The Lost Son of Koerin

Chapter One

Sunlight reflected sharply off the snow, making the hillside almost unbearably bright to look at. The air was still frigid but small streams already trickled down towards the valley floor from beneath the hard crust of snow and ice. Elsewhere it was the end of the plowing month but here in the hills of northeastern Kislev the spring was only just beginning.

Standing on a small hill jutting out of the main slope of a mountain was a young man. He was in his early twenties, tall, lean with blue eyes and short blond hair. His face was long and narrow with a straight nose and strong cheekbones. Dressed in a simple linen tunic with long white woolen pants and a vest made of a sheep skin, his outfit was completed by ankle length leather shoes and long linen strips tied around his calves to protect them from the cold of the deep snow. He watched grimly as a small log lodge burnt, with orange and yellow flames reaching out for the sky. This cabin had been his home for as long as he could remember, his grandfather Johan built it more than twenty years ago.

Raised by his grandfather, Ulrich was curious about his parents, his grandfather told him a lot about his daughter, Ulrich's mother who died of the plague when he was very young. They never talked much about his father though, all he said is that he was from the same village and died in a war before Ulrich was born. One spring the imperial army recruited most of the young men for a campaign against a chaos incursion in the north. Ulrich's father and his mother were married just before he set out, they were going to start their own farm soon after he got back, he never did, only news of his death in one of many bloody battles of that summer.

When a couple of years later their area was touched by the plague Ulrich's mother and grandmother passed away. His grandfather decided to make a new start for them elsewhere. The migrated north to Kislev where settlers were welcomed and given grants of land and tools to bring civilization to the eastern fringe of the country resting against the World's Edge Mountains.

With the sun getting low over the horizon, it was quickly getting cooler. The day had been perfect, the early spring sun and clear blue skies had made it pleasantly warm and the icy crust of the snow made it easy to pick up fresh animal tracks. Ulrich has lived in this area all his life and had been hunting these mountain slopes and the woods in the valley below since he was seven. His grandfather taught him how to track animals, how to set traps, how to use bows, crossbows and even a rarity for this area a long hunting rifle. Even here in the north of Kislev, where trappers made up much of the population, there were few hunters who could equal his grandfather's skill. Ulrich himself was getting to be a skilled hunter now that he was rid of his boyish impatience. Since his grandfather introduced him to hunting rifles, Ulrich had excelled in their use; in this he was his grandfather's equal. Ulrich's grandfather told him about his young days, when he was apprenticed to a gunsmith, because his family was very poor he never finished his apprenticeship, he did however have a natural talent and learnt enough to make decent rifles and pistols. In the North of Kislev this had been a valuable talent, and repairing old rifles and occasionally making a new weapon if they had the materials brought Ulrich and his grandfather more income than fur trapping.

Ulrich had gone out before sunrise to test his skills in the hills against the mountain goats. They were smaller than sheep, quick footed had excellent eyesight and could move over the rocky hillsides faster than many an eye could follow. Hunting them has always been a great challenge. Now especially, as the weather was starting to get warmer and slowly the snow melted away, the animals prepared to move higher into the mountains, so this was the last chance to hunt them until autumn when the bitter cold of the northern winds forced them down towards the valleys again.

Ulrich had to travel far from his cabin before he spotted a group of goats. The hunt has been a success though, the long range of the rifle allowed him to take down a young buck, which was now slung across his shoulders. Ulrich had gutted the animal right on the slope because he had a long way to go back and wanted to lessen the load. Now that he was finally nearing his home, he was glad he had done so, he felt the combined weight of the animal and his rifle beginning to wear him down. Despite this, his feet were moving quickly and smoothly over the rocky, sometimes icy, path. He knew the path well and a lifetime of playing and hunting outdoors has made him almost part of the landscape.

