Bloodsworn

by Nathan Long

  Lassarian looked at him. ‘There is a spy?’

  ‘There is a spy,’ said von Messinghof. ‘And stone walls do not daunt me near as much as traitors and flank charges. We have more than enough troops for Ambosstein. The night will be ours, never fear.’

  A few fat raindrops splattered on the map and he rolled it up again, looking up to the sky. ‘It will be roughly two hours before Lady Celia’s dead catch us up. In the meantime we will scout the castle and get our troops into position. There is a valley over that rise to our right. Pull your troops off the road and stage them there. I will have Lassarian, Rukke and Boyarina Ulrika with me to survey the castle. Come.’

  Otilia shot Ulrika dagger looks as she went with von Messinghof and the others into the pattering rain. Ulrika smirked as if she had scored on Otilia, but she wondered if she was really being honoured, or if von Messinghof just wanted to keep her in his sight.

  ‘At least we know he’s here,’ said Ulrika, peering through the trees.

  ‘Aye,’ said von Messinghof, stroking his neat beard distractedly. ‘And has gathered more troops than I had hoped.’

  They stood with Rukke and Lassarian in the shadow of a sparse wood looking across a broad, cleared highland to Castle Ambosstein, a small keep built at its very edge – and now half-hidden by the soft rain. The main building of the keep was a blocky old strong house with a curtain wall surrounding a simple bailey, and was much too small for the force of men who had come to stay the night. The tents of those who couldn’t fit inside the walls spread like wings to either side of the castle, and campfires illuminated the banners of more than a dozen noble lords, as well as the standards of the Reiksguard. Ulrika estimated that more than two thousand men made their bed outside the castle walls.

  ‘Come,’ said von Messinghof, starting back to his horse. ‘I want to see the front.’

  Ulrika and the others followed, riding in a wide circuit through the dripping woods until they came to where the plateau dropped down into the valley below. The village of Ambosstein lay at the far end of the valley, obscured by rain and intervening trees, and the road that led from it snaked out of the woods at the base of the hill and zigzagged up to the castle. The twists in the road were necessary, for the slope from castle to valley was extremely steep – a boulder-strewn drop that no wagon could have managed in a straight line.

  ‘A difficult approach,’ said Lassarian, pointing. ‘Any force that tries to take the castle from the front will present its flanks to the castle’s guns three times before it reaches the summit.’

  ‘And they have put the main gate on the side,’ said Ulrika, ‘so the attackers must expose themselves further as they circle around to it.’

  ‘Which is why we will not attack from the front,’ said von Messinghof. ‘Indeed, we won’t even attempt to storm the castle unless things go terribly wrong.’

  ‘But how can we kill the Emperor without entering the castle?’ asked Rukke.

  Von Messinghof looked up from staring at the woods at the base of the slope. ‘He will come to us.’ He turned his horse. ‘I have seen enough. Let us go back.’

  Back at the staging camp, von Messinghof gathered his officers in his tent while Emmanus watched in silence and Blutegel polished his master’s armour off to one side.

  ‘The castle is here,’ said the count, speaking over the noise of the rain on the canvas, and sketching with a stick of charcoal on the reverse of a map. ‘The Emperor’s troops here and here, camped on either side of it along the brink of the steep hill. They think this protects them against an attack from below, but if we strike from the woods behind the castle, here, we can drive them over the edge.’

  Lassarian’s brow furrowed. ‘Reiksguard are hard troops, lord. Even taken unawares, they will put up a strong fight. Sunrise may come before we defeat them, and they will die to the last man before they let us reach the Emperor.’

  ‘That is precisely what I am counting on,’ said von Messinghof. He waved a dismissive hand at the blocks of Imperial troops he had sketched in. ‘I really care little if we defeat these troops. It would please me if we did, but what is more important is our show of force. The castle must believe we are coming for the Emperor, and that we are unstoppable. To further that belief, every flying creature and spirit at our disposal will attack the castle as we attack the troops outside. We must overwhelm them with wings and terror.’

  He drew the road that zigzagged down the steep hill, and the woods at the base through which it passed. ‘In the face of such an attack, the Reiksguard will not allow Karl Franz to remain. They will take him out of the castle under heavy guard and rush him south.’ With heavy strokes he blacked in two ‘X’s in the woods. ‘Directly into an ambush.’

