“What is that maniac doing now?” Dietz muttered, stumbling over to Alaric. His employer was still asleep—bitter experience had taught Dietz that the younger man could sleep through anything—but beside him was an unfamiliar cloth-wrapped bundle. Using his knife tip Dietz nudged it open to reveal Kleiber’s pistol, the powder horn, a small pouch Dietz knew held the ammunition, and a note. Deciding this was beyond him, he nudged Alaric none-too-gently in the side with a boot tip until the young noble awoke.
“Wha-what?”
“Kleiber’s gone,” Dietz reported, getting in one last nudge. “He took off, but left that for you.”
Alaric rolled over and sat up, rubbing at his face. “Gone? Where?” He picked up the pistol with one hand as if he’d never seen one before, then set it back down and unfolded the note.
“‘I will bring a distraction. Be ready to fire,’” he read. He read it again, more slowly, and then turned the scrap of parchment over as if hoping the blank reverse might hold some explanation. Finally, he hauled himself to his feet, snatching up the pistol, horn and pouch as he did so.
“He’s mad,” Alaric grumbled as he stalked over to the others, who had also been awakened by Kleiber’s departure.
“That’s what I said,” Dietz agreed, following him and absently petting Glouste. His pet had been forced to spend more time within the shelter of his jacket lately, and was enjoying this brief quiet by draping herself in her favourite position around his neck and across his shoulders.
“I don’t know what Kleiber intends,” Alaric informed the others after he’d read them the note, “but he clearly believes it will be enough to draw the beastmen away from their camp. If he is right we’ll need to be ready.”
“And if he’s wrong?” Renke asked.
“Then,” Alaric said, grinning, “we will have to save him.” The idea of rescuing the arrogant witch hunter amused everyone, and a sense of cheer filled the camp as they gathered their gear and readied for battle.
“You’ll be needing this,” Dietz told Fastred, holding out his crossbow, but the older man shook his head and handed it back.
“My sight is still cloudy,” he explained, “and that’s not something you want when firing into a crowd.” Instead, he drew a long curved sword from a scabbard hanging off his saddle. “This will do for now.”
Next Dietz wandered over to Alaric, who was standing to one side, staring off in the direction of the village.
“Who’s handling the pistol?” he asked bluntly.
“I will,” Alaric replied absently, then turned and laughed at the look on his companion’s face. “Don’t worry, Dietz! I do know how to handle a pistol, you know. Decent shot, in fact—my arms instructor was quite pleased. Father was more angry than ever, though—I think he’d rather I’d been terrible at it than have the talent but not the inclination.” He didn’t explain further, and Dietz knew better than to ask—over the past year he had learned enough about Alaric’s youth to know it would not be a cheerful tale.
Finally they were ready. They rode towards the beastmen’s camp and reined in the horses just shy of the obstructing hill. Alaric, Dietz and Adelrich climbed to the peak again while the others remained mounted below, ready to charge if necessary.
The encampment looked unchanged, and beastmen still fought and slept, and snarled and ate everywhere. Clearly Kleiber’s intended diversion had not yet begun.
“Now we wait,” Alaric commented, ducking back below the rise and settling onto his haunches. He loaded Kleiber’s pistol and set it beside him, within easy reach, stuffing the pouch and the horn back into his belt. Dietz had Fastred’s crossbow beside him, its bolt chamber fully loaded, and Adelrich had his longbow at his side and an arrow held loosely against it.
An hour passed. Growls and barks echoed up from the valley behind them, but there was nothing unusual. Dietz found himself dozing in the warm sun that had pooled about them, and kept shaking himself awake. Adelrich was asleep, showing a soldier’s knack for falling instantly into slumber and just as quickly emerging from it when necessary. Alaric alone did not succumb, but sat brooding upon the hill, worrying about what they would be doing and its possible outcomes.
