03 - Liar's Peak

by Robin D. Laws - (ebook by Undead)

  Angelika tried to look neither pleased nor displeased by the lieutenant’s order. She would indeed subject the possessions of each dead man to an exacting inventory.

  Angelika found the work of preparation peculiarly relaxing. Handling corpses had become second nature to her, and it was refreshing to do it in the light of day, with no fear of discovery, no need to crouch or hide. Jonas had made it easy to search for the ring. As she reckoned, none of the dead men had it. Regret tugged lightly at her each time she made a pile of a man’s goods: among the dross there were a few good pieces. A pendant, especially, that had to be worth much more than its owner had known. Its filigree work dated it back five centuries, to the craftsmen of the Altdorf School, whose work was much desired by connoisseurs. She considered having Franziskus write a note to its inheritor, informing the lucky relative of its value. Then she thought, let it go to him who can see its value.

  When the sorting was done, she and Franziskus worked together to wrap the bodies. Franziskus, as usual, had some issue or another gnawing at his conscience.

  “You were speaking to those two men, earlier,” she said.

  “The two who were crushed?”

  She nodded.

  “Their names were Rappe and Cassel. They had opposite views on women. Not that it matters now.”

  “It matters to those who remember them,” she said.

  They worked in silence for a while longer.

  “I admired Jonas’ speech,” he finally said, as he turned the body of a heavy-set, pox-scarred soldier onto its side, so Angelika could fold his cloak over him, “up to the point where he singled some out for fulsome praise, then pointlessly scapegoated certain others.”

  Angelika did not comment.

  “It’s obvious,” Franziskus said, “that you worked some arrangement with him, to search the bodies for your ring. But why heap scorn on blameless men?”

  “You still expect military life to be fair? No wonder it didn’t suit you.”

  The comment seemed to sting him, and she regretted it. It was possible to be honest without being nastily blunt, she reminded herself.

  “How does that do any good, to set the men apart from one another?”

  “Now the stragglers will fight harder, to be accepted into the ranks of the men Jonas esteems. The favoured ones will fight hard to stay that way. And all of them will now measure their worth by Rassau’s compass. He may not know the first thing about fighting, but other than that, he’s an exemplary officer.”

  “He seems quite handy with a sword. I wouldn’t want to face him.”

  “Neither would I, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Then why do we place our lives in his hands?”

  “I’m not trusting him with my life. That I’ll take care of myself.”

  “You do realise that your ring is gone.”

  “It’s not. I can feel it.”

  They finished wrapping their current corpse and moved on to another. All the bodies were arrayed on the plateau, above the slope where they’d died. The stragglers were well into the process of digging a large and shallow grave, spading into a thin layer of coarsegrained sand beneath a field of stones.

  “You warned him, didn’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Yet he said it was a surprise.”

  Blood had pooled in the hollow at the base of her new subject’s neck. She mopped it with a rag of torn tunic. “He was surprised, wasn’t he?”

  “So he lied.”

  “That he did, Franziskus, that he did.”

  “I thought you esteemed honesty as the highest of virtues.”

  “I don’t tell anyone else how to behave. Leave that to the preachers.”

  “But if his men can’t trust him, how can we?”

  A long curl of flaxen hair rolled itself down from Franziskus’ head and onto the corpse’s gore-soaked shirt. Angelika got it out of the way by tucking it behind her companion’s ear. “We can’t and shouldn’t. You don’t know the half of it. But his men—they want to be deceived. They were desperate for those stirring lies. You think they wanted to be told their friends had died in error, and that they’re likely to do the same?”

  “I think they wish Jonas to be the man he seems.”

  “That’s a harsh standard for anyone to live up to, isn’t it? Besides, all men of power are liars. Their followers depend on it. Demand it.”

  “Who speaks harshly now?”

  “The trick, Franziskus, is to be neither sheep nor shepherd. A feat very few can manage. Now help me roll him over.”

