“Are there any old records about that burial mound?” Sigmund said.
Maximillian pushed his chair back and stood up. He took the candle and moved deeper into the dark vaults, his keys jangling at his waist. As he moved forward into the dark chambers, Sigmund’s breath began to steam in front of his face. He had the feeling of many vaulted chambers to either side, and remembered with a shiver how it was rumoured that the burgomeister had imprisoned a few notable enemies here, locked up in one of the many rooms, and left to die in the pitch black.
Sigmund looked back over his shoulder and saw the desk, with its flickering candles thirty feet behind, and the dimly illuminated staircase that led back to daylight. Maximillian stopped and Sigmund could see that he had paused at a heavy oaken door.
“This room contains all the old records,” Maximillian said. He took a set of keys from his belt and chose a large brass key, worn with many years of use, blackened with age, slipped it into the lock and turned. “After you!” he said.
Sigmund stepped inside and remembered the men who were rumoured to have been locked up here. He turned in a moment’s panic but Maximillian had shuffled inside after him. The scribe held up his candle and illuminated a low-ceilinged room whose walls were covered by wooden racks. Arranged in niches there were hundreds of tomes, scrolls and thick scraps of vellum, some of them so old that they were deep in dust, their edges worn smooth with years of thumbing.
Sigmund peered at the spines, but most of the books were worn and the lettering was indistinct. One caught his eye: an ancient copy of The Life of Sigmar. It was almost impossible to believe that Sigmar had once been a man—a soldier—like him who had carved eternal glory for himself by saving his people. Sigmund felt the same responsibility for Helmstrumburg, and for a moment he feared failing.
Maximillian held up the candle and in one of the top niches they saw a huge tome with gilt fittings.
“The Life of Johann Helmstrum!” Maximillian said.
Sigmund pulled a chest over to the wall and stood on top of it to get the tome. There was a cloud of dust as he pulled it down. It was heavier than he had imagined, but the leaves were leather, not paper, and the book ends were made of wood bound with leather and gilt set with semi precious stones.
He hurried out of the room and Maximillian followed him out and locked the door after them. Sigmund put the book down on top of the ledger that Maximillian had been working on, and slowly opened the pages. The writing was of a style that was difficult to read, with fantastically illuminated letters—incomprehensible to Sigmund.
Maximillian began to read hesitantly, his finger following the arcane lettering and language. “Herein is told the life of the most illustrious and noble Johann Helmstrum, First Grand Theogonist, Friend to our Precious Lord Sigmar, and Hammer of the Beasts…”
“Find out what it says about the tomb,” Sigmund said. Maximillian carefully turned the pages, but the story was still talking about the first Grand Theogonist’s childhood.
He opened the book half way.
“The Lord Sigmar said unto Johann…”
Maximillian turned the thick pages two at a time. Legends said that it was after the death of Sigmar that Johann led the crusade to clear the Stir River Valley.
It took half an hour to find the chapter they wanted. It told how the Grand Theogonist killed the great beastman warlord in a great battle at the very centre of the beastmen’s sacred land—which was marked by a circle of stones. The narrator told how the stones were shattered with fire and water.
There was no description of the stones, but surely they were the same. Sigmund shivered. There was some power in those stones that remained after two thousand years.
“Over their ruins holy water was sprinkled and then the warriors who had fallen in the battle were laid there. Chief amongst them was Ortulf and Vranulf Jorg, who were the bravest among warriors.”
It took Sigmund a moment, then he frowned and put his finger to read the names again. “Ortulf and Vranulf Jorg…?”
There was only one family of Jorgs in Helmstrumburg. Could it be that this was his ancestor?
Sigmund hardly dared to believe that the blood of heroes flowed in his veins, and quickly shut the book and thrust it into Maximillian’s hands. The knowledge of this possibility gave him a sudden rush of confidence. The stones had to be the reason that the beastmen were attacking. He couldn’t be sure yet, but he had a hunch and clapped Maximillian on the back. “I think you have helped to save the town of Helmstrumburg!” Sigmund said. Maximillian seemed confused, but Sigmund was gone, running up the stairs and out of the burgomeister’s hall, and out into the streets.
When Sigmund returned to the barracks, Gaston and Edmunt were leading a team of men towards the Garden of Morr on Altdorf Street, where there was a small chapel and an old priest.
Sigmund called to Edmunt. The woodsman stopped and he rested his hands on the pick. Sigmund waited until the men had moved off before he spoke. “Those merchants we saved…”
“The Reiklanders?”
Sigmund nodded. “Did anything strike you as strange about them?”
Edmunt thought, but he shook his head.
“I think they have some control over the burgomeister,” Sigmund said. “What, I have no idea—but I am sure he has abandoned the town to its fate.”
“What are you going to do?” Edmunt asked.
Sigmund may have only been a captain, but he was the only person in a position to save the town. “Bring the sergeants to my room. I have a plan.”
All morning the smoke continued to plume into the sky, a constant reminder of the gathering danger. The numbers of people locked outside the walls of Helmstrumburg grew steadily, until it seemed an army was camped at the walls: an army of the desperate and the terrified. But the burgomeister had spoken. The town watchmen looked to Roderick and he bristled inside his blue velvet jacket and set his jaw firmly. Orders had been given. The refugees must return home.
