"One day you'll die. There won't be any point looking back on life from your deathbed. So, fuck it. You can't change anything. You might as well just do what you can live with in the next moment. Moment by moment. That's war. That's love. That's everything." - Colonel Lambert Baun of the Brazen Bulls greatswords regiment
Dammerung, Reikland
Falk
The pickets from among the Karak Azgaraz rangers had finally delivered the warning. The forces of Clan Felkretch were on the move. Before the day was out, Dammerung would be under assault.
The civilian population of lower Dammerung had been moved to a series of caves behind the defenses of the fortress's upper half. The walls of both halves had been stocked with ammunition and large stones to hurl down upon invaders. Strategies had been laid out. Plans and signals had been agreed upon. Everything that could be accounted for, was. All that remained was the inevitable waiting.
Falk was in the room he had been sharing with Bianca. He was putting on his armor, and could hear the soldiers of Dammerung going to and fro through the open door behind him. He was facing the window as he buckled everything on, expecting to blink and suddenly see Axe Bite Pass become a living carpet of vile skaven.
Once Falk was armored, he began buckling on his the belt that held his pistol and falchion, along with the bandoleer of spare shells and the baldric that he would hang his flamberge upon. Some soldiers found the preparations for combat to be an almost ritualistic procedure to go through step by step. Falk had never felt that way. He always got the odd sense that he was taking too long.
Someone entered the room behind Falk as he finished tightening down the last buckle. He turned around to reach for his flamberge, expecting to see Bianca. What he saw, instead, was Draga, holding his greatsword by the ricasso and offering it to him. She was fully equipped for battle, girded in her studded leather armor, her weapons draped about her person.
With a grin, Falk accepted the sword and stowed it on his back.
"Sleep well?" Falk asked.
"Eventually." Draga replied, smirking.
Falk chuckled. "Good." A pause, then, "a lot of skaven are about to die."
"I knew it was going to be a good day when I woke up." Draga said.
Falk knew the two of them should start making their way to the lower walls. When it came to Draga, neither of them ever really talked about their relationship. It was one of those things that just felt mutually understood. Yet, just as Falk couldn't have let this battle arrive without telling Bianca his true feelings for her, it didn't feel right to leave things unsaid to Draga. Bianca was important to him, but Draga's place in his heart was just as big, if not bigger.
"Look. I'm not good at this shit, so I'm just going to say it." Falk cut to the heart of the matter.
"Oh?" Draga asked. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg, a gesture of anticipation.
"You're my best friend. I love you. I thank the gods every day that I've had the chance to be your partner for the past year, and I pray that there's at least a few more years of adventures alongside you in store for me. And, I guess, I wanted to thank you for being my friend. I don't have very many. I've never made them easily. So…thank you." Falk concluded, feeling bashful.
He expected Draga to call him an idiot or crack a joke. Instead, the Blackbow took a step forward and gave Falk a hug. Falk hugged her back without hesitation.
"I love you, too." Draga said, her voice vibrating through his breastplate. "Never thought I'd ever really be able to call someone a friend, let alone one as close as you. So don't thank me. That implies a debt. And there aren't debts between friends."
"Alright, well, in that case, go fuck yourself." Falk joked.
Draga laughed as she released him. She thumped her fist against his breastplate a couple times.
"Come on, then, Truthblade. We've got a date with some ratmen." Draga said.
"A date? Gods fucking save us." Falk groaned.
The two warrior-priests laughed as they left Falk's room.
Draga
Too nice a day for a battle. Draga thought.
It was Draga's first time defending a settlement from the walls. She immediately detested the lack of mobility. She stood fast all the same.
In her mind, Draga knew that the activity of the skaven couldn't be limited to secret dealings through duped middlemen and clandestine nighttime excursions under cover of darkness. Being so intimately familiar with the Conspiracy of Silence and the knowledge of the Under-Empire, Draga could even readily accept the fact that the skaven population was beyond counting. That was still an abstract thing. What she was looking at now was anything but abstract.
Somewhere between four and six to one. That was the estimate of how badly the defenders of Dammerung were outnumbered by the ratmen. It made the approximately two-thousand strong garrison feel woefully inadequate. The skaven horde approached, a great chittering mass that filled the air with their blasphemous vocalizations. It wasn't just a mass of ratmen either. Among the enemy army, Draga saw the hulking forms of rat ogres, as well as a half-dozen great machines that looked like approximations of cannons but crackled with green lighting.
"This is, uh…", Draga began.
"A bit much?" Rikter suggested.
"Yeah. A bit much." Draga said.
"Our position is strong", Falk assured them. "Our cannons can outrange theirs, so they'll be vulnerable to counter-battery fire."
"Hope the cannons have enough ammunition." Draga said, hand brushing her quiver to count arrows. There were barrels full of more all along the lower wall.
"If not, that's what the steel is for." Falk said.
"I pray to Myrmidia that you enjoy stabbing every last one of them, then, amore mio." Bianca laughed.
"This is just a little get together, drengbarazi." Galbrig assured them.
"Nothing like that vermintide we fought at Karak Hirn." Zedam agreed.
"Still finding raki fur in the soles of my boots after that one." Galbrig said.
"That's your own beard hair." Zedam said.
Draga laughed. She was glad the dwarfs were here. It was quite the coalition they had; Imperials, Bretonnians, elves, and dwarfs. It would have to be enough. Beside her, Vedwi was focused, not joining in the conversation. Khaldrir was further down, among his fellow rangers.
The wall was lined with coalition troops. Most of the Azgaraz rangers and elf troops, who were apparently called Lothern Sea Guard, were on the wall. Reserves waited below the wall, ready to rush to any breaches or cover a retreat, should that be necessary. Draga tried to feel confident seeing the forces they had arrayed against the enemy. She remembered the plan and focused on that.
When the first of the artillery fired, it made Draga almost jump out of her skin. The rest followed shortly thereafter. There were five pairs of cannons on the lower walls, each stationed atop a tower. A half-dozen mortars fired from pits just behind the top wall, directed by spotters. The cannonballs struck the skaven mass first, tearing bloody holes through the densely packed ratmen. The mortars soared in on their high, arcing trajectories moments later, exploding among the skaven, each one felling a dozen or more of the foul creatures. Yet, to Draga's eyes, it seemed the gaps in the enemy army were filled in moments later, like the damage never occurred.
