by Desconocido
THIS IS A DARK age, a bloody age, an age of daemons
and of sorcery. It is an age of battle and death, and of the
world's ending. Amidst all of the fire, flame and fury
it is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds
and great courage.
AT THE HEART of the Old World sprawls the Empire, the
largest and most powerful of the human realms. Known for
its engineers, sorcerers, traders and soldiers, it is
a land of great mountains, mighty rivers, dark forests
and vast cities. And from his throne in Altdorf reigns
the Emperor Karl-Franz, sacred descendant of the
founder of these lands, Sigmar, and wielder
of his magical warhammer.
BUT THESE ARE far from civilised times. Across the length
and breadth of the Old World, from the knightly palaces
of Bretonnia to ice-bound Kislev in the far north, come
rumblings of war. In the towering World's Edge Mountains,
the orc tribes are gathering for another assault. Bandits and
renegades harry the wild southern lands of
the Border Princes. There are rumours of rat-things, the
skaven, emerging from the sewers and swamps across the
land. And from the northern wildernesses there is the
ever-present threat of Chaos, of daemons and beastmen
corrupted by the foul powers of the Dark Gods.
As the time of battle draws ever
near, the Empire needs heroes
like never before.
REINER HETZAU WATCHED through the barred window of the camp brig as the hangman tested the trap of the gallows on the parade ground. With the pull of a lever, the trap fell open and a sack of dirt hung from the noose dropped and jerked in a way that made Reiner swallow - then laugh.
He swallowed because he was due for that drop tomorrow morning at dawn before the assembled troops of Count Jurgen's army. He laughed because, after all the foolish things he'd done in his misspent young life, he was to be hung for crimes he had not committed.
Certainly he wasn't entirely blameless in the affair. But when he had recognized his errors and seen the coming horror he had done his best to rectify the situation. In fact, it wouldn't be going too far to say that he had saved the camp, and by extension the whole army, from a plague of Chaos that might have brought down the Empire.
But had they rewarded him? Showered him with titles and lands? No. They had thrown him in the brig with the dregs of the Empire's armies: murderers, deserters, thieves, rapists, profiteers and smugglers, and fitted him for a noose.
He laughed again. To think that three days ago he had been complaining to Hennig - poor Hennig - of boredom. By Ranald, he would give all the gold in the world to be that bored again.
REINER AND HENNIG stood with their feet in the door of Madam Tolshnaya's house of joy, trying to keep her from closing it in their faces. Their breath hung in the air and fat snowflakes pin-wheeled down from the grey sky and clung to their cloaks.
'I assure you, my dear procuress,' said Reiner, 'the paywagon is due tomorrow. We will be able to pay you twice what we owe.'
'You say that last week.' said Madam Tolshnaya, a proud Kislevite beauty of middle years with a nose like a hawk and the curves of an Araby harem dancer.
'But this week it's true,' said Hennig.
'Have a heart,' begged Reiner. 'We are stranded far from home, deprived of all gentle company.' He put an arm around Hennig's shoulder. 'Look at this lonely lad.' Karl was a beardless boy of seventeen, three years Reiner's junior. 'Won't you do your part to raise the spirits of a noble warrior who defends your land from the depredations of Chaos?'
Madam Tolshnaya curled her lip. 'You want spirits raised, raise you some money.' She slammed the door.
Hennig jerked his foot back in time, but Reiner wasn't so quick. The door caught his toe and he hopped around on his bad leg, hissing and cursing in the muddy street. He flung himself onto a wooden bench outside the tavern next door to Madam Tolshnaya's, groaning. 'Any more of that Samogon, Hennig?' he asked.
Hennig joined him and handed him his flask. 'Just a swallow.'
Reiner gulped down the potent Kislevite liquor, wincing as it burned its way to his empty stomach. 'Good lad. I'll fill this again tomorrow, when...'
'When the paywagon comes,' finished Hennig dryly.
They sat for a while in the lazily falling snow, watching the endless river of shabby refugees who were crowding into the town, fleeing the devastation in the north, from Praag, Erengrad and little hamlets too numerous to name, all razed to the ground by the unstoppable hordes of Chaos.
