Chapter Two, 'Raiders in the Night', from 'Beasts in the Badlands'

by Malefitz666

Fendrel is left behind in the dark forest by Kris, both running from the beasts. The lad stumbles through the night, desperate to reach the safety of their settlement's palisades. But when he arrives at the village his hopes are shattered by bad news and Kris' even worse decisions that make Fendrel and more of his brethrens jump from the frying pan into the fire.

Chapter 2: Raiders in the Night

Kris ran ahead of Fendrel at a canter. His sturdy calves flashed in the deepening darkness, as his sandled feet pounded down the rock-strewn road. Fendrel's own bare feet were beginning to hurt despite their tough soles. He groaned grimly through clenched teeth, trying to focus on the way that lay before him.

A furtive glance up to the stars revealed nothing but darkness and earned him a first thick raindrop that splashed into his left eye.

Wiping the water off his burning cheek, the boy suddenly heard breaking branches beyond the road to his right. He flinched and sped up despite his hurting feet to draw level with Kris. 'Did you hear that?', he panted. And now, already further ahead, he heard a single shout. 'There's somebody in the forest!' Kris merely grunted and quickened his pace. More raindrops were falling on Fendrel's head. He shuddered.

'Kris!' He wheezed horror-stricken, when his keen ears picked up the sound of galloping hooves in the forest behind.

A high-pitched whine escaped Fendrel's tightened throat as he bolted to race for his life. He knew he would never make it and his knees almost gave in when he saw Kris, the best runner in the village, disappear like lightning behind a bend some distance ahead. He lunged wildly down the road through a fine wet silver-black curtain, heedless of the sharp rocks punishing his feet.

Just before he reached the bend, a big dark shadow broke through the undergrowth beneath the trees on his right. Fendrel whirled, lifted his bow and pulled the string to his ear in one smooth motion. But his cold clammy fingers released the arrow too early and it hit the ground. He yelped and dropped his bow, as he was knocked onto his back. Tumbling across the path, he frantically groped for his knife. But it was too late. A wolf's muzzle drove into his face and neck, licking the water and sweat off his skin. After a moment of shocked disbelief, Fendrel burst out in a hysterical giggle that was suffocated by sobs. 'Hati!' He cried out as he tried to hug his huge cub. But Hati had already turned around and growled at the forest, turning stiff under Fendrel's hands. The boy froze and held his breath.

The drizzle was fast turning into a steady rain and the wind whipped the water into Fendrel's face. All that his blinking eyes could make out now were blackish threads of water, which turned silver when the moonlight broke through the clouds. The storm itself was passing in the distance ahead of him and with it the sounds of drumming hooves.

Fendrel exhaled sharply when Hati relaxed. The wolfhound turned round, waved its tail and licked the boy's face. Feeling a sudden urge to live, he heaved a deep sigh and savoured the heady fragrance of the conifer forest's night air that mingled with the heavy scent of Hati's coat. At this moment, he envied Hati for his freedom so strongly that it hurt. After a few deep calming breaths the boy scrambled back up onto his feet, left hand on the wolfhound's shoulder.

'Hati!' He whispered. 'Stay here!'

In reply the shadow nuzzled his hand and set off. Fendrel quickly stooped down to pick up his bow and then limped after his canine friend through the wet glistening darkness. Apart from occasional glares, the light of the two full moons was drowned by a racing sea of black leaden clouds. Thunder and lightning were disappearing far ahead over the Beastwoods.

Before long the two friends were soaked through to their bones by the downpour. As they splashed through puddles the wind carried the howl of timber wolves to their ears. A deep growl rose from Hati's throat but before he could answer his half-brothers Fendrel bent down and clamped his hands around his muzzle. Straightening up again, he patted his furry companion on the shoulder and then held on to his bristling hackles. Together they pressed on along the meandering forest path. Soon... very soon, Fendrel hoped, they would reach the Black Mountain and enter the narrow ravine that led through the rocks to the Meadows.

