Maximilian shook his head. “I’ve no idea, friend. I know they’re old beyond
reckoning, but other than that I’ve only heard rumours and legends. Maybe one of
the Ostlanders would know,” he said, waving at the ranks of black and white
troops that surrounded them. “I think even they might struggle though.”
As the sun sank lower, bathing the landscape in scarlet light, the army
reached the summit of the hill and began planting their standards between the
strange columns. Half of the fifth stone had fallen, to be eagerly embraced by
the shrubs and long grass beneath, but those that still stood reached even
higher than Ratboy had expected. As he rode between them they seemed to bow over
his head, so great was their height. “Who was Hagen?” he asked in hushed tones,
eyeing the obelisks with suspicion.
“I believe he was some kind of tribal warlord—a contemporary of Sigmar’s—who met his end here,” answered Maximilian. The polished steel of his visor
flashed red as he raised it to get a better view of the stones. “The Ostlanders
tell all sorts of gruesome tales about him. Allegedly, when he suspected one of
his men of coveting his wife, he accused him of being no better than a wild
scavenger, tied him to one of these stones and pierced his side with a knife.
Then he left him to the mercy of the wolves that roam hereabouts.”
Ratboy looked up at the sombre columns with even more suspicion, wondering if
it were shadows or dark stains he could see on the lichen-covered stone.
“How did Hagen die?” asked Ratboy.
“Well, if the legends are true, his power corrupted him and eventually he
became a disciple of the Dark Gods. Sigmar heard stories of his strange
behaviour and travelled out here to confront him. He found Hagen attempting to
use the stones as part of some unspeakable rite, so they fought,” Maximilian
gave Ratboy a wry smile, “and Hagen died.”
Wolff saw the concern on Ratboy’s face and gave Maximilian a disapproving
shake of his head.
The old knight chuckled through his thick, silver beard. “Very well,” he
said. “I suppose I shouldn’t fill your head with legends and ghosts. You’ll soon
have plenty of mortal foes to keep you busy.” He shrugged. “Anyway, odd as it
is, the Iron Duke had this site in mind right from the start of the campaign. He
sent scouts up here weeks ago to prepare for this battle. We’re going to engage
the enemy
exactly
where he planned to. Whatever your master thinks of
him, Fabian is no fool. He must have had good reason to drive us so hard, and
ensure that we fought here rather than any other spot.” He waved his men over to
one of the few areas of hillside not already swarming with soldiers. “That seems
as good a place as any. Let’s prepare ourselves.”
Once they’d reached the spot, Ratboy dropped from his horse and helped his
master down from his. Then he perched on one of the pieces of fallen stone and,
following the example of the Knights Griffon, began to polish his weapon in
preparation for the battle. As he did so, he noticed Wolff looking anxiously
through the bustling crowds that covered the hillside. Ratboy followed his gaze
and saw the Iron Duke’s standard, snapping proudly at the summit: a wolf and a
bull, rearing side by side on a black background. He tried to imagine how Wolff
must feel, to be so close to his brother, after all these decades.
“I wonder what he’ll do, when the time comes to act,” said a voice at his
ear.
Ratboy turned to see Anna, watching Wolff too. He dusted down a patch of moss
and she sat next to him on the stone.
“A brother is a brother,” she said, sitting next to him. “Whatever’s happened
in the past.”
Ratboy shrugged. “He’s been so concerned with tracking Fabian down, but I
don’t think he ever actually worked out what to do when he found him. I’ve never
seen him so subdued. I suppose he imagined he would be dealing with a soldier,
not the head of an army.”
Anna shrugged. “How’s your hand?” she asked, peeling back the bandages. The
wound was beginning to heal up, but his fingers had set in a crooked, useless
fist. She shook her head and frowned. “It looks like I managed to stave off any
infection, but I doubt you’ll ever be much of a musician.”
Ratboy smiled. “I don’t think I was ever destined for artistic greatness.”
