“The scouts have returned from Mercy’s End, Kriegsmarshall,” said the captain. “Felhamer’s run of luck has finally ended. Mormius didn’t even stop to pursue the survivors. They just torched the ruins and continued marching south.”
Fabian nodded. “His only interest seems to be reaching Wolfenberg as quickly as possible. Was there any news of Felhamer himself?”
“None, although I doubt he would have fled with the survivors.”
“No, I imagine you’re right, Ludwig—from what I hear, the captain was as honourable as he was stupid. He’ll have held out until the very last minute.” As they rode up out of the valley, he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the late afternoon sun and looked down across the rain-drenched hills and forests of Ostland. “We should meet them very soon,” he said, with a slight tremor in his voice. “The moment I’ve waited for, all these years, has finally arrived.” He lifted a pendant from beneath his polished cuirass and studied it closely. It was the ivory wolf’s head his uncle had given him all those years ago in the Unknown House. “After this battle, the name Wolff will never be forgotten,” he said, turning the pendant slowly in his fingers. He lowered his voice and smiled at Ludwig. “And once my master has accepted the wonderful gift I’m bringing to him, I’ll become the mightiest warrior the Old World has ever seen.”
Ludwig shook his head. “I can understand why the Ruinous Powers would wish you to bring them such a great sacrifice—to lead so many soldiers into their grasp is truly a wondrous gift, but there’s something I can’t understand.”
Fabian looked around to see if any of the other officers were near enough to overhear. Then he leant closer to Ludwig and nodded for him to continue.
“If you’re taking this great army to your master as a sacrifice, will Mormius know not to strike you down, as he has done so many others. Does he understand the bargain you’ve struck?”
Fabian leant back in his saddle and stroked his moustache. “I imagine he knows nothing of me, or my true purpose. My master won’t care which of us triumphs—either result will amuse him. If I can defeat Mormius and his rabble, and make my great sacrifice, he’ll reward me in ways I’m only just beginning to comprehend. But, if I fail, and Mormius lays waste to Wolfenberg, the power I sought will be bestowed on him. We’re playthings, nothing more—just an amusing diversion for the Great Deceiver. Mormius will only see me as an obstacle on the road to glory.” Fabian clutched the hilt of his sword and smiled. “He should make a worthy opponent.”
Ludwig nodded, and rubbed his cold, lifeless eyes. “Well, whatever the outcome, it will be good to finally reach him. We seem to have been marching for decades.”
Almost half a mile behind Fabian and his officers, rode Baron Maximilian von During, at the head of his squadron of Knights Griffon. Beside him rode Jakob, Ratboy and Anna.
“Can you be sure we’re talking about the same man?” asked Ratboy, looking at the group of banners at the head of the army. “Do you really think that’s your brother up there?”
Wolff nodded. “There’s no other explanation. I was filled with dread at the thought of my brother marching with this army and now I find he’s the man leading it.” His brow was creased in a thunderous scowl. “It’s much worse than I anticipated. Fabian’s not the hero these men think he is. His master isn’t von Raukov, but some unspeakable, unholy force. I can’t imagine what he has planned for this army, but it’s certainly not victory.”
“But it makes no sense,” said Maximilian. “I’ve been hearing tales of the Iron Duke’s victories ever since I first arrived in Ostland. He’s driven back countless invasions. Why would he have done that if he’s some kind of pawn of the Dark Powers?”
Wolff looked over at his old friend. “He’s playing for higher stakes. All he’s ever dreamed of is to be a great hero—the greatest hero in fact. As a child, he pictured himself as a valiant knight, torn straight from the old lays and ballads. He always wanted to march at the head of a great Empire army such as this one. He’s been carefully biding his time and gradually winning the trust of the Elector Count, and now he’s leading the largest force in the province.”
“Then we should confront him,” cried Ratboy, brandishing his graceful sword. “We should reveal him as the heretic he is.”
