02 - The Broken Lance

by Nathan Long - (ebook by Undead)

  The square black entrance of the mine looked like the maw of some great fish, a leviathan of legend, into which they were being inexorably drawn. The wind moaning across it sounded like the beast’s mournful cry. Reiner and Franka dismounted as the others stepped down from their cart. Though there was no threat apparent, they all drew their weapons. Franka, Giano and Gert set arrows and bolts to their strings.

  “Come on, then,” said Reiner.

  Inside, the wind’s moan became a roar. Reiner couldn’t hear his own footsteps. The entry chamber was lit by a single flickering lantern hung from an iron hook to the right of the entrance. Its light was not enough to touch the far walls, but the mine was not entirely dark. As Reiner’s eyes grew accustomed, he could see a faint glow of torchlight coming from the mouth of the third tunnel.

  Pavel noticed it too. “Is it the rats?” he asked nervously.

  Reiner shook his head. “It’s torchlight. The rat light is purple.” That the source of the light was human was to some extent comforting, but it was also frustrating. Who was it? What were they doing down there? Why were they in his way? The gold was down that tunnel. Was someone else after it? “Let’s find some torches and have a look.”

  But as the men stepped further in, a clash of steel and a hoarse cry cut through the wind. They froze in their tracks and looked around, weapons at the ready. It had come from within the mine, but where was hard to tell.

  “A fight,” said Giano.

  “That was Gutzmann’s voice,” said Hals. “I swear it.”

  Karel nodded. “I heard it too.”

  The cry came again, and more clang and clatter. This time the direction was clear. The sounds were coming from the engineers’ quarters—the strange subterranean townhouse.

  Reiner snatched the lantern off its hook and ran for the passage that led to the house. The others pounded after him. It took a few strides for Reiner to realize that he wasn’t sure what exactly he meant to do. Was he hurrying to save Gutzmann or to kill him?

  As they entered the passage the sounds of fighting became clearer—grunts and cries and the clash and slither of swordplay. The beautifully carved door was half open, and the lamps within threw a hard-edged bar of light into the hall. Reiner skidded to a stop and held up his hand. The others peeked over his shoulders as he tilted his head around the door.

  The beautiful stone foyer was lit with a massive marble chandelier. The parlour to the left was dark, but the dining room beyond it glowed with lamplight, and Reiner gaped at the scene revealed there. It was like a painting done by a poppy fiend in his madness. The table was set as if for a state dinner, with fine porcelain plates and goblets and flatware of silver glinting in the mellow light. Bottles of wine were open,, and rich platters of meat, fish and game surrounded a central candelabrum. Each plate was filled with a half-eaten meal.

  As strange as the dinner was, in the light of current events, the diners were stranger. Seated around the table was a number of ratmen, all dressed in armour and holding bloody daggers in their gnarled claws. Each of them was stone dead, hacked and pierced with horrible wounds. But what tipped the scene into lunacy was the sight of General Gutzmann, bleeding and exhausted, fighting a handful of Shaeder’s Hammer Bearer greatswords around and across the table. The greatswords were comically hampered by a strange disinclination to disturb any of the particulars of the scene. They checked their swings so as not to smash any of the plates or goblets, and straightened the dead ratmen in their chairs when they bumped into them. It was this, more than any dazzling feats of swordsmanship, that was allowing Gutzmann to hold his own in such an unequal contest.

  “Sigmar’s beard!” whispered Karel. “What madness is this?”

  Reiner shook his head. “I’ve never seen the like.” He slipped into the entryway for a better look. The others eased in behind him, hiding behind the massive granite urns and ornate stone furniture. It was hard to turn away from the scene. What did it mean, Reiner wondered? What was Shaeder up to?

  “At least we haven’t to sweat killing him ourselves,” chuckled Dag. “Those lads’ll do for him.”

  “Are y’mad?” said Hals. “We have to help him. Gutzmann’s the only one who can save the fort!”

  Pavel turned to Reiner. “We help him, captain. Don’t we?”

