Forged in Battle (15 page)

Sigmund saw the man who spoke and addressed him by name.
“Master Ekker! I thought you were a man who held his head up with pride—not
abandoned ship at the first sign of trouble!”

The man stopped. Sigmund pointed to another man. “Gurge
Svenson! I would never have thought you would be here—with this rabble!”

The mob paused for a moment and lost it coherency. Sigmund
seized the opportunity. “My men are the match for any beastmen! Does the town
not have strong walls? What is there to fear? Why leave all that you have here
to be wandering beggars in a foreign land? Go back to your homes. If there is
any news, you will be informed!”

The mob dissolved into clumps, but many people saw the sense
of what he was saying and began to drift back to their homes.

Sigmund set Osric’s men on guard until he could send relief
from the barracks, then left Gunter and Vostig in charge of taking the men and
the dead back to the barracks. When all was set, Sigmund straightened his
uniform, cleaned his face and hands then pushed his way through the crowds to
the guild hall. There were more and more people hurrying over the cobbles, sacks
and bags on their backs containing all that they could carry with them. There
was a number of rich tradesmen and artisans who had servants or ponies to carry
crates—or coins no doubt—but all their progress was slowed by the people who
were making their way back home, for there were no more boats to be had for
blood nor money.

Sigmund shook his head. There was no point in telling them to
return home. When they saw that all the boats were full or had left then they
would leave. There was no choice.

Sigmund hurried up the steps of the guild hall. There were
four town watchmen at the door. They looked as nervous as everyone else,
truncheons in their hands. They stood well back in the doorway, as if the crowds
of frightened people might turn on them. When they saw Sigmund stride up the
steps relief washed over their faces.

“Captain Sigmund!” said one of the men. “We heard you had
fled!”

“Who told you that?” Sigmund demanded.

The man shook under Sigmund’s glare. “Why—Master Roderick,”

“My men were fighting,” he snapped. “Tell Master Roderick
that the Helmstrumburg Halberdiers killed sixty beastmen last night!”

The men nodded fearfully, and Sigmund strode inside and
pushed the door to the burgomeister’s hall open. The room was empty except for
the burgomeister and a smartly dressed merchant. They were standing by the tall
windows, peering down into the river that ran along the side of the guild hall,
deep in conversation.

The merchant turned and Sigmund was surprised to see it was
Eugen, the Reiklander he had rescued three nights earlier.

The two men seemed just as surprised to see Sigmund as he was
to see them.

“I see you have returned,” the burgomeister said. “Although
you seem to have forgotten to knock before you enter my chambers.”

Sigmund could not believe what he was hearing. “Sir,” he
said, holding back his impatience. “I do not believe you understand that
Helmstrumburg is in terrible danger. My men killed sixty beastmen last night and
yet there are a hundred more fires burning in the hills.”

“Please captain—I have heard enough of this scaremongering
this morning!”

“If you cared to step outside these four walls then you would
see that those fires span from Galten Hill all the way across to The Old Bald
Man! Do you think they will ravage the land and then return to their caves, like
obedient school-children? No—they are making their way here! For what reason I
cannot guess, but one thing is certain. The numbers of the beastmen must surely
outnumber my men ten to one. Unless we take urgent action I am certain that the
town will be overwhelmed!”

Eugen put his hand out to the burgomeister and the master of
the city stepped back, as if this was not a matter for him to be concerned with.

“I do not think the town needs your hysterical rumours,”
Eugen spoke slowly.

Sigmund tried to look past him to the burgomeister. “Sir! We
should raise free companies at once!”

The burgomeister seemed hesitant. He glanced towards Eugen
and the Reiklander stepped back and gave the burgomeister a barely perceptible
shake of his head.

“The town cannot afford such expenditure!” the burgomeister
said.

Sigmund could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “Sir—have you stepped outside these walls to look for yourself?”

The burgomeister did not reply.

Sigmund stepped forward. “People are saying that the country
refugees have been locked out of the town? Why have they not been let in?”

