01 - Honour of the Grave (8 page)

She nodded. Her travelling companions appeared all around her, painted in a
warm yellow light: the men had lit the first of the lanterns. Angelika went to
Franziskus and told him the plan.

“I’ll go with you,” Franziskus whispered.

“No, you stay here. If we both go with Benno, the others will suspect
skullduggery. Stay here, and impress Gelfrat with your wit and scholarship.”

“I’d have better luck training a boar to dance the gavotte.”

She patted him on the cheek. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, but she
got a funny look in return. So she punched him on the shoulder—hard.
Franziskus blinked. “I’ll be back before you know it,” she said.

Benno approached, lantern in hand. It lit up the bones around his eyes, and
the underside of his neck, giving his face a sinister aspect. “East or west?”

“Our pursuers were over there, to the right, so let’s take the leftward
hills.”

With nimble strides, Benno kept up with her. They walked in silence across
the pass’ flat bottom, towards the east. Angelika liked a man who knew how to
shut up. Behind her, she heard the whickering of horses and the low voices of
their companions. A laugh erupted from the group, followed by an angry growl
from Gelfrat, and then silence. Benno’s lantern summoned circling bugs, which
made a secondary halo around its ball of light.

They reached a slope, obscured by tall weeds and slick with dew, and battled
their way up it. The brass links that clasped Benno’s elaborate cuffs clicked
against the steel of his breastplate.

“I should have lightened my load before setting out,” he gasped.

“If we stumble into a nest of orcs or skaven, you’ll be grateful for that
armour.”

As the slope gave way to rockier ground, the lantern swung wildly in Benno’s
hand, casting crazy shadows on the boulders and between the trunks of pines. She
went ahead of him, so that it was her shadow, like a giant’s, that rippled
across the hillside. Angelika thought she heard Benno slip, but when she looked
back, he had already recovered. He was sweating and his face was flushed with
effort. She stopped to choose a path, and to let him regain his breath. He wiped
his hands on his black and yellow leggings.

“It is a difficult life here,” he said, “but you may do as you like, hah? Go
to find treasure one day, and ride with soldiers the next? No one to tell you
what to do, or where to be.”

She couldn’t imagine what he was getting at, so she elevated an eyebrow and
cocked it at him. “The rest of you all have heavy armour, too, don’t you? And if
you have to leave such costly gear behind with the horses, you won’t want to let
it too far out of your sight, will you? So there’s no point picking a spot too
far into the hills…”

He shook his head, in what she took to be agreement. She pointed to a spot
about fifty feet up, along a steep and narrow pathway. “That looks promising.
Hold the lantern this way.” Benno moved the light, and she saw a telltale smudge
across the sheer face of a large chunk of granite. “See that? Soot from an old
campfire. You know what that means?”

“I don’t claim to be a woodsman.”

“It means, if that was good enough for somebody else to camp on, it’s good
enough for us. I’ll climb up to make sure it’s all right. You stay here to
signal the men.”

“I hope you value it,” Benno said.

“Value what?”

“The freedom you have.”

Her only answer to this was to scamper up the trail. The rock provided a
nearly perfect place for them to rest for the night. And only one path led up to
it. It would give them shelter from gusts coming down off the mountain. Loose
earth padded the nearby ground, so the bedding would not be too rocky. Some past
camper had thoughtfully dug a firepit for them, which they could safely use,
when morning came, to warm their bones. She looked for tripwires and snares, and
found none. She searched the rocks for chalked signs left by goblins or
beastmen; there were none of those, either. It would be a tight fit here, with
all the men, and there was the danger that someone might roll off and drop down
a hundred feet to the hard slope below… She decided to keep this minor
drawback to herself. She would find no better spot, and was already growing
weary herself. She waved to Benno, who circled his lantern in the air, alerting
the men below to come and meet them. She sat, claiming the spot with the
softest-looking ground, and huddled in her cloak. Her behind soon found a sharp
rock, and she fought to dislodge it from the earth. It turned out to be bigger
than she’d thought, so instead she moved over a little, leaving the pointy stone
for whoever wanted to squeeze up next to her.