When what seemed ages later they reached the narrow gorge, Fendrel was frozen through to the marrow and shivering violently. Despite his foreboding he was raring to rush right through the fissure in the rock, which would lead them to the Silver Lions' settlement. But instead he waited with clattering teeth for Hati, who was sniffing at the ground and air. When finally the wolfhound entered the mountain's pitch-black mouth Fendrel hastily grabbed the fur on his back again. Shaking all over, he doggedly splashed through puddles and small rivulets. Cold water cascaded down the face of the rock and onto his head. Snorting and clawing into Hati's coat he hoped that the rain would not turn into a flash flood. He had no desire to drown caught against the rocks and tangle of roots.

But just as he quickened his pace, Hati pulled suddenly away and disappeared off ahead into the pitch-black nowhere. Fendrel froze, his bowels an avalanche of icy slush. He felt naked, rough, undone. Whining from the effort he struggled to regain some measure of control over his shaking body. But when he leaned against the rock cold water splashed down his back and his muscles cramped up, while he strained to listen for his wolfhound.

'Hati!' His hoarse whisper drowned in the darkness. 'Hati...'

All he heard was a distant whine that was cut off immediately.

The Cimmerian darkness pressed down on Fendrel heavier than a mountain. Tears of terror joined the water splashing onto the invisible ground. Where do I go now? Danger lay ahead and behind. Gulping down the cascading water that flowed into his mouth, Fendrel straightened up and made his decision. There was only one way. Slipping and tripping along the uneven track he groped his way towards where Hati had disappeared. A savage will to live flared up inside his young heart. He would find Hati. And Kris.

The gorge wove deeper and deeper into the rock, as he followed the sheer left side with the tips of his fingers. On and on he trudged towards the only exit he knew of. There were several fissures and tunnels branching off from his path; inadvisable to use, for what lay hidden there in wait for passing victims. Cautiously, he hobbled past several invisible mouths that opened in the rock to engulf him. Very soon he would be through the mountain and see the Meadows.

His heart lurched as suddenly a gigantic hand closed over his mouth, stifling his yelp. At the same time, an enormous iron-hard arm clamped his torso in a vicelike bear hug and lifted him up. His legs kicked and struggled like those of Kris's rabits but turned equally limp as soon as the gigantic figure increased the pressure on his spine and face.

'Hush, Fendrel!' A rasping voice breathed into his left ear. 'It's me, Garrik! Now slooow…'

Garrik! Gratefully, Fendrel sighed and relaxed, while his booming heart threatened to explode in his chest. Garrik was Arndeel's younger son and second in command of the Young Stags. Where he was also other members of the Silver Lions young warrior society could not be far. A moment later, Fendrel's feet gratefully rejoined the ground but his knees buckled and he collapsed. Garrik lifted him up again, like a babe now, and walked with him towards the end of the gorge with long steady strides. Fendrel rested his head against his captor's massive shoulder, wishing he could fall asleep now. He felt safe.

Outside, Fendrel saw that the night sky had cleared somewhat although it was still raining. The moonlight broke through the low banks of fast moving leaden clouds for far longer intervals now; its pale green daggers stabbed down onto the lip of the mountain outside the gorge.

'Can you walk now?' Garrik whispered into his ear. 'I need to get my gear.' And he added, rather needlessly, Fendrel thought. 'No sound!'

Fendrel nodded and was put back onto his feet. The giant man turned away to receive his spear and shield from one of the tall dark shadowy figures that had appeared noiselessly from the night. The Young Stags! But where are Kris and Hati? Fendrel's hope at the sight of the warriors mingled with the urge to know.

'Hati! Where is Hati?' He whispered in a rasp. A thin whine answered from nearby.

