The Red Feast - Gav Thorpe

by Warhammer

  ‘Two seasons.’ The correction came from Norgro, and Athol realised the veteran hunter was right. Norgro heaved up his bulk and walked around the fire, arms crossed over his bulging chest. ‘It was last Chillfrost when Golvarian slavers tried to capture folk from one of the edge-camps. And it wasn’t a battle. They ran before we arrived, and you would not let us chase them.’

  ‘What’s the point of risking death and injury fighting a foe that has already fled?’ Athol asked. ‘Would you have us stab an enemy in the back?’

  ‘If they’re fool enough to turn,’ answered Norgro.

  Athol turned his attention to the clay vessel at his feet. He deftly sliced off the jug’s stopper with his spear tip, reversed the weapon and used the haft to lift the bottle. Sliding it from the lacquered wood he took two long draughts of the spiced milk. It burned into his gut. Perhaps he would have held his tongue without its influence, but the fiery liquid stoked the unsettled thoughts that had been nagging at him since the Bataari’s confident summoning of his champion and Khibal Anuk’s warning.

  ‘I say it again, is that what this is about? You are spoiling for a fight?’ He strutted up to Norgro and took another swig of drink. ‘Restless, are you?’

  ‘The Aridians have made us their pets, Athol,’ declared Gushol, a one-eyed figure dimly seen beyond the dance of the flames.

  ‘They hide behind our swords and we drink from their teats,’ added Korlik. ‘The other tribes–’

  ‘The other tribes fear the Khul,’ snarled Athol. ‘For good reason. Our ancestors came here, and fought, and died, and shed blood so that we could know this peace. It will not remain. Our rivals have short memories and we will wet our blades to remind them soon enough.’

  ‘Why do we not take what we want from the Aridians?’ said another of the crowd, the silversmith called Grakas. She jabbed a bejewelled finger at Athol. ‘You are too close to them, spear-carrier. They have tamed you. I smell Aridian perfume on you, not the blood of our foes.’

  Grinding his teeth, Athol stared at the group, trying to understand what was happening. It took a few moments to realise what it was that had been nagging at him. Thirty or so of his tribe, men and women, coming together to air this grievance now? They were from different families of the Khul, but none of them was actually the head.

  ‘I see it now,’ he told them. He raised his voice, scornful. ‘You spoke to your elders and they laughed at you, didn’t they? What did you do, ask them to speak out against me at their council? Perhaps made you feel like fools for questioning this good life?’

  ‘The elders speak only for themselves now,’ said Gushol.

  ‘They think they know everything,’ added Korlik.

  ‘No.’ Athol dropped his voice, barely heard over the crackle of burning wood. ‘They know better. They know better because when their parents were children, the Khul were a hunted, despised people. Outsiders, invaders, hated by the Flamescar tribes. We preyed on them, tried to take from them, as you say we should take from the Aridians, and they were united in their scorn for us. Do you forget the tales your great-grandparents sang to you? Why do you choose to ignore the scars that left on our people?’

  ‘You are weak, Athol.’ The challenge was not shouted, but it was not whispered either. He was not sure from whose lips it had passed as he scanned their faces.

  The spear-carrier forced himself not to reply. He wanted to demand the person make themselves known. He wanted to offer them the opportunity to back up their words with actions, to offer silent invitation to challenge him. The frustrations of the day lined up inside him to make him give voice to the anger in his heart, but he bit it back. There was no good outcome to this situation that ended with violence. He knew there was none that could best him, but the challenge would not end the divisions, only widen them.

  His face was hot but it was not from the flames. Athol relaxed the fist at his side.

  ‘Speak again to your elders,’ he managed to say, and took a long breath, tasting smoke, sweat and skisk. He nodded, the act calming him further, self-assuring. ‘The council leads, not me. I am just the spear-carrier.’

  ‘You’re the bridge between us and the Aridians, not the elders,’ said Gushol. ‘But maybe you are just the spear-carrier now, no longer Khul at all.’