It was almost noon when the volume of snarls, whines and howls increased. Adelrich was awake at once, nocking his arrow even as he turned to glance over the hilltop. Dietz started and then turned, raising the crossbow. Alaric shifted so that he was kneeling, the pistol balanced on a small outcropping and aimed down into the valley. Behind them the others readied themselves.
Adelrich spied him first, and gestured with the arrow. “There.” Dietz and Alaric glanced where he indicated and saw a horse charging down a hill opposite them, directly towards the camp. Kleiber had both sword and dagger drawn and they could hear him shouting dedications to Sigmar as he rode.
Then the growling grew even louder as more beastmen topped the hill behind him and swarmed down after him.
“He’s pinned!” Alaric gasped, starting to stand, before Dietz yanked him back down. “And they’re driving him back into their camp!” Adelrich, watching the witch hunter’s approach, smiled slowly.
“Clever bastard,” he said softly, gesturing towards the rider with his chin. “Look. He’s not fleeing—he’s leading. They’re chasing because he wants them to.”
Dietz studied the scene and nodded. Kleiber did not look desperate, only driven. Several beastmen actually tumbled past him down the hill. Instead of turning to attack him as he approached, however, they ignored the witch hunter now behind them and charged forward—into the camp. Dietz suddenly understood what he was seeing.
“It’s the other tribe!” he all but shouted. “He’s brought the other tribe!”
Adelrich nodded, grinning as he rose up, bow in hand. Alaric followed him, finally registering what Dietz had already noticed—these beastmen had different markings and different weapons from the ones below. Kleiber had apparently gone back to the settlement they had passed before and had led those savages here. Now, faced with a rival tribe, they were in full battle-frenzy.
Nor was the second tribe of beastmen sitting idly by. As the invaders charged, the beastmen below gathered their weapons and ran forward, snarling and slavering as they moved to defend their home. The first from each side collided, fur and blood flying, and soon it was a mass of bodies and weapons. Kleiber had ridden past the defenders and wheeled his horse around, cutting down any beastmen who made it through the tumult.
The others were already on their way down as well. Adelrich, Alaric and Dietz had charged down as soon as the beastmen were occupied, and were now approaching the outskirts of the camp. Renke, Kristoff, Fastred, Holst and the soldiers were right behind them, but despite their horses most of the beastmen paid them no mind. They were too intent upon killing one another.
Finally Alaric paused, not forty paces from the statue. It was as hideous and unsettling as the one they had seen in Rolf’s shop, though that one had still been pristine. This statue was covered in gore, and the bones at its base indicated the sacrifices it had received. Dietz thought it seemed larger than the other and more organic, its edges softer and a bit blurred as if it was flesh rather than stone, and it was shifting slightly, as if to take a breath.
“It’s magnificent,” Alaric whispered, staring at it. “I couldn’t get a good view in Rolf’s shop—the lighting was too dim. Those runes around the base—I’ve seen similar, but none so complete or so extensive! Most likely they’re—”
Dietz slapped the younger man across the cheek, almost sending him sprawling. “Don’t look at it!”
“Right, right.” Alaric recovered his balance, straightened, and raised the pistol. He paused again, the barrel shifting before him, and then pulled the trigger.
Blam! The crack echoed through the valley, causing many of the beastmen to halt their attack and glance around. The bullet struck true, impacting the statue where neck and head would have met, and sending a long crack shivering through the stone. However, it did n
ot crumble.
“Damn and blast!” Dietz raised the crossbow, squinted, and fired. His aim was not as good, however, and the bolt skittered across what might be a wing. He fired again, shifting the stock down and to the right, and this time struck it near one shoulder. The bolt embedded itself in the statue, sending another crack through it, but still the icon held together.
Adelrich had been eyeing the beastmen, several of whom had quit their tribal warfare to deal with this desecration, but now he turned and loosed a quick shot towards the statue as well. The arrow sped true, its head driving into the gap Alaric’s first shot had created and widening the crack farther. Now the gap extended from the neck to the stomach and was wide enough in places to insert a finger.
