Bea pressed the last of the herbs into a poultice for the wound, then took
the cup from Stefan. “I’m not sure who they are either,” she said, “but I’ve
seen them, or others like them before. In Mielstadt. I think they came to
barter, to trade.”
“Trade?” Stefan asked. “Trade what?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Ah—good.” The wounded soldier had opened
his eyes again, and was gazing up at Bea and Stefan. He took a little more of
the liquid from the offered cup, moistening his cracked and bloodied lips.
“I was brought unto the Gates of Morr,” he whispered. “You have carried me
back. May almighty Sigmar grant you fortune.” He started to lift his head but
Bea pushed him back, gently but firmly.
“You need rest,” she told him. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The soldier’s clear blue eyes flicked from side to side. “The mutants?”
“Destroyed,” Bruno told him. “They’ve met their retribution.”
The soldier expelled a deep breath. “Then Sigmar has favoured us. Our work is
done.” He sank back upon the ground, and his eyes fell closed. Bea motioned to
the soldiers standing round.
“Make sure he gets all the water he needs. And keep the wound clean. The
dressing will need changing every hour or so. Above all he needs rest,” she told
them. “Don’t even think of moving him before daylight.”
The men conferred briefly. The one whom Stefan now identified as their leader
nodded agreement. “Then we’ll make camp here for the night,” he announced. “You’d
earn our gratitude if you would stay with us.”
Bea looked to Stefan. “Well?”
Stefan considered. Most of the hours of darkness still lay ahead of them.
They could ride on for another hour or so before pitching camp, though the risks
of travelling by night were considerably higher than by day. And, if they were
to continue on, where would they be travelling to? Stefan thought back to the
battle with the mutants. For a while he had had a purpose, powerful and
all-consuming. For a moment all other thoughts, even of Zucharov, had been
obliterated.
Now, perhaps for the first time since they had left Mielstadt, Stefan
acknowledged the uncomfortable truth. They were on a journey without maps,
trying to recover the trail of a man who had long since vanished. A man who, for
all that they knew, might even be dead. Right then, any decision, any direction,
seemed as good as any other.
For now, the best decision was probably to stay put for the night. And, in
the morning—well, the morning could look after itself.
He looked to Bruno. His comrade shrugged his shoulders. “It’s as good a place
as any. At least we’ll have safety in numbers.”
“Agreed,” Stefan said. “We’ll set down here, then see where the day takes
us.”
The two friends worked quickly and methodically, fixing a shelter from wood
and canvas with the practiced ease of men long upon the road. By the time
they’d
finished, Stefan realised he was desperately tired. Riding on would
have been the wrong decision.
He stretched out upon the hard ground, waves of aching weariness suddenly
flooding his body. Bruno sat beside him, and both sat watching the brisk
efficiency of the soldiers as they constructed their own camp. Bea still knelt
by the side of the wounded man, her hands resting upon the freshly bandaged
wound.
“Amazing,” Bruno commented. “You wouldn’t think she was tired at all.”
“No more than you would tire if you had a sword in your hand,” Stefan said.
“It’s her calling, just as the sword is ours. We serve the same purpose, I
think. But in very different ways.”
Bruno nodded agreement. “I know we didn’t plan it this way. But we couldn’t
have chosen a fairer companion.”
Stefan looked at his friend, reading the expression in his face. It was a
look he’d grown familiar with over the years. “Careful,” he cautioned. “The last
woman you took a fancy to betrayed us. Turned out to be a pawn of Chaos that
nearly got us all killed.”
Bruno sat silent for a moment, the darkness sparing his blushes. “That was
different,” he said at last. “Bea’s no pawn of Chaos. I don’t think she’s going
to betray us, either.”
“No,” Stefan agreed. “Nor do I. I don’t think so at all.”
The two men sat side by side as the evening waned, the twin moons melting
into the night sky. Gradually the fires dotted across the camp faded as well,
until finally all around was darkness. At length Bea joined them, settling
herself at Bruno’s side.
“Quite a day,” she observed.
“We’ll have easier ones,” Stefan replied. “And harder ones as well, no
doubt.”
“Looks like your patient will pull through,” Bruno said. “I’d have marked
that man for dead. You excel at your craft.”
“And you at yours,” Bea replied.
“Stefan’s the finest swordsman you’ll see,” Bruno affirmed. “The best.”