Maximilian shook his head. “You’d never get within thirty feet of him, boy—unless he wanted you to. His personal honour guard watch him constantly. He calls them the Oberhau and their swordsmanship is legendary. They wield greatswords as easily as if they were rapiers.” He frowned. “They wear fearsome helmets, fashioned in the shape of a snarling wolf and are famed for their ruthlessness. Rumour has it that the Iron Duke trains each of them personally; but, if your suspicions are correct, maybe there’s more to the training than meets the eye.”
Wolff nodded. “To reveal myself now would be a mistake. Fabian has an entire army fawning at his feet. He’d simply have me arrested. I imagine these Oberhau would have no qualms about executing me, if Fabian ordered them to.”
“Then what will you do?” asked Anna, looking around anxiously at the ranks of marching soldiers that surrounded them.
“Bide my time,” replied Wolff. “Ostland’s on the edge of ruin. Even if I could convince these men that their general is a traitor, I’m not sure I should. It’s only Fabian that’s holding them together.”
“But if he’s a cultist of some kind, he’s probably leading them all to their deaths,” she gasped, anxiously stroking the velvety stubble that covered her scalp.
Wolff nodded. “All I can do is watch and wait.” He turned to Maximilian. “We should move a little closer to the command group.”
Maximilian nodded and urged his horse into a canter, signalling for the other knights to pick up their pace too.
After a few hours, Maximilian nodded at a large hill that sat at the end of a long, narrow defile. It was topped with five odd, slender towers of stone. “There’s Fabian’s destination,” he said, “Hagen’s Claw.”
Wolff peered at the distant hill. “Have you spoken to my brother then?”
“Not personally, no, but two nights ago, I met with his closest advisor, the captain of the Oberhau.” Maximilian pursed his lips, as though tasting something bitter. “His name’s Ludwig von Groos and apparently he’s Fabian’s oldest friend, but there’s something about the man that made my skin crawl.”
“Von Groos?” muttered Wolff, frowning. “The name does sound familiar, but I spent most of my childhood in a temple. I never really knew my brother’s friends. Why did you find this von Groos so unpleasant?”
Maximilian shrugged. “Hard to say, really. I knew him by reputation anyway. He’s considered unusually brutal, even by the standards of the Oberhau, but it wasn’t that—there was something in his manner that made me feel on my guard. His words were quite deferential and his tone was perfectly reasonable, but I still felt as though he was mocking me somehow.”
“I see. But he explained Fabian’s strategy to you?”
“Yes, although not in any detail. He simply told me the same as he told the other senior officers. The Iron Duke wants to reach an old burial site named Hagen’s Claw and have time to dig in before the marauders arrive. His judgement has been sound on every previous occasion, so I simply thanked von Groos for the information and ushered him out of my tent as quickly as I could.” He shuddered at the memory. “He started leafing through one of my tactical manuals with a ridiculous grin on his face—poking fun at the techniques and asking if I really used them. If I’d not found an excuse to shove him out of the door, I think we might have come to blows. Fabian’s plan seems quite logical though. The hill’s steep and topped with ancient monoliths, so there’ll be plenty of cover and places to position the guns. There’s also an unusually narrow valley behind it, so if things go badly, we’d be able to inflict very heavy losses on Mormius’ men as we withdrew.”
Ratboy watched the smouldering, red sun as it sank behind the hill, silhouetting the towering obelisks t
hat guarded the valley. There were four intact stones and a fifth that was broken and leaning to one side like a thumb. “Whose tombs are they?” he asked. “They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Maximilian shook his head. “I’ve no idea, friend. I know they’re old beyond reckoning, but other than that I’ve only heard rumours and legends. Maybe one of the Ostlanders would know,” he said, waving at the ranks of black and white troops that surrounded them. “I think even they might struggle though.”
As the sun sank lower, bathing the landscape in scarlet light, the army reached the summit of the hill and began planting their standards between the strange columns. Half of the fifth stone had fallen, to be eagerly embraced by the shrubs and long grass beneath, but those that still stood reached even higher than Ratboy had expected. As he rode between them they seemed to bow over his head, so great was their height. “Who was Hagen?” he asked in hushed tones, eyeing the obelisks with suspicion.
