"Father, if we let the enemy rest then they'll attack us in full as soon as the sun rises, we should use the night to strike first."
"With what men, Ottilia?" Count Aldebrand fixed his daughter with a stern glare. "Half the army is either wounded, exhausted or both. We don't have the men to make a meaningful strike."
"My Lord," Valten stepped forward. Instinctively the generals and captains around the table pulled away from him. "I believe that captain Ottilia is right, we can't let the enemy get comfortable in the city, we should keep them on edge, slip out and slaughter as many as we can before retreating."
Several of the captains around the table, one of them missing an arm and an eye, nodded fiercely, their desire for revenge overriding their injuries. "We have the wall, and a night of rest for ourselves," Aldebrand countered, "no, we wait, any sally will only weaken forces we'll need for tomorrow."
"My lord, the men have only been pushed back since this war began, let them slip out and spill enemy blood," Captain Ordrich said. His unit of halberdiers had been bloodily mauled at the outer gate and were thirsty for revenge.
"No," Aldebrand declared stepping away from them. "I have given my orders, watches will be maintained throughout the night, the wounded and new militiamen will be at the keep and everyone else will get what rest they can. So I have ordered." He looked around at all the captains and generals of the Hochland army. "Am I clear?"
"Yes, my lord," the men replied before dispersing.
Valten sighed and made his way over to the wall. The enemy were resting in the ruins of the lower city, their warriors spreading out, even in the light of the fading sun, Valten could see camps being erected and cordoned off and at the back of the city, furthest from the walls and the artillery on it, the surviving mammoths of the army were being herded, three great beasts of burden that no doubt would be assailing the inner wall come morning. Could the gates hold against those beasts? He didn't fancy their chances.
"The morrow looks grim," he turned to see Ottilia had come up beside him. "If we have to face all of that down now, I'm not sure how long we can hold."
"Well that looks to be how it is," Valten replied. "Your father has decreed that there are to be no sallies, and I can't command the army in his stead."
"And he's wrong."
"Wrong?"
Ottilia nodded. "Yes, wrong, we need to take every chance to bleed the foe, and while they're resting is just such a chance."
"No, we need to be more specific than that." Valten replied.
"How so?"
Valten pointed at the mammoths, "the enemy artillery is defeated, but they could smash through the gate within minutes, killing them could buy us hours of time and a much more favourable position."
Ottilia looked at Ghal Maraz, seemingly drawn to the weapon. Not surprising, given its pedigree. "Could you kill them?"
"Not from here," Valten laughed. "I'd like to do something, but I'd have to be there to do it."
"What if I could get you there?"
He looked at her, the wind seeming to suddenly quiet. He glanced back to make sure there was no one nearby. "Then I might be able to do something."
Ottilia nodded slowly. "Meet me at the north-eastern corner of the inner wall, at the base of the tower when darkness falls."
Before he could ask any questions, she strode off.
"You made it," Ottilia told him, arms crossed over her chest as though she didn't expect him to have come.
"Difficult as it was," he replied. It hadn't been easy, so many people wanted to see him, to hear his words, if they were lucky to touch Ghal Maraz itself. Such scrutiny made it difficult to get away, but a demand for peace and prayer got him the breathing room he needed to pull on a cloak, slip the noose of fervour and rejoin Ottilia where she had told him to. She was hidden in a corner, in the shadow of the inner wall by a sturdy iron grate, guarded by two men in the livery of the Hochland guard. "What's the plan?"
Ottilia nodded down at the grate. "This grate leads down to the sewers which spread out across the city. They're messy, unorganised, but I can guide us into the lower city."
"How does the daughter of the Count of Hochland know the way around the sewers?" He asked jokingly.
Ottilia stiffened. "Because the Captain of the Hochland Guard has had to scotch infestations of rats and goblins before," she said.
"So you can guide us in and out again?" She nodded, "and we can trust that the Count won't be informed?"
"Heinrich and Otto here won't say anything, will you boys?"
"No ma'am," one of the two guards said, grinning.
"Kill some of them for me would you?" asked the other.
"Of course," she smiled back. "Don't worry Herald, we'll be out and back before he realises we've gone." She nodded, and Otto opened the grate.
"Get going captain, before someone else notices."
"Come, herald." Ottilia said, gesturing into the blackness beyond the grate.
"By Sigmar that stinks!" He held an armoured palm to his face as he got off the ladder leading down into the sewers.
