[Blackhearts 01] - Valnir's Bane

by Nathan Long - (ebook by Undead)

  “We must follow our duty, of course,” said Erich. “We must do our best to catch up with Lady Magda and escort her back to Baron Valdenheim as we were ordered to do.”

  “Yer off your head, jagger,” said Hals. “She’d do for us in an eye-blink. The captain’s dead. She got her precious banner. I say our job’s done, and there ain’t nothing waiting for us but the hangman’s noose when we get back. I say we go our separate ways and every man for himself.”

  There were many nods and grunts of assent from the others.

  “Suits me,” said Gustaf.

  But Erich was having none of it. “Do you abandon your duty so easily? You pledged to see this mission through. You cannot just walk away with it half done.”

  Hals pulled off his right glove and showed Erich the brand—still red—on the back of his hand. “I made no pledge. I submitted to blackmail is all. I’m off.” He turned to Pavel. “What you think, boyo? Marienburg? I hear they pay honest gold for steady pikes.”

  “Sounds as good a place as any,” said Pavel.

  “In Tilea is summer now,” Giano said wistfully.

  “They’d never find me in Nuln,” Gustaf muttered under his breath.

  “I’ve relatives in Kislev,” said Ulf. “Somewhere.”

  Reiner shook his head, coming to a decision at last. “You’re making a mistake, lads. I think we’re better off sticking together.” Or rather, he thought to himself, I’m better off if all of you protect me.

  The others turned to him.

  Erich smiled, smug. “Come to your senses, have you, Hetzau?”

  “This is wild country,” said Reiner, ignoring him. “Raiders everywhere, wild beasts, unnatural things. I don’t fancy going it alone. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t last a night. Until we’re back in civilised lands, I think we need each other.”

  “Makes sense,” said Hals.

  “As to where we go,” continued Reiner, “that’s another question. I am inclined to believe Captain Veirt was right in thinking that the banner is tainted. I think…”

  “You have no proof of that,” said Erich.

  Reiner paid him no mind. “Whether or not Lady Magda knew so before we found it, she certainly didn’t think twice about using it once she knew its true nature.” He scratched his head. “The real question is, what will Baron Valdenheim do with it once she brings it to him? Will he burn it as any sane man would, or will he let her convince him to use it to further his ambitions?”

  “What makes you think she’ll bring the banner to Valdenheim at all?” asked Franz. “She might head straight north and deliver it into the hands of some daemon-worshipping chieftain.”

  Reiner shook his head. “That woman owes fealty to no one. She worships none but herself. I saw it in her eyes. She wants power in the realms of men, not in some deathless otherworld. Did you not see Albrecht with her when we started this journey? The way he looked at her. He may rule his army with an iron fist, but she has him wrapped around her little finger. Whatever his ambitions are, you can be sure they were hers first, and my guess is that Lady Magda’s ambition is to be the wife of Baron Albrecht Valdenheim, and for Baron Albrecht Valdenheim to become Count Albrecht Valdenheim, and that she means to use the banner to accomplish these things.”

  Ulf frowned. “But Albrecht’s older brother is already Count Vald… Oh. Oh, I see.”

  “This is the merest conjecture,” complained Erich. “You build castles out of air. Even if Lady Magda intends to use the banner for some unjust purpose, which I don’t for a second suggest is the truth, you have no evidence that Baron Albrecht has any malicious intent.”

  “Don’t I?” asked Reiner. “Then tell me this. If this banner is so important, and is meant to be used in the defence of the Empire, why didn’t Albrecht send a battalion of pike and a squadron of lancers to accompany Lady Magda here? Why didn’t he send handgunners and greatswords instead of a tiny band of condemned men?” Reiner smirked. “Because he didn’t want anyone to know what he was about. Because he intends to murder us all when we complete the mission in order to ensure our silence.”

  “You speak treason, sir,” said Erich.

  “Fluently,” said Reiner. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “My fear is, that if Baron Albrecht and Lady Magda suspect we live, and that we know what they intend, it will not matter how far we run, or where we hide. They will hunt us down and kill us wherever we go. And with the hammer brands on our hands, we will be that much easier to find. We will never be safe.”