'Shush, lad! He is here with us. No fear! He is alright.' Garrik seemed unhappy about something. 'Are you hungry?' Without waiting for an answer, he handed Fendrel a pouch with dried meat and led him to the wolfhound, which lay bound on the floor. Fendrel immediately squatted down, scratched Hati's neck and kindly scolded with trembling voice, 'Bad boy! Left me alone in the dark!' - 'Don't let him run away, lad!', Garrik warned. 'Evil is afoot in the Meadows tonight. We cannot be noticed!' Fendrel just nodded, impervious to fears and worries for now. Then he began to stuff his face, looking up at the gigantic young warrior, who was listening to the wind.

'Fomefing if wrong, Garrik!' Fendrel ventured through his full mouth. Then he swallowed and burst out spluttering, 'A Kravalla! It was here. I can feel it!' Through the dark, he could feel various sets of eyes on him. He felt naked and regretted his words immediately.

'Yes, Fen, yes.' Garrik rumbled in a low voice. 'We ran into some ungor raiders back there in the valley. Too many for us to take on out in the dark forest. But we got some of them before we had to retreat.'

'I know!' Fendrel replied eagerly. 'I heard you! Kris ran ahead. Why are you here?' He did not really want to know and his thin voice betrayed his fear.

'Something is wrong with the village, Fen. It is all too quiet. But Kris wants us to move in. Damn those knights and their ungor this morning! I have a bad feeling.'

'I know...' Fendrel concurred meekly, '... Can... Can we really not go to the village?'

'We will... at some point. But we are too few to just walk in there.' Garrik seemed to continue a previous argument. 'Father sent us away in the morning... all of the Young Stags... to warn the Stone Crows and the Grim Wolves, and to get help... So he said... But I am not so sure any longer. They promised to send their own Stags as soon as they were back from the hunt...' Garrik suddenly became impatient. 'Now be still and make sure your Hati makes no sound!'

He turned around, whistled like a rat and went down onto his belly to crawl up to the ridge, from where one could overlook the Meadow that stretched before the Beastwood. The other shadows followed him in the same manner, slithering through the grass as silent as redlances; predators in the night.

'Hati! Shush!' Fendrel whispered. The wolfhound nuzzled his hands, which were untying the ropes around his muzzle and paws. All of the Stags sent out of the village? Kris should have been with them! Fenrel felt a pang of conscience. But then he had to focus on crawling after the others through the high grass up to the ridge, from where one could see the settlement. Cripple or not, they would expect him to do the right thing. This was not the time for instructions.

All of the Young Stags. That was more than two scores, a quarter of the Silver Lions' warriors. Why would Arndeel weaken the village so much? Even if they were the youngest warriors, they were highly trained with the shield, spear, long axe, sword and bow. Killing gors was what they were trained for, their main purpose and only desire. He who did not live to kill beasts did not become a freeman. As long as Fendrel could remember he had dreamed of belonging to them. But he had failed the initial tests for six year old boys, which determined who was admitted to the training grounds and years of martial hardship. Fendrel knew of no other warriors as fearless and as capable as the Ker-uskan freemen.

When he reached the ridge and settled down next to Garrik, he sensed Kris to his right.

'Hey Fen! Is it you?' Kris whispered. 'I am glad you made it.'

'Yeah... (Right!)'Fendrel felt bitter but torn, full of doubt but grateful for the attention. 'Why...?'

But Kris cut him off. 'Be quiet and keep your head down!' He crawled closer and whispered into his ear. 'Something is wrong down there. And... I am glad you made it.' Sometimes... rarely, Kris showed him genuine affection.

Fendrel knew it was not his place to complain and savored the warm grateful feeling that rushed through his body. Then he peered down onto the silhouette of the settlement. A hundred paces in front of him, its palisades stood several yards lower than the ridge where they lay. This was the safe side of the Meadows, or so it had seemed to Fendrel before tonight. Immersed in the darkness, beyond the settlement's palisades and the river, which held water at this time of the year, after the wide forbidden strip of treeless no-man's-land, the Beastwood glared threateningly.