Draga clung to her faith in Taal. She trusted that the Horned Father would carry her through this battle, and if he didn't, she would at least die well, fighting to remove a grave threat to the people of the Empire.
"Archers! Ready!" Major Hetz's command was passed down the wall.
Draga strung an arrow. She felt the ground shake beneath her and the air reverberate with thunder as the cannons fired again.
"Aim!"
Draga drew back the string of her bow as she had done countless thousands of times.
"Loose!"
Rippling out from Major Hetz over the gate in the center of the wall, the volley of missiles rushed into the air, leaping out to cross the gap between the defenders and the encroaching skaven. In spite of the number disparity, it was difficult for Draga not to feel her spirits lift as she saw the arrows and bolts rain down among the leading ranks of the skaven. Scores of the creatures thrashed, stumbled, and fell. Of course, those were slaves, sent to the front precisely because they were absorbing missile fire that now couldn't harm more important fighters. Draga consoled herself with the simple fact that a dead skaven was still a dead skaven, and that was always something to celebrate.
Hetz commanded two more volleys, after which, the archers on the walls began firing at will. The few handguns present on the wall started opening up as well. It boggled the mind just how many skaven were dying before even reaching the walls, yet they could still outnumber the defenders by so many.
The cannons began targeting the enemy's artillery. One of the distant contraptions went up in a viridian explosion of lightning and smoke, consuming the skaven around it. The ratmen had been wise enough to keep their lightning cannons spaced far apart, sadly, so there were no secondary explosions.
The skaven slaves reached the walls in their mad rush. They began throwing grapnels up the walls and setting up ladders. Defenders cut the ropes on the grapnels and shoved back the ladders where they could, but coming forward to do so proved dangerous. Streaking green shots from warplock jezzails set about trying to snipe those on the walls that exposed themselves. More than one defender fell back, tumbling off the wall with a bright green, steaming wound in their chest or face.
Draga spotted the skaven in their two-rat jezzail teams. She had to lift her bow to a high angle.
"Father Taal, may my aim be true." She prayed, then loosed. It wasn't a battle prayer, but even so, the arrow soared high over the incoming horde, arcing down to slam into the collarbone of a jezzailier. The skaven shrieked and fell. Further down the line, another jezzail simply exploded in a cloud of warpstone. Skaven technology was even more advanced than the dwarfs', but it was far less reliable.
Draga managed to tag another jezzailier, then was forced to switch from her bow to her messers as a skaven's head poked up over the parapet. She stabbed it between the eyes, then leaned out. Her enchanted blade sliced through the rope with ease, sending two more skaven tumbling back to the ground. Draga's brief glance over the wall revealed a seething mass of mangy fur, gnashing teeth, and rusting blades.
A skaven's head exploded beside Draga under Vedwi's hammer. Falk split one in half from skull to waist with a downward chop as it mounted the wall. All down the lower wall, defenders concentrated on the points where skaven were attempting to gain footholds. Archers and crossbowmen in the cannon towers continued to pour missile after missile into the greater mass of ratmen. In some places, especially at the base of the wall, the skaven were having to clamber over mounting piles of their own dead. In the distance, another of the lightning cannons was destroyed. Mortars continued to fall like meteors among the army of Clan Felkretch.
As Draga was already drenched with sweat. She found herself near the dwarf rangers, and Khaldrir grabbed her attention.
"Drengbarazal! What's happening out there? You manlings build your crenelations too high." The ranger complained.
"Sorry I forgot to get you a box." Draga said. She saw the skaven slaves were faltering. Some were trying to run back through their own ranks, only to meet the blades of larger, brown-furred clanrats. A cheer went up down the wall of Dammerung as the skaven pulled back. More ladders and grapnels were removed.
"We've fought them off for now." Draga said. She quickly took a pull from her waterskin.
Khaldrir didn't look pleased as he reloaded his crossbow. "Typical raki. This was just to tire us out and spend ammo. Clanrats'll be next."
Both of them jumped as something blindingly bright and green struck the wall. The first of the skaven lightning cannons had come within range and begun firing. Another blasted the top of one of the lower wall's towers. It didn't destroy the tower outright, but after a moment the face of the tower's upper quarter fell away, taking both cannons and their crew with it. The remaining towers focused on the lightning cannons, and a furious exchange of artillery commenced.
The clanrats made their move, joined by rat ogres. Many of the hulking abominations had hands replaced with huge axes, spiked maces, or even bludgeons of wire-wrapped warpstone. The rat ogres were driven forth by skaven with long, hooked goads, corralling the beasts toward the gates of Dammerung. The gates were stout, built of heavy timbers and iron banding. Beyond them was an iron portcullis, creating a killzone beneath the gatehouse where arrows and boiling pitch could be poured down upon invaders. All the same, Draga had no doubt the rat ogres could batter their way in.
She didn't focus on the rat ogres themselves. She drew an arrow and pelted one of the handlers instead, pitching the skaven over with a headshot. Draga walked along the wall, aiming and firing again. The second handler took three arrows. They were heavily armored and tough from a life of being knocked around by much larger creatures.
"The umgi rinn has the right of it! Kill the handlers!" Khaldrir commanded the other rangers.
The rangers turned their weapons as one. Quarrels punched clean through the heavy armor of the skaven handlers. Those that missed and struck the rat ogres instead barely seemed to faze the beasts. One rat ogre turned on a nearby injured handler, tore its armor open like a tin can, and began devouring the handler's flesh. The clanrats attempting to push the walls on either side of the gate suddenly found themselves under attack from rat ogres with no direction and enraged by the stinging missiles from on high. Elsewhere down the wall, clanrats were trying to gain the top, but were still finding themselves stymied by determined defenders.
