Don’t lose this fight, Angelika thought. And if you do get yourself killed, at least hold him until I can shake this off.
It was impossible to tell, from the sounds of the duel, who was winning. She counted out the seconds in exhalations and sword blows. Angelika tried again to move the Kurgan off her. She lifted his still-breathing bulk three or four inches up over her torso before succumbing to the weight, letting him fall back down on her. Though he was out like a doused campfire, his eyes still stared open, directly into hers. His stink put her, seasoned corpse robber that she was, on the verge of retching.
She would need to summon all of her concentration to get this Chaos-loving lummox off her. She pictured the life that would be hers, when she got her ring back. The little farmhouse. The fireplace. Beside a well-stuffed chair, an unassuming side table. Sitting on that, a cup of lovely brandy.
From a few feet away, on the other side of the bushes, an unmistakeable sound burbled out—the distinctive, disappointed last breath of a dying man.
One or other of the combatants was no more.
Angelika pushed up against the heavy Kurgan. The victor, whichever he was, crashed and fumbled through the bushes. The Kurgan was lifted from her.
Jonas held out his hand for her; she took it, pulling herself to her feet.
“I had a perfect vantage,” she said. “I could have got some of them, maybe all of them, without their getting near me.”
“I could not stand idle while they killed my men.”
Shrugging, she recovered her nearest dagger, from the neck of a slain marauder. She used it to finish the one who’d fallen on top of her, drawing a red line across his throat. After watching to be sure he was done, she yanked Jonas’ dagger from her victim’s shoulder. She handed it back to him and then found her own second knife.
He turned around and pushed his way through the foliage and down onto the slope. She went after him.
They walked over to the bodies. Caven, Hertwig and Kollek were all dead. Egerer had an arrow sticking through his left hand. Another had grazed his leg, on the same side, leaving a long but superficial cut on his upper thigh.
Jonas stood regarding the three dead soldiers.
Egerer came up beside him and quietly said, “we’ll have to leave ’em here, sir.”
“So far we’ve given every fallen man his proper rites,” replied Jonas.
“The three of us can’t drag them back to camp, not if there are other snipers about,” said Angelika. “We’d be easy targets, each of us lugging a dead man.”
“Is there a spot to bury them here?” Jonas asked.
“Sir,” said Egerer, “they’d understand. We’re in enemy lands. If it was me, I’d only like to be laid out under a blanket. Sooner let the vultures get me than think one of my comrades got himself killed securing my carcass.”
Jonas nodded. Angelika limped over to the men’s packs, withdrawing their field blankets. As she’d done earlier, she examined their possessions, gathering up coins and jewels and wrapping them in three handkerchiefs to send back to the dead men’s families. Kollek’s bag of rings jingled richly as she handed them over to Egerer’s care. None of them had her ring.
The three of them travelled in watchful silence. Any frank words Angelika had for Jonas would have to wait until they could speak in private. They couldn’t distance themselves from Egerer, as they had from the four soldiers together. It would be good to let him stew in his sorrows for a while before working on him any more.
As she considered the matter further, her attitude toward him softened. True, the scrap might have gone better if he’d done as she’d told him. If it were Franziskus lying in a ditch getting shot at, and she was the one told to sit tight, would she have done it? No, not for a moment. And although she’d been battered, nearly killed as a matter of fact, she’d suffered no permanent damage, had she?
The project was not to get him to follow her orders, she reminded herself. It was to make a better leader of him. In truth, then, there was nothing more to say. Men had died, and that was a difficult thing, but his poor judgement, if you could even call it that, was not to blame. He had no cause to be ashamed and, fortune be praised, nothing to lie about.
By dusk, to Angelika’s mild surprise, all patrols had returned safely to the base camp at the stony stream. She learned this from Mattes, who stood facing away from her, as if taking no heed of her presence.
“Sounds like yours was the unlucky patrol,” he informed her.
“Naturally.”
“Fengler’s patrol spotted a few Kurg off in the distance, on another hill. They hunkered down, to follow them later. But by the time they got up to track them, they’d melted away.”
