Warhammer - The Cold Hand of Betrayal

by Marc Gascoigne, Christian Dunn (ed) (lit)

  A sonorous blast from the horn in the gatehouse echoed around the valley, bouncing from the sheer walls which only listened impassively.

  THE SLAVES WERE herded into the fortress with whips and curses. As the last man passed under the arch, soldiers goaded teams of brightly apparelled camels to heave the iron-studded gates closed. Once more the horn gave forth a mournful cry. The slaves exchanged nervous glances.

  As Tomas and Dieter shuffled up the wide thoroughfare, they passed groups of soldiers running to the gate. Townsfolk scurried up alleys, calling to their children and shutting their doors. Tomas grinned.

  'I smell trouble.' he said. Another group of Empire slaves jogged up beside them. A muscular man fell into step next to Tomas.

  'Greetings, Tomas. Have you heard the rumours?' he said.

  'No, Jurgen, but something's stirred up the beehive.'

  'Indeed it has.' Jurgen said, laughing. 'I think our opportunity has arrived, my friend. Crusaders are near, and they're heading this way.'

  PRINCE FRIEDRICH WEISS, commander of the first grand crusade from Wissenburg, leader of five hundred knights and five thousand men-at-arms, sacker of cities and conqueror of towns, reclined in his chair, grateful for the shade his pavilion afforded from the cursed sun. He had just inspected his siege line, which straggled just beyond bowshot around Zarekten's walls. Bivouacs had been pitched, and his army was settling into the siege with well-practiced skill. But the situation was tenuous: his engineers judged that the stony ground of the valley made mining the walls impossible; and the besieged had food, water and thick walls to cower behind whereas the crusaders were running low on supplies and could expect attack from the front or the rear at any moment.

  From outside the pavilion came the creak of the trebuchets as their beams were ratcheted back, and the crash and swish as the counterweights were dropped, launching rocks at the city. The siege engines had been toiling like this for a week, to little avail.

  The pavilion flap was lifted and a tall man entered. He rested his warhammer against a support pole and ran his hand over his bald scalp. It came away slick with sweat, which he wiped on his robe. He regarded Friedrich through heavy-lidded eyes.

  Friedrich returned his gaze and wondered how this warrior priest stayed as pale as a fish's belly in this blasted heat.

  'How is my lord today?' the priest said.

  'Perfectly fine, Brother Kristoff. Except that I look at the walls and see they are still intact.' He stood up and peered out of the pavilion. 'What I would dearly like to see is that place ablaze. What I dearly want to hear are screams as we put the faithless to the sword.' He looked at Kristoff. 'Sigmar is being cheated of his due.'

  'I, too, share your vexation. But Zarekten is a fine fortress.'

  'Be careful what you say, brother. It is a citadel of the godless, a cradle of evil. I expect more intolerance from a man of Sigmar.'

  'Intolerance has nothing to do with it,' Kristoff said. 'The point is, lord, we still remain outside.'

  Friedrich slumped back into his chair. 'It's time we changed tack. We have prisoners?'

  'Aye, lord.'

  'Pick one. Pick a man with a family, and bring them to the armourer's. Treachery runs in an Arabyans' blood. Let's use that to our advantage.'

  Kristoff nodded and left.

  UPON DRIVING THE Sultan Jaffar's forces from Estalia, the armies of the Old World had followed them over the sea and into their own land. Prince Friedrich's desire to build a reputation on the field of battle in Araby had given his armourers and weaponsmiths much work to do.

  Prince Friedrich's crusade had burnt and slaughtered its way into Araby and was now many miles inland. It had breached the walls of Gobi-Alain on the coast and defeated every hastily mustered army that marched to meet it. Castles, towns and villages were being crushed under the heels of the grand crusades from the Empire and Bretonnia, and Araby was reeling.

  The air in the armourer's tent reeked of smoke. Friedrich stirred the white coals in the giant furnace with a brand, as a group of people entered.

  'Translate for me, Brother Kristoff,' he said.

  'As you wish, lord.'

  Four Arabyans were on their knees: a young man and woman, and two young boys. Friedrich felt a twinge of admiration at the defiance in their eyes. He motioned to a guard who stepped forward and grabbed the woman by her hair. She yelped in pain, but kept her eyes on Friedrich. The corner of Friedrich's mouth twitched as he noticed fear flash across the man's face.