The skaven attempted to counter the rangers. A dozen two-rat teams of ratling gunners approached, the multi-barreled weapons spooling up and preparing to rake the position of the rangers. As the first baleful bullets began to fly, Draga felt a rippled of magic pass over them. Her armor suddenly went from studded leather to gleaming gold, yet it maintained its lightness, and as a trio of bullets struck her dead center only to be deflected, it was clear its durability had increased as well. It didn't protect bare flesh, and the sheer volume of fire sent several dwarfs onto their backs where bullets found weaknesses.
Goldy. Draga realized, and only had the briefest chance to look for the wizard. Rikter was close by, his face deathly pale. That had been a powerful spell, easily the most powerful Draga had seen him cast. She doubted Rikter had another one in him, but he didn't need to.
She joined the rangers in returning fire on the ratling gunners. They didn't last long after that, and the few survivors dropped empty guns and fled.
Draga allowed herself to feel a growing sense of hope. The battle was brutal, but it was obvious the defenders were having the better of it. The skaven had yet to commit their elite stormvermin, but she couldn't see how even the black-furs could overcome this determined defense. When the clanrats broke, it would give them a chance to shuffle reserves to the top of the wall and let those who started the battle up there a chance to catch their breath.
The explosion that happened at that moment was so loud that Draga was utterly disoriented for several seconds. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs, realizing she had dropped to one knee. None of the towers were destroyed. There hadn't been some great hole torn into the invading army. What could…?
Draga turned around. There was smoke going up in a column from beyond the upper wall. The mortars were no longer firing, and she could see anyone manning the defenses up there.
"Taal's blood…", Draga breathed, hope quickly replaced by dread.
"Eyes up, drengbarazal! Still have a battle to fight right here!" Khaldrir got her attention.
"Falk is taking some others up to see what happened." Rikter informed her. Where had he come from? "We must hold here, Mina!"
"Right…you're right!" Draga brought herself back just in time to shoot a clanrat in the face at point-blank range as it surmounted the wall. She drew her blades. It wasn't over yet.
Falk
Almost as soon as it happened, Falk knew the reason behind it. It had to have been the main powder magazine.
The caravaneers. They had all been so focused on the incoming skaven that they had forgotten the fact that the ratmen were more than happy to use humans to achieve their ends, especially if those humans were other followers of the Ruinous Powers. It only would have taken one or two slipping out of the caves while the battle distracted the garrison.
Falk ran through lower Dammerung. Bianca, Zedam, and Galbrig were with him, as were the Dawnbringers. They hurried up the switchback, the uphill slog quickly stealing the breath from them. Falk dreaded what they would find when they got to the top with every step, yet if too many allies had been killed in the explosion, there was the unfortunate chance that the infiltrators could turn the mortars upon the defenders below with whatever powder remained.
The company passed through the open gate and went up the short ramp that led to the flattened out area of upper Dammerung. It was in shambles. It was primarily a horseshoe of buildings hugging the walls of the huge niche that had been carved out of the mountain for the fortress. One of these was little more than a smoking crater, its nearest neighbors knocked over and burning. Fiery debris had been hurled like canister shot, the shockwave of the blast turning the insides of those too close to it to paste. Now, men dressed like sellswords were butchering Reikland soldiers that were dazed, injured, and disorganized.
Falk wiped sweat from his brow, raised his greatsword, and charged without a word. Her yellow coat billowing around her, Bianca charged at his side, sword and dirk in hand. On his other side were the two dwarfs.
"Fear no darkness, for we are the Dawn!" Sir Weilstadt bellowed, drawing a sword in each hand, one of them glowing with pure, white light. The elf, Aclan, hefted his greataxe.
"The Dawn Provides!" His knights chorused as they went into the fray.
The chaos cultists were eager to face this new threat.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" More than one of them shrieked as they made to meet the new arrivals.
Bodies and metal clashed as the two sides met. Falk put his full weight and momentum behind an overhead chop at his first target, smashing down a raised hatchet and cleaving through the cultist's head. He kicked the body away, catching a falchion on his flamberge's parry hooks, throwing the enemy's sword aside, then cracking the pommel of his greatsword against the cultist's cheek. He felt bones break under the impact. A long, thin blade licked out from the side and suddenly the cultist was down with a slit throat, Bianca continuing past, her dirk now dripping with crimson. Falk advanced to keep pace with her. Zedam and Galbrig fought side by side, their shields turning blows, limbs flying from cultist bodies as their axes struck.
The cultists were not great in number, and the last of them was cut down in short order. The damage had already been done, though. The primary powder magazine was gone. There was a smaller auxiliary storage in lower Dammerung to supply the cannons, but it would quickly be depleted by the sustained firing on the walls. The mortar crews were almost all dead or wounded. There had only been a token force in upper Dammerung, and the last thing they had expected was an attack from even deeper within their own fortress.
"Merda…what do we do now?" Bianca breathed.
"Much as I hate to say it, I think we have to get back down and defend the wall. This isn't over yet." Falk said.
"Hate to bear bad news, but I think it might be a little late for that." Weil said. He stood the crenelations that looked down over lower Dammerung, just in front of the mortar pits. Since they were already elevated above the rest of the fortress, the crenelations were on the same level as the rest of upper Dammerung.
Falk came to stand beside Weil and his heart sank. Two more towers had been destroyed by the lightning cannons, of which three remained. Defenders on the walls were growing exhausted, unable to trade out for fresh reserves as the vermintide continued assaulting the wall. The skaven had footholds now, which were widening more and more with each passing moment. As battles tended to go, everything had turned so suddenly.
A horn was blown. That would be Major Hetz, who was standing with the reserves. It was the command for the defenders on the wall to fall back to upper Dammerung. The uncommitted reserves would fight a rearguard action to give their beleaguered comrades time to surmount the switchback and reach safety.
The plan could still work. Dammerung could still hold.
"Dawnbringers! Ranged weapons. Time to give some covering fire." Weil commanded, sheathing his swords and taking a repeating crossbow from his back.
"Come on." Falk told his companions.
Zedam and Galbrig followed after Falk with stoic expressions. Renowned dwarfen endurance showed through, as neither of them appeared to be breathing particularly heavily just yet. Falk and Bianca, on the other hand, were still gasping after fighting on the lower walls, followed by the run up the switchbacks, then the fight against the cultists.
