Children of the Horned Rat,
Don't hesitate to vote for your favourite Steiner child. For now, I had only five votes, and two of the five children are equal.
Have a nice reading, and glory to the Horned Rat!
The company had grown during the trip. Commander Schmetterling had conducted an effective enrolment campaign. The Gottlieb Twins had been so efficient, and many of the able-bodied men answered the call. Even the poorest peasants had taken a fork or a scythe to do battle with the invader. The Commander, however, had to use more coercive methods for a few less motivated citizens. It was war, and that was the law.
The warriors were advancing rapidly, singing. Jochen, who rode in the lead just behind the commander, shook his head.
Maybe three-quarters of us are going to be slaughtered by the Greenskins, and they're singing! How foolish!
Marjan was more pensive. Indeed, they had left behind them the estate of Helga Schmidt. As the Prince had expressly requested just before they had left Steinerburg, they had made a small detour in that direction and had spent an hour patrolling. They hadn't encountered any Orc. The mistress of the domain had thanked the commander, and from her window had also encouraged all the soldiers present.
The tall Human knew how to recognize a woman of value when she saw one. And this dark-haired estate owner seemed rather exceptional to her: resourceful, independent, she knew what she was worth and what she wanted. On some points, yes, she reminded her of their own mother.
She approached her mount to that of her brother.
- Hey, Jochen?
- Mh?
- What do you think about Lady Schmidt?
The young man had a pensive little pout, and spat:
- Not enough well-rounded.
- I'm not talking about that, you sucker! Her personality, her success...
- Yes, well, okay, she has resources.
In fact, Jochen didn't want to argue. He could only think about one thing: would they arrive on time? Would they be able save Wüstengrenze and its inhabitants? He barely heard a sergeant snickering behind him.
- Personally, I shag her wherever she wants, whenever she wants!
He was immediately sanctioned by a slap on his neck from Marjan.
- Sergeant, don't forget a woman is not just a hole in which to can poke your rapier!
She turned her head towards a Skaven who was smirking.
- And that goes for any Skaven who would think of banging her daughter! Twice more! Remember that the Rat Kingdom must be an example of equality between men and women, whatever their race!
Commander Schmetterling grew impatient.
- Enough, now, captain! We're not here to have a debate on the status of women in the kingdom, but to protect it, so stay focused, by Sigmar's hammer!
The company was coming out of the forest. In the distance, we could see the larger, sharp rocks, in the middle of which appeared the shape of the ramparts of Wüstengrenze. But contrary to what the commander expected, there were some traces of camp, like rubbish and tents still erected, but no presence of Orcs.
- What, are they all gone? wondered a soldier aloud.
- No, it's worse. Look!
Jochen pointed his finger forward. From their position, they could see the horror: the large double entrance door had been knocked down, and the Orcs had entered the city!
Marjan bit her lower lip.
- I don't believe it... We're too late!
Schmetterling hastened to temper the fears.
- Maybe not, captain. Look better: from here, you can't see much, but to begin with, I can see there is no trace of fire. Even if they had entered just after the departure of the Steiner son, they would have set fire to the whole city, and after a few days without rain, we would still see smoke, but no building standing.
- But they may have massacred everyone inside before buggering off!
The commander nodded.
- We'll have to send someone to check the place. Someone is volunteer?
- Commander, look! replied a Skaven sergeant.
The huge red-haired man turned, and his forehead widened. He saw coming out of the woods a fellow with a brown beard, as tall as him, and wider with shoulders, with a lumberjack axe tied over his shoulder. He looked like someone who had spent the last few days hiding in the woods to escape from stalkers: nervous breath, dirty clothes torn in places, fleeing eyes.
- Finally! I was waiting for you. I knew you would come!
- Commander Johannes Schmetterling and his battalion. Who are you, citizen?
- Baldur Gottwald. Did Master Kristofferson send you?
- Yes, he told us everything.
- Praise Taal, he escaped the Orcs!
- Certainly, but… what about you? What are you doing there?
- While Master Kristofferson forced the roadblock, I passed to the other side down the cliff. I went to Eigeltingen where I had a carrier pigeon sent to Steinerburg.