  Franziskus complied, wondering if she’d truly taught the shepherd his lesson, or if their ultimate destination was the wolf’s den. He was about to ask her, when he reconsidered. The metaphor was a laboured one.

  The plateau led to a switchback threading between two sharp peaks. Angelika walked its length for a quarter of a mile as the funeral rites were completed. Franziskus followed after her, and Filch tagged after him. Though perhaps well-suited for use by mountain deer, the trail seemed inauspicious. At its widest point, the flat surface between slopes was barely two and a half feet across. In many spots, there was no flat at all so the men would have to travel on an angle, their boot soles sideways on bare rock. The trail curved out of sight behind the rightward peak. It was impossible to tell where it terminated, and whether it led to a stretch of traversable terrain.

  “Not such a bad trail,” said Filch.

  “Maybe for you, hoof-foot,” said Angelika.

  Franziskus thought she was being a little sharp with him, but Filch, taking her words as a complimentary, beamed and vigorously nodded his head.

  “Jonas’ men will likely sprain some ankles getting through this.”

  When the three of them returned, the company had mustered into formation. Angelika spoke to Franziskus, who approached Emil. Jonas strode up beside them, rubbing his hands together, projecting enthusiasm. A performance, Angelika assumed, for the benefit of his men.

  But when he spoke it appeared that his attitude was genuine. “We’ve been dealt a terrible setback,” he said to Emil. “But now that fate has demonstrated her fickleness, we shall worm our way back into her good graces.” He glanced over his shoulder at the mounded rows of graves. “When we’ve distanced ourselves from this unlucky place, our fortunes will turn. We’ll find our nest of Kurgs and send them packing.” His hand whipped forth to grip and shake Angelika’s forearm. “And we’ll find you your lost property, Angelika. I swear it. What did you see, up ahead?”

  “I thought we’d established a protocol,” she answered. “I talk to Franziskus, he talks to Emil?”

  “Let us dispense with such nonsense. You were right, Angelika. Right all along. This is no place for protocol. Please, feel free to speak to me directly, when the safety of my men is at stake. You, too, Franziskus. Even you, sir halfling.” He looked down to address Filch and the half-man’s face opened up in adoration.

  “In that case,” Angelika said, “you’ll need to break that column back down into single file.”

  “A lengthening of our lines leaves us vulnerable, does it not?”

  “The path’s sloped. There isn’t room for a double file to move without crashing into each other. The slopes are bare rock, so if anyone comes at us we’ll get plenty of warning. Not a spot I’d choose to ambush from, if I were a Kurg.”

  Jonas waited for Emil’s nod of approval, then mimicked it.

  “If it’s one long line, sir,” Emil ventured, “I’d say split the archers between front and back. Our scout, I trust, takes point position?”

  Such is the price of increased trust, Angelika thought.

  “If she will do it,” Jonas said.

  “Yes, I will.”

  “And I’ll be with her,” volunteered Franziskus.

  “No,” said Jonas. “You and I will take a forward position, but after the first file of archers.”

  “It is my custom to accompany Angelika,” Franziskus said.


  “I command otherwise, Franziskus. You and I must get to know one another better.”

  Filch shot his hand up. “I’ll go along with her.”

  “Very well, my sure-footed friend. Angelika will appreciate the company, I am sure.”

  Angelika curled her lip.

  “Where do you want me?” Emil asked. As usual, Angelika found his mood unreadable.

  “Position yourself amid the strays,” Jonas answered. “I was harsh on them before so you must give them hope that they can prove themselves. Find a trustworthy fellow to promote as their corporal, to lead them.”

  Emil nodded, then went out to bellow the soldiers into their new configuration. Jonas, arm around Franziskus, took him aside.

  To get Angelika’s attention, Filch loudly sniffed. “This will be a grand adventure, will it not?”

  “Grand.”

  Angelika waited till the archers came and the line of men seemed to coalesce, then set off without warning. Filch and the archers lurched after her. There were ten archers left in all, which meant five would join them at the head of the procession, and five would take up the rear.

