Valdner seemed to digest the question for a time. There was a suspicious shine to his eye as he questioned the men again. “When we left the count’s service,” he began, doing an admirable job of keeping resentment from his voice, “the baron was attached to the count’s army. Why should he be wandering the wilds far from where the war is being fought?”
“That, I fear, is our business,” Kessler said. Valdner nodded grimly, favouring the swordsman with the son of look a serpent might give a sparrow.
“Perhaps you should tell him,” interjected Ottmar. The sergeant hurried to explain before Kessler could object. “If we are to press on, we need more men. Captain Valdner’s soldiers might be willing to set aside their grievances if they understood what was at stake.”
“They’re mercenaries,” protested Eugen, “sell-sword scum! The only thing they understand is their filthy blood money.”
Kessler motioned for the knight to hold his peace. Valdner seemed to take the outburst in his stride, more interested than insulted by the exchange between the three men.
“Are your services for hire, captain?” Kessler asked. He still did not trust the mercenary, but what Ottmar said was true, they needed more men if they were going to make it to the Black Mountains. Valdner’s mercenaries were literally the only game in town.
“They may be,” Valdner answered. “It depends on the price, and on a full explanation of what it is you expect of my men.” His voice dropped to a dangerous hiss. “And a full accounting of how Baron von Rabwald died.”
“Agreed,” Kessler decided, ignoring the warning look that Eugen directed at him.
Valdner turned, extending his hand to indicate the town hall. “I am on rather excellent terms with the burgomeister. I am sure he will lend us his council chambers to discuss the matter at length.” He smiled as the three Wissenlanders followed him to the stonewalled building. “After all, devils always lurk in the details.”
Theodo Hobshollow waited outside the town hall of Fritzstadt, for the negotiations with the mercenary captain to conclude. From his perch outside the window of the council chamber, he had been able to hear much of what had transpired. He’d heard much that was of interest, and one or two things that were of extreme interest. As the meeting broke up, he stamped his foot down on the massive palm supporting him. Ghrum quickly lowered his arm, forcing Theodo to clutch the ogre’s thumb to keep from falling.
The halfling glared up at Ghrum once he was safely on the ground again. “Don’t take up pottery,” he said, adjusting his dishevelled vest. Noting the dull look his friend gave him, Theodo rolled his eyes. “You’d smash all the pots with those clumsy meat hooks of yours!” he explained irritably.
“Rather be hunting,” Ghrum decided after a moment of thought. “Tastes better than pots.”
Theodo shook his head. It wasn’t that ogres were stupid, though it took their minds a long time to mull over anything too complex, it was the fact that everything with them boiled down to “can I eat it?”. The halfling smiled and patted his own prodigious gut. That was probably the reason they got on so well.
Theodo left Ghrum to puzzle over some of his other careers of choice and squirmed around the side of the building to watch as the men left the town hall. Valdner’s expression was hard to read, but at least there was no outward show of hostility. Kessler’s step was less heavy than it had been, so something must have turned around for him. Ottmar looked more at ease too. It was Eugen who was the black spot, the fly in the ointment. The scowl the knight wore looked like it had been borrowed from a witch. While the other men walked towards the inn, Eugen took his leave of them, stalking off towards the streets of Fritzstadt. The halfling nodded his head knowingly. He waited for a few seconds, and then scurried after the knight.
Eugen wasn’t quite as dull-eared as most men, and he caught the halfling following him after turning only a few corners. Of course, Theodo wasn’t putting any special care into being quiet. He made a broad gesture of showing his hands to the knight as Eugen rounded on him, favouring him with his most ingratiating smile. The tension drained from the knight’s body as he found that his pursuer was nothing more menacing than a halfling cook.
“Going for a walk?” Theodo asked.
“Yes,” Eugen replied, turning away.
“Mind if I come along?”
Eugen turned back. After the meeting with Valdner, after failing to convince Kessler to turn back, he was in no mood for the halfling’s company. “Yes,” he said.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Theodo said, shaking his head sadly. “I thought you might need some help.” Eugen’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the halfling. “I’m quite good at hiding things,” he explained cheerfully. He reached into the pocket of his vest, displaying the strange message he’d found. He chuckled as the knight backed away. “Of course my services aren’t cheap. Costs a lot to feed an ogre.”