- Why didn't you stay safe in Eigeltingen, then?
Master Gottwald hit his chest with his fist.
- Because this is my city, it is my friends, it is my family! I refuse to sit idly by while you act!
- Hmm… Right, any arm strong enough is welcome.
- Is Master Kristofferson with you?
It was Marjan who answered.
- No, Master Gottwald. We know he promised to come back to you, and be sure he insisted heavily on it, but he had to go with another battalion.
- What? Are there other Orcs elsewhere?
- Not Orcs, Feral Skaven, Jochen replied.
- Yes, right, that's not our concern at the moment, so let's not talk about it anymore! Schmetterling intimated. So make your report, Master Gottwald.
The foreman wiped his nose on his arm.
- I took the risk of going to take a look inside town at night. They set up a second camp at the gates of the old town, in front of the big bridge. I haven't heard the sound of battle since. They are still there, and are probably waiting for.
- Do you think the gate to the old town is strong enough to contain them?
- Maybe not if they decide to really force it.
- Lots of damage to homes?
- No, my lord, they hardly broke anything. On the other hand, since yesterday, they go out regularly to hunt game in the forest.
- They continue their siege, muttered the commander.
- It's not very common among the Greenskins, is it?
- No, Master Gottwald. It's true, it doesn't make sense. The Orcs slaughter and plunder without subtlety. If they see people resisting them too much, they will look elsewhere.
Marjan then saw something out of the corner of his eye that caught his attention.
It was the Bright Magister Brisingr Steadyhand. The flaming haired Elf stood aside. He scanned the sky with narrowed eyes, on the lookout for something. He sat cross-legged on the grass, lowered his eyelids, and opened his senses. Like all the Mages of the Bright College, he was especially receptive to the Aqshy wind. But he was just as capable of spotting other forms of witchcraft. He knew that Orcs used to listen to the advice of a shaman, like any respectable tribe. He was determined to face him. His role was also to spot any trap of magical origin.
He let his mind slowly rise, floating in the winds of magic. The whole battlefield appeared around him. He made out the colourful shapes of the soldiers grouped behind him. The blades of grass, insects, birds echoed in their own way in the weft of the fabric the world was made of. A flock of crows in particular chirped about a hundred feet high. The Magister smiled nervously.
These birds will be able to feast soon. Hope they like green meat.
Brisingr was about to move his mind further, when he stopped. He had smelled something fishy. He looked around more closely...
Nothing, however. Only a strange feeling, that of being already observed.
Yet there is nothing here except...
He brutally opened his eyes, jumped up, and looked up at the sky. The flight of crows had already returned over the ramparts. The Elf felt his brow furrow.
- Something wrong, Steadyhand? asked the commander.
The Bright Mage swivelled towards the tall, red-haired man, looking worried. He brushed away a strand of hair that tickled his face.
- We're spotted, Commander. Subtlety is no longer in order.
- How heartening...
As if to add weight to the Elf's words, the sound of an alarm horn rang out behind the city walls. Young Gottlieb tightened the reins of his steed.
- We must go! cried Jochen. Soldiers, get ready to charge!
- No! then shouted Schmetterling's powerful voice.
All eyes turned to the commander. The tall red-haired Human had raised his hand.
- Everyone stay in position, soldiers. There is no question of charging.
- What? You're nuts!
- Realistic, on the contrary, captain. If we enter the city, it will be rampant carnage.
- What are you talking about? barked Marjan.
- Our army is not made for skirmishes in the streets! They are much more mobile and nervous than us, they will overwhelm us quickly, and gain the upper hand.
- So what? Are we going to stay there, watching the Greenskins slaughter ours?
- I didn't say that, captain.
- Well, I say "fuck you"!
Jochen immediately heeled his horse, and wanted to run to the city. But no sooner had he come up to Schmetterling when the latter hardly punched him on his chin. The young man fell from the saddle and rolled in the grass. Marjan immediately got out of his mount and rushed to his side. Young Gottlieb had a bleeding lip. From the height of his steed, Schmetterling crushed him with a contemptuous look.
- I should court you, captain, you tried to disobey an order from your superior in front of witnesses. By consideration for your noble mother, I will not. But be careful, the next trick of this kind will not be accepted. And as I said earlier, we are not going to abandon our fellow citizens to their sad fate either.
