02 - The Broken Lance Read online

  Reiner looked over at Karel, who was already fast asleep in his cot, then leaned in to whisper in Franka’s ear. “Even had we the tent to ourselves, you would be as safe as if in a Shallyan convent.”

  Franka’s eyes widened. “You are weary indeed, m’lord.”

  For five days Reiner’s routine continued the same. He was put in charge often men, and under Vortmunder’s and Grau’s guidance, learned the orders to give them, how to lead them in their turns and manoeuvres, and how to work with the other squads of pistols so that the entire company fought as a cohesive unit. It was exhausting, arse breaking work, but though he cursed it every night and every stiff-jointed morning, he found himself enjoying it more and more. He might almost be tempted to make it his life.

  He had little time to seek out the other Blackhearts, and when he did they had little to tell him. Pavel and Hals had heard rumblings among the pikemen of some kind of revolt, but no details. Giano and Gert, attached to units of crossbowmen, heard similar whispers, but what shape the revolt would take they couldn’t say. Dag had done two days in the brig for fighting and had heard nothing. Abel said he had heard that Gutzmann meant to storm Altdorf, but he said the fellow who had said it was drunk at the time, so he didn’t credit it. Jergen said he had nothing to add, and Karel hadn’t heard anything. Reiner wasn’t surprised. The boy was so wide-eyed and guileless that no conspirator would trust him with a secret.

  Of course he had done no better. Several times Grau had seemed to be on the verge of letting him in on the cavalry’s secret, but something always made him hesitate at the last moment.

  On the morning of the sixth day, as Reiner was saddling his horse outside the stables, Matthais approached on horseback and saluted Vortmunder.

  “Begging the captain’s pardon,” he said, “but cavalry Obercaptain Oppenhauer accompanies the trade caravan to Aulschweig and requests an escort of pistoliers.”

  “Very good, corporal,” said Vortmunder, and looked around at his men. His eyes lit upon Reiner. “Ah. Take Meyerling. Time he rode further than the tilt yard and back.” He raised his voice. “Meyerling, assemble your men and follow Corporal Bohm. He will give you your orders.”

  And so, a short while later, Reiner rode out of the north gate at Matthais’ side, their respective squads tailing behind them, accompanied by a unit of crossbowmen sitting on the back of an empty cart. The morning sun glanced blindingly off the neat rows of tents beyond the north wall, and glittered the dew on the tilting yard grass.

  “Er, isn’t Aulschweig south?” Reiner asked Matthais. Matthais grinned as they headed up the north road. “Aye. But we’re to the mine first to pick up some mining supplies before meeting the trade caravan. Every month we bring Empire goods to Baron Caspar at his castle just the other side of the border. In return we get grain, fodder, meat, and cooking oil. All for cheaper than carting it in from Hocksleten or Averheim, and better quality too. Very fertile valley, Aulschweig.”

  Reiner raised an eyebrow. “Aulschweig has a gold mine as well?”

  “Er, no,” said Matthais. “A tin mine. But, er, the tools are the same.”

  “Ah, I see. And Obercaptain Oppenhauer comes with us?”

  “Aye.”

  “What’s a cavalry obercaptain doing riding herd on a milk run?”

  Matthais shot Reiner a hard glance. “You are very astute, corporal. Er, well, there is another purpose for our visit. You remember I told you that Caspar has been eyeing his brother’s throne?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, apparently his grumblings have been getting louder of late, so Gutzmann sends Oppenhauer along to whisper soothing words in his ear. And also to remind him of our might.”

  “Sounds a bit of a hothead, this Caspar.”

  “You’ll see.”

  The mine was only a few hundred yards along a well-trodden path that branched westwards from the pass. Entry to it was guarded by fortifications that mirrored in miniature those of the fort—a thick, crenellated wall that blocked the canyon from wall to wall, with a tower on each side of a deep, portcullised gate.

  Inside the wall were barracks, stables, and other outbuildings Reiner couldn’t guess the purpose of. A system of pipes ran through one from a small aqueduct. Crowds of dust-caked miners trooped in and out of the mine entrance, a large, square opening in the mountainside framed with tree-trunks, carrying pickaxes and wheeling barrows. Almost as many pikemen and crossbowmen watched over them, patrolling the walls and every inch of the compound.

