by Nathan Long
‘Ware,’ muttered Franka, looking past Reiner. ‘Manfred and our host.’
Reiner looked back. Manfred and Groff were hurrying towards them in robes and nightshirts, swords drawn, leading a handful of knights and house guards.
Udo shoved Reiner back and pulled his shirt closed. ‘Father,’ he cried. ‘These men have assaulted me! Arrest them!’
‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded Groff, bustling up. ‘Manfred, aren’t these your prisoners?’
‘They are,’ said Manfred. ‘And I promise a reckoning when I discover who let them out.’
‘My lords,’ said Reiner quickly, ‘there is greater evil afoot here than our petty truancy. Your house is infiltrated, Lord Groff. There is a witch on your grounds. She came to meet your son and just now leapt over the balcony. If you hurry—’
‘What nonsense is this?’ barked Groff. ‘You try to draw attention from your crimes by accusing my son of witchcraft? Manfred, slay these insolent—’
‘But ‘tis the truth, my lord,’ said Reiner. ‘She has marked him. You have only to look at his…’
‘Enough,’ said Manfred. ‘What are you doing out of quarters, and who let you out?’
‘My lord,’ said Franka, imploring. ‘She is getting away.’
‘Answer my question, curse you!’
Reiner ground his teeth. ‘Here’s your answer, y’damned fools.’ And before anyone could stop him, he grabbed Udo’s collar and ripped his nightshirt clean off.
Groff jumped forward, shouting and swinging his sword as Reiner dodged back. ‘He assaults my son before my eyes! Stand, villain, I will…’
But Manfred was staring at Udo, who stood dumbly, with the unclean wound exposed for all to see. Groff followed his gaze and choked as he saw it.
‘Groff,’ Manfred said quietly. ‘Lock up your son. He has been tainted and cannot be trusted.’ He turned to one of his knights. ‘Strieger, rouse the others and make ready. And lock the prisoners in the carriage. We ride within the hour.’
‘You’re not leaving?’ exclaimed Lord Groff. ‘Not now?’
‘We must,’ said Manfred. ‘This was obviously an attempt to corrupt your house from the inside, but now that they know we know of their existence and their intent, they will try to stop us from warning Altdorf. We must be away before they surround us.’
‘But they’ll slaughter us!’ cried Groff.
‘Twenty knights would do nothing to change that outcome,’ said Manfred, striding down the hall. ‘We will pass Boecher’s garrison on our way south. I will ask them to send reinforcements.’
Groff trotted after Manfred, mewling his distress, as Manfred’s knights took Reiner and Franka in tow while Groff’s guards did the same with Udo.
‘But my lady doesn’t wish to hurt anyone,’ whined Udo. ‘She wants us all to live only for pleasure.’
A HALF HOUR later, the Blackhearts were back in the cramped coach, bouncing and jolting uncomfortably as they raced down the rough track that led to the main Altdorf road. The thunder of Manfred’s knights riding at full gallop drowned out all other sound and made conversation impossible.
A quarter of an hour out, there came a cry of ‘Ware, bandits!’ and the Blackhearts heard the knights draw steel.
Reiner and the others crowded to the slatted windows. On both sides of the road was a large, hastily-made camp. Bandits caught in the act of raising tents and starting fires were backing towards the woods as they gaped at Manfred’s retinue. Others were snatching up weapons and preparing to fight. But when it became clear that the knights didn’t intend to stop, some of the bandits waved their arms and called out after them.
‘What they say?’ asked Giano.
Pavel swallowed, nervous. ‘They said, “Turn back”.’
ONLY A FEW minutes later there was another cry from the knights, and the coach reined to a sudden, slewing stop. Reiner and his companions again pressed to the windows. It was impossible for them to see forward, but they heard anxious muttering from the knights, and on both sides of the coach the forest crowded too close to the road.
‘It’s blocked,’ said a knight.
The forest was changed. Choking the tall pines and stout oaks were twisted vines, black of leaf, and heavy with purple, pendulous fruit, that gave off a cloying odour.
‘The vines,’ whispered Giano. ‘They move.’