The pain had been growing worse and he grimaced as he flexed his scarred, bent
fingers. “Some of the movement has returned already,” he said, trying to hide
the extent of his discomfort. “I may even be able to use this fancy sword
properly, one day.” He raised the blade in his left hand, so that the metal
caught the sun’s dying rays. “I’ve almost got the hang of using my other hand
now anyway.” He looked over at Anna. In all the excitement of the last few days,
he had almost forgotten her loss. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
She continued studying his hand for a few seconds, frowning with worry. Then
she placed it back in his lap and studied a ring on her finger. It was the one
Wolff had brought from the temple: the one that had belonged to the abbess. As
she spoke, she traced her finger over the dove that decorated it. “The sisters
were my only family,” she said. “I only pray that some of them managed to flee
before…” She paused and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were
bright with tears. “I doubt a single one of them would have abandoned the people
in their care.”
Ratboy took her hand. “There were soldiers in there with them. They may have
evacuated some of the sisters before the fighting started.”
Anna nodded. “It’s possible,” she said, with little conviction. She squeezed
Ratboy’s hand and took a deep breath. “I don’t feel completely alone now though.
You’ve shown me great kindness.” She met Ratboy’s anxious gaze with a smile,
then looked out across the gloomy landscape. “I may not have to wait long before
I meet my sisters again, anyway. It seems that nothing can stop this Mormius, or
his hideous creatures.”
Ratboy recalled the battle of Mercy’s End with a shudder. “I wonder if
Gryphius, or Captain Felhamer escaped,” he said.
She shrugged. “Felhamer knew those tunnels as well as anyone. Gryphius was
carrying a terrible wound though. I don’t think we’ll see him again.”
Ratboy nodded and looked deep into her eyes. “And what about you, Anna?
You’re not seeking a glorious end. What is there here for you? Mormius’ hordes
will arrive any time now. Who can say what will happen, but I doubt many of us
will survive. Shouldn’t you head back towards Wolfenberg? You could find other
members of your order. I imagine there’s much healing to be done in the capital.
You should leave while you still can.”
“And would you come with me, Ratboy? This is no place for a young,
inexperienced acolyte. A desperate battle won’t help to complete your training.
You could leave with me, head south and present yourself at the first
chapterhouse you find. In a year or so, you’d be a fully trained warrior priest,
just like your master. Think how much more use your life could be, if you didn’t
end it here, as a novice.”
Ratboy shook his head fiercely. “I would
never
abandon Brother Wolff.”
His face flushed with colour and he turned away from the priestess, embarrassed
by the passion in his voice. “He’ll need me tonight, more than ever before and
if it means my life, then I’ll be proud to die by his side.”
Anna nodded and loosed his hand. She gave him a sad smile and climbed to her
feet. “I know,” she said quietly. “I owe you my life, and if there’s anything I
can do to aid you, I’ll be here to do it.” She looked around at the rows of
pale, nervous faces rushing past them. “And I imagine you won’t be the only one
who’ll need my help.”
Ratboy stood and pulled her towards him. His eyes were wide with emotion, but
before he could speak, a chorus of shouts erupted from the surrounding soldiers.
The troops’ preparations suddenly became much more urgent. Valets and equerries
sprinted past and sergeants began barking commands at their men. “What’s
happened?” said Ratboy turning from Anna and looking out into the darkness of
the surrounding meadows.
“Listen,” said Wolff, stepping past them both and climbing up onto the stone.
He looked out across the rippling pools of grass and shadow.
Ratboy held his breath and heard an odd sound on the breeze. He climbed up
beside his master and followed his gaze. He could see nothing, but as the wind
shifted slightly to the east, the noise suddenly swelled. He heard a horn of
some kind, but it was playing no melody he could recognise. The thin, plaintive
sound simply undulated slowly up and down, like the baleful song of a wading
bird.
There was a clatter of armour as the surrounding men formed themselves into
orderly ranks. The dark, feral helmets of the Oberhau could be seen all over the
hill, dashing back and forth as they directed regiments into the formations
Fabian had requested. The squadrons of knights and pistoliers took up positions
near the bottom of the incline, while every man with a bow was ordered up to the
summit, to stand alongside the engineers and their bizarre assortment of
black-powder weapons. As the eerie, surging sound grew louder, the archers
arrayed themselves in a long line across the top of Hagen’s Claw and began to
ready their weapons.
“We should take our positions,” said Wolff, placing a hand on Ratboy’s
shoulder.
They climbed down from the stone and, with Anna in tow, rushed back over to
where Maximilian was inspecting his men.
