“Sister,” cried a young, wide-eyed soldier, spotting her sat amidst the carnage. “Watch yourself,” he yelled as he steered his horse to her side and dismounted.
She flinched at his touch and looked him up and down in terror, taking in his bloody sword and battered breastplate. Then, seeing the concern in his eyes, she relaxed a little and accepted his helping hand. “Murderer,” she muttered as he pulled her to her feet.
He shook his head in confusion, shaking the tall white plumes on his helmet. “Who’s a murderer?” he asked, looking round at the violence that surrounded them.
“I killed him,” she answered, staring at the young soldier with an intensity he found unnerving.
“Aren’t you the priestess who was travelling with the Knights Griffon?” he asked, struggling to meet her eye.
Anna nodded vaguely and continued trying to wipe the blood from her hands.
The young soldier nodded back, relieved at the thought she might be someone else’s problem. “They’re still making their way down from Hagen’s Claw,” he said lifting her up onto his horse. “Let’s get you back to them.”
As they rode back towards the monuments on the hill, fighting against a tide of victorious soldiers, Anna saw the Iron Duke leading a pack of wolf-helmed Oberhau. They thundered through the heart of the other soldiers, bellowing commands at them as they charged past. Fabian himself had flung back his visor and she caught a brief glimpse of his gaunt face and glittering eye patch. “They’re heading for the forest,” she heard him scream as he rode past her.
As he made his way up the hill, the soldier spotted the unmistakable squadron of Knights Griffon. Despite everything that had occurred that evening, they were still riding with their shoulders thrown back and their chins raised to the heavens. Even the blood of their foes seemed ashamed to stain the knights’ armour and it still gleamed and sparkled in the moonlight.
“It’s Anna,” cried Ratboy, as he saw the soldier’s horse trotting up the hill towards them. Wolff was riding next to him and nodded in reply, but did not slow the speed of his horse as he charged down the hill. Ratboy reined in his own steed and allowed Wolff and the Knights Griffon to race on ahead, so that he could greet the young soldier and his passenger. “She’s alive,” he gasped as the soldier approached.
Recognition flared in the priestess’ eyes at the sight of Ratboy and she held her stained hands up to him like a guilty child.
“What’s happened?” he cried, grabbing her arms and noticing that her gaze seemed even more passionate than usual.
Anna gave no reply and simply hung her head in shame, but she grasped Ratboy’s arms as tightly as he held hers.
Ratboy gave the soldier a questioning look.
“I found her next to a wrecked cart,” he said. “It looks like some of the marauders had been trying to use it to escape in.” He shook his head. “It’s a bloodbath down there. I thought she would be safer up here with her friends.” He looked at the blood that covered her hands and robes. “I’m not sure how she got mixed up with the enemy retreat.”
Ratboy frowned in confusion, but nodded all the same. “Thank you for finding her,” he said, dismounting. He helped Anna down onto the ground, steadying her as the ranks of Ostlanders charged past, screaming for bloody vengeance.
“Anna,” he said, taking her head in his hands in an attempt to make her focus on his words. “You must stay here. My master and Maximilian are in pursuit of the duke and I must follow, but it’s not safe down there. The marauders won’t die without a fight.”
Anna’s eyes opened even wider as she realised Ratboy meant to abandon her. She shook her head fiercely and threw her arms around him.
The soldier chuckled. “Looks like she has other ideas.” He looked around at the brooding stones that covered the hillside. “She’s probably no safer up here anyway. Not all of the marauders will have fled.”
Ratboy looked down at the massacre below and grimaced. “How many are still alive?”
The soldier shook his head and followed Ratboy’s gaze. “Impossible to say. It’s even darker down there in the shadow of the forest. Hundreds of them have already fled beneath the trees. The ogres are all dead and the riders from the Steppe vanished as quickly as they came. They seem to have lost their fighting spirit,” he laughed. “The Iron Duke is determined that none should survive to reach their own borders though. He’s ordered the whole army to pursue them into the forest.” He laughed again, obviously a little light-headed after their unexpected victory. “I’ve a feeling some of our more experienced veterans may have taken the opportunity to slope off. The battle is obviously won, so who can blame them, really. We’d all be making for the nearest town to start the celebrations if it was up to me.”