He looked around the entire company.
- Listen, there are many of them, but they cannot escape us. We will stay here, we are in a strong position. Any Orc that come out will fall directly under our assault. For the moment, they are gathered in front of the inner door. A few volunteers are now needed for a particular mission: to get in, then get their attention to make them chase you up to here. Orcs aren't used to thinking, just provoke them, they'll run after you. When they follow you to us, we'll tear them to pieces!
Marjan's clear voice echoed:
- Commander? What if they decide to go on the attack and force open the gates of the ancient Dwarf city?
- So we will have to hope that the people in the shelter take the opportunity to push them outside.
- Or else, we destroy the bridge!
All heads turned to Brisingr Steadyhand. Gottwald laughed.
- Have you ever seen a Dwarf-made bridge, Master Mage? Too solid!
- If you hit hard enough in the right place, you can break a piece that supports the structure. Add the weight of hundreds of Orcs to it, and it won't stay up long. The Orcs will be stuck between us and the chasm.
- What about the people who will get imprisoned in the old town?
- We'll find a way to make a makeshift rope walkway to evacuate them when the battle is over. Then we'll hire Dwarves to build another bridge.
Schmetterling pursed his lips in a wry smile.
- Citizens will no doubt be happy to pay the bill!
- They will probably be even happier to be still alive to pay the bill!
- Yes, of course. And how do you plan to "hit hard enough in the right place"? With your magic?
- Absolutely, Commander.
- So, for this plan to work, you had better stay alive!
- I've faced a lot more dangerous things than these Greenskins, Commander. Trust me. Besides, I understand I have a shaman to kill?
Without waiting for a response from the commander, the Elf leaped onto his horse and galloped towards town.
The soldiers watched him go, some seemed confused by the Magister's carelessness. One of them asked aloud:
- What if he gets killed before destroying the bridge?
- I hope it won't be necessary, soldier, but in this case, the only solution will be to launch an assault on the city. Or let them slaughter our fellow citizens trapped inside. Right, now I need volunteers to bait the Greenskins!
Marjan stood up.
- Me, Commander!
- Of course. Who wants to accompany Captain Gottlieb?
- Captains! Jochen retorted. I go, too.
- Very well. Two Gottlieb Captains, that makes sense.
About ten Skaven and Humans raised their hand in turn.
- Remember: the idea is to get them to divide their forces. If you can eliminate a few, do so, but don't take unnecessary risks. They probably won't follow you all at once, they aren't so dumb. But if we manage to cut their ranks in a meaningful way, then that will be a good point. Once the bridge destroyed by Steadyhand, wherever you are, don't think about anything more: beat it, and come back here. We will lead the assault then. Come on, try to bring us as many as possible!
The members of the small troop who were on foot took a mount, and the twelve volunteers headed in turn for Wüstengrenze.
Marjan and Jochen Gottlieb were in the lead. Behind them, a young Skaven named Lionel Steinmetz watched them, and couldn't help but pay close attention to their armour. Indeed, the Twins were born from particularly vigorous parents. Their missing father was known to be a real giant, strong and brutal. Their mother, a native of Kislev, had inherited the long blond hair and clear eyes of the women of this distant land, as well as unusual strength of character and fortitude. And the two young people had each drawn on the best of their parents' blood. Tall, strong, impressive in their armour.
When you saw them riding side by side, it wasn't so easy to distinguish each one from the other. Both of them wore an armour made according to the same pattern: no frills or outrageous decoration, but sturdy and solid. These armours were identical, and when the Twins wore their helmet, they could only be recognized by the colour of the metal that made up their entire suit. So Jochen's armour was forged from a dark metal, which made it appear almost black. Marjan's was much clearer, and the sunlight illuminated the various pieces that made it up with colourful reflections, as if it had been carved from a block of nacre.
The only ornament the two Gottliebs had allowed themselves to wear was their coat of arms, engraved directly into the breastplate. The Prince had offered his steward and her children a new armorial bearing to reflect their new life in Vereinbarung, and to leave the past forever with the corpse of Wilhelm Gottlieb, buried in his stronghold in Middenland. Together they had composed the symbols that were now linked to their family: a black wolf leaping in the middle of a golden sun with a red corona.
