Blackhearts: The Omnibus

by Nathan Long

  As Matthais called his party to a halt outside a low, weathered wood building, an overseer bustled out to greet them.

  ‘Morning, corporal. Shipment ain’t quite ready. A few minutes yet.’

  ‘Very good.’ The lancer turned to Reiner. ‘Gives me an opportunity to show you around.’

  Reiner sighed to himself. If he never went underground again it would be too soon. ‘Certainly, corporal. Lead on.’

  Matthais and Reiner dismounted and walked towards the mine. Matthais pointed out different buildings as they went, each of which was as busy as a beehive in the spring. ‘That is the sluice room, where the raw ore is separated from the earth by means of a stream and a series of screens. There is the smelter, where the collected nuggets are melted and skimmed of impurities. This is the shakedown room, where the miners must strip and turn out their pockets before they leave the mine, to make sure they aren’t absconding with any ore.’

  ‘Very thorough of you.’

  ‘One can’t be too careful.’

  Reiner shivered as he stepped into the mine. Memories of the last time he’d gone underground flashed through his head, but this cave was very different. It had none of the gloom and despair of the Kurgan mine. Nor the smell. Instead, all was bustle and industry. Two wide tunnels sloped away from the main entrance into the depths, and in and out of them went steady streams of miners, marching away with empty carts and picks on their shoulders, or trudging back with full carts and grime on their faces. Reiner found all this activity very interesting. If the mine was working at such a feverish rate, why was the stream of gold that reached Altdorf the merest trickle? It seemed as if Matthais’s tale of difficulties in getting ore from the mine was less than the truth. Reiner didn’t feel that now was the time to call him on it.

  A third tunnel had no traffic. Its mouth was cluttered with broken equipment and stacks of supplies. Reiner pointed to it. ‘Did this one run dry?’

  Matthais shook his head. ‘Structural problems. Had a cave-in recently. The engineers won’t let the miners work it until it is safely shored up again.’ He beckoned Reiner towards the left side of the entry chamber. ‘This way. I want to show you something.’

  As Reiner and Matthais dodged through the streams of miners, Reiner noticed that the men fell into a sullen silence as they passed, and then murmured under their breath behind them. Gutzmann must be driving them hard, Reiner thought. But then he thought there might be more to it than that. For as he looked around, he saw other signs of discontent. The miners had a haunted look, and glanced often over their shoulders. A group of miners had surrounded one of their foremen and were complaining vigorously. Reiner caught the words ‘gone missing’ and ‘ain’t doin’ nothing about it.’

  ‘Has there been some trouble?’ Reiner asked.

  Matthais snorted. ‘Peasant nonsense. They claim men are disappearing in the mine. Running away, is my guess. There have been a number of village girls “stolen away” as well.’ He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t take a magus to add that up. A few boys manage to steal a nugget of ore or two and off they go with their sweethearts to the flatlands where it doesn’t snow eight months of the year.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Reiner. ‘Like enough.’

  They stepped through an open arch into a short hall.

  ‘This is what I wanted to show you,’ said Matthais. ‘The first owner of this mine was a bit odd. Perhaps he wanted to be closer to his gold. But he decided that he would live in the mine, and so built his house underground. Here.’

  He gestured before them to a beautifully carved wooden door that wouldn’t have been out of place fronting some noble’s Altdorf townhouse. Matthais pushed it open and peeked in, then beckoned Reiner to enter. The illusion continued inside. The entrance hall looked like a townhouse foyer, with a grand stairway curving up to a second floor gallery, and doors leading off to a sitting room on the left and a library on the right. That such a place existed at all so far from civilization was amazing in its own right, but what made it truly incredible was that everything, from the stairway, to the newel posts and banisters, to the statues of buxom virtues tucked into niches, to the moulding on the ceiling, to the oil lamp sconces that lit the place, was carved from the living rock. Even the tables in the library and some of the benches and chairs grew from the floor. And this was no crude cave dwelling. The ornamentation was exquisite, baroque columns wrapped in stylized foliage, heraldic beasts holding the wall sconces, gracefully curved legs on the stone tables and chairs. It took Reiner’s breath away.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘Mad, but beautiful. He must have paid a fortune.’

