Chapter Three
The tracks followed the bottom of a steep sided valley. Here the many small streams flowing down from the surrounding hills joined to become the swift Shoik River. A few days down stream on its banks lay the town of Moraveny. Ulrich knew he had to catch up to his quarry before they reached the town, he feared that if he did not, the group may split up or evade him entirely and his questions would remain unanswered forever.
For now, Ulrich concentrated on following the tracks, patches of dirty grey snow in the shade and soggy soft soil with fresh green growth where the sun shone through the trees made it easy to spot the deep tracks. Protected from the cold northern wind the spring came earlier here in the valley, the jade green of the grass was adorned with purple, blue and white of the first spring flowers.
Ulrich was not sure what to make of the tracks at first. Some of them were clearly made by iron-shod shoes, such as those used by wealthier Imperial travellers. Other tracks were made by feet wrapped with rugs. Only when he found their first rest stop he realised whom he was dealing with. One of the enemy had been rewrapping his feet, and in the process made several footprints in the snow with his bare feet. But they were not feet; instead the prints were those of a goat like hoof. Mutants, many of them dwelt in the dark forests, some were transformed into half men half beasts, while others were still more human with smaller signs of mutation. Judging by the Imperial style shoes some of the group had, they were probably escaping north from the Empire where the relentless witch hunters sought them out day and night. These were strong and desperate enemies, but mutants or not, Ulrich knew he would never sleep peacefully if he didn't see the blood of every last one spilled.
Ulrich spent the rest of the day following the tracks; he knew the area and was able to make shortcuts sometimes where the valley of the Shoik River meandered to and fro. He was sure he had made up a lot of time and distance on his quarry, however the day was still short and as the sun neared the horizon he still couldn't see anyone in the distance. The incoming darkness and muddy uneven ground made it almost impossible to continue marching in the night, Ulrich was annoyed with the delay but he knew that the mutants had to stop as well, and if he was lucky, they would have stopped earlier to allow time for gathering firewood and other camp activities.
Ulrich didn't dare to start a fire, instead he found a small niche left behind by the roots of a tree which was torn out by the winter winds. The niche was shallow as was the soil in the mountain valley, but it provided some cover from the chill wind of the night. Rolled up in his cloak Ulrich ate some smoked meat and dried fruit he still had with him. He tried sleeping, but his mind was still racing and he could not get his grandfathers face out of his mind. Eventually long after he laid down the fatigue caught up with him and he slept.
Woken up with a start by an overly curious fox investigating his food pack, Ulrich could not remember his dream, he shoed the fox away, and as he watched it disappear in the darkness he tried to tell what time it was. The sky was still dark, but the moons have moved a long way across the sky and the ground around him was no longer soft and soggy. The chill of the night made the ground hard and icy again. Ulrich packed his bag and got on his way again. It was still difficult to see the way but at least now his feet were not sinking in mud with every step.
It was another hour before the sky to the east began to brighten, Ulrich picked up speed again now that he could see the way clearly, as the sun climbed the sky behind him, his eyes picked up a thin pale ribbon of smoke twisting low over the western horizon. His heart beat faster, and he pushed his legs further until he simply broke into a run. Half an hour later he rounded the bend of the valley between him and the fire, which was the source of the smoke. He had slowed down and made sure he had some cover so he would not be seen but it had not been necessary. The campfire was only a hundred paces from him but the mutants were nowhere to be seen. They must be feeling sure of themselves, thought Ulrich, the mutants obviously made no attempt to put out the fire, or hide their passage before they left the camp.
The campsite had been abandoned for some time, only the smouldering remains of the fire remained. Ulrich could see where they had slept. There was also some empty wine skins, which must have come from his grandfathers cabin. The tracks of the mutants led out the camp towards the west, shallow, the foot prints told Ulrich that they left some time before the sun came up and warmed the earth again. This meant they were still two hours ahead of Ulrich. Instead of following them, he went up the hill to the north, he knew where the river was going and this gave him a chance to finally catch up with the Mutants.
He reached the top of the ridge an hour later; from here he could see the river sneaking toward the north and further off in the distance again towards the west. Down at the bottom of the valley he could finally see the people he had been following.
Chapter Four
Two weeks after they set out by barge Wilhelm arrived in a small Kislevite village some twenty leagues west of Kislev City. Due to the congestion around the city Wilhelm's barges were directed to make landfall early.
While his soldiers and the barge crews unloaded the supplies, munitions and horses from the barges, Wilhelm headed directly for the tavern. The central street of the village leading from the jetty to the tavern was a knee-deep quagmire of mud and horse dung. Evidently other regiments have already disembarked in the village. His regiment was the only one in the village now, but Wilhelm knew before nightfall this village would see many others. On their journey they had seen other barges from many parts of the empire transporting soldiers of various formations, from infantry through cavalry to heavy cannons.