“I believe he was some kind of tribal warlord—a contemporary of Sigmar’s—who met his end here,” answered Maximilian. The polished steel of his visor flashed red as he raised it to get a better view of the stones. “The Ostlanders tell all sorts of gruesome tales about him. Allegedly, when he suspected one of his men of coveting his wife, he accused him of being no better than a wild scavenger, tied him to one of these stones and pierced his side with a knife. Then he left him to the mercy of the wolves that roam hereabouts.”
Ratboy looked up at the sombre columns with even more suspicion, wondering if it were shadows or dark stains he could see on the lichen-covered stone.
“How did Hagen die?” asked Ratboy.
“Well, if the legends are true, his power corrupted him and eventually he became a disciple of the Dark Gods. Sigmar heard stories of his strange behaviour and travelled out here to confront him. He found Hagen attempting to use the stones as part of some unspeakable rite, so they fought,” Maximilian gave Ratboy a wry smile, “and Hagen died.”
Wolff saw the concern on Ratboy’s face and gave Maximilian a disapproving shake of his head.
The old knight chuckled through his thick, silver beard. “Very well,” he said. “I suppose I shouldn’t fill your head with legends and ghosts. You’ll soon have plenty of mortal foes to keep you busy.” He shrugged. “Anyway, odd as it is, the Iron Duke had this site in mind right from the start of the campaign. He sent scouts up here weeks ago to prepare for this battle. We’re going to engage the enemy exactly where he planned to. Whatever your master thinks of him, Fabian is no fool. He must have had good reason to drive us so hard, and ensure that we fought here rather than any other spot.” He waved his men over to one of the few areas of hillside not already swarming with soldiers. “That seems as good a place as any. Let’s prepare ourselves.”
Once they’d reached the spot, Ratboy dropped from his horse and helped his master down from his. Then he perched on one of the pieces of fallen stone and, following the example of the Knights Griffon, began to polish his weapon in preparation for the battle. As he did so, he noticed Wolff looking anxiously through the bustling crowds that covered the hillside. Ratboy followed his gaze and saw the Iron Duke’s standard, snapping proudly at the summit: a wolf and a bull, rearing side by side on a black background. He tried to imagine how Wolff must feel, to be so close to his brother, after all these decades.
“I wonder what he’ll do, when the time comes to act,” said a voice at his ear.
Ratboy turned to see Anna, watching Wolff too. He dusted down a patch of moss and she sat next to him on the stone.
“A brother is a brother,” she said, sitting next to him. “Whatever’s happened in the past.”
Ratboy shrugged. “He’s been so concerned with tracking Fabian down, but I don’t think he ever actually worked out what to do when he found him. I’ve never seen him so subdued. I suppose he imagined he would be dealing with a soldier, not the head of an army.”
Anna shrugged. “How’s your hand?” she asked, peeling back the bandages. The wound was beginning to heal up, but his fingers had set in a crooked, useless fist. She shook her head and frowned. “It looks like I managed to stave off any infection, but I doubt you’ll ever be much of a musician.”
Ratboy smiled. “I don’t think I was ever destined for artistic greatness.” The pain had been growing worse and he grimaced as he flexed his scarred, bent fingers. “Some of the movement has returned already,” he said, trying to hide the extent of his discomfort. “I may even be able to use this fancy sword properly, one day.” He raised the blade in his left hand, so that the metal caught the sun’s dying rays. “I’ve almost got the hang of using my other hand now anyway.” He looked over at Anna. In all the excitement of the last few days, he had almost forgotten her loss. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
She continued studying his hand for a few seconds, frowning with worry. Then she placed it back in his lap and studied a ring on her finger. It was the one Wolff had brought from the temple: the one that had belonged to the abbess. As she spoke, she traced her finger over the dove that decorated it. “The sisters were my only family,” she said. “I only pray that some of them managed to flee before…” She paused and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were bright with tears. “I doubt a single one of them would have abandoned the people in their care.”
Ratboy took her hand. “There were soldiers in there with them. They may have evacuated some of the sisters before the fighting started.”
