The beastmen had numbers on their side, but Vaedecker had training, and a far
better weapon than any of the beastmen. The sergeant was already sweeping his
sword across in a broad horizontal sweep as he arrived by Sigurd’s side, and the
beastmen were sprinting too hard to stop and jump back. The best they could
achieve was to peel away to either side, and neither of the leading two could do
that fast enough to avoid the blade. Both were cut about the torso. Although
their ribs protected them from fatal damage, the long cuts fountained blood.
It was not so easy to reverse the sweep as the second wave of beastmen
arrived. One of them was able to duck inside the soldier’s guard, throwing
itself upon him as if to wrestle him to the ground. Had he recoiled reflexively,
Vaedecker would indeed have gone down, but he had the trained responses of an
infantryman, schooled to hold his line no matter what. Vaedecker body-checked
the beastman with brutal stubbornness, and smashed his fist into the ugly animal
face.
The beastman was far from frail, but it had not bulk enough to win that kind
of match and it lurched away. There were two more ready to leap in after it, but
Reinmar and Ulick had arrived by now and they each lashed out at a different
target.
Reinmar’s sword was short and light, built for stabbing rather than sweeping,
and he remembered his schooling well enough not to attempt any move for which
the weapon was not designed. Although the beastman he targeted managed to avoid
his move, it had to throw itself sideways to do so, losing its balance and
sprawling on to all fours.
Ulick’s piece of iron was not designed for any kind of thrust at all, and the
boy was slighter than Reinmar, but he too enjoyed success of a sort. He fetched
his enemy a very painful blow upon its upraised arm, and not only made it squeal
but caused it to raise its other arm defensively, ruining any blow it might
otherwise have aimed at Vaedecker.
When these thrusts had been made, however, the cart’s defenders had done what
they could for the moment, and there were still three beastmen coming forward.
Reinmar realised that he simply had not time or space to fence with these
opponents. The weapons the beastmen carried were meagre, but there were simply
too many of them. Three men could not stand against them for more than a matter
of minutes.
But four could, if the fourth were Sigurd.
The giant must have been winded by his fall, and probably bruised, but he was
not the kind of man to worry about bruises. Once he had managed to suck air back
into his evacuated lungs he was ready to rejoin the fray, and all he had to do
in order to accomplish that end was to stand up.
That was not as easy as it sounded, given that he had defenders standing over
him and attackers eager to displace them, but mere convenience was not an issue.
Sigurd was obviously intent on standing as soon as he could stand, and he left
it to his friends to get out of the way as soon as they saw him make a move.
Unfortunately, that was not as easy as it sounded either.
Sigurd stood up in the very heart of the brawl, forcing his massive bulk into
a space that was simply not there. His fists shot out in two directions—aiming, of course, for beastmen—and he shrugged as he stood, as if to clear the
space he needed. No less than three beastmen were sent tumbling—but so was
Reinmar. From the corner of his eye he saw Ulick duck under a flailing giant
arm, and he saw Vaedecker move with an awesome sense of purpose to a new
position, but a fast-moving fist clipped him under the chin and sent him flying.
The sword flew from Reinmar’s hand and he just had time to think, as he was
taken off his feet, that when he landed—flat on his back—he would be wide
open to attack by a plunging dagger or flashing teeth. It would be even worse
for him if he struck his head and was knocked unconscious.
Perhaps he had enough presence of mind to react to this awareness, or perhaps
it was only blind luck, but in the end he fell upon his shoulders, without
whacking the back of his head against the ground. He was indeed wide open to
attack, but he did not lose consciousness. He retained full possession of his
faculties.
He saw a beastman make as if to fall upon him, and for a split second thought
he was doomed—but Sigurd was well aware of the fact that he had just knocked
over the man to whom his safety had been entrusted, and the good servant was not about to let
his mistake become fatal. As the beastman leapt, Sigurd’s arm lashed out in a
great horizontal arc, the palm of his hand held flat—and as it impacted with
the beast-man’s neck Reinmar heard the snap that broke the creature’s spine.