Reiner wanted to chide him for his foolish imaginings, but when he looked at the tendrils stretching toward the road he couldn’t be sure the Tilean wasn’t right.
‘Dortman!’ came Manfred’s voice. ‘See if a way can be cut.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Hooves trotted forward and the Blackhearts heard a thwacking of sword on vine. ‘It is very thick, my lord. And I can see no end to—’
His words were cut off by a whistling thud, and a crash of armour hitting hard-packed dirt.
‘Archers!’ cried a knight, and suddenly the air was hissing with arrows. They thudded and rattled off the coach and the Blackhearts jerked back from the windows and dropped to the floor in a frightened pile.
‘Fall back!’ cried Manfred. ‘Back to the castle!’
As the coach lurched around awkwardly, arrow heads splintered through the back wall. They glistened with green putrescence.
Hals hissed. ‘Poison.’
THREE KNIGHTS DIED in the ambush, and two more were dying from cuts that barely bled, screaming in agony as poison burned through their veins. The coachman too had died. Klaus had manned the reins in their headlong flight to the castle.
Now Manfred conferred again with Groff in the courtyard while his knights stood by, and the Blackhearts waited with Klaus.
‘How many men do you have?’ asked Manfred.
‘Sixteen knights, my lord,’ said Groff. ‘And forty foot, most with bows and spears, And I’ve pressed the staff into service, though they’ve to make do with pitchforks and fire-irons. Isn’t much, I’m afraid.’
Reiner followed Manfred’s gaze as the count surveyed the broken walls, where a collection of peasant conscripts, cooks and pot-boys made an inadequate defence. Groffs ‘knights’—beardless youths pressed into armour after their older brothers had died in the recent conflict—guarded the widest, most easily breached gaps in the walls. They were spread very thin. Manfred looked grim. Reiner wanted to throw up.
‘Pull half those boys off the wall,’ Manfred said, ‘and set them to tearing apart that scaffolding. Sharpen the ends of the poles and plant them at an angle before the gaps in the walls. Next, use the wood of the stables to make bonfires fifty yards from the walls in all directions so we may see the enemy before they’re at our throats. Pour all the lamp oil you have into the moat and be ready to light it when they attempt to cross. It will not be enough. We will die, but at least we will take as many with us as…’
‘My lord,’ said Reiner. ‘Might I make a suggestion?’
‘You may not,’ snapped Manfred.
‘A suggestion that may allow us to win, my lord.’
Manfred turned on him, glaring. ‘What is it?’
‘The bandits, my lord. They are trained men, armed with bow and sword. If…’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Manfred. ‘They are deserters. We cannot count on their loyalty, or their courage.’
‘They are trapped just as we are, my lord. They have little choice but—’
‘Silence! I have said no.’ Manfred gestured at Klaus. ‘Voorman, arm the prisoners and guard the north wall with them. You are their captain.’
Voorman saluted. Reiner snarled under his breath.
‘STIFF-NECKED FOOL,’ said Reiner, furious. ‘His righteousness will get us killed.’
The Blackhearts sat on a pile of rubble in a gap in the north wall. The rubble spilled down into the moat, almost creating a bridge to the far side, but there were no blast marks to indicate that the wall had been brought down by artillery. Instead the rocks were cut with great gouges, as if from something impossibly strong had torn them down
with its claws. The thought made Reiner shudder.
‘Don’t know why he cares,’ said Hals. ‘He don’t have a problem using us, and I’ll lay odds we’re a nastier lot than them bandits.’ ‘Aye,’ said Reiner. ‘But he doesn’t have the leash around their necks he has around ours.’
‘We should just light out for Marienburg and leave him in the lurch,’ said Pavel.
‘The poison would reach us even there,’ said Reiner. ‘Even if we could escape the net of vines this sorceress has woven around us.’
‘I no want to die,’ said Giano. ‘Not for foolishnesses.’
‘Nor do I,’ growled Hals.
‘What are you lot jawing about?’ said Klaus, from the tower of rubble above them where he stared vigilantly into the night.
‘Nothing, sergeant,’ said Reiner. ‘Only plotting mutiny. That sort of thing.’
