ROTTEN FRUIT

Nathan Long

 

 

It isn’t often a man gets to witness his own hanging, but Reiner Hetsau was being given the privilege. He didn’t much care for it.

It was a week after the battle of Nordbergbusche, where Reiner and his companions had helped Count Manfred Valdenheim reclaim his family castle from the Kurgan who had occupied it since the Chaos invasion. This despite the fact that Manfred’s younger brother Albrecht had turned on him, attacking him with two thousand troops, all under the spell of the cursed banner Valnir’s Bane, which had turned them into bloodthirsty automatons. If Reiner and his companions hadn’t slain Albrecht and destroyed the banner, the day would have been lost. And for this great service to Manfred and the Empire, Reiner and his companions were to hang. At least it was to appear.

“Poor damn butcher lambs,” said Giano, the Tilean mercenary, as he peered through the slats of the louvre-windowed coach Reiner shared with his fellow condemned. Pavel, the scrawny pikeman, swallowed and blinked his one good eye. “There but for the grace of Sigmar…”

Reiner nodded, squinting at the scene outside. The coach sat amidst Manfred’s retinue of twenty knights in the square before the Middenheim gaol. A great crowd surrounded them, all looking towards the gallows in the centre—a gallows that could hang five at once. The crowd was in a cheerful mood. There was nothing like a hanging to break up the monotony of rubble clearing and rebuilding that had become the daily life of Middenheim, the site of the final battle of Archaon’s aborted invasion. Sellers of pinwheels and sweetmeats wound through the crowds, while on the gallows, five frightened men with passing resemblances to Reiner and his companions were about to dance on air.

“Why do I feel guilty it isn’t us up there?” asked Franka, a dark-haired archer who only Reiner knew was not the boy she pretended to be.

“Because yer a soft-hearted fool,” said Hals, a bald, jut-bearded pike-man. “They’re villains. They’ll be guilty of something.”

“But not guilty of what they’re to hang for,” Franka pressed. “They’re being hanged for looking like us.”

“They’re being hanged because Manfred doesn’t want his family name besmirched by his brother’s infamy,” said Reiner. He affected Manfred’s statesmanlike tones: ‘It would not do for the citizenry to believe their betters could be corrupted as Albrecht was.’ Reiner snorted. “I’m sure if Albrecht were someone else’s brother, Manfred wouldn’t be so concerned with the morale of the citizenry.”

A drum roll began. The crowd fell silent. Reiner and his companions stared through the narrow louvres.

On the gallows, Middenheim’s chief magistrate read the charges as Manfred and a host of dignitaries looked solemnly on. “Reiner Hetsau, Hals Kiir, Pavel Voss, Giano Ostini, Franz Shoentag, you are charged with the foul murder of Baron Albrecht Valdenheim; of bewitching his troops by means of heathen sorcery; causing them to attack his brother, Count Manfred Valdenheim, thereby bringing about the deaths of countless innocent men. For these and sundry other bestial crimes you are to be hanged by the neck until dead. May Sigmar have mercy on your souls.”

As the hangman pulled sacks over the condemned men’s heads, Reiner looked at the man chosen to be his replacement, a debauched-looking villain with a pencil-thin moustache. Reiner wasn’t flattered by the comparison.

Beside him, Franka sobbed. “He’s only a boy.”

Reiner looked at the lad who had been picked to die for her. It was doubtful he’d seen sixteen summers. He wouldn’t see seventeen.

The drums stopped. The trap banged open and the five men dropped and jerked at the end of their ropes until the hangman’s apprentices jumped up and hung from their knees. The crowd cheered.

“There’s another five deaths on our consciences,” sighed Pavel.

“Speak for yourself,” said Hals. “I put ’em square on Manfred. He’s the one ordered ’em hung.”

But why he’d hung them instead of us, thought Reiner, is that we’re too damned clever for our own good. Manfred had gone to the trouble of all this subterfuge because he had been impressed by the guile Reiner’s companions had demonstrated in their defeat of Albrecht, and wanted to employ it for himself. As he’d told them, winning battles was not the only way the Empire stayed strong. There were less honourable deeds that had to be done to keep the citizenry safe, deeds no true-hearted knight could undertake, deeds only blackhearts could stomach. Reiner and his companions were those “Blackhearts”.

So Manfred was having them “executed” so that they would be invisible men—perfect spies who did not exist in the eyes of the world. But because he also feared they might abandon their new duties at their earliest opportunity, the count had insured their cooperation by magical means.

“We are just as much hanged men as those poor devils,” said Reiner. “For the cursed poison Manfred put into our blood is a noose around our necks—and he could drop the trap at any time.”

Outside they heard Strieger, the captain of Manfred’s retinue, call “Forward!” and the coach lurched into motion. As they rode out of the square Reiner took a last look at the five hooded bodies swaying in the breeze.

 

They were travelling to Altdorf, where Manfred had a townhouse and where he advised the Emperor on matters of state. Locked in the louvred coach, the Blackhearts saw the passing world as dim light, shadow and sound. At least they were alone, with no one to overhear them, and this allowed them to plot their escape, however fruitlessly.

“Why not we kill the mage who know the poison spell?” suggested Giano.

“Manfred would get another, and have him unleash the poison,” said Reiner.

“What if we broke the mage’s fingers until he removed the poison?” asked Hals.

“And if he said the spell that killed us instead of the spell that freed us, would you know the difference?” countered Reiner.

Pavel folded his arms, “Alright then, captain, what do we do? Let us poke holes in yer ideas for once.”

“Well,” said Reiner, leaning back, “perhaps we could pay a hedge witch to remove the poison.”

“If we could find one, and that would require a lot of gold,” said Franka. “Something we are sorely lacking.”