“I will not be spoken to by a mere sell-sword!” the
burgomeister snapped. “I run Helmstrumburg, Captain Jorg, and I will not have
cowards and beggars littering my town!”

Sigmund shook his head, but held back his frustration. “Sir—I beg you to come and look for yourself!”

“In my own time,” the burgomeister snapped and turned his
back.

Sigmund slammed his palm onto the table and glared at the
lord of the town. “Master burgomeister—your position is given to you by the
Elector Count of Talabecland. It is your job to govern in his name. It is your
job to protect the people! I insist that you call for all men who can bear arms!
There is an army of beastmen in the hills and if we do not mobilise all who can
fight then we will surely be overwhelmed!”

Sigmund was about to mention the standing stones that he’d
found when he caught a slight shake of the head that Eugen gave to the
burgomeister and felt his skin prickle. What games were these men playing? He
had no intention of bringing them up now. He took a deep breath. “Sir! If you
deigned to look out from this hall then you would see that the whole of
Helmstrumburg is in a state of near riot. Even though you are convinced that
there is nothing to fear, then perhaps you would share that sentiment with the
townsfolk.”

“Captain Jorg, I do not know what has possessed you. Am I to
jump each time a rat farts? The people live on rumours! I can scarcely credit
that you expect me to concern myself with each panic that grips the fools! I can
hardly believe that you are so giddy as to be swayed by them—or is this a case
of you promoting these fears?”

Sigmund bristled at the implication. “I returned to the docks
this morning to find the area in a state of near riot. The town watch are too
frightened to go onto the streets. I have stationed a company of men on the
docks to restore order.”

“Good. When the rabble have returned home then please return
your men to their barracks. I am sure they need a good rest.”

Sigmund bowed politely. “If you’ll excuse me, I am tired. I
will return to barracks. If the situation changes then I am at your command!”

Sigmund shut the door behind him, but instead of leaving, he
hurried down the stairs to the stone vaults, where Maximillian, the town
treasurer worked in the inner vault. The stone walls arched over his head, the
walls glistened with river-damp. Between the thick columns that supported the
ceiling was set his desk, made from slabs of Talabheim oak. There were ledgers
spread all around him, and a number of candles cast puddles of flickering yellow
light over their intricately-inscribed pages, tithes received and monies spent.
When the treasurer heard footsteps on the stone stairs he dipped his quill in
the ink pot and finished the line he was inscribing then sighed and looked up.

“Maximillian!” Sigmund whispered, and the man looked up from
the vellum page he was working on and gave a weak smile.

“Captain Jorg!” he said, and then in a voice that betrayed no
sense of irony. “This is a pleasant surprise. Please tell me that you have lost
no more men?”

Sigmund had no intention of wasting time. “I need your help
finding out a piece of information,” he said.

Maximillian laughed for a moment—a dry, humourless laugh.
“I don’t know if I can help. All I do is add and subtract all day.”

Sigmund smiled, but his heart was racing. If the burgomeister
had any idea that he was still in the building then he was sure he would hunt
him down, and he needed to be discreet.

Sigmund wasn’t in a mood to play games. “I need to find out
about that burial mound south of town.”

“Where that fire was last night?” Maximillian said and there
was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Yes,” Sigmund said.

“Come now, Captain Jorg, don’t play the fool with your old
friend Maximillian. I saw that fire last night. And I heard the boats sailing
out of the harbour in the middle of the night. This morning I hear that you have
fled the town, but now you come back, and if I have heard true then there are
fourteen of the count’s soldiers dead this morning. That makes fifty-two
pennies, if I am not mistaken. I have already written it in this column, here.
See!” Maximillian smiled. “Now what is you want to know?”

“Are there any old records about that burial mound?” Sigmund
said.

Maximillian pushed his chair back and stood up. He took the
candle and moved deeper into the dark vaults, his keys jangling at his waist. As
he moved forward into the dark chambers, Sigmund’s breath began to steam in
front of his face. He had the feeling of many vaulted chambers to either side,
and remembered with a shiver how it was rumoured that the burgomeister had
imprisoned a few notable enemies here, locked up in one of the many rooms, and
left to die in the pitch black.

