Forged in Battle (29 page)

Holmgar gave a wan smile. He knew his time had come.

“It will be a pleasure to die with two such fine men,”
Holmgar said rather politely, but the trappers grinned and the three men shook
hands.

The sound of hooves came closer. They paused at the door.
Holmgar stared at the handle as it turned to left, then right. The door opened,
then he charged for the last time.

The men on Tanner Lane began to shout in horror as they saw a
Chaos spawn come slithering down the street. It was higher than a man on
horseback, but its body was an enormous sack of pulsating flesh. It slithered
forward like a slug, squeezing its bulk between the buildings, feeling its way
with round, slug-like probosces. Sucker-rimmed orifices along the length of its
body opened and closed without reason.

Gaston tried to hold his men but there was no way that they
were going to stand and fight a creature that had crawled from the Realm of
Chaos itself. The wounded men who lined the streets shouted out in terror but no
one stopped to save them.

The defenders ran to the second barricade, but Gaston turned
north into Altdorf Street, hoping to alert Gunter. Seeing beastmen spilling down
the street towards him, he turned south towards the river where he saw the
pretty girl he had noticed earlier leading three younger girls down the street.

Gaston caught them up. The older girl was terrified; the
younger ones were hysterical with fear.

“Follow me!” Gaston ordered and kicked open the door of one
of the tanneries that lined the river. The stink of ammonia was overpowering,
but he forced the girls to the back of the building, where the sluice gates ran
straight out into the river.

As they hurried round the stinking vats Gaston turned and saw
the great slithering creature pass the front of the tannery. It blotted out the
light for a moment and he had a terrible feeling that it would turn in after
them. They could make out a white proboscis taste the air, but the scent of
urine was so strong it masked their scent.

“Jump!” Gaston shouted, but the girls were too terrified.

“The river will take you downriver. Stay afloat and you will
be fine!”

“We can’t swim!” Beatrine said and her sisters nodded in
agreement.

“Shit!” Gaston said.

Floss saw men running past her and ran to the window of the
makeshift field station—and then saw the spawn flow over the barricade as if
it were a branch in the stream.

It moved so quickly there was no time to get out of the
house. Apothecary Gustav’s apron was completely blood-soaked. A pile of legs and
feet and arms lay at the floor. Flies buzzed over the blood and dead men.

“It won’t be able to get in!” Gustav said but Floss was in a
complete panic. She tried to duck through the door, but a proboscis darted
towards her and she screamed and ducked back into the room.

Men were crying out in horror at the creature.

“Be quiet!” she screamed at them, but there was nothing they
could do. There was a horrific sound of slobbering as the spawn slithered over
the wounded men outside. They held their breaths, willing the creature not to
notice them, then a tentacle reached in through the doorway.

It tasted the air and it smelled good. The spawn began to
feel for an opening.

Gustav’s blue-crystal spectacles fell from his nose, and the
knife fell from his numb fingers as the creature began to morph and squeeze
itself through into the room.

Floss backed up against the wall. The tide of suppurating
flesh expanded to fill the front wall. It pulsed with pleasure as it devoured
all the meat—living and dead—in the room. Gustav never left the surgeon’s
table. The Chaos spawn enveloped him, spectacles and all. The colour of the
beast reddened as the digested blood started to flow through its membranous
tissue. Its orifices opened and closed with increasing rapidity.

Floss screamed and squeezed her eyes shut as if this was a
terrible nightmare she could wake herself from, but she felt something warm and
jelly-like slither up her body, and her screams were muffled as the creature
enveloped her in a warm and deadly embrace.

Desperate townspeople banded together and managed to ward off
the lone beastmen by sheer weight of numbers. Here and there, there were
soldiers who managed to retain some order. There were running battles through
the streets with the beastmen. But where the beastmen outnumbered the humans
then they fell on them with quick and savage brutality: cutting off heads as
gruesome trophies.

As the barricades began to fall, Hengle ran across town. He
sprinted up to the north gate where fifty men nervously waited for news. Twenty
of them were spearmen and the rest were free companies. “The barricades have
fallen!” he shouted and the spearmen marched towards the nearest intersection
with the new town, shields locked, spears levelled.