"You umgi should stay here. You're falling over." Zedam advised.
"We'll help everyone get up here safe. Neither of you'll be any good to anyone if your little umgi hearts give out." Galbrig agreed.
Falk looked at Bianca. The Radiant was slouched, resisting the obvious urge to put her hands on her knees. The dwarfs were right. It pained Falk to admit it, but they wouldn't serve anyone by running all the way back down the hill and trying to fight. The Dawnbringers were in similar shape, and it seemed Weilstadt had already realized the wisdom of preserving their strength.
"Gods…go with you. Whichever…whichever ones you pick." Falk croaked.
"Fear not. I will join them." Aclan said, motioning for Zedam and Galbrig to follow him. He looked as if he'd just gone for a leisurely stroll so far. "If you'll stand the company of an elgi, anyway."
"...might be having to share a grave with him, soon, anyway." Galbrig complained.
"Mad times. Mad times, indeed." Zedam grumbled.
All the same, the pair of dwarfs joined Aclan. They ran down the ramp and out of the gate.
Falk joined the Dawnbringers at the parapet. Crossbows were sitting in racks beside each mortar, now doubt for the crews usage should the lower town be breached. Falk picked one up and began loading it. The skaven were coming over the lower wall en masse now, and they were in the process of raising the iron portcullis beyond the gates. The gates themselves were being smashed by something large. More rat ogres, Falk guess.
Still, all was not lost. The reserves were meeting the leading elements of the skaven with grim vigor as the wall defenders went as fast as their exhaustion allowed. Upper Dammerung was incredibly defensible. The parapet was too high for ladders and grapnels. The skaven would have to slog their way up the switchback, then batter down the gate, which was even thicker and sturdier than the one below, thanks to its smaller width and height.
Falk set a bolt in his crossbow and waited. It was maddening, watching the fighting down in the streets, but he was not the only warrior here. He had to trust others to do their jobs just as others trusted him.
"Not how I envisioned this going." Bianca admitted. She held a pair of pistols, looking down into lower Dammerung with him.
"The plan can still work." Falk assured her.
"I know. And I doubt those lightning cannons can traverse their aim high enough to reach us. We'll hold. Myrmidia is with us." Bianca said.
Falk couldn't help but laugh. "Myrmidia. Verena. Taal and Rhya. Sigmar. We've got a lot of gods with us against their one." He gave her a tired smile. "How could we lose?"
"Exactly." Bianca agreed.
Major Hetz signaled with his horn once again. The last of the wall defenders was past them. The rearguard was beginning its fighting retreat up the switchback. Falk could see that some of the skaven were stopping to search through buildings. Others killed wounded defenders that couldn't run. Falk tried to pretend he didn't see the skaven that were pausing to devour mouthfuls of flesh from the fallen, both their own and their enemies.
Falk, for all his martial skill, did not use ranged weapons other than his pistol very often. He waited until the Dawnbringers began firing their bows and crossbows before adding his own fire. His gladness at doing something was countered by the feeling of futility as he watched his first bolt soar into the skaven ranks. It felt like spitting into a bonfire for all the good it did, yet still he placed the crossbow on the ground, put his boot in the stirrup on its front, drew back the string, and loaded in another bolt.
Staying focused on this mechanical repetition carried Falk through an unknown amount of time as the defenders of Dammerung slowly filtered in through the gates of the upper fortress. Some began filling in alongside the Dawnbringers, raining missiles down on the skaven. Others simply went as far as their legs could carry them before collapsing onto the ground, chests heaving. Yet the ratmen fell upon those who straggled behind the main retreat without mercy.
Falk spotted Draga. Even though she had been on the wall, she was among the rearguard, as were many of the dwarfen rangers. Falk saw Vedwi and Khaldrir right beside the Blackbow, all three of them veritably coated in skaven blood. Rikter was just behind them, thrusting his staff like a spear past his allies.
They might not make it. Or, worse, if we close the gate with the skaven on their heels, they'll either be locked out or skaven bodies will keep the gates from closing all the way. Falk realized. A rat ogre or two would be able to lift the gate if there were any gaps underneath.
Falk looked to the side, then set the crossbow down.
"What are you doing?" Bianca asked.
"Something very stupid." Falk replied as he reached down and picked up a mortar shell. It was a twelve-pounder, the most common in the empire, used both for siege artillery and field guns. He took out the flint striker he used for his pipe and scraped it over the shell's fuse. It immediately lit up, and Falk pitched the shell like a shot put. It plummeted, crushing a clanrat's skull, then exploded among them on the switchback, scattering burning fur and steaming blood. Falk had already picked up another shell, lighting it and tossing it. Another group of skaven were obliterated. The pressure on Draga and her companions was lessening, and a third shell was enough to convince the ratmen to back off.
The last of the defenders reached safety. The gate slammed down, and an eerie quiet settled over Dammerung.
In the event of something akin to what had happened to the powder storage, provisions had been kept far away from the fort's magazine. With the lull in the fighting, food and casks of small beer were brought out and generously shared around. One way or another, a prolonged siege wasn't going to happen. The wounded were hauled back away from the parapet, the worst of them taking up the places in the caves that the treacherous caravaneers no longer occupied.
Falk was sitting with his back against one of the useless mortars. The skaven were in lower Dammerung, feasting on the dead and fighting over battlefield pillage. They were technically in range of arrows and bolts, but the defenders' supply was not so great in the upper half of the fortress.
What passed for the command council of the defense was gathered around. Major Hetz leaned on his two-handed mace. All three warrior-priests were present, as were Rikter, Khaldrir, and Weilstadt. Everyone was battered, bruised, and cut in some way. A blade had slipped between the tassets hanging from Falk's cuirass and caused blood to run down his right leg. He hadn't even noticed it until the gate to upper Dammerung had been closed.
"We've lost almost a third of our number." Hetz said. His head was bandaged, his breastplate and one pauldron dashed with congealed blood. "Bretonnians were cornered and fought to the last on the west end of the wall. If they breach the gate, I'd say this'll be over in minutes. But they'll have a hell of a time doing it."