  'What's his name?' Friedrich asked Kristoff.

  'Mashtub, lord.'

  'You have a choice to make, Mushtub.' As Friedrich spoke, Kristoff translated in fluent Arabyan. 'If you make the wrong choice, your family will die, but only after my men have had their fun.' Friedrich thrust his face close to Mashtub's, who bowed his head. 'Listen carefully...'

  DUSK SETTLED. THE sky, purpled like a bruise, was speckled with stars and formed a benign roof over the shadowed valley walls. The captain of the gate-tower guard leant over the parapet and scrutinised the siege lines. Campfires burned along the crusaders' picket. He heard men's voices drifting on the breeze and wondered what the barbarians were saying.

  He was about to go to the guardhouse for a cup of sweet tea when he spied movement in the enemy camp and heard angry shouts. He could see three - no, four - figures running towards his gate. Sigmarite soldiers appeared from bivouacs and chased after them. More shouts were raised as one of the pursued tripped and fell. The soldiers set upon him, beating him with their swords hilts. As the others got closer, the captain could see they were Arabyans.

  'Open the gates!' he shouted. Below, the camels lowed hoarsely as they were goaded to stand up.

  The escapees had made it halfway when he saw a line of Sigmarites form up in a line. Crossbowmen. They raised their weapons.

  'Hurry, get that gate open.'

  He heard the staccato rattle as the crossbows fired. One man dropped like a sack of sand with a quarrel through his throat, and another tumbled as a bolt buried itself up to the fletch in the meat of his thigh. He cried out, thrashing on the ground as the Empire soldiers calmly reloaded and took aim.

  The last man was nearly at the gates. Another rattle of bolts and the wounded man was silenced forever, just as the survivor squeezed through the door and collapsed. Guards propped him up against a wall.

  Mashtub stared at them with wild eyes. His right arm was held against his chest. It ended just above the wrist, the stump seared with a brand shaped with an 'S'.

  'Take him to the emir.' the guard captain said.

  'YOU'RE A FOOL.'

  'And you are a coward.'

  Tomas held Drager against the cage wall, his powerful hands gripping his tunic.

  'Call me what you want, Tomas, but there is no shame in survival.'

  Tomas let him go. 'You call this survival?' he said, waving his hand around the cage. 'This is worse than death.'

  'Death is what you will bring us, if you go through with this.'

  'Wecannot waste the opportunity we now have. Not half-a-mile away are our countrymen. At last we have a chance to escape from these wretches.'

  'It's not so bad here...'

  'Not so bad for you, you mean.' Tomas shouted.

  'Hush, Tomas.' Dieter said. 'You'll have the guards down on us.'

  'Wetoil, feeling the lash on our backs.' Tomas said in an angry whisper. 'They work us like donkeys until we fall down dead. You, meanwhile, work with the beasts in this zoo, shovelling dung and sitting in the shade.'

  'It's not like that.'

  'Yes it is. I can see the guilt in your eyes.'

  'Our lives were no better at home. We worked the fields, and in return we have to fight in the count's wars.'

  'This is not just any war. This is a holy crusade.'

  'You deceive yourself.' Drager said.

  Tomas floored him with a fist and turned to the rest of the prisoners. 'Brothers, we have waited long for this day. Our preparations are not in vain
. At last, we now have a place to escape to.' There were mutters of approval and nods of assent. Drager sat down, shaking his head.

  'Listen.' Dieter said. 'Someone approaches.'

  Arabyan guards marched up to the cage. Huashil opened the door and Mashtub was hurled inside. One of the guards spat on him and slammed the gate closed. Mashtub crawled into a corner, eyes averted, his bandaged arm held close to his chest.

  The slaves stared at him. What terrible crime could he have committed to be put in with the lowest of the low?

  'He could be a spy.' Dieter whispered.

  'Perhaps.' Tomas said. 'Let's get some sleep. We'll have a hard day tomorrow.'

  Huashil, hidden in the shadows near the sand dragon cage, crept off, disappointed that there would be no tales of Sigmar or the Empire that night.

  'IF ONLY I could see through stone. I would dearly like to know what goes on outside,' Dieter whispered, as he heaved another piece of shattered masonry into the handcart. The slaves had been set to work clearing the roads of debris caused by the constant bombardment from the besiegers' trebuchets.