  “We…” Reiner hesitated. What did he do? Here indeed was the salvation of the fort, but also the best opportunity yet to fulfil Manfred’s orders and kill the man who was stealing the Emperor’s gold, or at least see him dead. Of course, if they saved Gutzmann now, they might kill him later once he had beaten the ratmen. But the general knew their orders now. He would protect himself. Such a chance wouldn’t come again. “We…”

  He looked at Franka. Her soft brown eyes had somehow grown sharp as daggers. They lanced his soul. “We…”

  There was a clatter of boots in the passage behind them. The Blackhearts turned as the front door flew open and six engineers burst in, faces flushed.

  “They’re coming!” cried the first, slamming the door behind him. “Hurry! Let’s be…” He stopped short as he saw who he faced.

  Reiner glanced back to the dining room. Gutzmann and Shaeder’s greatswords were looking into the foyer as well. For a long moment the tableau held, as each side sorted out who was who and what was what.

  It was Gutzmann who broke it, by leaping up and running across the table, sending plates and goblets flying, then charging through the parlour to skid to a stop at Reiner’s side.

  “Kill them!” called one of the Hammers. “They mustn’t expose the plan!”

  Gutzmann grinned, though it was obvious he was in pain from a dozen wounds. “So, Hetsau. Right in all particulars. I owe you an apology.”

  Reiner was embarrassed by the general’s trust, for he had been thinking that he could stab him in the neck and fulfil Manfred’s orders then and there. But the engineers were drawing swords and hammers and axes and advancing on them on one side, and Shaeder’s greatswords were coming through the parlour on the other. Reiner needed Gutzmann’s sword more than he needed him dead. And more than that, he didn’t want him dead. He felt a kinship with him. They were both bright men. They shared a wry humour. And they had both been manipulated and betrayed by Altdorf. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to kill him after all. Gert’s foolish notion that if the Empire was threatened here, Gutzmann would reconsider deserting, suddenly became very attractive.

  “Back the way we came, lads,” said Reiner. “Jergen, Karel. Help me hold the swordsmen. The rest, break through these ditch diggers.”

  The men shifted around so that Reiner, Karel and Jergen faced the Hammer Bearers while the others jabbed at the engineers with spears, swords and axes.

  Gutzmann stood shoulder to shoulder with Reiner as the Hammers closed with them. There were six of the black-clad giants. Reiner’s wrist nearly snapped as he parried a cut from one. Gutzmann blocked another and riposted with ease. Wounded as he was, he looked like he could fight all night.

  “I never thought I’d be glad to see anyone break out of my brig,” he said.

  “Four of this lot came to kill us,” said Reiner. “We turned the tables on them.” He ducked a slashing blade and pinked his opponent in the leg. “We thought they’d done for you.”

  Gutzmann grinned. “They meant to. But when they took me down into the mine I started to suspect, and ran away. We’ve been playing hide and seek in the tunnels since.”

  The engineers were falling back. Though armed and schooled as soldiers, they were not used to hand to hand combat. Hals stabbed one in the arm and he dropped his mallet. Gert brained him with his axe. Franka ducked a hammer, and was about to run her man through when Pavel pulled her back.

  “Behind me, lass,” he said.

  “What!” Franka shoved him. “Don’t be an ass!” She tried to squirm back around him, but he and Hals closed ranks.

  Gutzmann blinked. “Lass?”

  “I’ll explain later,” said Reiner.

  The Blackhea
rts forced the engineers back while Gutzmann, Jergen, Karel and Reiner protected their rear. They could do little more than block and retire, for even Jergen was reduced to playing a defensive game against so many skilled blades. At last the engineers broke and fled out of the door. Pavel, Gert, Franka and Giano ran after them.

  Hals stopped at the door. “Clear, captain. Disengage.”

  “Fall back!” shouted Reiner.

  Jergen, Karel and Gutzmann jumped back from the Hammers with Reiner, and ran for the door. The greatswords lunged forward, stabbing at them as they darted through. Hals slammed the door in the Hammers’ faces.

  As they ran down the short hall Reiner frowned, for at the end, the rest of the Blackhearts and the last few engineers stood together, not fighting, but instead staring into the entry chamber.

  “Go! Go!” called Reiner. He pushed through them, dragging at Franka, then froze as he saw why they had stopped.

  “Sigmar’s balls,” said Gutzmann, beside him.

