Hatred.
I read it in the eyes of practically everyone gathered. The weary, deadened eyes of people who had been pushed close to the limits of their physical shells.
They knew what I was about to say. They awaited my words like a decree of fate, one that was approaching inexorably with every passing second.
And I, steeling myself, spoke as loudly as possible:
— Left face!
A barely audible murmur arose from the detachment, tired after a day's march.
— Quiet chatter! — Max bellowed, his voice much better suited to the term "commanding" than mine.
The Sergeant moved menacingly along the rear ranks of the formation, brandishing a long, straight rod. He had already used this thing when some of the former slaves grumbled particularly loudly or lagged during command execution.
Drill was especially hard for the newly minted soldiers after a day of marching. The evening skies, overcast with clouds, did not add optimism to the assembled people. A light, drizzling rain had started half an hour ago. They wanted to be by the fire or wrapped in a blanket as soon as possible. However, I perfectly understood the necessity of drill, considering the prospect of impending battles.
The fifty-two men of the detachment were divided into five squads of roughly ten men each. A Decanus stood at the head of each. The women were not included in the general formation, with the exception of three acting as skirmishers. The rest could join the battle if things got truly desperate. Although, such a measure seemed excessive now. Our enemies would no longer be Goblins and Skaven, but much more formidable foes that even a healthy man would find difficult to overcome.
— Right turn, quick march!
The local drill was easy enough to remember. Though, perhaps Max simply didn't expect much from mercenaries. He was giving us only the very basics necessary purely for survival.
After the drill, Stefan and some others whined:
— A whole day of marching, and now this crap in the evening. Why did we run from the mine? To suffer here?
— You ran from there so you wouldn't be tortured and eaten alive, — I answered sternly. — It is hard here, but those who survive will get paid and can go home.
— Stop whining! — Markus supported me. — You suffered and toiled for survival, and now you suffer in the name of the Empire and Sigmar!
That, as they say, is different.
After the drill, I went straight to sleep. Tomorrow morning I had to wake up early, and while the detachment prepared food, I was to go to an officers' meeting where Margrave Olger Hawk intended to present the army's immediate action plan.
I slept in the same tent as Erik and slept quite soundly, despite the Ogre snoring outside. The hazy visions simply repeated themselves again. An unknown knight, whose face I could not distinguish, urged me to go to Albion, but gave no specific timeline. Good. Albion is far away, and a Chaos invasion is raging all around.
The first signs of it began to appear on the road after only a couple of days of travel. Refugees. Small groups for now, seeking salvation in large cities and near fortresses. With each passing day, there were more and more of these unfortunates on the roads. Along with the refugees came new frightening rumors. Some of them required discussion at the war council.
On a damp early morning, when fog shrouded the ground, I, dressed as warmly as possible, walked to the meeting of the high command, taking our employment contract with me.
The Margrave's servants had set up a large tent, which was now guarded by Halberdiers and swordsmen with Zweihanders. The guards looked at me with clear suspicion. I was even about to show them the contract.
— Ah, it's the new Reiks-Marshal, — one of the guards with a lush grey mustache recognized me and bowed playfully. — Please enter, Your Lordship.
Inside, one could see a long table, around which company captains, engineers, senior quartermasters, and important noble knights were gradually gathering. I looked like a white crow among them, or rather a trashy sparrow. My not-so-luxurious, second-hand clothes, green trousers, a shirt of the same color, a quilted doublet, a hood, and everything wrinkled.
There weren't many mercenaries in Hawk's army. I was company at the back of the war council by two captains of Free Companies, hastily recruited from caravan escorts, and a grim-looking Tilean who had fled from the enemy-ravaged Border Princes. He looked at me with some sympathy. He even greeted me. The other military men tried to ignore my presence.
A light breakfast was placed on the table before us: a mug of beer, an omelet, tasteless Wissenland flatbreads, and two smoked sausages. I happily devoured the meal. My body, exhausted by training, demanded calories. Although, in truth, it craved enemy blood, but in its absence, calories would suffice.
After several days of marching without fighting, I noticed how much I had grown addicted to the magical sustenance. The idea that one could fight, run, even take wounds, and then boom, feel fresh as a daisy, no longer seemed like a miracle. However, for now, I would have to endure. And I so wanted to heal the callus that had formed on my right foot…
— Reports are coming in about the appearance of many Greenskin bands, — the Margrave announced in his opening remarks. — Mostly Goblin Wolf Riders. It is unknown whether they have allied with the northerners or are simply seizing the moment. In any case, their raids could become a problem as the army advances. Separate units will be dispatched to repel the raiders before they disrupt our supply lines or bring larger forces down upon us.
Olger Hawk delivered this part of the information in a rather dry, businesslike tone.