Reiner nodded. “True. But fortunes change. While helping Manfred we may find opportunity to help ourselves.”

“But a hedge witch could cheat us as well,” said Hals. “He could spout any sort of mumbo jumbo and we wouldn’t know if he’d removed the poison until we tried to run and fell dead on the spot.”

And on and on it went, an endless circle of argument as monotonous as the sound of the wheels rolling below them. Only occasionally would the monotony be broken when Reiner would look up to find Franka’s eyes hot upon him. She and he had first shared that look after they had killed Albrecht. Since then, each time they locked eyes, visions of Franka’s lithe body stripped of her boyish trappings danced through Reiner’s head. But even these pleasant dreams led to frustration, for none of the others knew Franka was a woman, so their desire could not be acted upon, and the cycle of lust stirred followed by lust denied became as grinding and dull as everything else.

 

The agony continued for three days, with the Blackhearts only let out of the coach when the company made camp. Then, on the third afternoon, the sudden booming of the coach wheels rolling over wood woke them from their stupor.

All five crowded to the slatted windows. The narrow view told them little more than they were crossing over a drawbridge into the courtyard of a castle. After a moment the coach came to a stop amid hails and responses from Manfred’s retinue and the house guards.

One voice rose above the rest. “Count Manfred! Well met, my lord.”

“And you, Groff,” came Manfred’s voice. “I see you survived the troubles.”

“Barely, my lord. Only barely.”

The coach door was unlocked and the guard in charge of the Blackhearts’ transport, a sour veteran named Klaus, swung it open. “Fall out, vermin,” he growled. “And no nonsense. We’re staying with quality tonight.”

“We’ll be on our best behaviour,” said Reiner stepping out. “Lay out my finest suit and ruff, won’t you, Klaus?”

“That’s just the sort of thing I’m talking about,” snarled Klaus.

“We were hit very hard, my lord,” Groff was saying. He was a short, dark-haired man with a flabby, careworn face. “We held supplies for Baron Hegel’s cannon, and somehow the devils got wind of it. Tried for three days to get in before Boecher’s garrison came up and chased them off, by the grace of Sigmar. But by then three-quarters of my men died, and as you can see…”

Groff gestured around at his castle, which was in terrible disrepair. Crews of peasants laboured to close up holes in the outer walls that one could have led a company of lancers through, but they were making little progress. The roof of the stables had burned, and one of the turrets of the keep had collapsed, and now lay across the courtyard like the corpse of a dragon.

“But we seem to have bested one evil only to have another spring up. Indeed, I am glad you have graced us with your presence, m’lord, for something’s brewing in the forest that I would have you warn Altdorf about.”

Manfred looked up. “Remnants of the Chaos horde?”

Groff shrugged. “Something in there is carrying off the villagers and driving the woodsmen mad. And they’re getting bolder. I’d appreciate you asking Altdorf to send reinforcements. We’re in no state to face any—”

“Right, you lot,” said Klaus at Reiner’s side. “We’ve got your lodgings sorted. This way.”

But before they could follow, there was a clatter of hooves at the gate and everyone turned to face the potential threat. It was a single horseman, a flush-faced youth in black and silver with fevered excitement in his bright blue eyes.

“Father!” he cried as he reined his horse to a halt. “Father, I saw a white stag in the woods just now. It was beautiful. You should hunt it with me.”

Manfred’s knights relaxed. Their hands dropped from their hilts.

Groff looked embarrassed. “Udo, pay your respects to Count Valdenheim. My lord, may I introduce my son, Udo.”

Udo dismounted and bowed distractedly to Manfred. “My lord count. Welcome to our humble house.” He turned back to his father. “So, may we have a hunt, father?”

As Klaus led the Blackhearts away, Reiner looked back to see Lord Groff bowing Count Manfred towards the main door and shooting angry looks at his son. Udo seemed oblivious. He followed his father into the keep with a faraway smile on his too-red lips. It looked like he had been eating cherries.

 

That evening, Reiner and his companions ate in silence with Klaus and the castle’s servants, more interested in hot food than conversation after their claustrophobic journey. The servants talked enough for all of them anyway.

“Hans the baker disappeared last night,” said a serving maid. “Third this month.”

The groom snorted. “Disappeared? Everyone knows where he’s gone. Off into the woods.”

The cook nodded. “His woman said he woke up from a dead sleep sayin’ he heard music, and ran off, naked.”

Reiner was busy trying to think of a way to be alone with Franka that night. They would be back in the coach on the morrow and he had no idea how they would be lodged in Altdorf. Tonight could be their only chance at intimacy—their only chance even to speak privately.

“Tain’t funny, young Grig,” said a burly huntsman to a giggling young footman. “Those fools are dangerous as well as mad. They’d eat you as soon as look at you. And the wood ain’t the same neither. The trees are changing. Honest Drakwald oaks growing thorns and…” he made a face, “fat purple plums. It ain’t natural.”

“If there’s a danger in the forest,” asked Hals, his garrulous nature surfacing, “why are yer walls still all a jumble?”

“There’s not many left to build ’em, sir,” said the footman. “The war took so many. The village was nearly deserted even before this business in the woods begun. Now—”

“Even the bandits what used to steal our sheep are leaving,” said the cook.

“And what with m’lord’s lady taken away by fever,” said the groom. “And young master Udo taking on so queer…”

“There’s nothing wrong with master Udo,” barked a long-faced fellow who hadn’t spoken before. Then he chuckled, trying to smooth over his outburst. “The boy’s moon-eyed over a girl in the village is all.” He winked. “She wears him out.”

“He don’t go to the village, Stier,” said the groom. “He goes to the woods.”