  As Matthais called his party to a halt outside a low, weathered wood building, an overseer bustled out to greet them.

  “Morning, corporal. Shipment ain’t quite ready. A few minutes yet.”

  “Very good.” The lancer turned to Reiner. “Gives me an opportunity to show you around.”

  Reiner sighed to himself. If he never went underground again it would be too soon. “Certainly, corporal. Lead on.”

  Matthais and Reiner dismounted and walked towards the mine. Matthais pointed out different buildings as they went, each of which was as busy as a beehive in the spring. “That is the sluice room, where the raw ore is separated from the earth by means of a stream and a series of screens. There is the smelter, where the collected nuggets are melted and skimmed of impurities. This is the shakedown room, where the miners must strip and turn out their pockets before they leave the mine, to make sure they aren’t absconding with any ore.”

  “Very thorough of you.”

  “One can’t be too careful.”

  Reiner shivered as he stepped into the mine. Memories of the last time he’d gone underground flashed through his head, but this cave was very different. It had none of the gloom and despair of the Kurgan mine. Nor the smell. Instead, all was bustle and industry. Two wide tunnels sloped away from the main entrance into the depths, and in and out of them went steady streams of miners, marching away with empty carts and picks on their shoulders, or trudging back with full carts and grime on their faces. Reiner found all this activity very interesting. If the mine was working at such a feverish rate, why was the stream of gold that reached Altdorf the merest trickle? It seemed as if Matthais’ tale of difficulties in getting ore from the mine was less than the truth. Reiner didn’t feel that now was the time to call him on it.

  A third tunnel had no traffic. Its mouth was cluttered with broken equipment and stacks of supplies. Reiner pointed to it. “Did this one run dry?”

  Matthais shook his head. “Structural problems. Had a cave-in recently. The engineers won’t let the miners work it until it is safely shored up again.” He beckoned Reiner towards the left side of the entry chamber. “This way. I want to show you something.”

  As Reiner and Matthais dodged through the streams of miners, Reiner noticed that the men fell into a sullen silence as they passed, and then murmured under their breath behind them. Gutzmann must be driving them hard, Reiner thought. But then he thought there might be more to it than that. For as he looked around, he saw other signs of discontent. The miners had a haunted look, and glanced often over their shoulders. A group of miners had surrounded one of their foremen and were complaining vigorously. Reiner caught the words “gone missing” and “ain’t doin’ nothing about it”.

  “Has there been some trouble?” Reiner asked.

  Matthais snorted. “Peasant nonsense. They claim men are disappearing in the mine. Running away, is my guess. There have been a number of village girls ‘stolen away’ as well.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t take a magus to add that up. A few boys manage to steal a nugget of ore or two and off they go with their sweethearts to the flatlands where it doesn’t snow eight months of the year.”

  “Ah,” said Reiner. “Like enough.”

  They stepped through an open arch into a short hall.

  “This is what I wanted to show you,” said Matthais. “The first owner of this mine was a bit odd. Perhaps he wanted to be closer to his gold. But he decided that he would live in the mine, and so built his house u
nderground. Here.”

  He gestured before them to a beautifully carved wooden door that wouldn’t have been out of place fronting some noble’s Altdorf townhouse. Matthais pushed it open and peeked in, then beckoned Reiner to enter. The illusion continued inside. The entrance hall looked like a townhouse foyer, with a grand stairway curving up to a second floor gallery, and doors leading off to a sitting room on the left and a library on the right. That such a place existed at all so far from civilization was amazing in its own right, but what made it truly incredible was that everything, from the stairway, to the newel posts and banisters, to the statues of buxom virtues tucked into niches, to the moulding on the ceiling, to the oil lamp sconces that lit the place, was carved from the living rock. Even the tables in the library and some of the benches and chairs grew from the floor. And this was no crude cave dwelling. The ornamentation was exquisite, baroque columns wrapped in stylized foliage, heraldic beasts holding the wall sconces, gracefully curved legs on the stone tables and chairs. It took Reiner’s breath away.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Mad, but beautiful. He must have paid a fortune.”