Anna nodded. “It’s possible,” she said, with little conviction. She squeezed Ratboy’s hand and took a deep breath. “I don’t feel completely alone now though. You’ve shown me great kindness.” She met Ratboy’s anxious gaze with a smile, then looked out across the gloomy landscape. “I may not have to wait long before I meet my sisters again, anyway. It seems that nothing can stop this Mormius, or his hideous creatures.”
Ratboy recalled the battle of Mercy’s End with a shudder. “I wonder if Gryphius, or Captain Felhamer escaped,” he said.
She shrugged. “Felhamer knew those tunnels as well as anyone. Gryphius was carrying a terrible wound though. I don’t think we’ll see him again.”
Ratboy nodded and looked deep into her eyes. “And what about you, Anna? You’re not seeking a glorious end. What is there here for you? Mormius’ hordes will arrive any time now. Who can say what will happen, but I doubt many of us will survive. Shouldn’t you head back towards Wolfenberg? You could find other members of your order. I imagine there’s much healing to be done in the capital. You should leave while you still can.”
“And would you come with me, Ratboy? This is no place for a young, inexperienced acolyte. A desperate battle won’t help to complete your training. You could leave with me, head south and present yourself at the first chapterhouse you find. In a year or so, you’d be a fully trained warrior priest, just like your master. Think how much more use your life could be, if you didn’t end it here, as a novice.”
Ratboy shook his head fiercely. “I would never abandon Brother Wolff.” His face flushed with colour and he turned away from the priestess, embarrassed by the passion in his voice. “He’ll need me tonight, more than ever before and if it means my life, then I’ll be proud to die by his side.”
Anna nodded and loosed his hand. She gave him a sad smile and climbed to her feet. “I know,” she said quietly. “I owe you my life, and if there’s anything I can do to aid you, I’ll be here to do it.” She looked around at the rows of pale, nervous faces rushing past them. “And I imagine you won’t be the only one who’ll need my help.”
Ratboy stood and pulled her towards him. His eyes were wide with emotion, but before he could speak, a chorus of shouts erupted from the surrounding soldiers. The troops’ preparations suddenly became much more urgent. Valets and equerries sprinted past and sergeants began barking commands at their men. “What’s happened?” said Ratboy turning from Anna and looking out into the darkness of the surrounding meadows.
&nbs
p; “Listen,” said Wolff, stepping past them both and climbing up onto the stone. He looked out across the rippling pools of grass and shadow.
Ratboy held his breath and heard an odd sound on the breeze. He climbed up beside his master and followed his gaze. He could see nothing, but as the wind shifted slightly to the east, the noise suddenly swelled. He heard a horn of some kind, but it was playing no melody he could recognise. The thin, plaintive sound simply undulated slowly up and down, like the baleful song of a wading bird.
There was a clatter of armour as the surrounding men formed themselves into orderly ranks. The dark, feral helmets of the Oberhau could be seen all over the hill, dashing back and forth as they directed regiments into the formations Fabian had requested. The squadrons of knights and pistoliers took up positions near the bottom of the incline, while every man with a bow was ordered up to the summit, to stand alongside the engineers and their bizarre assortment of black-powder weapons. As the eerie, surging sound grew louder, the archers arrayed themselves in a long line across the top of Hagen’s Claw and began to ready their weapons.
“We should take our positions,” said Wolff, placing a hand on Ratboy’s shoulder.
They climbed down from the stone and, with Anna in tow, rushed back over to where Maximilian was inspecting his men.
The knights had already mounted their chargers, and as Maximilian looked them up and down he nodded with satisfaction. Despite the panic and noise erupting all around them, the Knights Griffon sat calmly in their saddles, with straight backs and raised chins. To Ratboy, they looked as immovable as the monoliths that towered above them.
“We don’t have long,” said Maximilian, turning from his men and facing Wolff. “Would you do us the honour of giving us your blessing, old friend?”
Wolff paused, dragging himself from his reverie with visible effort. Then he nodded slowly and stepped before the rows of gleaming knights. He unclasped a book from his cuirass, signalled for the men to lower their heads and muttered a quick prayer. To Ratboy, though, his words sounded oddly flat. The passion that usually filled his voice was gone, and he recited the words with a vague, distracted air.
05 - Warrior Priest Page 24