  ‘Lord,’ said Otilia, uneasy, ‘what if he doesn’t flee?’

  ‘Then we must take the castle after all. Either way, Karl Franz is dead tonight.’ He pointed at the map again. ‘Lassarian, you will be in command of the main force in the woods behind the keep. I leave it to you to arrange your troops as you see fit. Rukke, Otilia, Lady Celia and Boyarina Ulrika will serve under you. I will command the ambush in the valley with the Blood Knights and the wolves, and sound a horn when Karl Franz is dead. After that, you may retire.’ He turned to Blutegel. ‘Blutegel, send word to the boats to move downstream to where the road touches the river.’

  The old man bowed. ‘Aye, lord.’

  Von Messinghof pointed at the map again and looked around at the others. ‘Whatever befalls, retire to this spot. The boats will be there to carry us across the river again. Understood?’

  There was a murmur of assent, and von Messinghof saluted them. ‘Good, then ready your companies and make your way to the ground without being seen.’ He smiled, showing all his teeth. ‘The hour of destiny is at hand, friends. With the death of the Emperor, we begin the end of human hegemony, and the start of the Sylvanian Empire.’

  As the various companies made ready to march, there was a fair bit of grumbling among those who had been ordered to attack the castle. Lassarian complained about the rain and not being in at the kill. Otilia pouted, angry that von Messinghof hadn’t wanted her at his side, and Rukke was muttering about having to lead the ghouls and not more prestigious troops.

  ‘It is like I was a ghoul myself, instead of his own blood,’ he growled as his subhumans gathered around him.

  Blutegel crossed to him, a fearful look on his face and two messenger bats tucked under his arm. ‘You are my blood too,’ he said, ‘and I would not see you hurt. Stay well back, I implore you. You were meant for better things.’

  Rukke sneered and turned his back on him. ‘Your seed bore the shell I was, old man, but I am no longer yours. Von Messinghof is my father now, and I will show him what I can do, no matter what troops he gives me.’

  Blutegel stared after him, then sighed and lofted the bats into the air. They flapped up, ungainly at first, before circling and disappearing into the rainy night in different directions.

  ‘They’re right t’complain, you know,’ muttered Stahleker as he and Ulrika took their positions at the head of their four hundred lancers. ‘Von Messinghof’s taking a page from Kodrescu’s book. Sending us in as a feint without bothering himself about what happens to us after. Reiksguard, we’re up against. It’ll be a slaughterhouse.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Ulrika, smiling to herself. ‘The gods willing.’

  Stahleker gave her a wary look. ‘Not you too?’

  Ulrika pulled herself out of her reverie. ‘I apologise, sergeant, but I’ve been waiting for this. No more butchering the weak. No more cloak and dagger. This will be a stand-up fight, a true battle, a battle in which I can prove myself.’

  Stahleker scowled. ‘Y’sound like Rukke. What is there to prove? The count don’t care if y’win or lose. He just wants you to flush the bird.’

  ‘Do I care what he wants? This is for me. He may not care
if we win, but I do, and I will win! We will win!’

  Ulrika stood in her stirrups and looked back at the lancers behind her, all huddled against the steady rain. ‘Men of the Ostermark! Bandits, horse thieves and renegades all! The count is sending you to die like the scum he thinks you are! But you won’t die! You will conquer! You will drive all before you! Ride with me, and we will show these bloodsucking fops what real soldiering is! Are you with me? Are you ready to show the Blood Knights and the Reiksguard that you are the finest horsemen in the Empire?’

  The narrow valley rang with their bloodthirsty roaring as they shook their lances over their heads. ‘Ulrika! Ulrika! Captain Ulrika!’

  Stahleker chuckled bleakly as she sat back in her saddle, thrilling to the cheers, and waved the column ahead.

  ‘Well, y’can stir ’em up, all right,’ he said. ‘They’d follow y’into the Wastes now. I just hope y’can lead ’em out again.’

  ‘Count on it,’ said Ulrika.

  After two hours in which Ulrika thought she would go mad with waiting and the rain dripping down the back of her neck, Lady Celia finally arrived with her horde of undead corpses and joined the rest of von Messinghof’s troops, all hidden around Castle Ambosstein and desperately eager to attack. The count lay in ambush with Emmanus and the Blood Knights and the wolves in the woods below the steep slope, while the rest of the companies stared out at the castle from the edges of the forest that ringed it, champing at the bit.