That was why Reiner and Hennig were here on the Empire's border with Kislev. Noble sons, like most pistoliers, they had come up with Von Stolmen's Pistols from Whitgart only two weeks ago, attached to Count Jurgen's army. Upon arrival, they had been sent instantly to the front without a chance to recover from the long march, and thrown into a fierce action against mounted marauders at Kirstaad. What a mess that had been. No briefing. No orders. Just in at a gallop and every man for himself. The pistols, light cavalry meant to wheel, fire and retire, had been forced to stand and fight like armoured knights when a troop of halberdiers broke before a Chaos charge and blundered willy-nilly into their line of retreat.
Reiner and Hennig had both been wounded in the hard-fought withdrawal; Reiner with a gash in his thigh - and hadn't that bled like a river - Karl with a handful of broken fingers. After the battle they had been declared unfit to fight, and sent back to Vulsk with the other wounded, where the army was quartered, to recover from their wounds.
Now, two weeks later, with his wound only a throbbing annoyance, Reiner was going stir crazy. Vulsk, like border towns the world over, had its share of diversions: brothels, taverns and bear pits, even a crude little inn-yard theatre where broad slapsticks were performed, but nearly all had been commandeered by the army for officers' quarters, stock rooms and stables. Every space with four walls and a roof was packed with counts and their retinues, knightly orders with their grooms, cooks and servants, companies of greatswords, crossbowmen and pistoliers and engineers with barrels of volatile substances, as well as assorted priests of Sigmar and Morr, and their acolytes. And what space the army disdained was crawling with refugees: starving peasants huddled in the lees of buildings, desperate merchants standing guard over mud-spattered wagons, threadbare Kislevite cavalry tented with their horses on frozen stubble fields. There wasn't room in town to swing a cat, not that there were cats to swing, for food was scarce, and many was the peasant Reiner had seen eating cat, rat or his own shoe leather and calling it dinner.
But even if the army and the refugees hadn't been in residence, and all the town's entertainments open for business, Reiner and Hennig still wouldn't have been able to partake, for they were flat broke. Reiner had not lied to Madam Tolshnaya. The paywagon was due the next day, just as it had been due a week previous, when a party of raiders had ambushed it and made off with everything. The army hadn't been paid in a fortnight, and the meagre allowance Reiner's miserly father had reluctantly doled out to him before he left home was long gone.
'By Sigmar, Hennig,' said Reiner. 'I am damned tired of this poverty.'
'As am I.' agreed Hennig. 'I wonder how the poor stand it.'
'I'm a man of the world,' said Reiner, gesturing grandly. 'I need sophisticated diversion. Music, poetry, stimulating company, food worthy of the name.'
'Eh?' said Hennig, affronted. 'You don't find me stimulating company?'
'Not below the waist, lad. Terribly sorry.'
Hennig guffawed. 'You cut me to the quick.'
Reiner rested his
chin on his palm. 'How to make some money? There's no looting to be done.' He waved at the shambling river of refugees. 'These poor wretches have nothing, and the campaign will be over before we're allowed back to the front. No chance at battlefield trophies or Chaos curios to sell to "men of learning". Even selling my armour wouldn't buy enough for a night's drinking. Sigmar curse my father's skinflint heart. He wouldn't pay for new kit. Hand-me-downs he gives me. A bunch of dented tin an orc wouldn't go to battle in.'
'What about dice?' asked Hennig. 'Didn't you tell me you once made your living at the tables?'
'One needs a stake to enter a game.' said Reiner defensively. He didn't care to mention that he'd lost his taste for gaming during the hurried retreat from Kirstaad, when he'd also lost his 'special' dice.
There was a commotion across the street. Reiner and Hennig looked up. An Empire foot patrol had stopped three carts crowded with prostrate forms - sick soldiers by their moans and shivers. The drivers didn't look much better than their passengers, slack jawed, rheumy-eyed fellows. The only member of the party who seemed at all alert was a woman on the lead cart. She was a slim waif in the robes of a Sister of Shallya, goddess of mercy and healing.