And as soon as that, it was over.
Suddenly, there were no more enemies to fight. No more beastmen were leaping
forward with murderous intent. Save for the one that had just fallen and would
never rise again, all eight or nine of them were in full flight, scattering in
every direction. They had been eager to fight three men, though two of them had
swords, but they were not willing to face three and one fallen if one of the
unfallen were Sigurd.
But it was not a victory. Although none of the cart’s defenders had been
seriously wounded, and all were now ready to renew the fight if necessary, they
were stranded. The horses had run off into the driving rain, and the wagon had
taken such a battering that it would be a virtual miracle if it were still
road-worthy. It would almost certainly require repair, and the horses would
require recapture—which could not be achieved without dividing the party.
Now there was no possible room for doubt that there were monsters abroad in
the hills; for once, the rumours were true. Had Reinmar’s world not turned
upside-down already, it would have turned upside-down then—but as things were,
he felt grimly unastonished. He had set out on this expedition determined to
make discoveries of his own, and he had made them. He suspected that he now knew
more than any of his companions, including Vaedecker, about what was happening
and what it might signify. He was proud of that, and firmly intent on keeping
the advantage.
“Why did they attack us?” Ulick asked. The question presumably sounded more
innocent to Sergeant Vaedecker than it did to Reinmar, given that Vaedecker had
not been party to their earlier conversation.
“They didn’t,” Vaedecker said, scowling as he used the toe of his boot to
turn over the second of the two monsters that Sigurd had killed. “Strictly
speaking, we attacked them. They must have taken shelter in the wood when the
rain began—and then we came along, driving at them like madmen. If I hadn’t fired that first bolt, they might have run away without a fight but once I’d
killed one, they had to react. So we had to kill two more, and leave at least
three wounded. Now, they’ll either be too terrified to come within half a mile
of us, or so angry that they’ll be after our blood with real determination.
We’ll have to hope for the first. The real question is: why are they here? I
take it that the woods in these parts aren’t normally home to packs of
beastmen.”
“No,” said Reinmar. “They aren’t.”
“You may not have liked the idea of rough soldiers coming to your nice,
prosperous little town, Master Reinmar,” Vaedecker said, with a certain relish,
“but I’ve got a shrewd suspicion that you’ll soon be grateful that we came. I
think we’re going to be needed. This expedition is hereby cut short—we return
direct to Eilhart as soon as we can. But first, we have to get the horses back.”
“And the wagon fixed,” Reinmar said. “Let’s hope Godrich is well enough to
lend a hand—he’s the only one with the knowledge and the skill to get it
moving again.”
“But first we need the horses,” Vaedecker insisted. “We need to get to them
before the beastmen do, and we need to get them back here safely. Sigurd!”
The giant was not supposed to be taking orders from the soldier, but he did
not so much as glance in Reinmar’s direction for confirmation. “Yes,” he said,
“I’ll go. You’ll have to guard the wagon.”
Reinmar knew that Sigurd didn’t really mean “the wagon’. He meant that he was
trusting Vaedecker to look after his master, and his master’s other servant.
“Take the boy,” Vaedecker commanded. “You might need more than one pair of
hands.”
Ulick was under no one’s orders, and Reinmar expected him to protest that he
had to stay with his sister, but in fact the boy nodded meekly. He too
appreciated the need to regather what they needed with the maximum possible
speed, before the beastmen could regroup and plan another attack.
Sigurd immediately strode off in the direction which the horses had followed,
with the gypsy boy hurrying after him.
“What do we do about that?” Reinmar asked, pointing to the beastman whose
neck had been broken.
“Nothing,” Vaedecker replied. “The one we have to attend to is Godrich. As
you say, he’s the one whose knowledge and skill will allow us to patch up the
wagon, if it can be patched at all.”
As if the bleakness of his tone had not lent a keen enough edge to the import
of his words, lightning flashed upon the mountain peaks far to the south, then
flashed again and again as a whole chain of strikes extended across the range.