The scowl on Eugen’s face became almost murderous. “I’ve never seen that before,” he growled. He had seen the strange message Ekdahl and Kessler had discovered and brought to the attention of Baron von Rabwald. He knew that it was evidence of a spy in their midst. He knew that Theodo was aware of the fact too.
“You’ve seen it now though,” Theodo continued. “Other people might see it too, if I let them.”
The knight lunged at the smirking halfling, closing a fist around his throat. “You scheming toad!” he snarled. “You dare accuse me, a knight, of being a spy!”
Before Eugen’s grip could tighten, the knight was hurled back. He smashed into a mud brick wall with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. By the time the black spots stopped dancing in his eyes, Theodo was adjusting his rumpled clothes. Ghrum was towering over the halfling, violence smouldering in the ogre’s monstrous face. The halfling laid a restraining hand on the ogre’s gigantic boot. So incensed had he been by the halfling’s insinuations, he’d failed to hear the ogre lumbering up the street.
“Now, now,” Theodo scolded. “If you kill him, how do I make him pay?” It was more the tone than the words that appeared to make Ghrum subside. Theodo focused his attention back on Eugen. He tapped the strip of goatskin he’d shown the man, and then carefully replaced it inside his vest.
“Think things over, marshal,” Theodo told him. “Nothing good comes of being too hasty, after all. Once you’ve reached a decision, you know where to find us. I’m sure you’ll make the right choice when the time comes.” He raised his eyes meaningfully to the hulk looming above him. “You know what will happen if you don’t.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Janos Grubner watched the motley, mismatched group of men ride out into the breaking dawn. The innkeeper looked across the dirt expanse of Fritzstadt’s tiny town square. Every doorway and window was filled with drawn, haggard faces, eyes blazing with resentment. The burghers had paid Valdner and his men good money to protect the town, and now they were gone, riding off with this man who bore the count’s letter of marque. It had taken most of the horseflesh in town to outfit the gang, and Valdner’s mercenaries had availed themselves of the opportunity to ransack the Fritzstadt armoury, blatant looting made legal and just by the letter from the count. Even if half the able men in town hadn’t marched north to answer the muster, there was nothing now to arm them with.
Janos could see the fear and spite in the eyes of his neighbours, the sense of betrayal and violation their town had suffered. Burgomeister Paulus had hidden in his manor, refusing to answer the outrage of his citizens. The innkeeper couldn’t blame him, between the count’s letter and the brutish swagger of the thug who carried it, there had been nothing Paulus could do to recover the situation. Now all he had left was to bury his head in the sand and trust that everything would blow over soon. The situation up north would stabilise and he’d be able to send his complaint to Wissenberg and receive compensation for what had been commandeered. The town guard and militia would return, preferably before any goblins became aware of what ripe pickings and low risk Fritzstadt
offered in its current circumstances. Paulus had to have faith in his optimism that things would get back to normal, and he had to try to impart that faith to the good people of his town.
The innkeeper knew he was affected as much as anyone else by the departure of Valdner’s men, that he shared the same dangers as the rest of the undefended town. Somehow, he couldn’t help but smile as he watched the last of the sell-swords trot out through the gate. He touched the breast of his tunic, feeling again the heavy leather bag hidden there, the bag he’d been given in the dead of night by one of the ragged warriors who had marched into town the day before. There was a wonderfully calming quality about gold, especially in the right amount. The warrior didn’t even want Janos to do very much to earn it, just give a letter to a man who would be calling at the inn within a day or so, nothing more. Then Janos would be free to close up his inn and relocate to Pfeildorf or maybe Nuln until things quietened down. With his late night windfall, he’d be able to do so in style for quite some time.
