[Blackhearts 01] - Valnir's Bane

by Nathan Long - (ebook by Undead)

  “Any of you slip a knife in his back?”

  Silence.

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, but I want to know.”

  More headshaking and “not I”s answered him.

  “Then where’s he got to?”

  “Maybe he’s having a piss,” muttered Gustaf.

  “That one don’t piss,” said Hals. “He’s perfect.”

  “Probably found a little hidey hole back there in the dark,” said Pavel. “And didn’t see fit to tell us. He’ll slip around the northers once they’ve passed.”

  “Aye,” said Giano. “Stupid schoolboy. All he want is to tattle tales to Valdenheim.”

  “A lot of good that’ll do him,” said Franz.

  “Well, never mind about him,” said Reiner. “He’s made his decision. We have to make ours. This place, whatever it is, is obviously the destination of the fellows behind us.”

  “It’s a mine,” said Ulf. “An iron mine.”

  The others looked up at him.

  “Myrmidia’s mercy,” said Franz. “The slaves. They’re bringing them here for the mine.”

  “And mining iron for weapons and armour,” said Ulf.

  “Bad news for the Empire,” said Hals.

  “But good news for us,” said Reiner. “At least I hope so.” He turned to Ulf. “Urquart, those holes in the walls. They’re mine-heads, yes?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then they’ll be deep enough to hide in?”

  “Oh, certainly.”

  “Then here’s the plan. We slip past the tower, sneak along one of those ledges, duck into a hole and wait there until tomorrow night. By that time, the enemy troops behind us will have made camp, and we can sneak back out and away from these damned mountains with none the wiser.”

  “Hear hear,” said Franz.

  “You make it sound so easy,” said Gustaf. “What if we’re seen passing the tower? What if another force comes up the path tomorrow night?”

  “I’ll take any suggestions,” said Reiner.

  Gustaf grunted, but said nothing.

  The party edged back to the lip of the valley, standing just within the shadow of the canyon walls, and looked up at the tower. The Kurgan guard appeared and disappeared at regular intervals as he paced the top of the tower.

  “Now?” asked Franz as the guard turned away again.

  Reiner looked at the sky, another armada of clouds was sailing in from the north east. “A moment.”

  The clouds ate the moons once again and darkness covered the valley.

  “Now we go.”

  The men tiptoed swiftly to the nearest terrace, each of which connected to the path as it sloped down the hill. There was a collapsed shack near the close end. They crowded in behind it and waited, listening for the guard to call a challenge. None came.

  “Come on. Before the clouds pass,” said Reiner.

  They crept along the terrace to the first entrance. It was boarded up. Reiner tugged experimentally on the planks. They creaked alarmingly.

  “Let’s try further on.”

  But the next entrance was walled up with brick and mortar.

  “Why would anyone go to the trouble?” asked Reiner, annoyed.

  “Cave-ins,” said Ulf. “Or sink holes. You saw the landslide. This wall was probably overmined and became unstable.”

  Oskar gulped. “Unstable?”

  The third hole was boarded up as well, but the boards were so weathered and warped that they had pulled away almost entirely from their nails. A trickle of water ran out from under the barricade and had carved a channel in the terrace.

  “This looks promising,” said Reiner.

  He and Hals and Giano began pulling the boards away as quietly as possible and set them aside. Some were so rotten they crumbled in their hands.

  At last they had cleared the opening, and the timber-framed entrance yawned before them. It was easy to see why it had been closed. Water dripped from above, and it was clear that it had eaten away much of the ceiling. An attempt had been made to shore it up with wide boards propped up by posts, beams and bits of scrap lumber—so many that the entrance looked like a forest of thin, limbless trees—but the water had seeped into all of these, and they were bowed and rotting. The floor of the tunnel was muddy and calf-deep in loose rock and earth which had fallen from above. Reiner didn’t like the look of it at all, but the clouds were thinning. There was no time to find another.

  “Come on, then,” he said. “In we go. And each of you carry a board. We’ll have to close it up again from the inside or they’ll notice.”

  The others trooped in, each with a board under one arm, picking their way through the thicket of supports, but Oskar hung back, looking at the gaping hole with trepidation.

