by Warhammer
'Very wise,' Kurt said, looking across the half a mile of water that separated the two ships. 'So what is your plan to outwit him?'
Bjordrin shrugged.
'I do not think we can,' he said with a shake of his head. 'He has all the advantages of size, strength and position. If he cannot sink us tonight, he can wait for us to present him with an opportunity to do so tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that.'
'Like a hunter,' said Kurt, trying to picture the man stood on the quarterdeck of the other ship. What was he thinking? Was he worried that they had outwitted him? That he had perhaps gambled too much on finding them in the dark? A thought occurred to him. 'On the sea, he has every advantage, you say?'
'We cannot fight him, and we cannot run from him forever,' said Bjordrin.
'Then we give him what he wants,' said Kurt. Bjordrin frowned.
'What do you intend to do?' the Norseman said.
'Run us aground,' Kurt said, breaking his gaze from the greatship and looking directly at Bjordrin. 'He cannot follow us across land.'
Bjordrin laughed, a hollow sound in the still night.
'He wouldn't have to, we would already be dead,' Bjordrin said.
'A longship can be beached,' Kurt said, scratching the stubble on his chin as he thought.
'Yes, but we cannot find a suitable landing in the dark,' Bjordrin said. 'It would be too easy for us to come up on rocks, or against a cliff. We need a low shore.'
'We are being slowly hemmed in against the rocks and cliff anyway!' said Kurt, banging his fist against the mast. 'Do we have any other choice?'
Bjordrin was silent for a moment, and his gaze switched between the greatship and Kurt, weighing up the situation.
'In the names of the gods, why not!' he said eventually, a grin splitting his bearded face. 'I think the gods favour you still, Kurt Sutenmjar, and will deliver us back to our homes.'
'It is good that you still have faith in me,' Kurt said over his shoulder as he walked away.
'I think that the gods like a man as crazy and bold as you!' Bjordrin called out after him.
The quiet of the night had been replaced by a maelstrom of noise. Ahead, the surf roared against the rocks and cliffs that stretched out from the coast of Norsca. Realising their intent, the captain of the greatship had opened fire and the boom of the greatship's cannons and the howling passage of their shot filled the air. The longship clattered with activity as the Norse prepared for their risky landing, tying down everything they could, gathering up their belongings and throwing away any surplus material that weighed the ship down more than was necessary. Bjordrin stood at the tiller, his eye constantly on the dim shoreline ahead, shouting orders to the sailsmen.
'Are we going too fast?' said Kurt.
A cannonball tore into the hull around midships, flinging warriors and timber fragments into the sea in a spray of wood and flesh. The screams of the wounded added to the cacophony.
'Do you want to slow down and give him more time?' asked Bjordrin, glancing at the greatship pulling alongside. So far they had been spared a full broadside, but in a few minutes, their fate would be sealed.
'I take your point.' said Kurt. He called out to Lina Half-wolf, who was standing at the prow looking ahead with her unnaturally sharp eyes. 'How far's the shore? How quickly is the bottom shoaling?'
The Norsewoman turned and yelled back.
'Half a mile to the shore.' she said. 'There's rocks everywhere.'
Another cannonball impact made the longship shiver as stowed oars and a rowing bench erupted into splinters. A moment later there was a crack overhead and the yardarm snapped in the middle. Trailing rope, the yard and sail crashed down on the deck, flattening men and women beneath it. Bjordrin cursed loudly and shouted orders to cut the rope with axes and toss the useless sail over the side.
Two men struggled with one half of the yard, manhandling it to the ship's side, but it was caught in a tangle of ropes and shattered wood. Kurt ran forward and snatched a handaxe from one of the men working to cut the wreckage free. With swift blows, he hacked at the rigging and then tossed the axe aside. Bracing his feet, Kurt grabbed hold of the remaining piece of spar and hefted it to his shoulder. Legs trembling with the weight he ran to the side and heaved the timber overboard, snapped rope whipping over the side after it.
'Those that can row, get to the oars.' Kurt shouted, scooping up a corner of the tattered canvas sail and dragging it to the starboard gunwhale. Hand over hand, he heaved the heavy sailcloth over the side, and as it soaked up the seawater the additional weight threatened to drag him over for a moment until he braced himself with one leg against the side.