  “Shhh,” said Matthais, as he followed Reiner into the sitting room. “Not really supposed to be here. The engineers of the mine have taken it for their offices and kip. Gutzmann’s had quite a time convincing them not to knock out some of the fixtures to make room for their infernal contraptions. No eye for beauty. If it ain’t practical, they don’t see it.”

  A pair of wooden double doors at the far end of the sitting room opened, pinning them in a bar of yellow light. Shaeder glared out at them.

  “What are you men doing here?”

  Matthais jumped to attention, saluting. “Sorry, commander. Just showing Meyerling our local marvel. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

  Behind Shaeder, Reiner could see a dining room, in the centre of which was a large round table, also carved from the rock. Around it sat a colloquy of engineers: grimy, bearded men in oil blackened leather aprons, many wearing thick spectacles, poring over a parchment spread on the table. Stumps of charcoal and ink quills were tucked behind their ears, and they held little leather-bound journals in their grubby hands.

  “Well, now you’ve seen it,” said Shaeder. “Be off with you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Matthais saluted as Shaeder closed the door again. He shrugged at Reiner like a boy caught stealing apples.

  As they tip-toed out through the door again, Reiner looked over his shoulder. “Is the commander in charge of the mine?”

  Matthais shook his head. “Not officially, but Chief Engineer Holsanger was crushed in the cave-in and the commander has taken over his duties until Altdorf can send a replacement. Stretches him a bit thin. Makes him grumpy.”

  “So I see.”

  As they came into the mine proper again, Reiner heard raucous laughter and a familiar voice raised in protest. It was Giano, on duty with a squad of crossbowmen who watched the miners as they came and went.

  “Is true, I tell you,” Giano was saying. “I smell with my own eyes!”

  “What’s the trouble, Tilean?” asked Reiner.

  “Ah, corporal!” said Giano. “Defend for me, hey? They say I am be fool!”

  A burly crossbowman chuckled and jerked his thumb at Giano. “Forget him, corporal. The garlic-eater says there be rat-men in the mine. Ratmen!” He laughed again.

  “Is true!” insisted Giano. “I smell them!”

  “And how do you know what a ratman smells like, soldier?” asked Matthais, condescendingly.

  “They kill my family. My village. They come up under the grounds and eat all the peoples. I never forget the stinking.”

  Matthais glared. “Ratmen are a myth, Tilean. They don’t exist. And if you don’t want to spend some time in stir, you’ll keep your foolishness to yourself. These peasants are superstitious enough already. We don’t need them downing tools every time a rat squeaks in the dark.”

  “But they here. I know…”

  “It don’t matter what you know, soldier,” snapped Reiner. “Or think you know. The corporal has ordered you to be silent. You will be silent. Am I clear?”

  Giano saluted reluctantly. “Clear as bells, corporal. Yes, sir.”

  Matthais and Reiner left the mine.

  As the party rode back toward the fort with the loaded supply wagon, Reiner began to wonder why the armed escort had gone to the mine to pick up its cargo instead of waiting for the cart to come to the fort. Did Obercaptain Oppenhauer really think that a shipment of mining supplies was in danger in the short mile twixt the mine and the fort? Or was Manfred’s order to sniff out suspicious activity causing Reiner to read nefarious motives into the most innocent of army procedures?

  In any event, they reached the fort without incident. A train of wagons and carts joined them there, piled high with luxury goods from Altdorf, iron skillets from Nuln, wine and cloth and leather goods from Bretonnia, Tilea and beyond. As the party formed into march order, Oppenhauer trotted up on an enormous white charger that still looked small for his gigantic, barrel-chested frame.

  “Morning, lads,” he cried in a booming voice. “Ready for our outing?”

  “Yes sir, obercaptain,” said Matthais saluting. “Beautiful day for it.”

  Reiner saluted as well, and they got under way, passing through the main gate into the pass to Aulschweig. The terrain was the same as that to the north of the fort. Steep, pine-covered slopes rising up to rocky, snow-capped peaks. The air was biting cold, but they still found themselves hot in their breastplates as the sun beat down on them.

  “So, Meyerling,” said Oppenhauer. “Getting used to our routine?”

  Reiner smiled. “I am, sir. My arse, however, is still a tenderfoot.”