The knights had already mounted their chargers, and as Maximilian looked them
up and down he nodded with satisfaction. Despite the panic and noise erupting
all around them, the Knights Griffon sat calmly in their saddles, with straight
backs and raised chins. To Ratboy, they looked as immovable as the monoliths
that towered above them.
“We don’t have long,” said Maximilian, turning from his men and facing Wolff.
“Would you do us the honour of giving us your blessing, old friend?”
Wolff paused, dragging himself from his reverie with visible effort. Then he
nodded slowly and stepped before the rows of gleaming knights. He unclasped a
book from his cuirass, signalled for the men to lower their heads and muttered a
quick prayer. To Ratboy, though, his words sounded oddly flat. The passion that
usually filled his voice was gone, and he recited the words with a vague,
distracted air.
Where there is weakness give us strength, Where there is lowliness, give us
majesty, Where there is death, give us eternity.
Then he moved along the ranks of men and placed his hand on each of their
swords in turn, muttering a blessing as he went:
Fill this heart with faith undying, Gilt this sword, with strength unceasing.
Once he’d reached the final knight, Wolff climbed up onto his own horse and
positioned himself at the front of the squadron, next to Maximilian. There was a
look of bleak despondency on his face.
The old knight gave Wolff a concerned glance. “This isn’t the first time
we’ve faced such a foe,” he said, nodding to the row of flickering lights that
had begun to appear on the horizon.
Wolff shook his head, but did not look up from where his hands were resting
on the pommel of his saddle. “It’s not what’s out there that worries me,
Maximilian,” he muttered.
Maximilian lowered his voice and leant closer to his old friend. “I have
faith in you, Jakob, even if you do not. Whoever and whatever you face tonight,
I know you will emerge victorious.”
Wolff lifted his eyes, and Ratboy saw agony and doubt burning there. The
priest opened his mouth to answer Maximilian, but the words were lost, as
Hagen’s Claw exploded into an inferno of sound and flame.
All along the hillside, rows of canon and mortar boomed into life. Ratboy
flinched and gripped his horse’s reins in terror, taken by surprise as the guns
unleashed hell on the vague shapes massing below. With the sound of the guns
still ringing in his ears, he looked around and saw to his shame that Wolff,
Maximilian and Anna were all sat quite calmly, peering through the growing
darkness to see the effect of the volley.
“The range of these things is amazing,” said Maximilian as some of the lights
below them flickered and died.
The enemy was still far from the foot of the hill and it was hard to see
anything very clearly, but the droning horn faltered for a few seconds and
several of Fabian’s regiments burst into spontaneous cheers.
“It’s a little early to begin victory celebrations,” said Anna, giving Ratboy
a wry grin. “I’m going to move back up the hill, there’s nothing I can do in the
thick of the fighting. I’ll see if I can find the surgeons and wait for the
wounded to arrive.” She placed a hand on Ratboy’s arm and opened her mouth to
say something. Then she changed her mind and simply nodded at him.
He gave her a mute nod in reply and watched her ride away between the ranks
of stern-faced soldiers. As she disappeared from view, he felt an almost
overwhelming urge to rush after her, but a look at his master’s troubled face
give him new resolve and he drew his sword instead.
“Here they come,” said Maximilian, snapping his visor down.
Ratboy saw that the tides of light below were now rushing towards the hill at
great speed. The drone of the horn shifted up a key, becoming a shrill scream
and he began to make out individual figures at the head of Mormius’ army. He
frowned. There was something odd about the men sprinting towards them. They were
clad in crude, brutal armour, tatty shreds of hide and helmets crowned with
vicious tusks, but it was not their dress that made him frown. There was
something about their proportions that confused him. He turned to Wolff with a
question on his lips, but his master was engrossed in his own thoughts and
barely seemed to register the army hurtling towards them.
As the men moved closer, other marauders emerged behind them and it was then
that Ratboy realised what was so strange about the warriors in the vanguard:
they were colossal. The marauders behind them were obviously well built, but
they barely reached the waists of the warriors in the front line. As the giants
pounded across the field towards them, Ratboy noticed that their faces were as
grey as month-old corpses and their canines were grotesquely enlarged—jutting
from their drooling mouths like boar tusks. “What are they?” he gasped.