“But captain,” said Hals uneasily. “You must have a plan. Y’haven’t failed us yet.”
Reiner cursed inwardly. Damn them and their confidence in him. In his mind he had failed them at every turn. Why couldn’t they see it? “I’m sorry, lad. I’m fresh out.”
The sound of the rapids came and went again, but this time not so loudly, while the hollow wooden knocking grew slowly but steadily louder. The current was getting stronger as well, pulling them around the vortex more and more quickly, while at the same time tugging them down as well. Their tired arms were finding it harder and harder to hold onto the log.
“Is no shore to swim?” asked Giano querulously.
“I know not,” said Reiner. “But feel free to explore,”
The Tilean didn’t seem so inclined.
As they passed the sound of the rapids for the sixth or seventh time Reiner noted a strange phenomenon. The surface of the water was not level. It sloped away on their left like the side of a soup bowl, and now the wooden knocking was drowning out everything else.
“The bridge,” said Reiner, understanding at last. “All the timbers have gathered here, but wood doesn’t sink.”
“Oh!” Franka cried. “It’s pulling me down!”
“By Sigmar,” said Hals. “It has me too!”
“Hold fast!” Reiner cried, though he knew now it was hopeless.
The current pulled almost straight down now. Their log slid down the side of the soup bowl and smashed end-on into the others as they spun in a violent circle, held forever in agitated equilibrium in the centre of the vortex by the current that pulled them down and their buoyancy that forced them up. The impact jarred Reiner so hard his teeth snapped. He lost his grip and was instantly sucked down the whirlpool’s maw. The swirling logs bludgeoned him as he sank, but he was soon below them, pulled inexorably down, as if some sea-serpent had him by the legs and dragged him to its underwater lair.
Once again animal instinct overcame him, and though he knew that struggle was useless, he clawed at the water, trying desperately to swim to the surface, to reach air again, while his lungs screamed in fiery agony.
The current angled suddenly sideways and his shoulder struck a rocky surface hard enough that he almost gasped. He was dragged into an airless tunnel, scraping along the rough roof at a furious pace. He could feel his clothes, and then his skin shredding. All became a jumble of pain and speed and disorientation. He knew not if he was alive or dead, cold or hot, in pain or unable to feel anything at all. Red lines wormed across the blackness of his vision. A rapid thumping pounded in his ears. His chest felt as if it were being crushed in a vice.
And then, suddenly, there was air.
And he was falling.
Into water. Again.
The first thing Reiner thought when he broke the surface was, “What is that Sigmar-cursed light?” For a unbearable brightness seared through his eyelids. Then he began coughing violently, retching out great quantities of water as he paddled his arms to stay afloat. He could hear others around him doing the same. His eyes watered. His nose ran. His throat felt like he had swallowed broken glass, but at last he cleared his lungs and looked around.
He and his companions were bobbing in a small mountain lake, surrounded by tall pines. A high waterfall dropped to the lake from a cleft in a crag. A pair of ducks skimmed into a landing on the water. He was outside. The bright light was the sun, setting over a carpet of evergreens. They were out of the tunnels at last!
Pavel gurgled beside him. “Captain, I… Hals is… I can’t…”
Reiner looked at him. The pikeman was thrashing around, trying unsuccessfully to keep his head above water. Hals floated face down beside him, not moving. Beyond them, Oskar was calmly paddling one-handed for the shore, while Franka and Giano recovered themselves.
“Giano, Franz,” called Reiner. “Can you swim?”
“Aye,” they said in unison.
“Then help Pavel to shore.”
Reiner caught Hals around the shoulders and turned him face up, then swam him to the nearest landfall, a muddy bank, thick with rushes.
As they reached the shallows Pavel crawled out under his own power and Franka and Giano helped Reiner drag Hals out and lay him on his side. Reiner pounded him on the back.
For a moment Hals didn’t move, and Pavel sat watching anxiously. But at last, with a violent convulsion, the pikeman began coughing and spewed an alarming amount of water out onto the mud. Reiner held his head until he was through.
“All right, pikeman?” asked Reiner.
Hals looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “I’m… never bathing… again.”
