his voice low. 'We mustn't let the men get too carried away though. This is my army, after all. All of this worry about the renegade knight and an army of northmen, it could start to distract the soldiers.'
'The men are loyal to you, my lord,' said Magnus, though he could understand the count's concern. 'However, I believe she is much more useful as an ally than an enemy.'
'Of course,' said Vapold. 'Of course. No, I wasn't thinking about anything drastic, not at all. We just need to make sure we keep an eye on the men, that sort of thing. When this sorry business with Steinhardt is over, we must make sure she doesn't have too much contact with them. Useful, as I said, but let's not get carried away.'
'No, my lord,' said Magnus with a polite bow.
Vapold grinned again.
'Well, if Steinhardt doesn't have second thoughts when he sees this ugly lot, they'll certainly be up for the fight,' the count said.
'It is my fervent hope that actual battle will not be necessary, my lord,' said Magnus, meaning every word of it.
'I agree, Magnus, I agree,' said Vapold with a wink. 'Still, does an army good to get stirred up once in a while, doesn't it? Remind them what they're getting all my money for.'
'Against an army of refugees and mercenaries, I am sure they will carry the field, my lord,' said Magnus, unable to share his master's enthusiasm for the conflict. There was something about noble blood that made a man forget that war was a horrid affair. Perhaps it was all those tapestries and paintings of glorious charges and brave last stands that they had hanging in their houses and castles, Magnus mused.
AS NIGHT BEGAN to fall at the end of the second day, one of the groups of scouts had returned. The news they brought with them did not bode well. Once more overlooked, Ruprecht stood quietly in the counts tent as the scout's sergeant explained to the court what they had seen. The count, Bayard and Felsturm sat in canvas chairs beside a table spread with a cloth map of Ostland and the Middle Mountains. Others, mostly officers but also the ever-present astrologer, crowded into the tent, leaving a small circle for the war council. Over the heads of the murmuring throng, Ruprecht could see Ursula at the other side of the tent, also listening intently. He gave her a wave, but she did not notice.
'Crossed already, you say?' said Lord Bayard. 'That is not good at all.'
'Yes, my lord,' the sergeant replied. His badge of office, a black and white sash over his dull brown and grey leggings and jerkin, was mud-stained and hung limply across his chest. 'They are slightly to the south of us, perhaps a day's march, near Ludenkort. We counted perhaps six thousand men, roughly half of that knights and other cavalry. I think they have more men on the way; they were setting up camp a few miles from the river.'
'Then we strike as soon as we can,' said Captain Felsturm. 'We must attack while we have the numbers.' 'Our plan was to contest a river crossing,' Vapold reminded the captain. 'If that is not possible, our first thought must be the defence of Wolfenburg.'
'That is true,' said Bayard, stroking his chin. He leaned forward and looked at the map. 'Ludenkort is quite forested, some farmland, but not much. There's not much room for cavalry to work.'
'Meaning?' said Vapold.
'Meaning that we might not want to engage them there,' explained Bayard.
'Spoken like a true knight,' said Felsturm, sourly. 'Half of Count Steinhardt's army is mounted.'
'Mostly mounted infantry,' said the scout sergeant. 'Gunners for the most part.'
'We have no idea of the number of reinforcements he's waiting for,' said Bayard. 'If it's several thousand, and they arrive before we do, or even worse during the battle, it won't be good for us.'
'For all we know it could be a few hundred,' countered Felsturm.
Vapold sat in thought, looking at the map and glancing at his two advisors. A movement in the crowd attracted his attention and he looked up to see Ursula pushing her way to the front.
'Yes?' the count asked.
'I agree with Captain Felsturm,' Ursula said.
Vapold raised one eyebrow.
'I never asked,' said the count, looking back at the map.
'If you retreat now, you surrender the initiative,' Ursula said.
Vapold sat back and rested his hands in his lap in a pose of studied patience.
'I would rather have a good solid wall or two between me and the enemy.' the count argued. 'Steinhardt would be a fool to attack Wolfenburg.'
'He will return with a larger army.' Ursula said. 'You must make a show of strength, demonstrate that you will not be bullied. Attack him in the open field. Sigmar grants strength to those who are forthright, and will ensure us victory.'
Vapold saw the look in Ursula's eyes, the fervent conviction that she was right. Felsturm was nodding vigorously in agreement, and Bayard scratched his chin in thought.
'Is it not time that Count Vapold of Ostland, commander of one of the finest armies in the Empire, shows his true mettle?' asked Ursula. 'Your people look to you for courage and strength. Show that courage; exercise that strength. It is what Sigmar would have done. He did not simply sit and wait for the orcs to come to him. He took the fight to them. He drove them from his lands. Would you allow this army to roam your state unhindered? Would you have your villages and farms looted, the wealth of your people claimed by this usurper?'
Ursula's words struck home like bolts, piercing Vapold's pride. He felt a wave of righteousness swelling up inside him.
'You're right!' he declared, standing up and slamming his fist onto the map table. 'Steinhardt has gone too far. First he has spilled the blood of my family, and now he threatens me, in my own lands! Ready the troops, we march at first light. We'll send his ragtag army scurrying back over the Talabec with their tails between their legs like whipped curs!'
There was a ragged cheer from the assembled soldiers. Ruprecht watched Ursula turn and leave without a further word. She had her knowing, disturbing sm
ile on her lips. Whatever she was planning, things seemed to be going her way for the moment.
JOHANNES HAD SET out at first light with the other cavalry, riding ahead of the rest of the army to find out if Steinhardt was still at Ludenkort. They were split into small groups, some flanking the road, wary of enemy scouts, the rest following along the muddy turnpike that led to the small town. Johannes rode with Fakje-Stohl, Gastren and a short, wiry knight called Fredericks. Their mood was light, though as they had entered the forest their banter had faded and they had become more watchful.
The sky was cloudy, but the summer heat was beginning to permeate through the forest canopy as they rode between the sprawling boles of the trees, shafts of sunlight occasionally piercing the leaves in golden rays. The mulch of last years leaves still lay underfoot, padding the steps of their horses, and only the odd distant bird call disturbed the quiet. Ahead, the flitting shape of a deer disappeared into the undergrowth, and Fakje-Stohl sighed.
'I wish I was out riding on the hunt.' the knight said, removing a gauntlet and stroking his moustaches, 'instead of riding to battle.'
'Steinhardt has to be taught a lesson, you know.' said Gastren. 'I was there last night, when the count made his proclamation. He said we needed to teach that bastard usurper a lesson.'
'That's all well in theory, but it'll not seem so fine when the shot and bolts are whistling past your head.' muttered Fredericks.
'Aye, it's hard for a knight to be left alone these days, you know.' said Gastren with a laugh. 'Anyone would think those damned crossbowmen and gunners didn't like being run down on a lance!'
'Pah!' snorted Fredericks. 'This black powder is no joke. I blame the dwarfs. Trust a dwarf, who would no sooner ride a steed than kiss an orc, to devise black powder. What happened to a good, honest charge with wood and steel, eh?'