Hengle then ran to the east gate. “The barricades have
fallen!” he gasped. “The beastmen are in the old town! Come now before all is
lost!”

* * *

When the surviving men of Sigmund’s party went down to the
river they found that the raft had broken free and drifted away out of sight.
There was no choice but to brave the woods and walk back to town.

Frantz helped Sigmund keep up as the two remaining dockers
and Osric’s eight men marched along the Altdorf Road towards the east gate of
Helmstrumburg.

“I need a beer!” Sigmund said, wincing from his cracked ribs.

Everyone except Baltzer laughed. He looked at Osric and shook
his head in wonder. Then Baltzer suddenly remembered the money he had stolen the
night before. He put his hand to his belt and felt the pouch still there,
despite all that had happened.

It was a long walk, but the closer they got the more
concerned they became. As they approached the town they walked past a gruesome
banner of a human skin, left as a warning, or maybe a statement of conquest. The
hands and feet were still attached, the head been flayed and scalped, tied to
the crossbar by its hair.

They kept their distance, but as they filed past, the face of
the skin came into view. The mouth was little more than a distorted hole, the
eye sockets were empty—but the face was unmistakably that of the burgomeister.

None of them spoke. What promises had he been seduced with?
What lies had eaten his soul to fall in with Chaos?

When they came within sight of Helmstrumburg, instead of
familiar faces running out to greet them, they saw plumes of smoke billowing up
all across the town.

Exhausted and demoralised, they stopped at the tree-line to
assess the situation, and take a brief rest. The sounds of shouting men and
screaming woman; the clang of steel on steel drifted out to them—they could
see that the outer defences had been overrun. For a long moment none of them
spoke.

“They’ve broken through,” Osric said at last and the men
stood and stared in disbelief.

* * *

One by one the bands of human defenders were overwhelmed by
the sheer number of beastmen. The attack stalled as the creatures satiated
themselves on a festival of brutality.

As the beastmen penetrated deeper into town, terrified
families ran towards the docks, thinking to throw themselves onto the mercy of
the Stir, but beastmen ran them down. The lucky ones were slaughtered straight
away. The screams of old men, women and children filled the streets as all
manner of bestial torture was meted upon them. When they saw what was happening,
some people threw themselves to their death from the upper windows of their
houses rather than be taken alive.

Gaston hid in the tannery until the beastmen had passed on
into town.

“Stay here!” he ordered, but the girls clung to him. “You
will be safe—I promise! If the beastmen come, then jump into the river!
Understand?”

The girls nodded.

Gaston hurried to the half-open doorway. The street was full
of dead. There were no wounded men left in the street, the beastmen had made
sure of that. A man who had lost his leg had had his throat cut. His body lay
slumped against the opposite wall. There were a couple of men who had been cut
down as they ran. One of them had dropped a halberd. Gaston snatched it up. He
turned into Mad Alice Lane, a narrow alleyway, no wider than a hand-cart, that
led towards the docks. He crept forward—in case any beastmen were ahead—but
the alley was quiet and empty.

Gaston hurried on. If he could get to the docks he might be
able to find some sort of boat, and at least save some lives.

On the Altdorf Road, the survivors of Sigmund’s band stood
and stared at the ruined town. At last Sigmund’s strength began to ebb. Frantz
lowered him onto the grass at the side of the road, and he winced as adjusted
his position. “Osric—if you find any survivors you might be able to bring them
out on the Kemperbad Road.”

“You want us to march survivors through the forest all the
way to Kemperbad?” Osric demanded. “They’ll never make it.”

Sigmund struggled to see more clearly. “We can’t just sit
here and wait!” he declared and tried to force himself to his feet—but he had
bruised ribs, a cut along his thigh and his shoulder was bruised from where the
beastman lord had seized him.

“That’s exactly what I propose we do!” Osric said. His men
remained silent but Sigmund could tell from their expressions that they all
agreed with him.

