“So Gutzmann’s alive?” asked the guard sergeant.
“Aye,” said Reiner as he helped Gert to his feet. “And he commands you hold this door at all costs. Let no rat in.”
“Aye, sir. No fear of that.”
The Blackhearts and Nuemark’s greatswords stood and made themselves ready. Reiner saluted their sergeant. “Thank you for the escort,” he said. “Sigmar watch you.”
“And you as well,” said the greatsword. He turned and led his men up the stairs.
Jergen stood and faced Reiner. “Captain.”
Reiner nearly jumped out of his skin. He wasn’t sure the swordsman had ever addressed him voluntarily before. “Aye, Rohmner?”
Jergen nodded at the greatswords. “I will be best used with them.”
Reiner looked at the greatsword sergeant. “Will you have him?”
“Can he fight?”
“Like several tigers.”
The greatsword chuckled. “Then fall in, bravo.”
Jergen joined the men climbing the stairs.
Reiner turned to the Blackhearts. “Ready lads?”
They nodded. Reiner took a torch from the gatehouse wall, then ducked through the secret door and they all went down into the dark.
The passage was narrow and direct. At the end, there was a second staircase and a door in the ceiling. Reiner found the catch and shot it back, then pressed his back against the door. It didn’t budge.
“Steingesser. Kiir,” he called, limping down. Gert and Hals squeezed around the others and stepped up to the trap. They pushed with hands and shoulders.
A muffled “Hoy!” came from above, and they heard a confusion of steps.
The trap slammed open, and a ring of handgunners aimed down at them, fingers on their triggers. Gert and Hals threw up their hands.
Reiner did too. “Hold, brothers. We are men.”
The handgunners eased back, but continued to look at them warily. “What men are ye?” asked a sergeant.
“I bring a message for Commander Shaeder,” said Reiner as he and his companions stepped slowly up the stairs. They were coming up in the guardroom just outside the cell Gutzmann had imprisoned them in the night before. The room was packed with a company of handgunners, sitting in rows with their guns across their laps. Gert and Hals had apparently lifted a few of them along with the trap. Their sergeants were their only commanders.
“Is the battle over?” asked a redheaded sergeant.
“What?” said Reiner. “Hardly. What are you doing down here? Where is your captain?”
“We was told to bide here “til the order came to retake the walls, sir,” said the sergeant, saluting. “But it never come. Captain Baer went to ask, but he ain’t come back.” He coughed, nervous. “Er, is it true the general’s returned, sir?”
“Aye, sergeant,” said Reiner, smiling as big as he could manage. “Returned to lead us, and he commands you to take the great south wall. There’s a company of greatswords clearing the way for you now. Away with you. And Sigmar guide your aim!”
“But our captains…”
“There’s no time. I’ll send ’em after you. Go. Go!”
“Aye, sir!” said the sergeant, grinning. “This way, lads! Action at last!”
The handgunners jumped up, relieved to be doing something, and began clattering into the trap after him.
Reiner and the others hurried for stairs.
Franka shook her head. “I don’t understand. I know Shaeder wished to kill Gutzmann. But at the cost of killing himself as well?”
Reiner shrugged. He had no answer for her.
The gate at the top of the stairs was open and there was no guard. The boom of guns and a buzz of voices echoed from outside, but the hallway was empty. Reiner held up his hand, then crept forward. The door into the dining hall was open. They looked in. The room was packed with pikemen, all staring glumly towards the main entrance.
The fort shuddered as a cannon ball struck it.
“The ratmen still control the guns, then,” said Karel.
“Jergen’ll see to them,” said Hals, then spat to be sure he hadn’t cursed the swordsman by speaking too quickly.
The Blackhearts passed on to the courtyard door and looked out. A crowd of lancers and pistoliers filled it, waiting on their horses in full kit, but like the handgunners in the dungeon, they had no captains. They were rigid with tension, every fibre ready to charge out, but instead only their eyes moved, darting from a knot of men banging on the north door of the murder room, to the burning doors of the gate, which looked about to collapse, to the clamour of desperate battle coming from over the north wall, where Halmer’s force fought the rat army. Reiner could see that the thud and clash of weapons, the screams of men and horses, the high chittering of rats, were driving the cavalry men insane. Their fellows were dying not twenty yards away, and they could do nothing but sit and listen.