In the Jorg family mill, the mill-hands worked hard, but even though they had promised to stay with their master, as the fires came further down the mountain, and the procession of terrified country-folk hurried past, their morning resolution began to fade.
They were not paid to risk their lives like this.
After a lunch of fresh bread, cheese and salami sausage, the men did not get up to leave. Andres heard the silence and looked up and found the men staring at him. He stared at them in turn as if they were deserters. Their faces reddened. Andres took a bottle of kirsch and poured himself another cup, drank it down.
“What is it?” he demanded.
The men shuffled uncomfortably. None of them wanted to say what had been agreed among them.
“Speak up!”
“We want to go to town,” one of the men said nervously, “lust for a day or so. Until the danger has passed. We heard that there was a fight on the other side of town last night. Eighty beastmen were killed. It’s said that there are free companies being raised.”
“Free companies!” Andres laughed and put his hands on the tabletop and pushed himself up. “Apprentices, greybeards and fat-guts! Do you think free companies will do anything to stop the goat-men?”
The men didn’t know what to say.
“Flee if you will—I’ll not stop you! I will not call you cowards, but I tell you those beasts will never dare come here to the riverside. And if they do,” Andres stumped across to pull the zweihänder down. “If those beasts dare come to this mill then we will meet them with cold steel!”
Two of the men left immediately, but the other four stayed on, their resolution shored up by Andres’ conviction. If their master said it was safe then they would not leave him.
As the town bells rung three in the afternoon, Theodor wrote a message on a piece of paper and summoned Josh to his room.
“Take this to Captain Sigmund at the barracks!” he ordered and flipped the boy a penny for his trouble.
At the same time the barrack gates sw
ung open and two units of ten spearmen marched out. They wore steel caps, cuirboili breastplates and carried their weapons in their hands. Behind them were ten halberdiers, led by Edmunt. There was a grim purpose about the three units, and people stepped well back to let them pass.
Hanz led one squad, Stephan, a scar-faced young Vorrsheimer led another, and Edmunt led the last. Hanz’s men set off towards the east gate, Edmunt the north and Stephan to the west gate.
At the east gate the town watchmen watched Hanz’s spearmen approach, but the soldiers did not smile or nod. Hanz marched up to the four watchmen standing at the bottom of the gate. Without speaking the spearmen rushed the guards and wrestled the batons from their hands. The town watchmen were too surprised to speak or protest as they were pushed flat against the wall, cold knife blades held up against their throats.
At the west gate Stephan’s men took the gate in a similar way, without violence, but as Edmunt approached the north gate a man stepped out from the guardroom and stared at their approach.
“Welcome Edmunt,” Roderick smiled. “How can we help you?”
Edmunt halted his men just in front of the blue-jacketed officer of the watch. Roderick smiled coldly. His men stood behind him, their batons ready.
“We’re taking control of this gate,” Edmunt told him.
Roderick started to protest, but the halberdiers shoved his men back and soon they were up against the wall, the points of the halberds sticking into their chests.
Roderick told his men to drop their batons.
“Thank you,” Edmunt smiled, “for your peaceful cooperation.”
When the gatehouses had been secured, the soldiers lifted the heavy oak crossbars from the iron braces and drew the bolts that held the gates in place.
When all was done, the soldiers pushed on the gates and they swung open easily on the massive iron hinges. The refugees panicked, fearful that the gates might be shut at any moment. Some left all their belongings outside, others hitched their horses to their carts and lashed at them with their whips. The carts lurched forward as the whips cracked. They pushed and shoved, and now each family fought the others in their desperation—until the soldiers came out and organised the people into orderly queues.
At the same time that the gates were being taken over, Osric took twelve men and marched to the marketplace. They found Fat Gulpen, the town crier, in the Crooked Dwarf. There was a cloud of pipe smoke in the air, a few old drinkers were sitting with their steins, and Josh, Guthrie’s young lad, was carrying a platter of beef stew out to the town crier, whose rotund form was squeezed into the red velvet jacket that marked his office. His chins pressed up against the high collar as he turned to glare at Osric. There was a long-standing animosity between the two men that dated back to Osric’s time as officer of the watch.
“Gulpen!” Osric said.
Fat Gulpen took a long swig of his stein and refused to look up.
Osric took the piece of paper that Sigmund had given him and slammed it on the table in front of him.
Fat Gulpen wiped the foam from his upper lip and glanced towards it, and started to read. It took a few seconds.
“You want me to read this?” he said.
Osric nodded.
“Now?”
Osric put his thumbs in his sword belt and smiled.
“Yes, now,” he said.
As soon as Roderick was out of sight of the halberdiers at the north gate he slowed down, but kept walking quickly, looking over his shoulder.
The streets were full of nervous people, hurrying back and forth in their panic. Roderick passed a couple of town watchmen and ordered them to gather all his men and meet him back in the marketplace in half an hour.
