“Peace in death, you mean?” she snapped. “Do you really think the only way to ease a broken heart is to stop it?”
Wolff shrugged. “We should keep moving,” he said, ignoring her question and turning away from the besieged ruin. “We aren’t safe travelling in such a small group. The sooner we can find von Raukov’s army the better.”
With that he jogged down the hill towards the trees, leaving his acolyte to bear the brunt of Anna’s fury.
“Pig-headed hammer hurler,” she muttered, scowling at the priest’s back. She turned on Ratboy. “Why do you people always believe bloodshed is such a cure-all?”
Ratboy shrugged, in unconscious imitation of his master and moved to follow him.
“Wait,” said Anna, grabbing his arm. “How’s your hand?”
Ratboy paused as she removed the bandages.
“Improving a bit, I think,” she said, in the same angry tones. She unclasped a small bag that was slung over her shoulder, and removed a large dried leaf. As she pressed it onto the wound, Ratboy’s eyes widened with pain. “Don’t be such a child,” she said as she replaced the bandages and rushed after the quickly disappearing Wolff. “It will do you good.”
As they reached the edge of the trees, Wolff paused and looked up at the shadow moon, Morrslieb. It was hanging unusually low in the sky and seemed to be almost resting on the black, shifting peaks of the forest. As Ratboy and Anna approached, gasping for breath, he turned to them with an odd smile. “What a choice,” he said, gesturing to the trees. “Take our chances beneath these malign boughs, or risk the open country.”
“I’ve spent my entire life crossing this forest,” replied Anna. “The trees themselves are no more dangerous than a field of corn.” She shrugged. “And wise travellers know how to move without calling too much attention to themselves.” She waved at the hills that surrounded them. “Mormius will doubtless have many more recruits heading this way. I think it would be safest to use the cover of the trees.”
Wolff nodded. “You’re right, of course.” He glanced up at Morrslieb again and frowned. “Let’s tread carefully, though.”
Their feet sank deep into the loamy, grey soil as they crept beneath the sombre boughs of the forest. Countless tiny creatures scampered away at their approach. Aspens and pines reached up over them, fracturing the lurid moonlight and scattering it across the ivy, bracken and brambles that carpeted the ground.
They moved forward in a watchful silence, slipping lightly through the shadows and over the fallen leaves and branches. Ratboy shivered and pulled his cloak a little tighter. Ostland was rarely warm, but as they moved onwards through the dewy groves the trees seemed to amplify the autumnal chill.
Anna seemed quite at home in the forest and scouted ahead, creeping quickly through the thicket and pausing every now and then to unearth toadstools and seeds and drop them in her bag. As she reached the edge of a small clearing, she paused and crouched low to the ground, pressing her hands down onto the springy turf. She turned back to Wolff and Ratboy and raised a finger to her mouth as they approached.
They stooped down beside her to see what she had found. At first Ratboy could see nothing in the pale moonlight, but Anna traced her finger around a series of shapes embedded in the grass. It looked like the tracks of a large, hoofed animal, but as Anna glanced nervously around the clearing, Ratboy guessed these were no natural tracks.
Anna’s eyes were wide with fear as she rose to her feet and pressed her finger to her mouth again, before skirting around the edge of the clearing. They re-entered the trees and continued on their way, but Anna was now moving much slower and with even more care than before. After ten minutes or so, she crouched behind a tree trunk and signalled for them to approach quietly.
Wolff and Ratboy crept up beside the priestess and followed the direction of her gaze. Down below them was a small gulley, cutting through the trees, and a column of figures was hurrying silently along it. Ratboy felt a rush of fear as he watched the shadowy procession. There was something dreamlike about the scene. It was hard to see clearly in the dark of the forest, but they were clearly not human. Their broad, naked chests were covered with a thick hide of fur and their bestial heads were crowned with gnarled, vicious horns. Talismans and fetishes dangled from their massive, tattooed arms and cruel, ugly weapons hung from their belts. An acrid, animal stink came from them that was so powerful the three travellers instinctively covered their noses. Beastmen, thought Ratboy, clutching his sword with fear. He had encountered such creatures of Chaos before, but had never become accustomed to them. He looked up at his master, wondering what they would do.