  “Come on, gunner,” said Reiner.

  The artilleryman shook his head. “I don’t like holes.”

  Reiner rolled his eyes, impatient. “Nor do I. But in we must go—”

  “I cannot,” whimpered Oskar. “I cannot.”

  “You’ll have to. There’s no help for it.” Reiner stepped toward Oskar, reaching out to him.

  The gunner pulled back. “No.”

  Reiner shot a glance over his shoulder and clenched his fists. “Oskar! Stop messing about!” he hissed. He grabbed for Oskar’s elbow.

  Oskar flinched away and kicked a discarded beam with his heel. It tottered on the lip of the ledge, then tumbled down to the level below.

  Reiner groaned and looked back toward the tower. It was too dark out to see it. But he thought he heard a guttural voice call a question.

  Reiner lost his temper. “Curse you, you craven ninny!” he whispered hoarsely, “Get in there!” He leapt forward, grabbed Oskar by the arm and flung him into the opening.

  He regretted the action instantly, for the artilleryman flew into the first rank of props and knocked them hither and thither. One snapped in half. A shower of dirt and small stones rained down on the fallen Oskar and the ceiling groaned ominously.

  “Sigmar blast it!” Reiner ran into the entrance, grabbed Oskar by the collar and dragged him through the supports to where the rest of the men had turned at the noise. The floor was clearer here, and the posts fewer. He stopped and looked back.

  There was a crack, loud as a pistol shot, then another. First one post, then two more began to bend and fold, then another three.

  “Back!” Reiner shouted. “Back!”

  The men ran into the darkness, Franz helping to drag Oskar further down the tunnel.

  With a thunderous crash the ceiling above the entrance collapsed, deafening them. A cloud of dust, invisible in the utter darkness, blew around them, making them choke and cough. Sharp rocks spat at their shins and ankles.

  At last, with a few final thuds and plinks, the avalanche ended and the men’s coughing and retching dwindled off into silence. It was pitch black.

  “Everyone here?” asked Reiner. He called out their names one by one and they answered. All but Oskar.

  Reiner sighed. “Strike a light, someone.”

  Hals got a taper going and they looked around for Oskar. He was still on the floor, clutching his knees and looking around him wildly. As the flame grew brighter he looked beyond them to the sloping mound of rock and mud that blocked the entrance. He cried out, an animal sound, and scrambled forward on his hands and knees. As the men watched, non-plussed, he began to scrabble at the rocks with his bare hands. “Dig! We must dig! We must get out! No air! There is no air!”

  The rocks were impossible to shift. Oskar began pounding on them, bloodying his hands and shrieking wordlessly.

  The men grimaced and turned their heads, but Reiner had had enough. “Sigmar’s balls!” he blasphemed, stepping forward, “Will you shut up!” He spun Oskar around by the shoulder and punched him as hard as he could in the jaw.

  Reiner’s knuckles flared with pain at the contact, but the result was extremely gratifying. Oskar flopped bonelessly to the ground and lay there, silent at last�
�out cold.

  Reiner turned to the others, sucking a bleeding knuckle. They beamed appreciatively at him. He tried to think of something witty to say, but he couldn’t. Exhaustion suddenly overcame him. His knees nearly gave way.

  “Well,” he said wearily. “I think this day’s gone on long enough. Let’s make camp.”

  TEN

  Let The Wind Be Your Guide

  Worn to a frazzle though he was, Reiner still had some difficulty getting to sleep. He might have sneered at Oskar’s panic, but he had punched the artilleryman because he’d felt it spreading to his own heart as well. He too had been overcome with an overwhelming sense of doom when the roof collapsed. And of guilt. He had done this. If he hadn’t lost his temper and thrown Oskar into the posts it might not have happened. He had trapped them. Anything that happened to them now would be his fault. If they couldn’t find another way out? His fault. If something crawled out of the dark, unexplored tunnel and devoured them? His fault. If the air became so sour they couldn’t breathe? His fault. If they starved to death? If they went mad and ate each other to stay alive? His fault.