“So is every man,” Stefan countered. “We all think that. Until we meet the
one swordsman who’s better still. Somewhere, death waits along the road for us
all.”
Bea sat contemplating Stefan’s words. “This man you’re pursuing,” she said at
last. “Alexei Zucharov. Could he be that one?”
The words struck home with Stefan, with surprising force. “What makes you ask
that?” he said, sharply.
Bea shrugged. “I’m not sure. But sometimes I wonder if in some way we all
pursue our end, our undoing.”
“A troubling thought.”
“Don’t get the wrong idea. Zucharov isn’t invincible,” Bruno said, firmly.
“And anyway, we’re jumping to too many conclusions. We don’t even know for sure
that he is our enemy.”
“We don’t,” Stefan agreed. “But that’s one question I can’t leave unanswered.
That’s why we must keep searching,” he told Bea. “Until we find him.”
“And then?”
Stefan had no ready answer. Since Erengrad, he had been consumed by the hunt
for the man who had once been his comrade. But every journey must have an end.
He could not yet see what that end might be, but in his heart he knew that it
was impossible for both him and Zucharov to survive. Bea’s words echoed in his
mind, an unwelcome harbinger of death.
“Let’s talk about you,” he said steering the conversation towards other
things. “You heal people, I kill them. You have the better part of virtue, I
think.”
The briefest of smiles crossed Bea’s features. “You didn’t kill me,” she said.
“In fact, if it wasn’t for the two of you I doubt I’d still be alive. I haven’t
the power to disappear completely.”
She reached out towards Stefan, her fingers tracing the cuts on his face.
Stefan flinched back as her touch drew a stinging pain from the wound.
“That could leave you scarred,” she said at last. “Put your head back.”
“Why?”
“Just do it,” she said, briskly.
Too tired to argue, Stefan did as he was bidden. He smelt a strong medicinal
scent in his nostrils, and a sudden, stinging pain as Bea rubbed what remained
of the herb into the cut running down the side of his face. The effect was
immediate, and surprising. The pain was still there, but softened by a gentle,
suffusing warmth that flowed down the whole of his body, soaking into his aching
limbs.
“Ulric’s toil!” he murmured. “What is that stuff?”
“Just an ordinary flower, the sort you can find growing almost anywhere.”
“Well the effects aren’t ordinary, I can tell you that.”
Bea pressed her palm firmly against the side of Stefan’s face. “It’s how you
use it that matters. And who uses it,” she added. “That’s what makes a healer.
Now sit still and let the herb do its work.”
Stefan closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of the pain melting away from
his body. “I could get too used to this,” he observed.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “You’ll feel nothing of it by morning.”
“What about our friend over there. Will he live?”
“He’s a strong man. He’ll pull through.”
“What about his companions?” he asked. “Did you learn any more from them?”
“Not a lot. I got the feeling they were waiting to see whether I was going to
heal their comrade.” She lifted her hand clear, and inspected her work. “Or kill
him,” she said. “There. You’ll do. Now you need sleep, like Bruno here.”
Stefan looked round. Bruno had curled himself under a blanket and was indeed
solidly asleep. Stefan had the sudden sense of time passing unnoticed. He made a
half-hearted attempt to calculate how long he must have been sitting with Bea,
but he was fast succumbing to a seductive drowsiness.
Sleep. Suddenly sleep was very appealing. He began to slip into a soft,
blurred world where nothing but sleep was of any consequence. When he tried to
speak, his tongue felt thick and slow.
“Bruno,” he murmured. Wasn’t there something he was going to mention about
Bruno? But Stefan lost his grip on whatever it might have been as he slipped
into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He woke with the sun low in his eyes, and a biting wind blowing across the
open plain of the Ostermark. Stefan felt refreshed, wonderfully rested. As he
stripped away the covering blanket he put his hand, instinctively, to his cheek.
He probed the line of the wound where the mutant’s sword had cut through the
flesh. The incision was still there, but very faint, and all pain was gone. He
looked around, and saw Bea sitting close by, watching him carefully.
“Keeping an eye on your patient?”
Bruno appeared, walking in tandem with one of the soldiers. The wounded man
has made a good recovery. “Their captain would like to speak with us.”
Stefan got up and brushed himself down. “Gladly,” he said. “I’m sure there’s
much we’d like to know about each other.”