Wolff’s face was filled with disgust as he watched the creatures rushing by, but as he caught Ratboy’s questioning look he shook his head and gestured for them to back away.
They crept with painstaking slowness away from the gulley, and only after several minutes, did anyone dare to speak.
“We’re safe for the moment,” whispered Anna. “We’re downwind from them,” she explained, with a grimace at the awful smell that had followed them from the gulley. “And they seemed to be in quite a hurry.” She frowned. “In fact, they were oddly disciplined for beastmen. From what I know of their nature, they rarely behave like that.”
“They were probably headed for Mercy’s End,” replied Wolff. “Mormius must have great power at his command to bring order to such rabble.”
“Is there nothing we can do to stop them?” asked Ratboy. “Felhamer has so many men pitted against him already. Maybe we could set up some kind of ambush?”
Wolff shook his head. “There are far too many of them. We can’t risk it. And anyway, even if we could stop this one small group, what difference would it make? Remember why we left Mercy’s End. I have to find out what part my brother has to play in all this.”
Anna nodded eagerly, keen to stay as far away from the beastmen as possible. “If we keep to the higher ground, they won’t even know we were here,” she whispered, and started clambering up a steep escarpment that led away from the gulley.
After five minutes or so they reached a wide, moonlit plateau that reared up above the treetops and gave them a clear view over the surrounding forest. Far behind them, they could make out the silhouette of Mercy’s End. The ruin was still bejewelled with the strange lights, but it was impossible from this distance to see how the battle was progressing. Ratboy took comfort from the fact that there was clearly some kind of movement along the castle walls.
At least it hasn’t been burned to the ground, he thought.
“What’s that?” asked Anna, pointing in the opposite direction.
West of the plateau, was another collection of lights, nestling in the northern foothills of the Middle Mountains. “Is that Ferlangen?” she asked, peering through darkness.
Wolff shook his head. “We’re still too far east.” He frowned as he studied the lights. “There are no cities in that direction. It must be an encampment. And a large one at that.”
“Von Raukov?” asked Ratboy, hopefully.
The priest nodded. “Let’s pray that it is.” He looked down at the forest that lay between them and the distant lights. “If we make good speed, we could reach them by tomorrow night.”
Ratboy looked around with disappointment at the soft turf that covered the hilltop. “I suppose that doesn’t leave any time for a quick rest?”
Anna shook her head in disbelief. “Have you forgotten what we just saw? These trees are probably crawling with those creatures. Would you really be able to shut your eyes with such horrors for bedfellows?”
“Quite,” said Wolff, answering for him. “We keep moving.” He waved back towards Mercy’s End. “Felhamer’s garrison could be defeated at any time, and this whole region will be overrun with Mormius’ horde.”
They spent the rest of the night rushing through the trees in complete silence. After the sight of the beastmen, none of them wanted to risk drawing any attention to themselves and Ratboy had to bite his t
ongue on several occasions, as his imagination painted horned shapes on the sombre shadows. The threat was not always in Ratboy’s mind, however. On one occasion they were forced to clamber into a ditch as a band of mounted marauders broke from the trees, heading north to join the battle. It was only Anna’s keen sense of smell that saved them. Noticing an odd scent on the wind, she herded Ratboy and Wolff into the ditch, just seconds before the horsemen charged by. The priest was forced to give her a grudging nod of respect as they dragged themselves back up from the bed of damp, rotten leaves.
Gradually, as dawn approached, the trees began to thin out, interspersed with large areas of scrub and bracken. The sky behind them shifted from black to a deep azure, and a chorus of birdsong erupted from the branches. Wrens and nuthatches scattered at their approach, trilling petulantly as the heavy-footed interlopers hurried past.
As the first rays of sunlight began to warm the backs of their necks, the scattered trees were replaced by featureless moorland, and Wolff began to pick up the pace, urging his already exhausted companions into a brisk jog.
