03 - God King (30 page)

“Not anymore I’m not,” he said.

The streets of Middenheim were cold, colder than he remembered them, but it
didn’t touch him. Redwane saw men and women huddled in doorways, pulling
threadbare blankets around them as the breath misted before their mouths.
Sunlight couldn’t penetrate the oppressive gloom that pressed down, and it
seemed as though the warmth was being leeched from the world day by day. Once
again, the city was filled with refugees, and Redwane wondered what manner of
gods could leave their people to suffer such an endless parade of misery as the
people of the Empire were forced to endure.

Redwane walked the streets at random, keeping to the shadows and losing
himself in the maze of stone structures. Faces passed him, men in armour and men
in rags. He no longer knew where he was going, and he no longer cared. Men he
had trusted and called friend were turning their backs on Sigmar, the hero who
had given them everything. Now Sigmar was in mortal danger and they did nothing
to help him. The certainties of loyalty and honour upon which Redwane had built
his life were crumbling, and all that was left was the coldness in his heart
that knew there was only one path open to him.

He passed through the streets as a ghost, numb to the world around him and
feeling the pain of his scars as if they reached down through his skin and into
his bones. The wound in his chest throbbed like a second heartbeat, one that
pumped ice around his body instead of blood. People were looking at him
strangely, but he paid them no mind, walking ever onwards as he unbuckled plates
of his armour, shedding iron as a serpent sheds its skin to be reborn.

His path became clearer with every plate that hit the ground, his steps surer
and more certain. His head came up and he saw the world around him, bleached of
colour and life, and knew that this was its true face. Love was a lie and
struggling against the pain and misery that life threw up was pointless.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see a face he knew, but couldn’t
place.

“What in Ulric’s name are you doing, you fool?” said the black-haired man
clad in red armour and wrapped in a wolfskin cloak. Another man stood behind
him, one with a sour face that made him look like he’d swallowed a mouthful of
vinegar.

“I know you,” said Redwane.

“Of course you damn well do,” snapped the man. “It’s me, Leovulf.”

“Leovulf, yes,” nodded Redwane.

“We heard what happened at the temple of Ulric,” said Leovulf. “But what
they’re saying’s wrong, isn’t it? You’re still a White Wolf, aren’t you?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” said the other man, lifting a discarded vambrace from
the street.

“Shut up, Ustern,” said Leovulf.

Ustern, yes, that was it. Redwane turned away from them, making his way
deeper into the city.

“Hey,” said Leovulf, taking hold of him once again. “Were they right about
you saying you’re leaving for Reikdorf? To fight alongside the Emperor?”

“Yes, I’m going to Reikdorf,” said Redwane. “That’s what I told Myrsa, and
that’s what I’m doing. The Emperor needs us and I’ll be damned if I don’t go to
him.”

“And I’ll be damned if I let you go get yourself killed.”

“Don’t try and stop me,” said Redwane, clenching his fists.

“I’m not going to, but I meant what I said. I’m not going to let you get
yourself killed, so if you’re set on marching to Reikdorf, then I suppose I’m
going with you.”

“I’ll come too,” said Ustern. Redwane and Leovulf looked at him in surprise.
Ustern shrugged. “A captain needs his banner bearer, else he’s not a captain is
he?”

“Good point, lad,” said Leovulf. “Well?”

“Well what?” said Redwane.

“How are you planning to get to Reikdorf?” demanded Leovulf. “In case you
hadn’t noticed, there’s a host of the living dead surrounding this city. You’ll
need a damned army to break through, and I don’t see Count Myrsa giving you
his.”

“I know,” said Redwane, “but I know how we can get another one.”

Dawn was less than an hour away, but Maedbh knew the rising sun wouldn’t save
them. She knelt beside a boulder at the edge of the river and dipped her cupped
palms below its rippling surface. Splashing the cold water on her face sharpened
her focus, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Her entire body ached and she rubbed
the heels of her palms against her eyes.

Even on campaign, when sleep was an elusive bedfellow, she hadn’t been this
tired. In times of war she fought alongside warriors, men and women who could
look after themselves. This was very different.

Now she had people to protect who couldn’t defend themselves.