The sky was filled with the crackle of distant thunder, and when it finally died
away the steady hiss of the rain that fell all about them seemed twice as loud
as it had before.
“This is it, Reinmar,” Matthias Vaedecker said. “This is where it begins.”
“Where what begins?” Reinmar wanted to know.
“Reality,” the sergeant retorted. “The dream is dissolving, and the nightmare
is free. This is when you begin to find out what the world is really like.”
The storm clouds had already blown over, and the rain had ceased as
abruptly
as it had begun, but thick cloud still lay across the southern half of the sky.
The sun’s light was beginning its slow fade towards darkness.
When Reinmar and Vaedecker had sheathed their blades and toiled back to the
cart they found Godrich sitting up and nursing his head between his hands. He
seemed very groggy, but when Reinmar scrambled back on to the wooden boards he
roused himself and said: “It’s just a bump on the head and a twisted ankle. I’ll
live.” He was already looking about him, his careful eye judging the extent of
the damage that the cart and its cargo had sustained. Appearances were not
encouraging, although the steward’s expression suggested that he had feared
worse.
“Where’s the girl?” Vaedecker demanded, suddenly.
Reinmar was surprised by the urgency in the sergeant’s tone. He had not
thought the soldier to be a caring man.
Godrich looked around, uncertainly, while Vaedecker snatched up the cloak
under which the gypsy girl had been huddling, shaking it as if she might somehow
have slipped into its lining. It was Reinmar who spotted her, already fifty or
sixty paces away from the wagon—and he would have lost her in the trees had he
not caught that brief glimpse.
“There!” he said, pointing.
Marcilla vanished almost as soon as he spoke, but Reinmar had time to notice
that she was walking with a sureness of step that seemed unnaturally mechanical
and measured, as if she were in some kind of trance.
Vaedecker cursed, almost as volubly as he had during the fight.
“Mind the cart well, steward,” he growled, although Reinmar formed the
impression that he did not care overmuch at that point in time whether the cart
was minded carefully or not. “Come on, Reinmar.”
Reinmar was surprised, but he obeyed readily enough, jumping down behind the
sergeant and moving off in the direction the girl had taken—which was at a
right angle to that in which the horses had fled. He had gone a dozen paces
before he realised that the soldier was not in the least concerned for the
girl’s welfare. Vaedecker was following her because he had heard the word “call”
in her delirium, and knew what significance that word might have in the context
of his spying mission.
They did not catch sight of her again as soon as they might have expected,
and they drew apart by slow degrees so that they could cover more ground,
although the sergeant called out a warning lest they lose sight of one another
entirely.
By the time he caught another glimpse of the slim figure as it went gliding
between the trees, Reinmar was beginning to wonder whether he would be able to
find his way back to the cart. It was impossible to stick to a straight course
while moving among thickets and fallen logs, and he was no longer sure of his
exact heading—but Marcilla seemed certain enough of hers, and she kept on
going, heedless of any threat which might be posed by inhuman creatures of any
kind.
Reinmar had never had any particular fear of the forests that decked the
foothills of the Grey Mountains, although they could be dismal and ominously
quiet. He had slept beneath the trees on previous expeditions that he had made
with his father, and would not have hesitated to do it again on this trip had it
been necessary, even in this relatively gloomy region which he did not know well—but now that he knew that there really were monsters in the hills, every step that separated him from the
cart seemed a step into the dangerous unknown.
Oddly enough, however, Reinmar feared more for Marcilla than he did for
himself. The gypsy girl must have slept rough far more often than he, in far
worse places than this. But she was ill now, and wet through in spite of the
cloak he had draped over her sleeping body. While she was entranced she might
easily step into a ditch and take a heavy fall, and would not be able to raise
the slightest defence against a beastman. The ground over which they were
walking was very uneven.
It was not until Vaedecker shouted “Hulloa!” that Reinmar realised that they
had lost sight of one another—but when he replied they were able to reset
their paces instantly on a convergent course.