Roderick kept hurrying along until he reached the docks, where the guild hall stood. He was relieved to see that there were no soldiers standing on the steps of the hall, and nodded to his men as he hurried inside.
Roderick crossed the inner courtyard and hurried up the steps to the burgomeister’s chambers. He knocked and then tried the handle, but the door was locked. Roderick knocked again. He could hear voices inside.
“Lord burgomeister!” Roderick shouted.
“Wait outside!” the shout came back, but the burgomeister’s voice sounded strange.
Roderick stepped back from the door and waited. He had a strong feeling that something was not right. When at last the door opened it was not the burgomeister who came to see him to ask him what he wanted, but the Reikland merchant that Sigmund had brought in a few days earlier.
“Yes?” Eugen snapped.
“I need to talk to the burgomeister,” Roderick began. “The soldiers have broken his official decree and opened the town gates!”
Eugen frowned. “And this is the news with which you disturb your master?”
Roderick opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say.
Eugen shut the door again, and Roderick stepped back in shock. He hurried out to the steps of the guild hall.
“You two,” Roderick said, to the guards. “Wait here! You two come with me.”
And then they hurried towards the marketplace.
Sigmund arrived in the marketplace in time to see Fat Gulpen come out of the Crooked Dwarf, ringing his bell as he made his way to the centre of the marketplace.
“Hear ye! Hear ye!” he called. “Hear ye! Hear ye!”
A crowd gathered, desperate for news of relief or reinforcements.
“All men of fighting age are asked to join in free companies for the protection of Helmstrumburg! Assemble at the barracks for free companies!”
There was an excited buzz as Fat Gulpen rang his bell again.
“Hear ye! Hear ye! Free companies to assemble at the barracks!”
It was some time after lunch when the door to the burgomeister’s office opened and Eugen stalked out. He ignored the watchmen on the door and strode through the streets to the market.
People were running back and forth. He could smell their fear and the scent made him smile. They would all have reason to fear soon enough.
In the marketplace there were a number of crude banners raised on poles, acting as rallying points for the young men of Helmstrumburg. The inn signs had been nailed to the end of long poles and the regulars of each establishment were coming together, ready to march to the barracks to be given weapons.
The Crooked Dwarf sign had been nailed to a pole, and Guthrie was there handing out free ale to all who enlisted. There was also a band of men at the White Unicorn, and another at the Drayman’s Rest.
Free companies! Eugen snorted with derision. It was too late to try and dam the flood that was coming. They would all be washed away in a river of blood.
He hurried up the steps and ducked inside the Crooked Dwarf. The bar was unnaturally empty. Eugen hurried across it and took the steps two at a time. He turned right down the corridor and opened the door to their room.
Theodor was sitting on the bed, waiting. He had the window open and was watching the commotion in the market square with interest.
“The fools are too late!” Eugen said with obvious delight.
“Have you heard?” Theodor said. “There were a hundred beastmen killed last night at the sacred site!”
“Of course I heard!” Eugen spat. “But this will not stop our plans. They disobeyed the orders. None were to come near the town until tonight. For their impatience they will never see Helmstrumburg burn!”
“Do you think that there will there still be enough?”
Eugen laughed at his acolyte’s naivety. “There are more beastmen in the woods than there are people in Helmstrumburg! Each one of them is bound to this task by a force stronger than force—hatred! They have waited so long for revenge. Nothing will stop that now!
“Now,” Eugen said after a deep breath. “We have important business to attend to.”
Helmstrumburg was full or frenetic activity all that afternoon. As soon as they heard that free companies were being raised, men hurried to fet
ch whatever weapons they had. In the Crooked Dwarf band, there were a number of old soldiers who bantered back and forth as if they were still in the count’s pay, drew their sword and gave their sword arms another feel of the weight of their swords.
There were farm lads who had kitchen knives strapped to their belts, and pitchforks or blacksmith’s hammers in their hands. Whatever weapons they could find they brought with them, and they stood feeling responsible and nervous, looking at the other men’s faces, thinking that they would soon be fighting shoulder to shoulder with these men.
Josh had been to the barracks but Captain Jorg was not there. He had waited for a while and then he had got caught up in all the excitement and had almost forgotten the note he had been paid to take. When he returned to the barracks there were a couple of soldiers on duty.
“What, boy?” Baltzer demanded.
“I have a note, sir!” Josh said. “For Captain Jorg.”
“He’s busy.”
Josh looked frustrated. Guthrie would be wanting him back at the Crooked Dwarf. He took out the note and held it in his hands, unsure what to do. “It’s from the Reiklander merchants,” he said, as if that might gain him entrance. “For Captain )org especial.”
Baltzer smiled. “Is it now? Then you give it to me and I’ll make sure it reaches him!”
Eugen and Theodor made their way through the streets to the western gate, where Stephan’s men were still on duty. As they walked up to the gate two spearmen stopped them.
“You cannot go out,” they said.
“Why?” Eugen said innocently.
The soldiers laughed. “Have you seen what is happening?” They gestured to the long plumes of black smoke that now reached as high as the clouds.
Forged in Battle Page 12