“Was their patrol spotted?”
“They think not. But the head on Fengler’s shoulders is made of solid bone, and the men he had with him aren’t much brighter. I’d wager even odds the Kurgs seen them.”
“And went off to fetch reinforcements.”
The creases deepened in Mattes’ sun-ruined skin. “If that’s so, we’re all gathered neatly together for a cosy little massacre. We got to get ourselves out of this camp formation.”
“You raise this with the lieutenant?”
He coughed up a sceptical laugh. “I’m only a drums-man, Angelika.” His tongue tripped briefly at the mention of her name.
“Call me Fleischer if you like that better. What about the sergeant? Did you raise it with him?”
He shook his head. “Question the commander, to Sergeant Emil Raab? I wouldn’t like to do that.”
“You soldiers need somebody trustworthy who can get word up the command chain when you can see they’re about to wet their own trouser legs.”
Mattes scratched inside his ear. “That’s why we keep women out of the military. You’d try to apply common sense to it.”
Angelika sighed. “I agree it’s best to split into small groups. Jonas has, however, taken all the advice he wants to hear from me for a good while. He needs a second voice, to talk into his other ear.” She heard crackling and spun around. “I don’t believe it.”
Under Jonas’ supervision, a number of the stragglers bent down over a large campfire. They’d struck alight a pile of dry weeds, and now piled chunks of pine log around it.
“That’ll bring them down on us.” She marched over to Jonas.
Midway through, she took hold of herself, slowing her advance, suppressing her sense of outraged logic. When she reached him, she said, with all the insouciance she could muster, “Bit of a risk, isn’t it?”
Jonas smiled. “No, no, watch this.” He leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. “The men need cheering up. Some warmth in their bones that’ll turn them around.” He snapped his fingers, and the stragglers ran up, ferrying over lengths of canvas and an armful of tall, thin poles. They stuck the poles into the ground, and lashed the canvas to them with lengths of tent cord. Jonas proudly regarded their construction efforts. “This way we can have a fire, but not be seen by observers.”
“We’re surrounded by hills,” said Angelika.
“Yes, but any enemy would have to be nearly on top of us already to see our flame. Wouldn’t they?”
Angelika watched as the men piled up a veritable bonfire. “A fire that size? A sharp-eyed scout could see it as far away as that ridgeline.”
“No, I think this time you’re incorrect, Angelika.”
“I thought we resolved all this. This is why you brought me here. Because I know lines of sight.”
“I am grateful for the admonishment, but must balance it against other concerns. Such as the morale of the men.”
The men slowed their work, clumsily concealing their eavesdropping. Jonas snapped his fingers at them and they redoubled their speed.
Angelika knew it was useless; the soldiers had already been ordered to act. If he pulled down the blind and doused the fire, he’d be reversing himself, and in a way that all the men could see. She’d have an easier time convincing a fish to
play the flute. “This one night only, then,” she said.
Jonas withheld his acknowledgement. The sky darkened and more of the men gathered around the fire, as it leapt up above the limits of Jonas’ blinds. At first the men talked little, transfixed by the leaping flames. The names of Caven, Hertwig and Kollek were not spoken aloud, but were heard just the same. Angelika listened past the sounds of the talking men, for noises outside the blind. Though there were watchmen posted all around, there was no pair of ears Angelika trusted better than her own.
Still, she heard the tone of their words, and Jonas was correct in one respect—the men were badly frightened. Perhaps their poor morale was a worse threat to them than a Kurgan incursion. People who survived in the mountains were cautious, but not fearful. A panicked man could find a hundred ways to die.
Angelika took a new look at Jonas. The lieutenant hunched forward on a log, seated with a straggler on one side and Filch the halfling on the other. He was studying each of his men in turn, and appeared to be honestly concerned for their welfare. This was more than Angelika could say for herself. It was possible, she had to admit, that he was right and she was wrong. The campfire might be worth the risk.