“So, is the battle over?”
The soldier shook his head. “No, not really, I suppose. I’m only talking about a few people who were a little too eager to return home. The bulk of our men are following the duke into the forest.” He raised his battered sword and grinned enthusiastically. “After all—there’s more than one way to celebrate a victory.” The grin dropped from his face as he remembered something Ratboy had said. “Did you say that your master is in pursuit of the duke?”
Ratboy sneered. “Yes!” he snapped. “My master must stop—” he paused as he noticed the frown on the soldier’s face. “Well, yes, of course,” he continued, in a softer voice. “He wishes to assist the duke in any way he can.”
The soldier’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, then he gave a curt nod. “Good luck, friend,” he muttered, snapping the reins of his horse and disappearing down the hill.
Ratboy shook his head at his own stupidity and hoped that no harm would come of his indiscretion. Then he helped Anna up onto his horse and climbed up after her. “Well, sister,” he said, taking the reins. “Let’s see if we can keep ourselves out of any more trouble.” With that, he rode after the distant, sparkling helms of the Knights Griffon.
“I’ve killed a man,” whispered Anna into his ear.
Ratboy reined in his horse and looked back at her in confusion.
“Earlier on,” she said, holding up her bloody fingers and shaking her head at him. “I put a sword through his neck and watched him die.” She groaned in horror at the memory. “What right had I to take another’s life? He would have had parents and children. How could I do such a thing? I was a Sister of Shallya, but what am I now?”
Ratboy lowered her hands. “Alive.”
Anna simply stared at him.
“We must move fast, if I’m going to catch up with my master,” he said, afraid of the despair in her eyes. He steered his horse down the hill and tried desperately to think of something more useful to say.
Beneath the eaves of the forest, the darkness was almost total. As Fabian’s men left behind the open, moonlit fields, they slowed their horses to a walk and peered nervously into the shifting gloom. The Iron Duke’s army still numbered in the thousands, but as the ancient trees engulfed it, the host fragmented. Something of the forest’s wildness seemed to infect them and as they hunted down the fleeing marauders, the Ostlanders ignored the commands of their officers and blundered wildly through the undergrowth, even abandoning their horses as the slender pines gave way to low, twisted yews and ugly, knotted oaks.
It was only by the flashing armour of Maximilian’s knights that Ratboy was able to find his master in the shadows. “Lord,” he gasped as he climbed down from his horse and rushed after him with Anna following close behind. “How will you find Fabian in this darkness?”
Wolff looked back and Ratboy saw that his face was still twisted in an animal snarl. Ratboy blanched at his master’s fierce glare, feeling that he was looking into the eyes of a stranger. “I’ll find him,” growled the priest.
After a few minutes, as they entered a small hollow, one of the knights grunted in pain and stumbled backwards with a spear jammed under his breastplate.
The rest of the party paused and raised their weapons, sc
ouring the small clearing for any sign of the attackers as the injured knight dropped, wheezing, to his knees.
“There,” cried Maximilian, pointing his sword at a group of figures emerging from the trees.
Ratboy gasped in disgust as the vague shapes entered the pool of moonlight at the centre of the clearing. Most were the same bare-chested northmen they had faced on the hillside, but there were other, stranger things with them. He realised that they were the creatures he had seen before: men with deformed, bestial heads, cloven hooves and thick, greasy hides.
At a signal from Maximilian, the knights fell on the creatures with a flurry of sword strikes.
Wolff launched himself at the marauders with a terrifying combination of hammer blows and scripture. As the knights pushed the other warriors back towards the trees, the priest grabbed one of the beastmen by the scruff of its neck and slammed its head into a tree trunk. The creature collapsed, with a bellow of pain and Wolff placed a foot on its chest and crunched his hammer down into its face. The priest’s fury only seemed to grow as the creature stopped breathing and as its dark blood rushed over the roots of the tree, he kept swinging the hammer: pounding the metal into the broken body with spasmodic, jerking blows.
