by Nathan Long
THREE
In The Doghouse
IN THE MIDDLE of the third day of their journey, with the ground rising beneath them and the Middle Mountains looming above, Pavel and Hals began to look about them with increased interest.
‘This is the road to Ferlangen, or I’m a goblin,’ said Hals.
‘And there’s the Three Hags,’ said Pavel, pointing to a trio of mountains in the distance that looked from this angle like three hunched old women. ‘My dad’s farm ain’t half a day south.’
Hals sniffed the air. ‘I knew we was home, just by breathing. Lady of Peace, I could swear I smell my mother’s pork and cabbage cooking in the pot right now.’
Gustaf chuckled unpleasantly and spoke for the first time that day. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, yokel. It’s more likely your mother cooking in the pot.’
‘Y’filthy clot!’ cried Hals, trying clumsily to turn his horse toward Gustaf. ‘You’ll take that back or I’ll have yer guts for garters!’
Captain Veirt interposed his horse between the men before Reiner even noticed him moving. ‘Stand down, pikeman,’ he barked at Hals, then wheeled to face Gustaf. ‘And you, leech. If you open yer trap only for that sort of garbage, yer better off leaving it shut.’ He stood up in his stirrups and glowered around at the whole troop. ‘You’ll not lack for fighting before we’re done, I guarantee it. But if any man wants more than what’s coming to him, come see me. I’ll show you yer own spine. Am I clear?’
‘Perfectly, captain,’ said Gustaf, turning his horse away.
Hals nodded, head lowered. ‘Aye, captain.’
‘Right then,’ said Veirt. ‘Ride on. We’ve twenty more miles to make today.’
AT DUSK THEY rode through a ruined town. The houses, taverns and shops were nothing but blackened sticks. Drifts of ash-blackened snow clung to crumbled stone walls. Pavel and Hals stared around in blank dismay.
‘This is Draetau,’ said Pavel. ‘My cousin lives in Draetau.’
‘Lived,’ said Gustaf.
‘We sell our pigs in the market down there,’ said Hals, pointing down a cross street. There was no longer any market.
Pavel trembled with rage and wiped at his eyes. ‘The heathen bastards. Filthy, daemon worshipping swine.’
Beyond the edge of the town they saw an orange glow through a stand of trees and heard faint cries and the clash of arms.
‘Weapons out!’ barked Veirt, and drew his sword. The men followed suit. Giano wound his crossbow and Franz nocked an arrow on his string. Reiner checked that his pistols were primed and cocked.
‘Von Eisenberg, Hetzau,’ called Veirt. ‘With the lady.’
Erich and Reiner jogged up so that they flanked Lady Magda. Veirt rode directly before her. Through a gap in the trees they could see that a small cluster of farmhouses were burning. The silhouettes of huge men with horns—whether sprouting from their helmets or growing from their heads it was impossible to tell—ran through the flames, chasing smaller silhouettes. Others drove off sheep and cattle. A few carried human prizes. Reiner and the others could hear the thin shrieks of women over the crackle of fire.
Pavel and Hals kicked their horses awkwardly forward. ‘Captain,’ said Hals. ‘Those are our people. We can’t just..
‘No,’ said Veirt grimly. ‘We’ve a job to do. Ride on.’ But he didn’t look happy about it.
Erich coughed. ‘Captain, for once I agree with the pike. The village isn’t much out of our line of march, and we might…’
‘I said no!’ bellowed Veirt, so they rode on. But before they had gone another quarter mile, Veirt struck his leg with his gloved fist. ‘This is all the fault of those mealy-mouthed fools who surround the Emperor and fill his ears with cowardice disguised as caution. We are too extended, they say. The treasury is depleted, they say. We cannot afford to prolong the war. The fools! They can’t afford not to!’
The squad looked at him, surprised. From their short association with him, they knew Veirt as a taciturn man, who kept his emotions to himself, but here he was raging like taproom orator.
‘It wasn’t enough to push the hordes beyond our borders and into the mountains, and then return as if the mission were accomplished. It is as Baron Albrecht says. We must destroy them utterly. Otherwise it will be as you see—a little raid here, a little raid there, with our mothers and sisters never truly safe, the Empire never truly sovereign. Unless we want to endlessly fight for land we have called our own for centuries, we must seek out the barbarians in their own lairs and kill them to the last man, woman and child.’
