“Couldn’t sleep?” Adelrich asked as he appeared out of the shadows, making Dietz jump and then yelp, as Glouste registered her displeasure by digging sharp claws into his thigh. “Sorry,” the scout added with a laugh, sinking to the ground beside him and accepting a full water skin.
“Anything?” asked Dietz, slapping the tent behind him to wake Alaric. He continued until he heard movement within. A moment later his employer had emerged, bleary-eyed, and was sitting beside them. Kristoff and Fastred had also heard the commotion and were out a moment later. Adelrich waited until everyone was present before replying.
“Nothing,” he admitted. “I found the camp easily enough, thanks to Druber’s scouts. They’ve got a large force here, perhaps as large as those beastmen back in the Howling Hills.” The others winced at the thought of that many orcs arrayed against them. “No sign of the statue, though, and they don’t use tents so it couldn’t have been hidden inside.”
“Could it be hidden in a crevice nearby?” Alaric asked, and the scout shrugged.
“Could be,” he admitted. “I couldn’t search them all, not without risking discovery myself. I didn’t see anything, though, and no signs of its being dragged that far down the pass.”
“We know it’s here,” Dietz pointed out, “somewhere.”
“It would be somewhere important,” Fastred commented, accepting the water skin from Adelrich. “Somewhere they could offer it sacrifices.”
“They might have moved it, though,” Kristoff said, ignoring the others’ groans. “Well, they might. Either because they feared discovery or because they found a better location.”
“It hasn’t left this pass,” Adelrich asserted. “I’m sure of it. Haas would have noticed if they’d carried it across to the other side, and they wouldn’t bring it up here and then carry it back into the Empire.”
“I agree,” Alaric said finally. “It’s here somewhere. We just have to find it. We’ll search every pass if we must, but we will find it.” He glanced around, noticing the fatigue on everyone’s face. “We’ll start tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TEN
The next morning they woke with the dawn. All around them the Empire soldiers were rising, washing, eating, relieving themselves, and receiving orders for the day. Alaric gathered his companions off to one side and they discussed their own plans over the meagre breakfast Druber had provided.
“We’ll need a map of the area,” he pointed out, and continued briskly to get past the dismay he felt and saw in the others as well. Renke would have loved the Black Fire Pass, with all its side passages and tunnels. “Holst, ask Druber for one—he’s more likely to give it to you.” Holst nodded. “Adelrich, we’ll need to start scouting the rest of the pass. Speak to Haas’ scouts and tell them what we’re seeking—not why, just a general description. That way if they see it we’ll know.” Adelrich nodded. “The rest of us can search as well. We’ll cover more ground if we spread out, though we’ll stay close enough to hear one another shout. I don’t want anyone getting jumped by orcs.” He thought about it. “Adelrich, I’ll want you checking upper passes we can’t get to. We’ll watch the ground.” He glanced around. “Right, then?” They all nodded. “Good. Let’s get to it.”
The day passed slowly, as did the next. They learned a great deal about the Black Fire Pass, about its cracks and gaps, and tunnels and caves, and cliffs and ledges. They learned to hate the sight of the cold stone around them and the feel of the wind dipping down into the pass, and the chill of the rock below them when they slept. They learned to tolerate Druber’s short answers, and dry biscuits and over-salted beef. They learned to respect Haas’ tactical sense and his concern for his men. They also learned that, though the Black Fire Pass had thousands of hiding places suitable for the statue, not one of them held anything of interest, at least none of the ones they had yet found.
As the second day wound down, one of Haas’ scouts burst into the camp, barely slowing as he dodged between soldiers and ran for the command tent. Alaric and the others had just returned themselves and were telling the commander their lack of success when the scout appeared at the tent flap.
“Sir!” The man stood at attention until Haas waved for him to continue. “The orcs are on the move, sir!”
“How many?” asked Haas quietly, turning his attention towards the map spread across the one large table in his tent. It showed the Black Fire Pass and had the orc camp clearly marked, with a mass of lead pellets representing the enemy.
“All of them, sir!”
“That got Haas’ attention. What?”