  Angelika set a slow and heedful pace into the switchback. Behind her, the archers kept their bows ready.

  “Point those things skywards,” she told the nearest bowman, a lean-faced fellow under a windswept mop of thinning hair.

  “Skywards?”

  “If something comes at us without warning, it’ll be some hideous Enemy flyer swooping down on us from the sky. So point your arrows up there, and away from my backside.”

  The archer pondered the slate-grey clouds. “Do such things exist?”

  “Don’t worry,” Angelika replied. “I’ve only seen them once.”

  Five bows pointed up. The archers kept an eye on the sky, as if expecting flying Chaos dragons to swoop down at any moment.

  Behind the archers, Jonas and Franziskus spoke. They were just out of earshot, a fact Angelika found unaccountably maddening. They ought to be making friends, she told herself, if Jonas was to take him off her hands. That was the entire plan, wasn’t it?

  “Angelika’s concerned for your future,” Jonas told the young deserter.

  Franziskus was heartened to hear it, but could not say so. “While she is in any way under threat, I can give no thought to that.”

  “When this mission is done, she’ll give up her ghastly career. Then you must think of yourself.”

  “When that happens, I will. Somehow I think it will not.”

  “You do not believe her when she says she’ll give it up?”

  “She’s broke again. She’ll have to start from scratch.”

  “But let us say that we find this chieftain, and get the ring back.”

  “An unlikely prospect, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, Franziskus. Sigmar is on our side, remember?”

  “Oh yes. I did forget.”

  “Like your friend, Franziskus, I am sure we’ll recover that ring.”

  “Are you now?”

  “Or, if not, I’ll see to it she’s handsomely rewarded, for her services to the Empire. For her contribution to our coming victory. Ring or not, your need to serve her is coming rapidly to its end. You must begin to think of yourself now.”

  “I am perhaps not as selfless as you think.”

  “Only an honest man is anxious to claim greed’s mantle, Franziskus. I have been thinking. It is a shocking thing, for an officer to desert. A man from society’s highest rank. To smooth this out will not be easy.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “I take it you’d be unprepared to lie your way through? To claim, say, that you were taken prisoner by a Kurgan advance party, and held for all these many months against your will, till you escaped and joined up with Angelika? At which point you immediately returned to Stirland, where I swept you up along with the other stragglers?”

  “To lie would only compound my dishonour.”

  “Ah,” said Jonas. He slipped on the sloping rock; Franziskus helped to steady him.

  “I expected you would say as much. Your concern for honour is admirable.”

  “It cheers me to hear you say that.”

  “Fortunately there is another way.”

  “Oh?”

  “A battlefield commission. If I restore your officer status now, and you acquit yourself favourably during this mission, any who would wish to prosecute you will be presented with a fait accompli. As a serving officer of the Gerolsbruch Swordsmen, you will be, by definition, a deserter no longer. After the war, our forces will be badly depleted, in dire need of officers. There’ll be no hunger to prosecute you. Not if you prove your loyalty now.”

  “Don’t you already have a second lieutenant?”

  “Glauer?” He directed Franziskus’ gaze to the fellow; he was picking his nose. “So far he’s proven an undistinguished choice.”

  Franziskus averted his eyes, embarrassed for the poor wretch. “Perhaps he should be given a chance to show you otherwise.”

  Jonas clapped him on the back. “With every refusal you increase my esteem for you. It is gentlemanly indeed that you would decline to displace another man. Even one of middling birth and questionable competence.”

  “You flatter me. Jonas.”

  A shriek keened from overhead. The archers jolted in anxious unison, pulling back the strings of their bows. A black speck moved through the sky but the crying creature was not a thing of Chaos, just a small hawk. The archers relaxed, slowly easing the tension from their bowstrings, then resumed the difficult hike through the switchback.

  Jonas snapped his fingers. “That’s it. The Chelborg Archers. Why didn’t I see it before?”