  But at last even guilt couldn’t keep him awake. Exhaustion dragged him down like a mermaid pulling him beneath the waves, and he slept the sleep of the dead until, sometime later, the scratching and squeaking began. He ignored it for as long as he could, drifting in and out of dreams where it was his old dog scratching at his door, a harlot of his acquaintance combing her hair on the creaking bed in his apartment back in Altdorf, a tree branch rubbing against the roof of his tent on the march up from Wissenberg, but finally images of rats and giant insects and bloodsucking bats forced him to open his eyes and look around.

  There was nothing to see, of course. It was still as black as an orc’s armpit. He could tell by the snores that the rest were still asleep. With a grunt of annoyance he fished around in his pack until he found his flint and steel, then struck a spark onto his tinder paper and lit a taper.

  His moving around woke some of the others and they sat up blinking in the unaccustomed light as Reiner raised the taper and looked for the source of the scratching.

  It was Oskar again, whining and clawing dispiritedly at the pile of stone. Reiner winced. The gunner must have been at it for hours. His fingernails were gone, ripped away, and the tips of his fingers were bloody shreds.

  “Oskar,” Reiner called.

  The gunner didn’t respond. Reiner stood and stepped to him. Oskar’s lips were moving. Reiner leaned in to hear what he was saying.

  “Nearly there. Nearly there. Nearly there. Nearly there. Nearly there. Nearly there. Nearly there.”

  Reiner put his hand on Oskar’s shoulder and shook him. “Come on, Oskar. We’re going to see what’s down the hall. Might be another way out, eh?”

  Oskar pulled violently away. “No! We must dig! We’ll all die if we don’t dig!” He began digging with renewed vigour, but no better results. The rock he was clawing at was stained a brownish-red from his blood.

  Reiner sighed and turned. The others were frowning sleepily at him and Oskar. Reiner found Gustaf among them. “Gustaf. Have you anything in your kit to quiet him?”

  “Oh aye,” said the surgeon dryly. “I’ve just the thing.”

  Reiner caught his tone and shot him a hard look. “If he dies of it, you’ll follow him.”

  Gustaf shrugged, and began unbuckling his kit.

  “But, captain,” said Hals, “why not just put him out of his misery? He has no mind no more, the poor fellow. He’s no use to anybody, least of all himself.”

  Reiner shook his head. “With Erich deserting us, we need every man we have. Do you think we should leave Pavel behind just because he’s having trouble keeping up?”

  Hals stuck out his chin. “No, sir. No, I wouldn’t like that.”

  “I’m feeling much better now, sir,” Pavel piped up anxiously.

  Gustaf stepped forward and held out a small black bottle and a tin spoon. “Here. A spoonful will calm him. Juice of the poppy. Nothing poisonous.”

  Reiner took the bottle. “Thank you. I’m familiar with it.”

  Gustaf smiled slyly. “I’ve no doubt.”

  Reiner flushed. He pulled the cork and inhaled. The sweet, cloying scent teased his nose. He fought the urge to have a spoonful himself. It would be so nice to drift away from all this unpleasantness and get some real rest, but that was a bad idea. He had been down that road once before and nearly lost his way.

  He filled the spoon and squatted beside Oskar. “Here, lad. It’ll give you strength for your digging.”

  The gunner turned his head without stopping and opened his mouth. Reiner spooned some of the liquid into him. He felt like a nurse feeding an infant, which was near enough to the truth.

  He stood and turned to the men. He sighed. It was time to face the music. “Listen, you lot. I want to speak to you.” He paused, hesitant to go on, then cleared his throat and continued. “It was I who got you into this mess. I led us up into these blasted mountains, I picked this path instead of the other one, and I threw poor Oskar into those posts and brought the roof down on us. I’m about ready to stop playing at captain and let someone else take over. In fact, I’m a little surprised someone didn’t murder me in my sleep just now and assume command.”

  The others said nothing, only stared at him.

  He swallowed. “So, if anyone else wants the job, speak up. I’ll step down, and happily.”

  More silence, then finally Pavel coughed.

  “Sorry, captain,” he said. “We’re only rankers. Peasants and merchants’ sons and the like. Ye be gentry. Yer meant to lead. It’s yer job.”

  “But I’m making a mess of it! Look where we are! I did this! We are trapped in here because I lost my temper. You ought to be mutinying by now.”

