01 - Honour of the Grave (14 page)

The prisoner pitched around in the net, increasing the violence of its swings
back and forth. “Not until you identify yourselves!”

“We don’t need your permission; all we need to do is cut that rope.” Angelika
moved back for a better look at the lattice of cords. She inspected the cavern
for something to stand on. As part of her search, she kicked aside Thomas’ meatless ribs. She
found nothing, save for the tree trunk the creature had used as a poker. She
thought for a moment that they might stick a blade on the end of it, but when
she tried to lift it, she realised that it was much too heavy for that. “I
suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said, “that a monster fifteen-feet tall
would keep a lair without stepladders. Well then,” she called up at Lukas,
“you’re just going to have to get yourself down. I’m going to pass you a knife.
Use it to hack that main cord. We’ll make sure we catch you. Here.” She held the
knife up as far as she could reach. But it still wasn’t close enough.
“Franziskus, boost me.” He stuck his knee out for her to stand on, like a man
pledging his troth. She stepped up onto the proffered leg, balancing herself by
placing her empty hand on top of Franziskus’ blond-tressed head. She poked the
hilt of the dagger up through the net, where Lukas’ pink hand was curled. Lukas
did not respond. “Take the knife!” she shouted, losing her balance. She leapt
down from Franziskus’ knee, then got back up on it again. She stuck the knife
up. “Have your muscles atrophied, Lukas?”

“As I said, I’ll not assist you until you tell me who you are,” he said, his
conviction noticeably faltering. He lapsed into a frantic pant, then spoke from
the side of his mouth. “It’s all a trick, isn’t it? You haven’t really fallen
off the mountain, have you?” He seemed to be addressing the beast. “It’s another
of your illusions!”

Angelika jumped off Franziskus’ leg; he got up. “I assure you,” she said,
“neither of us is remotely illusionary.”

Lukas swung silently.

“And what do you think will happen to you if we leave?” yelled Angelika. “The
creature must have fed you, or you’d have starved by now.”

“He nourished me on a hideous mush of berries, goat fat, and fermented
leaves.”

“Fattening you up like a liver-goose, I reckon.”

“I wanted to die! Yet I could not resist even that damnable food!”

“How long do you think he can dangle there, Franziskus, without food or
water?”

“To speculate precisely would be gruesome,” Franziskus said. “But it’s a fate I
wouldn’t envy.”

“Even if I faced the blackest of villains, I would want down from that net.
I’d think I’d have a better chance out of it than in it.”

Lukas breathed for a while. “This isn’t a trick?”

“No, it is not.”

“Then I suppose it’s safe to pass me the knife.”

She hoisted herself up on Franziskus’ knee once again, and this time Lukas
poked his fingers out through the netting to take the knife. Angelika fought a
smirk off her face, as Lukas bounced around like a ham in a sack, struggling to
stand inside the net.

“Perhaps you should steady him,” Franziskus said, offering his knee once
more. She balanced awkwardly on him, grabbing Lukas’ feet with her outstretched
hand. Now we all look equally foolish, she thought. Her muscles ached by the
time Lukas had the tough cord even halfway sawed through, and Franziskus was
shaking from the strain. So she hoisted herself up, grabbing onto Lukas’ foot
with her other hand. Then she stepped away from Franziskus and into thin air.
With her weight added to Lukas’, the half-sawn cord snapped, sending the net
and young nobleman plummeting to the ground. She tried to roll, but he landed on
her stomach anyway. She grunted in pain and doubled over. Lukas attempted to
stand, but his feet were still on the net. He had the knife in his hand, as if
poised for attack. Franziskus moved behind him, to help free him from the mesh,
but he spun, jabbing the knife point out. The net twisted around his ankles and
he fell. Franziskus moved to let him fall face-first. The knife skidded across
the cave floor. Franziskus retrieved it and sat on Lukas’ netted back, as if he
were a bench.

“Listen, my friend,” he said. This is most undignified. I am Franziskus, late
of Stirland. This is Angelika, who saved my life from orcs. We have come to save
your
life, which we can only do if you catch immediate hold of your
senses. So end your silly wriggling, stop treating us like we plan to skin you,
and let us get you free of this thing.”

“You are mercenaries?”

“Do I need to sit on you any longer?”

“No,” he said, in a meek and childish way. Franziskus got off him. Angelika,
who was leaning against the cavern wall, gave her companion a nod of approval.
She came forward, and the two of them untangled the netting from Lukas.