“Look,” hissed Anna, as they approached a long, winding hawthorn hedge. “It’s one of the creatures.”
Wolff and Ratboy stumbled to a halt as they saw what she was referring to. Something was curled up beneath the hedge. It was mostly hidden from view by the thick mass of leaves, but the grubby fur on its twisted, hunched back was clearly visible and as they slowly approached, a croaking snore rang out.
Wolff and Ratboy cautiously drew their weapons as they approached the hedge.
They were within a few feet of the sleeping figure, when it sensed their presence and lurched up out of the hedge, staggering towards them with its arms raised.
Wolff raised his hammer to strike, but Anna grabbed his arm and cried out in alarm.
“Wait,” she cried. “He’s human.”
“Sigmar, you’re right,” gasped Wolff, lowering his weapon and looking down at the creature with amazement.
But as the man shuffled towards the three travellers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Ratboy wondered if Anna might be mistaken. His spine was so hunched and twisted that his face barely came up to Ratboy’s chest, and he had to wrench his head awkwardly onto one side to look up at them. His whole misshapen body was wrapped in a stinking mass of old, mangy rabbit skins and strange contraptions of metal and wire that clattered as he moved. Ratboy guessed that some of the metal objects were traps, but there were many other things he couldn’t identify: clumps of feather, tied together with thick cords of grass, little idols made of shell and animal bones that rattled as he reached his crooked arms out towards them. His loose, wet lips sagged down in a duck-like pout, but as he looked up at Wolff, they spread into a grin of recognition, revealing a single, large tooth. “Priest,” he said in a thick, phlegmy voice.
Ratboy flinched at the sight of the man’s face. Dozens of warts and growths had warped his pale, pockmarked flesh so that he almost resembled the mutated creatures they had fought on the walls of Mercy’s End.
Anna noticed Ratboy’s disgust and gave him a quick scowl of disapproval before stooping to speak to the strange man. “Who are you?” she asked gently, taking his gnarled hand fearlessly into her own.
“Helwyg,” grunted the man, gripping her hand tightly and licking his wide, drooping lips in excitement. “The warrener.” As he spoke to Anna, his large, watery eyes kept flicking to Wolff and he seemed eager to speak to him.
“Your names?” he asked, struggling a little to force the words from his deformed mouth.
“Anselm, Anna and I’m Brother Jakob Wolff,” replied the priest, stepping closer. “What are you doing out here alone? These forests are crawling with the enemy. It’s not safe to walk alone.”
“Soldiers need food,” said the little man with a grin, licking his lips again. “They sent the warrener for coneys.” He shrugged. “But Helwyg is no hunter.” He gestured to the hedge. “Got tired. Sat down.” He chuckled. “Fell asleep.”
“Soldiers, you say?” asked Wolff. “Whose army are you travelling with?”
“Iron Duke,” replied Helwyg with a moist lisp. He shuffled towards Wolff and pawed at his scarlet robes. “The saviour,” he explained, spreading his arms with a rattle of springs and bones, “of the Empire.”
“The Elector Count, you mean,” asked Wolff, frowning. “Are you talking about von Raukov?”
Helwyg shook his head.
“Is it Ostlanders you’re marching with?”
Helwyg gave a vague nod, but his attention seemed to have wandered. He was fingering the thick chains that fixed Wolff’s holy texts to his cuirass and eyeing the gold filigree that decorated the edges of his gorget. “Mighty priest,” he muttered. “Jakob Wolff.”
Wolff nodded impatiently and backed away from the strange, hunched figure. “Can you lead us to the army?” he asked, trying to hide his disgust as the man’s grasping fingers followed him.
The warrener grinned, and began to stroke the objects that were strapped across his furs, eying Wolff’s armour the whole time. “Yes,” he said. As he turned and began lurching slowly away, he clapped his hands with excitement. “Priests are better than coneys.”
After the race through the tunnels, Helwyg’s awkward, shuffling gait seemed painfully slow, but from what little they could see of him, beneath the layers of grubby fur, his legs were as ruined as the rest of him. Ratboy, for one, was glad of the slower pace, and took the opportunity to examine his new sword a little more closely, tracing the strange runes on its hilt with his finger and wondering what they might mean.
