Forged in Battle

by Justin Hunter - (ebook by Undead)

  Sigmund scrambled to his feet, but instead of charging, the beastmen hung back. Sigmund thought that perhaps the death of their shaman had broken the creatures’ resolve, and the battle was over—but then he heard a roar that sounded like a bear. Through the silent tree trunks strode an albino giant, curled ram’s horns spiralling down to its throat, shoulders that bulged with a primal ferocity.

  The creature swung a two-headed axe from hand to hand. Over its chest was the crudely fashioned breastplate of some vanquished knight, battered out of shape and looking almost toy-like strapped onto the large chest of the beastlord.

  Schwartz ran at the creature, but a swing of its fist sent the man flying, his neck broken and his head swinging uselessly on the shattered spine, staying at a twisted angle as he lay dead.

  “Back!” Sigmund shouted to Osric and his men. “Get back! There’s no point you fighting it,” he told them. “It wants me!”

  Osric’s men turned away and the sergeant dragged a wounded man with him, lest he should fall into the hands of the beastmen. They stumbled as they ran, through the standing stones, past Sigmund towards the bushes.

  The albino beastman paused at the edge of the standing stones. Its fur was white from head to hoof and the only colouring was its pink eyes, which blinked painfully in the light. The beast opened its mouth and roared with pleasure at the prospect of killing the one that was foretold.

  Sigmund said his prayers to the gods as the creature took a step towards him. Sigmund could feel the weight of the creature as its hoof stamped down, then pointed its axe and seemed to speak in some crude language.

  Sigmund gripped the sword hilt two-handed to stop his fingers from shaking. His only thought was how he might wound this beastman before it struck him down. As the creature took another step forward there was the deafening shot of a pistol to the left—but Theodor’s aim was poor and the first shot either missed or had no effect.

  “He’s mine!” Sigmund shouted, but Theodor drew his sword and strode up to the creature and fired again. This shot hit the creature in the thigh causing a red stain to spread over the white fur. It raged with fury and turned to face off against the second attacker, pink eyes blinking with anger. It ran at Theodor and swung its axe, but he leapt out to the side and stabbed the creature high on the shoulder at the base of its neck.

  The beastman leader charged Theodor again and twice more he caught it with precise stabs in the shoulders, as if goading the beast to an insane rage, but on the third run the cunning creature feinted a charge to the left. Letting go of the axe shaft he caught the tail of Theodor’s jacket and even as he tried to pull away, the beastlord dragged him into his deadly grasp.

  Theodor looked like a child in the clawed grip of the monster as it flung him to the ground then grabbed his feet and picked him up.

  Theodor’s face was contorted with terror. Sigmund dropped his sword, grabbed a fallen halberd and stabbed it into the knotted muscles of the beastman’s back, but the blow seemed to have no effect on the enraged creature.

  It swung Theodor round in a deadly arc and then brought his body down against one of the standing stones. There was a sickening crack as the man’s spine snapped and his head exploded with the impact, splattering brains and blood over the stones.

  Sigmund stabbed at the creature again. It was occupied with the dead body, goring it against the stone, ripping Theodor’s inert body apart, and covering its horns and brow with gore. It was so consumed with animal hatred that even when Theodor’s body was little more than a broken mess of flesh it still butted and gored and bit.

  “Hey!” Sigmund shouted and only another thrust of the halberd brought the creature’s attention away. It blinked the blood from its eyes and seemed to realise that the man it had caught was dead.

  As Theodor’s mangled corpse fell to the ground, the massive beastman turned to Sigmund and charged.

  Sigmund jabbed at it in much the same way as Theodor had done. The halberd gave him a much longer reach: he goaded the beast and then danced back a couple of steps.

  The beastman ran at him a couple of times, and each time it did Sigmund was ready for a feint or a sudden swerve. The creature paused to catch its breath and then suddenly ran at Sigmund, head down to butt him. Sigmund was caught unawares and the sharp point of the horn caught him on the left thigh. He let out a strangled gasp of pain as the blunt horn opened a ragged cut up his hip and he only just escaped the reach of its claw.