Despite their predicament, it seemed as if the gods did still favour Kurt for his exploits in their name. They were riding a tidal swell towards the coast, the haphazard rowing of the Norse combining with the pressure of the wind against the hull itself. Ahead, the sea boomed against rocks that rose out of the water like small, jagged mountains in the darkness, clouds of spume marking their position.
'Is everything secure?' Bjordrin asked over the noise, receiving shouts of assent in return. 'Hold onto something firm!'
It became impossible to row as the longship was buffeted and pitched by the rising swell. The hull scraped along a rock to starboard, snapping oars that hadn't been drawn in. The ropes tying down the heavy chests of gold and gems creaked alarmingly as their burdens shifted with the movement of ship. A wave crashed up over the stern, slamming the ship forwards and lifting the aft out of the water as the vessel pitched forwards. A rope snapped somewhere and a barrel rolled free down the deck, straight towards Lina, who was clinging to the figurehead, her shouted directions lost in the storm of water.
Kurt hurled himself into the path of the barrel, his shoulder colliding with it. Wrapping an arm around its top, he wrenched it to a stop, sliding down the deck on the slippery boards. Hauling himself to his feet, Kurt lifted the half-empty barrel over his head and hurled it over the side.
Another crashing noise rang above the sound of the tumultuous sea, and Kurt turned just in time to see flame and smoke billowing from the greatship as she fired her first full broadside. The air was filled with flying metal, thundering into the hull of the ship and scream across the deck. Planks exploded, men and women were scythed into or dismembered by the fusillade. The rudder shattered, the tiller flew out of Bjordrin's hands and hurled him to the deck, his shoulder dislocated.
Bodies and body parts were slumped everywhere, and the decking under foot was awash with water and blood. Almost immediately Kurt felt their passage slowing as the sea poured into holes beneath the waterline.
With a scraping crash, the longship tore her hull out on an underwater reef, bringing her to a shuddering halt. Her momentum suddenly checked, the longship's mast swayed forwards and began to bend. Wooden spikes popped at the seams and the decking was torn up as the mast went by the boards, pulling up planks and tearing a gaping hull from the ship's keel.
The mast crashed down onto Kurt's leg, crushing it inside his armour. Others had their ribs mangled or their skulls caved in as the mast bounced across the deck. The longship listed heavily to port as she settled on the rocks and the mast rolled across the deck, snapping legs and bouncing over those already lying wounded on the deck and benches.
Bone ground against bone in Kurt's thigh as he forced himself to stand, and bit back the searing agony in his leg. They had almost reached the shore; he could see the waves crashing against an area of low land just a dozen yards away.
'We have to get off!' yelled Bjordrin, his injured arm hanging limply by his side. 'Another broadside will kill us all!'
'Grab the wounded and the treasure, take it all ashore,' Kurt said, picking his way through the piles of dead and injured. The crew were recovering their senses and began to look for those who were still alive. Using broken spars and shattered pieces of decking, they hitched together three crude rafts and lowered the wounded over the side. The strongest swimmers se
t off, pulling the rafts through the roiling waves with ropes tied around their waists.
As soon as they left, Kurt turned to see what the greatship was doing.
Her broadside spent, she was heading away from the coast to tack across the wind and come in again. They only had a few minutes before she finished the destruction she had begun.
Using an axe to cut through the binding ropes, Kurt began to pull the treasure chests and sacks free and place them towards the ship's prow.
'Leave that, get ashore,' said Bjordrin, grabbing Kurt's arm as he took a swing at another rope. Kurt hurled him backwards.
'I'm not leaving this!' he said, chopping through the rope and dragging the chest clear with his free hand.
'It's no good if you're dead.' said Bjordrin, pushing himself to his feet with a wince.
'It's no good living if we return without it!' Kurt replied. 'Too many men and women have died to get this for us to abandon them now.'
Bjordrin stood there a moment and looked as if he was going to argue. Seeing Kurt's hard expression, he thought better of it and with his uninjured arm began to drag a sack of gold plates and goblets to the pile accumulating in the prow.