The captain of the patrol was Deiter Ulstaadt, a pompous fool whom Reiner knew well. He was an 'unbribable' who had broken up some of Reiner's recent money-making schemes: the card parlour in the powder magazine, the conscript prize fights, the sale in charms for protection against Chaos. Reiner leaned forward to listen.
'It is out of the question,' Deiter was saying. 'You'll have to take them elsewhere.'
'But, my lord,' said the priestess, 'they can go no further. They are very ill.'
'Precisely the point, sister,' said Deiter. 'With the town so full and our hospitals overflowing, disease spreads like wildfire. We need no more fuel for the blaze.'
The sister looked about to weep. Reiner's heart went out to her. The poor thing seemed crushed by her responsibilities.
'Sir knight,' she said, 'will you truly turn away noble heroes of the Empire, struck down in the fight of Chaos?'
'I have my orders, miss.'
'Could you not relax them for pity's sake? Our convent was not wealthy, but in the wake of its burning, I have been entrusted with its treasury. I know the lot of a soldier far from home is a hard one...' She moved the skirts of her habit aside to reveal a silver chased casket under her seat.
Deiter held up a hand, his face reddening. 'In light of your desperation, sister, I will forget this if you turn about now and leave here peaceably.'
The priestess of Shallya hung her head, and Reiner thought he saw a not very Shallyan snarl twitch her lips as she motioned her drivers to turn the carts around. Deiter marched away with his squad, no doubt to find some poor innocent to harass.
Reiner sat up, mashed toes forgotten. 'Hennig, my lad,' he said. 'If that wasn't the hand of Ranald dropping golden opportunity in our laps, I'm a ratman.'
'You mean to steal that box of swag?'
'Don't be crude. Of course not. She's going to give it to us.'
Reiner and Hennig stepped into the crowded street where the priestess's caravan of casualties was still manoeuvring.
'Reverend sister.' called Reiner. 'I couldn't help overhearing your poor treatment at the hands of that oaf, and I think I may have a solution that could benefit us both.'
The priestess, who was quite attractive, in a pale, drawn sort of way, looked nervously over her shoulder. 'I have no wish to break the law, my lord.'
'Oh, pish,' said Reiner smoothly. 'Is it a just law that turns out the sick? If you can pay a little for rent, and... ah, the efforts of your humble servant, the law won't enter into it.'
The woman sighed, relieved. 'The blessings of Shallya upon you, my lord.'
A warm glow filled Reiner's heart. 'My thanks, sister. Wait but a moment, and I will arrange all.'
'ABSOLUTE NO!' SAID Madam Tolshnaya, crossing her arms over her ample chest. 'This clean house. I want no sickness here. Bad for business.'
'But madam,' said Reiner, 'there is no need to put them in the house. Are not your stables vacant? Kuryev and his Eagles certainly don't need them anymore.'
'You speak so of the dead?'
'I meant no disrespect. The tale of their valiant sacrifice will be sung in the halls of the boyars for generations, but they have left a vacancy, have they not?'
'Not for sick peoples.'
'Madam.' Reiner lowered his voice conspiratorially. 'The sister carries the treasury of her convent with her. You could charge her double, perhaps triple.'
Madam Tolshnaya's eyes narrowed. 'Triple?'
'And I would ask only a fifth, for bringing the business your way.'
'Only a fifth,' said Madam Tolshnaya dryly. But Reiner could see her calculating. At last she nodded. 'Yes. Is good. Bring around back, so nobody see. And they no come in house, ever!'
'Of course not, madam,' said Reiner, bowing. 'You won't regret this.'
He strode back to the street, grinning. Money at last!
IT WASN'T EASY money. The invalids were more diseased than Reiner could have imagined. In fact, he had a hard time believing men so ill could still be alive. Most were carried into the stables on planks, and even those who could walk shambled like sleepwalkers and were covered in purple pustules. One little fellow, a Kislevite with long moustaches and an enormous hat of snow leopard fur decorated with a gold and red cockade, had an open wound in his arm that crawled with maggots. They were laid down one to a stall on either side of the stable's central aisle.
Reiner stood well upwind of them as he accepted from the priestess, who introduced herself as Sister Anyaka, a small purse of reikmarks and jewels. He palmed it quickly. It wouldn't do to let Madam Tolshnaya see the transaction. Not when she had already paid him.