  “Naw, captain,” said Hals. “We don’t blame you for all that. You done your best, and none can ask more than that. It’s when a captain starts to worry more about his own skin than the skins of his men. That’s when… er, well, when things might happen.”

  Reiner blushed, embarrassed. They thought so highly of him, and he was such a villain. His own skin was exactly what he was worried about. He’d taken the lead because he wanted the rest of the men around to protect him if things went wrong. It was only because he was endangering himself by doing so terrible a job that he wanted to pass the baton to someone more competent.

  He sighed. “Very well. If no one will take the burden.” He turned and began packing up his bedroll. “Let’s find a way out of this hole.”

  By the time the others had collected their gear and choked down a dry breakfast, Oskar was slumped against the boulders with his eyes closed.

  “Well done, Gustaf,” said Reiner. “Now dress his wounds and tend to him. He’s your patient now. Keep him moving.”

  “A pleasure, sir,” said Gustaf. But he didn’t mean it.

  Gustaf bound Oskar’s fingertips and got him on his feet while Hals lit two of their precious torches and Veirt’s slotted lantern. Then they all shouldered their packs and they started into the darkness. Giano took point, creeping down the tunnel twenty paces ahead holding the lantern close-shuttered. Reiner and Franz led the rest. Ulf walked behind them, then came Pavel leaning on Hals, and Oskar leaning on Gustaf. They walked into a steady breeze, which gave Reiner hope. Moving air meant some passage to the outside. What was curious was that the breeze was sometimes cold and sometimes warm.

  The tunnel joined another almost immediately, this one with two iron rails running down the centre fixed to wooden ties. Some of the rail was missing, and the ties rotten.

  “Which way?” asked Giano, turning back to them.

  “Let the wind be your guide,” said Reiner. “Take whichever passage it blows from.”

  Giano turned into the wind and they followed the glow of his lantern further into the mine. The tunnel dipped and turned eccentrically as it followed a seam of ore through the earth, and the longer they paced it the more cross tunnels and
branching ways they passed. Sometimes it opened it out into wide columned areas where a particularly rich deposit had been found, only to narrow down again.

  After a quarter of an hour Giano came hurrying back flapping his free hand. “Douse torches!” he hissed. “Douse torches.”

  Reiner and Hals stabbed their torches into the dirt of the tunnel floor as Giano closed the lantern’s slot. They were surprised to find that they were not in total darkness. A faint flickering glow reached them from around a bend in the passage, and the tramp of heavy feet echoed in the distance.

  “Kurgan,” whispered Giano.

  Reiner and the others drew their weapons and held their breath as the light grew brighter and the footsteps got louder. They began to hear gruff voices mumbling in a barbaric tongue. Reiner found himself gripping his sabre so hard that his knuckles ached, but after a long moment when it sounded as if the Kurgan were standing beside them, talking in their ears, the voices and the light faded again, and then disappeared altogether.

  The party breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  “Well,” said Reiner, trying for jocularity. “I’m fairly sure there’s another way out now.”

  “Aye,” said Hals. “Through them.”

  They relit the torches, then rounded the bend and entered an intersection. The wind blew from the direction the Kurgan had taken. The rails went that way too. They took it.

  “Just don’t catch up with them,” Reiner said to Giano.

  The Tilean grinned and returned to point position.

  Soon they began to hear great clankings and groanings, and the susurrus of hundreds of voices shouting and talking. Harsh cries rose above the murmur, and crackings and clashings. A steady red glow filtered down the tunnel, and the wind gusted hot and cold. It began to smell of sweat and smoke and death.

  As Reiner passed a right-hand tunnel he was buffeted by a blast of oven-hot air. He stopped. A spur of the rails branched into the tunnel. Red light shone on the rocky walls at the far end and the clanking and roaring was louder here.

  “Giano,” he called softly. “Back here.”

  Reiner led his companions into the cross tunnel, edging cautiously toward the red light. Thirty paces in, the tunnel came to an abrupt end at a rough arch. Through it they could see under-lit clouds of smoke rising from below. There was no floor beyond the arch, just two short lengths of twisted rail and the splintered remains of a wooden trestle jutting out over a precipitous drop.