Only one thing troubled Janos. He wasn’t a man who enjoyed riddles, and the puzzle left behind by his furtive guest had been gnawing at his mind. He’d opened the letter to discover what sort of message he’d been entrusted with. There were no seals upon it, so there was no risk in having a peak. The problem was that what was written on the parchment wasn’t anything he was familiar with. The characters were just a meaningless jumble of signs and marks, certainly not the letters of Reikspiel or the sharp runes of the dwarfs.
Janos shrugged. It was a mystery, and doomed to remain so. Once he was in Nuln, he’d have plenty of distractions to take his mind off the enigma.
“Get that four-legged cripple out of my way, baron-boy!” The roar came from the bearded mercenary Raban. There was a gloating, self-assured mix to the anger darkening the sell-sword’s face, the tell-tale taint of a brute spoiling for a fight. Kessler kept his expression cold as he turned in the saddle. He let his eyes shift across Raban’s hairy face, and then swept his vision to the jumbled piles of slate that lined the path.
“Yes, I mean you!” Raban snarled, genuine irritation in his voice. Kessler stopped looking for the imaginary target of Raban’s baiting. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the column fixed on him. The mercenaries would, of course, be watching his every move, ready to leap to the aid of their belligerent comrade. Kessler wondered how many of his own men were silently rooting against him. Without him, Eugen would have little problem turning their rag-tag command around and heading back to Count Eberfeid. Some of the soldiers were solidly with the knight, Skanir’s attitude was ambivalent, and he wouldn’t expect Theodo to put his neck out for anyone. Indeed, the only source of support he could firmly count upon was Ottmar, who shared his sense of urgency. Kessler didn’t think that would be enough.
Kessler bit his tongue and started to nudge his horse towards the side of the path, grinding his teeth as he saw the triumphant smirk beneath Raban’s beard. The mercenary didn’t wait, plunging his steed forward and pushing Kessler to the edge of the dirt path.
“Something to say, baron-boy?” Raban growled as he passed, a feral, lupine quality to his eyes. Kessler glared, matching the challenge he saw reflected back at him in Raban’s savage gaze. The smirk hardened into something dangerous. Kessler started to reach up for the sword lashed across his shoulder even as Raban’s hairy hand dropped for the axe swinging from his belt.
Before the tense atmosphere could explode into violence, Raban’s horse reared back, nearly throwing the fighter from the saddle. His fingers just grazing the grip of his zweihander, Kessler risked a look back to see what had startled the horse. Captain Valdner was close behind Raban’s steed, a riding crop clenched in his gloved fist. The captain’s face was stern, reproving, a mixture of disappointment and anger that comes easily to the best officers and fathers.
“I have something to say,” Valdner said, his voice cutting at Raban like a lash, striking him as sharply as the riding crop had the flank of his steed, “something perhaps the rest of your comrades in arms might find useful to hear before you get cut down by Herr Kessler here.”
“Your faith in me leaves me speechless, Bruno,” Raban scowled, recovering his balance if not his dignity. Valdner pounced on the remark.
“Yes, let us suppose you can do what a hundred other men have failed to do,” Valdner said, thrusting his finger at Raban like a spear. “Let us suppose you get that big axe of yours buried in Herr Kessler’s head before he can split that thick skull with his sword. What then?” Valdner stretched his arms beside him in a helpless, frustrated expression. “We lose our patron, we lose our contract.” He raised his finger as he came to the most important point, the one that would reach down to the very core of his men, “And we lose our pay.”
“If these heathen Wissenlanders will pay,” sneered Anselm. The Sigmarite had dismounted and approached them on foot, one hand clenched around the hammer icon he carried. “There is no honour among such swine!”
Valdner turned on Anselm, like a bear rounding on a hound. “Would I be included in that statement?” he demanded. The bravado wilted in Anselm’s pasty features and the Reiklander seemed to cower in the shadow cast by his hat. “Have I given you, any of you, cause to doubt my word and the compact shared by our Brotherhood?”
“No, captain,” came the response from a scar-faced Sylvanian maceman. “You’ve dealt square with us ever since Schwerstetten.” He reached to his belt, pulling free the ugly, black-iron weapon he carried. “You even stole our weapons back from that fat pig Hock!”