Steinmetz shook his head to focus on the objective that was now nearby. The closer they got, the more nervous the horses were. The smell of Greenskins and their mounts annoyed their sense of smell.
Jochen gritted his teeth.
- I hope there are no Goblins...
- Why then, Captain? asked Steinmetz.
- Because they use to ride wolves, and they would scare off horses, Marjan replied.
- Kristofferson didn't mention Goblins. But don't be fooled, soldier, horses don't like Orc boars either, and we know there are some.
They arrived at the edge of the ramparts. Brisingr Steadyhand's horse waited, its reins tied to a spear stuck in the ground. Marjan addressed the squad members.
- We shall enter discreetly, then when we arrive at their camp, we provoke them by shouting at them, then we leave. Contrary to what you might think, they are not stupid enough to let go of their biggest prey, only a fraction of them will chase after us. And there's a good chance that it will piss off the others enough to get them excited at the old city gate. We scold them, hoping that as much as possible will come. But in no case do we engage in combat, soldiers! We rush towards the exit as quickly as possible! Without even waiting for them! They're Orcs, I guarantee they won't let us go, even if they lose sight of us on a street corner!
The soldiers nodded, then followed the two captains. The horses marched, and no one dared to utter a word. Only the sound of hooves on the paving stones punctuated the increasingly heavy silence. Marjan could almost feel the shivers running through the spines of the younger recruits. Indeed, even if the Orcs had not yet slaughtered the whole town, many traces of their passage were visible: a few crooked or broken weapons, pieces of wood, stains of red or green blood.
Steinmetz whispered:
- Captain Gottlieb?
- What? hissed Jochen impatiently. We said "discreetly"! What's the matter?
- Why can't I see any dead body? Do you think ours were already stashed in the old town when the Greenskin broke down the door?
- Chances are, but I also think that there were still a few militiamen to resist them. And those ones... look in the boar droppings, you should find them. Now shut up! Everyone silent!
Steinmetz swallowed loudly. No one dared to add a syllable anymore. As they passed through the deserted city, the feeling of pressure on the guts grew up. The cries of a flight of crows made a Skaven startle, he nervously clutched the sword that was stored at his side. Soon Marjan realized that a distant rumour was tickling her ears for a few minutes already. She put her hand on her brother's shoulder. He nodded. A few yards further, there was no longer any doubt. This rumour, which slowly but surely swelled, was the odious concert of the Orcs' gritty voices in their camp. Low barks, short yelps, sounds of blows on flesh or steel, Orcs used to fight each other between battles.
Jochen raised his hand, the whole company stopped. The tall Human dismounted, and continued forward cautiously, half-crouched. He leaned against the wall of a building, and slowly stuck his head out the corner. He could see the dire situation as a whole: the Orcs were there, gathered in the large square that gave access to the Dwarf-designed stone bridge. They were preparing for battle, and seemed determined to struggle. The air was charged with a scent of sweat, meat and faeces. Jochen quickly estimated their number. There were hundreds of them, maybe over a thousand. Schmetterling's battalion numbered around three thousand fighters, but a good third were peasants who had never fought in their lives. An Orc could easily take down two civilians. The battle was not won yet, and it was likely to cost dearly in Human and Skaven lives anyway.
The only thing the people of Vereinbarung could possibly count on was the Orcs' lack of organization. Already there was a big mess, and many arguments were breaking out all over the place. The Greenskins gladly settled their differences with fists, even in the midst of a battle. It had to be taken into account.
The young Human glanced across the entire encampment to the bridge itself.
Steadyhand is really confident when he says he's going to blow it up!
Like all the constructions of the Karak people, the bridge which spanned the abyss at the bottom of which the river flowed seemed as old as it was solid. This immense structure, a hundred feet wide, was not occupied by the enemy, and presented no weak points. The light cobblestones stretched over more than thirty yards, at the end of which stood a huge wooden door reinforced with multiple pieces of wrought iron. The gate itself was over forty feet high. Her base carried many impacts, but so far it had held firm. Jochen made out on the ramparts the silhouettes of a few guards of Wüstengrenze, harquebus ready to fire. He looked for his mother, but couldn't see her.
