01 - The Burning Shore (7 page)

“But why didn’t you just put him on a charge?” Lundorf asked later that
night. “You can’t go duelling every time a soldier mutters.”

“He didn’t mutter,” Florin defended himself. “And anyway, I’ll make an example
of him.”

Lundorf, who’d begged a boat to come and see if the rumours that had swept
the flotilla were true, grunted cynically. They were sitting in the tiny
cupboard of a cabin Florin had been assigned. He shifted uncomfortably on the
bail of spare sailcloth on which he sat, and wiggled his foot beneath the single
bunk.

“Yes, a fine example. This probably hasn’t occurred to you, but fighting with
a sword like a gentleman and brawling with a gutting knife are two different
things. Have you ever seen a gutting knife? Fishmongers use them. They’re no
more than hooked razors. How can you expect to beat a man with such a peasant’s weapon?”

Florin ignored Lorenzo’s conspiratorial wink, and said nothing.

“This Jacques has quite a reputation too, or so my sergeant tells me.
Apparently they call him Ribbons. Because of what he cuts his opponents into.
Gutting knives! Horrible weapons. Give me cannon any day.”

“Yes, so much more civilised to blow a man up,” Lorenzo muttered with barely
a hint of sarcasm.

“Yes,” Lundorf nodded distractedly. “Look, tell you what, old man. Why don’t
you let me have a word with the Colonel? I’m sure we can find some sort of
charge to lock your man up on.”

“Out of the question,” Florin shook his head. “Pull a stunt like that now and
what would everybody think? Believe me, it’s better to take the risk and do it
this way.”

“Yes, I thought you’d be keen to do the honourable thing,” Lundorf smiled
approvingly.

Although that wasn’t quite what he’d meant, Florin nodded. Lorenzo just
rolled his eyes, a flash of white in the shadows that nobody noticed.

“Well, anyway,” Lundorf continued, “If you’ll take my advice you’ll start
keeping your men occupied rather than brawling with them. Of course I know you
have military experience with the ‘count’.” He paused to wink heavily, the
unfamiliar gesture twisting his entire face. “But I’m always keen to help a
brother officer. So, I’m going to give you Orbrant.”

“Orbrant?” Florin frowned. “What’s an Orbrant?”

“Not a what,” Lundorf roared with laughter, “a who! Orbrant’s one of my lads,
and one of the best sergeants I’ve ever seen. And he’s all yours, old man.
Lorenzo, pop outside the cabin and tell Orbrant that he can come in and have
your seat. He’s the fellow in the hood who rowed over with me.”

Lorenzo looked mutinously at Florin, who shrugged apologetically, before
letting himself out of the tiny cabin. A moment later the door opened again and
Orbrant stepped inside.

If he was the best sergeant Lundorf had ever seen, he certainly didn’t look
the part. He was of average size, and average build. His clothes, although well
mended, were of a washed-out black broadcloth, and he was wearing no armour.

He also lacked the bristling moustaches or waxed beards of his comrades, and
unlike the others Orbrant carried a single weapon:

an ornately carved warhammer. Blunt on one side and spiked on the other, the
metal of its construction glowed as silver as a winter moon despite the
buttermilk glow of the cabin’s lantern.

Apart from this unusual weapon the only other distinguishing things about
this undistinguished man were the smoothly shaved dome of his head and the
piercing blue of his eyes. The wrinkles that creased the skin around them were
the only things that gave his age away and Florin guessed that he was perhaps
forty.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked as he stooped to enter the cabin.

“Yes, sergeant. Please, take a seat. This is Captain d’Artaud, the officer I
was telling you about.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Orbrant nodded to Florin, who nodded back.

“Lun… Captain Lundorf tells me that you’re an excellent sergeant.”

“Yes,” Orbrant agreed, the blue depths of his eyes devoid of either modesty
or hesitation. “Sigmar has blessed me with a proficiency in war.”

“I wish that I could say the same,” Florin admitted, and immediately wished
that he hadn’t. But Orbrant didn’t seem to mind the slip.

“So I understand,” he said softly. “But did your god bless you with the gift
of understanding?”

“Yes,” Florin decided after a pause, “I think that she did.”

“Very well, then. I’ll be happy to serve in your company, Captain d’Artaud.”

