“I’d say it’s important to send out scouts before the army breaks camp,”
Dieter replied after he had considered the matter. “They’d comb the immediate
area, making sure there aren’t any enemy forces nearby. That way, the army would
know they could break camp in safety.”
“Good,” Gerhardt smiled. “In this case, the Scarlets have been given that
duty. Some of the huntsmen that the army uses as scouts have reported seeing
sign of goblin tracks in the woods to the west of here. From all accounts,
General von Nieder doesn’t put much store in the huntsmen’s reports. But, to be
on the safe side, we’ve been ordered to sweep the woods first thing in the
morning, before the army breaks camp.”
Gerhardt paused, letting his words sink in before he continued.
“You’d better get an early night, young blood. We enter the woods at dawn. If
you wanted action, that’s when you’ll find it.”
The next morning was cold. In the uneasy half-light before dawn, Dieter found
himself standing with the other men of the regiment, lined up facing the woods
to the west of the camp.
A damp blanket of early morning mist hugged the earth, obscuring the outlines
of the trees ahead. Once the sun rose and the day began in earnest the mist
might well burn off, but in the meantime it was hard to see more than ten paces
in any direction. Shivering, Dieter realised he had taken the heat of the last
few weeks for granted. The weather had changed; summer had given way to autumn.
“I always used think this was the worst of it,” Gerhardt said quietly, from
beside him. “These times when you find yourself standing, fidgeting at your
sword, waiting for the command to get under way. You get used to it, though.
Believe me, after fifteen years in the army you realise you can get used to
anything.”
Given the bad light and the oppressive nature of the fog, it was hard to see
too much of the soldiers around him. Idly, Dieter wondered how many of them felt
the same sense of nervous apprehension.
Gerhardt was right: he did find this was the worst of it. Yesterday, when he
faced the beastmen, it had been comparatively easy. There had been the threat of
death, the exertion of a life-or-death struggle, but his actions had come to him
automatically, ingrained by years of training with Helmut Schau and spurred on
by the natural instinct to survive. Today, in the uncertain pre-dawn light,
there was more time to think.
He had been introduced to many of his new comrades last night, before they
bedded down. It was difficult to tell much after such a short acquaintance, but
for the most part they had seemed welcoming enough. There was a natural
reticence against being too friendly or too forthcoming; Helmut had warned him
about that.
“Remember, you will be the new man,” Helmut had told him. “Don’t expect too
much in the way of friendship when you first join the barracks. They will wait
to get the measure of you first. One day, their lives may depend on you and your
character. They’ll want to know what kind of man you are before they welcome
you.”
In common with many other regiments in the army of Hochland, the 3rd was
divided into a series of ten-man sub-units called files. Dieter had been
assigned to the file commanded by Sergeant Bohlen, alongside Gerhardt, Rieger
and Hoist. He had learned the names of the other men of the file were Kuranski,
Breitmeyer, Rosen, Krug and Febel. It was hard to tell too much about them after
such brief acquaintance, but Dieter supposed he would get to know each of them
in time.
Behind them, lost in the mists, the rest of the camp was waking up. Dieter
heard sounds drift towards him, muffled by the fog. There was the clatter of
pans as the cooks saw to breakfast, the noise of voices as the sentries changed
watch and orders were shouted back-and-forth.
Somewhere, Dieter heard a woman’s voice singing. A camp follower no doubt,
giving voice to a sarcastic song as she taunted one or more of her lovers.
Oh sailors they get all the money,
Soldiers they get none but brass.
I do love a jolly sailor,
Soldiers they can kiss my arse.
The song raised a smile from Dieter, easing the mood of nervousness that had
settled upon him. He realised it was a trick which might stand him in good stead
in years to come. It was better to laugh and think thoughts of good humour,
rather than dwell on his anxieties. Blinded by the fog, it was easy to fall prey
to unreasoning fear.
Abruptly, he heard a rolling series of drumbeats. Captain Harkner had told
the regimental drummer to give the signal to advance. Keeping pace with the
other men around him, Dieter moved forward as the Scarlets entered the forest.