She must be inside. Hold on, Mother, we're coming!
He sped as discreetly as possible towards the group and immediately got back in the saddle.
- Get ready! ordered the young man.
He raced towards the square, stopped his mount at the sight of the Orcs, and shouted with all his might:
- Hey, bunch of berks! Bring your green asses here so I can kick them!
The result was not long in coming. Immediately, around twenty Orc warriors barked in anger and rushed towards the boar enclosure. Jochen hounded his horse and quickly joined the others. He didn't even slow down and passed the group which followed him at a gallop. Behind them, the Orcs' cries of rage echoed through the streets.
The Orc shaman narrowed his wrinkled lips into a cruel smile.
He was called "Wozza the Farsiher" for good reason. Thanks to his shamanic gifts, conferred by Mork, the God of Magic among the Greenskins, he could see far beyond an ordinary Orc could. One exercise he excelled at was bonding with animals. He was able to magically link his brain to the eyes of an animal in order to see through it. Small animals were quickly falling under his control.
The big crow in the centre of a flight of black birds, for example.
Thanks to this ally of circumstance, Wozza had seen the Men arrive, accompanied by the Big Rats. No doubt they wanted to prevent Targhân Sreefingerz from obeying Gork and Mork's will… What a pathetic delusion!
He could see Men and Big Rats, on horseback, scurrying between the barracks. They weren't very many. The warriors of the Waaagh launched in pursuit of them would catch up soon and slaughter every of them. The crow flew higher, and the shaman could see further. The others on the plain were more numerous, but wouldn't arrive in time to save the intruders.
Wozza sneered. Enemies could run, they would never escape his eye. It was a doubly enjoyable situation for the old Orc: flying like a bird was still pleasurable, but stalking the Men and the Big Rats, watching them flee from the Waaagh, made it even more fun.
He pushed the crow away from the bunch of birds to fly higher and get a better overview. The ten fugitives were going to have an unpleasant surprise. Thanks to the extent of his powers, Wozza the Farsiher was able to summon Gork and Mork's magic and unleash it through the eyes of an animal under his control.
He anticipated the path the Men and Fat Rats would take. He then muttered a magic formula learned from the shaman who had taught him to communicate with the Orc gods, while feeling his heart racing. His ears vibrated to the roaring of the Orcs. "Waaagh! Waaagh!" That was the name they used to give to their communities. It was a war cry. It was also a special sound, through which the magical energy related to the Orcs circulated. To keep it simple, Orc shamans called this energy "Waaagh Magic". The power of Waaagh Magic was proportional to the number of Greenskins through which it could flow.
Wozza felt the Waaagh Magic twitch his muscles. Using his celestial point of view, he spotted the precise place where he was going to drop it. Already, he could see a cloud of green mist materializing above the houses. A few more moments, some effort... The mist solidified, outlines took shape, and finally the shadow of a gigantic green foot as large as an Ulthuan galley hid the sun from the riders.
- Stop! Everyone! cried Marjan.
The enormous foot of Waaagh energy crashed into the alley, just in front of the scouts. Fortunately, no one was directly below, but the shock was so violent that four of the horses fell in a concert of frantic neighing.
- Up! Up! ordered Jochen, who was already casting distraught glances towards the alley.
Orcs' cries were already ricocheting against the walls. When the last soldier on the ground finally got back in the saddle, the Greenskins emerged from the corner, galloping on their wild boars. They wielded huge axes, swords and clubs, eager for carnage.
Suddenly, an explosion of fire erupted right in front of the barbarians. The flames reverberated on the walls, licking at the bricks, studs and tiles. The first ones died instantly. Those behind found themselves trapped in a flame whirlwind. The roars gave way to guttural cries of pain. The Orcs rolled on the ground, the boars stamped and collided with each other.
Finally, after a very long half minute, the screaming stopped. And in less than a second, all presence of fire vanished.