Sigmund looked back over his shoulder and saw the desk, with
its flickering candles thirty feet behind, and the dimly illuminated staircase
that led back to daylight. Maximillian stopped and Sigmund could see that he had
paused at a heavy oaken door.

“This room contains all the old records,” Maximillian said.
He took a set of keys from his belt and chose a large brass key, worn with many
years of use, blackened with age, slipped it into the lock and turned. “After
you!” he said.

Sigmund stepped inside and remembered the men who were
rumoured to have been locked up here. He turned in a moment’s panic but
Maximillian had shuffled inside after him. The scribe held up his candle and
illuminated a low-ceilinged room whose walls were covered by wooden racks.
Arranged in niches there were hundreds of tomes, scrolls and thick scraps of
vellum, some of them so old that they were deep in dust, their edges worn smooth
with years of thumbing.

Sigmund peered at the spines, but most of the books were worn
and the lettering was indistinct. One caught his eye: an ancient copy of
The
Life of Sigmar.
It was almost impossible to believe that Sigmar had once
been a man—a soldier—like him who had carved eternal glory for himself by
saving his people. Sigmund felt the same responsibility for Helmstrumburg, and
for a moment he feared failing.

Maximillian held up the candle and in one of the top niches
they saw a huge tome with gilt fittings.

“The Life of Johann Helmstrum!” Maximillian said.

Sigmund pulled a chest over to the wall and stood on top of
it to get the tome. There was a cloud of dust as he pulled it down. It was
heavier than he had imagined, but the leaves were leather, not paper, and the
book ends were made of wood bound with leather and gilt set with semi precious
stones.

He hurried out of the room and Maximillian followed him out
and locked the door after them. Sigmund put the book down on top of the ledger
that Maximillian had been working on, and slowly opened the pages. The writing
was of a style that was difficult to read, with fantastically illuminated
letters—incomprehensible to Sigmund.

Maximillian began to read hesitantly, his finger following
the arcane lettering and language. “Herein is told the life of the most
illustrious and noble Johann Helmstrum, First Grand Theogonist, Friend to our
Precious Lord Sigmar, and Hammer of the Beasts…”

“Find out what it says about the tomb,” Sigmund said.
Maximillian carefully turned the pages, but the story was still talking about
the first Grand Theogonist’s childhood.

He opened the book half way.

“The Lord Sigmar said unto Johann…”

Maximillian turned the thick pages two at a time. Legends
said that it was after the death of Sigmar that Johann led the crusade to clear
the Stir River Valley.

It took half an hour to find the chapter they wanted. It told
how the Grand Theogonist killed the great beastman warlord in a great battle at
the very centre of the beastmen’s sacred land—which was marked by a circle of
stones. The narrator told how the stones were shattered with fire and water.

There was no description of the stones, but surely they were
the same. Sigmund shivered. There was some power in those stones that remained
after two thousand years.

“Over their ruins holy water was sprinkled and then the
warriors who had fallen in the battle were laid there. Chief amongst them was
Ortulf and Vranulf Jorg, who were the bravest among warriors.”

It took Sigmund a moment, then he frowned and put his finger
to read the names again. “Ortulf and Vranulf Jorg…?”

There was only one family of Jorgs in Helmstrumburg. Could it
be that this was his ancestor?

Sigmund hardly dared to believe that the blood of heroes
flowed in his veins, and quickly shut the book and thrust it into Maximillian’s
hands. The knowledge of this possibility gave him a sudden rush of confidence.
The stones had to be the reason that the beastmen were attacking. He couldn’t be
sure yet, but he had a hunch and clapped Maximillian on the back. “I think you
have helped to save the town of Helmstrumburg!” Sigmund said. Maximillian seemed
confused, but Sigmund was gone, running up the stairs and out of the
burgomeister’s hall, and out into the streets.

When Sigmund returned to the barracks, Gaston and Edmunt were
leading a team of men towards the Garden of Morr on Altdorf Street, where there
was a small chapel and an old priest.