* * *
“Keep close,” Gerhardt had told him as they prepared for the expedition.
“It’s your first time out and you haven’t drilled with us, so stay within sight
of me, Hoist and Rieger. Follow what we do. As long as you’ve got one of us in
view you’ll be all right.”
It was good advice, but Dieter quickly found it was easier said than done.
From the moment they entered the forest, the mist seemed to swallow them.
Within a few paces, it was so thick the men around him were reduced to little
more than amorphous silhouettes. He could no longer tell one from another, much
less follow any particular shape and know it was Gerhardt, Hoist or Rieger.
Instead, the most he could do was to stick close to one of the silhouettes and
hope for the best.
The Scarlets had not entered the woods alone. A group of local huntsmen had
been assigned to them as guides.
They reminded Dieter of the professional huntsmen he had known in his home
village of Bromstadt: hard-faced, gimlet-eyed men in black cloaks, armed with
bows. Such men could spend weeks at a time living in the deep forests, foraging
to survive as they tracked their prey—whether that prey was wolves, bears,
orcs or beastmen. Sometimes, if he possessed a particularly mercenary
disposition, a huntsman might even hire on to track his fellow man—hunting
fugitive criminals and bandits in return for a bounty.
There were four huntsmen in total with the Scarlets. Two of them had
disappeared into the forest, scouting ahead of the expedition, while the other
two accompanied the Scarlets to make sure they didn’t get lost.
Dieter only hoped the huntsmen knew the forest as well as they claimed.
Otherwise, in the current conditions, far from scouting the area he had no doubt
they could be wandering around it for days without ever finding anything.
It was hard to judge time surrounded by the mists, but by Dieter’s estimation
several minutes passed before he noticed an unsettling development. From the
first, the forest had been quiet. The Scarlets were under orders to move through
the woods as stealthily as possible, but even so it had been possible to catch
the break of twigs and crunch of leaves underfoot as the soldiers passed through
the woodlands. Without any warning, Dieter suddenly realised he could no longer
hear those sounds.
In its place, the forest was eerily quiet. Turning to the man silhouetted by
the side of him, Dieter realised to his horror he was looking at a tree, its
shape disguised enough by the mist that he had mistaken it for one of his
comrades. Appalled, he scanned his surroundings and saw that none of the
silhouettes around him were moving. With a sinking heart, it occurred to him
that he was alone.
His first impulse was to cry out, but he remembered his orders were to
maintain stealth. Stifling his cry, he considered his options.
He was no great huntsman, but he had lived his whole life in the country,
giving him a wealth of skills to draw on. Cautiously, he moved to the nearest
tree and rubbed his hand over the bark. Determining which side of the tree had
moss on it allowed him to roughly estimate the compass direction. Coupled with
the fact he knew the Scarlets were supposed to be moving north-west, he headed
off in the same direction, reasoning he would likely cross their path sooner or
later.
At the same time, the temptation to shout out in the hope of attracting his
comrades’ attention was almost overwhelming. Resisting the impulse, Dieter
reminded himself they had been sent into the woods to scout for greenskins. If
any of the enemy were nearby, his call for help would draw them like crows to a
carcass. Besides which, he was proud. It was his first duty with his new
regiment, and he did not want it to be remembered as the time he got lost and
endangered their mission. It was not in his character to accept such humiliation
lightly.
Telling himself he would give it another quarter-league before he stopped and
took stock of his situation, Dieter continued on. Wary of the fact he was on his
own, he had drawn his sword. He moved carefully forward, his senses alert,
listening intently for any sound which might give him warning either of the
Scarlets’ presence or an enemy’s.
Spotting a bulky shape further ahead in the mists, Dieter altered his course
to move closer toward it. Intrigued, he wondered as to its nature, until the
mists suddenly parted for a split second revealing its identity.
It was a small hut, of the kind used by woodsmen, charcoal burners and others
who made their living in the forest. A light was burning beneath the window
shutters. Advancing to within hailing distance, Dieter briefly considered
calling out to its inhabitants. Thinking better of it, he crept over to the
front door.