  Athol let the jug drop from his fingers and let out a long breath, controlling his anger. Without further word, he turned and left.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It began with a long horn blast that rolled down the valley like a bank of noise, seeming to gather strength and pace. The clear note of challenge was joined by more, the thunder of several drums and the thudding of hafts and pommels on shields. As a punctuation to the blaring horn, the warriors raised their voices in a drawn-out shout.

  ‘Skullbrands!’ roared Threx, hoisting his axe high. ‘Skullbrands!’

  A clamour of alarm rang up from the sleeping town, gongs and shouts almost lost amid the continued cacophony of the warband. Doors were flung open and stunned occupants raced and stumbled into view, some half-dressed, others clutching weapons and scraps of armour as they hastened into the streets.

  ‘I hope we’re not interrupting anything important,’ Threx announced with a grin. Laughter rippled along the Skullbrand line. ‘It was worth marching overnight just to see the insects scurrying from their nest.’

  ‘Look there, by the high tower,’ said Vourza, to his right. She pointed with her sword towards the centre of Wendhome. More heavily armoured figures had formed a knot around a dragon-blazoned banner, a squat figure with gilded helm at their centre.

  ‘Yourag,’ growled Foraza.

  Threx’s humour dissipated at the sight of the Korchians’ leader. Yourag was shouting, waving his slender blade frantically at the warriors around him. Hundreds more armed Korchians surged through the streets, some heading for the broad central square around Yourag’s keep, others gathering in the space behind the gatehouse facing towards the wooded hill.

  ‘How many fighters did you say they had?’ The question came from Nerxes as he made his way to Threx behind the still-baying line of warriors. ‘I count at least twelve hundred.’

  ‘More than us,’ said Foraza.

  ‘Yes, more than us,’ snapped Threx. ‘But that doesn’t matter. We fight for a cause. Most of these cowards would pay us to humiliate a dog-son like Yourag.’

  ‘I don’t know…’ Nerxes tossed his head back, his sculpted fan of hair like the crest of an Aspirian’s helm. ‘The Korchians will see this as an attack on all of them.’

  Threx bared his teeth and stepped out of the line again, turning to face his warriors from a dozen paces in front. Their shouting and drumming quietened, leaving only the continuing noise of battle preparations from Wendhome.

  ‘Remember why we’re here. I just want Yourag! Nobody else touches him.’ A storm of shouts and shield-battering greeted this declaration. His mood improving, Threx continued. ‘This is the moment the Skullbrands restore their pride. Our children’s children will look back on this day and will raise voice to our names. Skullbrands! Skullbrands!’

  The call became a deafening roar, undulating from one end of the line to the other and back again, each syllable marked with a crash of shields or stamped feet. Grinning, Threx turned back to Wendhome, the sunlight now starting to mark the tapered points of its upper stockade. A column of sorts had been formed behind the gateway, the drake-flag of Yourag somewhere near the middle.

  ‘The coward won’t even lead his own army out!’ cried Vourza. Laughter and jeers rumbled around her.

  The gates opened and the Korchian army spilled forth like a river breaking a dam. The warriors at the front hurried on to make room for the others, keen young men and women, long hair plaited and slapping on their bare backs, carrying short swords and small shields. They kept together as a group, advancing swiftly up the slope until shouts from their elders behind caused them to stop about three hundred paces from the Skullbrands. More orderly lines of armoured fighters followed
, creating bristling groups of spear tips where they formed up behind their youngbloods. Threx glanced along his line and smiled. He’d brought nothing but veterans with him, each having seen at least five raids or full battles.

  ‘Time to get things started. Nerxes, Foraza, Vourza, come with me.’

  He set off without waiting for acknowledgement of the command, striding down the slope towards the hundreds of Korchians still emerging from their fortified town.

  ‘I’ll give them a sliver of credit for meeting us in honourable battle rather than cowering behind their stockade,’ said Nerxes.

  ‘Nonsense,’ growled Threx. ‘Yourag knows that if he denies us an honourable fight and makes us attack the town, I’ll burn it to the ground and drive him from his lands. He’s not ready to risk that.’

  In the midst of the advancing warriors the drake-flag pushed forward, a glint of gold marking the progress of Yourag through his throng. Threx and his companions were about a hundred paces distant when the lines of opposing fighters parted. The Korchians’ warlord appeared, flanked by giant warriors each a head taller than Threx and decked in ornate mail and plate.