  The greatswords came roaring down the passage, swinging at the Blackhearts’ backs.

  Gutzmann spun on them, hissing. “Quiet, you fools, or we’re all dead!”

  And such was his aura of command that they skidded to a stop before him.

  Gutzmann pointed. “Look.”

  They looked.

  It seemed, in the dark, a muddy river, flowing through the mine—a river at full flood that carried branches and trees and wagons with it. It was ratmen—so many, so densely packed, and so fleet of foot that it was difficult to see them as separate bodies. They poured out of the third tunnel in an unending tide, spears and halberds bobbing above their heads, and disappeared out of the mine entrance without break or pause. They didn’t march as men. They kept to no formations. There were no ranks and files, no order, just a pulsing, fevered rush. The carts, overloaded with odd brass contraptions and strange weapons, careened through it all, pulled by scrawny, filthy rat-slaves that were harnessed to them like oxen. More frightening than the weapons were hulking, half-seen shapes, taller and more massive than men, that lurched along, roaring, as ratmen in grey robes guided them with whips and sticks.

  Reiner could feel the vibration of the army’s passage through his feet, like an avalanche that never stopped. And the smell was overwhelming. They seemed to push it out of the tunnel before them. It filled the entry chamber like a solid thing—a reeking, animal stink mixed with the stench of illness and death. Reiner covered his mouth. The others did the same.

  Fortunately, the ratmen seemed so intent on their purpose that they looked neither left nor right, and so hadn’t yet seen the men at the side of the chamber, but there were outrunners—sergeants perhaps—who loped along beside the river of rat-flesh, and it was inevitable that one of them would eventually look their way.

  “Back into the house,” whispered Gutzmann. “Quietly.”

  The men backed away, Blackhearts and engineers and greatswords together, too awed by the horror before them to remember to fight each other.

  As they tiptoed back into the stone house, Gutzmann turned on the Hammer Bearers, who looked sick with shock. “You disgust me! To deliver your fellows into the hands of such monsters! How can you stand to live?”

  “You have it wrong, general,” said their sergeant. “Commander Shaeder has a plan.”

  “A plan?” Gutzmann sputtered. “What kind of plan allows these vermin to take the fort unawares?” He pointed his sword at the sergeant, then hissed and pressed his elbow to his side “You, Krieder. You will… You will escort me. We will take the hill track back to the fort as quickly as we may.” Below his breastplate his jerkin was red and damp. He was more wounded than he had let on.

  “We cannot allow that, general,” said Krieder.

  The greatswords raised their swords.

  Gutzmann, Reiner and the Blackhearts went on guard as the Hammer Bearers began to close with them again. The engineers hefted their weapons again as well, but seemed reluctant to return to the melee.

  A greatsword lunged at Reiner, slashing at his head. Reiner parried and dodged away, but before he could counter, a bang and a muffled shriek from the parlour made everyone jump. Reiner looked beyond the Hammers, who had stepped back again. The parlour fireplace was moving, the mantle splitting in the middle and opening out with a grinding of stone on stone, revealing a secret door.

  Out of the black opening staggered an engineer, his face bloody and his clothes shredded. He dragged another, whose arm was over his shoulder, but the man was obviously beyond help. Half his skull had been blown away and his brains were spilling down his neck.

  The living engineer threw out a hand to the Hammer Bearers, his eyes wild. “Save us. We are lost. They knew!” He tripped over his friend’s slack legs and fell.

  Krieder ran to him and pulled him up. “What do you say, man?” He shook him. “Speak, damn you!”

  The Hammer Bearers joined him. Gutzmann, Reiner and the rest followed them into the parlour.

  The engineer’s lower lip trembled. “They knew! They swarmed the cart before we could loose it! The tunnel remains open!”

  “Bones of Sigmar,” breathed the greatsword sergeant. “This is…”

  Before he could finish, a crowd of ratmen swarmed out of the secret door, looking around with darting black eyes. They stopped when they saw the men and snarled, brandishing curved swords and halberds.

  “So Shaeder had a plan, did he?” said Gutzmann as the men edged back from the rats.

  Sergeant Krieder dropped the dying engineer and joined his fellows. “It wasn’t to be like this.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t.”