Transferring his sword to his shield hand in a blade downward position,
Dieter made ready to push the door open. It was another of the tricks his foster
father Helmut had taught him. Rather than sheath his sword or discard his shield
to open the door, he relied on his forearm to control the shield while his left
hand held the sword, giving him a free hand to ease the door open quietly
instead of kicking it down and alerting whoever was inside to his arrival. If
trouble occurred, he could quickly swap the sword back to his right hand and
take up the proper grip on his shield, ready for action.
Gently lifting the latch, he opened the door. Inside, he saw two men in the
uniform of the Scarlets, standing with their backs to him. They were both
hunched over a shape in the middle of the hut floor.
“You wouldn’t think her bones would be so strong,” one of them said,
straining at something. “Wait a minute… I think I’ve got it…”
There was an audible
crack,
the sound nearly as loud as a gunshot in
the cramped confines of the hut. Horrified, Dieter realised the two men were
stooping over the body of an old woman, lying dead on the floor between them.
Finishing his task, the one who had spoken started to straighten his knees. As
his hands came up, Dieter saw he was holding a ring.
“There,” the man said, inspecting his prize. “The metal’s only pewter, but
I’m pretty sure the stone is a garnet. Morr only knows how some old peasant
woman ended up with a gem like that.”
He looked up and saw Dieter.
“Look sharp, Febel!” He stood suddenly. “We have company. Hmm, it’s the new
young blood. What is his name?”
“Lanz,” the other man said, displaying a mouthful of blackened teeth in what
Dieter could only guess was an attempt at a smile.
“Lanz. That’s it. Stupid name for a swordsman. With a name like that, you’d
think he’d have joined a spear regiment.”
Having recovered from his initial shock, Dieter realised he recognised the
two men. Their names were Krug and Febel. They were members of the same file as
him, commanded by Sergeant Bohlen. Krug was the larger of the two: a gaunt man
with a shaved head whose pock-marked face did little to make him look more
appealing. Febel seemed inclined to stay in his shadow. A born follower and
toady, his face had a rattish cast to it.
“Well, what’s the matter, young blood?” Krug said, taking a cautious step
forward. “You don’t say much, do you? Cat got yours?”
“The old woman,” Dieter said. “What have you done to her?”
“Done?” Krug looked back at the body and shrugged. “We did nothing. The old
bitch was dead when we got here. If you don’t believe me, you can see for
yourself. Touch her cheek. You’ll see that she’s stone cold.”
“She probably dropped dead when she heard the orcs were coming,” Febel
elaborated. “That’s what we thought, anyway. Either way, the place was picked
pretty clean by the time we got here. You ask me, her family probably decided
they couldn’t waste time burying her. They wouldn’t want to be around when the
orcs get here. So they packed up, scarpered, and it was too bad for dear old
granny—”
“Shut up, Febel,” Krug cut him off. “You’re talking too much. Before we stand
here telling each other stories, I want to hear what the young blood thinks of
things. I don’t like the look in his eye.”
The hut had been ransacked. Initially, Dieter had been distracted by the
discovery of the corpse, but as he took in his surroundings, it became clear to
him that Krug and Febel had been busy. The hut’s meagre furnishings were in
disarray. The bedsteads had been overturned and the bedding pulled open. In
places, they had even ripped up the floorboards.
“You have destroyed this place,” he said. “You have smashed these people’s
belongings. You defiled the old woman’s body. And for what?”
“About twenty pennies worth,” Febel said. Sensing Dieter’s anger, he had
started to nervously back away. “Least, that’s what Krug reckons it comes to.
It’s not too bad, but it could’ve been better. Sometimes, these peasants have
real treasures hidden away. You’d be surprised what you find. I remember one
time…”
“Shut up, Febel,” Krug growled. “He’s not looking for an inventory. Are you,
young blood? You got that high and mighty look, like you’re about to take
exception.”
“You are soldiers,” Dieter felt a rising fury grow inside him. “More than
that, you are Scarlets. You are members of the 3rd. Yet, you stole from this
poor woman. You destroyed her home. You acted like thieves or graverobbers!”