Reiner’s pistolier company was near the door, arguing amongst themselves as they watched the walls.
“Hist!” Reiner called, stepping out. “Grau!”
The corporal turned. Reiner beckoned him over. He dismounted and hurried to the door. Two of his men came with him.
“Where have you been, Meyerling?” asked Grau. “Vortmunder’s been calling for your head.”
“Never mind that. What’s all this? Gutzmann’s getting chopped to bits outside. Why do you not ride out?”
“We want to,” said Grau, angrily. “But Shaeder’s lads have barricaded themselves in the murder room and that is where the winches are. He’s locked us in, the traitor.”
“Shaeder ain’t a traitor,” said Yoeder. “It’s a trap, like he said. Aulschweig men, dressed up as Reiksmen to lure us out to our doom.”
“Yer mad,” said the third, a stout fair-haired man Reiner didn’t know. “That’s Gutzmann out there. I saw his face.”
“It ain’t!” said Yeoder. “Gutzmann couldn’t ride so poor if he tried. Damned imposter sits a horse like he’s made of sticks’
“It is Gutzmann,” said Reiner. “I’ve just come from him. He’s grievously wounded, but he wouldn’t stay away while you were trapped here.”
Yeoder stared at him. “It’s Gutzmann? Truly?”
“Truly.”
Grau cursed. “Some of the captains are up trying to break down the door. The rest are in arguing with Shaeder in Gutzmann’s quarters’
Reiner pushed a hand through his hair. “This is madness. You must ride out.”
“Too bad old Urquart ain’t still with us,” said Pavel. “He’d knock them doors down with one swing.”
“If only we had one of them glass balls the ratties got,” said Hals. “We could smoke ’em out.”
Reiner looked at him, eyebrows raising, “Amazing. A pikeman with a brain.” He turned, looking around the courtyard intently. “Franka, a feedbag from the stables. And fill it with hay. Oh, and a good length of rope. Karel, a keg of powder from the armoury if you please. Pavel and Hals, lamp oil and bacon fat from the kitchen. As much as you can carry. And a big pot. Hurry. Meet us on the wall at the south door. Aye?”
As they ran off, the gate’s wooden doors finally collapsed with a great roaring and eruption of sparks. Through the smoking rubble Reiner saw the forms of ratmen trying to eel through the bars of the portcullis.
“And pray we are not too late.”
NINETEEN
All Must Die!
Reiner, Dag and Gert ran up the stairs to the murder room as sergeants called squads of handgunners and swordsmen to defend the gate below it. The gunners fired through the inner portcullis at the ratmen that squirmed through the outer one. The murder room had two heavy, banded doors that opened onto the battlements to its left and right. Narrow arrow slot windows pierced the inner and outer walls. There were no other openings. Reiner listened at the south door when they reached it. He could hear the captains pounding uselessly on the north door and demanding that the men inside let them in. There was an iron ladder bolted to
the wall. He looked up it then turned to the others.
“Dag, I’ll have you here. Gert, can you make it onto the roof?”
Gert scowled. “Ain’t that fat, captain.” He started up the ladder.
Franka was first to return to them, a coil of rope slung over her shoulder and a leather feedbag stuffed with hay dangling from one hand.
“Good, lad. Er, lass,” said Reiner. “Now get that rope around your waist.”
“What?” Franka looked alarmed.
“Not afraid of heights, are you?”
“No, but…”
“Once knew a topside monkey with a second storey mob. Made his living this way. Here, let me tie you off.”
Karel came back next, holding a keg of powder like a baby.
“Now pour as much of that as you can down into the hay,” said Reiner. “But don’t pack it.”
Pavel and Hals ran up just as Karel was finishing. Hals had two jugs of lamp oil. Pavel carried a big iron pot with a jar of drippings in it.
Reiner grinned. “Excellent. Pavel, smear some fat on the bag. Hals, pour the lamp oil in the pot.”