Wozza didn't understand. He made the crow to look feverishly all around. The fugitives were on the verge of being caught by the boyz of Targhân Sreefingerz. Gork's foot had immobilized them. And then, in a blink, something had caused a gigantic and violent fire which had reduced the boyz to ashes! Who had dared to do that?
It was then that something caught his attention. On a roof not far from the group of Men stood a lanky figure. A curious detail, it had an orange mane on its head. Wozza focused the black bird's eyes on this strange figure. He barely had time to see it stretch its arm towards him... then suddenly, the crow burned alive in a second, lost his balance and fell into an alley.
Pushed back by the shock, Wozza the Farsiher found himself lying full length on the cobblestones. He stood up painfully, groaning, the back of his neck bruised. Something tickled his left nostril. He crushed the right one under his thumb, and huffed hard through the nose. A trickle of sticky green blood spurted out and dripped on his feet. The shaman turned to the chief, looking worried.
- Hey, Targhân! Men and Big Rats have a wizard! It burned our Boyz! They will attack!
The huge Orc leader growled in anger.
- We smash them to pieces!
- No, wait, Targhân! The Men who are inside the walls will also attack us from their side! We're going to be stuck between the two sides!
Targhân yelped again.
- What do you think we should do?
Wozza closed his eyes, and thought for ten seconds before pointing to the heavy door.
- We must attack those, and we hide behind the ramparts too after!
- You told us Gork and Mork want us not to attack them, and let them starve!
- That's true, but I'm not sure, Targhân.
At these words, Targhân grabbed the shaman by the skin of his neck.
- What?
- I haven't heard Gork and Mork speak to me since we got here, boss!
- You sinister moron! Are you telling me we're stuck between all these Men because you misunderstood our gods?
The chief raised his fist, ready to smash Wozza's skull, when he remembered he had the tribal shaman at his arm. Fearing the wrath of the gods, he let him go.
- I don't understand, Wozza! What are Gork and Mork saying now?
- They're not saying anything at the moment, Targhân. But if we just sit here and do nothing, all the Men will chop us into little pieces, and Gork and Mork won't like that, for sure! We have to fight!
Targhân looked around him. All of his loyal warriors had listened anxiously to the conversation. Realizing that he was their best bet against fear and defeat, he grabbed the huge axe he carried in his back, brandished it, and shouted with all his might:
- Alright, we'll get them! For Gork! For Mork!
Then he uttered the cry of the Waaagh, immediately imitated by all the warriors. He pointed his weapon to the reinforced double door.
- These are more weakened, they are more vulnerable! We kill them all!
- Waaagh! replied the Orcs.
- After, we'll take care of the others who arrive! When they see their friends all dead, they will be weakened in turn, and we kill them all too!
- Waaagh!
An Orc stepped forward.
- Hey, boss, how are we going to kill those who are in the shelter? They are protected by the doors which look very heavy!
Wozza was the one to sneer this time:
- Not for long, you triple idiot!
Called in by the guards who had spotted the rising Orc agitation, Lady Franzseska Gottlieb climbed up on the rampart. She was followed by Captain Müller.
- My Lady, the guards reported activity a few minutes ago. And now, this explosion!
- Someone must be harassing them. Finally, we have our reinforcements!
The old soldier wasn't so enthusiastic. On the contrary, the agglutination of Orcs worried him.
- Look, my lady! They're about to charge!
Lady Franzseska growled in annoyance, then turned to look inside the rampart. Behind the heavy door, all the able-bodied soldiers were anxiously waiting. Some were shaking to the point of almost dropping their weapon. The tall blonde woman decided not to let fear suffocate the townspeople who were counting on her.
- Residents of Wüstengrenze, be brave! Reinforcements have finally arrived, and have begun to pummel the invader! The Greenskins will be on the attack again, and this time they will stop with death only. They think they will subdue us, but we shall show them we know how to defend our lands and our lives!
Little by little, she saw the faces present determined expressions. Fear gave way to fighting spirit. She continued to nourish the passions.
- You are the soul of the Rat Kingdom! As long as your hearts keep this flame I see in your eyes, no one will defeat us!
Enthusiastic cries rose above the battalion. To finish motivating the troops, Lady Franzseska raised her sword above her head, and shouted with all her might:
- Wüstengrenze shall never fall!