There were some dim firelights in the centre of the settlement. Somebody must be over there!? But even if there was, the palisades and rooftops obstructed the view and it was too dark to get a good look anyway. Fendrel sighed despondently before fear clutched his heart again and terror poked and prodded it, as he saw the silhouette of the Great Oak shudder under the pale green moonlight's ghostly fingers' caress. The roofs of the neatly aligned thatched houses cowered under Morrslieb's and Mannslieb's cold attention, seemingly unprotected by the four black watchtowers; giant arms without fists. Fendrel flattened himself against the ground and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply the breeze that stroked his burning face.

A few moments later he felt somebody crawling past his back. Kris! He was whispering with Garrik and a short suppressed argument ensued, which Kris seemed to win. He could be very persuasive, Fendrel knew.

It hardly astonished him that Garrik never challenged his leader and elder brother, as such challenges usually ended with the death of one of the combatants. And the young giant just seemed as indestructible in combat as he was indisposed to go against his own kin. While challenges for leadership were necessary to weed out the weak and the wicked in their warrior society, Garrik had long chosen to support rather than supplant Kris. As there was nobody else among the Young Stags who could reasonably expect to defeat the chieftain's eldest son, it would take a blunder of malicious magnitude to stop Kris.

'Go, now!' Fendrel heard the hissed order; barely contained anger. Kris did not like to be questioned.

After a moment's hesitation Garrik whistled like a rat again and then his black figure silently slid over the ridge into the high grass of the slope. More shadows followed to Fendrel's left. They moved like snakes towards the palisades and were soon swallowed up by the black wall of high grass that rustled in the night.

Kris turned to Fendrel. 'We advance to the palisades. Some more scouting and then we go in.' Upon Fendrel's visible jerk he added. 'Don't worry! The village seems empty.'

Fendrel did not move. Don't worry about an empty village? The darkness hid his frown.

'Listen, Fen!When the night owl hoots twice and then thrice, we go in over the palisades. Now, stay with me!' And then Kris crawled down the slope, followed by the remainder of the Young Stags. On his knees and elbows Fendrel did the same, Hati by his side. Soon his hunched back and limbs began to hurt again and he struggled to keep up, breathing deeply.

The heady scent of the high grass and herbs reminded him of the happiest hours of his young life, when he had lain and played with his cub in the sunlit Meadows. But his reverie was almost immediately interrupted by an unpleasant intruder. What is that smell? It was faint, like an apparition of ghosts hiding in the foggy night. Does nobody else smell it? He hesitated for a moment but then decided against calling out. Not daring to make a noise he fought his instinct to flee instead. Beasts! Every time the moonlight broke through the clouds, he froze and pressed a burning cheek against the cold soggy grass, watching the veils of fog wafting over his head as the breeze carried more of the evil stench across the grass. Hati growled. Fendrel's mind reeled for a moment, as he pressed against the ground, his mouth open in a silent shout. Surely, they must feel it too!

After what seemed an eternity, he moved again and soon reached the palisades that glistened in the pale moonlight. There was no turning back now. He pressed his back against the wet black wood, trying to calm his hammering heart. Before he could catch his breath, Fendrel heard the night owl hoot; first twice and then thrice. The Young Stags had reconnoitred the area in almost no time and deemed it safe. Tendrils of fear got a firm hold on Fendrel's mind again. His back and neck stiffened, when he should be ready to move. Just a moment now.

He was unable to shrug off the feeling of being watched. Had the Chaos brutes gone away together with the storm? A whine pressed through his clenched teeth and was answered by Hati's. Fendrel expected to see horned goatsmen in front of him at any moment. When black shadows rose all around him he shrunk back and dug his fingers into Hati's fur. But it was only the Young Stags, who began to climb across the two-man high palisades. Not knowing who the hunter was and who the hunted, Fendrel still found time to notice their technique with envious admiration. One warrior would form a stirrup with his hands and catapult the next one up, who in turn would help his battle brothers, letting down a piece of rope if necessary.