  ‘Shhh,’ said Matthais, as he followed Reiner into the sitting room. ‘Not really supposed to be here. The engineers of the mine have taken it for their offices and kip. Gutzmann’s had quite a time convincing them not to knock out some of the fixtures to make room for their infernal contraptions. No eye for beauty. If it ain’t practical, they don’t see it.’

  A pair of wooden double doors at the far end of the sitting room opened, pinning them in a bar of yellow light. Shaeder glared out at them.

  ‘What are you men doing here?’

  Matthais jumped to attention, saluting. ‘Sorry, commander. Just showing Meyerling our local marvel. Didn’t mean to intrude.’

  Behind Shaeder, Reiner could see a dining room, in the centre of which was a large round table, also carved from the rock. Around it sat a colloquy of engineers: grimy, bearded men in oil blackened leather aprons, many wearing thick spectacles, poring over a parchment spread on the table. Stumps of charcoal and ink quills were tucked behind their ears, and they held little leather-bound journals in their grubby hands.

  ‘Well, now you’ve seen it,’ said Shaeder. ‘Be off with you.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Matthais saluted as Shaeder closed the door again. He shrugged at Reiner like a boy caught stealing apples.

  As they tiptoed out through the door again, Reiner looked over his shoulder. ‘Is the commander in charge of the mine?’

  Matthais shook his head. ‘Not officially, but Chief Engineer Holsanger was crushed in the cave-in and the commander has taken over his duties until Altdorf can send a replacement. Stretches him a bit thin. Makes him grumpy.’

  ‘So I see.’

  As they came into the mine proper again, Reiner heard raucous laughter and a familiar voice raised in protest. It was Giano, on duty with a squad of crossbowmen who watched the miners as they came and went.

  ‘Is true, I tell you,’ Giano was saying. ‘I smell with my own eyes!’

  ‘What’s the trouble, Tilean?’ asked Reiner.

  ‘Ah, corporal!’ said Giano. ‘Defend for me, hey? They say I am be fool!’

  A burly crossbowman chuckled and jerked his thumb at Giano. ‘Forget him, corporal. The garlic-eater says there be ratmen in the mine. Ratmen!’ He laughed again.

  ‘Is true!’ insisted Giano. ‘I smell them!’

  ‘And how do you know what a ratman smells like, soldier?’ asked Matthais, condescendingly.

  ‘They kill my family. My village. They come up under the grounds and eat all the peoples. I never forget the stinking.’

  Matthais glared. ‘Ratmen are a myth, Tilean. They don’t exist. And if you don’t want to spend some time in stir, you’ll keep your foolishness to yourself. These peasants are superstitious enough already. We don’t need them downing tools every time a rat squeaks in the dark.’

  ‘But they here. I know…’

  ‘It don’t matter what you know, soldier,’ snapped Reiner. ‘Or think you know. The corporal has ordered you to be silent. You will be silent. Am I clear?’

  Giano saluted reluctantly. ‘Clear as bells, corporal. Yes, sir.’

  Matthais and Reiner left the mine.

  As THE PARTY rode back toward the fort with the loaded supply wagon, Reiner began to wonder why the armed escort had gone to the mine to pick up its cargo instead of waiting for the cart to come to the fort. Did Obercaptain Oppenhauer really thin
k that a shipment of mining supplies was in danger in the short mile twixt the mine and the fort? Or was Manfred’s order to sniff out suspicious activity causing Reiner to read nefarious motives into the most innocent of army procedures?

  In any event, they reached the fort without incident. A train of wagons and carts joined them there, piled high with luxury goods from Altdorf, iron skillets from Nuln, wine and cloth and leather goods from Bretonnia, Tilea and beyond. As the party formed into march order, Oppenhauer trotted up on an enormous white charger that still looked small for his gigantic, barrel-chested frame.

  ‘Morning, lads,’ he cried in a booming voice. ‘Ready for our outing?’

  ‘Yes sir, obercaptain,’ said Matthais saluting. ‘Beautiful day for it.’

  Reiner saluted as well, and they got under way, passing through the main gate into the pass to Aulschweig. The terrain was the same as that to the north of the fort. Steep, pine-covered slopes rising up to rocky, snow-capped peaks. The air was biting cold, but they still found themselves hot in their breastplates as the sun beat down on them.

  ‘So, Meyerling,’ said Oppenhauer. ‘Getting used to our routine?’