THAT NIGHT, AT one of Vulsk's better taverns - which meant only that the floor was stone and not dirt, and that they burned wood and not yak dung in the fireplace - Reiner and Hennig toasted their good fortune with mugs of samogon bought with the sister's gold.
'It gives one a warm feeling, Hennig, doing good,' said Reiner.
'Absholutely,' said Hennig, well on his way to inebriation. 'Burns all the way down.'
Reiner wiped his mouth. 'There's nothing more gratifying than charity. Particularly when it pays so well.'
'Poor li'l sister,' said Hennig. 'Tendin' all those sickies. How does she stand the shmell?'
'That's what religion is for, lad.'
'It takes away the shmell?'
'No. Just makes you feel noble for bearing it. To your health.'
'And to yers.'
THE NEXT MORNING, with heads that felt full of burning rocks, Reiner and Hennig returned to Madam Tolshnaya's to see if there was anymore milking to be done. By Reiner's estimation, the jewelled casket Sister Anyaka was carrying was still two-thirds full. But as the two friends walked around the brothel to the stables, Madam Tolshnaya stormed out to intercept them.
'She not keep them in stables!' she cried.
Reiner clutched his aching head. 'Say again, madam? Quietly, if you please.'
'The sick men. They walk around in middle of night. Scare my girls.'
'Ridiculous.' said Reiner. 'Those lads can barely crawl.'
'Svetya say she see sick man limp out back gate.'
'Most likely a drunk soldier.' said Hennig. 'Off to make yellow snow.'
'You're jumping at shadows.' added Reiner.
'Well.' said the madam sulkily, 'you tell shadows I want more money.'
They left her and knocked on the stable door. After a moment the sister opened it.
Reiner bowed. 'Good morning, sister. I trust the accommodations are adequate?'
'Most satisfactory, my lord.'
'I am gratified to hear it. We came to ask if there was anything else you required.'
The priestess frowned. 'Er, there are two things, but I hesitate to ask. One is less than pleasant.'
'We are yours to command.' said Rei
ner.
The woman bit her lip. 'Well, the first thing is easy enough.' She pulled a piece of parchment from her robe. 'Only take this to a wise woman and purchase these medicines. It is the second that may tax you. One of my patients is beyond my abilities to cure. He has a problem of the liver and needs the care of a surgeon. If you could get him to the infirmary of your camp, all would be well. The trouble is that he is a Kislevite.'
Reiner sucked air through his teeth. 'Mmm, yes. That is difficult. The doctors are a bit strict about who they let in. I'd have to ask a few people to look the other way, which might require further applications of cash.'
'Oh, certainly.' said the priestess. She opened the purse at her belt and pulled out a handful of coins, rings and brooches. 'Will this be enough?'
Reiner elbowed Hennig in the ribs, for the lad was gaping. 'Oh yes, this should do.' he said nonchalantly.
HALF AN HOUR later, Reiner and Hennig were laughing and slapping one another on the back as they rode from the Empire camp on the cart with which they had delivered the sick man to the infirmary.
'A bit difficult, he says.' giggled Hennig. 'It was all I could do to keep a straight face.'
'Well you did, lad. There's more to be had from that fountain. We wouldn't want to spoil things. The girl's the easiest mark I've ever laid eyes upon.'
It had cost Reiner and Hennig exactly four silver pfennigs to purchase a uniform of the Talabheim Pike from a black marketeer, and while dressing the sick man in it and shaving his Kislevite moustaches had been less than pleasant experiences - he smelled awful and complained constantly that he was infested with daemons - the effort was worth it, for the rest had been easy. They had delivered him to the infirmary, left him and a description of his symptoms with an orderly, and rode away again with no questions asked and the golden contents of Reiner's purse untouched.
'Now,' said Reiner cheerily, 'let's go get the shopping done, and retire to Madam Tolshnaya's for a much-deserved reward.'
But the second task proved more difficult. Even finding a wise woman was a chore. The villagers they asked wouldn't even admit that the town had a wise woman, insisting that they were modern people just like their Empire neighbours.