The entire population of Three Hills and its surrounding villages had
agglomerated into one long column of frightened people, making their way west
with whatever possessions they could load onto wagons or carry on their backs.
Perhaps six hundred people rested in the shade of a low ridge of hills, old men
and women, children and those too sick or injured to march with the queen.
Garr’s sword band of Queen’s Eagles stood watch and she gave thanks that Freya
had thought to leave these fearsome warriors at Three Hills. Only thirty of them
marched with them, but their presence alone was helping to keep spirits high.

Maedbh turned away from thoughts of the queen, the guilt that she should have
gone with her assuaged by the fact that she could still protect her own daughter
and Freya’s sons. She clung to the hope that Freya might still live; after all,
Master Alaric had said that some had escaped the massacre. If anyone could
survive a battle with the living dead, it was Queen Freya.

This was their fifth day of march, and they had covered barely half the
distance to the confluence of the great rivers. The oldest and youngest rode in
the few wagons that hadn’t been taken by the queen’s army, but the rest walked.
They were moving too slowly, and their pursuers did not need to stop to eat and
rest as they must. Despite their stature, the dwarfs easily matched the pace of
the Asoborns, moving ahead of the column and keeping watch on its vulnerable
sides and rear. They took no rest, didn’t seem to eat or sleep, and were as
indefatigable as the foe that pursued them.

Packs of dead wolves dogged their every step, darting in from the flanks to
savage a straggling family or to pick off a child that wandered too far from the
column. The dwarfs had saved as many as they could, but Maedbh sensed their
frustration at the slow speed the Asoborns were making. The dead were right
behind them, and every time her people rested, they got a little closer.

Ulrike, Sigulf and Fridleifr lay asleep on the grass beside her, and Maedbh
stroked her daughter’s hair. She was loath to wake the children, but dwarf
scouts had reported seeing sunlight on spear points no more than a few miles
behind them. They would need to be on the move soon.

She wished Wolfgart were here, imagining him riding over the hills on his
finest stallion to her rescue with his mighty sword hewing the dead like corn at
harvest time.

“What I wouldn’t give to see that,” she whispered. “I miss you, my gorgeous
man.”

Maedbh looked up from the river as she saw a stout warrior in heavy plates of
gleaming metal and fine mail reflected in the water. She hadn’t heard him
approach.

“Master Alaric,” she said.

“The man you are bonded to is called Wolfgart?” asked Alaric.

Maedbh nodded, more surprised at the question than by the fact that the dwarf
knew to whom she was bonded. “That’s right. Do you know him?”

“I do,” said the dwarf. “I fought beside him at Black Fire, and we saved each
other’s life many times in the tunnels beneath Ulric’s city.”

“Middenheim? Wolfgart would never speak of that battle.”

“That does not surprise me, for it was bloody and desperate,” said Alaric. “I
do not like to remember it, but if you are his bonded woman, then I must.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A dwarf never forgives an insult, and never forgets a debt.”

Maedbh laughed mirthlessly. “Wolfgart owes you money? He always was lousy at
dice.”

“No,” said Alaric. “Not money. Wolfgart and I fought the vermin beasts in the
tunnels beneath Middenheim. The rats were all over us, and we fought in the
cramped darkness by the light of dying torches. We fought with axes, picks and
daggers or whatever came to hand. I hauled his arse from the jaws of a giant
ogre beast with metal for arms and he slew an armoured rat-champion with a
short-handled pick to its brain. We fought in those tunnels for days, but at the
end of it all we were victorious. I remember every moment of that fight, and
Wolfgart saved my life on seven separate occasions. I saved him six times.”

“I’m sure Wolfgart isn’t counting,” said Maedbh.

“That matters not,” said Alaric. “I am counting, and I owe him a blood debt.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I am indebted to him and his kin.”

“Is that why you came to Three Hills, to pay your debt to Wolfgart?”

“Not entirely,” said Alaric. “We were coming to the Empire to take back a war
machine your Emperor’s warriors retrieved from a representative of the Deeplock
Clan. That, and we heard that the great necromancer had returned. But mainly to
retrieve the war machine. Your settlement was on the way and was the quickest
way for us to get ahead of the blood drinker’s army.”