‘None of your lip, Hetzau.’
Reiner looked below them where Groffs conscripts were wedging sharpened poles into the rubble. Beyond the moat, a wagon full of scrap lumber and brush was crossing the field as more conscripts built bonfires at regular intervals. He sighed. ‘I think it’s up to us to save ourselves, lads. What do you say we go find those bandits? It’s a poor chance, but it’s better than sitting here waiting for death.’
The others shot nervous glances up at Klaus, then leaned in.
‘I’m in,’ whispered Hals. ‘If you’ve a way.’
‘Won’t Manfred unleash the poison?’ asked Franka.
‘Not until he knows we’re gone,’ said Reiner. ‘And when the battle begins, he’ll be too busy to check on us.’
‘Or so you hope,’ said Franka.
Reiner shrugged. ‘We might die if we try. We will certainly die if we don’t.’
Pavel swallowed. ‘I’m in.’
‘And I,’ said Franka, at last.
‘And me too also as well,’ said Giano. ‘But what we do about…?’ He jerked his chin toward Klaus. ‘If he tell on us, then…’ He drew his finger across his windpipe.
‘We’ll have to dispose of him,’ said Reiner.
‘Kill him?’ asked Franka uneasily.
Reiner smirked. ‘No need to go so far. Plenty of places in all this mess to hide him until we get back.’ He looked up. ‘Hoy, sergeant. I seem to have cut myself. I don’t think I can participate in forthcoming conflict.’ ‘Hey?’ cried Klaus. ‘Not participate? Damned if you won’t. Let me see this cut of yours.’
Hals grinned and balled his fists as Klaus climbed down to them.
‘STAND WHERE YOU are, dead men!’
The Blackhearts raised their arms as a score of spears and five times as many arrows pointed their way.
After binding and gagging Klaus and tucking him behind a fall of rubble, then crossing the moat with the help of a scaffolding ladder, they had stolen one of the wagons which had been building the bonfires, and rode towards the bandit camp. Now, having found it, Reiner was having second thoughts.
A huge, broad-chested villain with matted grey hair and a filthy beard stepped through the outlaws, a scrawny boy at his side who had the swaying gait and roving eye of an idiot.
‘Brother,’ said Reiner. ‘We come…’
‘Shut yer gob!’ said the giant. He urged the boy forward. ‘Sniff ‘em out, Ludo. See if they’ve the taint.’
The boy wove to the Blackhearts’ wagon like a dreamer and reached out limp hands. Reiner recoiled. Giano made the sign of Shallya, but they dared not move. The idiot sniffed and fondled them like a dog with hands, then with a whimpering sigh lay his head on Reiner’s leg. At this the outlaws relaxed a little.
‘Well,’ said the giant. ‘Yer not touched ones at any rate. What do y’want?’
‘We come to ask a boon,’ said Reiner, trying not flinch from the idiot’s fawning. ‘The touched ones, as you call them, mount an attack on Lord Groff’s castle, which is grievously undermanned. He and Count Manfred need your help.’
The outlaws roared with laugher.
‘Groff needs our help?’ asked the leader. ‘Groff, who hangs us for hunting the deer of the forest. And another jagger who’s no doubt just as bad? Why should we help the likes of them?’
‘Because the alternative is worse.’
‘Yer mad. I’ll dance a jig when Groff is dead.’
‘Would you rather the touched ones ruled here in Groffs stead?’ asked Reiner. ‘Where would you be then?’
The outlaws were silent.
‘Groff may hang you now and then,’ Reiner continued, ‘but at least that death comes quick. How many have you lost to the dark lady’s seduction? Good men gone rotten, running naked in the woods, stealing your children to sacrifice to their daemon masters. Is that what you want?’
The outlaws muttered among themselves.
The giant crossed his arms. ‘Nobody wants that. But we don’t care to walk into a noose either. What’s our guarantee that Groff, or this Manfred, won’t turn around and hang us after we’ve saved their worthless hides?’
‘I can offer you no guarantee,’ said Reiner, ‘but I have some sway with Manfred at least, and I will do what I can. Count Manfred is an honourable man. He may even reward you.’
