The head of the Chaos Dwarf on the platter provoked a violent reaction among those gathered. People whispered, frowned, and smirked. The Dawi-Zharr was without his helmet now, revealing short, curved horns protruding from a thick-boned forehead. A dense black beard, braided into powerful strands, ended in bronze ornamental clasps. The mouth was slightly agape, showing needle-sharp teeth.
— I thank you for waiting until we had finished our meal, respected Margrave, — remarked his nephew, Rudolf. — Otherwise, one of these noble gentlemen might have accidentally mistaken this trophy for the main course.
A few chuckled, but most looked upon the young joker with disapproval.
— Some kind of mutant? — a raspy voice inquired from another aristocrat.
— What do the Templars say? — another knight asked.
A Witch Hunter, whose name I believed was Waldemar, took the floor:
— By purely formal criteria, this creature can be classified as a mutant. It bears the marks of corruption. However, something else is far more important. This is not a former human who fell into heresy or was born in tainted lands. You are looking at a non-human. A Chaos Dwarf.
The assembly began to murmur in surprise once more.
— So these proud beard-longs constantly reproach us Umgi for our weakness to Chaos, yet they are just as prone to falling into heresy themselves, — one aristocrat noted.
— It appears so, — his neighbor replied. — Just don't say that in front of them.
— Very well, mein Herren, — reasoned the engineer who had previously questioned Olger Hoch. — We have before us a dead renegade Dwarf. Whoever slew him has served our cause well.
— Not just humans, — the Margrave corrected. — Captain Jurgen's detachment rid us of him. They were aided by the Huntsmen and a Shaman of the Amber Order. Many did not survive.
— My condolences, — the engineer said with a nod, immediately continuing his line of thought. — The renegade Dwarf is dead, but how many machines has he already forged for the enemy host? Will the Northmen be able to utilize these devices without his supervision?
— You underestimate the severity of the threat, Herr Osmund, — noted the Witch Hunter with whom I had purged the dens of Friedrichsburg. — This renegade Dwarf is not merely a loner. Far beyond the Empire's borders exists an entire nation of such heretics. It is they who manufacture the high-quality weapons and artillery for the Northern barbarians.
— This is true, — Olger Hoch confirmed grimly. — In Nuln, I had the dubious honor of speaking with Lietpold the Black. You have surely heard of that infamous mercenary. At first, his tales seemed like the pathetic excuses of an old rogue trying to salvage the remnants of his reputation. He spoke of scores of cannons vomiting fire-shells. This... — Hoch pointed to the Dawi-Zharr's head. — ...is indirect proof that there is truth in Lietpold's words. Why is this so vital for us? Usually, we face savages dangerous in their charge but capable of nothing at range except sorcery. This time, the enemy will have artillery.
Listening to all this, I struggled to suppress a smile. I even had to cover the lower half of my face with my hand. I wasn't pleased by the realization of how bad things were, but by the fact that others were beginning to realize it too. I mentally imagined Olger Hoch standing up and delivering a classic line: "We're in deep shit!"
Given that the enemy was an army of Nurgle worshippers, it would have been particularly fitting.
— The thought occurred to me before, but now I am certain, — the Margrave continued. — Pfeildorf will be evacuated. The population will move to safer districts of the province. We shall give the enemy battle at the city walls, attempting to buy time, but we will retreat if the situation turns against us.
The gathered commanders nodded. Not a trace of their former bravado remained. Then Olger Hoch began issuing specific orders, hearing requests, and reviewing complaints. The engineers and artillerists were especially agitated. It was understandable. They had expected an entertaining shooting gallery where they could blast Chaos filth with impunity, and now they faced an artillery duel with renegade Dwarfs. Other commanders asked about the Dawi-Zharr. I held myself back with effort, desperate not to start answering their questions. I really wanted to tell them about the Infernal Guard, Daemon Engines, Hashut, and so on.
I could have answered, of course, but that would lead to other questions directed at me. In short, just like on a date with a girl, it's better to keep the Warhammer lore to yourself for now, even if it's screaming to get out.
When the commanders had finished their talk, Hoch ordered me and a few other unit leaders to stay behind. I had to wait twenty minutes while a Tilean mercenary captain tried to haggle with the Margrave for better supply preferences. Hoch refused to budge. Finally, the mercenary gave up and, with a sour face, left the tent.
Aside from the adjutants, only I and Rudolf Hoch remained inside. The young knight spoke first.
— Good work. Jurgen, wasn't it?
— Jurgen, — I replied, allowing myself a small jest. — Also known as Jurgen No-Surname-Given.
— Then find yourself a wife with a good family name, — the knight joked back.
— Enough familiarities. Time is short, — the Margrave noted. — Jurgen, my adjutants have questioned the surviving Huntsmen and villagers. Almost all say that if not for you and the pointy-ear, this... — Hoch pointed with disgust at the severed head. — ...monstrosity would have gone unpunished. Desecrators of Sigmar's temples must be punished swiftly and as harshly as possible. Therefore, as an exception, I agree with my nephew: good work. I have ordered the treasurer to grant you a bonus. However, in times such as these, there are metals more precious than gold. Rudolf.