  “There’s still Marienburg,” said Hals. “Like I said before. And Tilea, and the Border Princes. The hammer brand means nothing there.”

  “Aye,” said Reiner. “That’s true. But how long would it be before you were longing for home? Before you were homesick for Hochland ale and Carolsburg sausages? How long before you wanted to hear your mother’s voice?”

  “That’s all lost to us, y’torturer,” said Hals bitterly. “We’re branded men.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Reiner. “There is one way I can see that we might get out of this with our skins and maybe even win the reward that was promised us.”

  Giano’s ears perked up at that. “And how is this?”

  Reiner shrugged. “Follow Veirt’s last order and warn Count Valdenheim of his brother’s intrigue.”

  There was a murmur of approval at this, but Hals laughed. “And what makes you think Count Manfred is going to take the word of a bunch of murderers and deserters—for you know that’s what they’ll name us—over that of his brother and a reverend priestess of Shallya? What if he has us killed? Or throws us back into the brig?”

  The others nodded, and turned to Reiner.

  “Aye,” he sighed. “There is that. And I’ve no answer for you. But there must be one honourable count in the Empire?”

  “You’d know better than us, my lord,” sneered Pavel.

  “It’s a risk, I’ll warrant you, but what’s the alternative? Do you want to spend the rest of your life in foreign lands? Or living the life of an outlaw here, hiding your hands and skulking from place to place, with the law of the Empire always sniffing at your heels like a wolfhound? Do you want to never go home again? I say Manfred is the best of a lot of bad choices.”

  “Not to mention that it’s the right thing to do,” said Franz.

  Reiner smirked. Hals and Pavel burst out laughing. Giano giggled.

  Hals wiped his eyes, “Oh laddie, you shame us all.”

  Reiner looked around. “So are we decided? Do we seek out Manfred?”

  The men answered with “Ayes” and grunts of approval, but Erich, who had been standing with his arms crossed at the edge of the circle at last spoke up.

  “No, we are not decided,” he said. “You’ve a smooth tongue, Hetzau, but I remain unconvinced. The right thing to do…” He shot a withering glance at Franz, “Is to follow the orders we were given by Baron Albrecht and complete the mission. And as the ranking officer now that Veirt is dead, that is exactly what I command you to do.”

  Pavel and Hals laughed again, and the rest glared at the lancer mutinously. Reiner groaned. Things would move much more smoothly without this parade-ground popinjay gumming up the works, but he was the best sword among them, and if Reiner wanted to get back to civilisation he would need around him all the swords they had. “The Empire’s authority doesn’t mean much this far from Altdorf, von Eisenberg. We could kill you where you stand and no one would ever know, but if you want to play at rank, I’m not entirely sure you outrank me.”

  “I am a novitiate knight of the Order of the Sceptre!” said Erich, drawing himself up.

  “Aye,” drawled Reiner. “Doesn’t that mean that you polish the boots and fetch the beer?”

  The men laughed.

  Erich was turning red. “I was to win my commission after my first battle!”

  Reiner gaped in mock surprise. “So you’ve yet to blood your lance? And you want to lead us? Laddie, my father may not have had the coin to buy me a p
osition in an order, but at least I’ve seen battle. I was wounded at Kiirstad.”

  Erich sputtered, but it was a charge he couldn’t answer.

  Reiner shrugged. “My preference is that we have no leader. We’re all worldly men—most of us anyway. Why don’t we put the decision to a vote? All who want to return to Baron Valdenheim, step left, all who want to seek out and warn his brother the count, step right.”

  “Vote?” bellowed Erich before anyone could move. “There is no voting in the army. One does as one’s commander orders. This is not the council of elector counts.” He glared at Reiner. “If you mean to flout my authority in this way, then we will decide who commands here in the proper way. We will settle the matter on the field of honour.”

  And with that he pulled off his left glove and threw it at Reiner’s feet.

  EIGHT

  They Still Come

  Reiner stared at the glove with his stomach sinking. The last thing he wanted to do was fight Erich. Reiner had always been an indifferent blade, his strong suits in the area of martial endeavours being riding and shooting. He knew Erich was the better man by far. And yet fight him he must.