  ‘They look lively,’ muttered Foraza.

  ‘Bigger targets, that’s all,’ replied Threx as they forged through the long grass. A few hundred paces from the wall the grass was cropped short, piles of animal dung testament to the culprits. Threx glanced around but could not see the Korchians’ grazing herds.

  Closer now, he examined Yourag. The chieftain of the Korchians was a solid, short man with near-black skin, his eyes stark as he glared at the approaching party. Beneath a breastplate of iron he wore a robe of a light, scarlet material that hung to his knees. He wore no helm, his head topped with a mass of curled black hair threaded with gold.

  ‘That be close enough, fish-fondlers,’ shouted one of the guards when Threx and his delegation were about thirty paces away. Threx stopped and the others gathered close, lending their support with proximity.

  Yourag came forward a dozen more paces, a bony hand on the pommel of the triangular blade that hung on his right hip. His eyes did not leave Threx.

  ‘Watch for any tricks,’ growled Threx before he broke away from the group, axe held casually over his shoulder. He continued until he was about ten paces from the Korchian warlord and swung the axe down, its head resting on the sun-scorched ground.

  ‘You know why we’re here,’ he said.

  ‘To die?’ replied Yourag, one eyebrow raised.

  ‘To demand apology,’ snapped Threx, flexing his fingers on the handle of the axe. ‘One way or the other.’

  ‘Go away, you stupid boy, and I will forget about this nonsense.’

  ‘You call me boy?’

  ‘You’re an adult, Threx of the Skullbrands, but this behaviour is childish. Does your father know you have brought his war-kin all this way to be humiliated?’

  ‘You will accept that your words were wrong, Yourag, or my axe will kiss your neck.’

  ‘No, it won’t. And I won’t. I told the truth, that is all. Now go. I will not give you another warning.’

  ‘When the blood is dried on the grass and you are broken and shamed, remember that you had this chance.’

  ‘We’re done, Threx.’

  Yourag turned away, showing his back to the Skullbrand war-chief. Threx wanted to bury his axe in the spine of the arrogant pig but the traditions of the parley were still in effect until they had returned to their lines. He was there to right a wrong, not bring more shame upon the name of the Skullbrands. Seething, he strode back to the others and waved for them to head back to the battle-line.

  ‘Blood time,’ said Foraza as he pulled free his sword – a single-edged Bataar-forged blade that had been the end of two score and more enemies.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ asked Vourza.

  ‘I get to Yourag, hold my axe over him and demand apology,’ Threx replied.

  ‘That doesn’t sound like a plan,’ said Nerxes. ‘More like a hope. An aim, maybe?’

  ‘What’s to plan?’ said Threx. ‘We run down the hill, kill Korchians until I get to Yourag, and then the army will surrender.’

  ‘We’ll be surrounded,’ Nerxes pointed out.

  ‘In the heart of the enemy, you mean.’

  ‘Cut off from retreat, I would say.’

  ‘Luckily none of you are planning on running away, are you?’

  Nerxes grabbed Threx’s arm and pulled him to a stop, staring deep into his eyes.

  ‘I’m no coward, Threx, I just want to help you win.’

  ‘Then cut a way to Yourag for me,’ the war-chief replied. Even if he was having second thoughts, which he was not, it was too late to back down. His humiliation would be even greater now that the challenge had been made and accepted. ‘Only blood will settle this now, cousin.’

  ‘Then listen to me for a moment.’

  Threx was already bored of his older cousin’s nagging but he nodded all the same. ‘You’ve been reading more Aspirian books, haven’t you?’

  ‘Their youngbloods will try to fight and then pull back, bleed us a little bit and slow us down before Yourag sends the rest of his army around our flanks. Send our hundred fastest runners to take them on and lure them out to the flanks. We’ll drive through the gap and straight towards Yourag. Like you say, we only need to get to him and the battle’s won. Split the rest of the army into three, one part to either side to drive outwards and isolate Yourag, a small force to hit the centre and get you into reach.’