  Reiner smiled. ‘I am, sir. My arse, however, is still a tenderfoot.’

  Oppenhauer laughed. ‘Vortmunder running you ragged, is he?’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  They carried on in this merry vein for an hour or so, trading banter, jokes and good-natured insults. Reiner noticed that the lancers and pistoliers were more high-spirited here than in the camp. It was as if they were schoolboys who had run away from their tutor. He wondered if it was only that they weren’t drilling and doing chores, or if it was the fact that there were no infantry officers around. He hoped that this relaxation might loosen their tongues, but whenever they started to talk about ‘the future’ or ‘when Gutzmann shows Altdorf his mettle,’ Oppenhauer ‘harrumphed’ and the conversation swung back to the usual barrack room subjects.

  After a time one of the lancers began singing a song about a maid from Nuln and a pikeman with a wooden leg, and soon the whole company joined in, traders, draymen and all, inventing filthier and filthier verses as they went on.

  But just as they were coming around to the sixth repetition of the chorus, an arrow appeared in the chest of one of the crossbowmen, and he fell off the supply cart. Before Reiner could comprehend what had happened, a swarm of arrows buzzed from the woods, targeting the other crossbowmen. Two more went down.

  ‘Bandits!’ shouted Matthais.

  ‘Ambush!’ boomed Oppenhauer.

  All around Reiner horses were rearing and men were screaming. The surviving crossbowmen were returning fire at their invisible assailants. Reiner’s pistoliers were drawing their guns.

  ‘Hold!’ Reiner cried. ‘Wait for targets!’

  A lancer fell, clutching his neck.

  Oppenhauer stood in his saddle. An arrow glanced off his breastplate. ‘Forward! Ride! Do not stand and fight!’

  The crossbowmen hauled their wounded onto the carts and the draymen and traders whipped their carthorses into a lumbering canter. Reiner’s and Matthais’s squads flanked them. As the party surged ahead, ragged men in tattered buckskin leggings and layers of filthy clothing ran out of the woods after them, spears and swords in hand.

  ‘Now, lads!’ called Reiner. He and his squad drew their pistols and fired left and right. Bandits dropped, twisting and screaming. Vortmunder’s constant drilling showed in the steadiness of the pistoliers as they used their knees alone to guide their horses, while reloading and firing behind them.

  ‘Meyerling!’ bawled Oppenhauer. ‘Guard the rear. ‘Ware their ponies.’

  ‘Aye, sir. Rein in, lads. Double file behind the last wagon. Fire as you can.’

  Reiner looked back as he and his men let the wagons slip ahead. More bandits were bursting from the woods, but these were mounted on wiry hill ponies, half the size of Reiner’s warhorse. They raced after the company. The pistoliers could have outdistanced them easily, but the heavily laden carts were too slow. The bandits were gaining.

  Reiner reloaded and fired, adding his shots to the ragged volley of his men. Only a few found a mark, but one was a fortunate hit, catching the lead pony in the knee. It screamed, leg buckling, and went down on its neck, throwing its rider. Two more ponies crashed into it from behind and fell. The rest leapt the carnage and kept coming. They closed with every step.

  The road jogged sharply around an outcropping of rock. The crossbowmen and traders clung desperately as the carts bumped and fishtailed. Reiner hugged his horse’s neck as he leaned into the turn. The cart full of mine supplies hit a stone, bucked, and came to earth again with a bang. One of the smaller crates jumped and slid. A crossbowman made a grab for it, but it was too heavy. It tipped off the back of the cart and bounced a few times before coming to rest on its side. The rest of the carts swerved around it.

  ‘Obercaptain!’ cried Matthais, as the box rapidly fell behind them. ‘We’ve lost a crate!’

  ‘Sigmar curse it!’ Oppenhauer growled. ‘Turn about! Turn about! Defend that crate!’

  ‘Turn about, lads!’ Reiner called. He and Matthais reined up and wheeled in tight circles with their men behind them as the traders’ carts began lumbering around. Oppenhauer swung around to take the lead. Reiner was baffled. Was the obercaptain so concerned with picks and shovels that he would endanger his men’s lives, and his own, to rescue them? What was in that crate?

  As Reiner’s and Matthais’s squads rode back round the bend ahead of the carts, Reiner saw that some of the bandits had stopped. Four of them were trying to carry the crate into the trees. The others were on guard. The four with the crate could barely lift it.