Pavel grinned with relief. “And why should ye start now anyway, y’old goat?”
Reiner patted Hals’ shoulder and stood, looking at them all. He shook his head. “A sorrier lot of wretches I have never seen.”
Hals laughed. “Yer no beauty yerself, captain.” He sneezed and shivered.
They were all shivering. Franka’s teeth were chattering uncontrollably and Reiner realised that his were doing the same. Tremors racked his body. His fingers were blue. Though there were buds sprouting on the nearby dogwoods it was only early spring yet, and they were still high in the mountains. “Any missing fingers? Any bones broken?”
They all shook their heads, but it was clear that they had all been badly battered by the river and the vortex. Hals has lost his crutch. Pavel’s eye-patch was missing and his eye socket gaped like a red cave. Oskar had a fresh wound on his brow. Giano’s forearm was badly scraped and Franka’s shirt was newly red, as if the gashes she had received from the warhound had reopened.
Reiner squinted at the nearby mountain tops, looking for familiar landmarks. “Have we any idea where we are?” he asked.
Hals sat up and looked around. “It don’t look familiar,” he said. “But by the sun we must be on the southern face of the Middle Mountains.”
Reiner nodded. “Wherever we are, we must find shelter. We need to dry off in front of a fire before we all catch our deaths.”
“There’s chimney smoke down the hill, captain,” said Oskar. “And do you still have the bottle?”
Reiner was loath to give Oskar any more of the juice. It already seemed to have him in its clutches, but he’d been most helpful of late. He put his hand in his jerkin. The vial was gone. “Sorry, old son. I’ve lost the bottle.”
Oskar swallowed, and nodded. “I see. Very well.” He hugged his arms and shivered.
Reiner coughed and sniffed. “Right. Come on, you lot. Let us go take advantage of their hospitality, whoever they are.”
The party got to their feet and began limping and staggering down the piney slope.
Reiner looked back at the waterfall. It was as high as three houses. He shook his head. It seemed incredible they had survived.
“Water is a softer landing than rock,” said Franka, reading his thoughts.
Reiner grimaced. “Not by much.” They started after the others.
Reiner stole a sidelong look at the girl, who walked contentedly beside him. Curse her for being so companionable, he thought. It was unnerving for a woman to be so easy to get along with, so much like a friend, and yet so…
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the image of her standing before him, naked to the waist.
It was only a short walk to the village—a good thing, for none of them were capable of a long walk, and they were ill-equipped to face any danger they might come across. In addition to being lame and sore, they were almost entirely unarmed. Though Reiner had his pistols—but no powder or shot—and he and Giano still had swords, the river had taken almost everything they hadn’t lost earlier. Giano’s crossbow was gone. Oskar’s long gun, Franka’s bow, Pavel’s spear, Hals’ crutch-that-was-once-a-spear, all lost in the darkness of the underworld, leaving them with only their daggers.
They reached the village just as the sun disappeared behind the mountains and the landscape shaded to purple. At first, as they c
ame upon it through the trees, it seemed a quaint place, strangely untouched by the war—a few small stone and shingle cottages tucked in a fold of hills by the stream that wound away from the lake. Smoke rose from a few chimneys.
Reiner heard Franka choke back a sob beside him.
“It’s so much like home,” she said, recovering herself.
Reiner knew just how she felt. After so long in such an alien place, these little huts, which he wouldn’t have given a second look a fortnight ago, looked more welcoming to him now than the finest inn in Altdorf.
But as they got closer, the hair began to rise on Reiner’s neck. Though he couldn’t put a finger on it, something didn’t feel quite right. Despite the smoke coming from the chimneys, the place had a neglected, deserted air. Weeds grew unrestrained around the houses and windows gaped open, their shutters hanging off their hinges. There was a disconcerting look of vacancy about the whole place.
The companions walked warily up the muddy street to the well at the centre. Not a sound of human occupation did they hear: not a voice or movement, not the crying of a child or the hammering of a smith. They looked around them, hands on the pommels of their swords and daggers. The empty windows stared back at them.
“Ahoy, the village!” called Reiner.
His voice echoed between the houses and away into the woods.