  ‘That’s a plan, is it? Split my army all over the place?’

  ‘It’s tactics, cousin.’ Nerxes looked away for a moment, glancing back at the Korchians. Several dozen warriors were moving from one end of the line to the other as Yourag made some final adjustments to his battle plan. ‘Think of it like this, Threx. You don’t need to chop a man apart to beat him, just grab both his wrists to stop him attacking you and then headbutt him in the face.’

  Threx pictured this and grinned.

  ‘Yes, I like that idea. I see what you mean.’ He slapped his cousin on the shoulder. ‘Go and arrange it, yes?’

  With a resigned smile Nerxes ran up the hill and started calling out to the most seasoned warriors as he approached, passing on the orders.

  ‘He’s a smart one,’ said Vourza. ‘Listen to him and the Skullbrands will prosper.’

  ‘He’s cautious,’ replied Threx. ‘Before we left he tried to convince me that this was all a bad idea. He’s practical, for sure, but forgets that the heart of our people demands honour, and to lead needs courage.’

  ‘Came anyway,’ Foraza said.

  ‘That’s true.’

  They were almost back with the bulk of the war-horde, and Threx turned to survey the enemy. They had backed off a little way, towards the level ground around the town. On the left a small river meandered down the slope, not broad or deep enough to form a forbidding obstacle but one that would slow down the attack or force that side of his army towards the centre.

  ‘Nerxes!’ he bellowed, waving for his cousin to come over. Nerxes said a few more words to the group of warriors he was with and then headed towards the war-chief.

  ‘What do you make of that, tactics man?’ Threx asked, thrusting his axe towards the enemy.

  ‘It’s good. It means Yourag wants to defend and then counter-attack. If we make the first charge quick, and make it count, he won’t get the chance. It’ll be risky though.’

  ‘It’ll be worth it to see Yourag grovelling before us,’ said Threx, eyes narrowed as he sought out the opposing chieftain.

  ‘Right enough. When the youngbloods have been cleared aside, we’ll push ourselves right down their throats. The warriors on the flanks will be worried about coming around us because we’ll have the rest of the army ready to pounce on their backs too. Their numbers won’t count for anything. But he’ll have those big ones near him, and his best fighters around him.’

  ‘We’ll be better,’ Threx assured his cousin. He raised his ax
e and his voice. ‘Skullbrands, now is the time to bare our blades and show our wrath. Blood demands blood!’

  A roar and clattering of weapons greeted the declaration.

  ‘Lift the banner twice,’ Nerxes told Foraza.

  ‘What for?’ the standard bearer replied.

  Nerxes spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve arranged signals for when to attack.’

  ‘Right,’ said Foraza, his eyes straying to Threx.

  ‘To start the attack on the youngbloods, yes?’ Threx checked with Nerxes.

  ‘That’s right,’ his cousin replied, patience visibly wearing thing.

  ‘You heard Nerxes, raise it twice,’ said Threx.

  Foraza hoisted the standard high and then again. The signal was rewarded by a shout of acknowledgement from Gaizan a short distance away. He set off down the hill with a group of the youngest and nimblest warriors.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Nerxes.

  Threx stroked a hand across the blade of his axe but said nothing, lost in the thought of laying its edge upon the throat of Yourag.

  The din of clashing weapons and angry shouts rang across the hillside. Threx did his best to remain calm, advancing down the slope with his warriors spread out to either side, Foraza with the banner flying above at his right shoulder. He wasn’t sure exactly what Nerxes had said to Gaizan, but the Korchians’ youngbloods had been goaded into charging the knot of warriors that had been sent against them, drawing them to the left, towards the narrowed space beside the river. Threx threw a glance towards his cousin, just a few paces to his left. Nerxes was keeping pace with the others, wooden shield painted with a red crow in one hand, his single-handed axe in the other.

  Beyond, and to the left, the Skullbrands stretched out in an uneven line of warriors. The slope was still steep and the grass too long for an effective charge, but the Korchians had given up that advantage in exchange for the river on their flank.

  ‘Close up!’ bellowed Nerxes, turning his head to the left and right. ‘Foraza, wave the banner to the left and right three times.’