“They’re all on the move, sir! The entire camp!”
“The full warband is moving?”
“Yes, sir!”
A rustle at the tent flap drew their attention, and Sergeant Druber stepped in. “Just heard, sir. Other scouts confirm it. Entire warband mobilised.”
“Show me,” Haas commanded, and sergeant and scout both stepped to the map. Alaric and the others followed.
“Travelling back towards us,” the scout explained, cupping his hand around the pellets and sliding them down through the Black Fire Pass. “At their current speed they’ll be here by midnight and here by dawn.” He indicated two spots on the map. Druber glanced at the locations and nodded his agreement. Haas considered, then selected one pellet and set it on the further location.
“We will take them here at first light,” he stated. “Druber, prepare the men. We attack with full force at dawn.”
Druber saluted and he and the scout left. Haas watched them go and his eyes trailed across Alaric, and then returned to him. “You and your men as well.”
“What?” Alaric stepped up to the map. “Commander, I appreciate what you’re doing here, but we have our own mission to complete.”
Haas shook his head. “You’ve found nothing, and may never find anything. I know how easily things can disappear in this pass. I need every man I can get tomorrow, and that includes yours.”
Alaric started to protest again, but Dietz stepped up beside him. “If the orcs have the statue, they’ll be carrying it with them,” he pointed out, causing his employer to pause. “They wouldn’t leave it behind.”
“And what if they already have it hidden somewhere safe?” Kristoff asked.
“Then we can find it at our leisure after the battle,” Adelrich replied. “It would be far easier to search if we weren’t looking over our shoulders every instant.”
Alaric considered this for a moment. “We are not soldiers,” he pointed out, deliberately ignoring Holst off to the side. “We can handle ourselves in a fight, certainly, but we are neither trained nor equipped for war.”
Haas frowned, and then nodded. “Fair enough. I’d ask that you guard this pass here, then.” He tapped a spot on the map, indicating a route that branched off from their selected location. “Make sure no one sneaks up on us from that side,” he continued. Then he glanced back up at Alaric and shrugged. “You will be off to one side and may have to do nothing more than scare off any orcs that look your way. Your presence will free up my men to concentrate on the attack.”
“Well, in that case,” Alaric bowed, “we are at your service, commander.” He straightened up again. “We will march with you at first light.”
“Good.” Haas favoured him with a small smile. “I know this is not why you’re here, but I appreciate your aid. Afterwards, assuming we are the victors, you will have my full support for your mission.”
Alaric nodded, then led the others from the tent. “Searching would be far faster with so many more eyes,” he admitted as they returned to their own tents to gather their gear. “Assuming we survive.”
Dietz slept fitfully that night, and was still shaking the sleep from his head the next morning as they gathered alongside Haas’ troops. He had never fought in a war before—fought, yes, even killed, but never marched. The fact that they were only guarding a side passage did not change the fact of riding into a major battle, and he knew they could find thems
elves in combat at any point. The idea of confronting so many enemies, so openly, unnerved him, and he could see many of his companions felt the same. Alaric was paler than usual and holding himself with brittle dignity, clearly unwilling to show his fear. Fastred was less concerned with appearances, the big man grumbling about foolish obedience and the idiocy of sending untrained men to their doom. Kristoff was quiet, though he held his reins so tightly Dietz thought they might snap, and Adelrich could not sit still. Only Kleiber showed no trace of concern.
Holst and his men were calm, of course, but they were trained for this.
“Not my kind of fight,” Adelrich admitted to Dietz as they rode out behind Haas’ soldiers. “Scouts aren’t usually deployed for a stationary defence—we’re better at striking from a distance and from cover, and then fading back to let the heavier troops mop up.” He laughed. “I keep wanting to duck up a trail and hide.”
“So do I,” Dietz said, knowing how his friend felt, “but Haas is no fool. He won’t throw lives away. He has a plan.”