"What did you think it would smell like in the sewers, a rose garden?" Ottilia asked. From the little light following them down the grate he could see her grimace, but she bore the stench easily enough.
"No but-" he stopped as he stepped forward and heard a squelch.
Ottilia patted his arm gently, like he was simpleton. "Best to walk along the edges in my experience, and follow me closely, if you get lost down here it'll be dumb luck where you get out."
He followed her down the sewers, his nostrils learning to tolerate the shit and filth of the city that had congealed in these pathways, spread by the slow running of water. He tried to keep track as she led him down one path, then another, the only light being the flickering of torches and the pale spears of the moon that shot through the grates in the streets.
"Strange profession isn't it? A noble woman fighting with the common soldier." None of the noblewomen he'd been aware of in his youth would have dared do such a thing.
"If I had a coin for every time someone had said that to me," she muttered, not looking at him. "Normally I would be looking for a husband, picking out dresses and jewellery and fussing over cakes, true enough. But what would that achieve?"
"Alliances?" He replied dumbly, wishing he'd paid more attention to the lessons Huss had been giving him.
She laughed. "Oh yes, an alliance, that's true enough. But you see, here's the thing Herald, the Empire is united against this Chaos invasion as I've never seen it before, and since it began I have killed thirty six warriors of the north. That's thirty six warriors who would be busy raping, looting and murdering their way across the Empire as we speak if I hadn't killed them. So you tell me, what is more important, that I fuss over jewellery, or that I wet my blade in the blood of my enemies?"
Valten had to think about that for a second. "But-"
"No no Herald," Ottilia said, stopping and rounding on him, her frame outlined against the slivers of moonlight coming through the grate ahead. "Tell me, which is more useful to the Empire?" Her voice was angry, but she kept it low.
"I didn't mean-"
"I am sick and tired of people avoiding that question when I ask them, tell me!"
He was taken aback by the ferocity of her question. "Killing the Empire's enemies," he said.
"Thank you," she replied curtly. "So let's leave it at that for now, we have more enemies of the Empire to kill." She turned on her heel and continued walking.
They twisted down the sewer path in silence. Just as they passed one sewer grate in the roof several blobs fell into the sewer, followed by the plops of them landing in the sewage and the smell of fresh faeces. "Sigmar that's disgus-"
A hand was clamped over his mouth and Ottilia's face loomed out of the darkness, eyes wide with warning and a finger to her lips.
"What are you doing?" A voice called from the grate. "You trying to see where your shit went to Rolf?" Laughter followed after it.
"I thought I heard..." Another voice said, closer, just beyond the grate.
"Come on shit-sniffer Rolf, let's go or there'll be no ale left." He could just about make out the sound of departing footsteps.
"Be careful," Ottilia hissed, "we're nearly there; let's not alert the enemy that we're moving through the sewers, or this all backfires."
He nodded, face burning, and followed Ottilia further into the sewers.
Eventually Ottilia seemed to have found the exit she wanted, looking up the rungs of the ladder leading up to the city. "This entrance is deep in the lower city," she told him. "I'll go up first and check there's no one waiting."
She scurried up the iron rungs like a squirrel, even in her armour plate. Agonizing silence followed before she called back down that everything was all clear and he followed her up the ladder.
The city air was cold, crisp and refreshingly clean in the night as they emerged down a side street between timber shacks in the lower city. He looked around and could see no trace of the enemy nearby. "How did you know this place would be clear?"
"I didn't for sure," Ottilia told him, keeping a wary eye on the entrance to the side street. "But from the walls I could see that this part of the city didn't have many lights here, so this would be the best place to get out unnoticed. But come, we shouldn't linger in an open street." She slipped across to a door leading to a dark, dead house and tried the handle. It swung open effortlessly.
He followed her inside. The main room in the house had already been ransacked, tables and chairs turned over, cupboards ripped down and scattered across the floor. It was a mess, but he'd lived in worse in his home village.
"So," he said, pushing the door so that it was nearly shut and turning to Ottilia. "I assume you know how to get from here to the Mammoth pens? If not, then we've waded through shit for nothing."
"That won't be a problem, even if they've moved, we can hardly miss them, and this city is my home, even in the darkness I can get around it," Ottilia told him, heaving the table back up onto its legs, "but even so, we'd best take care." She reached into her pouch and pulled out a roll of leather. She unfurled it on the table and beckoned him over. He saw that it was an overview map of Hergig. "We're here," she said, pointing to a spot in the far west corner of the lower city, far from the front lines, "and the mammoths seemed to be around here." She pointed to a red cross scratched onto the map. "Not far away."