“Don’t talk of what you don’t know, boy,” Stier snapped. “I’m his manservant. I think I should know what he does.” He stood, stiff. “It will be time to serve the port. Come, Burgo.”

The footman wiped his lips and joined Stier as he unlocked the wine cabinet. They selected a few bottles, and went upstairs.

Reiner stared at the cabinet. They had left it open. He smiled.

 

“You lot are lucky they ain’t got a full complement of servants,” said Klaus as he herded them into a below-stairs dormitory. “You’d be sleeping in the stables else.” He turned on Reiner. “And I’ll be right outside the door, you, so no sneaking out windows, no sneaking in serving girls, no gambling with the grooms. We’re on our best behaviour. Understand?”

Reiner looked suddenly contrite. “Actually, sergeant, if I might have a word alone, I have a confession to make.”

Klaus sighed and beckoned him into the hall, then closed the door behind them. “What is it now, Hetsau?”

Reiner slipped a bottle of wine from under his jacket. “Well…”

“What’s this?” asked Klaus suspiciously. “You trying to bribe me?”

“Bribe you?” said Reiner, astonished. “Sergeant, bribery was the furthest thing from my mind, I assure you.”

“Then…?”

“I, er, well, I nicked this to share with the lads, but your admonitions have shamed me, and I want you to return it to its rightful place. I don’t want to embarrass Manfred with any bad behaviour.”

Klaus looked longingly at the bottle. “Why, that’s damned decent of ye, Hetsau. I’ll put in a good word for you with Count Manfred for this.”

Reiner gave Klaus the bottle. “I was just hoping you wouldn’t report me.”

“No fear,” said Klaus, not taking his eyes off the bottle. “No fear.”

 

Later, after the other Blackhearts had gone to sleep, Reiner slipped out of his cot and peeked into the hall. He was gratified to see Klaus sprawled in his chair snoring like a lumber mill, the wine bottle empty beside him. Reiner tip-toed to Franka’s bed and shook her gently. Like a good soldier, Franka came awake without a murmur, merely opening her eyes and reaching for her dagger—which she didn’t have, as Manfred had disarmed them.

Reiner put his finger to his lips and nodded towards the door. Franka looked around, frowning when she saw the other Blackhearts still asleep.

“What’s this foolishness?” she mouthed.

He winked and motioned to the door again. Franka hesitated, then, with a shrug, swung out of bed and joined him at the door. They eased out together.

Reiner led Franka quietly through the dark hallways and twisting stairs of the silent castle until he found the musicians’ gallery above the main hall. He pulled her in and crushed him to her, kissing her passionately. She resisted at first, surprised, but after a moment the tension went out of her arms and her lips parted. They melted into each other, as if the boundaries between them were blurring. Franka moaned in her throat and her hands ran down Reiner’s back. Reiner gripped her hips and pulled her into him.

“Wait.” Franka was suddenly pushing back, her hands on his chest.

“Wait?” asked Reiner, baffled. “Why?”

“My lord, please. I cannot.”

“You cannot? But you just did!”

“You surprised me. But we must not continue.”

Reiner’s brow furrowed. “But then why did you come away with me? Why…?”

“I came so that we might speak of… all this.”

“Speak? You want to waste these few precious moments we have speaking?”

“Hist!” said Franka, turning. “I heard a noise.”

“None of your tricks,” said Reiner, but now he heard it too: a shuffling and bumping. He and Franka stepped to the lattice.

Moving somnolently through the great hall below, dressed only in his night shirt, was Udo. His eyes were open but he moved through the room like a blind man pulled by some invisible rope.

“He sleepwalks,” murmured Reiner.

“We should make sure he doesn’t do himself a mischief,” whispered Franka, and turned towards the door.

“But…” Reiner sighed. She was already in the hall. He followed.

As they started down the stairs to the hall, they saw Udo coming up. They backed around a corner until he topped the stairs and walked away down the hall.

They started after him. Reiner cursed. He had felt Franka’s desire. It would only have been a matter of time before she succumbed. Now who knew when they could come to grips again.

Udo turned a corner. When Reiner and Franka reached it, Franka peeked around, then pulled quickly back.

“What is it?” asked Reiner.

“A… a woman,” said Franka, frowning.

“What?” Reiner eased his head around the corner.

At the end of a short hallway, open doors revealed a scene from some old romantic painting—a couple embracing on an ivy-covered balcony, the lovers haloed softly in the moonlight—except in the painting, the man would undoubtedly have worn breeches.

The woman was shockingly beautiful, a voluptuous succubus in a plum velvet dress, with glossy black hair and a full-lipped, heart-shaped face. Udo was fully under her spell, trying to close with her like a lust-crazed schoolboy while she held him off.

“Later, beloved,” she was saying. “We must speak of other things first.”

The scene felt familiar, but Reiner was so beglamoured by the woman’s beauty he couldn’t remember why.

A hand pulled him roughly back. “Do you want them to see you?” hissed Franka.

“I was, er, well…”

Franka rolled her eyes.

The woman’s voice floated around the corner: a throaty contralto. “No, beloved. First you must tell me what was said at dinner. Why is Valdenheim here? Does he mean to destroy us?”

Reiner and Franka froze at the mention of Manfred’s name.

“Dinner be damned,” whined Udo. “You don’t understand how much I need you. I ache for you.”

“I know exactly how much you need me, silly boy. Now tell me or I shall leave.”

Udo yelped. “No! You mustn’t! I will tell! Though they said little enough. Father begged Valdenheim for help fighting the ‘horror’ in the forest, but Valdenheim put him off, saying the Empire hasn’t the resources.”

“So he hasn’t come to hunt us down?”

“No. He’s only passing through. Taking spies to be questioned in Altdorf, he said.”