Dietz’s words proved prophetic. Upon reaching the designated area, a space where the pass widened considerably, Haas called his men to a stop and began placing them to face the approaching warband. He acted without hesitation and it was clear that he had planned each placement well in advance. He sent the scouts up the cliffs on either side to rain arrows down upon the orcs. One contingent was placed in a shallow ravine along one side with orders to close in once the orcs were past, cutting off their escape. Alaric, Dietz, and the others on horseback were stationed across the mouth of a narrower path cut into the opposite wall.
Haas gathered everyone together, surveying them calmly. He turned towards the scouts. “You will fire as the orcs reach this point, halting them in their tracks.” His gaze moved to Sergeant Druber, who was sitting beside Alaric and leading their mounted soldiers. “You will lead the charge,” Haas told his sergeant bluntly. “Stay well back and out of sight. When you hear the archers firing, race back here and into the enemy’s midst. Do not stop—just cut through to the back. Then wheel around and strike from behind. We will strike from the front, forcing their attention back to us, and then the secondary force will hit from behind on the opposite corner. They will be divided, confused, and unsure where to focus. We will constrict and crush them between us.” He looked over to Alaric. “You and your companions will hold this pass and prevent anyone from attacking us through it. Go with Druber and stay out of the way. Then move to the mouth of the pass once he charges.” He swept his gaze across the assembled men. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” the men thundered back.
Haas nodded. “Good. To your positions, men, and remember, we fight to protect the Empire!”
“It’s a good plan,” Alaric commented as he followed Druber, who led him, Dietz, Kleiber, Kristoff, Fastred, Holst and his men to their assigned position. “Takes advantage of his assets and maximizes the enemy’s confusion; very efficient.”
“Will it work?” Dietz asked, reminded again that his employer had received military training from childhood. He was disappointed to see the look of resignation on the younger man’s face.
“No,” Alaric sighed. “The warband is too strong. Haas will damage them, certainly, and slow them, but he lacks the numbers to defeat them.”
“Then his men ride to their deaths?” Kristoff asked softly, an odd note in his voice.
Alaric nodded, shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. The attack will fail, unless something shifts the odds. But will they survive? Who can say?”
“Sigmar will defend us all,” Kleiber insisted, and Alaric laughed, though not meanly.
“Perhaps he will,” Fastred said, almost pleading. “After all, this is the site of his greatest victory. If his spirit defends his people anywhere, it is here. Perhaps he will protect us.”
“Perhaps,” Alaric agreed lightly, almost too easily. “We shall see.” Then they were in place and all conversation ceased as they calmed their horses, loosened their weapons, and readied themselves for battle.
The time stretched on, each second agonizingly long, yet it was less than an hour before Alaric heard the stomp of heavy feet and the deep pounding rhythm of a war drum. During that time he had closed his eyes and tried to recall everything he had learned as a child, every lesson his father and cousins, uncles and brothers had drilled into him. Despite Haas’ claim, he knew they would probably see combat themselves before the day was over, and the old training might finally prove useful, he thought as he dredged up long-forgotten instructions. Breathe slowly and carefully. Relax your hands and shake them to keep them loose. Grip your horse with your knees, not your ankles and strike for the head and neck. Watch their eyes, not their hands. Think one move ahead. It all blurred together, making his head swim, and he was almost grateful when the drumbeat pulled him back to the present. Opening his eyes he glanced beside him and saw Dietz there as always, the large axe Druber had provided clenched in both hands, Glouste safely tucked within his leather jacket.
“This is it,” Dietz said quietly, and Alaric could hear the near panic in his voice.
“No it isn’t,” he said, trying to keep his own voice from shaking. “We still have that statue to find, remember? And I’ve got those marks from that temple to translate. I can’t die before I’ve figured them out.”
His companion laughed as he’d hoped. “You would stave off Morr himself with that, wouldn’t you? ‘I can’t go yet, I haven’t solved that riddle!’”
“Of course,” Alaric replied, feeling better for helping his friend. “He’s a careful god, he’d understand.”
Whatever Dietz might have said in reply was drowned out by the sound of grunts, shouts and bellows, mixed with the beat of the drum. The orcs were near. Then the air was filled with a rushing sound like a heavy rain, and Alaric knew the scouts had launched their arrows—louder shouts and shrieks and the cessation of the drum confirmed they had struck.