Pavel made a face, but dug some of the fat out with his dagger and scraped it off onto the bag as Hals filled the big pot. When he was done, Reiner took the bag and lowered it into the pot of oil, pushing it down with the butt end of Pavel’s spear until the hay and the leather were well saturated with the volatile oil.
As Reiner was lifting the bag out, Pavel raised his head. “The cannon have stopped.”
Reiner cocked his head. It was true. The guns on the great south wall had gone silent.
Hals grinned. “That’s our Jergen. Lets his sword do his talking.”
Reiner hung the dripping bag from the point of the spear. The fumes made his eyes water. He stood. “Hals, Pavel, Karel, stay here with Dag, ready to run in when the villains run out. Franka, up the ladder. I’ll hand your weapon to you.”
Franka looked at him askance as she climbed the ladder. “I begin to like this less and less.”
Reiner handed the spear up to her, then climbed up himself, carrying his torch. He stepped to the courtyard edge and looked over. Franka joined him. She swallowed. It was a long way down.
“Sorry, beloved,” he said. “You are the lightest.”
He handed the end of her rope to Gert. “Keep it taut, and pay it out slowly when I tell you.”
Gert gathered up the slack. “Aye, captain.”
Reiner turned to Franka. “Ready?”
Franka made Myrmidia’s sign, then stepped up onto the wall, her back to the courtyard, and held the spear out to her side. “Ready.”
Reiner crossed his fingers to Ranald and held the torch under the feed bag. The oil caught with a whump and a ball of fire boiled up from the bag, followed by oily black smoke.
“Lower away.”
Franka stepped backward off the wall as Gert let out the rope, and as Reiner watched, walked slowly down the wall, the bag roaring and smoking at the end of the spear like a filthy comet. The entire courtyard was watching as well, the pale, upturned faces of the lancers and pistoliers frowning in confusion.
A few more steps and Franka was at the level of the window slots.
“Now lass! Now!”
Franka jammed the spear point into the window on the left. For a moment Reiner thought all was lost, for the flaming bag became caught between the bars, but Franka pulled the spear back and stuffed the burning mess through like a handgunner jamming wadding into his barrel.
The violence of her action caused Franka to lose her footing, and she banged against the wall, dropping the spear.
“Up!” Reiner called over his shoulder. “Pull her up!”
Gert hauled away. Reiner held down his hand and caught Franka’s wrist as she bumped up the rough wall.
“Did it work?” asked Gert, when Franka had tumbled over onto the roof.
Reiner looked over. Black smoke was beginning to curl out of the murder room windows, and he could hear shouts and choking from below. He grinned. “I believe it did. Ware the doors!” He cried.
He helped Franka up, and they stepped with Gert to the ladder and looked down. With a frantic turning of bolts and scraping of bars, the door flew open and three Hammer Bearers flew out, gasping and retching, accompanied by a great cloud of greasy black smoke. They were in no mood to fight, and Karel, Pavel and Hals just pushed through them as they stumbled past, coughing and weeping sooty tears.
Reiner heard the south door crashing open as well, and a cheer going up from the men outside it. He clambered down the ladder and snatched Hals’ spear, then dashed into the room, ducking low and covering his mouth and nose. The burning bag was under the courtyard-side windows. He stuck it with the spear and hurried back to the door, his eyes streaming, and flipped it out over the battlements.
“In lads!” he coughed, beckoning them. “Man the winches!”
The Blackhearts ran in, stepping to the great spoked wheels that raised the two portcullises. They fell to with a will, pulling on the spokes with all their might, and a great cheer came from the troops in the courtyard below.
More men ran into the room from the south door—the captains. Vortmunder was at their head.
“Meyerling!” he cried. “You surface at last! Good work! I’ll take a day off your stable duty for this.”
Reiner saluted. “Thank you, captain! May I suggest you return to your company. Your way will be clear momentarily.”
“Very good! Carry on.”
Just then the cheers in the courtyard turned to shouts of alarm. Reiner, Vortmunder and the other captains ran out and looked down. Squirming under the slowly raising portcullis was a spreading tide of ratmen. The handgunners were falling back as a company of swordsmen ran in to meet the invasion. Steel clashed on steel.
Vortmunder turned to Reiner. “Raise it as fast as you can, corporal, so that we may charge.” He ran off with the other captains.