  As Ulrika had expected, Lassarian had arranged it so she and Stahleker’s lancers were opposite the tents of the Reiksguard – set up to the left of the castle – while his mounted wights and Blood Knights and black magicians would face the much less lethal collection of lords and knights that had attached themselves to Karl Franz’s train on his progress from Altdorf – all camped to the right. Lassarian had placed Otilia, who would be adding to the magics that they would hurl at the castle, on his right flank, protected by Captain Ruger and the human men-at-arms from Castle Messinghof.

  The ghouls had been split into two mobs and sent to the woods that flanked the camps, with Rukke leading one mob and a thrall leading the other. Lassarian had ordered that the ghouls and zombies be first in, wreaking havoc and distracting the camps from the main advance. The cavalry would strike next, with Otilia and Celia and Lassarian’s black magicians raining death and confusion upon their enemies from behind. Last would come the bats, spirits and the corrupted griffon, dropping out of the sky as the men of the castle crowded the battlements to see the melee, and tearing and terrorising them in a flurry of talons, wings and ethereal claws.

  Lassarian trotted up to Lady Celia as she appeared from the dark like a gaunt shadow and her zombies shuffled out of the trees to filter through the other troops.

  ‘You certainly took your time, lady,’ he said. ‘Send them in at once.’

  Lady Celia stopped before him, but didn’t seem to hear. She stood motionless, her face hidden in the darkness of her voluminous hood.

  ‘Lady Celia,’ said Lassarian, his voice rising. ‘We only have four hours of night remaining to us. Send in your troops.’ He turned to his galloper when she still did not reply. ‘Go to Rukke. It is time–’

  ‘Wait!’ called Lady Celia. She turned and looked into the woods behind them as her zombies trudged to a halt and Lassarian glared at her.

  ‘What is it?’ he snapped. ‘There is no time.’

  ‘The winds move behind us,’ she said. ‘Someone practises sorcery.’

  ‘My black magicians,’ said Lassarian. ‘They ready their incantations. Now advance your–’

  ‘No,’ said Lady Celia, stepping back and beginning to move her hands. ‘This is far greater magic than that, and far better hidden. This is–’

  A searing shaft of red light blazed from the depths of the woods and shot through her like a molten spear. She shrieked and hung rigid in mid-air as her cloak flapped and tore in an arcane wind, and the red glow enveloped her head and limbs.

  Lassarian pulled his winged hell-steed to heel as blood began to spray from Lady Celia’s eyes, nose and mouth, and the veins in her neck and wrists tore from her flesh and writhed and bled like wounded snakes.

  ‘Magic!’ cried Lassarian, looking back into the trees.

  Ulrika followed his gaze, shielding her eyes. The blistering red bolt was coursing from a patch of darkness which not even Ulrika’s night vision could pierce. Indeed, all of the forest behind them was cloaked in unnatural shadow. How had she not seen it before?

  ‘We are ambushed!’

  ‘Aye,’ rasped Lassarian. ‘But by whom?’

  As if in answer, rags of blackness broke from the shifting murk and bounded forwards, scores of them, red eyes burning and yellow teeth flashing – undead wolves, huge and gaunt. Behind them, on horses white as moonlight, a double rank of women in shining armour burst forth with swords and maces held high. Their leader wore no helm, and her black hair billowed in the wind of her passage. Ulrika snarled as she recognised her – Mistress Casilla, the Estalian vampiress who had chased her and Famke through the Maze.

  ‘The Lahmians,’ she said. ‘They have found us.’

  chapter twenty-six

  THE KILLING FIELD

  ‘Turn about!’ roared Lassarian, galloping past Lady Celia’s writhing form towards his troops. ‘We are attacked from behind!’

  ‘Lancers, form up!’ shouted Ulrika, wheeling her horse and drawing Wolf’s Fang. ‘Prepare to charge!’

  ‘Dress ranks!’ cried Stahleker. ‘Lances couched!’