— Yes, uncle. One moment, — the ginger-mustachioed knight placed a bundle of grey cloth on the table.
The shape made it easy to guess what was inside.
— I didn't treat them very well, forgot to have them cleaned, sometimes even hacked at nettles just for fun... but my page and armorer worked hard to keep this pair in good condition, — the knight spoke as I began to unroll the cloth. — A young aristocrat might be mocked at a tournament with such equipment, but it will serve a mercenary captain faithfully.
Wrapped in the cloth were two swords. A one-handed sword and a long bastard sword. Both weapons were clearly not new. I noticed many small scratches on the hilt-guards. The scabbards were also worn. The decorative fittings were lost in places.
— May I? — I asked.
Hoch nodded. I took the swords and stepped away from the aristocrats so they wouldn't perceive my actions as a threat. Then I drew the bastard sword first. The blade was in good condition. It had been cared for by professionals. An excellent replacement for Liandra's broken blade.
Perhaps such a quest reward wasn't an accident. Hoch could have learned about the Elf losing her weapon and asked his nephew to share some unneeded pieces from his arsenal.
It was funny. It reminded me of the Legion or Stormcloak quests in Skyrim. You got gear for every successful quest there, too.
I began to thank the Margrave, but he stopped me with a gesture and added:
— Visit Intendant Derek. Have them find you a breastplate, a brigandine, or whatever they have in your size. And have your friend stop by as well. If she needs armor, the province can provide it for the duration of her service.
Whoa. Even that. It seemed the Dawi-Zharr's head had significantly increased the value of the "Gutter Reiksguard" in the Margrave's eyes.
— In the coming battle, I will place you on guard for either the cannons or our dear sorcerers. We shall decide that on the spot. That is all, Jurgen. You may go.
I left Hoch's tent in high spirits. I immediately went in search of the intendant to get my gear. However, on the way, I was intercepted by a Witch Hunter. Not Günther Feuerbach, whom I already knew well, but the other one who had been active in the commanders' meeting.
— Good day, Herr Captain, — he greeted me with an insinuating smile on his narrow face.
I noticed that this Templar was more talkative than the others. He knew how to speak politely. Perhaps he came from an aristocratic family or had received a secular education.
— Good day, Herr Waldemar, — I replied. — Is there something you want from me?
— To begin with, simply to converse with such an outstanding young man.
To be honest, I didn't like his phrasing. It sounded either like blunt flattery meant for fools or hidden irony.
Мы stopped a bit away from the main camp road. Waldemar began peppering me with a hail of questions regarding the battle with the Dawi-Zharr and his minions. I tried to answer honestly but without excessive detail.
— You say he used dark sorcery... What an abhorrent creature you managed to destroy, Jurgen. And did you happen to notice any particularly standing-out items on this vile sorcerer? Something that, for example, glowed?
Damn. I felt an unpleasant chill creeping up my spine.
— To be honest, I don't remember... It was a very difficult fight, Herr Waldemar.
— It is often the most difficult battles that are remembered best, Captain Jurgen, — the Templar replied with an unpleasant smile. — Certain details are as if seared into the memory with a branding iron.
That definitely sounded like a veiled threat. Did he suspect I'd pocketed the Dwarfen knife? I had to be careful with that artifact. However, I hoped Waldemar wouldn't try to haul me in for interrogation right before the battle. Especially after the Margrave had just praised me.
Waldemar placed a hand on my shoulder. This made me feel even more uncomfortable.
— You are certainly a talented lad, Jurgen. Heroic deeds, miraculous escapes, remarkable companions, the attention of the aristocracy. Few can boast such things, let alone achieve them so quickly. It is as if some unseen force is watching over you, my boy. Have you never had strange dreams? Perhaps you have heard voices giving you advice?
Yes, I see strange dreams regularly.
Yes, I have the ghost of an ancient Hypno-Toad sitting in my head, frequently condescending to give advice.
But there's no way in hell I'm telling you that. I had to go into full denial. To all the following questions, I answered: no. Finally, the Templar ended the questioning.
— Very well, Jurgen. I have no reason to disbelieve the words of such an honest and devoted defender of the Empire.
Again, the veiled threat. No reason to disbelieve? That meant if a reason appeared, he would stop believing my words instantly.
For a few seconds, we silently locked eyes, and then Waldemar finally decided to back off.
— I won't delay you further, Captain Jurgen. I am certain a potential hero of the Empire has much to do in such dark times.
— Thank you, Herr Waldemar, — I replied, carefully portraying the embarrassment of a young and humble man, while secretly wanting to punch that slimy prick right between the eyes.
No, I understood that digging into suspicious individuals was literally his job. Но, damn it, he picked a hell of a time to do it. We have a Chaos horde on our doorstep!
