“Rowena.” Karel clutched Reiner’s arm. His grip was painfully strong. “Tell her I died… thinking of her.”
Reiner nodded. “Certainly I will.” The poor fool, he thought. The girl had likely forgotten him as soon he had left her sight.
“But,” Karel pulled him closer. “But… invent a better death.” He grinned up at Reiner, though his eyes gazed past him. “You’re good at that, aye?”
Reiner smiled sadly. “Aye, laddie. That I am.”
Karel relaxed his grip and sank back. “Thank you. You aren’t… what Manfred said.” His eyes closed.
“Poor foolish boy,” said Hals.
Pavel made the sign of the hammer. Franka murmured a prayer to Myrmidia.
“He’d no business being mixed up in all this,” said Gert.
Reiner snorted. “None of us did.”
A noise brought their heads up. They looked around. The sound came from outside the compound—the slow hoof steps of a single horse, echoing hollowly off the walls of the ravine. As they watched, it wandered through the gate, unguided by its rider, who was revealed slowly as it moved out of the shadow of the wall. The knight hung sideways from the saddle at an unnatural angle. A broken lance drooped from his mailed hand, blue and white pennons smeared with blood and dirt. His eyes stared vacantly beyond them.
“Sigmar!” hissed Pavel. “It’s Gutzmann!”
They all stood and turned to face the dead general, but no one seemed eager to approach him. They were transfixed. A chill ran up Reiner’s spine as Mannslieb cut through the clouds and haloed the dead rider. Where had he come from? Had he got lost in the army’s pursuit of the ratmen? Had he followed the Black-hearts?
The horse stopped in the centre of the compound, its head low, as noises began to come from the mine—the thud of boots, the creak and jingle of armour and sword, and above it all, loud laughter and exuberant banter—the voices of a victorious army returning from battle. Reiner stole a look behind him. Lancers, swordsmen and pikemen were swaggering out of the mine, boasting to each other of their exploits. Others came limping, or carrying fallen comrades, but even these seemed to be in an ebullient mood. The enemy was vanquished. The Empire—or their little corner of it—was saved.
Their merry chatter faltered and fell silent however, as one by one they noticed the lone knight sagging gracelessly from his saddle in the moon glow. They came forward in small groups to stand with the Blackhearts, until at last the entire garrison—or what was left of it—stood in a half circle, looking at their leader, who in life had nearly led them to folly, but in death had led them to victory.
They watched thus for many minutes, no one wanting to end the unearthly eeriness of the moment. But then, with a loud snap, one of Gutzmann’s ropes broke and he crashed to the ground.
The garrison gasped and cried out. Then Captain Halmer, who had been standing with his men, stepped forward. “Make a bier. Carry him back to the fort.” He raised his hands. “May Sigmar bless our fallen general!”
The garrison raised their voices in unison. “Hail Gutzmann! Praise Sigmar! Long live the Empire!”
The crowd of soldiers began to break up as some of Halmer’s lancers went forward and started making a makeshift stretcher of their lances. Riders found their horses, pikemen and swordsmen formed up in their shattered companies.
Halmer saw the Blackhearts and saluted. He crossed to Reiner and clasped his hand, then leaned in. “The garrison and the whole of the Empire owe you. I owe you. Unfortunately, for the morale of the men, I think it might be best if they were allowed to continue to believe that Gutzmann died here, now, after the battle was won, rather than before it began.”
Reiner exchanged wry looks with his comrades. “That’s all right, captain,” he said. “We’re used to it. Heroic deeds play best when it’s heroes that perform them. Nobody wants to hear a ballad about the blackhearts that propped a would-be deserter on his horse and sent him off to save the day.”
Halmer scowled at that. “Good. Then you would do well to keep it to yourself He turned on his heel and began calling the troops to order.
Franka rolled her eyes. “The soul of diplomacy as always.”
Reiner shrugged, grinning. “The truth is never diplomatic.”