As they stood watching the palisade gate they heard the drum
of hooves on the ground and Osric’s face blanched. Beastmen reinforcements!

The vibrations increased and they could hear the hoof beats,
hurrying down the Altdorf Road, growing closer and closer.

“Looks like we’re going to die after all,” Osric said. His
men stood up and Sigmund smiled. He didn’t like Osric at all, but he respected
him.

“Port arms!” Sigmund gasped and his men took whatever weapons
they had to hand and stared through the scattered trees, waiting for the
stampeding herds of beastmen.

They could see flashes of steel between the trees. Frantz
helped Sigmund to his feet and put his sword into Sigmund’s hand.

“It will be good to die with you!” Sigmund hissed through
clenched teeth and as he spoke a trickle of blood ran from his left nostril.

They stood—nine ragged halberdiers, and three dockers—waiting to sell their lives as dearly as possible.

In the streets of Helmstrumburg, Edmunt was alone. He paused
for a moment, then turned the corner on Franke’s Lane—right into the path of
thirty beastmen. The creatures recognised the giant human who had killed so many
of their number and let out hoots and calls of excitement as they sprinted after
him.

The beastmen shook their spears and blew their horns as they
galloped after Death Bringer, as they called the giant. He was only yards ahead
of them when he suddenly took a left turning. The beasts followed and found that
they had run their prey to ground.

Edmunt stood in the courtyard of a brewery: the gates and
windows all shut and boarded up. There was nowhere else to run.

The creatures stamped their hooves with glee as their quarry
turned to face them. They spread out to surround him. They would take their time
with this one. His head would adorn their banner poles. His skin would make a
fine rug for their caves high on Frantzplinth.

When Gaston got to the docks there were hundreds of people
seizing barrels or pieces of planking and jumping into the river.

Mixed in with them were a number of fighting men. Gaston
seized the men around him and dragged them back from the water’s edge.

“Fight!” he shouted. “Fight!”

He pulled seven men back, but by his actions he managed to
shame or shock nearly twenty men. If someone would lead they would follow. There
were a number of boys who wanted to come, and if they could find weapons then
Gaston welcomed them.

Trapped in the cul-de-sac of the brewery yard, Edmunt took
Butcher from his belt and smiled. Death comes to all of us, and the best way to
face it was with a weapon in hand. Taal, give me the strength of a bear, Edmunt
prayed and waited.

The beastmen came forward, weapons ready. One of them barked
something in a crude language, and they spread out wider. Edmunt had his back to
the wall. He waited for them to come closer.

Then the beastmen heard footsteps—and turned. Across the
entrance of the courtyard stood a motley crowd of warriors. They outnumbered the
beastmen nearly two to one. Spears, pitchforks, swords and halberds: their faces
were grim as they began to advance on the beastmen, which began to snort and
stamp apprehensively. The buildings reared up around them. A few of the beastmen
tried to scramble up the walls, but slid down the smooth, unnatural surface. The
brewery walls were too tall. There was no way out.

“Welcome to Helmstrumburg,” Edmunt smiled and his men
charged.

While Edmunt’s men baited the beastmen into traps, Gaston’s
men fought a running battle, disappearing down the snickleways and then
reappearing behind the creatures.

As the reinforcements from the north and east gates arrived,
the street to street fighting actually served to diminish the advantage of
numbers that the beastmen possessed. In the narrow streets, with their tall,
overhanging houses, the wild beasts became disorientated. After their experience
in the new town, they were apprehensive to enter the buildings—and the people
took advantage of that to hurl missiles down upon them.

“The Ragged Company!” Sigmund hissed as the moving shapes
drew closer. He was light-headed from lack of blood and wished he had his full
strength to fight this—his last battle.

But the first figure that came into view was a knight on
horseback, not a beastman. The knight was clad in dark steel armour, his horse’s
barding was polished to a shine, the edges gleaming with gilt inlay. The pennant
on his lance fluttered red and white, emblazoned with a silver griffon. Templars
of Sigmar: the Knights Griffon.