The village was composed of maybe a couple dozen thick set wooden houses on stone foundations. Despite being built from wood, the walls looked like they were made to withstand a siege. They were built of entire tree trunks, squared off to fit together, the windows were no bigger than a human head and there were precious few of them. Even the thick wooden shingles covering the roof looked like they would not burn easily. The remains of winter snow on the roofs reminded Wilhelm how far north they have travelled over the past two weeks. At the end of the village was a large tavern, it was built much like all the other houses, but it was the only building in the village to have a large stone chimney built into it and whose roof was covered with stone shingles. The largest goat skull Wilhelm has ever seen hung above the door, with the words "The Black Beastman" painted crudely beneath it.
Pulling open the heavy oak doors of the tavern Wilhelm paused to let his eyes adjust to the gloom inside. Only the fireplace and a couple of oil lamps near the bar lit up the interior. The smell of burned food, stale beer and far too many unwashed bodies hit his nostrils, Wilhelm welcomed the familiar stench and the warmth it brought after the frosty air outside. When they began their journey they set out from a warm Averland spring, but the further they travelled north the colder it got. In his home province the spring grass would be knee high by now, here in Kislev the temperature barely managed to rise above freezing point, and only during the day.
The tavern was occupied by a few local peasants in drab but warm looking clothing sitting in one corner, a solid looking man behind the bar and three men in imperial army clothes at the table nearest the door.
"Shultz! Neuman! So this is how you help with the unloading of the barges?!" exclaimed Wilhelm with feigned anger but no surprise. "Sir, yes sir!" blundered the smaller weasel like man while jumping to his feet. "We em, have er…we wanted to help you locate the messenger carrying our marching orders!" he finished triumphantly with a confident smile on his face.
"Well done Shultz, excellent work. Now, since you are so helpful, shove off to the barge and bring my horse here. We move off as soon as the unloading is done," said Wilhelm moving to the seat Shultz was vacating for him.
"Yes sir." mumbled the unhappy looking soldier, looking wistfully at the tankard of ale left on the table.
"Neuman, see about some wine, Tileal preferably but Brettonian will do if that's all they have."
"Sorry sir, already did a rekey, they have no wine." Neuman paused to gage his lieutenant's reaction before continuing. But seeing his opportunity in Wilhelm's bewildered silence he finished: "All they have is local ale and, even more local, spirit, something akin to Ostland schnapps. I'll get a bottle." he finished, watching Wilhelm's disappointment.
"While your man gets the spirits let me introduce myself lieutenant, my name is Sergeant Hoffman," said the messenger reaching out his hand to Wilhelm.
"Wilhelm Von Saltz, lieutenant of the fifth company of Averland pistoliers." replied Willhelm shaking his hand.
"What news do you have for me Sergeant?" asked Wilhelm with interest, two weeks on a barge have made him impatient for action whatever it may be.
"Your orders are to move out north towards Praag immediately and join up with General Schwartz who is held up in a small artillery camp bombarding the troops besieging the city."
"Praag is besieged?" asked Wilhelm. "How long has it been so?"
"More than a month already, Chaos came south from the wastes while winter was still in full swing, before the snows melted enough to prepare for defence, their outriders were already ransacking villages around the city. The Tzarina set out to gather the Winged Lancers and lighter horseback units but it will take time before the full force is assembled. In the mean time, the Imperial forces under General Schwartz marched to relieve the siege of Praag, alas at this point they lack the necessary manpower to do so, so they have settled in to bombard the attacking force from a near by hill." Hoffman finished off while Wilhelm listened intently.
"You will have several local guides for the journey, a man by the name Petr is their sergeant, he has fought many campaigns at the side of Imperial troops and speaks decent Imperial."
Just then, Neuman arrived back with a jug and a couple of small cups. Wilhelm looked at the liquid as it was poured into the cups, it looked clear and innocent, but he has heard stories about it before.
"What do they make it out off?" He asked no one in particular.
"Barley, wheat, sometimes millet or oats or buckwheat … or pretty much anything else they can get their hands on, but usually grain of some sort." explained Sergeant Hoffman helpfully.
"I see." Said Wilhelm in a tone of voice, which clearly said he disapproved of this careless attitude to drink, he was after all a second-generation wine trader and he always felt good ingredients were what made a wine special.
He gave the liquid in his cup one last sceptical glance, sniffed it, made a face, closed his eyes and drunk it all down, fearing he may not be able to do so if he tried to do it a little at a time. With his eyes still closed he put his cup down. He opened his eyes, a slight look of panic flickered through his face to be replaced quickly by surprise and finally a sheepish smile.
"Well." he said pausing. "I do believe I may have just found the first thing I like about Kislev." he laughed.
"So what did you say they call this here?" he asked Hoffman. "Vodka. Lieutenant."