Ratboy saw the look of horror on Anna’s face as she watched the priest and he rushed to Wolff’s side. The other attackers were already fleeing or dead and as the knights resumed their positions they were also eying Wolff with unease. “Master,” said Ratboy, placing a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “He’s dead.”
Wolff spun around. His face was white with passion as he glared at the acolyte. “Yes,” he muttered, looking down at the corpse with a slightly confused expression.
He staggered back from the dead beastman and raised his dripping hammer towards the heart of the forest. “We must keep moving,” he gasped, breathlessly.
Maximilian looked at Wolff’s pale, blood-splattered face with concern. He stepped after him and placed a hand on his arm. “Brother Wolff, rest yourself for a moment, I beg you. Your zeal does you credit, but the battle is won.” He looked with distaste at the crumpled mess Wolff had made of the marauder. “Do we really need to hunt down every last one? My hatred of these beasts is as great as yours, I assure you, but this forest is fey, and unpredictable. I have a feeling that the deeper we go, the stranger it will become. Why not let the stragglers crawl back to their own lands? It would be no bad thing if a few of them lived to spread the word of our decisive victory.” He waved at the calm faces of his knights. “I’ve no desire to sacrifice my men in a pointless game of cat and mouse.”
Wolff’s black eyes flashed. “Do as you wish,” he growled, “but I must continue. Listen,” he said. The surrounding trees echoed with the noise of the victorious army, clattering and hacking their way after their general. “Fabian’s leading these men into the forest for a reason. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I know it’s going to end in more bloodshed. As you say, the battle’s won, but my brother was never interested in victory—he’s brought these men here for some dark purpose of his own.” He gripped Maximilian’s shoulders. “I think he means to use them as some kind of sacrifice. I’m not sure how, but I think he’s going to use their blood to buy the favour of his dark masters.” He shook his head. “It’s not the marauders I’m pursuing, it’s my brother.”
Maximilian turned away with a sigh. “Tell me, Jakob—how can you be sure Fabian is so evil? He’s just led this army to another glorious victory. You saw how he dealt with Mormius.” The baron looked back at Wolff. “Maybe he’s just a brilliant tactician who’s eager to protect his homeland?”
Wolff gripped the baron’s shoulders even more tightly and glowered at him. “I know my own brother, Maximilian. I think that deep down I’ve had my suspicions for decades, but guilt clouded my judgement. As soon as I heard the truth from the witch hunter, Surman, I knew it had to be right.”
Maximilian shrugged. “Could this Surman not have been mistaken?”
Ratboy suddenly gasped and rushed to Wolff’s side. “He’s here,” he gasped. “I saw Surman’s face in the battle. He’s followed us.”
Anna let out a groan of dismay, wrapping her arms around herself and looking around at the mass of ancient, winding boughs.
Wolff shook his head at Ratboy. “I doubt it very much, boy. I hammered a stake into his chest.”
Ratboy gripped his master’s arm with an urgent expression on his face. “I’m sure it was him—I’d never forget those peculiar eyes of his.”
Maximilian took a deep breath and freed himself from the priest’s grip. “Old friend,” he said, still watching Wolff with concern. “When this witch hunter denounced your brother as a heretic, was it before or after you attacked him with a piece of tree?”
Wolff strode after the knight with a furious expression on his face. “I know Fabian’s guilty, Maximilian. He spent his whole childhood dreaming of military glory but he was useless with a sword and could barely ride a horse. The closest he ever came to battles was reading about them in old folk tales. Then, around the same time as I discovered occult objects in our family home, he suddenly became a deadly warrior.” He shook his head in disgust. “I was so wrapped up in my own guilt over summoning the witch hunter, it never occurred to me that there might really be a cultist in our family, but now I have no doubt about it at all. I don’t know exactly how this will end, but I think this whole campaign is just a way for Fabian to somehow gain even greater strength.” He leant closer to the knight. “Come with me Maximilian. I must find him.”