  Though the temptation to just kill the knight when his back was turned was almost overwhelming, he would be a fool to do it. In the first place, he needed Erich’s sword for the dangerous journey ahead. In the second, for all his talk of not wanting to be leader, Reiner thought himself the coolest, wisest head among the motley band, and wanted the others to listen to him and do as he suggested. Though some of them might at first applaud him for shooting Erich in the back, he knew that the more they thought about it, the less they would trust him, and the more they would be worried that they might be next.

  No, if he wanted to get home in one piece he needed all the men he had, and if he wanted them to guard his back he needed their trust. He would have to fight Erich and, sadly, fight him cleanly. Reiner was certain that the traditions of honour were so deeply entrenched in Erich that if Reiner won the duel fairly Erich would reluctantly obey its stipulations and agree to be led by him. But if Reiner cheated, Erich would refuse to be bound by the outcome. The only difficulty was that the odds of Reiner winning the fight without cheating were slim to none.

  Of course if Reiner lost, and Erich commanded them to return to Albrecht, then something else might be done, but he would worry about that if it happened.

  He looked up at Erich. “To first blood?”

  Erich sneered. “If that is all you are prepared to risk.”

  “I will need your blade when I win. If you had any sense you would realise that you will need mine if you become leader.”

  Erich flushed, embarrassed not to have thought of it on his own. “And if I win you will submit to my command?”

  Reiner nodded. “I will. As will you if I win, yes?”

  Erich hesitated unhappily, then nodded. “You have my word.”

  “Very well.” Reiner pulled his cavalry sabre and scabbard from his belt. “I’m afraid I cannot match the length of your longsword, so you will have to match mine. Would you care to select the ground?”

  “Fine.”

  After a hasty colloquy they determined that Oskar’s sword matched Reiner’s in length, and Erich took a few practice lunges with it to get the feel. The novitiate knight felt it would be unseemly to conduct an affair of honour in a convent, so they marked out the lists just outside the convent’s gates. Here also they laid to rest the body of Veirt, for it didn’t feel right to leave him unburied among the horrors and desecrations of the convent garden. The ground was rocky and they had nothing to dig with so instead they covered him with loose rocks—though not before Reiner had emptied his pockets of all that was useful: gold crowns, a whetstone, a compass, charms and fetishes to ward off harm and bring luck. Finally, much to Pavel’s disappointment, Reiner posted him as lookout, telling him to keep his one eye on the paths leading to and away from the convent. At last they were ready. Reiner swallowed queasily as the scent of the blood of the butchered horses in the hidden canyon reached his nose. It was too reminiscent of a slaughterhouse for his peace of mind at this particular moment. He rolled his shoulders and circled his arms to warm up, all the while watching Erich doing the same on the opposite side of the ground. Gustaf waited to one side with his field kit at the ready, and Giano, whose people were credited with making the practice of duelling into the ceremony it had become, stood in the centre ready to act as master of the lists. The rest of the men, Pavel, Hals, Oskar, Ulf and Franz, stood around the edges of the ground, their faces a mixture of anxiety and eagerness.

  “Gentlemen, please to come to centre?” asked Giano.

  Erich strode forward confidently, sword in hand and stripped to the waist despite the freezing wind. A look at the blond knight’s broad chest and chiselled midsection made Reiner glad he’d kept his shirt on. The comparison would have done nothing for his morale. He stepped to Giano with a tremor in his knees he hoped no one else could detect.

  Giano bowed formally to both of them. “Weapons and ground alright by both gentlemen? Then we beginning. To the first bleeding, hey? If one gentleman can no continue, the contest go to the man who still stand. If no can see who strike first blood, then fight one more, hey?”

  “Fine,” said Erich, sneering down his nose at Reiner.

  “Yes,” said Reiner, looking at his boots.

  “Excellent. Gentlemen please to stand at ends of blades.”

  Reiner and Erich stepped back and extended their arms and swords. Giano held them until their sword tips touched. “Gentlemen are ready?”

  Erich and Reiner nodded.