She heard the men approaching and tensed up, taking her dagger from its
sheath. They were making too much noise; if there was a predator waiting for
them in the hills, it would know about them now. As they combed the hill for
dead branches, they made an even greater ruckus. Angelika regretted her
suggestion but it couldn’t be retracted now. Franziskus was still out there with
the rest of them, no doubt diligently proving the superiority of his wood
gathering. After a while, having heard no outbursts of sudden agony, she
relaxed, and let slumber take her. Angelika had trained herself to fall asleep
quickly, but to maintain a consciousness of her surroundings when dozing, and to jolt awake on the slightest sign of
danger.

Someone approached. She opened her eyes. It was Franziskus, about to shake
her shoulder. She leaned aside, and he pulled back. He took his place beside
her. But the sharp rock jabbed his buttock, so he stood and walked to her other
side, and settled in. They watched the Sabres lay down bedrolls, circling each
other grimly as they vied for the best spots. They tested their choices, lying
down and locating the stones that lay beneath their rancid blankets. Stones
large enough to be dislodged were torn from the loose earth and tossed into the
bushes or off the precipice, where they thudded loudly. Angelika cringed. These
were idiots, not woodsmen. One of the men began to gather sticks for a fire.

“No fires,” Angelika called out. The soldier’s head turned towards her, but
then he continued piling up kindling. She sat up, called out to Benno. “No
fires. We’re being pursued, remember. Cold food only.” The stick-gatherer
mouthed a curse, thinking that Angelika could not see his face from where she
sat. The men fumbled through their packs for cooked sausages and bits of
sinister-looking cheese rind.

She put her back against the rock and shut her eyes. Loud snoring followed.
She realised it was her. She adjusted her position, turning her head away from
Franziskus, and managed to doze without further eruptions.

She woke up when she felt someone pressing up against her from the other
side. It was musky-smelling Gelfrat. She slit-ted her eyes open, and them saw
Benno signalling his half-brother to move away from her. Gelfrat snorted. Benno
kicked his boot until he shuffled over, leaving a good two feet between himself
and Angelika. She shifted back toward Franziskus, laying her head on his
shoulder, and returned to her slumbers.

She was awake. It was morning. Grey light. An aching back. And something was
wrong. She lifted her head from Franziskus’ still-sleeping shoulder. She looked
around. Gelfrat’s heaving bulk shuddered to the left of her. The other men,
except Ekbert, slept in a rough circle at her feet. She creaked her complaining leg muscles upward, to assume a crouch. She heard
rustling. Her knife came out. She crept over to the path, rising a little. Her
new viewpoint revealed a man, a few yards down the trail from her, crawling on
all fours. His eyes met hers. Angelika saw a dagger’s blade clenched in his
mouth. The whites of his eyes stood out against grime-coated skin. He wore a
green kerchief on his head, and a sheepskin vest over a filthy white shirt.
Behind him came another half-dozen men, all slipping up the trail on hands and
knees.

She hunched down so he could see her eyes. “By the time you get that knife
out of your mouth and into your hand,” she said, “I’ll have a nice hole cut in
your neck.”

The man bobbed his head carefully up and down. He reminded Angelika of a dog
with a bone clamped in its jaws. He signalled, to stop the men behind him from
coming closer.

“Now I’m going to reach over,” Angelika said, “and take the knife from your
mouth. Then both of us will slowly stand up. Then we’ll all have a polite
conversation, with no unnecessary bleeding. Yes?”

The creeping man repeated his nod. She did as she’d said, reaching out with
her off hand to delicately take hold of the dagger hilt. He opened his mouth,
letting the weapon drop into her palm. She tossed it behind her. Supporting
herself with the hand that had just held his blade, she rose from her crouch.
The ambusher mirrored her movements. At his full height, he was still half a
head shorter than her. His bare arms, however, were well developed. One of his
eyelids fluttered nervously.

“Turn around,” she told him. He turned. She placed her blade just below his
neck, but did not touch it to his skin; that would be rude. “Tell me your name.”

“Isaak.”

“This is your chance to see how much your friends truly like you, Isaak.” She
raised her voice to speak to the men on the trail. “As you can see, Isaak is in
some trouble here. I don’t want it to get any worse, and I expect you all feel
the same. So let’s all stay still and silent, while I awaken my companions. I’m
sure you were sneaking up with some neighbourly intention; perhaps you wanted to warn us of poor weather ahead,
so I reckon we’ll soon be sharing a laugh over this awkward misunderstanding.”