  The ratmen charged, flowing around the Hammers, the Black-hearts and the engineers in a brown flood. The men slashed at them in a terrified frenzy. One of the greatswords went down immediately, a halberd in his neck. The others closed ranks. An engineer fell, screaming, pierced by two blades. Gutzmann killed a ratman, then grunted and stumbled into Reiner, his leg bleeding. Before Reiner could help him he stood again, and renewed his attack on the squirming wave of fur that surrounded them. These were not the tall black-furred killers Reiner and the others had faced before. They were of the smaller brown variety, but there were more of them.

  “Protect the general!” cried Krieder, the Hammer sergeant.

  His men pressed forward to form a wall around Gutzmann. They hacked down the front line of ratmen like so much underbrush.

  “Bit of an… an about face hey, Krieder?” said Gutzmann. He was having trouble breathing.

  “My lord,” said the Hammer sergeant, without looking around, “we have doomed the fort through our intrigues. If we must die so that you can save it, so be it.” He decapitated a ratman. Its head spun across the room. Two more took its place.

  Though the Hammer Bearers were in the thick of it, there were plenty of ratmen to go around, a seething jumble of slashing, screeching monsters. Reiner fought three, and all around him he could see the Blackhearts and the engineers kicking and hacking and stabbing. An engineer threw down his hatchet and tried to run away. The ratmen chopped him to pieces.

  Franka’s voice raised above the fray. “Let me fight, curse you!”

  Reiner looked around. Franka was shoving Hals and trying to dodge around him. The butt of a ratman’s spear caught her in the temple. She fell.

  “Franka!” Reiner cried. He fought to her and stood over her, blocking a spear that stabbed down at her.

  “Sorry captain,” said Hals. “She won’t stay back.”

  “And will you let her die to keep her from fighting?”

  Franka staggered to her feet as Reiner held off the rats. “I’m all right, captain,” she said. But her hands shook as she lifted her sword.

  Reiner stepped back as he parried a halberd. His calf touched an obstacle. He looked back. A stone bench.

  “Draw your bow, lass,” he said. “Get up. Gert, Dag, Giano. You too.” The four eased back and stepped onto the bench as Reiner, Gutzmann, Karel and the Hammer
Bearers protected them, then wound their crossbows and nocked arrows. Pavel, Hals and Jergen took up positions behind the bench and guarded their backs. There were no engineers left standing. The bowmen fired over their protector’s heads into the crowd of ratmen and loaded again.

  Another Hammer Bearer went down. Only three remained, but each fallen greatsword had accounted for a handful of ratmen. The vermin lay in mounds around the survivors, but more rats stood on their dead to fight them.

  Gutzmann stumbled into Reiner again, and narrowly missed being spitted by a ratman’s spear. Reiner pulled him out of the way.

  “My thanks,” Gutzmann said, gasping. “Just need to catch my breath.”

  “Yes, general.” But Reiner was afraid it was more than that. Gutzmann was pale and shaking.

  The tide was turning. The fire of bow and crossbow was thinning the back ranks of the remaining ratmen as the Blackhearts and the Hammers cut down their front lines. But just as Reiner thought the worst might be over, Gutzmann collapsed entirely, and this time sprawled across the floor before the ratmen, utterly exposed. A rat halberdier raised his heavy weapon to stab down at him.

  “No!” Krieder leapt forward and gutted the ratman, but two more ratmen gored him with swords. The Hammer sergeant vomited blood and fell across Gutzmann’s body.

  With a roar of anger, the last two greatswords charged into the thick of the ratmen, swinging their swords with an utter disregard for defence. One took a sword in the groin, but their opponents fell back in pieces, arms, legs and heads severed. It was too much. The ratmen broke in terror, filling the room with a horrible sweaty musk as they tried to flee back to the secret passage. They didn’t make it. Franka, Gert, Giano and Dag shot them down, while Jergen, Karel, Pavel and Hals caught the ones they missed.

  As the last rat fell, everyone stopped where they were, sucking air and staring around at the heaps of brown-furred bodies. Reiner felt numb, as if he had been battered by a hurricane. He wasn’t yet recovered from the surprise of the ratmen’s initial attack and already it was over.