Alaric had been quickly but carefully reloading, and now he fired again. His second shot was just to the left of his first and produced a second crack that paralleled the other, intersecting it just below the chest. Dietz’s next shot struck a hand, chipping what he thought of as a claw, but his fourth hit the same shoulder as before, and with a loud crack the joint shattered. That side—he shuddered as he realised it was an arm—pulled free, splintering the limb below as it fell and shattering as it struck the hard ground.
Adelrich had his back to them and was shooting approaching beastmen. Most of the savages were still occupied battling each other, but enough had broken off to require his attention. Then the soldiers arrived, Kristoff, Fastred and Renke beside them, and while they dealt with those savages nearby, the scout returned his attention to the stone target before him. An arrow slammed into the first crack a foot above the previous impact, widening it yet more, and another struck the second crack, but glanced off.
Alaric had loaded a third time and raised the pistol again. He aimed carefully and fired.
Bang!
The steel ball struck the statue just below what would be the chin, between his first and second shots, and the already weakened neck could not withstand the additional impact. With a resounding tear eerily similar to the sound of rent flesh the neck disintegrated, the head toppling backward. It tore the wings from the body as it struck them and continued its descent, exploding when it hit the ground.
The repeated blows had weakened the statue throughout, and when the wings broke free the remaining arms crumbled as well, along with large portions of the torso. The jagged chunks of stone were large enough to demolish more as they fell, and soon little remained but the base, one foot and part of a leg. A cloud of dust filled the air around them, sending the men into a coughing fit as they frantically rubbed to clear their eyes of grit.
Seeing this, the beastmen from the camp howled in rage. Many of them turned towards the trio, intent upon destroying them in turn, but the invaders took the opportunity to attack from behind and soon the savages were forced to focus upon the rival tribe again.
“Time to go,” Dietz pointed out, dragging Alaric away just as the younger man pulled a small notepad from his pouch.
“I need to—” Alaric protested, but gave up when he saw the beastmen still fighting not a hundred paces away. “I suppose I can study the next one,” he admitted, tucking the notepad away again.
“Where are you going?” Kleiber demanded, riding up to them as they began climbing back up the hill. “We must destroy these foul creatures!”
“No, we came to destroy the statue, which we did,” Fastred replied, wheeling his horse about to give Alaric, Dietz and Adelrich cover as they ran. “Time to move on.”
“Besides,” Renke added from nearby, “they’re killing each other anyway. By nightfall both tribes will be too weak to pose a threat to anyone. Most of them will be dead. Does it matter who killed them?”
Kleiber stopped, surprised at the small man’s pointed remark, but after a moment he nodded and sheathed his blades. “Sigmar’s work is done,” he announced, glancing back a little regretfully. “These beasts will hunt no more.” He turned his horse and followed the others up the hill.
They did not pause once they’d reached the safety of the other side, but continued on, riding for several more hours. Finally they stopped long enough to eat and feed the horses and relieve themselves.
When they were dismounted Kleiber marched up to Alaric. The young noble assumed the witch hunter wanted his pistol back and proffered the weapon, but the fanatic took it with barely a glance. “You fought well,” he intoned, glancing first at Alaric and Dietz and then at the others. “Through your efforts that foul statue was destroyed.” He grimaced as if the words pained him, but set his jaw and continued. “I… approve of your actions.” Then he walked away again.
“Great,” Dietz muttered to Alaric as he watered their horses. “If we survive breaking two more statues and facing who knows what perils, he might even admit we’re decent folk.”
“It’s something to look forward to,” Alaric replied with a smile, stroking his horse’s neck. He turned as Holst approached.
“Where to next, sir?” the sergeant asked, and despite his low tone Dietz knew everyone was listening.