"Would you like another?" asked Wilhelm holding the jug with a grin on his face. "I'm afraid not lieutenant, I have several more orders to deliver today, here is your parchment." he said handing Wilhelm an oilskin pouch. "Before you go sergeant, how well was the city holding out before you left General Schawartz's camp?" Wilhelm inquired while standing up to shake the man's hand.
"Praag is a formidable fortress with few equals even in the Empire, but the enemy host is huge and it is clear that if they are given time they will wear down the defenders. If no help was coming I believe the city could not hold out beyond the start of the summer. As is, I believe you will be hard pressed until the Tzarina can bring up the full Kislevite force in a month or so." He shook Wilhelm's hand and turned to go. "Good luck lieutenant. Don't underestimate the creatures of chaos, they may look disorganised and shabby, but they have strength and a blood thirst like no other army you have ever faced. The beastmen especially." With that the sergeant was out the door.
"Bah, Beastmen. Nothing more than bands of mutants who managed to escape from the grasp of our witch hunters." said Neuman to no one in particular with scorn.
Wilhelm was about to say he would not be so hasty to dismiss the idea of a race of half Beast half man creatures, he had read many accounts of the imperial campaigns. However a rough heavy voice with a Middenheim accent cut him off.
"The Beastmen up here are no mere mutants lad, the race of beastmen lives and breeds in every forest of this country and more so further north. The one that cost me my leg certainly seemed pretty real; indeed his skull still hangs over the door to this very establishment." The voice belonged to the heavyset barman who was just passing their table when Neuman spoke.
"And he did this…" He pointed to his right leg, which was replaced with a wooden peg from the knee down. "…After I had cut him nearly in two. I had thought him dead, but when I was to step over him he used his last moment of life in this realm to bite through my leg; skin, flesh and bones all."
"What were you doing here in the north, a long way from Middenheim?" asked Wilhelm noticing the man's accent. "Four Years back I was with the emperors own great swords regiment, a sergeant I was. It was my first campaign outside of the Empire…and the last." He said wistfully.
"A great sword sergeant running a tavern in a hole in the wall village in Kislev?" said Neuman, one of his eyebrows raised in a doubtful grimace. "Aye, the army has no use for legless soldiers, I got a few month's pay as severance fee and that was it, so I figured it will stretch further out here. Bought a rundown tavern here, fixed it up a bit. It does ok…especially in the spring when Imperial army reinforcements march through here." he finished with a broad smile. "So much for patriotism" muttered Neuman.
"I consider this a late payment on my retirement from the Emperors army. And you…" he said putting his face near Neuman's – will change your tune by the end of this campaign….if you live that long." He added after a second of thought.
"Now then!" exclaimed Wilhelm in an attempt to head off any trouble from Neuman, who was clearly offended by the statement "My good man, all this talk has made me hungry, what is there to eat in this fine establishment?"
"Meatballs and cabbage sir." After a short pause caused by Wilhelm waiting for other dishes, apparently not forthcoming, Wilhelm encouraged: "And?" "That's it sir." replied the barman. "Really? Nothing else? Anything roasted? Maybe lamb?" "You could have just the meatballs or just the cabbage I guess." the barman suggested helpfully.
"We had seven full regiments through here this week sir; I simply can't find any more produce in this village or even the neighbouring ones." explained the barman apologetically.
"The growing season here in the north is short and crops are poor, the farmers have precious little left after the long winter." he finished. "Tell me the truth man, do you really think this scrap of northern wastes is worth so much effort to defend? Do we really owe this country so much as allies?" challenged Neuman. "Truth be told this is a vast country, and the land is fertile, if not for the short summer and the constant chaos incursions its wealth could rival the Empire, even now it exports large quantities of grain in good years." assured the barman. "But that is not the reason the Empire sends armies to defend it" he continued. "The reality is that once Kislev falls, Imperial provinces are next, so armies are sent because it is better to wage war and destruction in foreign lands than in your own back yard. In short Kislev is much like the Border princes." he continued, turning to Wilhelm.
"Just as Averland, where you come from lieutenant, is protected from Orc and Goblin hordes by the Border Princes, so does Kislev buffer the north from the worst of the destruction." Wilhelm took offence with the statement. "The south is defended by the Averland Guard and the Mountains." he disagreed. "And the Border Princes do nothing but bicker with each other."
"Really? Remember back to the stories your father told you when you were little, of the great transgressions of the Orc hordes, now, imagine the Orcs didn't meet any resistance in Border Princes and actually increased in numbers in that fertile land…" the barman left the sentence hanging. Wilhelm's face took on a look of concentration as he considered the possibility. "The Averland Guard would stand even if the Orcs were tenfold their current numbers, but there may be some logic to what you say, perhaps the safety of Kislev is of more value to the Empire than most think. Now sergeant, perhaps in view of your former days in the army you would care to join us for a drink? At least until my regiment has fully landed?" invited Wilhelm looking back at the bottle of Vodka with a smile.