  Sigmund dragged his foot as he struggled up the mound, using the halberd as a prop to keep him upright, and the beastlord halted and snorted with satisfaction. It scented fear and weakness. Now the hunter had become the hunted.

  Sigmund got to the top of the mound and it struck him how fitting it was that he would die here on the spot that his forebear was buried. As he felt warm blood running down his leg he felt a stab of disappointment that he had failed to kill the beast.

  Edmunt and Gunter would save the people of Helmstrumburg. They were no longer his care.

  For a moment he had an image of the town: burning as its people were slaughtered in the streets, the wild beasts tearing them apart. He put his hand to his belt to draw his sword, but the scabbard was empty. He had dropped his weapon in the fight at the base of the mound. And the halberd was now his crutch. Without it he could barely stand. He was defenceless.

  Sigmund laughed bitterly. Trapped, wounded and defenceless. This was not how he had imagined his death. He could see the beastman’s nostrils flare as it strode up the hill towards him.

  Sigmund’s hand slipped on the halberd shaft and he half fell into the open grave of Ortulf Jorg. Catching his balance, one of his hands fell on the hilt of a weapon. He looked down in amazement and saw the sword of Ortulf, slayer of the beastlord.

  The leather bindings on the grip had long mouldered away, but the weapon itself was sound. Sigmund lifted the weapon from its thousand year-old rest and it balanced perfectly in his hand.

  The beastlord saw its foe arm himself and roared as it raced up the final yards.

  Sigmund rested on one knee. He only had time for one blow. He waited until the last moment then drove the sword forward. He felt the blade bite, then clawed hands tore into the flesh of his side and shoulders. The weight of the beastman hit him and he was picked from his feet and rolled down the mound, his enemy’s body crushing the wind from his lungs. He slammed against one of the standing stones and everything went black.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The weapon’s haft was sticky with blood. Butcher rose and fell again and again, dealing out death to any that came within reach. A dappled beastman ran through a pitchfork-wielding farm lad next to Edmunt, and the young boy gasped and clutched the spear and fell back with it still impaled in him. The beastman had just started to grab a broken sword when the blunt end of Butcher caught it beneath the chin and snapped its mouth shut, crushing its teeth together. Blood spurted from its nose, eyes and ears, and the creature’s head flew back as it fell into the ranks of those beyond.

  Anyone else’s arm would have refused to rise again, but Edmunt had spent all his life chopping wood, and if the truth be told, he thought grimly, the beastmen heads broke more easily than many pieces of wood. As he fought, he felt the men around him beginning to tire of death and killing—even after so many hours, and he called out in a hoarse voice. “Have courage!”

  But even as he spoke, the beastmen began to back off. Edmunt stared in disbelief, and laughed out loud, called out insults on the goat-men’s courage.

  Why would they back off at this moment, when the defenders were almost spent?

  There was a moment’s pause in the fighting. The men had barely had time to draw breath when a man sprinted up a side street and screamed: “They’ve broken through on Altdorf Street!”

  There were cries of horror and dismay. Edmunt leaped from the barricade and led fifty men down a side street where dead and wounded were piled in the shade. But in Altdorf Street the ragged defenders stood on the wall s
taring down the street with the same astonishment.

  Edmunt hurried to Tanner Lane, but the beastmen had fled from there as well.

  “Have we won?” Gaston asked but Edmunt shook his head. He had no idea.

  Guthrie misheard the two men’s conversation and clapped his hands. “We’ve won!” he shouted, but no one wanted to believe that it was true. All of a sudden Gaston found tears on his cheeks. He turned away and wiped his cheeks and nose. He had no idea how he had survived when there were so many men around him who had been killed.

  Sigmund felt a pain in the small of his back. He managed to move his hand under the weight of the beastlord and feel about behind him. He winced as he moved and then his hand brushed a curved wooden object.

  His stunned brain took a moment to work it out: a barrel.