The rafts returned from the shore. One was needed to ship the rest of the wounded, while the Norse loaded the other two with the treasure. The first chest-laden raft headed off and they began to pile the remaining loot onto the other.
An ominous rumble heralded the greatship's next broadside and a few seconds later the longship exploded in a storm of hot iron, plunging men, women, chests and sacks into the freezing sea. Kurt felt something strike him in the back and was flung clear of the wreckage trailing a stream of blood. He hit the water face first and sank beneath the surface.
Verhoen gave an exultant shout as he stood next to his captain watching the remnants of the longship slip beneath the waves.
'Shame there'll be no prize money.' said Van der Stree. The bosun was standing behind them, using Leerdamme's eyeglass to survey the carnage. 'There's nothing left of her 'cept firewood.'
'I'll see you all handsomely rewarded for tonight's work, never you mind that,' said Leerdamme, turning away from the sight of the wreck.
'Actually,' said Van der Stree. 'The men don't mind not being paid. We're glad to see justice done to those heathen scum.'
'Then they deserve the reward even more,' said Leerdamme. 'Herr Verhoen, I'll be in my cabin writing a letter to the count to that effect, if you need me. Set a course for Marienburg.'
CHAPTER SIX
Ritual
Marienburg, Early Autumn 1711
The Haggard Fox inn was a strangely reassuring sight for Ursula as she and Ruprecht walked along the street towards it. They had travelled far in the last few months, staying nowhere for more than a day or two, except for the strange underworld of Karak Norn. A lot had happened to Ursula in that time but, somehow, seeing the non-descript exterior of the guesthouse reassured her that not everything had changed.
The watchmen were just beginning their evening patrols, lighting the street lanterns as they did their rounds, and darkness was descending on Marienburg. There was still the distant noise of the harbour, which only slowed rather than stopped during the night hours, and through the shuttered windows of the inn came a warm glow.
They had parted company with Lady Halste at the gate - they to find lodgings here, she to return to her apartments to find Khemen and prepare herself for the purifying ceremony that would rid her of the daemonic intrusion in her soul. Swinefever and his Red Spear Company had left the caravan three days before arriving, to seek employment further north following travellers' rumours that war between Nordland and Middenland loomed closer. Soval had promised to meet them later for a final drink, and had headed to the docks to inquire after a berth to take him further up the coast, or perhaps even to a more distant flung battlefield.
He never met his promise, having found himself passage to the new world in Lustria, where it is claimed he met up with the pirate Eddard Tetch and later died of a lung-rotting fever in the steaming jungles of the Land of Gold.
The seven surviving members of the Black Company had decided to go their separate ways, receiving their payment from Lady Halste and then leaving to seek fortune elsewhere. A few of the other mercenaries had stayed until Marienburg, but now they all followed a different path into the future.
Though the expedition had been filled with great loss and heartbreaking experiences for her, there was a part of Ursula that wished that it had not ended. Perhaps it was the wandering of her childhood, perhaps the sense of purpose their mission had given her, but at times as they had wound their way across the Empire she had felt more at home than anywhere else before. Even when they had faced almost certain death in the Grey Mountains before the arrival of the dwarfs, or when she had travelled the many lonely miles back to Marienburg without the company of Wildfather Taalstock, Ursula had felt a strange sense of belonging. She wondered, as they stood for a moment outside the Haggard Fox, if perhaps this were truly the end of the road. An ill-defined feeling of foreboding told her that this was but the close of one chapter of her life and that the next would begin soon.
'Pie and ale!' grinned Ruprecht, swinging his travelling sack from his shoulder and opening the door for Ursula with his iron hand.
Ursula stepped through, hanging her travelling cloak and knapsack on the rack within without hesitation. Lady Halste had tried to insist she take the chest of clothes that had been bought for her, but Ursula had no need of the fineries she had been given. She had hardly worn them even as maid to the noblewoman, and she was sure there would be even less reason to wear them in the future.