He was revealed to be a pale, bone-thin boy of no more than fifteen. His
upper lip was thin and white; the lower, fat and pink. Dried food was caked on
his chin and the corners of his mouth. His thin nose turned up at the end to
reveal a pair of flaring nostrils. Jet-black hair cascaded greasily onto his
forehead and shoulders. A long strand trailed across his face, like a scar; he
flicked it away nervously, but it fell back to where it was. He wore the
yellow-and-black of an Averlandish regiment, but both tunic and leggings were
torn and spattered with dirt, gruel, blood and dung. His dark eyes darted from
Angelika to Franziskus, then back again.

“It must be a terrifying thing, to be held in a beastman’s clutches, for so
long,” Franziskus said. Angelika could tell he wanted to give the younger boy a
reassuring pat on the shoulder, but knew better than to startle him. “A lesser
fellow would have lost his mind utterly, by now.”

The boy nodded, warily.

“It’s no wonder you can’t tell friend from foe. But you must rely on us, to
get you down from here. It’s a tortuous trek down, so you must gather all your
wits for it.”

“How did the monster get you here in the first place?” Angelika enquired.

“We were attacked down in the hills, near a stream. It seemed like there were
dozens of them—some like mountain goats, others like wolves—and then came
the biggest of them all, that made the ground shake when he walked. Thomas and
Erik—another companion—fought off some of them, but they did not prevail.
Erik was carried off.”

Only briefly did Angelika consider mentioning their encounter with Erik’s
head. “This was right after you fled that battle?”

He sniffed, dragging the back of his hand under his nose. “We camped, down
below, for a number weeks. I had to decide what to—” He coughed. He squinted at
her, appraisingly. He cleared his throat. “As I was saying. When we fell, all
went black, and I thought I was breathing my last. But I did awake. I found myself in this net, along with Thomas. We were strung over the
monster’s back, as he climbed up the mountain face with his terrible claws…”
Lukas scuttled to a dark corner, where he sat and covered his face. He began
wailing. “Iam sorry I said Thomas was of no great use. It was his duty to
protect me, and he failed me completely, but—the crunching of his bones in its
jaws—slowly, it ate him slowly.”

“What happened to the other beastmen you mentioned?”

“I never saw them after I woke up here.” Lukas shrank back, huddling against
the cave wall, peering doubtfully out of the opening. “I imagine they’re still
around, somewhere.”

“How did the big monster get up and down from the cave? The path’s too narrow
for something its size.”

Lukas shrugged. “I never got a good look. It had big claws. Maybe it used
them to climb straight up. What do I know of the ways of Chaos beasts?”

“Then I don’t suppose you can say why it kept you alive?”

The boy grew quiet. “I think it liked the way I screamed.”

Franziskus sat beside him. “I can’t imagine what you’ve suffered, Lukas. But
for the moment, you must dismiss these things from your mind. We must go.”

The boy lurched forward, balling up the fabric of his tunic in his small,
alabaster fist, and punched ineffectually at Franziskus’ chest. “No! You don’t
see! I should die here! My capture, the Chaos beasts—all were divine
punishment, for my cowardice in battle. I should not have fled! Sigmar has
deserted me!”

Franziskus cradled Lukas’ head, pressing it to his own shoulder. “Sigmar
deserts no one, so long as you are prepared to fight again.”

“Others may get second chances, but my family’s pact with Sigmar is ancient
and severe! For me, there will be no redemption!”

Angelika had gathered the net up in her arms. She made a fist of her own and
pointed the knuckle of its middle finger meaningfully in his direction. “I don’t
know about Franziskus here, but I intend to collect the reward for you, no
matter what condition your soul is in. Shall I dash you brainless, put you back
in this net, and haul you down the side of the mountain? Or do you mean to pull
yourself together?”

“Angelika!” Franziskus protested.

“You shut up. What will it be, Lukas?”

Shakily, he rose. “I don’t want to die here. I wish I did, but I don’t. I’ll
do as you say.”

“Then stop talking in riddles and let’s get going.”

Lukas stood, then swooned, sinking against the cavern wall. His rescuers
moved quickly to steady him. They let him down gently. Then they fed him cheese
and wine, and let him rest. He fell asleep. Weapons ready, they crouched on
bound bedrolls, letting day turn to night and night to morning.