Reiner and Franka heard the woman’s relieved sigh. “Very good. Now did you tell your father of the white stag as I asked? Has he agreed to the hunt?”

“I told him, but… but, beloved, is it really necessary to kill him?”

“He will never consent to our union, my sweet. Or to the kingdom of pleasure we hope to found here. It is best…” She stopped suddenly, then murmured something Reiner and Franka couldn’t hear.

“What?” said Udo loudly. “Overheard?”

Reiner and Franka began backing hastily away, but before they could take three steps Udo was around the corner, swinging his fists wildly. “Assassins!” he cried. “Spies!”

“Hush, beloved!” hissed the woman, following him. “You’ll wake the house.”

Reiner and Franka dropped Udo with a few well-placed fists and knees, and he rolled away, groaning. The woman was another matter. She flashed towards them like an oiled shadow, stiletto glinting in her hand. Reiner and Franka dropped their hands to their belts, forgetting again that they had no daggers.

The woman lunged at Reiner, her blade seeking his neck. He grabbed her wrist, trying to force it back. It was like trying to bend iron. He looked in her eyes. They shone with a weird light. His mind began to swim. Franka kicked the woman in the stomach. The beauty snarled and backhanded her, breaking eye-contact with Reiner. Franka flew back, head bouncing off the wall, and she slid to the floor.

Reiner caught the woman’s arm as she stabbed again, this time averting his eyes, but even using his whole body to hold the stiletto away, still it inched towards his neck.

Sounds of doors opening echoed down the hall.

“Unhand her, villain!” cried Udo, staggering up. Franka grabbed his legs. He kicked her in the face.

“Idiot child!” hissed the beauty. “Be silent!”

Udo pummelled Reiner. His blows were weak, but a lucky punch to the kidney made Reiner’s knees buckle and the witch’s stiletto jerked forward, gashing his collar bone.

With a look of triumph, she ripped her arm free of Reiner’s grip and raised the stiletto, but feet were running towards them and they heard the scrape of unsheathing swords. The beauty looked up, cursing. Reiner kicked her in the stomach. She stumbled back, eyes flashing angrily at Udo. “Fool! I told you to be silent.” With a frustrated hiss, she ran to the balcony and leapt over. Reiner half expected her to fly away like some bird of prey, but she dropped out of sight and was gone.

Udo’s fist caught Reiner on the cheekbone. “Spoilsport! You’ve chased her away!”

Reiner ducked back and grabbed Udo’s arms. Franka lurched up and caught Udo’s collar from behind, pulling his shirt down over his shoulders to trap his arms. Reiner was about to head butt the youth when he saw a livid mark on Udo’s exposed chest. A small puncture wound, purple-black with infection, rose directly over his heart. It looked like a third nipple.

“Ware,” muttered Franka, looking past Reiner. “Manfred and our host.”

Reiner looked back. Manfred and Groff were hurrying towards them in robes and nightshirts, swords drawn, leading a handful of knights and house guards.

Udo shoved Reiner back and pulled his shirt closed. “Father,” he cried. “These men have assaulted me! Arrest them!”

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Groff, bustling up. “Manfred, aren’t these your prisoners?”

“They are,” said Manfred. “And I promise a reckoning when I discover who let them out.”

“My lords,” said Reiner quickly, “there is greater evil afoot here than our petty truancy. Your house is infiltrated, Lord Groff. There is a witch on your grounds. She came to meet your son and just now leapt over the balcony. If you hurry…”

“What nonsense is this?” barked Groff. “You try to draw attention from your crimes by accusing my son of witchcraft? Manfred, slay these insolent…”

“But ’tis the truth, my lord,” said Reiner. “She has marked him. You have only to look at his…”

“Enough,” said Manfred. “What are you doing out of quarters, and who let you out?”

“My lord,” said Franka, imploring. “She is getting away.”

“Answer my question, curse you!”

Reiner ground his teeth. “Here’s your answer, y’damned fools.” And before anyone could stop him, he grabbed Udo’s collar and ripped his nightshirt clean off.

Groff jumped forward, shouting and swinging his sword as Reiner dodged back. “He assaults my son before my eyes! Stand, villain, I will…”

But Manfred was staring at Udo, who stood dumbly, with the unclean wound exposed for all to see. Groff followed his gaze and choked as he saw it.

“Groff,” Manfred said quietly. “Lock up your son. He has been tainted and cannot be trusted.” He turned to one of his knights. “Strieger, rouse the others and make ready. And lock the prisoners in the carriage. We ride within the hour.”

“You’re not leaving?” exclaimed Lord Groff. “Not now?”

“We must,” said Manfred. “This was obviously an attempt to corrupt your house from the inside, but now that they know we know of their existence and their intent, they will try to stop us from warning Altdorf. We must be away before they surround us.”

“But they’ll slaughter us!” cried Groff.

“Twenty knights would do nothing to change that outcome,” said Manfred, striding down the hall. “We will pass Boecher’s garrison on our way south. I will ask them to send reinforcements.”

Groff trotted after Manfred, mewling his distress, as Manfred’s knights took Reiner and Franka in tow while Groff’s guards did the same with Udo.

“But my lady doesn’t wish to hurt anyone,” whined Udo. “She wants us all to live only for pleasure.”

 

A half hour later, the Blackhearts were back in the cramped coach, bouncing and jolting uncomfortably as they raced down the rough track that led to the main Altdorf road. The thunder of Manfred’s knights riding at full gallop drowned out all other sound and made conversation impossible.

A quarter of an hour out, there came a cry of “Ware, bandits!” and the Blackhearts heard the knights draw steel.