Left to his own devices Fendrel rose into a crouch and felt his way to the settlement's rear gate, which faced the gorge. Thankfully, it stood ajar and he sneaked through, expectantly holding his breath. Hati gave a yank but this time the boy was prepared and did not let him go.

Once inside he felt with horror how the gate closed behind him and the two heavy locking bars of iron wood pushed into place. Should the village turn out to be a trap, the palisades would be no obstacle for the others. But they would for him; a rabbit in a coop full of weasels. He swallowed hard and stalked stiffly after the warriors, watching his surroundings like an owl. It took a few steps before his tired cramped legs obeyed him properly again. He tried to be silent as he followed the others along the path that went past two rows of neatly arranged thatched houses and led straight up to the central square with the Tingstead, the Ker-uskan forum. Shaking the weariness off his legs and shoulders, he took his bow out of the back harness, put on a dry string and nocked an arrow. He tasted the air, and with it the sour smell of beasts. It was growing stronger and mingled with the metallic taste of blood on his tongue now. With every step the smell grew stronger. Do they not feel it? But the Young Stags just flitted in and out of houses along the way, moving closer and closer to where the smell emanated from. The Tingstead.

The Ker-uskan gathering ground seemed different to Fendrel tonight. The elevated space appeared to be a sizable mound. Walking on, Fendrel strained his eyes. Then his heart missed a beat, when two hard hands grabbed him by the neck and shoulder and pulled him into the pitch-black darkness of a house.

'No noise!' Kris took his hand off Fendrel's mouth. Something broke inside the boy and he collapsed sobbing into Hati's fur. He was finished and did not care when Kris lit a torch. Let them come! At least it would be over then. But, as always, the proximity with Hati stirred something in him and he pulled himself together before the young man could see him crushed.

'Get up, Fen!' My weapons!' Kris hissed. Fendrel looked around. They were in father's longhouse. Kris had gone hunting only with his knife and slingshot, which suddenly seemed outrageously inappropriate equipment for tonight. No warrior would consider himself armed without his shield and oak spear. Although he was somewhat relieved to see that Kris had finally come to his senses, Fendrel feared that it might be too late. Why had they come down into the village? The images of rabbits and weasels, entwined in a one-sided, deadly dance, flitted by upon his inward eye. No! Not rabbits and weasels. Suddenly, Fendrel was more than certain. He knew.

'Kris! Beastmen!' Fendrel groaned only these two words.

'Where?' Kris stood riveted for a moment, casting furtive glances around him in the dark hall. Then he spat angrily, 'There is nobody here!'

'But the smell!' Fendrel urged. 'And it tastes like blood! The air, I mean!' He knew it was of no use to try and explain his visions to Kris. He rather preferred to state the obvious.

'Calm now!' Kris whispered. 'You are still smelling that ungor. They probably killed it and threw it to the dogs. Let's just hope they did not fight the knights!' He gave Fendrel a vicious slap on the hunchbacked shoulder. 'My weapons! And then out of here to the Stone! The others will all be there by now.'

Fendrel got up and trudged towards one of the many racks, where his masters' shields and spears lay. But he was held back by a sharp hiss.

'Not that way! Here!'

Fendrel turned and saw Kris make towards the far end of the longhouse, where his father's large wooden chair stood. The torch in Kris's hand cast a quivering ring of fire that struggled with the suffocating night. Despite his earlier words he moved cautiously, almost on tiptoes. Fendrel's eyes widened as they shifted between him and his target.

The knight's armour and massive greatsword shone dimly in the torchlight beside the chieftain's elevated chair. Once, they had belonged to the young warrior's great grandfather, the Old Herniu; the only Ker-uskan ever to leave their society to fight Chaos in the norther wastes and return burdened with knowledge of death, inevitability but also with imperial honours. After his death, the sword, helmet and armour had remained in the longhouse to remind the Silver Lions of their duty to protect the civilised world from Chaos. Kris had always regarded them as his heritage and dreamed of emulating his grandfather's deeds.