Franka shot him a look at that. Reiner shrugged. He hoped it wasn’t a lie, but he had to say something.
After a moment’s conversation with his lieutenants, the big man turned back to Reiner. He nodded. ‘Alright, silver-tongue, you’ve convinced us. Lead on.’
A RED GLOW above the trees as the Blackhearts and the bandits approached the castle gave evidence that battle had already been joined. The noise came next. The clash of steel on steel, the cries of men and the screams of horses. When they reached the fields, Manfred’s bonfires illuminated a grim scene. The massed cultists—one couldn’t call them an army—attacked the ruined castle from all sides, undisciplined but bloodthirsty. They had bridged the moat with tree-trunks, and pressed Groff’s meagre forces and Manfred’s few knights fiercely at every gap in the walls.
Hals gaped when he saw them. ‘The madmen! What’re they about?’
Franka giggled.
Reiner grimaced. ‘Some things are better covered by darkness.’
The cultists, despite the cold of the spring night, were naked, their only covering swirls of purple and red, which looked more like smeared fruit and blood than paint. But, though naked, they were armed. Men and women, young and old, wielded swords and spears and clubs and bows, and though many seemed unlearned in their use, there were so many of them, and they were so frenzied in their unholy ecstasy that even alone they might have carried the day.
Unfortunately they were not alone.
Leading them were troops of a different calibre altogether. Fighting at the wall were immense warriors in black and purple armour, while, further out, purple-clad bowmen cut down defenders with impossible accuracy. ‘Northmens,’ whispered Giano.
‘We fought that sort at Brozny,’ said Pavel, shuddering. ‘Their swords had spikes in the hilts which pierced their own hands as they fought.’
Hals nodded. ‘Pain was like drink to them. They loved it.’
‘Well,’ said Reiner. ‘There ain’t enough of them to take the castle without their followers. If we can drive them off we’ll at least give Groff a fighting chance.’
Loche, the bandit leader, smiled. ‘You leave that to me.’
LOCHE BROUGHT HIS men to the wood’s edge and spread them out.
‘You’ll never hit them from here,’ said Reiner, priming his handgun.
‘No,’ said the bandit. ‘Groffs cut the woods back two bow shots for that very reason. We’ll have to come up to the first hedgerow.’
He signalled his men forward and they and the Blackhearts advanced at a jog. Fortunately, the cultists, expecting no reinforcements, had posted no rear guard. The bandits reached the hedgerow with no alarm raised.
‘Ready boys?’ asked Loche.
The bandits put arrows to strings and flexed their bows. Franka did as well. Reiner and G
iano raised their handguns. Hals and Pavel, pikemen with no skill with a bow, stood by with second guns, ready to reload while Reiner and Giano fired.
‘Fire.’
With a thrum like a hundred guitars, the bandits loosed their shafts. Reiner’s and Giano’s guns cracked like snare drums. The arrows disappeared into the night, but reappeared as if by magic in the bare flesh of the cultists, who screamed and fell by the score.
It took the madmen a moment to understand their plight, and by then, more feathered shafts were cutting them down. A wave of panic overcame them and they ran in all directions, dropping their weapons. Reiner wondered that men so frenzied that they stormed a castle naked would lose courage under fire, but facing an enemy you can see is very different from invisible death speeding from the night.
‘Don’t waste arrows on the runners, boys,’ said Loche. ‘Let’s circle and strike at another…’
But suddenly it was the bandits who were falling and screaming as feathered death whistled among them. Worse, even those only scratched were falling and writhing in agony, clawing at their wounds as if they were on fire.
Reiner looked at the arrows. They were the same that had riddled the coach on their flight from the ambush.
‘The purple archers,’ growled Loche, as his men pressed into the hedgerow. ‘Concentrate yer fire, boys.’
Reiner sited along his gun barrel as the bandits nocked fresh arrows, but something behind the purple archers caught his eye. Below the north wall, a handful of Northmen, their black armour flashing red in the light of the bonfires, crossed the moat on a plank, and crept toward the postern gate. There were no troops to stop them. Most of the fighting was on the far side of the castle. If this little force could somehow break down the iron-bound door…