A knowing smile replaced the last traces of anger in Valdner’s expression. He nodded sadly to the Sylvanian, and then levelled his gaze on the rest of his men. “I apologise, Minhea, but in that matter I must confess to deceiving you, deceiving all of you. I let you think that I made some fantastic foray into Count Eberfeld’s camp to steal back our arms. The truth of the matter is that they had already been stolen away from Hock, and all I did was go out and collect them.” Valdner gestured at Kessler. “This man’s master stole them back for us: Baron von Rabwald, whose sense of honour, whose devotion to his own word made him turn against his sovereign to redress a wrong that had been worked against us. That is the kind of honour a Wissenlander knows!”
The short speech had its desired effect, all the agitation and hostility in the mercenaries smothered by a mixture of shock and guilt. Even Raban looked sheepish as he walked his horse down the path, directing not even a single glance in Kessler’s direction. The Wissenland soldiers breathed easier as they saw the tension drain out of their mercenary companions. Valdner edged his horse beside Kessler’s and together the two men watched their ragged company march past.
“Thank you, captain,” Kessler said in a subdued voice. “I am afraid I have little aptitude for command. I’m more comfortable using steel than psychology to settle my arguments.”
“Then you have something in common with Raban,” Valdner said. He looked at the grotesque swordsman, studying the brutish stamp in what remained of his features. “I must confess I was quite dubious when you told me that the baron had passed command of this vital expedition over to you.”
Kessler bristled at the statement. “I doubt either of us is fit to judge the decision of a man like the baron.”
“Not so,” Valdner corrected him. “There was a time when I was the baron’s closest confidant.” He chose to ignore the incredulous expression Kessler directed at him. This was well before he was Baron von Rabwald, of course. Back when he was just Ernst.” He nodded as he stared again at Kessler’s twisted face. “As I said, I was quite dubious that he should give such an important duty to a man so clearly unfit to lead. I see it now, however. I see what Ernst saw, what made him trust you with so grave a task.”
“And what would that be?”
“You’re too stubborn to let anything go,” Valdner laughed. “You’re like one of those fighting dogs that locks its jaws around its enemy so tightly that it won’t let go even when it’s dead.
The baron knew what he was doing when he put you in command of this fiasco. He knew he could trust you to drive these men as long and as far as you have to, no matter the cost. You won’t admit failure, won’t even accept it as a possibility. That sets you apart from, say Marshal Eugen or Sergeant Ottmar.”
Kessler thought about Valdner’s assessment of his tenacity, and had to agree that it was precise and accurate. It reminded him in many ways of the snap judgements Baron von Rabwald would make when meeting a person. He’d been uncannily accurate in such initial impressions. Maybe Valdner was right, maybe his determination to see a thing through was what had made Ernst place such trust in him.
“Will it be enough?” Kessler asked, only realising he had spoken when Valdner answered him.
“In a day, perhaps two, we shall be in the Black Mountains,” Valdner told him. “So far we have had easy riding, good weather and pleasant countryside. All of that changes when we reach the mountains.” The mercenary shook his head. “It is a ridiculous thing to consider, but the closer we get to where we are going, the harder the journey becomes.
“Save your questions until then,” Valdner concluded. “When we are in the Black Mountains there will be doubt and fear enough to go around.”
It was difficult not to allow doubt and fear to overwhelm him as Kessler stared at the monolithic expanse of the Black Mountains. Like a great wall, the imposing spires of dark grey rock clawed up at the sky, struggling to cut their way through the misty grey clouds that gathered around their spire-like peaks. Sometimes the sun reflected in dazzling brilliance from the surface of some glacier trapped within the high mountain valleys, sometimes it would struggle feebly to penetrate the shadowy stands of pine that dotted the slopes, but always the deep grey walls of the mountains dominated the scene. Even the foothills that crouched in the shadow of the mountains were merely dim echoes of their gigantic kin, jagged stumps of craggy grey rock stabbing up from the earth like the shards of a titan’s blade.
[Warhammer] - Runefang Page 19