The sun slowly descended below the line of the horizon far to the west and the temperature dropped further, Ulrich was glad to finally be at the last turn in the road, just a few more metres and he would see the welcoming light of the windows of the hut. In his mind, Ulrich was already preparing the story of the day's hunt to tell his grandfather. He lived in a small log cabin away from other settlements, after the plague that took his mother, his grandparents preferred to keep to themselves. They did a little farming for food, but mostly supported themselves by hunting, trapping and selling a rifle or two occasionally when they went to town of Moraveny for the market day.

Now as Ulrich rounded the bend of the road he was suddenly worried, it was getting quite dark and there should have been lights playing in the windows of the cabin. Today the windows were dark and empty, gaping like the eye sockets of a skull. Ulrich dropped the carcass to the ground; no lights meant that something was wrong. The last of the sun now gone below the horizon, Ulrich could not see much around the house from where he was. He lowered the rifle from his back to make sure it was loaded, it was, you didn't stay alive long in the wilds of Kislev if you weren't ready for anything. Trolls, goblins, beastmen and other much worse things were spotted regularly prowling the hills. He started at a quick run towards the house, but as he got closer he slowed down to a walk to avoid making too much noise. After a couple of breathless minutes he reached the house, he froze for a few heart beats, nothing, no sound, no movement. Coming around the well in the middle of the yard he saw dark stains in the snow now crisp from the night chill, he knew them to be blood. The landscape was made eerie and surreal with the light of the two moons, one pure and white but waning and the other an evil crimson disc, casting their different lights on the scene. The rise of the red chaos moon was always a bad sign for the people of Kislev. Looking around with only the moonlight reflected of the snow to see by, he was able to spot two more depressions in the snow, but neither the bodies nor any items were left behind. It looked like a small band of robbers have wandered by and attacked the lonely hut. Ulrich thought it was lucky that his grandfather always kept a couple guns loaded, "you never know who'll come knocking" he used to say in his harsh imperial accent. Coming closer to the hut however his heart sunk. Where the door had been, now there were only a couple of planks hanging of the hinges, fragments of broken planking spread all around the entrance, it must have taken much force to chop through the thick oak door.

"Grandfather!" Hissed Ulrich as he jumped inside. Even in the weak moonlight, coming from a small window on the other side of the room Ulrich could see his grandfather was lying on the ground, a knife close to his hand and a gunpowder horn by his side, a dark stain across most of his grandfather's chest and the puddle of dark liquid already partly frozen on the floor. Ulrich run to his side, but he realised he was too late, the body was already cool to touch, his grandfather was dead, leaving him alone in the world.

Ulrich stayed there in the darkness sitting motionless by his grandfather's side for a long time, only moving when the first rays of morning sunshine struck his face. He knew after last night he could never again live in this house so he laid out his grandfather's body on the bed putting his most prized possessions by his side, he set fire to the cabin. Soon the small building was blazing with eager red tongues coming out of the window sockets and licking the walls and roof. The only possessions Ulrich took from the cabin were a couple of horns of gunpowder, a pistol, rations, a light mountain axe and his grandfather's old hunting rifle, which Johan had kept in a locked box in their cellar.

Now as the sun reached its zenith, standing near the smouldering embers of what used to be his house, Ulrich looked at the gun in his hands. His grandfather Johan had kept it locked most of the time; Ulrich only saw it once before when he was snooping around as a child. Longer than any rifle Ulrich has seen before, this weapon was only a head shorter than he was tall. The make was also unlike anything Ulrich had ever seen before, the seams between wood and metal so smooth you could feel nothing if you run your finger over them. The metal itself clean, smooth and without intrusions of any sort, the wood was dark, harder than oak and not from any species of tree known to Ulrich. This weapon was a priceless masterpiece, Ulrich wondered where his grandfather, a poor peasant and hunter, had gotten such a splendid weapon? Perhaps a parting gift from the gunsmith with which he apprenticed for a while? On the stock of the rifle, a crest was carved, no doubt a trademark of the gunsmith who made it.