Reiner and the others crowded to the slatted windows. On both sides of the road was a large, hastily made camp. Bandits caught in the act of raising tents and starting fires were backing towards the woods as they gaped at Manfred’s retinue. Others were snatching up weapons and preparing to fight. But when it became clear that the knights didn’t intend to stop, some of the bandits waved their arms and called out after them.

“What they say?” asked Giano.

Pavel swallowed, nervous. “They said, ‘Turn back.’”

 

Only a few minutes later there was another cry from the knights, and the coach reined to a sudden, slewing stop. Reiner and his companions again pressed to the windows. It was impossible for them to see forward, but they heard anxious muttering from the knights, and on both sides of the coach the forest crowded too close to the road. “It’s blocked,” said a knight.

The forest was changed as well. Choking the tall pines and stout oaks were twisted vines, black of leaf, and heavy with purple, pendulous fruit that gave off a cloying odour.

“The vines,” whispered Giano. “They move.”

“Dortman!” came Manfred’s voice. “See if a way can be cut.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Hooves trotted forward and the Blackhearts heard a thwacking of sword on vine. “It is very thick, my lord. I can see no end to…”

His words were cut off by a whistling thud, and a crash of armour hitting hard-packed dirt.

“Archers!” cried a knight, and suddenly the air was hissing with arrows. They thudded and rattled off the coach and the Blackhearts jerked back from the windows and dropped to the floor in a frightened pile.

“Fall back!” cried Manfred. “Back to the castle!” As the coach lurched around awkwardly, arrow heads splintered through the back wall. They glistened with green putrescence. Hals hissed. “Poison.”

 

Three knights died in the ambush, and two more were dying from cuts that barely bled, screaming in agony as poison burned through their veins. The coachman too had died. Klaus had manned the reins in their headlong flight to the castle.

Now Manfred conferred again with Groff in the courtyard while his knights stood by, and the Blackhearts, who waited with Klaus.

“How many men do you have?” asked Manfred.

“Sixteen knights, my lord,” said Groff. “And forty foot, most with bows and spears, And I’ve pressed the staff into service, though they’ve to make do with pitchforks and fire-irons. Isn’t much, I’m afraid.”

Reiner followed Manfred’s gaze as the count surveyed the broken walls, where a collection of peasant conscripts, cooks and pot-boys made an inadequate defence. Groff’s “knights”—beardless youths pressed into armour after their older brothers had died in the recent conflict—guarded the widest, most easily breached gaps in the walls. They were spread very thin. Manfred looked grim. Reiner wanted to throw up.

“Pull half those boys off the wall,” Manfred said, “and set them to tearing apart that scaffolding. Sharpen the ends of the poles and plant them at an angle before the gaps in the walls. Next, use the wood of the stables to make bonfires fifty yards from the walls in all directions so we may see the enemy before they’re at our throats. Pour all the lamp oil you have into the moat and be ready to light it when they attempt to cross. It will not be enough. We will die, but at least we will take as many with us as…”

“My lord,” said Reiner. “Might I make a suggestion?”

“You may not,” snapped Manfred.

“A suggestion that may allow us to win, my lord.” Manfred turned on him, glaring. “What is it?”

“The bandits, my lord. They are trained men, armed with bow and sword. If…”

“Absolutely not,” said Manfred. “They are deserters. We cannot count on their loyalty, or their courage.”

“They are trapped just as we are, my lord. They have little choice but…”

“Silence! I have said no.”

 

“Stiff-necked fool,” said Reiner, furious. “His righteousness will get us killed.”

The Blackhearts sat on a pile of rubble in a gap in the north wall.

“Don’t know why he cares,” said Hals. “He don’t have a problem using us, and I’ll lay odds we’re a nastier lot than them bandits.”

“Aye,” said Reiner. “But he doesn’t have the leash around their necks he has around ours.”

Reiner looked below them where Groff’s conscripts were wedging sharpened poles into the rubble. Beyond the moat, a wagon full of scrap lumber and brush was crossing the field as more conscripts built bonfires at regular intervals.

“I no want to die,” said Giano. “Not for foolishnesses.”

“Nor do I,” growled Hals.

Reiner sighed. “I think it’s up to us to save ourselves, lads. What do you say we go find those bandits? It’s a poor chance, but it’s better than sitting here waiting for death.”

The others shot nervous glances at Klaus, then leaned in.

“I’m in,” whispered Hals. “If you’ve a way.”

“Won’t Manfred unleash the poison?” asked Franka.

“Not until he knows we’re gone,” said Reiner. “And when the battle begins, he’ll be too busy to check on us.”

“But we’ll have to dispose of him,” said Hals, nodding at Klaus.

“Kill him?” asked Franka uneasily.

Reiner smirked. “No need to go so far. Plenty of places in all this mess to hide him until we get back.” He looked up. “Hoy, sergeant. I seem to have cut myself. I don’t think I can participate in forthcoming conflict.”

“Hey?” cried Klaus. “Not participate? Damned if you won’t. Let me see this cut of yours.” Hals grinned and balled his fists as Klaus climbed down to them.

 

“Stand where you are, dead men!”

The Blackhearts raised their arms as a score of spears and five times as many arrows pointed their way.

After binding and gagging Klaus and tucking him behind a fall of rubble, then crossing the moat with the help of a scaffolding ladder, they had stolen one of the wagons which had been building the bonfires, and rode towards the bandit camp. Now, having found it, Reiner was having second thoughts.

A huge, broad-chested villain with matted grey hair and a filthy beard stepped through the outlaws, a scrawny boy at his side with the swaying gait and roving eye of an idiot.

“Brother,” said Reiner. “We come…”

“Shut yer gob!” said the giant. He urged the boy forward. “Sniff’em out, Ludo. See if they’ve the taint.”