  “Very good.” Giano let go of the tips of the sabres and leapt back. “Then begin!”

  Reiner and Erich dropped into guard and began to circle, eyeing each other alertly. Reiner tried desperately to remember all the lessons he had ignored on those interminable afternoons with his father’s master of the fence, when he would rather have been in the hayloft, learning a different sort of lunge and thrust from his second cousin Marina. Was he supposed to look into Erich’s eyes to watch for what he intended next, or was it best to focus on his chest? He couldn’t recall. He was so out of practice. All his life he had been able to talk his way out of fights, and when he hadn’t, when some angry rustic had caught him with weighted dice or an extra ace in his hand, he had fought dirty, throwing furniture, beer, sand, whatever came to hand. He had no experience fighting within a set of rules.

  Erich lunged forward, executing a lightning thrust. Reiner parried, but much too wide. Erich’s blade dipped easily under his and slid directly for his heart. Only an undignified backwards hop saved Reiner from being cut to the bone.

  “Easy, sir,” gasped Reiner. “Do you mean to mark me or kill me?”

  “My apologies,” said Erich, looking not one whit apologetic. “I expected more resistance.”

  Reiner danced back, sweating, as Erich advanced gracefully, pressing his advantage. Reiner parried and blocked like mad, stopping Erich’s blade mere inches from his face and chest time and again. There was no question of him riposting. He was too busy defending. If he tried an attack, Erich would slip past his guard and it would be over. He had to hope Erich would make some error, or lose his balance. It didn’t seem likely.

  As he dodged this way and that, the faces of the men who surrounded them flashed by: Hals, leaning on his spear and watching with grim intensity, Ulf, his brow furrowed, Giano, eyes shining, Franz with his fingers over his mouth. The boy seemed almost more worried than Reiner himself.

  Erich slashed again. Reiner stopped the blow, but it was so strong it drove his own blade back into his shoulder. As he jumped back Reiner felt his arm. No blood.

  “Nearly had you there,” said Erich, grinning.

  “Nearly.”

  Curse the man, thought Reiner. The lancer was so calm, so sure of himself. He had yet to break a sweat, while Reiner was perspiring so much the hilt of his sabre was twisting in his hand.

 
Erich came in again, jabbing and slashing. His blade seemed to be everywhere at once. Reiner could see it as little more than a blur. He backed away in a panic and his boot heel caught on a lip of rock. He started to fall and threw out his sword arm to try to regain his footing.

  Even a lesser swordsman than Erich might have taken advantage of such an opening. Erich lunged like a striking cat, blade arrowing straight toward Reiner’s chest. There was no way Reiner could bring his sword to guard in time to stop it.

  But then suddenly Erich was tripping himself, his sword arm flailing. Reiner watched amazed, while time seemed to slow to a crawl and his sword swung forward just as Erich’s arm fell into its path. It was the slightest touch. A scratch from a rose thorn, and yet there was blood—a line on Erich’s arm, a smear on Reiner’s blade.

  Erich caught himself and jerked back again instantly, but not to press his attack. He spun to point his sabre accusingly at Hals. “You tripped me, you vermin! You stuck out your spear and tripped me.”

  “I didn’t, my lord!” said Hals, his face as innocent as a newborn’s. “You tripped over it, certain. But I never moved it.”

  “Liar!” Erich turned back to Reiner. “It doesn’t count. He tripped me. You saw him.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t,” said Reiner truthfully. “I was too busy tripping myself.”

  Erich’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a moment. I see what it is. You’re in collusion, the two of you. You knew you couldn’t beat me fairly, so you conspired to cheat.”

  “Not at all,” said Reiner. “At least I didn’t. Whether Hals tripped you on purpose you’ll have to take up with him.”

  “I swear, my lord,” said Hals. “By Sigmar, I swear. I was leaning on my spear. I didn’t move it.”

  Erich snorted derisively. “We’ll have to go again.” He motioned to Giano brusquely. “Come, Tilean. Do the necessary.”

  “Sir,” said Reiner. “You are bleeding.”

  “It wasn’t a fair touch,” snapped Erich. “I told you. The man tripped me.”