He didn't think about it too much, he had other concerns, his grandfather Johan had killed or wounded three of the bandits but the bodies were taken away and the tracks showed that at least a few others escaped with their lives. Ulrich made up his mind to track them down and kill every single one. For weeks now Ulrich had heard plenty of news about a chaos incursion into Kislev further to the west. He too wanted to follow the men from the nearby village who set out west, and fight the evil that took his father away, but his grandfather insisted it was not the right time for him yet. Now there was nothing holding him back.

Chapter two

Wilhelm wiped the black blood from his rapier, it cleaned off easily enough from his blade but his shirt's sleeve was another matter entirely. The blue silk shirt had cost him a fortune and the black stains of goblin blood had made a real mess of it. He cursed Captain Grauenberg for setting up the cannon too close to thick forest clump further up on the right side of the hill. Wilhelm's mounted pistoliers were stationed on the opposite flank of the small Averland army; their orders were to protect the nine-barrel volley gun, the most expensive piece of weaponry on the field.

The plan had been simple, the pikemen would hold the centre line at the bottom of the hill with the volley gun and cannon on the top having a clear view to fire over the top and blast the enemy ranks below. This allowed the Averlanders to even out the numbers a bit before closing to hand to hand combat. Once the goblin morale was broken Wilhelm's riders were to give chase down the left flank and block the goblins escape route to the forest. Wilhelm urged the captain to keep the cannon away from the clump of forest since they had not had time to send scouts to it and check for enemy troops. But the captain dismissed this on the grounds that the forest was too small to hold anything more than a hundred goblin warriors, and anyway would be too far for them to reach the battle line in time to make any difference. Wilhelm then urged the captain to at least set up the volley gun closer to the centre so it could be turned and used to protect the cannon, should it be necessary, but this too was turned down as the volley gun was most deadly if it could fire diagonally through the ranks killing more goblins.

The battle had been going well, with good clear and dry weather the gun crews had no mishaps and were able to put a perfect barrage of lead and stone missiles into the goblin ranks. Within five minutes of opening fire the artillery killed or wounded at least one out of every three goblins. With such heavy losses their ranks broke before they could even reach the line of pikemen. As the remaining four hundred or so green skins retreated towards the forest the captain ordered the pikemen to switch to their short swords so they could chase down the enemy. It was at this point that things started to go badly; while the pikemen quickly gained ground on the goblins a horn sounded from the centre of the greenskin line. The goblins turned around and reformed their line, now they had the advantage, not only were they still armed with their long spears and outnumbered the pikemen almost two to one but on top of that they were now well out of range of the volley gun, which for all its devastating power close up had the disadvantage of having a fairly short effective range. Even if it could fire the pikemen would now be in the way. The imperial cannon on the right flank continued to fire as it had longer range and its missiles could still go over the heads of the pikemen and into at least the back ranks of the goblin spearmen. It was at this point that a goblin horn sounded a second time, this time, from the small clump of forest on the left flank announcing the arrival of goblin reinforcements. Goblin wolf riders, perhaps only fifty of them were bearing down on the cannon, the wolves being some of the fastest known cavalry would make it to the cannon in only a couple of minutes.

By this point Wilhelm's cavalry regiment was in position behind the greenskins to cut off their retreat, but the sudden change of situation made Wilhelm rethink his orders. Ordering his troops into gallop towards the cannon position he only hoped he could make it in time. If the wolf riders reached the cannon they would seal the doom of not just the crew but also the pikemen who were unlikely to stand their ground without the artillery support.

The pistoliers horses were still fresh and eager; they dropped into an even faster gallop. Wilhelm's steed was by far the best in the group and managed to outdistance all the others by several metres. Rushing up the side of the hill Wilhelm saw the goblins already engaging the cannon crew. Instead of following protocol and ordering a pistol salvo first he motioned the unit horn bearer to sound full charge.