The boy wove to the Blackhearts’ wagon like a dreamer and reached out limp hands. Reiner recoiled. Giano made the sign of Shallya, but they dared not move. The idiot sniffed and fondled them like a dog with hands, then with a whimpering sigh lay his head on Reiner’s leg. At this the outlaws relaxed a little.

“Well,” said the giant. “Yer not touched ones at any rate. What do y’want?”

“We come to ask a boon,” said Reiner, trying not flinch from the idiot’s fawning. “The touched ones, as you call them, mount an attack on Lord Groff’s castle, which is grievously undermanned. He and Count Manfred need your help.”

The outlaws roared with laugher.

“Groff needs our help?” asked the leader. “Groff, who hangs us for hunting the deer of the forest. And another jagger who’s no doubt just as bad? Why should we help the likes of them?”

“Because the alternative is worse.”

“Yer mad. I’ll dance a jig when Groff is dead.”

“Would you rather the touched ones ruled here in Groff’s stead?” asked Reiner. “Where would you be then?”

The outlaws were silent.

“Groff may hang you now and then,” Reiner continued, “but at least that death comes quick. How many have you lost to the dark lady’s seduction? Good men gone rotten, running naked in the woods, stealing your children to sacrifice to their daemon masters. Is that what you want?”

The outlaws muttered among themselves.

The giant crossed his arms. “Nobody wants that. But we don’t care to walk into a noose either. What’s our guarantee that Groff, or this Manfred, won’t turn around and hang us after we’ve saved their worthless hides?”

“I can offer you no guarantee,” said Reiner, “but I have some sway with Manfred at least, and I will do what I can. Count Manfred is an honourable man. He may even reward you.”

Franka shot him a look at that. Reiner shrugged. He hoped it wasn’t a lie, but he had to say something.

After a moment’s conversation with his lieutenants, the big man turned back to Reiner. He nodded. “Alright, silver-tongue, you’ve convinced us. Lead on.”

 

A red glow above the trees as the Blackhearts and the bandits approached the castle gave evidence that battle had already been joined. The noise came next. The clash of steel on steel, the cries of men and the screams of horses. When they reached the fields, Manfred’s bonfires illuminated a grim scene. The massed cultists—one couldn’t call them an army—attacked the ruined castle from all sides, undisciplined but bloodthirsty. They had bridged the moat with tree-trunks, and pressed Groff’s meagre forces and Manfred’s few knights fiercely at every gap in the walls.

Hals gaped when he saw them. “The madmen! What’re they about?”

Franka giggled.

Reiner grimaced. “Some things are better covered by darkness.”

The cultists, despite the cold of the spring night, were naked, their only covering swirls of purple and red, which looked more like smeared fruit and blood than paint. But, though naked, they were armed. Men and women, young and old, wielded swords and spears and clubs and bows, and though many seemed unlearned in their use, there were so many of them, and they were so frenzied in their unholy ecstasy that even alone they might have carried the day. Unfortunately they were not alone.

Leading them were troops of a different calibre altogether. Fighting at the wall were immense warriors in black and purple armour, while, further out, purple-clad bowmen cut down defenders with impossible accuracy. “Northmens,” whispered Giano.

“We fought that sort at Brozny,” said Pavel, shuddering. “Their swords had spikes in the hilts which pierce their own hands as they fight.”

Hals nodded. “Pain was like drink to them. They loved it.”

“Well,” said Reiner. “There ain’t enough of them to take the castle without their followers. If we can drive them off we’ll at least give Groff a fighting chance.”

Loche, the bandit leader, smiled. “You leave that to me.”

 

Loche brought his men to the wood’s edge and spread them out.

“You’ll never hit them from here,” said Reiner, priming his handgun.

“No,” said the bandit. “Groff’s cut the woods back two bow shots for that very reason. We’ll have to come up to the first hedgerow.”

He signalled his men forward and they and the Blackhearts advanced at a jog. Fortunately the cultists, expecting no reinforcements, had posted no rear guard. The bandits reached the hedgerow with no alarm raised. “Ready boys?” asked Loche.

The bandits put arrows to strings and flexed their bows. Franka did as well. Reiner and Giano raised their handguns. Hals and Pavel, pikemen with no skill with a bow, stood by with second guns, ready to reload while Reiner and Giano fired.

“Fire.”

With a thrum like a hundred guitars, the bandits loosed their shafts. Reiner’s and Giano’s guns cracked like snare drums. The arrows disappeared into the night, but reappeared as if by magic in the bare flesh of the cultists, who screamed and fell by the score.

It took the madmen a moment to understand their plight, and by then, more feathered shafts were cutting them down. A wave of panic overcame them and they ran in all directions, dropping their weapons. Reiner wondered that men so frenzied that they stormed a castle naked would lose courage under fire, but facing an enemy you can see is very different from invisible death speeding from the night.

“Don’t waste arrows on the runners, boys,” said Loche. “Let’s circle and…”

But suddenly it was the bandits who were falling and screaming as feathered death whistled among them. Worse, even those only scratched were falling and writhing in agony, clawing at their wounds as if they were on fire.

Reiner looked at the arrows. They were the same that had riddled the coach on their flight from the ambush.

“The purple archers,” growled Loche, as his men pressed into the hedgerow. “Concentrate yer fire, boys.”

Reiner sited along his gun barrel as the bandits nocked fresh arrows, but something behind the purple archers caught his eye. Below the north wall, a handful of Northmen, their black armour flashing red in the light of the bonfires, crossed the moat on a plank and crept toward the postern gate. There were no troops to stop them. Most of the fighting was on the far side of the castle. If this little force could somehow break down the iron-bound door…

Reiner checked as the postern gate swung suddenly open. What treachery was this? Reiner squinted, trying to identify the shadowed figure who let the warriors into the castle. It was impossible. He cursed. The Blackhearts looked around.