Valten nodded, only a few streets at most. "What are these?" He pointed at two red circles drawn not far from them.
"Rough locations of separate enemy camps, from what I could see from the walls," she replied. "It's not precise, but it is a start."
He nodded, "are they rival tribes?"
"They must have left space between them for a reason. I doubt the enemy warlord likes the idea that half his army is camped outside the walls and half within it."
"And they are Norscan I suppose," he said, "it's only natural that there would be conflict between the different tribes."
"Precisely, hopefully they are keeping far enough apart from each other for use to slip right down the middle."
He nodded. "After you."
They slipped out of the house and Ottilia led the way through the deserted streets, moonlight reflecting on the cobbles and the sounds of raucous violence and celebration coming from the northmen all around.
As they rounded a bend, Ottilia held up a hand to halt him. A group of northmen, four of the marauders, were ahead, one of them relieving himself on the corpse of a fallen soldier, the others laughing. He crept up behind Ottilia, who didn't jump as he whispered. "Shall we kill them?"
She nodded, drawing her knife. "Quietly, how many can you take?"
"Three."
She nodded, "I'll take the one on the left." She gestured forward, and they moved up on the marauders. Valten felled the first one with a single blow, dashing his brains over the cobbles. Before the others could react, he stepped forward, and underarm blow sending another marauder flying while at the same time he lashed out with his left hand, seizing the third marauder by the throat, and crushing it as the second one slammed into a stone wall. The last marauder had barely opened his mouth when Ottilia seized him tightly from behind, wrapping an arm around his throat and locking it in place. The warrior growled deep in his throat and spun around, dragging the shorter Ottilia with him and he tried to shake her off. Valten stepped over and planted a fist in his stomach. He crumpled like scrunched paper and fell to the ground, Ottilia twisted so the marauder fell on his face and she wasn't crushed before cutting in and across with her knife.
Once the warrior beneath her had finished twitching, she clambered to her feet and stowed her knife in the sheath on her belt. Nodding in approval, she gestured for them to move on. "Shouldn't we do something about the bodies?"
She looked at them, pondering. Bring one of them, I have an idea."
Valten nodded, curious as to her intent, but choosing to trust her. He hefted the nearest corpse onto one shoulder, "lead the way." The two stole their way deeper into the night.
Aldebrand sipped from his cup of water, his eyes fixed as they so often were at night, to the portrait that hung opposite his bed. It had been commissioned ten years ago, a world apart to the land he found himself in now. It was of he and his family in a clearing in the nearby forest. He had his longrifle tucked under one arm, while Konrad's rested on his shoulder. His son's face was turned up to him with a wide grin at the joy of his first kill on the hunt. Beneath them lay a great stag, a perfect shot placed through it. Next to him, his wife stood, her head rested on his shoulder, arm laced around his, while her other hand reached down and held the delicate fingers of Ottilia, who even as young as she was, stood tall and proud as the daughter of an Elector Count. Now his wife was dead, Konrad was in Nuln, studying with Erasmus there and Aldebrand had heard nothing from him since before he had ridden to the northern border. But no news was good news, and Nuln was far from the front line.
His eyes fell to his wife and daughter. Back then they had been inseparable, but now Ottilia was as different from her mother as night from day. Am I the only one who still sees her as this little girl? He often wondered. She'd become a fine captain of the Hochland regiments, if she were a son he would have nothing to be ashamed of in her, but his daughter... What would her mother say if she could see her now?
A knocking at the door drew his attention. "Enter." One of his guards entered, bowing his head. "Elector, something is happening in the city."
Aldebrand was on his feet in a second and striding to the wide floor to ceiling windows and looking out over the city. In a far quadrant, where his lookouts had identified one of the enemy camps, a great fire was raging. "What's going on?" He asked.
"We're not sure sir but..."
He snapped his head around to look at the soldier. "Spit it out man."
"Sir... we can't say for certain, but we can't find either the Herald or Captain Ottilia."
Ottilia locked her sword with the warrior's axe, dragged it down and away before quickly thrusting up again, her sword punching through the lower jaw of the warrior and up into his brain. Twisting at the hip she pulled her sword free and slashed her sword into the next warrior charging at her, the blade carving through his stomach, spilling guts to the cobbles like eels.