“Let’s go!” Druber shouted, kicking his horse to a gallop and drawing his long sword as he dashed from the side passage. His soldiers were with him and Dietz and the other travellers followed close behind, but Druber was ahead by half a length as he barrelled out from the path and back into the valley.
The sight there almost stopped Alaric cold. The entire warband was arrayed before him. He had seen orcs before, but nothing like this. At least three hundred of them filled the valley, decked in mismatched plate, chain and leather, skulls and chains draped about them. Feathers and tattered cloth, and what looked like flesh waved above helms and caps, and the air was filled with spear tips, axe heads and swordblades. Many of the orcs had painted their thick hides with blood and mud, and other mixtures, creating red, brown and black patterns against their green skin. They were hideous, nearly as tall as a man, but far wider, with heavy, bestial features and long hairy arms ending in oversized, clawed hands. Many of them were milling about, uncertain, staring at the arrows protruding from many in their midst, but their weapons were still firmly clasped, and even as Druber sped towards them the orcs’ grunts turned from surprise and pain to rage.
Then the sergeant was upon them. “For the Empire!” he bellowed, lashing out with his blade and carving an orc’s head from its shoulders. His horse kicked another in the chest, knocking it aside so it slammed into two more and bore them to the ground. Orcs were everywhere, closing in on Druber, but then the first of his men reached him, cutting down an orc from behind, and the rest of the mounted soldiers were soon forming a tight cluster in the midst of the confusion. The soldiers laid about them with swords and axes, hacking through orcish spears before the weapons could be brought to bear.
They formed a spear of their own, Druber at the tip, and they pierced the orc ranks and drove through to the other side, though Alaric did not realise it until the sergeant and his men had gone a full length past the last orc. Then Druber was wheeling about, turning his steed back towards the orcs. Many of the creatures had turned, following the
horses’ path, and were now regrouping to face them, bellowing curses and brandishing weapons eagerly.
Then a shout was heard off to the other side and from the front: “For the Empire!” And Haas’ men attacked. Alaric felt strangely elated as he watched Druber kick his horse back into a canter and return to the fray. His eyes drifted across an orc who seemed larger than the rest, and after a second Alaric’s brain registered the difference. The orc wasn’t larger, but simply closer. It was heading right for him, and now he realised at least twenty more were right behind it.
“Get ready,” he called to the others, drawing his rapier, though his words were barely more than a whisper. Not that it mattered, as they had noticed the approaching orcs as well.
“Aaagh!” Alaric shouted as the orcs reached him, though it came out more as a yelp. He slashed the first orc across the throat, its blood fountaining upward as it crumpled to the ground, a look of surprise slowly reaching its face. A second one was right behind it, and Alaric blocked a heavy axe blow that made his sword shiver and his arm shake. He couldn’t parry many other blows like that and his heart sank as the other orcs clustered closer, raging to reach him and tear him from his horse. Somewhere he thought he heard Morr laughing. Then he heard a surprising bellow behind him and felt more than saw a familiar presence at his back.
“Ulric!” It was Dietz, shouting like a true berserker and lashing out with the axe as he drove his own horse up alongside Alaric. Together the horses barrelled forward, kicking, biting and shoving, and the orcs fell back before them.
“Sigmar!” came a thundering cry behind them, and Kleiber was there, longsword clasped in both hands. His blade flashed about him as he rode, carving through orcs, and for an instant Alaric thought Sigmar would indeed be proud of the witch hunter’s prowess and devotion. Fastred was beside him, just far enough away to stay clear of the sword, and he was firing his crossbow at any orc in his way. Holst and his men brought up the rear, spears levelled to impale any orc within range. The orcs faltered, their momentum gone, and Alaric took advantage of the pause to skewer another through the throat. More than half the attacking force was dead already and they made short work of the others, until finally the pass was empty of foes again. Alaric rested his sword arm across the front of his saddle and leaned forward, forehead against his horse’s neck.
01 - Day of the Daemon Page 14