“I’ll wait here,” Bea offered. The soldier made a short, deferential bow. “If
you please,” he said, “the captain asked to speak with you in particular.”
“In that case, lead on,” Bea replied, graciously. The three followed the
soldier through the remnants of the previous night’s battle: broken carcasses,
grotesque collages of twisted bones, cracked and blackened by the flames.
Red-dad soldiers moved amongst the debris, carefully moving the remains of any
mutants into pits to be burned. Wisps of smoke still trickled skywards where
fires had been kindled.
The wounded man was sitting upright, supported by another soldier and a
second man that Stefan recognised as the captain. He saluted Stefan and his
comrades, and beckoned them across. He offered his hand to each of them in turn,
and smiled a broad welcome.
“I must offer my gratitude to you first of all,” he said to Bea. “But for you
another of my men would not have seen this dawn.”
“His constitution is strong,” Bea told him. “And his spirit wasn’t ready to
relinquish this life just yet. You have a powerful will to live,” she told the
wounded man.
“Nonetheless.” The captain looked her up and down with clear grey eyes. “We
are in your debt.” He turned to Stefan and Bruno. “And to you, too, gentlemen.
Your intervention in our struggle was decisive.”
“Our paths crossed, and we met with the same purpose,” Stefan replied.
“Between us we’ve wiped more foul creatures of Chaos from the face of this
world. For that we can all take credit.”
The other man smiled, pleased by Stefan’s words. He held out his hand. “Hans
Baecker at your service.”
“Stefan Kumansky. This is Bruno Hausmann, Beatrice de Lucht.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Ultimately, to Altdorf,” Stefan replied.
“And immediately?” The steely eyes fixed Stefan with a quizzical stare.
Stefan paused, thinking about his answer. “The honest answer,” he said eventually,
“we’re not sure. South, and west, I suppose.”
Baecker nodded, thoughtfully.
“And you?” Stefan asked him. “May we know where you come from?”
“We serve the rulers of Sigmarsgeist,” Baecker replied. “We are honoured to
wear that livery.”
“It’s an honourable name, and a memorable one,” Stefan agreed. “But not one
I’ve heard. This town—or city—lies somewhere far distant?”
Baecker shook his head. “No more than a day and a night’s ride at most,” he
replied. “I’m not surprised that our citadel is unfamiliar to you. As yet, the
name of Sigmarsgeist is known to few beyond the walls. But that will change,” he
assured Stefan. “Believe me, friend, the time will come when all the Old World
will know and bless that name.”
“That may well be,” Stefan replied, slightly startled by the scale of
Baecker’s boast. “Certainly, your valour speaks favourably for your allegiance.
We share your abomination of evil. I wish you and your people well.”
“Why not ride with us?” Baecker suggested. You would find much to commend in
Sigmarsgeist. The citadel is only a few days distant. You would be made
welcome-' he looked at each of them in turn. “Each of you has virtues to be
valued.”
“Well…” Stefan exchanged glances with Bruno. Baecker was a brave man who
had shown them nothing but courtesy, and he had no wish to offend him. But a
diversion to a city he had never heard of was not part of his plans. “Your offer
honours us, but—”
“I should like to see this citadel of yours,” Bea interrupted. “I should like
that very much.”
Hans Baecker bowed. “And Sigmarsgeist would be honoured to receive you. Will
you not come?” he asked Stefan. “I promise you, the citadel is a jewel worth
beholding.”
Stefan thought about it. He was still unsure exactly where Sigmarsgeist lay,
but it was at least a full day’s ride, and possibly in the wrong direction. But,
then again, what was the right direction?
Bea read the hesitation in Stefan’s eyes. “You’re wondering about him, aren’t
you?” she said. “The man you’ve been pursuing. You’re wondering where you should
go next?”
Stefan nodded. If he were honest, they had lost all trace of Alexei. A part
of Stefan felt relieved that Zucharov had not been with the mutants. Perhaps he
was not yet ready to face that final moment of confrontation.
But it could not be delayed indefinitely. Stefan knew that, before long, he
must track down Zucharov. And, in truth, he could have gone in any direction.
For now, perhaps, Sigmarsgeist would offer a chance to reprovision, perhaps to
rest for a while before taking stock and moving on. If the battle-hardened men
they had just encountered were any measure of the place, then Sigmarsgeist might
be as good a direction as any, for now.