Not far from her, Valten brought Ghal Maraz down in an overhead blow that shattered the skull of one warrior, the next he took with a backwards blow that twisted the warrior's head around on his shoulder, as the last one charged him, spear low, ready to run him through, Valten twisted the hammer around, buried the hook on the back into the warrior's shoulder and, with a might wrench, ripping through the meat and muscle, leaving the limb hanging on by a few strands of sinew, a quick strike finished him off before his screaming could draw too much attention before they had made their escape. Ottilia found herself again marvelling at Valten's raw power, the way he moved in that heavy gromril armour and despatched his foes like they were nothing, never tiring or wavering, it was invigorating to be around.
He looked at her and smiled. "Not a bad start so far."
She nodded, smiling back. "Not bad at all, but soon it'll be so much better."
"Yes it will," he said.
Ottilia turned their gaze to the target of their attack, three great mammoths, bound by ropes stretching up and over the beasts' backs and binding them to the city wall behind them. – a perfect target. All they needed was something flammable. They searched the nearby houses appropriated by the northmen, silencing the warriors who lay within, and looking for something to start the great conflagration they planned to unleash on the enemy.
As she wiped the blood from her latest kill, Valten tapped her on the shoulder. "I've found something," he whispered.
She followed him into a nearby storehouse, one now used by the northmen and led her over to a large wooden barrel. Something dark and foul smelling was in it. "What is that?" She coughed, covering her nose and mouth with a forearm.
"Pitch," Valten said.
She smiled. "Perfect."
"Pitch perfect?"
She looked at him and could barely stifle a laugh. "That was awful."
Valten shrugged. "Well, help me with it." The barrel was heavy, it took the two of them to hoist it up and carry it out towards the tied down beasts. But the smell of the dead guards seemed to have reached the massive creatures and one of them, the largest one with a large shrine to the dark powers on its back, raised its trunk and let out a great roaring snort that shook the air.
Valten and Ottilia just had time to put the barrel down before they spun to see warriors dragging themselves blearily out of their newly appropriated shelters.
"Great," Valten muttered, he took up Ghal Maraz again. "You handle this, I'll keep them busy." Valten turned and strode out into the open. "Alright you bastards, who wants to die first?"
Ottilia turned, trusting Valten to hold off the warriors and pushed her cupped hands into the thick, black gloop. As the first clashes rang out from behind them she started daubing the fluid onto the mottled fur of the beast's giant leg. It took all her instincts not to snatch up her sword and turn to fight, but this had to be done, and she knew that Valten was capable enough to cover her back. She kept smearing the pitch on the beast, reaching as high as she could on the leg, while the sounds of battle rang behind her.
"Don't bother getting the entire leg!" Valten cried. "Just enough to start the fires, then move on to the next one!" She looked around to see Valten catch a sword blow on the haft of Ghal Maraz, while he kept another warrior trapped in a chokehold with his elbow. Four enemies lay dead around him but at least a dozen more were rushing in.
She scooped up another handful of pitch, soaking her arms up to the elbow and ran over to the second Mammoth, she hadn't emptied nearly enough to make the barrel light enough to carry. Once again, she ignored the sounds of battle and kept daubing fluid on the legs of the mammoth. She glanced back again, Valten was still fighting, felling foes left and right, like Sigmar himself, the hammer moved as part of him and in the moment it seemed as though he could face down the entire horde himself and emerge unscathed. But as she saw more and more warriors bearing down on him, she knew she had to finish soon.
Ottilia had now emptied enough pitch to make the barrel just light enough to heave a few inches off the ground and haul over to the last of the mammoths. She slathered the nearest beast with several great handfuls of pitch, looking over her shoulder constantly to check on Valten. The marauders had made a circle and were chanting on as the Herald battled a tall warrior, a head and a half taller than the Herald, with a great grey sword as long as a greatsword but wielded in a single massive hand. Stiff orange hair shot up over his head while a beard tangled down his chest, over a suit of damned armour of the dark gods. Ottilia paled, she'd seen a warband of warriors in such armour charge a line of handgunners unperturbed, and when they got there, carve them apart. Now Valten had to face one alone.
This one was fast, Valten could barely catch his strikes or divert his lunges and couldn't find a single opening to bring Ghal Maraz to bear. He ducked under a blow and skidded back out of reach, with a quick strike, he swatted the sword away to get it done. "If you're going to do something, do it now!"