"The clanrats will come first. They'll send the stormvermin next." Weil said. "Normally, they'd try to use some explosive or another to breach the gate, but it could just as easily blast away their only means of getting up here without having to scale sheer rock." The aging knight stood beside his son, looking worn thin.
"You're thinking like an umgi. The Raki will send their fodder with mallets and spikes to hammer a path into the rock. Seen 'em do it before. Black-furs will take the path at the same time, shields up, and try to hack their way through the doors." Khaldrir said.
"That'll take time. We can still hold out." Falk assured them. "We've killed hundreds of them by now."
There was a general agreement around the circle. Whether they really believed it or not didn't matter. Holding the line and giving up were the only options.
The volume of skaven chittering increased. Falk knew that meant their brief respite was over. Falk picked up his borrowed crossbow and looked down over the wall, seeing Khaldrir's prediction come true in real time. Clanrats were gathering at the base of the rock face and setting about hammering spikes into the mountainside. When one of them fell due a fired missile or dropped stone, another took the skaven's place. A column of stormvermin in heavy armor began marching up the switchbacks, their triangular shields raised. Projectiles fired from above were not nearly as effective against the black-furs, and it was here that the precious few remaining mortar shells were dropped. Falk used his drakefire shells where the black-furs were making too good of progress, the dwarfen alchemy melting through armor.
Time seemed to stretch. Crews of slaves and clanrats came forward simply to haul bodies out of the way of the stormvermin. Progress was slowly made by the climbers as ammunition began running low atop the parapet. Defenders were hauling masonry from the wreckage of the powder magazine and its surrounding buildings just to have one more thing to toss down on the enemy.
Falk looked down. One of the climbers, a scant twenty or so feet away now, looked up at him and shouted something in the blasphemous language of the ratmen, obviously meant to be a taunt. Falk blew off its head with his pistol, then sent another climber tumbling down into the seething mass of its brethren with the other barrel.
Steel clashed further down the parapet. The first of the climbers had reached the top and were engaged with the remnants of the Lothern Sea Guard and the Azgaraz rangers. Inevitably, this distracted those atop the wall, giving the other climbers an easier time. Slowly but surely the ratmen gained the parapet, and a fearsome hand to hand battle began to keep them away from the gatehouse. Falk was in among the defenders, his flamberge rising and falling like the blade of a guillotine. A veritable rain of skaven corpses and body parts fell from the parapet as the defenders made them pay for every inch of ground.
We'll hold. We'll hold. Falk kept repeating to himself as he fought.
Draga
Running out of arrows was not a common occurrence for Draga. She was careful with her shots and knew how to reclaim ammunition from the battlefield. But here she was, stuck in with her messers, her quiver completely empty. She had killed so many skaven, yet there was always one more behind the last.
Father Taal, let me fight just one more minute. Draga prayed, and not for the first time. She didn't think the Horned King would be offended by the repeated prayers.
The first stormvermin used the climbing spikes to reach the top of the parapet. Draga deflected the thing's curved sword, stabbing at it. The black-fur got its shield in the way, blocking Draga's attack, though the enchanted steel punctured the shield and kept going into the arm beyond. The stormvermin hissed, surprised by the wound, which gave Draga an opening to put a messer into its belly three times in rapid succession. Another stormvermin, this one with a polearm, was immediately in the place of the one she had just killed. Draga stepped inside the thing's guard and opened its throat. The Blackbow reversed her right hand messer and spiked it sideway into the temple of a clanrat about to strike at one of the Azgaraz rangers with a flail.
One more minute. Draga prayed.
More and more of the skaven were managing to get a foothold without being driven back. Reserves were surging in where the ratmen were at their most numerous. There was this nagging feeling in the back of Draga's mind that if she just fought a bit harder, if she killed just a bit more quickly, the tide could be turned…
Draga saw a dwarf ranger get stabbed through the back by a stormvermin sword. It took a moment for her to realize it wasn't just any ranger.
"Khal! Khaldrir! NO!" Draga cried, trying to push through the press of combat to help her friend. There were too many bodies between her and the dwarf.
Khaldrir wheeled as the sword was wrenched from his back. He coughed up blood as his axes fell from slack fingers.
"I'm ready for the end, raki!" The ranger roared, bloody spittle flying past his lips as he charged. "Are you?!"
The stormvermin's sword pierced Khaldrir's chest. The dwarf kept going forward, slamming into the skaven, carrying them both over the parapet.
Draga scream of fury was drowned out by Vedwi's. They both fought with renewed vigor that only fury could provide, yet no amount of rage could turn back the vermintide that slowly gained ground on them.
There was a new uproar. The gate to upper Dammerung had finally been broken through. Stormvermin were charging up the ramp. The last of the defensive reserves were committed into throwing them back. Major Hetz was at the head of this effort, his mace crushing a stormvermin skull, then whirling to smash the teeth out of the snout from another.
They had killed many skaven this day. It was a cold comfort to hope that the power of Clan Felkretch had been broken, even if they were victorious. Draga could take some tiny amount of satisfaction that Harrox would find the wagons that supposedly contained the warpstone almost entirely empty.
But the Blackbow wouldn't be laying down and giving up before then.
One more minute. Draga thought as she parried aside a stormvermin's thrusting polearm, hacking away the skaven's fingers, then stabbing it in the eye. One more minute.
Draga had a moment's respite, and she wondered why that was, but then she saw a flash of grey-blue that could only be gromril.
Harrox Razortail emerged from the ramp. One, two, three, defenders were struck down in as many seconds, the skaven warlord a whirlwind of blows. Major Hetz tried to come to the aid of his troops, but quickly found himself beaten back by lustrian mace, Sigmarite hammer, and Druchii dagger. The hulking, black-furred skaven's flurry of attacks was a veritable bombardment, and Hetz was entirely on the defensive. The Major found himself overwhelmed, struck in the side by the mace, his bascinet helm dented by the hammer, the dagger drawing blood from his face. Hetz's mace fell, and it was almost certain that the man was going to die.
That was until a towering human catapulted into the skaven warlord. Harrox stumbled back, defending against the greatsword that assailed it. Hetz was dragged back by his soldiers as Harrox squared up with the one who confronted him. Falkenwulf Daur, bloodied, soaked with sweat, lifted his flamberge.