  It was too late. Before even half the Ostermarkers had turned their horses, before Lassarian had reached his mounted wights, before Ruger and his men-at-arms could close ranks and protect Otilia, before the zombies could shuffle around to face them, the wolves and the Lahmians were among them, clawing and hewing left and right with fang and sword, while ranks of mounted blood-swains thundered out of the woods behind them. There seemed no end to them.

  Ulrika severed the spine of a leaping wolf with her hungering sword and swung it at Casilla. She turned it with a slashing parry, laughing to see her.

  ‘So, you are here, upstart? Excellent! I had hoped we would meet again.’

  Ulrika replied with a cut to Casilla’s shoulder, but the surging crush of wolves and zombies and maddened horses forced them apart again, and she found herself beside Stahleker, hacking in all directions as lancers died all around them.

  ‘How did they know we’d be here?’ asked Stahleker, emptying a pistol at a wolf. ‘We didn’t know we’d be here!’

  An inhuman scream drowned his words. The seething red energy was turning Lady Celia inside out, her pulsing veins and glistening innards blossoming outwards like a wet red flower as her skeleton arched in mid-air. Then, like a bubble expanded beyond its limits, she burst, vanishing in a crimson spray that spattered everyone within thirty paces. Even her bones were gone.

  And with her went her slaves.

  A silent blast-wave spread from her bloody explosion, stunning Ulrika and knocking down the zombies that Celia had commanded in an ever-expanding ring. They dropped where they stood, their strings cut, all three thousand of them, turning the forest floor into a field of rotting corpses in a matter of seconds. The Sylvanians and the Lahmians crushed them under hoof and foot as they fought, churning them to a reeking paste.

  ‘Three-quarters of our force gone in one go,’ said Stahleker. ‘Changes the odds a bit, eh?’

  ‘Too much,’ said Ulrika.

  She blocked the mace of a Lahmian warrior and looked across to Lassarian for orders, but he and his wights were as swamped as she and the lancers were, and was concentrating on saving his own neck. Beyond him, Ruger’s men-at-arms were backing and dying before a company of black-armoured blood-swains as Otilia cowered behind them, trying to shape a spell. The situation was perilous. With Lady Celia and her zombies gone, the Lah
mians and their followers outnumbered them by almost two to one, and if Castle Ambosstein got wind of the battle, the Sylvanians would have Imperial knights charging their backs. They would die pinned between two forces, and von Messinghof’s plan would die with them.

  Ulrika called to Stahleker as she fought two Lahmians. ‘Send a man to the count and two more to Rukke and the thrall. Tell the count we’re ambushed. Call the ghouls back here, but tell them to keep within the woods. We can’t let Karl Franz’s retinue know we’re here.’

  ‘Right,’ said Stahleker, and bellowed the order to three of his lancers, then looked back to her as they galloped off. ‘Not that it’ll matter much. The castle’ll hear us anyway.’

  ‘Not with the noise of the rain, I hope,’ said Ulrika.

  She chopped into a Lahmian’s back with Wolf’s Fang, then turned on two others as the first toppled from her saddle, shrieking. Now that the first mad crush had slowed, the Ostermark men had sorted themselves out into a close-packed line that was keeping the wolves and blood-swains at bay and frustrating the Lahmian champions, who seemed to have expected to fight a series of one-on-one duels and were crying out with rage at being struck at by five sabres at once.

  Ulrika let a glimmer of hope kindle in her breast as she joined the line. Though the Lahmian army was larger, and more of them vampires, less of them were trained soldiers. Each of the Lahmian knights might be stronger and more skilled than any of Stahleker’s men individually, but the lancers’ experience in fighting and moving as a unit was beginning to tell. If Rukke’s ghouls got back quickly enough they might have a chance – at least to defeat the Lahmians. Attacking the castle and the Reiksguard after this would be impossible, but at least they wouldn’t have exposed themselves.

  Hoarse cries of fear and a staccato of hoofbeats from the left froze Ulrika, and she looked around, praying she wouldn’t see what she feared. Her prayers went unanswered. Ruger’s men had broken and were in full flight from the Lahmians, fleeing out of the woods at a gallop with Otilia in the middle of them, looking as terrified at the rest. Worse, the Lahmians were pursuing, their savagery overwhelming their caution, and were chasing Otilia and her Sylvanians across the open ground – straight towards the tents of Karl Franz’s retinue. Ulrika’s glimmer of hope guttered and died.