"Gladly," the warrior said and charged again. He fended off another flurry of attacks, catching some on his hammer, but most on his armour. The gromril held, but the pain shot through to his bones and he could feel the skin bruising. A great trumpeting roar from behind him broke their concentration and made the pair of them look around. One of the mammoths was on fire, flames licking up it's back leg, the beast hauling at the ropes tying it down to try and escape. Ottilia was running beneath them, she held her sword in her right hand, hacking through the ropes as she passed them while a flaming stick was in her left, as she passed the second mammoth she shoved it into the pitch soaked fur, letting the flames catch before rushing on to the third. A group of warriors made to stop her but with the ropes cut the first two mammoths were free, free and enraged and stampeded towards them. Valten hurled himself aside as one mammoth smashed through the warriors who had gone for Ottilia and came right at them. The champion he'd been facing looked at him, judging whether he could give chase, but with a roar, he threw himself backwards, out of the way of the rampaging mammoths.
A hand slick with black pitch seized his arm and he spun to see Ottilia standing next to him. "We need to move, now!" He nodded and together they tore through the enemy, past the destruction wrought by the rampaging mammoths as warriors were scattered and the flames licked up the legs of the great beasts and burning droplets of pitch landed around them like molten rain. Through the pain, the screams and the flames, they ran through the camp.
As the two imperials raced into the darkness, Wulfrik roared in anger and rage. He could taste it in the air of the battle, there at last was a warrior worthy of his blade, one who's death would prove his greatness and the boldness of his claim and he'd come so close to taking his head. Next time, he vowed, next time he would not be denied!
"Keep moving," Valten said as they tore down the dark streets, most of the enemy were scattered and distracted by the rampaging mammoths that were tearing through the city, but at least some were hot on their heels. Valten wanted to turn and fight, but the fight with the enemy champion had taken a good deal of his strength, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take if they were mobbed.
"The nearest sewer entrance," Ottilia hissed, "this way."
"No, we have to lose our pursuers first, they can't know that there are ways to the inner city other than through that wall," Valten replied.
Ottilia growled, but she saw his point and they kept running. They turned down the next street, Ottilia's breath coming ragged and harsh as the exertions of the night pulled at her. He heard the enemy following him and glanced over his shoulder to see five hammering down the cobbles after him.
A crack split the air, just audible over the sounds coming from the camp. Valten came to a halt and spun as one of their pursuers fell dead. Another crack, another dead foe. Then a figure leapt from a nearby roof, using one warrior to break his fall, he tucked and rolled up, a sword flashing in one hand and a smoking gun in the other. He sidestepped the first warrior to change tack and attack him, opening his throat with a smooth snick of his blade. The other two came at him and in a deft display of skill, the figure left them both dead on the cobbles.
The man turned from the dead warriors and strode towards them, stowing his pistol, as he had with the other one, in a holster on his chest. "You damn bloody fool," Emil growled.
"I didn't think you were coming," Valten said.
"Neither did I," he replied, "but when I came to find you, you were gone, I went hunting and found the men you'd left to guard your exit." He looked pointedly at Ottilia, "they pretended not to know, but I root out lies and falsehood every day." Ottilia bowed her head in shame or embarrassment. "But now's not the time for chastisement, we return, now!"
"How did you get out?"
"Unlike you I went over the wall," Emil said, but we'll go back your way." He turned to Ottilia again. "You know the way back from here?"
She nodded. "This way," she said, her voice steely and strong.
They encountered no more enemies on their way back to the sewers, and held their silence as Ottilia led them through the stinking darkness back to where they had begun. When they got to the ladder, Valten put his hand on a rung, but Emil grabbed his arm. "Captain Ottilia should go up first." He looked back at Emil. "Trust me," the witch hunter said. Valten stood aside and let Ottilia ascend the rungs.
"Are you going to scold me now that she's gone?"
Emil shook his head. "No, but I promised that I would send Ottilia up first, now, up you go."
Valten frowned but scaled the ladder emerging into the orange tinted darkness of a brazier light being blocked, blocked in this case by at least thirty handgunners with their weapons levelled at him and Ottilia, who's arms were raised above her head.
"What's going on?" Valten demanded, his hand drifting to Ghal Maraz.
"Father," Ottilia said quietly.
Sure enough, Aldebrand Ludenhoff stood at the centre of the semi circle of gunners, his arms folded across his chest, his face etched with anger and disappointment.
"They didn't make it easy, Count," Emil said, emerging from the sewers after him. "But I found them."