As they strode into the main room, Ursula felt none of the trepidation of her previous visit. Just as last time, there were a few scoundrels and roguish-looking types drinking inside, but they hardly gave her and Ruprecht a second glance. It was if they were marked, something about them that told others in the know that they were seasoned veterans now. Perhaps it was a look in the eye, the weathering of the skin, the faded, stained clothes.
Bustling across the room with a tray of mugs and goblets came Ruud Goeyen. He caught sight of them in his good eye and smiled. Quickly passing the drinks onto a table surrounded by a group of stevedores, he waved them to a low seat by the fire.
'Welcome back!' he grinned.
'You remember us?' Ursula asked, sitting down.
'I may have only the one peeper, but I never forget a face as pretty as yours.' Goeyen said, ushering Ruprecht down next to Ursula. 'I hear your endeavours were perilous.'
'From who?' asked Ruprecht suspiciously.
'This is Marienburg, not a thing passes the gate but everyone knows about by the morning!' laughed Goeyen. 'It'll be ale you're wanting, yes?'
'And pies!' Ursula added, slapping her hand on the table. 'Two large, quality steak pies if you have them!'
'I have whatever my patrons desire.' replied Goeyen with a wink. 'Providing they've got the coin, which I know you have on account of the fact that you're actually back.'
Goeyen's eye caught sight of Ruprecht's hand and widened in amazement.
'Well, of all the stories I'd heard, that was the one I'd least believed.' he exclaimed quietly. 'A man with an iron hand, they said.'
Ruprecht self-consciously pulled the artificial limb towards his lap.
'No offence, patron!' Goeyen added hurriedly. 'They say you lost it felling a brute of an orc, by some accounts.'
'Who says that?' asked Ruprecht. 'What else did they say?'
'Soldiers gossip, worse than fishwives.' Goeyen replied. 'Others had it that it was bitten off by a bear.'
'It was an orc.' confirmed Ruprecht gruffly, a scowl on his face.
'Then the pie and ale is on my account tonight, to thank you for saving your beautiful companion for us to enjoy the company of again,' Goeyen said with a look that would countenance no argument.
Without a further word, Goeyen turned and walked off, leaving the two o
f them sitting there. Neither said anything, and the host returned a short while later with a large plate of pie and potatoes and two mugs of dark ale. They tucked in without ceremony, Ursula wolfing hers down and finishing even before Ruprecht, who was no slouch with a knife and fork. Licking gravy off her fingertips, Ursula grabbed her tankard and sat back.
'I never realised how much I would miss a good pie,' she said finally, making Ruprecht laugh.
'Well, you're a hardened adventurer now.' he joked. 'Life's little comforts mean a lot to a world-weary traveller like yourself.'
'Hey!' she replied in mock protest, slapping him on the arm. 'It's not like I stood around just looking pretty when the orcs charged!'
'No you didn't, I'll give you that.' Ruprecht said sombrely.
'I'm sorry, I mean, I didn't suffer...' she trailed off, glancing at his hand.
'Away with you.' he laughed. 'They'll be calling me Ruprecht the Ironhand before the end of the week. There's not any amount of gold that can buy a man a name and a reputation like that.'
'So is that what you're going to do?' Ursula asked, taking a sup of her beer. 'Perhaps keep soldiering?'
'I figure I don't have to make any rash decisions.' Ruprecht answered slowly.
'What does that mean?' Ursula asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
'I just mean that I've got crowns in my pocket to last me a while,' Ruprecht said defensively.
'Tell me!' Ursula demanded, pinching his ear. 'Tell me before I twist your ear off!'
'Alright, alright!' Ruprecht conceded, pulling away. His expression became serious. 'I reckon I might stick with you a while. Trouble's followed you like a shadow lately.'
'I know what you mean,' sighed Ursula. She dropped her voice to a whisper. 'Lady Halste has Ulfshard, and she says she'll pass it to the count when she has harnessed its power, but I still don't know if I trust her completely.'
Ruprecht reached forward and grabbed his beer mug, downing the contents in one long draught.
'Let's not fret about it, eh?' he said, slamming the tankard down. 'For one night, let's just enjoy ourselves for once. Whatever the gods want to throw at us next, I'm sure they'll have the decency to leave it until tomorrow.'