After a couple of hours, Anna grew impatient with Helwyg’s tortuous slowness. She began scouting ahead and peering into the growing light to see if she could spot the army. Finally, as the sun reached its zenith and a light rain began to waft across the fields towards them, she called back from the top of a small incline. “They’re here,” she cried, pointing in the direction of some low, quick-moving rain clouds. “We’ve found them.”
The others rushed to her side and looked down over a wide plateau. A huge army was spread out before them, camped under a dazzling panoply of banners bearing not just the bull of Ostland, but the emblems of several other provinces too. The rain was coming down harder with every minute, and it was hard to see the encampment clearly, but Ratboy guessed there must be thousands of men down there, cleaning their weapons and preparing for battle.
“Thank Sigmar,” said Wolff, turning to the others. “These must be von Raukov’s men. And they’re not much more than a day’s march from Mercy’s End.” He lifted one of the books that hung at his side and kissed it. “My brother must be down there somewhere.”
“Brother?” asked Helwyg, shuffling towards him.
Wolff gave a brusque nod, but said no more on the subject as he strode off down the hill.
Close up, the scale of the army became utterly bewildering. As they entered the encampment a crush of figures barged blindly past them: soldiers, swineherds, blacksmiths, ostlers, merchants and messengers, all dashing through streets of gaudy canvas as the army prepared to decamp. Ratboy had never seen such a gathering of humanity and without Wolff to lead him, he would have cowered beneath the first available cart. The mouth-watering aroma of frying sausage meat mingled with the tang of unwashed bodies and the sweet stink of infected wounds. His master strode purposefully onwards through the pandemonium. He picked out a black banner, emblazoned with a golden griffon and headed straight towards it.
Helwyg strained his neck to look at the distant banner and grinned. “Priest has priestly friends?” he asked, hobbling after Wolff and clutching at his burnished armour.
Wolff gave a brusque nod. “It’s unusual to see Knights Griffon so far from Altdorf,” he said.
“Knights Griffon?” asked Ratboy.
Wolff gave a sigh of annoyance at being asked so many questions. “Yes, Knights Griffon. They’re closely linked to my own order,” he snapped. “As you should well know.” At the sight of
Ratboy’s blushes, he softened his voice a little and gestured to the crowds of soldiers that surrounded them. “A familiar face might be useful if we want to find out what’s happening here.”
As they neared the banner, Ratboy saw flashes of polished steel glinting between the tents; then, as they turned a final corner, he saw the Knights Griffon revealed in all their glory. Seemingly blind to the chaos that surrounded them, the knights were lined up in calm, orderly ranks as their captain rode slowly between them, carefully inspecting their gleaming armour and their impressive array of weaponry. Ratboy had never seen such an obvious display of wealth and power. Everything about the knights, from their polished, plumed helmets, to the scalloped barding on their destriers, was intricately worked and lovingly polished. Even the dour Ostland rain only added to the effect, as it washed over the oiled steel of their visors.
The captain was a grizzled old veteran, whose short, silver beard seemed as hard and glinting as his fluted helmet. At the sight of Wolff, his leathery face split into a broad smile and he threw his arms open in greeting. “Brother Jakob Wolff, as I live and breathe,” he said, with a voice like the rumble of thunder. “What an unexpected blessing.”
The captain dismounted and the two towering figures embraced with a clatter of armour. Then they stood back and peered into each other’s faces.
“I seem to remember a little black amongst the grey,” said Wolff, nodding to the knight’s fringe of silver hair.
“Well, yes, some of us were young once, Jakob. Unlike your good self of course—I’m reliably informed that you left the womb with a shaven head and the Holy Scriptures in your fist.”
A strange growling noise came from Wolff’s throat and after a few seconds Ratboy realised it was laughter. It was a sound he’d never heard before and he turned to Anna with a bemused look on his face.
05 - Warrior Priest Page 16