“Where are they?” asked Franka in a hushed voice. “Where have they gone?”
“And whose smoke is that coming from the chimneys?” grunted Hals.
“Maybe they went for a walk,” said Oskar.
“And maybe you’ll die finding out,” said a rough voice behind them.
The companions whipped around. A gaunt man with lank hair that hung over his forehead stood at the corner of a house. He was dressed in patched and filthy clothes and carried a bow, an arrow nocked and ready. He raised a hand and more ragged men stepped out behind him, and from behind every house that faced the square. All levelled bows at Reiner’s men. They were surrounded.
The gaunt man stepped into the square with two lieutenants, a short, pug-nosed fellow with a tuft of sandy beard on his chin, and a grim, powerfully built warrior with long braids that hung to his chest. They gave the companions a once over. The leader grinned, revealing teeth like a horse’s.
“Yer a sorry lot,” he said. “What chewed you up?”
“Almost not worth jumping,” said pug-nose with a sneer.
Braids pointed at the Reiner’s leather jerkin, then Hals’ and Pavel’s. “Their kit’s regulation, what’s left of it. They’re soldiers”
The smirk died on horse-face’s lips. His eyes turned cold. “You hunting us?” he asked Reiner. “You scouts?”
“Best to kill ’em, Horst,” said pug-nose. “Just t’be safe.”
“Aye,” said horse-face, pushing his hair aside to rub his brow. “Aye, I suppose we must.” As his hair fell back, Reiner thought he saw a familiar scar on his forehead. The bandit signalled his men and Reiner heard the creak of two-dozen bowstrings being pulled back.
“Wait!” cried Pavel.
“What we do?” gabbled Giano, anxiously. “What we do?”
“Take off your gloves, quick!” said Reiner.
“Take off…?” echoed Giano, puzzled.
Reiner yanked off his still-damp glove with his teeth and held up his hand, showing the scar on the back. “Brothers!” he shouted, smiling as wide as he could. “How glad we are to see fellows of the brand.”
The men paused. Horse-face and his lieutenants squinted at his hand in the dying twilight as Reiner’s companions tore off their gloves and showed their brands as well. The ring of archers relaxed their strings, but did not yet lower their bows.
“We… we are recently escaped from a convict column,” said Reiner, making it up as he said it. “On the way to Middenheim to slave in the rebuilding of the walls. We were closely hounded by wolf swords, and nearly…”
Braids stepped forward, menacing. “You have brought Knights of Ulric into our hills?”
“No, no,” said Reiner quickly, holding up his hands. “No, no. We lost them a day ago, but then, alas, became lost ourselves. And many a misadventure have we had since. There was the bear…”
“And the waterfall,” added Franka, picking it up.
Reiner nodded. “And the tumble down the cliff.”
Braids grabbed Reiner’s hand in an iron grip and examined the brand closely. He rubbed it with his thumb, as if he expected it to smear. When it didn’t, he grunted and turned away.
Horse-face grinned. “You really are a sad bunch, ain’t you? Tenderfoot flatlanders stumbling about in the hills like little lost babes.”
Reiner drew himself up. “We are not yet hard-bitten brigands like yourselves. Our brands are still fresh. But we have all our lives to learn.”
Horse-face and pug-nose laughed and their men joined in.
“Well then, my young sprouts,” said horse-face. “Let us start you off on the right foot. Let us show you the joys of the life of the outlaw.” He bowed. “Welcome to our humble home.”
And as he said it, a few gaunt women and dirty children stepped out of hiding and peered from the windows and doors of the rundown huts to stare at the newcomers.
Reiner frowned, confused, as Horse-face led him and the others to the largest house. It was fully dark now. “Are you bandits? Or is this your village?”
Horse-face grimaced. “Well, both, really. A lot of us lived here before the war. Or here abouts. But then we went off to fight for Karl Franz—and much thanks we got for it I can tell ye. Cut down in our thousands while the knights made fine speeches.” He waved a hand. “But y’know all about that, yes? At any rate, when we returned, they’re all dead, our mothers and fathers, sisters and sons…” He sighed and looked around. “We’d love to live here again, but with them northern devils nesting up in the hills, we’ve to be on our guard. Can’t set up anything permanent.”