The sun rose on a cold, bright morning as General Gutzmann led his army for the last time. Four knights carried him back to the fort on crossed lances as their comrades marched silently behind them, heads uncovered, and swords, lances and pikes held at the shoulder. The ceremonial mood was marred however, when it was discovered that another army occupied the fort. A thousand fresh Aulschweig knights, spearmen, swordsmen, and crossbowmen held the great south wall and the keep. An Aulschweig captain at the head of a company of swordsmen held up a hand as the column entered.
“Baron Caspar Tzetchka-Koloman’s regards,” he said, “and would you be so kind as to ask your captains to meet him in the great hall?”
Halmer stiffened. “A foreigner gives orders in an Empire fort?”
“It is a request only,” said the Aulschweiger, bowing.
“Very well,” Halmer said. He dispatched a corporal to summon the other captains.
Reiner didn’t like the look of things. He motioned his comrades off to one side. “I think, lads, that it is time for us to go. Collect your things and meet me back here as soon as you can. We’ll want to be away before.
“Hetsau!” came Halmer’s voice.
Reiner cringed. He turned and saluted. “Captain?”
Halmer dismounted and stepped close to him. “I may have need of your guile just now. You will attend me as my assistant. Come.”
Reiner sighed. “Right ho.” He looked back at the Blackhearts as Halmer led him towards the keep. “Get ready,” he mouthed.
Baron Caspar waited for the garrison’s captains on the steps of the great hall. He looked every inch the dashing hero, dressed in armour of silvered plate, with a cloak and surcoat of blazing white over it.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” he said. “Pray come in.”
He turned and led them into the great hall, which was still in great disarray after being used to house pike and sword companies the night before. Caspar pushed through the clutter of benches and tables and stepped up onto the raised dais, extending a gracious hand. “Take your seats, gentlemen.” He circled the table and dropped into Gutzmann’s chair.
The captains froze where they were.
“My lord,” said Halmer. “That is the general’s chair.”
Caspar shrugged. “I am a general, yes?”
“Yes, but not…”
The hall’s great double doors boomed closed behind them. Reiner looked around with the others. Armed men filed through the side door and surrounded them.
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Captain Vortmunder.
Caspar smiled. “It means I now have the right to sit in this chair.”
Vortmunder stepped forward. “But you were the general’s friend. He was helping you…”
“And the general is dead,” Caspar cut him off. He sighed. “I was becoming tired, anyway, of all the delays. All the shilly-shallying. Of having to beg for Gutzmann’s gold and make extravagant promises to get it.” He sat forward. “Now I no longer have need of such compromises. Now I no longer have to buy the golden eggs, since as of this moment, I own the goose that lays them.” He laughed. “This is the best of all worlds! With the mine and the fort in my possession, my brother will not long stand against me. I will rule Aulschweig, and soon all the principalities!”
“You swine!” cried a knight captain. “You break treaty!”
“The Empire will destroy you!” said Vortmunder.
“You won’t get away with this!” said Halmer.
“The Empire will never know,” said Caspar. “For no one will leave here. Besides, as long as I continue to send Altdorf a few meagre shipments of gold they won’t bother to ask who sends it to them.” He smiled. “And if they do someday learn who holds the pass, it will be too late, for I wi
ll have built my own empire by then.”
“You madman,” cried Vortmunder. “You are a mere tick on the backside of the Empire. You…”
Caspar shot to his feet. “I will not be insulted in my own keep!” He shouted. “Speak to me that way again and you will be shot.” He sat back down, composed again. “Now. You will be held hostage against the good behaviour of your men until I decide how to dispose of them.”
Reiner watched the captains seething with impotent rage as Caspar outlined his commands and conditions. Their hands clenched. Their eyes bulged with fury. They were too angry to think, too outraged by this grievous insult to the Empire to examine the situation. At any moment one of them might explode and say something that would get them all killed. Reiner didn’t wish to die. Something had to be done. He leaned in and whispered in Halmer’s ear. After a moment, the lance captain nodded.
“My lord,” he said, stepping forward. “I regret to inform you that you are too late. Altdorf will be sending a force to reinforce this garrison within a month.”
“What do you say?” asked Caspar, sitting up. “What’s that?”