Goblin raiders? I doubt that Tamurkhan has allied with Skarsnik or any other big Greenskin boss. This is not Total War here, where there are all sorts of diplomatic blunders like Kislev and Vampire alliances or peace treaties from Skarbrand. However, there is a Chaos faction that actively uses Greenskins: the Dawi-Zharr, the Chaos Dwarfs.
The Margrave continued to inform the command staff:
— As you know, the enemy bypassed us through the Winterfang Pass and has already invaded the province. Alas, all attempts by the border troops to halt the northerners' advance have not led to any significant result. They can only retreat, conduct evacuations, and leave scorched earth for the enemy.
A worried murmur passed through the command staff. The scorched earth tactic might indeed delay or even weaken Tamurkhan's forces, but everyone understood that it would not benefit the province either.
— Various rumors circulate about the enemy army's size, — caution, learned from experience, was audible in the Margrave's voice.
Olger Hawk evidently did not want to frighten those gathered, nor did he want to instill false optimism.
— Just in case, we have already requested assistance from neighboring provinces and the capital, and have also sent letters to other potential allies. The assembled army will be considerable, but concentrating the forces will take time. Our task now is to buy that time. And at the same time, thoroughly thin out this horde! In the name of Sigmar and Karl Franz, we will give battle to the Godless rabble of Warlord Tamurkhan. We will meet the barbarians, heretics, and mutants as befits—with steel, lead, and blackpowder!
By the end of the Margrave's speech, a fighting spirit was palpable in his voice. This mood spread to those gathered. Brave promises to disperse the Chaos filth as quickly as possible were voiced. Well, well. However, Hawk himself was devoid of bravado and overconfidence. That was good. Toning down the intensity a bit, he ended the speech with more concrete statements.
— We are currently heading towards Pfeildorf. This is a fortified city where all retreating garrisons are gathering. Our task will be to hold it and await reinforcements from Nuln, where the Countess is currently amassing the main forces and awaiting allies.
It sounded like a perfectly adequate plan. Unfortunately, I don't know the full background of Tamurkhan's campaign from the lore well enough to predict the outcome of this battle. We'll live and see. Or rather: we'll survive and see.
After the Margrave's speech, some aristocrats in brightly colored attire also wished to speak in an uplifting manner. Generally, they delivered rather monotonous, pretentious appeals to go and kill all the villains, cleanse the lands of the Empire, punish, and prevent any future occurrences. Only a young, smiling knight with red mustaches stood out with some originality.
— We shall not allow the northern savages to plunder our farms, taverns, inns, and borde… ahem! And other establishments! We will protect the foundation of the Imperial economy! We will not let the smelly enemy trample the fragrant avenues of Nuln! We will not allow him to defile…
— Enough, — the Witch Hunter interrupted the young man quietly but very insistently.
Not Gunther, but another Templar whom I had not yet had the pleasure of speaking with. The young knight was not scared. It seemed he was completely confident that such antics would be overlooked because of his status or past feats.
— I apologize, Brother Waldemar, — the aristocrat feigned an apology. — Ever since I fell off my horse and hit my head on an anvil as a child, my thoughts sometimes become muddled, but my faith is as strong as the smell of sweat in the…
— Enough, Rudolf, — this time Olger Hawk himself interrupted him. — Does anyone want to speak on a matter of substance?
And from pretentious bravado, we moved to more pressing matters. Some complained about the lack of blackpowder, others lamented an outbreak of dysentery or a supply horse that had broken its leg. Simultaneously, those gathered ate breakfast. I waited until most of those present had spoken and decided to interject something myself. I was simply fed up with keeping quiet. Therefore, in the most innocent voice possible, I asked:
— Your Lordship, my detachment currently has eight shields. Could we be allocated two more, as well as several pairs of boots or suitable leather for their manufacture? Unfortunately, not all, erm… soldiers in my detachment have their own footwear.
I noticed expressions of contempt on the faces of several nobles, but the red-mustached Rudolf laughed. A young captain-boy asking the Margrave for boots for his ragged followers. The knight was probably amused by this scene. He immediately spoke up:
— I cannot allow the brave defenders of Wissenland to march without boots! What if one of them gets a splinter? Tell me, Jurgen, do such regrettable incidents already figure in the glorious history of your valiant detachment?
— Erm… — I pretended to be embarrassed, but happily played along with the knight's joke. — Yes. I fear that has already happened. Repeatedly.
— Unheard of! — Rudolf continued the farce — I understand when the soldiers of the Empire suffer from arrows, spears, venomous teeth, and dark magic. That is our duty. But splinters! Urgently allocate boots to the valiant warriors, and perhaps even foot-wraps! If there are no foot-wraps, then I am prepared to…
— Rudolf, — Olger rebuked him again.
A few more people spoke on substantive issues, after which Hawk briefly gave out instructions. I received no orders. Then the Margrave thanked Sigmar for another day, the Warrior Priest read a short prayer, and everyone began to disperse. However, I was ordered to stay.