“Splendid,” said Lundorf. “Well done, Orbrant.”

“You don’t have to thank me, sir. I’ve always been keen to be away from the
evil that you carry in your ship.”

“The evil?” Florin asked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

Lundorf sighed.

“It’s nothing. Sergeant Orbrant is just a little old-fashioned.”

Orbrant turned to regard his officer, his face a perfectly respectful blank.

“The Grand Theogonist has decreed that the followers of the colleges are to be
spared,” Orbrant shrugged regretfully. “And yet, in all sorcery there is the
taint of Chaos.”

The sergeant’s voice had hardened, and his eyes flickered with a cold blue
flame of fanaticism.

Perhaps, Florin thought uneasily, he isn’t such an average man after all.

“Welt, sergeant, I don’t have your knowledge of these things,” Lundorf said.
“But although I’m sure you’re right, you must admit that these fellows come in
damned handy in a battle.”

Orbrant’s hand strayed to the haft of his warhammer as he nodded reluctant
agreement.

“Aye, that they do. But faith and well forged steel serve just as well.”

“By the way, Florin,” Lundorf said, “how many men do you find yourself with?”

“A couple of dozen,” Florin told him. Although he was curious to know what
exactly Orbrant considered to be the evil that Lundorf’s ship carried he could
also see how obviously his old friend was trying to change the subject. “They’re
a rough-looking lot, hardly like the troops that used to garrison Marienburg.”

Orbrant nodded with professional interest.

“Don’t let that fool you, captain. Mercenaries never look quite as polished
as garrison troops, but they can be just as effective. How are your men armed?”

“Variously,” Florin explained. “They all seem to carry swords, daggers, a
couple of pistols.”

“Don’t they have pole arms or guns stored below?”

“Well… I don’t know,” he admitted, fighting against the instinct to bluff.

“We’ll check on their arms tomorrow,” Orbrant decided. “What about NCOs? Do
they have any? Or have you appointed any provisionally yet?”

“I don’t know,” Florin admitted uncomfortably.

Orbrant noticed his embarrassment and paused.

“Don’t worry about it, Mrs. d’Artaud. You’ll learn all of this as we turn you
into a real captain.”

“What do you mean ‘a real captain’?” Florin asked haughtily.

“You don’t have to be so prickly around the sergeant, you know,” Lundorf
contorted his face into another conspiratorial wink. “Just listen to his advice
and you’ll do fine.”

“Now then,” Orbrant pressed on, unmoved. “How long have your company been
together for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have they ever fought as a unit before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Have they ever fought against orcs?”

Florin shrugged.

“Did you ask them?”

“No.”

“Have you ever fought against orcs?”

“N…” Florin stopped himself.

“No,” Orbrant said and exchanged a knowing glance with Lundorf. “Thought not.
Might be best if you didn’t mention that to anyone else though.”

He held Florin’s eye for a moment; his own twinkling with what could almost
have been good humour.

“Don’t look so miserable, captain,” he said. “I’ve run a dozen companies
officered by much bigger idiots than you. At least you don’t have any illusions
about your own capability.”

“Thanks,” Florin deadpanned. “But why are you so keen to help me? Do you want
a bigger share?”

“No,” The spark of sympathy died in Orbrant’s manner as quickly as it had
been born, “I’m helping you to help the expedition. And my reasons for doing
that are my own alone.”

“Well, all right. But before you continue, sergeant, I might as well admit
now that, apart from the fact that I’m due to fight a duel with one of them in a
few hours’ time, I know nothing about my troops.”

“Then tomorrow we can call them in here one at a time to find out everything
we need to know,” Orbrant decided. “If that’s acceptable to you, captain?”

“Um, yes. That’s acceptable sergeant.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll go and find a place to sleep amongst
them.”

“You can stay in here if you like,” Florin offered. “Nobody’s using the
hammock. And I’m hardly in a position to stand on ceremony with you.”

“No, I’ll stay with the men. So should your manservant, if you don’t mind me
saying so, captain. His eyes and ears would be better off in the midst of the
lads’ quarters rather than wasted up here.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Very well. Goodnight, sir. Captain Lundorf.”

“Night, Orbrant,” Lundorf waved as the sergeant let himself out, pulling the
door open so quickly that Lorenzo, who’d been intently eavesdropping, almost
fell into the cabin.