“A messenger was dispatched before we left the mine, my lord,” replied Halmer. “Informing Karl-Franz of our battle with the rat-men and requesting reinforcements. There will be a full garrison on its way as soon as he reaches Altdorf. And though you may well hold the fort against that force, you won’t hold it against the force that will come after the first. The Empire is relentless against its enemies, as you know. It will not stop until you have been wiped from the face of the earth.”
Caspar turned red. He turned to one of his captains. “Send a squad to hunt down this messenger. I will kill him before he leaves the mountains.”
“You might, my lord,” said Halmer levelly “And you might not. He has quite a lead.” He coughed. “I have another suggestion that you might find palatable.”
Caspar glared at him. “You think to make terms with me? You are my prisoners!”
“It is only a suggestion my lord. You may do with it as you will.”
“Speak,” snapped Caspar.
“You might, my lord, allow a second messenger to be sent after the first, informing Altdorf that you hold the fort for them. That after Commander Shaeder’s betrayal of General Gutzmann to the ratmen and the subsequent loss of the fort, you rode in and saved us.”
Vortmunder turned on Halmer, eyes wild. “What horrible lie is this! We needed no help! We defeated the ratmen! We held the fort!”
“But we don’t now, captain,” said Halmer. “Would you rather lose the fort to assuage your pride, or serve the Empire with your humility?” He turned back to Caspar. “My apologies, my lord. As I was saying, you could send a message to Altdorf that you have saved us, and that you hold the fort for Karl-Franz until reinforcements can be brought up, thereby keeping the Empire’s southern border safe.”
Caspar sneered. “And why should I do that? Why should I kiss Karl-Franz’s spotty behind?”
The captains bridled at that, but Halmer only smiled. “Because, my lord, just as the Empire’s vengeance is relentless, so is its benevolence limitless. In return for your help in this matter, the gracious Empire would support you against your brother and very likely back you in your ambitions against the other princes of the region. Altdorf has for centuries longed for more stability on its southern border.”
Caspar sat back in his seat, brow furrowed. Reiner could see his suspicious nature fighting with his greed and ambition. He smiled. He knew which of those combatants always won out with a man like Caspar. He exchanged a look with Halmer and nodded. The captain had done a masterful job. He hadn’t made any demands, any threats. He had laid it out as Reiner whispered it to him. A reasonable plan presented by a reasonable man.
After a long moment Caspar nodded. “Very well, send your messenger. But you will be held as hostages in Aulschweig. If Altdorf betrays me, you will all die. You understand me?”
Halmer and the others nodded, their heads held high. They knew that, in reality, the Empire would come for Caspar’s head, and Caspar would kill them for betraying him, but they were knights of the Empire. They were ready to make this sacrifice.
Reiner, on the other hand, was not. “Er, captain,” he said to Halmer. “I would be honoured to be allowed to convey this message to Altdorf.”
TWENTY-ONE
Freedom
Reiner chivvied his comrades out of the fort as quickly as he could. His shoulders remained tense as they waited while horses were found and they were outfitted and provisioned. At any moment Caspar might change his mind and lock down the fort, or Halmer might decide he had too much need of Reiner’s guile to let him go. But at last they were all kitted out and mounted up, with a little pony cart following them to carry their supplies. Reiner had insisted on the cart.
Hals spat over his left shoulder as they got under way, riding into the pass out of the shattered remains of the tent encampment outside the fort’s north wall. “Ain’t sorry to be showing that place my backside.”
“Didn’t think I’d get out with mine intact,” said Gert.
Pavel laughed. “Ye’ve enough. Y’could’ve left some of it behind.”
Franka shivered. “The sooner we’re out of these accursed mountains the better.”
Jergen nodded.
Reiner spurred his horse. “I agree. But we have a stop to make first.”
The mine’s third tunnel was choked with the bodies of ratmen, piles of them, their limbs and torsos broken and cut to ribbons.
At the end of the tunnel where the explosion had closed it off the bodies were packed to the ceiling, and it appeared that these had torn each other apart in their frenzy to return to their underground world. The wounds that had killed them weren’t the straight cuts of swords, but the ragged shredding of claws and teeth.
