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 tongue 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.