‘Hear hear,’ said Erich. ‘Well said. But then…’
‘No,’ said Veirt. ‘The relic Baron Albrecht has commanded us to recover is more important. It could turn the tide at last. It could mean the end of the northern curse for all time. Once m’lord Albrecht has it, he and his brother Manfred will be able to retake Nordbergbruche, their ancestral home, from the Chaos filth that stole it while m’lords were fighting in the east. Then it will become a bastion against the scum that hide in the mountains, and Valnir’s Bane will be the spear with which the Empire will at last drive out…’
‘Captain,’ said Lady Magda, sharply. ‘This is a secret mission.’
Veirt looked up at her and visibly composed himself. ‘Forgive me, lady. I let my tongue get away from me.’
Veirt returned his horse to her side and they got under way once more.
‘Quite a speech,’ muttered Reiner, dropping back a bit.
‘Oh yes,’ said Hals, grinning. ‘Old Veirt’s a firebreather all right.’
‘You served under him?’
Pavel shook his head. ‘Would that we had. There’s one who wouldn’t run in battle.’
Hals laughed. ‘Not him. That’s why he’s here, trying to win his way back into Albrecht’s good graces.’
‘Veirt’s in the doghouse too?’ asked Reiner, surprised.
‘Worse than the doghouse. His neck’s on the block. Direct disobedience of orders,’ said Pavel.
‘He was under the command of Albrecht’s brother, Manfred, at the battle of Vandengart. Manfred told him to hold his position,’ continued Hals, ‘but Veirt saw a troop of gunners being destroyed by some horrible norther beasties and couldn’t stand it. He charged. Cost Manfred the battle.’
‘Lost him nearly a hundred men,’ added Pavel.
‘But Veirt’s pikes never broke,’ said Hals proudly ‘Slaughtered every last one of those nightmares. There’s a captain.’
‘Aye,’ said Pavel.
Reiner chuckled. ‘A squadron of the condemned led by the condemned.’
‘It’s nothing to laugh at,’ sniffed Erich. ‘I had no idea. The man’s cashiered.’
Reiner spotted more torches moving through the fields just north of the road. ‘Captain. On your right.’
Veirt looked where he pointed and cursed under his breath. ‘Right. We turn west. Von Eisenberg, on point.’
The company reluctantly turned off the road. With a last, longing look over his shoulder at the marauders, Erich nudged his horse forward until he was fifty paces ahead. They rode through fields and sparse woods in a large half-circle until the Kurgan torches were out of sight and all they could see of the burning farms was a faint orange glow on the underside of the low-hanging clouds.
At last Veirt turned them north again. A long finger of wood lay between them and the road. Veirt called Erich back until he rode only a few yards ahead, gave him a slotted lantern which emitted a narrow wedge of light but hid its flame from prying eyes, and they began to pick their way through the wood.
Though narrow, the centre of the strip of woods became thick and tangled with undergrowth, and their progress was reduced to a walk. The horses pushed through the brush as if breasting through a stream, and it was necessary to hack at the branches that dangled overhead to avoid being dragged off their mounts.
‘Captain,’ said Erich. ‘May I suggest we go about and circle this briar patch?’
Veirt nodded.
‘Turn around. Back the way we…’
‘Captain,’ said Lady Magda. ‘I believe my horse’s hoof is caught. I cannot turn.’
Veirt grunted and sheathed his sword in his saddle-mounted scabbard. ‘A moment, lady.’ He dismounted, took Erich’s lantern, and squatted by Lady Magda’s horse. After a moment he stood. ‘Urquart. Her hoof’s wedged between two roots. I need your strength.’
The big engineer dismounted and joined Veirt. As they hauled at the roots, Oskar’s head snapped up. ‘Do you hear something?’ he asked tremulously.
The others fell still and listened. There was something, almost lost in the creaking of leather and shifting of horses—a rhythmic murmering like a tide over a pebble beach, like… breathing. They looked into the blackness of the woods. On all sides of them, glowing yellow eyes reflected their lantern light.
Veirt cursed and waded for his horse, trying to get to his sword. The men drew their weapons and tugged on their reins, attempting to settle their horses, which were shying into each other nervously as they scented the hidden threat.