  Sigmund frowned. For a moment he had thought he was lying in his bed at the barracks, and he couldn’t understand what the weight on him was, or why his leg hurt, or why there was a barrel in his bed—then he remembered. He was about to be killed.

  Sigmund held his breath. At any moment he expected the beastlord to pick him up and to tear him apart as it had done Theodor, but the huge stinking body on top of him lay still.

  Sigmund reached for his sword, but his right hand was stuck. He tried to push himself up but the dead weight of the body pressing down on him was too hard to shift. He managed to get a little purchase and tipped the beastlord away, wriggled to the side, then dragged himself free.

  The dead beastlord was an awesome sight. Its head lolled to one side, snout open and pink eyes glassy in death.

  Sigmund found it hard to believe that he had survived the fight until he saw three inches of sword blade sticking out of the back of the beastman and understood. The impact of the creature had driven the sword through its body with a force that Sigmund could never have matched. The blade had impaled the creature’s heart, killing it instantly.

  Sigmund managed to push himself to his feet and mumbled a prayer of thanks to Sigmar. He swayed for a moment, thought he might pass out, and had to put his hand out to steady himself.

  He could see that the fuse and the barrel were still in place. All he had to do was light the fuse and the whole mound would go up in smoke. For a moment he felt a wave of elation. They had won!

  Then he remembered that he had nothing to light the fuse with and he felt a moment’s panic, followed by a sense of crushing defeat.

  A band of beastmen had come over the top of the mound. The cruel twist of luck made him fierce and ferocious. Sigmund was determined to sell his life as dearly as possible. He picked up a fallen halberd, but staggered against one of the stones and it felt warm to the touch, throbbing with some arcane pleasure, making his head spin. The touch revolted him. He fell back and felt hands supporting him.

  “Now then!” Frantz said. “I’ve got you.”

  “Frantz!” Sigmund hissed. “We don’t have a light!”

  “I have it here,” Frantz said and lifted the lantern they had carried all the way from Helmstrumburg.

  Sigmund was weak from blood loss. He laughed weakly. “Then light the cursed fuses!” he hissed, “and help me get out of here!”

  They started to move, then Sigmund grabbed Frantz. “The sword!” he said and insisted they go back to where the albino beastman leader lay dead.

  With Frantz’s help Sigmund pushed the dead beastman over so he could reclaim the sword.

  “Light the fuses!” Sigmund hissed as he dragged the sword from the beastman’s body, and Frantz bent to the nearest fuse. In the distance, his blurry sight could make out band after band of beastmen rushing towards the standing stones.

  “Take this and go!” Sigmund told Frantz, and held out the sword, but the docker hurried back, grabbed Sigmund and helped support his weight as they dashed down towards the bank of the river.

  “Leave me and go!” Sigmund yelled at his friend, but Frantz kept dragging him along. He looked over his shoulder and saw more and more beastmen swarming over the mound. Sigmund’s arm was weak. He brandished the sword but it was unsteady in his hand. There was no way that they could escape.

  Osric and his men were crouching in the bushes. The beastmen began to swarm after Frantz and Sigmund and Osric cursed. “You’re going to hate me for this,” he told Baltzer and leaped from cover and shouted to distract the pursuing beastmen. Baltzer swore at Osric, but he leapt from cover and all the men charged.

  At that moment the first barrel exploded. In a split-second three more explosions followed, throwing earth and debris and beastmen bodies up into the air.

  Osric had no idea where his sword went, but suddenly he was off his feet and tumbling through the air. He landed heavily in a prickly bush. The thorns ripped into his skin and clothes and he felt a hot blast scorch his head and face.

  Sigmund grunted as he was flung face forward into the grass. Frantz barely had time to put his hands over his head before clods began to rain down, and then a fine rain of dirt, as a great cloud of smoke and dirt fell back to earth.

  “Sigmar’s balls!” Osric swore.

  Stones, beastmen, even the mound had disappeared. The force of the explosions had stripped the trees of branches. Their naked trunks stood, the nearest ones on fire with a fierce crackle as the rising resin turning them into enormous torches. At that moment there was an unearthly, haunting and ear-splitting scream.