“Do as she says,” said Isaak.

Angelika whistled sharply, and didn’t stop until the men behind her began to
stir. Benno and Franziskus were the first to be fully awake; they jostled the
others. They leapt up, swords ready. Angelika waved them back. Benno’s men
looked to him. He took a backward step, indicating that they should follow
Angelika’s cues.

Angelika spoke to Isaak: “Our friend, Ekbert, who was guarding the horses
down there. You haven’t done anything permanent to him, have you?”

“His skull will hurt, when he comes to.”

“Well then. Nothing like a prisoner exchange first thing in the morning.”

“I’ve seen you before,” Isaak said. “At the Dolorosa la Bara. You’ve been
staying at the Castello. What are you doing with these murderous sons of dogs?”

“Murderous?”

“Watch your tongue, border rat!” shouted Gelfrat.

“They wear the black and yellow, don’t they? Whose side are you on?”

“I serve my own interests. Who are you, and what is your grudge against
them?”

“We are Prince Davio’s men. We fight under the banner of the Legione del
Dimenticato. And the men behind you are cruel slaughterers, who have slain our
brothers for no good reason.”

Gelfrat charged forward to be next to Angelika. He shook his sword at Isaak.
“Treacherous mercenary scum! If your crawling lizard of a so-called prince had
honoured his word, we wouldn’t have had to waste our time punishing you!”

“I see,” Angelika said, handing Isaak’s dagger back to him. “This is some
prior dispute, to which I am not a party.” She stepped sideways, moving well
clear, so that nothing stood between Isaak and Gelfrat. Both turned dumbfounded
heads in her direction. Neither moved to attack the other. Angelika leaned her
back against the rock and crossed her arms. She hoped she wouldn’t end up with
too much soot on her clothing, but the gesture was worth some extra washing. “Since no one wants
to die today,” she said, “perhaps we should put our weapons down.”

From her new vantage point, Angelika could better see Isaak’s fellows. They
seemed to have little in common, except that they were all men. The mercenary
behind Isaak sported long, dark hair, and stared blankly ahead with yellow,
glassy eyes. He’d wrapped himself in a long, blue coat, and had tied a strip of
red cloth across his forehead. Next in line, a short, middle-aged man glowered.
The white, curly hair on his head matched that on his chest, which was bared
under an open linen shirt. The butts of twin pistols stuck out from his wide
leather belt. Behind him was a fat man with a red nose from too much rum. He
coughed and trembled in a damp knit tunic and hooded wool cloak. There was
nothing about these men to identify as a unit, or even soldiers. None wore
armour.

She’d keep her eyes on the pistol-carrying man. If this all went wrong, it
was his guns that would pose the greatest danger.

Gelfrat and Isaak locked gazes. Isaak swallowed; Gelfrat was easily a foot
taller than he, and outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. He did not
shift a muscle.

“Bah!” said Gelfrat, turning from the smaller man, “We’ll deal them a
thrashing, if that’s what they want! But it’s not why we’re here.” He strode
over beside Angelika, placing his spine against the rock, as she had. She moved
aside to give him room. With his free hand, he punched at the rock.

Angelika leaned forward, looking again at Isaak’s men. “Vou don’t perchance
have any halflings with you?”

“I trust my own kind only,” said Isaak.

“But it was you, spying on us from the trees, last night?”

“I don’t know what you mean. We came upon your man by chance this morning, on
our way back home.”

“I see.”

“I don’t know what reasons you have to accompany these men.” He ventured to
take a step towards her. “But if you’ve agreed to work for the yellow and black,
you should know you’ve signed on for a deadly bargain. You heard them admit it.
They paid the prince so we would help them against the orcs. Yet when we failed to take as many greenskin heads as their war leader
wanted, they came to slay us!”

“Liar!” Gelfrat spat. “You stopped killing orcs entirely, when they got too
much for you. You, and the border rat sellswords of the other border rat princes—you retreated inside your crapulent forts as soon as the fight grew tough!
Cowards!”