Saar was talking, a haunted expression behind his buggy eyes. “Me, I’d sooner fight an inhuman foe. If only we were up to the north-east, fighting Grimgor’s orcs. You look a greenskin in the face, and you see nothin’ in his tiny crimson eyes but hate and malice, well, then that’s just the way they is. They’s inhuman, ain’t they? But to stare back into a face on the battlefield, and to understand it’s the face of a man, a man like yourself—but to see ten times the hate, ten times the malice gleaming in eyes exactly the same as yours—that’s what I call terrorising.”
Jonas had been growing increasingly restive throughout Saar’s monologue. “Surely you do not mean to say that a Gerolsbruch Swordsman is terrified.”
“I didn’t mean to say that directly. I mean…” Saar gulped. “Not if you say I don’t, sir. Though I wasn’t a Gerolsbrucher till a few days back.”
A nervous silence descended. Jonas cleared his throat. “You may speak freely—what is your name again?”
“Saar, sir.”
“Saar, I did not mean to speak as your commander, to enforce my views on you. If I disagree with you, it is merely as a fellow soldier. We may all speak frankly here.”
“I’ve said all I meant to, sir.”
“No, no. Please, continue. If we are to fight this foe, I would hear all theories on him. If fear stalks us, we must dispel it.”
Saar loosened his collar. His fellow stragglers scowled at him. “Well, ah. In all honesty I’ve forgot what I’ve been saying.”
“You were comparing the orc to the Kurgan.”
“Ah, yes. I said, that’s what I, ah, don’t like about the Kurgan in particular, sir. To know that he’s the same as me, save for his unquenchable madness. Because orcs are stupid. They’re brutes, sure, and strong, and fast, but dumb as a post. You can fool orcs with the exact same trick a dozen times and they never learn. Whereas a man, even a man drunk on hate, he’s a clever creature. He’ll outfox you in a dozen ways. He’s determined. You put an obstacle in his path, he’ll show the determination and the ingenuity to overcome it. Brute force alone is frightening, yes, but pair that up with the human mind, and you’ve got the worst enemy you could possibly face.”
Jonas rose from his spot on the log. “I did not want to tell the tale of our exploits on patrol this morning. An officer does not engage in unseemly boasting. And it is sad to remind ourselves that three more of us have bravely fallen upon this hostile mountain soil. But, Saar, I must stand and speak, to disabuse you of your false estimation of our foe. The Kurg is numerous. The Kurg is savage. Yet clever he is not. In fact, a Kurg is stupider than an orc. An orc is bred to savagery. It is in his bones. It is what animates him.
“Yet man is innately good, and is born blessed by the gods. When he swears fealty to that force we cannot name, the Kurgan goes against man’s nature. He is warped and twisted by this act of insane worship. When you go out to fight him, Saar, know that his mind is muddled by madness. What we have over him is mental clarity.
“Let me tell you what happened. We were on the trail when the arrows hurtled down on us. They had taken refuge on a rocky ledge, covered with a thick hedge of foliage. Yes, we were ambushed—but it does not take any great acuity of mind to find a cowardly place to fire from. Kollek, Hertwig and Caven fell dead on the spot.”
A sense of dread, verging on nausea, coursed through Angelika, pounding in a double rhythm with her pulse. He was at it again. She searched the rapt faces of the soldiers—where was Egerer, who’d survived the day with them? She coughed, hoping to warn Jonas off.
But he forged on, avoiding her gaze. “Egerer crawled away into a mere hollow on the ground, flattening himself down there. Arrows landed all around him. He was wounded.”
Egerer, Angelika realised, was absent—assigned to sentry duty. Jonas couldn’t have planned this, could he?
“Angelika and I outsmarted them immediately,” he was saying. “She ran up the side of the slope, to pounce from above. Whereas I did what they thought no civilised man was capable of—I rushed at them, the courage of my virtuous faith suffusing the very muscles of my heart. I did not curl up in fear. I made myself a moving target.”
Angelika coughed a second time, also in vain. It would be too obvious if she did it a third time, so she resigned herself as Jonas dug himself deeper.