  Oppenhauer laughed. “Vortmunder running you ragged, is he?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  They carried on in this merry vein for an hour or so, trading banter, jokes and good-natured insults. Reiner noticed that the lancers and pistoliers were more high-spirited here than in the camp. It was as if they were schoolboys who had run away from their tutor. He wondered if it was only that they weren’t drilling and doing chores, or if it was the fact that there were no infantry officers around. He hoped that this relaxation might loosen their tongues, but whenever they started to talk about “the future” or “when Gutzmann shows Altdorf his mettle,” Oppenhauer “harrumphed” and the conversation swung back to the usual barrack room subjects.

  After a time one of the lancers began singing a song about a maid from Nuln and a pikeman with a wooden leg, and soon the whole company joined in, traders, draymen and all, inventing filthier and filthier verses as they went on.

  But just as they were coming around to the sixth repetition of the chorus, an arrow appeared in the chest of one of the crossbowmen, and he fell off the supply cart. Before Reiner could comprehend what had happened, a swarm of arrows buzzed from the woods, targeting the other crossbowmen. Two more went down.

  “Bandits!” shouted Matthais.

  “Ambush!” boomed Oppenhauer.

  All around Reiner horses were rearing and men were screaming. The surviving crossbowmen were returning fire at their invisible assailants. Reiner’s pistoliers were drawing their guns.

  “Hold!” Reiner cried. “Wait for targets!”

  A lancer fell, clutching his neck.

  Oppenhauer stood in his saddle. An arrow glanced off his breastplate. “Forward! Ride! Do not stand and fight!”

  The crossbowmen hauled their wounded onto the carts and the draymen and traders whipped their carthorses into a lumbering canter. Reiner’s and Matthais’ squads flanked them. As the party surged ahead, ragged men in tattered buckskin leggings and layers of filthy clothing ran out of the woods after them, spears and swords in hand.

  “Now, lads!” called Reiner. He and his squad drew their pistols and fired left and right. Bandits dropped, twisting and screaming. Vortmunder’s constant drilling showed in the steadiness of the pistoliers as the
y used their knees alone to guide their horses, while reloading and firing behind them.

  “Meyerling!” bawled Oppenhauer. “Guard the rear. ’Ware their ponies.”

  “Aye, sir. Rein in, lads. Double file behind the last wagon. Fire as you can.”

  Reiner looked back as he and his men let the wagons slip ahead. More bandits were bursting from the woods, but these were mounted on wiry hill ponies, half the size of Reiner’s warhorse. They raced after the company. The pistoliers could have outdistanced them easily, but the heavily laden carts were too slow. The bandits were gaining.

  Reiner reloaded and fired, adding his shots to the ragged volley of his men. Only a few found a mark, but one was a fortunate hit, catching the lead pony in the knee. It screamed, leg buckling, and went down on its neck, throwing its rider. Two more ponies crashed into it from behind and fell. The rest leapt the carnage and kept coming. They closed with every step.

  The road jogged sharply around an outcropping of rock. The crossbowmen and traders clung desperately as the carts bumped and fishtailed. Reiner hugged his horse’s neck as he leaned into the turn. The cart full of mine supplies hit a stone, bucked, and came to earth again with a bang. One of the smaller crates jumped and slid. A crossbowman made a grab for it, but it was too heavy. It tipped off the back of the cart and bounced a few times before coming to rest on its side. The rest of the carts swerved around it.

  “Obercaptain!” cried Matthais, as the box rapidly fell behind them. “We’ve lost a crate!”

  “Sigmar curse it!” Oppenhauer growled. “Turn about! Turn about! Defend that crate!”

  “Turn about, lads!” Reiner called. He and Matthais reined up and wheeled in tight circles with their men behind them as the traders’ carts began lumbering around. Oppenhauer swung around to take the lead. Reiner was baffled. Was the obercaptain so concerned with picks and shovels that he would endanger his men’s lives, and his own, to rescue them? What was in that crate?

  As Reiner’s and Matthais’ squads rode back round the bend ahead of the carts, Reiner saw that some of the bandits had stopped. Four of them were trying to carry the crate into the trees. The others were on guard. The four with the crate could barely lift it.