Maximilian gave a long sigh. He looked around the clearing at the rows of expectant faces. “Well,” he said finally, “I’m not sure I really follow your logic, but I don’t like the idea of leaving you to go on alone. Your brother’s still surrounded by those swordsmen of his, the Oberhau.” He nodded at Wolff’s dripping hammer. “And whether you’re right or not, I’m sure they’ll defend their lord fiercely. I doubt even you could take them all on.” There was a metallic clang as he patted Wolff’s shoulder and turned to his knights. “Looks like we still have a little work to do.”
The priest gave a barely perceptible nod of thanks, before turning on his heel and heading off into the trees.
As Maximilian predicted, the deeper they moved into the forest, the stranger it became. Ratboy struggled to keep up with his master’s brisk pace as the moonlight began to play tricks on him. Dawn was still several hours away but, as they rushed after the rest of Fabian’s army, pale lights flickered at the corner of his vision, only to vanish when he tried to focus on them. He shivered and tried to keep his eyes on the bear-like silhouette of the priest as he shouldered his way through the trees. It was tough going. The forest floor was sloping slowly upwards, and after the exertion of the battle, Ratboy soon grew short of breath.
“Are you sure it was him?” whispered Anna, looming out of the darkness and gripping his arm.
“What?”
“Are you sure it was Surman you saw on the hill?”
“Oh, yes,” he replied, without slowing his pace or taking his eyes off Wolff. “I couldn’t forget a face like that. He was watching me, I’m sure of it.” He let his eyes flick briefly in Anna’s direction. “I think he must have followed us here.”
Her eyes widened and she clenched her bloodstained hands together. “How could he have survived such an injury?” she muttered.
Ratboy shook his head as he vaulted a low branch. “Who knows? I imagine old mendicants like that are hardened by all those years of travel. Maybe he’s not as frail as he looks.”
“I knew he’d come for me,” whispered Anna, tightening her grip on Ratboy’s arm. “The day you rescued me I knew it. As soon as I saw he had escaped from your master, I knew he would hunt me down.”
Ratboy frowned. “He might not be here for you, Anna. He could be after any of us. Wolff’s the one who injured him. I can’t imagine he’ll forget that in a hurry.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I might be wrong. Maybe he didn’t follow us. He mi
ght have just seen me in the crowd and wondered where he knew my face from.”
Anna shook her head. “He’s come for me, I can feel it.”
They ran on in silence for a few minutes and then noticed that the trees were thinning slightly and the soldiers ahead of them were slowing their pace.
Up ahead, Wolff reached the top of the wooded slope and paused at the edge of a large clearing. As Ratboy and the others huffed and clattered to his side, Wolff turned and raised his hand, signalling for them to stop at the edge of the trees. “They’re making camp,” he announced, with an incredulous expression on his face.
Ratboy looked past him and saw that it was true. Hundreds of the Ostlanders had gathered on the plateau at the top of the slope, and none of them looked happy to be there. The fervour that had driven them into the forest was fading quickly. There was a tangible feeling of menace about the place that made them wonder if they had been acting entirely under their own volition. They had huddled together for protection and there was a hum of nervous conversation as they eyed the surrounding trees. The wolf-helmed officers of Fabian’s honour guard were moving amongst them, and as the nearest one caught sight of Wolff and the Knights Griffon, he strode over and gave Maximilian a stiff bow. “The Kriegsmarshall has granted you all a few hours rest,” he said, waving to the treetops spread out below them. “The marauders have already hidden themselves throughout the forest. You’ll need some sleep before we start the long job of hunting them all down.”
Maximilian looked around at the dismal clearing. “He wants us to rest here?”
The officer’s only reply was a nod and his helmet made it impossible to see his expression.
“Very well,” said Wolff stepping to the baron’s side. “If the Iron Duke wishes it.”
05 - Warrior Priest Page 28