‘Protect the lady!’ called Veirt.
A horse whinneyed.
Reiner looked back. A black shape, the size of a wild boar, but leaner, was pulling down Franz’s horse, its teeth and claws deep in the poor beast’s haunches. The horse crashed on its side in the undergrowth and Franz was thrown clear. Before Reiner could even call the boy’s name, more of the black shapes attacked, roaring and howling.
Reiner and Erich pulled their pistols from their holsters. Oskar reached for his handgun.
‘No guns!’ called Veirt as he retrieved his sword. ‘Their masters might hear!’
‘Masters?’ thought Reiner. Boars had no masters. Then he saw that one of the charging monsters wore a studded collar. They were hounds! But such hounds he had never seen: huge, deformed things with twisted, overmuscled limbs and fat, fleshy goitres bulging from their distorted faces. Their fanged jaws dripped with yellow mucus.
Erich spurred his horse forward and took a hound’s charge on his spear. The impact wasn’t strong enough to kill the beast, for both hound and horse were slowed by the tangle of undergrowth. The hound twisted and fought, clawing and biting at the spear. Reiner rode up beside it and jabbed down at its back with his sword. It was like trying to pierce a saddle. The muscle was nearly as dense as wood. Even its matted fur was hard to penetrate. Reiner raised his sword again and stabbed down with both hands.
Behind him, Pavel and Hals jumped off their horses and faced a charging hound on foot like the pikemen they were. They planted their spear-butts and took the leaping brute in the chest.
Giano fired his crossbow at another. It caught the hound in the eye. The beast howled and whipped its head around, trying to dislodge the annoyance. The bolt stayed put. The hound stopped and attempted to wipe the bolt away on the ground and instead drove it further into its skull. It vomited blood and died. Giano cranked his crossbow for another shot.
Ulf swung his huge maul at a slavering hound. He hit it square in the shoulder, knocking the thing flat, but overbalanced and fell himself.
Another beast leapt at Oskar’s horse. Oskar flailed at it with his sword, but his horse, rearing and kicking, did more damage.
Captain Veirt shouldered through the brush toward the bedevilled artilleryman.
Reiner finally forced his blade through his hound’s ribs and found its heart. The thing shuddered and slumped beneath him. He pulled his sword free and surveyed the battle, looking for Franz. There was a swirl of movement beyond the boy’s horse. A hound leaping and bucking. There was something on its back. Franz! The boy was riding the beast, one hand on its collar, the other stabbing it over and over again with a dagger while the beast snapped at him over its shoulder. Reiner had never seen anyone look so frightened. The boy’s expression might have seemed comical had his situation not been so desperate.
Gustaf was closest to the boy, but though he had his sword out and watched alertly, he made no move to help. Reiner cursed and kicked his horse toward the boy, but the animal was entangled in the brush and was having difficulty turning. Damn this wood! He jumped from the saddle and pushed toward the boy on foot, taking briar scratches with every step.
Erich withdrew his spear from the beast Reiner had killed, but sought no new target, instead holding his place at Lady Magda’s side.
Pavel’s spear snapped under the weight of the beast he and Hals had stopped, and he went down beneath it. Hals bellowed and stabbed the hound in the side, trying to drive it off his friend. Pavel threw his arms up to protect his face. The beast clawed his arm.
The hound attacking Oskar got its teeth into the artilleryman’s boot and dragged him, screaming, from the saddle. Giano fired at it, but missed. Veirt surged forward and hacked at the beast, cutting deep into its shoulder. The hound turned and leapt on him. Veirt stuffed his mail-clad fist in its maw and stabbed it through the neck.
Nearby, Ulf swung his maul again and this time crushed his creature’s skull. The brute dropped at his feet, oozing grey matter and noxious purple fluids.
Reiner charged Franz’s beast, roaring, but missed as he checked his swing for fear of hitting the boy. At least he’d got the hound’s attention. The hound leapt at him, shaking off Franz at last. Reiner barely got his blade up in time. He caught the thing on the breastbone with a jarring impact. It bowled him over and slammed him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Fortunately, it was caught on the point of Reiner’s sword, and couldn’t reach him with its teeth or claws. It would likely kill him anyway. Its entire weight was on the sword, and the pommel was pressing into Reiner’s ribs. Reiner could hear them creaking. He couldn’t draw a breath. The creature’s foetid drool dripped onto his face.