As Hoch had said at the officers' meeting, we began marching less. The soldiers' strength was being saved for the battle. During the rest of the day, I managed to visit the intendant. He turned out to be an extremely nervous, poorly shaven man with deep receding hairlines. Getting anything out of him was quite a feat. Besides me, there were constantly others wanting to squeeze extra supplies or equipment out of the Imperial army's keeper of resources.
— Seven men in my company have worn out their boots!
— The kettle we got last week has already cracked!
— They're watering down the beer again!
The intendant switched from one visitor to another, usually giving each no more than three seconds. He first shoved a breastplate a couple of sizes too big at me. I turned it over in my hands, tried it on, and decided to try my luck again, joining the queue to the intendant once more.
On the second attempt, I managed to roll a falling-apart brigandine that smelled suspiciously of rot. I suspect the previous owner died in it and had spent some time lying in the sun.
The third attempt was more successful. I got a single-piece breastplate that fit, though it lacked straps and buckles. That was no big deal. Everything necessary could be found, and Markus knew how to work with leather. It was a shame the armor was only a front-plate, of course, but even that was better than a bare belly. The breastplate was simple but in good condition. No dents or holes. Just scratches and a few small rust spots.
After securing the breastplate, I headed back to my people. The army was due to march in half an hour, and there was one more thing to do. I intended to retrieve the magical knife from its hiding place and temporarily hand it over to Erik.
— The Witch Hunter? — the halfling smiled nervously at me. — The one with the narrow face and blue eyes?
— Yes. His name is Waldemar. Did he come to you?
— Yes. Yesterday already. Asked a lot about the unit and about you.
Shit. I went to get the dagger with Erik and Liandra. I hoped her Elven hearing would notice if we were being followed...
Elven hearing did notice. As soon as we had gone about forty meters into the forest, the girl said:
— We are being followed. Two of them. Dispose of them?
— If "dispose" means kill, then no, — I replied. — Let's just lose the tail.
Liandra was walking through the forest with her new bastard sword. I also asked if she needed armor. She said she'd stop by the armory and see if they had any suitable pieces for her. And I kept the one-handed sword for myself to replace the one the Dwarf had chewed up.
We managed to lose the tail and retrieve the dagger from the cache. According to Liandra, the people following us looked like Huntsmen in terms of equipment. From now on, extreme caution was required. I intended to suggest to Adora that we get rid of the Skaven Jezzail we'd looted back in the mines. However, I was surprised to learn that the girl had already sold it.
— Is that why the Witch Hunter started watching us so closely? — I asked the former slave. — The last thing we need is a reputation as dealers of dangerous artifacts.
— Relax, Jurgen. I had nothing to do with it, — the girl assured me. — A sorcerer bought that thing. The one who treated Liandra.
A pleasant guy, but you never know...
— Do you think he can be trusted?
— I think wizards and Witch Hunters don't get along very well, — Adora smirked.
Fair enough. I'll grant her that.
Then Adora began sharing good news. Hoch had granted us a generous bonus, and my deputies had managed to recruit seven more men and two women into the unit. All were refugees from the village ravaged by Hobgoblins.
— If we imagine the campaign ended right now... — Adora proclaimed. — ...you personally would have enough money to buy a house with land near a major city.
It sounded nice, but I had no intention of taking up farming or developing an estate here. The harvest would clearly suffer once Archaon destroyed all existence. You'd step out of your house to sow the field, and find nothing but fucking void.
For the rest of the day, we marched peacefully toward Pfeildorf. The weather was improving. Grey clouds still drifted through the sky, but the drizzling rain had stopped. It was practically the ideal season for marching—the mud had dried enough so feet didn't sink, but the dust hadn't settled yet. Sigmar bless such weather.
The remainder of the journey to Pfeildorf passed without incident. And then, spread out before us was a large, well-defended city. Not a village or a wretched backwater like Friedrichsburg, but a true bastion of civilization in the middle of the Empire's dense forests.
— Pfeildorf... — Markus said grimly. — It used to be the capital of Solland. A different province. Then the Orcs came. A massive horde. The brave men of the Empire fought, but they couldn't destroy the blight at once. Solland fell. It was long ago, but the lament for it still echoes in our hearts.
The city looked impressive. High walls, towers, metal-reinforced gates, and surrounded by numerous timber-and-earth fortifications. The townspeople and volunteers had worked hard. All of this inspired hope that the city would stand and we would stand with it.
Infantry, cavalry, artillery—the Imperial army approached Pfeildorf to the beat of drums. I confess I was mesmerized by the spectacle. Despite the fact that my soul came from a world with far more people and cities, I had rarely participated in events of such scale there. Apartment, work, the commute back and forth. And now I was marching in formation...
The drums suddenly fell silent. The entire army froze.
— Look! — an alarmed cry rang out.
A massive creature emerged from the shroud of grey clouds. High above us, a dragon soared.