  'I share your thoughts, my friend,' Tomas said. 'But soon we will be marching alongside them, avenging our captivity.'

  Drager snorted and spat into the sand. Tomas glared at him. 'You know Dieter,' he said, 'Arabyans rarely spit. They reserve the act as the gravest insult possible. Water is scarce in this land, and they believe that to waste it in such a manner is the act of a bitter or a stupid man.' He picked up another rock and hurled it into the cart. 'Which, I wonder, is Herr Drager?'

  After an hour of backbreaking toil, Mashtub sidled up to Tomas. 'You speak Arabyan?' he asked, pronouncing each syllable slowly and loudly.

  Tomas continued to work. 'I do. I was appointed leader due to my rank and learning, a go-between 'twixt slave and master. I was taught a smattering of your evil language and have had over a year to ingest its foulness.' Tomas turned to him. 'So there is no need to speak so damned slowly.'

  'I am most relieved.' Mashtub leaned closer. 'I am here to help you. I have been sent by your countrymen,' he whispered, pointing towards the curtain wall.

  'Why would you help us? We're your enemy.'

  'I have no loyalty to the emir. He threw me in a cage. He called me a thief.' He waved his stump at Tomas. 'I told him the Empire dogs did this to me. He said, "No matter, is shame on our people that you were captured".' He bowed his head. 'Besides, they have my family. I have no choice.'

  Tomas was not without pity, but, like any opportunity, he grabbed it with both hands. 'What do we need to do?'

  'HOW CAN WE trust him?' Dieter whispered.

  'I don't trust him. How can I? He's heathen.' Tomas glanced over his shoulder to make sure Mashtub was asleep. Most of the slaves were slumbering after being herded back to their cage after an exhausting day. 'But I do believe his story. You've seen how these scoundrels behave, they have no loyalty to each other. He'd betray his own people to save his skin.'

  'Has he agreed to talk to Huashil?'

  'Aye. I just hope he'll see things our way.' He ignored Dieter's sceptical look. 'We'd best get moving,' he said.

  Tomas crept over to Mashtub and shook him.

  'It's time to go,' Tomas said.

  The two men went to the back of the cage where Jurgen pried open a loosened bar. They slid into the narrow gap between the bars and the stone wall and shimmied towards the edge of the cage. They could see the arched gate out of the zoo. As usual it was closed, and two guards stood on the other side. Tomas beckoned Mashtub to follow him.

  'We've been working on a way to escape for months.' Tomas whispered. 'We were just waiting for the right opportunity.'

  They stopped where the perimeter fence of the bestiary met the cliff wall. Tomas lifted up a curtain of rock-creeper to reveal a gap. They slipped through and began to descend through the city. Tomas led the way, creeping through low walled gardens, over flat rooftops, along deserted alleyways and under window eaves. They often had to wait in shadowed doorways as soldiers or citizens passed by. After an hour of nerve-jangling evasion they reached the city wall, at the sixteenth tower, near the east gate, just as Mashtub had instructed.

  They entered the tower. Stone steps spiralled upwards to the parapet, and they made their way up them slowly to the first arrow slit. They could hear sentries' footfalls getting closer, then they faded to silence.

  Tomas peered out. The rocky ground sloped away, bathed in the milky glow of the moons. He took a torch from a sconce in the wall and waved it in front of the slit. Nothing moved. The moons were so bright, how could anyone move undetected? Mashtub pointed to the sky. A cloud passed over the moons and the landscape was plunged in darkness.

  A figure appeared from behind a boulder and sprinted up to them. Tomas held his breath, expecting the alarm to be raised at any moment, but silence prevailed.

  'I'm relieved to see you at last, my friend.' the man said, grasping Tomas's outstretched hand. 'My name is Brandt, Prince Weiss's chief scout. I'm glad we have help, this fortress is proving a difficult nut to crack.'

  'It does this old campaigner's heart good to see a freeman's face again. I am Tomas Strauss, halberdier from the first grand crusade from Averland. My comrades and I are sworn to do whatever you need.'

  'Very well. The walls are too strong to break. Tomorrow night, mounted knights will hide themselves near the east gate. We need you to open it, so they can ride in and hold off the heathens until the infantry arrive. A feint attack will be directed at the main gate to distract attention. Can you do this for us?'