Something leapt out of the darkness—Franz! The boy hit the beast in the shoulder and toppled it to one side, stabbing at it in a frenzy. The beast snapped at him, and rolled on top of him. The boy shrieked like a girl as the beast’s teeth clashed an inch from his face.
Reiner struggled up, sucking air. He swung wildly at the creature’s head. His blade whanged off its skull, stinging his hand, but doing little damage.
‘Come on, you mangy beast!’ He stabbed it in the shoulder, again doing nothing. The hound looked up at him, snarling, and crouched to spring, but as it did, Franz stabbed it in the neck, directly below the jaw. The hound yelped, and a river of blood drenched the boy’s arm. The beast collapsed on top of him, crushing him.
‘Get it off,’ he gasped. ‘I can’t breathe!’
‘Stay there a moment,’ said Reiner, looking around. ‘Safest place for you.’
The melee seemed over at last. Veirt stood over a dead beast. Oskar was getting unsteadily to his feet. His boot was shredded, but the flesh beneath it thankfully only scratched. Behind them, Hals was helping Pavel up.
Pavel clutched his face. The left side was red and slick. The hound the two pikemen had fought lay with a foreleg in the air, their spears sticking from its ribs.
‘All right,’ said Reiner to Franz. ‘All clear.’ He rolled the hound off the boy and helped him to his feet. His arm was crimson to the shoulder.
‘Any of that yours?’ asked Reiner.
‘Mostly the hound’s, I think,’ said Franz.
Reiner chuckled. ‘Game little scrapper, ain’t you?’
Franz looked embarrassed. ‘You came to help me. I couldn’t just stand by while…’
Reiner was embarrassed in turn. ‘Aye aye, enough of that.’ He shot glances at Erich, still on his horse by Lady Magda, and Gustaf, who was untouched. ‘I could wish all our fellows felt the same. Didn’t swing once, did you?’ he snarled at Gustaf.
‘I’m a surgeon. Who would patch you up if I got hurt?’
‘Leech!’ called Veirt. ‘See to the wounded.’
Gustaf sneered smugly at Reiner and hurried to Pavel, his field kit over his shoulder.
Reiner watched him go. ‘There’s a fellow I wouldn’t mind finding dead in a ditch.’
‘And where were you, then?’ Hals was shouting at Erich. ‘Standing right there with yer spear at the ready and not doing nothing while we was getting slaughtered. Pavel’s lost an eye, y’snot-nosed jagger!’
‘Don’t you dare take that tone with me, you insolent peasant.’ Erich raised his spear as if to strike the pikeman.
Veirt stepped in the way. ‘Don’t you try it, my lord.’
‘Insolent or not,’ said Reiner joining them, ‘he isn’t wrong. You hung back almost as much as the surgeon here.’
‘I killed my one.’
‘I killed your one.’ Reiner countered. ‘You could have at least tried for another.’
‘We were ordered to protect the lady.’
‘Ha! I wonder do you obey all orders so literally?’
‘Do you question my courage, sir?’
‘Less of it!’ growled Veirt. ‘All of you. These hounds don’t travel far from their masters. Do you want raiders breathing down our necks?’
He spoke too late, for as the men grew silent, harsh voices and the sound of tramping boots reached them. They looked toward the road. Flickering torches and hulking shapes were pushing swiftly through the woods.
‘Blood of Sigmar!’ swore Captain Veirt. ‘Tie off your wounds and mount up, on the double.’
Gustaf finished wrapping a bandage around Pavel’s head and closed up his kit.
‘What about me?’ asked Oskar, plaintively pointing at his leg. ‘Look at all this blood.’
‘What blood?’ asked Gustaf as he packed up his kit. ‘I’ve had fleabites that bled more.’
The men hurriedly mounted their horses, but Franz’s was dead, its throat ripped out by the monstrous beast, and the mule carried too much to take a rider. No one looked eager to share a saddle with him.
‘I don’t need a knife in the ribs if he gets the wrong idea,’ said Hals.
Reiner sighed and offered Franz a hand up. ‘Come on, lad.’
Franz grabbed his kit from the dead horse and swung up behind Reiner, but sat far back on the saddle.