Similarly to orcs, goblins usually sorted out hierarchy by size, unlike the orcs however goblin leaders were usually at the back of the unit preferring to let others do the fighting. Closing in on the wolf riders, Wilhelm saw a big, well armed, goblin towards the back of the unit, he pushed his mount in that direction. Before he could get there however, another goblin warrior charged his side, evil grin wide across his green face. But the wolf he was riding leapt up, over excited by the smell of horseflesh, this caught the rider in an awkward position with no field of view behind the animal's large head. Wilhelm kicked the side of the horse turning it into the charge of the wolf rider allowing the enemy to fly right past his left shoulder. At the same time he fired his first pistol directly in the face of the goblin, which never even had the chance to see where the attack was coming from. With no protection and at point blank range the goblins head disintegrated into a wet green and black pulp, and his body was thrown hard to the side toppling his mount over with him. Switching to his second pistol, Wilhelm turned the horse back towards the goblin leader, by now his position very clear with his large battle standard, pole decorated with human skulls, behind him. Slightly bigger than other goblins he was about the size of a human, in his right arm he was holding a scimitar while the left held a small round shield, unlike the rest of his warriors he was wearing a chainmail vest and an old banged up helmet. The sounds of gunfire and horses crushing into the wolf riders were all around Wilhelm now, from the right side he heard what sounded like a thunder, even under attack the cannon crew still managed to continue firing, for now. With only metres between him and the goblin chief, Wilhelm's path was again blocked, by another wolf rider, charging straight towards him with a long rusty lance. Before the goblin could reach Wilhelm, a bullet from the second pistol blew a hole in his chest. Seeing Wilhelm fire the pistol, the goblin chief gave a triumphant shriek and charged as well, hoping to cut the human down before he could get another weapon ready. Wilhelm threw down the pistol and managed to pull his rapier just in time to partially block the scimitar blow intended for his throat. The block was rushed an imperfect but managed to deflect the blow lower onto Wilhelm's chest protected by a thick cuirass. The blade of the scimitar failed to penetrate but almost knocked Wilhelm from his saddle as he rushed past his foe. For a moment Wilhelm could not catch his breath again and, by the time he turned the horse about, the goblin was already charging in for a second attack. This time however Wilhelm was ready to deal with the attack, years of weapons training at his fathers court have prepared him for just such a situation. He pushed the horse into gallop but aimed a bit further out from the goblin to force his opponent to lean out from the saddle, at the very last moment turning the horse in slightly and leaning out towards the goblin as well. The scimitar whistled harmlessly through the air where Wilhelm was a second ago, instead of the scimitar blade it was the goblins fist that hit the cuirass while Wilhelm's rapier sunk deep into the goblin's arm pit. Wilhelm turned his horse around to charge again but he saw it was not necessary; the goblin chief was already dead and falling from the saddle, his eyes frozen with a look of surprise.

The heavier armour, numbers, and better weapons and training of the pistoliers had by now made short work of the wolf riders, more than half of them already dead, the death of their leader and flight of their standard bearer, who didn't think it particularly prudent to hang around close to Wilhelm, proved to be too much. The wolf riders broke and fled in all directions.

A cheer went up from the cannon crew, their black and yellow uniforms heavily marked by both human and goblin blood, several of them laying motionless on the ground. Most were breathing heavily but now they all turned back to the cannon, pushing aside the bodies of those less lucky defenders as well as enemy and cleaning the barrel for the next shot.

"Schultz, take twenty men and stay here to protect the cannon in case they return!" Wilhelm shouted to a small weasel-like man who was his second in command.

"The rest of you reload and follow me!" Quickly, the group split up into two. Reloading, or swapping to their reserve pistols, took them only moments. Wilhelm reached to the back of his saddle for his third pistol. Loaded and ready to go he was off down the back of the hill towards the main melee where the pikemen were barely holding out.

"Sound caracole formation!" he ordered the horn bearer, at the sound of the horn his soldiers formed up behind him in a column of several ranks. This time they approached the goblin regiment at slower pace, instead of charging, the front rank fired their guns and pealed off to the right side falling in behind the unit. The second, third and following ranks followed the same movement. Those at the back reloading before it was their time to fire again. The unit repeated the entire manoeuvre one more time before Wilhelm ordered a charge again. This time however the goblins didn't fight back, being shot at and attacked from two sides was too much for their fragile morale, the entire regiment erupted into a panic stricken rush for the forest. This time the flight was real and the goblins were quickly dispatched with only a few making it out alive.