“Shocked by my valour, they drew back, and I crashed through the bushes at them, swinging my sabre above my head. Leaves and Kurgan blood flew everywhere. There were eight of them, cowering there, perched on that tiny ledge. Eight! If that isn’t stupid, what is? In instants, three had fallen beneath the furious strokes of my blade. Others fled, cowed by my daring and certitude. When you face them, you must do the same. Be bold. Make them fear you.”
Angelika could not remember the last time she’d heard anything half as idiotic as this. It was true that barbarians were superstitious and far from subtle, but they never fled from a head-on charge. Among the Kurgan there was no greater sin than cowardice. Any Kurg who ran from an Imperial warrior, especially a single, foolhardy charger, could expect to be killed by his war-leader.
“Angelika dropped from the sandy slope above, landing on those who ran.” Now he turned to her. “Our scout has been hiding her true skills from us. As she slashed them, she showed herself the equal of any Kislevite warrior queen.” He regarded her as if he expected her to be pleased by this nonsensical flattery.
Her fist trembled with rage; a thick warm hand appeared on it, squeezing it steady. It belonged to Mattes, who’d at some point sat himself beside her. “Not now,” he said, under his breath.
“So show courage, my friends, and the Kurgan will reveal his true colours—those of a wretched slave and bully. What do you say to that, Herr Saar?”
The mood among the soldiers was different now than it had been after Jonas’ previous orations. They gazed off into the inky distance, or down at their boots. Men straightened their collars, or adjusted the scabbards of their swords.
The man next to Saar elbowed him. He started; his tongue shot out to dampen his thick and nerve-dried lips. “I say, you, er, you and Fraulein Angelika showed, er, cleverness indeed.”
For, as was clear to all but its author, Jonas’ tale had not been one of ingenuity, as he had promised.
The tactic it appeared to recommend was one of sheer idiot daring.
Jonas shifted his weight, then moved next to Franziskus, who sat opposite Angelika, mirroring her morose demeanour. She’d already told him of the Kurg encounter, so he knew as well as she did how far Jonas had diverged from the truth. Jonas treated him to a comradely thump on the back. Franziskus dredged up a flustered smile.
“I’ve a decision to announce,” said Jonas. “In celebration of our small but significant victory today. You may not know that Franziskus here holds the ran
k of lieutenant in the Stirland army. It was a fact he kept humbly secret from me for too long. It transpires that he and Angelika are agents of our beloved elector count, long dispatched on a mission to the Blackfire. Remind me, Franziskus, what the nature of your mission was.”
Franziskus found his voice with difficulty. “Ah. It was—I do not believe I am at liberty to specify, lieutenant.”
“But you can say that it was a secret mission of great importance. To protect the Empire.”
“The protection of the Empire is foremost in my mind, lieutenant.”
Jonas turned to address the men. “Given our need for leadership, Franziskus has kindly consented to help us. Beginning tomorrow, he will take command of the Chelborg Archers.”
The archers traded doubtful glances.
Jonas pulled Franziskus up to his feet. “Franziskus has impressed me greatly in the past few days. You archers, you will soon appreciate his qualities as well, and be grateful for his leadership.”
He waited. Franziskus saw that he was meant to contribute some words of his own. He thought for a moment, then addressed the archers, most of whom sat together, apart from the other men.
“Excuse my lack of preparation,” he began. “I do not share Lieutenant Rassau’s eloquence. I knew that he would make this offer, but not that he would make it now.”
He seemed so trapped and helpless that Angelika could not bear to watch.
“Chelborg Archers,” Franziskus resumed. “Though I did not think I would again find myself a leader of men, I now embrace the role, as I hope you will embrace me in it. Our straits are far from easy. Bui our homeland depends on us. Though we are few, though we are far from home, we must not only survive but prosper here. For each of us, we must slay a hundred foes. It is a daunting task. But together we shall do it. With, as the lieutenant says, hearts filled with the certainty of our righteousness. Above all, I pray for Sigmar’s guidance.”
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