“Then I’m indebted to you for warning us,” said Maedbh.

Alaric shook his head. “There is no debt between you and I, Maedbh of Three
Hills, but when I see you to Reikdorf, the debt I have with Wolfgart is
settled.”

“That seems fair enough,” agreed Maedbh.

“To allow me to honour that debt, I need you to do something.”

“Yes, I know,” said Maedbh, pushing herself wearily to her feet. “I will get
my people moving, but they needed to rest.”

Alaric looked back to the east, as though he could see through the earth to
spy upon the army of the dead. For all Maedbh knew of the mountain folk’s skill,
perhaps he could. Alaric sniffed the air and stamped a foot on the hard packed
earth of the riverbank, as though listening to its echo through the ground.

“That is not what I mean,” said Alaric.

“Then what
do
you mean?”

“You know what I mean. My debt is to you, not these other manlings. You have
to leave those who cannot keep up. Your kind lives and dies so quickly it will
make no difference to your race. The old will be dead soon anyway, and you can
breed more young in your belly. These ones aren’t old enough to work or fight
yet. What use are they to you?”

Maedbh struggled to hold her temper in the face of Alaric’s request.

“You want us to leave our people behind?” she said, as evenly as she could.

“It is the only way some of you will live,” said the dwarf. “Save those who
can outpace the dead, leave the rest behind. Better to save some than none.”

“No, Master Alaric,” said Maedbh. “That won’t be happening. No one gets left
behind.”

“Then you will all die.”

“Then we will all die,” hissed Maedbh. “I’d sooner we all died right here
than live with knowing I left my own people here to be killed.”

Alaric’s face was unreadable in the dim light, but Maedbh thought he was more
surprised at her decision than angry or disappointed. At length, he sighed.

“Very well, if you will not leave them behind, then my warriors and I cannot
leave.”

“What? No! I don’t want your deaths on my head.”

“That is not our custom, Maedbh of Three Hills,” said Alaric. “The debt
demands it.”

Further words were forestalled as Garr came running over, his sword drawn and
the visor of his eagle-winged helmet pulled down over his handsome face.

“My lady,” he said, “the mountain folk say the vanguard of the dead are upon
us. You need to go right now. We will hold them off as long as we can, but you
must get the queen’s boys out of here.”

Maedbh took a deep breath, weighing the impossible choices before her.

“No,” she said. “We’re not leaving.”

“My lady?” said Garr. “You have to move. Queen Freya—”

“Queen Freya is not here,” snapped Maedbh. “And you will obey me, Garr. Do
you understand?”

“Yes, my lady,” said the warrior. “What is it you require of us?”

Maedbh looked around her for somewhere they could make their stand, finally
settling upon a wooded hill to the north. The river curled lazily around its
eastern flank, and the thick trees would make any advance from the west next to
impossible. The dead would have to come straight at them up the steep southern
slope.

“Form up with Alaric’s dwarfs on yonder hill,” she said, pointing to the
ridge of trees above them.
“We
can’t outrun the dead, so we’ll fight
them. We’ll fight them and make them wish they’d never invaded Asoborn lands.”

Garr quickly studied the lie of the land, and she saw his understanding that
this could be nothing more than a last stand. Maedbh gripped his shoulder and
jabbed a fist at the column of Asoborns.

“Get everyone who can hold a weapon in the battle line, no matter how old or
young or wounded,” ordered Maedbh. “Everyone fights, no one runs.”

He nodded and said, “It will be done, my lady.”

The Queen’s Eagle ran off to get the Asoborns moving and Maedbh turned to
Master Alaric. She drew her sword and said, “After today your debt is settled,
whether we live or die. Will that satisfy your customs?”

“It will indeed, my lady,” nodded Master Alaric with a deep bow. “It will be
my honour to die alongside you, Maedbh of Three Hills.”

“Don’t put me in the ground just yet,” said Maedbh as the sun rose over the
eastern mountains, spreading its promise across the land. She smiled as fresh
hope filled her heart and closed her eyes, tilting her face towards the sun.
“This is the Empire, and stranger things have happened than us living to see
another dawn.”