Reiner ran into the murder room. “Put your backs into it, lads. We…”
“What is this!” cried a voice. “Who disobeys my orders?”
Reiner looked up. Standing in the south door was a crazed figure. It took a moment for Reiner to realize it was Shaeder. His grey hair was disordered, his eyes wild. He looked like he had aged ten years in a night. He stepped into the room, drawing his sword. The Hammer Bearers who had held the murder room came in behind him, as did their glowering, white-bearded captain.
“Lower those portcullis, curse you!” shouted Shaeder, and lunged at Dag, who was hauling one-handed on the left-hand wheel with Gert and Franka.
“Sod off, y’berk!” said Dag, and punched him in the nose with his ruined hand as the others turned, drawing their weapons. The wheels stopped.
Shaeder stepped back, cursing, blood running over his lips. “You… you dare? You peasant.” He ran Dag through the chest. A bright spike of steel sprouted from the archer’s back. He convulsed, vomiting blood, then raised his head and sneered through bloody teeth. “Get stuffed.” He poked Shaeder in the eyes with his two remaining fingers.
Shaeder howled and jerked back, clutching his face. Dag dropped off Shaeder’s sword and flopped bonelessly to the floor, dead. An unexpected pang of sadness struck Reiner at the sight. He had spent all the time that he had known Dag trying to be rid of him. The boy had been a dangerous madman, but dead, Reiner felt a strange fondness for him. He chuckled sadly to himself. That was the best way, really. Better for Dag to be dead and miss him, than have him running around wreaking havoc.
Shaeder and his Hammer Bearers attacked the Blackhearts on the wheels. Shaeder flailed wildly, half-blind. The Blackhearts defended themselves. A cry of dismay came from the courtyard as the wheels started to spin backwards.
“Damn you, Shaeder!” Reiner ran forward, swinging his sword. He caught Shaeder’s blade before it came down on Pavel’s head. “Gert! Hals! Franka! Stay on the wheels. The rest, defend them!” The Blackhearts turned to their tasks as Reiner thrust savagely at
Shaeder, “What ails you? We must attack!”
Shaeder riposted, forcing Reiner back. The whites of his eyes were blood red. “No! We must die! All must die!”
“You’re mad. We might still win.” Reiner parried desperately. Mad or not, Shaeder was still the better swordsman, and his frenzy gave him strength.
“And have Altdorf learn of this?” Spittle flew from Shaeder’s lips with each word. “No one must survive to get word back. They won’t understand. They won’t see that it was Gutzmann who was the traitor, and I the patriot! We will stay here until the rats overwhelm us!”
The Hammer Bearers shot uneasy glances at him. Their swords faltered. “Do we not wait for Gutzmann to be defeated?” asked the white-bearded captain. “You said Aulschweig came to reinforce us.”
“I said what was necessary.”
Reiner sneered. “So you kill an entire garrison to hide your foolish manipulations? You are worse than a traitor. You are a bad general.”
Shaeder’s eyes went wide. “Villain! Take back that slander!” He rushed forward, swinging wildly. Reiner caught Shaeder’s blade on his hilt, and his shoulder on his chest. The commander clawed for his dagger.
Reiner got his boot up between them and kicked with all his might. Shaeder flew back, flailing for balance. He stopped in the door—or rather, something stopped him. The doorway was filled with dark, hunched figures.
Shaeder looked around as clawed hands gripped his arms and legs. “Who…?”
Reiner and the Blackhearts and the Hammer Bearers stared as a jagged bronze blade reached from behind the commander and sawed his neck open from ear to ear. Ratmen poured into the room over his body before his blood began to flow.
There was a cry from the courtyard. “They’re over the walls!”
The Hammer Bearers stood shoulder to shoulder with the Blackhearts to meet the ratmen’s charge. Hals, Franka and Gert left the wheels to help.
“No!” Reiner ran forward. “Keep turning! We’ll hold ’em back!”
Hals cursed. “But, captain…”
“You’ve the strongest back, laddie.” Reiner cleft a ratman’s skull to its curved front teeth as he joined the line. “Push ’em out! Franka! Close the other door!”
02 - The Broken Lance Page 21