“Just came to fetch my pipe,” he lied comfortably, before hurrying away to
leave Florin and his friend alone once more. This time he really did leave them,
too. After all, the ship was awash with excited men willing to bet on ill informed hunches about tomorrow’s fight,
and as far as Lorenzo was concerned his duty was to make as much money from it
as possible.

After he had gone the two men sat in a thoughtful silence.

“Well, old man, looks like you got Orbrant just in time. He’ll soon have your
lot licked into shape.”

“Yes, them and me both,” Florin said ruefully. “But what’s all this about
having evil on your ship?”

“It’s nothing,” Lundorf waved the question away. “We were lucky enough to
pick up a wizard in Marienburg. He’s a decent enough fellow. Keeps himself to
himself. And he comes with all sorts of references and guarantees from one of
the colleges of magic. Sigmar alone knows why he’s thrown in his lot with us.”

“Which of the colleges is he from?” Florin wondered, and Lundorf just
shrugged.

“Celestial, I think. Is that the one to do with comets? I’m not really sure.
He doesn’t come out of his cabin much, so I’ve never been able to ask him.
Orbrant reckons he’s in there consorting with daemons, but from the contents of
the buckets his man brings out I doubt if he has the time.”

“Feels the sea, does he?”

“Oh yes. You can hear him hurling half way across the deck.”

The two friends laughed at the mage’s discomfort as Florin reached beneath
his mattress and produced a bottle of brandy. He pulled the cork out with his
teeth and took a swig before passing it to Lundorf.

“Cheers,” he said and took a pull of the burning liquid. “Damn, but that’s
strong! Better watch it. Don’t want to wake up too groggy tomorrow.”

“No,” Florin agreed unhappily. For a while he’d forgotten all about the duel.
He took another drink and cast about for something to take his mind off the
approaching confrontation.

“So tell me, Lundorf, why are you here? I always knew you were going to be a
soldier, but a mercenary? I thought that Karl Franz would have found employment
for you back in the Empire.”

“The Emperor will have my services in time,” Lundorf nodded, his eyes
darkening as he took the bottle. This time the liquor felt smoother as he poured
it down his throat. “But I wanted to get away. Father’s a decent man, and the
academy was an excellent institution, but… oh, I don’t know. I suppose I
wanted to do something on my own. You know how it is.”

“Yes,” Florin agreed, thinking of the stuffy town house and the stuffy
warehouses and the stuffy society his elder brother thought himself so lucky to
have inherited. “Yes, I know how it is. Hey Lundorf.”

“Yes?”

“To glory and gold,” he said softly, and drank from the cheap glass of the
brandy bottle like a knight from the grail.

“Yes,” Lundorf agreed, taking the bottle from his friend. “Glory and gold.”

Below decks the sound of violence broke out, but the two old friends ignored
it. They were contemplating the violence yet to come.

Orbrant led the Bretonnians out onto the deck, the chill pre-dawn breeze
tugging at his threadbare clothing. Amongst the shadows that haunted the ship
his smooth scalp gleamed as white as bone, and his eyes were dark pits.

But there was a spark of contentment in those cold eyes this morning, and in
the way that the sergeant paced slowly across the deck. He looked as happy as a
terrier that had just spent a night in a barn full of rats.

Some of the men who followed him, however, looked far from content. Two of
them had their arms in slings. One hobbled. Others sported ugly grey bruises or
beards matted with darkly dried blood. As they passed Orbrant to find places
around the deck some of them looked sullen, others rueful, most resigned.

He emerged now, the last man in the procession. Although his confidence had
survived Orbrant’s kindness, Jacques had spent a long and sleepless night.
Insomnia had left dark bruises beneath his eyes and had coloured his skin as
grey as his collar.

But by now his pulse was already beating, adrenaline lifting his spirits as
he greeted the ragged chorus of his mates’ cheers with a swaggering bow, and a
wide grin that might almost have been genuine.

The sky to the east reddened with the light of the approaching sun. It wasn’t
until the fiery orb had finally emerged from the sea that Florin appeared. He
strolled casually onto the deck, Lundorf and Lorenzo following in his wake, and
greeted the assembled men.

“Good morning,” he said, the well-practiced confidence of his voice
flawlessly smooth despite his dry mouth and damp palms.