Reiner pointed. “Our efforts may be for naught. Someone lets the Northers in by the back gate.”

Loche looked up. “Hey?” He peered forward.

“We’ll have to stop them,” said Franka. “Unless we wish to die in this cursed wood.”

Reiner glared at the girl. She was right, but the last thing he wanted to do was hunt through dark corridors after Northern marauders. He’d faced their like before, and nearly died of it. “It’ll take more than the five of us to bring those monsters down. Loche, we…”

“Not to worry,” said the big man. “I ran from them once. And won my coward’s brand for it. I’ll not run again. Murgen, Aeloff, pick ten men and come with me.”

“Ten and five.” Hals swallowed, nervous. “I hope it is enough.”

 

Reiner and Loche and their men entered the open postern gate and peered into the empty kitchen garden. Sounds of the battle echoed around the bulk of the keep, but it was quiet here.

“Where are they?” whispered Pavel.

“Shhh!” hissed Giano, cupping his ear.

They held their breath. From over the garden wall they heard a closing door.

The party started cautiously forward, but Franka slipped quickly ahead. “I’ll keep ’em in sight,” she said.

“Frank… Franz! Wait!” called Reiner, but the girl had already slipped into the garden.

“Come on,” growled Reiner.

As they entered the kitchen they saw Franka waving them towards the cellar stairs. They followed, and caught up with her at the door to the dungeon.

“What are they doing down here?” asked Reiner.

“Forcing a cell door,” replied Franka.

“Ah. Udo.”

The sound of steel biting into wood echoed down the narrow hall. Lantern light flickered from a door at the end. Franka started ahead. Reiner stopped her and went forward himself. She gave him a dirty look.

Reiner peered into a low-ceilinged guard room with stout oak doors on each wall. The Northmen had just broken the lock of one and were swinging it open. Udo stepped out and embraced the smallest warrior, who Reiner suddenly realized was the sorceress, dressed in black armour of barbaric splendour. Her six companions wore black and purple as well, and disturbingly, though they were as fiercely bearded as any Northman, were as rouged and painted as Marienberg streetwalkers. Udo’s manservant, Stier, stood with them, holding a lantern. It was he, Reiner realized, who had let them in.

After receiving Udo’s enthusiastic kiss, the sorceress stepped back. “It is time, beloved, to seize your destiny. Are you ready?”

The boy nodded, unable to look away from her eyes. “I am ready.”

The beauty removed a jewelled broach from her cloak. The pin was covered in black crust. “Then take this and go to your father. A mere scratch and he will fall. When Manfred and his knights turn to assist him, prick as many of them as you can. We will be nearby, ready to protect you from any survivors.”

Udo hesitated, looking at the broach. “Will it be… painful?”

“Worry not, my sweet,” said the witch, caressing his cheek. “Your father will not suffer. In fact he will die of an excess of pleasure.”

She turned towards the door with Udo. Her men fell in around her. Reiner backed down the corridor to the waiting bandits.

“Bows out,” he hissed. “Pin ’em inside the room.”

He and Giano shouldered their guns as the others raised bows. Two warriors filled the door, eclipsing the room behind them with their bulk.

“Fire!”

The warriors bellowed as the barrage battered them. Most of the arrows glanced off the ebony armour, but a few hit more, and Reiner and Giano’s shot smashed through brains and bone. The Northmen fell. Behind them, Udo stared at an arrow sticking from his arm.

“I… I am… hit!”

The sorceress snatched him back into the room as one of her warriors leapt forward, sword drawn, and the last three backed up, protecting her.

“Fire!”

Reiner dropped his handgun and fired his pistol as the bandits’ bowstrings thrummed in his ears. The massive warrior took the ball and a thicket of arrows full on. He kept coming, eyes blazing with ecstatic fury.

“Fire!”

But the Northman was on them before they could reload. Pavel and Hals shouldered Reiner and Giano aside and jammed their spears into the warrior’s chest just as he reached their line. The force of his charge drove them skidding back, but at last he stopped, blood erupting from his painted mouth as he fell.

“Die hard, don’t they?” said Loche.

“Aye,” agreed Hals.

A noise returned their attention to the guard room. The bandits flexed their bows again. Reiner aimed his pistol, but no berserk warriors spewed forth. Instead, stepping into the hall was the sorceress, arms raised… and naked.

“Hold,” she said. “I would parlay.”

Reiner and the Blackhearts and the bandits stared, open-mouthed, as she paced forward, her ripe curves swaying with every step. “You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed woman, would you?”

Reiner began forming a joke about the woman being better armed than most armies, but it died in his throat as a delicious scent reached his nose. It wafted from her like musk: vanilla and jasmine, and drifted into his brain like fog.

He tried to tell the others to shoot her before she ensorcelled them all, but found himself unable to speak or raise his gun. The others seemed similarly affected.

The sorceress continued forward, smiling sweetly. “In fact, you would kill any man who tried to harm me, wouldn’t you? You would defend me to the death.”

She stopped in front of them. Reiner fought to free his mind, but her beauty was all-consuming. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. He would do anything for her—die for her, if she would only take him into her arms. He heard bows and guns clatter to the floor as they fell from slack hands.

“You, boy,” she said, pointing at Franka. “Your captain raised his gun to me. Will you protect me? Will you cut his throat?”

Franka nodded and wove towards him, drawing her dagger, glassy-eyed. Reiner raised his chin obligingly. It was true. He had tried to kill the sorceress. He deserved to die.

Franka raised her dagger.

The sorceress licked her lips. “Of course you will,” she said. “No man can resist me.”