"Why don't we settle this once and for all, you fucking vermin?" The Truthblade challenged.
Falk
It was the first time Falk had ever directly faced down Harrox, yet Falk had been thinking about this battle so much over the previous weeks and months that it had a weight of inevitability about it.
"Fal-ken-wulf…", the skaven snarled. "You not going to walk-stride from Harrox Razortail. I kill-slay you. Your friends all die-die. All your fault, man-thing, yes-yes!"
Draga struck. Her messers clashed against gromril mail, but not even the enchanted blades could so easily breach the dwarfen star-metal. The Blackbow danced away from Harrox's retaliation, coming to stand beside Falk.
"No one-on-one for you, ratman." Draga said.
Harrox didn't answer. It attacked, prompting its forces to resume their own assault.
"Sword of Justice!" Falk intoed, and this time he put his heart and his will into the battle prayer. His flamberge drew in holy magic, a sign that Verena blessed this battle.
Falk's blade fell. Harrox batted it aside with its hammer, its dagger striking like a scorpion's tail. Draga darted in, seeking a weak point, but the mace held in its left hand swished in, forcing Draga to lean back and let it pass overhead. She slipped behind the skaven as Falk attacked it from the front. The flailing tail dagger kept her at bay, moving too erratically for Draga to strike directly. Hammer and mace slammed in against Falk, forcing the Truthblade to fall into Bittner stance. If he stayed on the defensive but held the skaven's attention, maybe Draga could deal a lethal blow.
Harrox fought like a thing possessed. Thick globs of spittle dripped from its guillotine-like fangs as it fought, pounding on Falk's defenses like it had nothing to worry about in the world beyond killing the Truthblade. Draga managed to parry the tail dagger and get in close, going for the back of Harrox's neck with a messer, but the skaven hunched and ducked, causing Falk's greatsword to whiff over its head just as the messer hit gromril rather than flesh.
Falk was an instant too slow. Harrox's hammer deflected from his flamberge at a shallow angle and the Truthblade just barely managed to tilt his head to one side as the hammer dealt him a glancing blow, knocking his hat away. Falk fell, not realizing he was on his back until he was looking up at the sky. Harrox moved to finish the job, but Draga leapt on its back, ripping the vampiric helm from the warlord's head.
Can't lose that hat. Bianca got me that hat. Falk thought, his mind oddly detached from what was going on around him as he grabbed for the hat. Around him, the skaven were pushing the defenders back on all sides. They flowed over the wall and up through the gate. Had he not been dazed and focused entirely on getting back to his feet, Falk might have felt despair or regret. Harrox's dagger sank into Draga's lower back and the Blackbow gasped in pain, getting thrown off by the warlord's thrashing.
Falk again threw himself at Harrox, his flamberge coming down on the skaven's left shoulder. It managed to break through thanks to Verena's blessing. The skaven snapped with fury as its collarbone broke under the impact, its mace falling as black blood welled over mail links. Falk blocked a retaliatory strike from the hammer, then the dagger still bearing Draga's blood, but the hammer fell again, striking him in the chest. Falk felt something break in his torso as his breathing suddenly became painful. Harrox loomed, an evil smile twisting its abominable face in spite of its limp and useless left arm. The warrior-priests were both wounded and weak. Harrox made to finish it…
A distant horn. This one was deeper than Hetz's. It was a sound that should come from the heart of a mountain, a sound as inevitable as a rockslide or an avalanche. Though Falk could not see it from where he was fighting, he knew what that noise meant.
Out beyond the walls of lower Dammerung, the throng of Karak Azgaraz marched against the skaven lines, two-thousand strong. Quarrelers and thunderers unleashed crossbow bolts and hails of bullets into the skaven. The ratmen that reached the front lines were met by gromril-clad Ironbreakers, douty longbeards, unrelenting hammerers, and of course, the doom-seeking Slayers. Thane Brimboir commanded the throng from atop a rune-inscribed throne that was borne aloft by four particularly burly dwarfs, his greataxe cleaving apart any skaven that dared to get past the blades of his bodyguards. Though they were outnumbered, that was the state the dwarfs had been in for centuries. They withstood the skaven counter attack, continuing their grinding forward advance to the relief of Dammerung.
The skaven still within lower Dammerung panicked, unsure of which direction to go. Their warlord was engaged above. What had been a certain victory suddenly had them pinned between two hostile forces. Chaos ensued as some ratmen tried to run away, others committed to fighting one enemy or the other.
The arrival of the dwarfs at long last gave heart to those protecting upper Dammerung, and they surged forward with renewed vigor. Falk and Draga pressed their attack against Harrox. The skaven held them in a stalemate, hammer and dagger blurring as it fended off the two warrior-priests.
Draga managed something the would have been comical had it not been for the life or death situation. She stomped down, pinning Harrox's tail to the ground. Her messers scissored and severed the skaven's tail.
Harrox opened its mouth in a wail of pain and outrage.
The point of Falk's flamberge drove into Harrox's open mouth and out through the top of its head. The skaven recoiled violently, juddering its death throes like a fish on the end of a harpoon. Then it collapsed. Falk, for good measure, pulled his sword free, and with a downward slash, cut off Harrox's head.
The Truthblade snatched up the head, holding it up for all to see.
"Harrox is dead! The Razortail is dead!" Falk called, his voice hoarse. It sent a wave of pain through his chest and Falk had to plant his sword and lean on it to keep from falling.
All the same, it had the desired effect. The skaven saw their leader was dead and their morale crumbled. They began to flee from upper Dammerung, some pushing each other over the parapets in an effort to reach the climbing spikes.
As much as Falk wanted to pursue the enemy, he had nothing left to give. His strength lasted only until he found the hat Bianca had given him. It was blessedly intact.
He collapsed to his knees, his sword clanging against the paving stones beside him as it fell from his fingers. He crawled across the ground to where Draga lay. The Blackbow was lucid, her teeth gritted against the pain of her wound.
"Draga…?" Falk croaked.