But though the stench of blood, bile and filth was unbearable, Reiner had searched every foot of it, for he couldn’t find Gutzmann’s gold. Reiner had led the Blackhearts to the spot where he had discovered the crates, but they were no longer there. At least he was almost sure they weren’t. He couldn’t be certain he hadn’t missed them somehow.
He cursed. “We’ll search again as we go up,” he said.
Hals made a face. “But what do we look for?”
“Is it really worth all this stink?” asked Pavel.
Reiner shot a look at Gert and Jergen. They were all that was left of Manfred’s new men. Either one could be his spy. And at the same time, neither could be. The spy might have been… Dag? It hardly seemed possible. More likely Abel. But if that was the case, he had decided early on to switch from observer to leader. And what had become of him anyway? Reiner hadn’t seen the quartermaster since he had betrayed him to Gutzmann.
“Aye, it’s worth it,” Reiner said at last. “It’s evidence. For Manfred. Something that’ll impress him. That we might be able to use to convince him to free us. Now come. Pavel and Hals, look on the left. Gert and Jergen on the right. Franka, stay with me in the centre. Don’t miss an inch.”
The Blackhearts groaned and began trudging back up the tunnel.
Half an hour later Reiner had to admit defeat. The crates were nowhere in the tunnel. The Blackhearts returned to their horses and the cart, and at last got on the road for Averheim and Altdorf.
Reiner was glum, his shoulders slumped. The gold had been their chance at freedom, and now it was gone. They were back were they were before Manfred had sent them on this fool mission—firmly in his clutches with no way that Reiner could see to get out. It was maddening.
As they passed out of Brunn and started up the next rise Franka patted his arm.
“Don’t feel so bad,” she said. “Didn’t we survive?”
“Aye, but for what? More servitude?”
Franka looked at him. “Don’t you feel any pride in what you’ve done? If you hadn’t put Gutzmann on his horse and tricked all his men into following him, the day would have been lost. The ratmen would
hold the fort, and everyone would be dead. You…”
“A thousand men!” said Reiner suddenly.
“What?” Franka frowned. “Where?
Reiner laughed, loud and long. “Pavel,” he cried. “Open a bottle of wine.”
“Hey,” said the pikeman. “Now?”
“Yes now. I need a drink. We all do. A celebration.”
Pavel shrugged and dug through the supplies on the cart.
Franka scowled at him quizzically. “What are you on about?”
Reiner wiped his eyes and shook his head. “When I was in the ratmen’s tunnels trying to free you, and it looked like we wouldn’t make it, I made a pledge to Ranald that if he saved me, I would not touch drink again until I had tricked a thousand men.” He grinned. “Well, he saved me.”
Franka smiled. “And you tricked a thousand men.”
“And now I need a drink.”
Pavel handed Reiner a bottle and he raised it. “Here’s to luck and the brains to use it.” He took a long drink and passed it to Franka.
“Here’s to those that didn’t make it, and to us that did. Sigmar bless us all,” she said, and tilted the bottle up for a few swallows. “And Myrmidia.” She passed it to Pavel.
“Here’s to home and hearth,” he said. “May we see them again at last.” He drank and passed the bottle to Hals.
“Here’s to Gutzmann,” he said. “May he sup with Sigmar tonight.” He drank deep and handed the bottle to Gert.
“Here’s to new friends,” he said. “May we drink again in better circumstances.” He gulped down two big swallows, then passed it to Jergen.
The swordsman raised the bottle, but not his eyes. “Freedom.” He drank and returned it to Reiner.
The others nodded, and echoed him. “Freedom.”
Reiner finished the bottle, then tossed it at the rocky wall of the pass. It smashed into a hundred pieces. Red drops spattered the rocks.
A few miles later, the companions came around a bend in the path and saw a cart up ahead. It was in a ditch, and the horses and driver nowhere in sight. As they got closer, Reiner noticed crates on the back of the cart, and his heart jumped. He recognized them. He spurred his horse forward. He was shaking. Could it be?
02 - The Broken Lance Page 23