  Oppenhauer shouted back to the draymen over the thunder of their hooves. ‘Stop your carts left and right of the crate! We shall need their cover while we load.’ He pointed at Reiner and Matthais. ‘Clear the men at the box, then take cover behind the carts.’

  Reiner and Matthais saluted, then raised their arms.

  ‘Pistols ready,’ said Reiner.

  ‘Lancers ready,’ said Matthais.

  The pistoliers held their guns at their cheeks. The lancers pointed their lances at the sky.

  ‘Fire!’ cried Reiner.

  His men levelled their guns and fired into the cluster of bandits. A few dropped, a few fired back. The rest ran to their ponies, trying to remount.

  ‘Charge!’ cried Matthais.

  The lancers lowered their lances and spurred their horses into a thundering gallop. Oppenhauer charged with them.

  ‘Sabres!’ Reiner called.

  His men drew their swords and followed the lancers and Oppenhauer as they ploughed into the bandits, impaling them and running them down. The rest scattered, on foot or on horseback, racing for the woods as the carts pulled up around the crate. More bandits were running up the road, most on foot—stragglers from the ambush—but when they saw the situation they too melted into the woods.

  Reiner and Matthais circled back quickly with their squads and dismounted behind the cover of the carts as the crossbowmen began firing bolts into the trees. They were answered by a storm of arrows that thudded into the wagons and cargo.

  ‘Lancers!’ bellowed Oppenhauer, jumping off his horse. ‘Help me with the crate!’

  Matthais and three of his men stepped to the crate and grabbed the edges. Even with Oppenhauer joining them, they strained to lift it. Reiner’s questions were becoming suspicions. He saw that the lid had pulled up at one corner and stepped forward.

  ‘Let me give you a hand.’

  ‘We have it, Meyerling,’ grunted Oppenhauer, but Reiner ignored him and helped lift. As they edged it up on the cart, next to another just like it, Reiner got a glimpse under the lid. It was filled with small rectangles of yellow metal that shone like…

  Gold.

  Before he could be sure of what he had seen, Oppenhauer pounded the lid shut with the heel of his hand.

  ‘Now, ride! Ride!�
� he called.

  Reiner glanced at the obercaptain as he hurried back to his horse, but Oppenhauer’s face was unreadable. Did he know Reiner had seen the gold? Had he been hiding it, or just closing the lid?

  The carts turned clumsily about as arrows whistled around them. The crossbowmen returned fire, shooting randomly into the woods until they got under way. Oppenhauer, Matthais and Reiner and their squads fell in behind, but the bandits didn’t follow, only stole out after the crossbowmen no longer had their range, to collect their arrows and see to their fallen.

  The train of wagons continued on toward Aulschweig with four dead and ten wounded. Reiner rode in silence, oblivious to his men’s nervous post-battle chatter. He had discovered where Manfred’s missing gold was going, though why it was crossing the border he had no idea. More important was its mere existence. The crate he had seen held enough gold to make a man one of the wealthiest in the Empire. And there were two of them, tucked amidst the rest of the cargo. Two fortunes. More than even Karl-Franz himself might spend in a lifetime.

  Reiner smiled. He wasn’t greedy. He didn’t want them both. He needed only one. One would be more than enough to pay a sorcerer to remove the poison from the Blackhearts’ blood—to buy their freedom.

  The only question now was, how did he get it?

  SEVEN

  A Man of Vision

  THE CASTLE OF Baron Caspar Tzetchka-Koloman sat hunched above the fertile Aulschweig valley like a wolf looking down at a henhouse. It had been built to guard the mouth of the pass from the Empire, when in the wild days of long ago there had been danger of invasion from that quarter—a small, but sturdily built keep that seemed to grow out of the crags that surrounded it. The valley below was like a dream of how the Empire might have been, if not for so many years of war—a bright green jewel of wheat fields not yet ripe and orchards of apple, pear and walnut. Tiny stone and shingle villages nestled in the gentle folds of the land, the spires of their country shrines sticking up above pine spinneys.

  Baron Caspar was a restless young man a few years older than Reiner, but a child in temperament. A pale, sharp-faced fellow with jet black hair and dark eyes, he twitched and squirmed in his seat all through the generous dinner he laid before his guests in the high, banner-hung hall of his chilly keep.