"I'll be…fine. It's ok." She said, reaching up to tap his cheek with a hand. "Worry about yourself, first."
Falk believed her. He lay on his back beside her. Just like in Stromdorf, he reached out and clasped her hand in his. He wanted to say something along the lines of "we did it" or "I knew they'd get here."
"Draga?" Falk asked.
"Yeah?"
"If I ever try to make a plan again, I want you to break my nose."
Draga snorted. She squeezed his hand.
"Deal." The Blackbow said.
Around them, the survivors didn't cheer. Most of them did as Falk and Draga had done, dropping where they stood, overcome by exhaustion and injury. The most that many of them could manage was getting out waterskins or flasks and drinking.
Falk lifted his head as footsteps and something clanking against wood approached. There was Rikter was approaching, using his staff as a walking stick. An entire ear was missing from the left side of his head, yet the wizard was showing great resolve in staying upright. One needed such resolve, Falk supposed, to control the Winds of Magic. Mutually supporting and being supported by him was Bianca, who was almost hopping along, as it appeared she had lost some toes to a skaven blade through her boot, and her coat was rent open, her belly bleeding from a thankfully shallow cut.
Neither Radiant nor wizard said anything. By some unspoken agreement, they joined Truthblade and Blackbow on the ground. In the distance, the sounds of Thane Brimboir's throng delivering final judgement to Clan Felkretch lulled them into exhausted rest.
On that day, the strength of Clan Felkretch was broken at great cost, but such has ever been the lot of the defenders of Order; victory, at great cost. Harrox Razortail was dead, along with most of his strongest underlings. When news reached Fort Fang, the skaven did as they always have. That corner of the Under-Empire ran black with skaven blood for many days. When the throng of Thane Brimboir arrived, the re-christened Fort Ironbeard was retaken for Karak Azgaraz, precisely as had been the plan all along. Vedwi, Zedam, and Galbrig were among the throng, the name of their fallen ranger companion on their lips with every ratman slain.
Fully half of Dammerung's defenders were dead, either in battle or from wounds after the fact. The upper and lower districts were in ruins. The Emperor of Man himself, who was also the Grand Prince and Elector Count of Reikland and Altdorf, declared that Dammerung should not be rebuilt. It would be abandoned and buried under a rockslide to deny it to any enemies that might use it as a base to harry Axe Bite Pass. This was a cost saving measure, of course, and had nothing to do with burying thousands of bodies of non-existent ratmen. The surviving garrison, including a newly promoted Colonel Hetz, would be reassigned to Helmgart and Ubersreik.
Sir Weilstadt announced his retirement a few days after the Battle of Dammerung, passing off command of the Order of the Dawnbringers, and returning to Altdorf and the Baroness von Bauman. He said farewell to his dear friend Aclan. Though Weil had some years left in him, it was the last good-bye that Aclan and he would exchange, unbeknownst to either of them. One could take comfort in the fact that their final meeting was just like old times; a foolhardy but valiant effort against the odds.
As for Falk and Draga, the end of the battle was far from the end of their duty. It was to Altdorf they went to rest and recover, and they did not go alone…
Altdorf, Reikland
Falk
Confusion filled Falk's mind as he awoke. There was a weight across his chest. Not the weight of a blanket or pillow, but something warm. Something rhythmically moving with the motion of breathing.
Falk's eyes slid open. Something fluffy and black filled his vision. Then a familiar smell in his nostrils. Cinnamon.
Right.
Bianca was sound asleep. She was, Falk had learned, both a heavy sleeper, and someone not to be woken up early without due cause. So, Falk remained pinned in place. The sun was up outside. He never slept this late on his own or when he rested beside Draga.
Eventually, the need to relieve himself won out. Falk rolled Bianca off of him bit by bit, then climbed out of bed and got dressed. When he came back inside, Falk went into the common room of the inn. Draga was there, sitting by herself, drinking from a goblet of wine. That alone was a sign something was up. She never drank alcohol so early.
Falk got himself an ale. It seemed he wasn't the only one with bad news to share.
"Mornin'." Falk grunted, sitting down across from Draga.
"Rhya's blessing on your dawn." Draga murmured into her goblet.
They were quiet for several moments. It hung heavy in the air.
"You first." Falk said.
"No fair." Draga said.
Falk just shrugged.
Draga sighed. She leaned her elbows on the table.
"I've been called to Talabecland. There's a Longshanks acolyte who could make a good Blackbow. After what you and I have done over the past year, they think I'm ready to take the next step in the Order." Draga said, her eyes downcast.
Falk knew it was coming, yet it still struck him like a dagger in the heart. His best friend in the world was leaving. How capricious the gods could be, sometimes, granting such wondrous sources of joy only to snatch them away.
"How's Rikter taking it?" Falk asked.
Draga tilted her head and shrugged. "Good. Honestly, this sort of works for us both. His work was always going to keep him too busy for a normal family life, anyway. I'll carry him in my heart, and I know I'll still be in his, no matter how far away I am."
"Good. I'm happy for you." Falk told her. "You know…some days I felt like we were going to be walking the road together until we couldn't walk anymore." He drank his ale, even though he had no taste for it.
"I wish we could. I want nothing more." She agreed. Draga sniffed, closed her eyes, and let out a long breath, mastering herself for the moment.
Neither of them may have been the archetypal expample of their respective Orders, but in the end, Falk and Draga were dedicated to their gods above all. Where faith called them, they would go. That didn't make it any less painful of a parting.
"I've been assigned to Marienburg." Falk revealed, leaning back in his chair with a groan. His chest still ached from the blow Harrox had dealt it. "My Order thinks it's time I put my roots in somewhere, became part of a city. I was given a few choices and…well, I'm sure you can guess why. But even if things don't work out between Bianca and me in the long term, it's not like Marienburg's need for another Truthblade will go away. One city's good as another."
Draga nodded.
Another period of silence.
"It's been the greatest honor of my life to fight with you, Falkenwulf Daur." Draga said, meeting his eye.
"The feeling is mutual, Dragamina Bajra. But by Verena, it won't be our last fight. We'll see each other again one day." He held up his mug. "To battles won, to battles yet to come, and to the best friend I've ever had."