But suddenly Franka spun and stabbed her in the throat. The witch stared, more shocked at Franka’s disobedience than at the dagger in her neck.

Franka smirked. “Fortunately, I am no man.”

The woman fell, blood pouring down over her alabaster breasts. The spell was broken. Reiner shook his head. The others did the same, cursing and groaning.

“No! Beloved!”

Reiner looked up. Udo was racing at them, sword above his head. “Murderers!” he cried. “Savages!”

Behind him came the three remaining Northmen.

Reiner fired but missed. The bandits were still picking up their dropped weapons and got off only a few shots. Reiner drew frantically, and met Udo sword on sword as Pavel and Hals thrust their spears at the Northmen and the bandits rushed to back them up.

“Foul defiler!” shrieked Udo. “To kill such a gentle—”

Reiner ran him through. The boy curled in on himself and fell. Reiner felt strangely guilty.

Around him, the Blackhearts and the bandits were beating on the Northmen with all their might, but the corridor was too narrow and too crowded to make a good swing, and the warriors’ armour was too strong. The men could hardly dent it.

The warriors, on the other hand, swung mailed fists and axes held high on the haft. Reiner saw Pavel reeling back from a fist to the shoulder. An axe sheared off a bandit’s arm at the elbow.

“Fall back!” shouted Reiner.

The Blackhearts and the bandits ran up the stairs, leaving their dead and wounded behind, the Northmen hot on their heels. A bandit went down, his skull crushed as he turned to flee.

As they burst out of the castle into the yard, Reiner was momentarily afraid that they had run into more Northmen. The garden was full of men in blood-caked armour. But then he recognized Manfred and Groff in the chaos. The knights raised a shout as the Northmen roared out of the kitchen, and a fierce battle erupted as the two sides slammed together.

Reiner was happy to observe from the sidelines, as were the bandits and the Blackhearts, who sucked in deep breaths and mopped at their wounds.

After it became certain that the knights would be victorious, Hals turned to Franka and gave her a curious look.

“What meant ye,” he asked, “when y’said ‘fortunately you wasn’t a man’?”

“What?” said Franka. Reiner swallowed nervously. The girl was turning bright red. “I… er, I, well, I merely meant that I am but a boy.”

Hals scowled. “When I was your age, laddie, I was twice as likely to fall for a woman’s wiles.”

But before he could pursue the question further, the last of the Northmen fell and Manfred was striding their way, glaring.

“Hetsau, what is the meaning of this?”

“My lord,” said Reiner as he thought how to answer. “We are most glad…”

“Never mind that, villain. I…”

Behind the count, Groff suddenly raised a cry. All turned. Servants were carrying Udo’s body into the garden. Groff hurried forward and took the boy in his arms. “Who has done this?” he cried. “Who has slain my son?”

Manfred glared at Reiner. “Hetsau?”

“My lord, you wound me,” said Reiner. He crossed to Groff. “Lord Groff, the sorceress came to free your son so he might assassinate you, but he refused. They slew him for it.”

Groff looked at him with grateful eyes. “He resisted then?”

“Yes, my lord. I only regret we were not able to stop them.”

Manfred gave Reiner a cool look. “Regrettable indeed. And who are these gentlemen with you, who were yet not enough to save Lord Groff’s son?”

Reiner swallowed. “My lord, this is Captain Loche, leader of the noble woodsmen who helped you hold the castle this night.”

Loche touched his forelock to Manfred. “M’lord.”

“A leader of bandits, you mean,” said Manfred, ignoring Loche. “Who you recruited against my orders.”

“I thought your lordship might be pleased to find yourself alive at the outcome.”

“I am never pleased to be disobeyed.” He turned to the captain of his retinue. “Strieger, arrest these outlaws, and all who have remained on the field.”

“What?” said Loche, surprised.

“But, my lord,” cried Reiner as the knights began to surround the surviving bandits. “They have saved your life. You must admit that. You would be dead if not for their help.”

“That may be,” said Manfred, “but certainly they aided us not out of any loyalty to the Empire, but only to save their own skins. They are still outlaws. They must still hang.”

“Hang? My lord!” Reiner was sweating now. “My lord, it took all my gifts to convince these men to come to your aid. I promised them that you would be grateful—that you might even reward them for their service.”

Manfred raised an eyebrow. “Ah. Then they have no one to blame for their fate but you, who promised things it was beyond your power to grant.” He motioned to Strieger. “Take them. In these troubled times the laws of the Empire must be firmly upheld.”

As the knights took the bandits in tow, Loche shot a look at Reiner that pierced him to his soul. “Dirty liar,” he rasped. “I hope y’rot.” He spat on Reiner’s boots. The knights jerked him forward and marched the bandits out of the garden.

Reiner hung his head, more ashamed than he’d ever been. He felt like a trained rat who had led his wild brethren into a trap. He wanted to tear Manfred’s throat out, but—more shame—he was too much of a coward. He valued his life too much.

Franka put a hand on his arm. It didn’t help.

 

The next morning the Blackhearts were locked back into their coach and Manfred and his knights continued south to Altdorf. As they rode from Groff’s castle Reiner and the others peered back through the slotted windows. Hanging from the battlements were scores of bandits and cultists, mixed together as if the hangmen had made no distinction between them—rotting fruit hanging from a stone tree.

Reiner’s heart clenched when he saw Loche’s massive body swaying among them. He closed his eyes, then sank back in his seat. “And that, my lads,” he sighed, “is fair warning of how Lord Valdenheim will deal with us when he no longer finds us useful.”

Pavel nodded. “The swine.”

Giano shook his head. “We dead soldiers, hey?”

“There must be a way out,” said Franka.

“But how?” asked Hals.

And so the endless conversation began again, all the way to Altdorf.