— And you, Jurgen, I ask to remain.
I was afraid I would be told to keep quiet about the lack of boots in the future, but Hawk seemed quite benevolent.
— Max told me how the training went. He was very impressed with the skills of the Elven Lady. And in what forest did you find this pointy-ear?
I recounted the story of finding the girl, captured by "Chaos cultists and Beastmen."
— Yes, yes. Something like that was in Priestess Adenauer's report. Max said the Elf listens to you. Does she feel a debt for her saved life, perhaps?
No. This is more likely due to my supernatural ability to disrupt magic and my supereffective bullshit. However, I replied aloud:
— Possibly.
— Good. Elves are rarely easy to deal with, but if she has decided to help you, it would be foolish not to take advantage of it. You will go with her on a scouting mission. Tomorrow we will reach a dense forest. You, the pointy-ear, and a small detachment of huntsmen must go through it. Find out what is happening in the thicket and on the other side. You will be given a wagon and fast horses and provisions today. You will ride ahead of the army. The Master of the Amber Order should be living in that forest. At least, she used to. Try to find her and invite her to join our army.
A Wizard. That is good on the one hand. A Beast Mage will be useful in the fight against Chaos. On the other hand, I hope this sorceress doesn't expose my special talents. It is difficult for me to predict her reaction if everything comes out.
— Here, — Hawk handed me a sealed letter in a waxed envelope. — Another copy is with the senior huntsman. This is a letter from me to the Magister.
— Understood.
Well, quest received. I was already about to leave when Hawk nodded to one of his adjutants. He laid a heavy sack on the table. Inside was a sallet-type helmet, or a sallet without a visor, glistening with oil. I often saw such helmets on Imperial infantry. It also came with several padded coifs to choose from. Presumably, so one would definitely fit.
— Thank you.
— Nonsense, — the Margrave waved it off. — We'll find you shields and leather for boots too, but such small matters are better dealt with through the Quartermaster. Otherwise, I will have to listen to my nephew's wit again.
So that's why the red-mustached one was acting up so much. Well, I hope he is just a lousy joker and not a malicious noble like the late Wolfgang.
At the exit of Hawk's tent, a bearded man of medium height in a grey cloak was already waiting for me. A quiver with a bow was on his back, a small axe and a cleaver on his belt.
— Dirk, huntsman, — he introduced himself. — The wagon is ready.
— Good, — I nodded. — I'll just find my companion.
The huntsman nodded silently. He was probably not a fan of conversation.
I didn't have to look for Liandra for long. She met me herself, emerging from the nearest grove. The Elf was not thrilled about the upcoming task.
— I will try to protect you, Gill, — she promised. — But babysitting humans… I cannot help everyone.
— Let them help themselves, — I agreed. — We will conduct the reconnaissance, look for the sorceress, and return. By the way… I need to tell you something else.
I briefly recounted my enhancement mechanic to Liandra, trying to make it sound as little creepy and unlike vampirism as possible. However, the Elf reacted very positively:
— So, by absorbing the vital forces of lesser beings, you can get closer to your form from a past life?
— Yes. Exactly. Every more or less significant absorption strengthens my new shell. Unlocks my potential.
Since Liandra does not consider me human, she might well believe such a story.
— Good. I will try to help you, — the pointy-ear assured me. — Many more battles await us.
I have no doubt about that.
Soon, Liandra and I climbed into a tall wagon, pulled by a pair of large bay horses. Not some nags, but good steeds. Two more horses grazed nearby. They would serve as a change when our living engine got tired.
Dirk and six other huntsmen were waiting in the wagon. All of them were equally overgrown, silent, and well-armed. The forest infantry preferred bows, crossbows, cleavers, and axes.
— Get in and let's go, — the lead huntsman announced.
The coachman cracked his whip, and the wagon moved off. First, we drove along the army camp, and then turned onto an already practically empty road.
The huntsmen turned out to be extremely uncommunicative traveling companions, and Liandra was of a similar disposition. She seemed unwilling to talk to me in front of others. Only the coachman slightly brightened the journey. An elderly man with shoulders twisted from some injury or disease.
— We called that little forest Bumpy, and our neighbors from Heigerbach called it Mosquito Wood. The place…
I expected to hear a term like "cursed" or "bad." A story about a circle of stones where human sacrifices are made on the Night of Sorcery.
— …it's not bad. — the coachman reassured me. — It's dense, but not deep. It stretches along the fields. The Baron's foresters cleaned it out once a year or if any filth moved in. And then a sorceress arrived. A Shaman. We complained, but she seemed to be legitimate. Well, you can't burn her. She's been living there for about three years with the Baron's permission. And you know… the nastiness decreased. A wedge drives out a wedge, Mein Herrs. One nasty thing drove out all the others. But what's roaming there now… only the gods know.
Only the gods for now, but soon we will know too.