Even with a night’s sleep in him, Angelika expected the boy to be useless on
the trip back down. Yet fear seemed to propel him, winning out over weakness and
poor nourishment. When a gap approached, he leapt with a resigned and casual
air, as if half hoping he’d miss. Yet he landed well each time. Once he even
helped Franziskus regain his balance, when a sheet of rock hived off from the
ledge he walked on. She decided she probably wouldn’t need to wrap him back up
in the net after all, but she carried it still, despite its rancid stink,
because it could come in handy. The gut was strong stuff, and there were a
hundred uses for it on a wilderness journey.

Lukas’ attitude seemed to darken again when they reached the streambed, with
the threat of falling behind them. He dragged his feet and tucked his round chin
to his neck. She picked up a handful of pebbles, and tossed them at him to stop
him from straggling. When one of her missiles hit him at the base of the skull—a better shot than she’d intended—he jogged ahead to walk beside Franziskus.

“It’s obvious you’re well-bred,” Lukas said.

“My background is not a suitable matter for discussion,” Franziskus told him.

“All I mean to say is, you and I, we have much in common.”

Franziskus shrugged.

“You haven’t yet come out and said it.”

“Said what?”

“That you mean to return me to my father.”

“In fact, it’s to your brothers that we’ll convey you.”

“My brothers?”

“Benno and Gelfrat.”

“I do not know them. More of my father’s scattered seedlings, no doubt. If
they weren’t so numerous, he might not consider his true sons so disposable.”

“I don’t see what you mean.”

“Less talking, more walking!” cried Angelika, from behind them. She was
closing fast. Franziskus lengthened his strides.

“I confess this only because it could weigh on your conscience, and it seems
from your manner that you don’t know what fate you’ll be consigning me to.”

“Please, Lukas, speak more plainly.”

“My father seeks me not to clasp me to his bosom, but to place me on the
chopping block. I have broken the honour code of the Black Sabres, and so must
die.”

“I heard Benno and Gelfrat speak of the Black Sabres, but did not know what
they referred to.”

“It is the family military company, founded nearly three hundred years ago,
by the first to bear the name of my father, Jurgen von Kopf. You have not heard
of them?”

“Forgive my ignorance. In Stirland, it is said that a knowledge of other
provinces is a sure sign of vanity, ambition and sexual decadence.”

“All the enemies of Averland know the Black Field Sabres. Their very name
strikes fear into the hearts of foes, and timidity into would-be rebels. It was
they who turned the Battle of Midden Bell, when the regular black and yellows
had turned and fled. It was they who crushed the mutiny against old Count Boris,
at Rotermann Field. It was their support that restored the province to just rule
when the cruelties of Bloody Count Giannis finally became too great to bear.”

“The emblem that Angelika found—the sabre against the field of black—that
would be your regimental ensign, then.”

Lukas reached down into his shirt and withdrew an identical jewelled pendant.
“Yes. So Claus is dead, then. Ah! Our father will be proud.”

“Surely you mean to say your father will mourn his demise?”

“He will celebrate Claus’ death, for he fell upholding the vow undertaken by
every Sabre, when he is inducted into the company—never to survive a losing
battle.”

“A harsh requirement.”

“It is on this vow that the fearsome reputation of the Sabres depends.
Without it, the mere sight of our battle banner would not send foes from the
field. For as long as I can remember, I have been told how vital the vow is to
the prestige and power of my bloodline. Since the halcyon days of Moritz the
Swift, every Averlandish elector has had a von Kopf standing at his side, as his
advisor—and more.

“I barely know my father. When I was young, he was in the field, bloodying
his sword as commander of the company, while my grandfather, who I did know,
served at court. Some day, my grandfather said, the day will come when you will
take the field yourself. You will stand beside your older brother, Claus, and
Sigmar will grant you the chance to cover yourself in battle’s glory. You must
also prepare yourself, he said, should terrible calamity befall our house, and
Claus die beside me. In that event, I must ready myself to clutch his sabre,
hold it high, and charge the foe. No matter what, grandpapa said, I must never
shame the company. I must uphold the vow. Yet, when the chance came, and I
finally saw battle, what did I do? I ran! I spat upon the honour of my family!”
He turned and pulled at his tunic, baring his hollow chest. “I begged the
beastman to kill me, as I should have been killed in that hollow, against those
bandits! Yet he laughed and refused! He took pleasure in my torment!”