“You do a good job of disappearing,” said Reiner.
“Aye,” said Horse-face. “Plenty of practice.” He shrugged. “If we could ask m’lord Hulshelft for protection he’d root the heathen out and make this land safe again, but, well, we’re marked men, most of us, like you. He’d string us up sooner than help us.”
They entered the house. Reiner’s visions of venison and boar roasting on spits and wine flowing from casks of stolen monastery wine were dashed as Horse-face offered him and his companions a place at the small fireplace and called for food. There was no furniture. They sat on the floor. The wind whistled through the missing windows and leaves and dirt gathered in drifts in the corners. The fire was barely large enough to warm Reiner’s hands, let alone dry his clothes.
Though they had little, the bandits weren’t stingy. They filled bowls and cups for them and refilled them when they were empty. There was no venison. No boar. Only stringy rabbits and squirrels crisping on sticks, and a thin gruel of oats and wild carrots that was mostly water. At least it filled their bellies and warmed their bones.
As he gnawed the last bits from the bones of a rabbit, Hals leaned in and murmured in Reiner’s ear. “Why don’t we throw in our lot with these lads?” said the pikeman. “They seem a likely bunch.”
Reiner made a face. In the light of the fire it was easy to see how malnourished the bandits were, their faces hollow and sickly. These were not merry outlaws living a life free from care. They were wanted men, hard hunted and longing to return to their former lives—a dream as impossible for them as flying to Mannslieb on the back of a griffin.
“Why not?” Reiner asked. “Because I’d be at home here as you would be in the court of the king of Bretonnia.”
“Ah,” said Hals. “Tain’t so bad.”
“You think not? Look at them. They’re starving.”
“That’s winter,” said Pavel, joining in. “Things get a touch lean in the winter, certain. But it’s spring now. There’ll be food aplenty soon.”
“And another winter next year.�
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Hals shrugged.
Reiner lowered his voice and hunched closer to them. He didn’t want the bandits to hear. “You’re more than welcome to stay. I’ll not stop you.” He held up his scarred hand. “But there’s a chance at the end of this journey to erase this mark and return to a normal life—for me to go back to my card rooms and taverns, for you to go back to your farms. That sounds better to me than mucking about in the woods eating coneys for the rest of our lives.”
Hals and Pavel frowned and sat back to whisper between themselves. After a moment Hals leaned forward again, looking sheepish. “We’re with ye, captain.” He shrugged. “We… well, sometimes it’s a mite hard to believe in going home, after everything what’s happened.”
“Aye,” said Reiner. “I know.”
A hand slapped his back and Horse-face sat down next to him with Pug-nose and Braids at his sides. “Well, how do you like our homely fare?” he asked with a grin.
“The best we’ve had in days,” said Reiner truthfully. “And we thank you for your hospitality.”
The bandit waved a dismissive hand. “Tisn’t hospitality. Y’ll pay for it, one way or the other. If you stay with us y’ll pull yer weight. If you leave us, yer purses will be lighter.” He grinned. “Have y’decided which it’s to be?”
Reiner sighed. He had expected something like this. The men were bandits after all. “I believe we will be moving on. You have been more than generous, but I can see that you have little to share. You have no need of six more mouths to feed.”
“Where will you go?” asked braids.
Reiner frowned and rubbed his hand. “The man who gave us these brands rides with Count Manfred, who means to win back Nordbergbruche from the northers. We have unfinished business with that man, if we can find Nordbergbruche.” He grinned wryly. “We’re sorely lost.”
Pug-nose made a face. “You would run back to the arms of your executioners? Are you mad?”
“We are willing to die, so long as our nemesis does as well.”
“They go to betray us,” said Braids. “They hope to win clemency by turning us in.”
Reiner glared at him. “Do you think I am such a fool, sir? I know the Empire’s justice as well as any. There is no clemency for one who wears the hammer brand. They may spare me the axe, but only to give me a pick and shovel. I will die in chains one way or the other.”
[Blackhearts 01] - Valnir's Bane Page 18