  Tomas did not hesitate. 'We can, and we will.'

  'Sigmar bless you, Tomas.'

  'Be careful.' Tomas said, as the scout disappeared amongst the rocks.

  Tomas and Mashtub, Arabyan and crusader, made their way back to the bestiary, cooperating to survive, but each one wrestling with his own troubles.

  'WE'RE RELYING ON two Arabyans for this to work. Does that not worry you?' Dieter asked.

  Tomas heaved another rock into the cart. 'It does, but there is no choice. We need Huashil to cover our escape. We cannot all leave our cage without raising the alarm. Mashtub is going to tell him that Empire men are merciful, and if he takes Sigmar into his heart he will be freed after the city falls.'

  'Mashtub will choke on those words.' Dieter chuckled. 'Crusaders cut off his hand and even now hold his family hostage. But is Huashil ready to come over to us?'

  'We'll find out soon enough.'

  The slaves were clearing rubble from a market square. Tomas spied Huashil sat alone on a low wall, scribing shapes into the sand with his spear butt. Tomas caught Mashtub's eye and motioned to him. Mashtub nodded and edged his way towards Huashil. He began to clear the area around his feet of stones. Tomas and Dieter watched as the two men began to converse. Soon, all the slaves were looking over as well.

  Tomas knew the risk he was taking. If Mashtub failed to convince Huashil to help them, their plan would fail before it had even begun. His heart dropped as Mashtub walked towards him, slowly shaking his head. Tomas gripped a rock in his hand. They would not take him without a fight. He waited for Huashil to get up and raise the alarm about the planned escape. But he didn't. He remained seated, eyes downcast as he continued to make swirling lines in the sand.

  And Tomas knew he still had one more roll of the dice.

  PRINCE WEISS STOOD, arms outstretched, as squires strapped a black steel cuirass around his chest.

  'It feels good, does it not?' Weiss said. 'The thought of action at last, after sitting on our arses for so long.'

  'For myself, lord, I have been far from idle,' Kristoff said. 'I brought with me many texts to study. And besides, I praise Sigmar in a multitude of ways. Whether it be leading the faithful in rousing prayer, or breaking the faithless with a hammer, it makes no difference to me.'

  'Man cannot live on faith alone,' Weiss said irritably.

  'If all men of the Empire were like me, we would rule all lands under the sun
.'

  'If all men were like you, chaste brother, there would be no new men to fill up the ranks of your armies.'

  Kristoffs face remained still, but Weiss noticed his hands were balled into fists. He smirked. 'Order the men to launch a fire bail. I want a look at the defences before we set out.' He glanced out of the tent flap at Zarekten. 'Order the feint on the main gate to begin fifteen minutes after my departure.' He turned back to Kristoff, grinning. 'That should distract them, eh?'

  TOMAS GAZED UP at the stars. He imagined the Empire knights leading their horses through the rocky defiles towards the east gate, all depending on him. He peered through the bars. He could see two figures behind the zoo gates, and recognised the stooped posture of Huashil. Tomas beckoned to him.

  Come on, little fish, he thought.

  Huashil opened the gate and made his way towards him. 'I will not help you, Tomas.' he said sadly. 'I cannot betray my people.'

  Tomas licked his lips. 'How can it be wrong to turn away from a life without faith, and face the glory of Sigmar?' Tomas said. 'He was a great man, who through learning and wisdom transcended his mortality to become a deity. You are a learned man, I've seen you write. You must understand.'

  Huashil looked at the ground and shook his head. 'But I don't believe. My faith is only in what I see and hear.'

  Tomas looked despairingly at him, but he caught a flicker of doubt in Huashil's tone.

  'I need a sign that Sigmar would recognise my faith and reward it.' Huashil said at last.

  'Sigmar will not reward you before you turn to him, for then you are not showing true faith. Only those whose faith is blind will prevail.'

  Huashil shook his head, and before Tomas could act he turned and made his way back to the gate.

  From behind the distant city walls, a blazing comet of yellow light rose sharply up, smearing the night sky with its radiance. It grew bigger as it arced over the outer buildings of Zarekten, flames roaring like a vengeful dragon. The city was awash in a bright orange glow and the flaming orb seemed to hang in the sky, before plummeting back to the ground on the end of its burning tail. It disintegrated on impact, sending waves of fire and fountains of sparks into the air.