  The unearthly howl of pain lasted for nearly five seconds, then it was gone. Sigmund sat up and stared at the devastation. The lack of blood was making his head dizzy and the pain in his leg was almost overwhelming. Worst of all, the echoes of the scream made his insides shiver.

  He felt someone sit up next to him.

  “We did it!” Frantz laughed and clapped him on the back. Sigmund felt pains shooting all through his body, but despite the pain he started to laugh.

  The silence along the streets of new town was disconcerting. How could an army disappear so quickly?

  Edmunt sent runners up Tanner Lane and Eel Street to see what the beastmen were up to. They were barely fifty feet from the barricades when the ground shook and they heard a distant rumble, like thunder, and saw a cloud of dirt and smoke erupt from the site of the burial mounds further down the river.

  “They’ve done it!” one of the spearmen shouted, and Edmunt climbed up onto the barricade to see the huge cloud of debris that climbed hundreds of feet into the air, then began to dissipate and drift out over the Stir.

  Edmunt picked up Vasir and crushed the trapper in a fierce bear hug.

  On Tanner Lane Beatrine heard a boom and had no idea what it meant. Someone shouted that it was the signal that reinforcements had arrived; another that the captain’s men had succeeded in finding cannons.

  Whatever the noise meant, a wave of relief swept through the defenders. She clapped her hands and felt tears rolling down her cheeks. Gaston turned around, looking for the pretty girl with blood stains on her dress—and picked her up from the ground and swirled her round, kissing her cheeks.

  On Altdorf Street Gunter saw the cloud of dirt that rose into the air and nodded in satisfaction: it appeared that Sigmund had accomplished his mission.

  Then there was a sudden gust of wind and with it came a howl—as if there were maddened spirits blowing through the town. The sound was so unearthly and terrible that it made the weak-minded shake with terror but Gunter’s presence kept the rest to their posts.

  In a moment it was gone—and the people began to wonder what it meant.

  “I think we’ve seen the end of these beastmen!” Gunter shouted. “Clear this barricade away!”

  The people, soldiers and civilians alike, began to pull the jumble of furniture and carts apart but the individual pieces of furniture and cart had been so compressed by the beastman attack that it bowed in at the centre, and they saw to their amazement that the barricade had been moved three yards from its original point.

  The pressure of the beastmen had also locked the individual pieces of fur
niture into a solid mass that was almost impossible to pull apart.

  Gunter clapped his men on the back and sent Josh and Hengle to the marketplace to bring a barrel of beer for the thirsty defenders when he heard a low rumble, almost too deep for human hearing, that grew steadily louder.

  Gunter thought he was imagining it at first, but the sound was distinctive and he climbed up onto barricade to take a look.

  “Shit!”

  There was a horde of horned warriors charging down the road. Maybe they hadn’t blown the stones after all? “To arms!” he bellowed, and punched one man who was busy offering thanks to Sigmar. “They’re coming!”

  * * *

  The destruction of the stones had sent the beastmen into a berserk fury. Whatever order the warbands had once possessed was gone. They were like a stampede of terrified animals, their eyes rolled wildly in their heads—but they didn’t flee—they were in a frenzy of hatred and fury that went beyond all reason or understanding or even concern for their own safety. It had but one purpose: destroy Helmstrumburg.

  Edmunt helped the scouts he had sent out to clamber to safety. “Stand fast, men!” Edmunt called out. “Stand fast!”

  His men stepped up to the fighting steps, but having believed that they were saved many of them could not bear the thought of returning to battle one more time. Their numbers had been severely weakened during the repeated assaults and the beasts were charging with more ferocity than ever now.

  Only the halberdiers and spearmen stepped up without hesitation. This was their job. They gripped spear, shield and halberd shaft and waited grimly.

  The horde of beastmen flowed over the barricades in a crashing wave, overwhelming the defenders by sheer reckless force of numbers.