Having wiped his weapon clean, Wilhelm now concentrated on finding the pistol he lost earlier in the long grass of the hilltop. He had no choice but to discard it during the battle but it was far too expensive a piece to leave on the field. The field was strewn with goblin and wolf carcases, the human casualties were already being loaded onto wagons and only stains of blood and flattened grass marked the ground where they had fallen. Wilhelm cursed again; the battle had cost the lives of twelve of his father's soldiers not to mention a ruined silk shirt and his favourite pistol, which he still could not find. Captain Grauenberg had been sent by the county council to replace the more experienced Captain Hoffman who was sent with several regiments of cavalry to assist Imperial troops from Ostland and Ostmark in the vast steppes of Kislev. Captain Grauenberg was a slightly overweight middle-aged noble, who had, until last month, been a strategy teacher at one of the small colleges in Averheim. He was, however, also related to one of the councillors currently running Averland province, and was thus promoted instantly to captain and given charge of one of the small Averland border guard forces. With a huge Orc invasion force destroyed only recently he could be sure no serious challenges emerged in this area for at least a few years, long enough to earn him a military pension.

"Excellent show my lad, great battle!" exclaimed Captain Grauenberg as he approached Wilhelm who cringed at such a words from a commander who had just lost fully one third of the troops in his charge in a single afternoon.

"With all due respect sir, we took a serious beating and this is only the first spring raid, they will keep up until snow locks up the mountain passes again in autumn. At this rate we will run out of troops before the harvest." Wilhelm replied, without looking up from the grass.

"It couldn't be helped lad, no one could have predicted the goblins to be intelligent enough to use forest for cover," the captain replied, still with a positively chirpy quality to his voice.

"If you recall sir, I did warn of it before the battle, had you listened to my advice you would have saved not only your men but also the dozen who had been in the service of my family for years. I am certain my father will not be as forthcoming with his troops and resources in the future as he was this time. Now if you don't mind I will take my soldiers and return home to inform the families of the fallen of their loss." Wilhelm turned and walked off towards his horse, giving up on the search for the pistol.

"Not so fast young man, though you and your men are volunteers you are still technically under my command. Which means you will follow my orders, or face a military tribunal, and I don't need to remind you there is only one punishment for refusing to follow an order in the times of war," growled the captain, visibly upset at Wilhelm for taking away from his moment of triumph. This time Wilhelm cursed himself in his thoughts, Grauenberg was a pompous arse, but he was right, typically provincial commanders released volunteer forces from local landlords as soon as the main threat was dealt with, but under Averland laws they could be retained in the field for up to six more weeks before a new contract was needed.

"Further more, there is the problem of you insubordination." Continued the Captain. "Fortunate as you manoeuvre was for the outcome of the battle, it was never the less against the orders you were issued with." Wilhelm clenched his jaws tight but forced himself to say nothing while Grauenberg continued. "But I am not a small minded man, and to show you that, I will not only overlook the insubordination and release you from my service but also give you a temporary promotion to lieutenant in the great army of the Averland province, for the duration of the campaign." An odd evil smile appeared on the captain's face. Wilhelm realised he should have kept his mouth shut, but he still couldn't figure out what the Captain was up to.

"A promotion captain? I am not sure I understand." He asked with clear surprise and suspicion in his voice.

"For your brilliant strategic mind, which you have chosen to share so generously with me. As it happens I have just received new orders from Averheim to delegate more of the local officers and their forces to the north because this year's chaos raid has turned out to be stronger than expected. Kislev is so in dire need of good strategists such as yourself son." The captain inserted as much joy as he could into every word. Kislev, thought Wilhelm, the source of so many horror stories it was hard to tell which were true. Only four years had passed since a chaos horde so great marched from the north that the Empire itself nearly fell. Wilhelm's contract would end in six weeks, but if the stories he heard of Kislev were anything to go by, surviving six weeks on a battlefield there would not be an easy feat.