Old Herniu, the Greatsword, as the Ker-uskans respectfully called the legendary chieftain, had left the village as a young man over a hundred summers ago. Two of his battle brothers had fallen in a skirmish with gors just days after receiving their spears and shields. A stray herd had ambushed the three young warriors, whom Herniu had led too far into the Beastwood so as to prove his courage. The disconsolate youngster, who somehow survived, had sought death in battle ever afterwards. Their settlement had grown too small for him. In an attempt to prevent him from killing himself, the Ting, the forum of all freemen, had given the young warrior leave to travel and fight Chaos as he found fit. Decades later, he had returned as a mighty warrior of Sigmar's Empire that lay to the north of the Badlands.

As an imperial armoured infantry knight he had become one of the legendary greatswords. But, on the day of his return, the old warrior had renounced the ways of those Imperial elites and taken up the shield and spear again to serve his tribe and guard the border during the final years of his life. Yet first he had silenced those who laughed at his armour and weapon. In response to their mockery he had split a boulder in two with his sword and defeated four Silver Lions without harming them. Such were his skill and his sword's and armour's strength. But Old Herniu had grown wise during his service for the Emperor and understood that if he wanted to become part of his clan again, he must lay down this alien weapon and armour. Soon the old warrior became the Silver Lions' chieftain and he never wielded the greatsword again.

'Come here! Help me!' Kris impatiently interrupted Fendrel's reverie.

Fendrel nearly bolted but before he could comply, several shadows flowed into the longhouse. When they reached the light, Fendrel recognised Garrik, the twins Arnulf and Armin, and Wulfgard.

'Kris! Come! You have to see this.' Wulfgard almost shouted.

'Keep your voice down, man!' Kris shushed. 'What is the problem? And don't stare like that!'

Wulfgard clamped his mouth shut but kept looking at his leader, unkindly. Garrik was uninhibited and spat, 'Fendrel, get his weapons! Quick!' Then, turning to Kris, ''You want to see this! If it wasn't... I'd...' Fendrel gaped. He had never seen Garrik in such a state. The giant's eyes bulged and his mouth frothed, as he stood there balanced on his toes as if to attack in the blink of an eye. Fendrel could smell his fury; a cornered bear ready to strike.

'What is this?' Kris angrily demanded and pushed through the group away from the sword and armour.

'Get his weapons, boy! He'll need them.' Armin cursed, spun around and stomped out after Kris.

Fendrel darted to the corner, where he knew to find what was needed. He picked up the short sword and put it behind his belt. The shield and spear were almost too heavy for him and his shoulders began to hurt immediately, as he lifted them. Then he scrambled out after the others.

Kris was waiting in front of the longhouse, together with the other warriors. With a sneer he accepted his weapons and hefted them for a few moments, musing. Then he strode off in silence to the Tingstead, separate from the others. Something had passed between them that Fendrel could not fathom. With another sigh he patted Hati's head absentmindedly and, overwhelmed by a sense of dread, slunk after the warriors.

After a few steps he could hear a tense babble of voices from the dimly-lit centre of the settlement. When he made to follow his betters he suddenly noticed that Hati was not with him. Spinning around he saw him stand in the middle of the path, waiting. The two friends looked at one another and a moment of silence passed. Then Hati turned his head and walked off. Fendrel yielded with a sad smile and murmured. 'Then go! Go!' He could not make himself be angry at his companion, who had always been more wolf than dog and, as it appeared, smarter than his human companions. Instead of following his instincts to run and hide too, the boy turned and walked towards the odd looking Tingstead, jaws set. Strangely, it was no sense of responsibility or curiosity that drew him but rather the need to be with Kris. As he walked on, the vision of the strange new mound sharpened and Fendrel's lips began to curl back into a rictus of fear. A nauseating smell assaulted his nostrils and a growl rose in his throat. He tugged his head between the shoulders and forced himself forward through the viscous night. When finally he stepped out of the darkness onto the central place he was brained by a scene of madness.