  Franziskus waited for him to explain himself but Jonas just punched him delightedly on the shoulder. The sting of pain welled up a feeling of nostalgia in him. The shoulder punch was a staple of the interaction between Franziskus and his brothers. He fought twin urges: one, to smack Jonas back with an equal measure of over-enthusiasm. Two, to surrender his doubts and allow himself to trust Rassau entirely.

  “The Chelborg Archers,” Jonas repeated. “They’ve been placed under my command, but they are still a unit unto themselves. Thus, they require an officer, to lead them.”

  “They are but ten men, now.”

  “Nonetheless. The Stirland military code requires me to make a battlefield commission. For that matter, there are the strays. They require greater cohesion, do they not? I can fold them into the Archers. That places sixteen men under your command. A stingy number, perhaps, for a man of your sterling qualities. But they’ll surpass the threshold needed to satisfy a court martial, wouldn’t you say?”

  “If—if you say so, Jonas. I’ve no experience with such matters.”

  “Trust me, Franziskus. Your dilemma could not have a more perfect solution. Do you doubt now that the gods have intervened on our behalf?”

  “I am not so much an egotist as to think that the gods take much of an interest in my activities.”

  “You underestimate the reach of the divine, Franziskus. Into all our lives they shine their fearsome light, if only we are brave and let it fuel us. They will grant me victory, so I may do my dead father proud. They will lead Angelika to her ring. And you, my friend, shall be cleansed of your dishonour.”

  “Your offer is very generous. And your heart is—I trust in the goodness of your heart, Jonas.” Franziskus was surprised to hear himself saying this, but he was, and it was true, as far as it went. He recovered himself, lowering his voice. “But dual loyalties are difficult, Jonas.”

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  “If you make me an officer, and then I find myself in a position where I must weigh my duty to you against my vow to protect Angelika.”

  “We’ll prevail upon her to release you from that vow.”

  “She’s anxious to do that, I assure you, but my vow was made to the gods.”

  “Talk it over with her, at least.”

 
“I will not disavow her. Not while she is in the slightest danger.”

  “You will not need to choose between us, Franziskus. Our goals are not in conflict.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The switchback led behind the rightward peak and into a steep, heavily forested gorge, the meeting point of two jagged mountains. Centuries of flooding had deposited a layer of loose stones on the valley’s narrow floor. It would be easier going, but the dense stands of trees along either side of the ravine would provide abundant opportunities for ambushers to lurk. Angelika beckoned to Jonas for a conference, and laid out the choice for him: to press on despite the risk, or to turn back, reversing a day’s arduous travel. Dusk was coming. It brought with it swirls of fog. They rolled in the hollows, obscuring the bottom of the ravine.

  Jonas’ gaze swept the lurching, scraggly pines above. “Can we get to the other side of the valley before nightfall?”

  Angelika shook her head. It was hard to estimate the length of the ravine, or see what lay beyond it. “If you ask me—”

  “I am asking you, Angelika.”

  “Let’s camp here for the night. That way anyone who wants to sneak up on us can only do it from two directions, instead of four.”

  Jonas nodded his assent and, as the last of the men filed out of the switchback and onto the rocky surface of the ravine, he waved to Emil, who gave the orders for a dig-in. Jonas leaned close to Angelika’s ear. “Speak to Franziskus. I’ve made him an offer, and if you care at all for him, you’ll persuade him to take it.”

  Filch offered her cheese. She took it and told him to go away. She sought out Franziskus. He’d found a long stretch of fallen pine log and had sat himself upon it, head in hand and elbow on knee.

  “Never have I seen a person so visibly in a quandary,” she said, sitting beside him. She pressed the halfling’s rind of cheese, uneaten, into Franziskus’ palm. They spent a minute or so debating which of them ought to eat the cheese, which Franziskus knew to be exquisite, before Angelika grew annoyed, ripped it from his hands, chomped it in two, and held the remainder, still moist where her teeth-marks were, in front of his lips. Sulkily he took it from her, turning it over in his hands. He reminded Angelika of a squirrel, deciding whether to devour or bury his latest bit of forage.