Alaric realised it as well, and frowned. He considered the two possibilities carefully, trying to block his own bias, and finally shrugged. “Best if we keep moving south,” he said, swinging back onto this horse. “That way we won’t leave one of these things behind us.” He kicked his steed into motion. “We ride to the Reikland.”
Only Dietz knew his employer was from that province, and only he noticed how hesitant Alaric had been to select that destination.
CHAPTER SIX
They spent the next week riding. Adelrich pointed out, late one night when he and Dietz were the only two on guard, that he would have cut south and west through the Howling Hills until they’d reached the Hulzrenne. Following that small river would have led them down to the River Talabec, which flowed straight to Altdorf. Most likely they’d have found a boat along the way.
Instead of this quick, painless route, Alaric had led them back to Eldagsen, then back to Mittelweg. From there they had followed the road’s other fork, veering south-west towards Altdorf. At Kutenholz the road had split again, but instead of staying south towards the Reikland capital, Alaric had turned his mount west towards the Ridge Way and the Wastelands.
“Why are we taking this route?” Renke had demanded when they had camped earlier that night. As a member of the Imperial Geographic Society he had access to the Empire’s best maps and he had demonstrated on their way to the Howling Hills that he had an excellent knowledge of the area. He had agreed completely with Alaric’s choices on the way to the Howling Hills, but now the little man seemed genuinely surprised and even slightly affronted.
“We’re heading towards the Barony of Drasche,” Alaric replied casually, though Dietz noticed his employer’s hand tightening on the water skin he held. “This is the best route.”
“Surely taking Talabec to Altdorf—” Renke began, but Alaric cut him off.
“We’re not going through Altdorf.” His harsh tone startled the slender geographer into quiet, but now Kristoff joined the discussion.
“Why not?” he asked, taking a swig from another water skin and wiping droplets from his beard with his free hand. “It does seem the fastest way into Reikland.”
“It is,” Alaric agreed tersely, but after a second he realised this answer would not satisfy the others. “We need to head west, not south. We can pick up the River Reik at Carroburg and follow it west to the Hundleir. That is the southern edge of Drasche and takes us right to Merxheim, though,” he admitted quietly, “I’m in no hurry to visit the region or its ruler.”
“You have an impressive knowledge of Reikland,” Renke commented after a moment. “I admit I’d not thought of the Hundleir.”
“It’s only a small tributary,” Alaric said with a shrug, “and easily overlooked. For our purposes, however, it is perfect.”
“I still wonder why we do not stop in Altdorf first,” Fastred asked, accepting the wineskin from Kristoff with a nod. “We could resupply there and send rep
orts back to Middenheim.” His sly smile reminded them that each member of the small group might wish to report, but to completely different people. Though united on their mission, everyone served a different master.
“Carroburg is large enough for that,” Alaric pointed out, “and still within Middenheim, which should make both tasks easier. It is also far quieter than Altdorf. Much as I love that city, entering it would distract us from our task and most likely cause us several days’ delay.”
The others nodded and let the matter drop, satisfied that Alaric’s reasoning was sound. Dietz knew better, however. His employer did indeed love Altdorf, almost to distraction, and rarely passed up a chance to enter its walls. They were not avoiding the city, but the area around it. From Altdorf they might have taken the Weissbrock Canal, which ran through the Reikwald Forest and could have deposited them in farmlands south of their destination. That would put them within range of Ubersreik to the south, and that was the home of the von Jungfreuds—Alaric’s kin. Clearly the young noble wished to avoid his family at all costs. Since the detour was not that difficult, adding a few extra days in the saddle, but no other complications, Dietz was content to leave it alone.
“He wants to get in and out of Reikland as quickly as possible,” he told Adelrich in reply, which was certainly true. “So we’re heading straight for our destination.”
“I’d have gone by the river,” the scout repeated with a shrug, “but then I’m a man of Middenheim and not familiar with the ways of our south-west neighbour. He seems confident in his route and I’ll trust in his judgement.”
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