"Our health, our happiness, and our victory." Draga added, clicking her goblet against his tankard.
They both drained their cups and called for more. Sad it may have been, but Falk would spend all the time he could with Draga all the same.
Draga left the next day. Falk had hugged her tightly, not wanting to let go, but eventually he did. She'd already bid her farewells to Bianca and Rikter the day before, but Falk had wanted to see her one last time. The Blackbow left on horseback, riding out of the city. Falk was left by himself near Altdorf's southern gate, the hollow in his belly growing more yawning with each stride of distance between himself and his friend.
Taal and Rhya. Thank you. Thank you for letting her cross my path. Falk prayed to Draga's patrons. And please let me see her again.
Falk could not just stand at the gate forever, and thus went back into Altdorf, back toward the inn. In Verena's name, he had to carry on, no matter what assailed him.
When Falk returned to his room, he found Bianca was awake, getting ready for the day. Normally, this would be the point where watching the most beautiful woman he'd ever met get dressed would have distracted Falk. Not so, this day. Falk was almost ashamed of just how badly this was affecting him. He needed to be stronger than this, didn't he?
"A shame we have to be gone this morning. I would love nothing more than a heap of bacon. And some bread from that bakery we found with the cinnamon apple jam on it." Bianca said as she laced up her shirt. "Merciful Shallya, maybe it's good we're getting out of here while I still fit in my clothes."
"Yeah. A shame." Falk agreed absently, planting himself in a chair against one wall. He tried to squelch the sadness and refocus on the moment. There was no need to bring Bianca down with him.
"I'll have to see if there's anywhere in Marienburg that has something similar. There must be. It's a big place. I'll ask around. Oh, and I'll finally be able to take you to the only place that makes good Tilean food in the city. Gods, that's just about the only thing I miss about home." Bianca went on. She sat on the bed and began pulling on her boots.
"I'd say we've earned a few decent meals, if nothing else." Falk tried to go along with her.
Bianca looked over at him, her second boot halfway on. She frowned, an expression that morphed into a smile that was wan and understanding in equal measure.
"Amore mio. You know you don't have to hide what's in your heart from me. You told me it's mine now, didn't you?" She pointed out.
Falk nodded. "I did."
"You miss her." Bianca said.
"I do. It…feels like a part of me is gone." Falk agreed. He let his chin fall to his chest.
Bianca finished buckling her boots on. She came over to him, crouching beside Falk's chair, taking his hands in hers.
"And you are blessed for that feeling. To have someone so important that this is what their absence brings. It's a cold comfort, I know. I am here for you, whether you need to talk, or need a distraction. Whatever you need." Bianca assured him.
You deserve better from me. Falk thought. He didn't say it. He knew she'd refute it, and perhaps she'd be correct for doing so. The emptiness within him was filled, at least partially.
"Thank you." He finally said. "I'll be alright. It'll take some time. But I'll be alright. I promise."
"I know you will." Draga said. She brought his knuckles to her lips, then rose up and kissed his cheek.
"I love you." Falk said as Bianca went to continue getting ready.
"As I love you." Bianca answered sweetly. She always said the words as if she'd just tasted a particularly fine vintage of wine. It had a way of making Falk feel honored each and every time.
Falk got up, getting his own things together. His armor was already stowed aboard the boat they would be taking up river. When both of them were prepared, they left the inn and stepped out into the street.
"We had best get a move on. Marienburg awaits, and I'm sure there are all manner of lowlifes and heretics that would rejoice if we missed our boat." Bianca said as she began walking.
Falk looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the southern gate for one last time.
"I would certainly hate to keep them waiting." Falk said, then set off after her.
Draga
Draga had wept a few times over the previous days. Falk and she had drunk the day away and gotten utterly sloshed when they'd revealed to each other the truth of their inevitable parting. They had alternated between laughter and tears as they recounted the stories of their adventures together. Sometimes there were both at the same time.
But, now, as Draga rode at a canter in a south-easterly direction, there were no tears. No part of her was glad for leaving her best friend behind. She had tried to reason with herself that it was a good thing, in its way, that it was bad to become too rooted, too attached to a single person. She may have a romantic relationship with Rikter, but they were going to spend more time apart than together, and Draga suspected they were both the sort of people for which that would be a boon instead of a curse; separation made the heart grow fonder for some people.
Falk, though…that was different, and Draga didn't have the words to explain exactly how it was different. They had worked well together, skills complimenting each other. It had never felt like there was an obligation between them. Draga knew she could say her duty was taking her elsewhere at any point, and Falk would wish her well. Which was exactly what he had done in the end.
The finality settled upon Draga like a mantle as she rode towards the brightening eastern sky. One chapter of her life had closed. It had been a glorious chapter, indeed, one to measure all the rest by. She could not bring herself to feel sad about it anymore. She felt…satisfied. Grateful. Draga would never have admitted it to Falk, but she was glad he was going with Bianca to Marienburg. Knowing her friend was going to have someone of Bianca's skill, devotion, and courage at his side was a great comfort.
Verena, I thank you, that in your wisdom, you saw fit to bring him into my life. I will be worthy of that honor. Draga prayed as she rode.
The Blackbow crested a hill. She stopped at its top, looking back at Marienburg. Smoke rose from chimneys. Boats drifted down the rivers away from the city. Travelers passed in and out on the roads. It was a living, breathing, thriving place. It wasn't for her. No city was. Not really. But people like her and Falk would protect it to the very last.
Draga faced forward once again, watching as the sun began to peek over the horizon, painting the treetops of the Reikwald in orange light, causing the frost of an early spring morning to glisten in the light. The day was new. Her duty remained.
Draga tapped the horse's flanks. It set off down the road, leaving Altdorf behind.
(Author's Note: If you've gotten this far, thank you so much for reading and giving my work a chance. If you're hungry for more, take a look at my other Warhammer Fantasy series, "The Rat and the Lion", which covers the adventures of the man that would one day become Marshal Volker Weilstadt-von Bauman, as well as his elven companion, Aclan the White Lion of Chrace. Regardless of what you do, have a good one, and happy reading.)