Hammer and Bolter: Issue 20 Read online

  The trees had thinned, leaving the water to the stones and the strange grasses which grew around them. There was no moon, but the scene was illuminated well enough by the bale-fires burning on the stones and the mist seemed to absorb and amplify those weird lights. It was almost as bright as day, though not nearly as comforting.

  There were a trio of low-hulled skiffs ahead, bobbing gently in the water. There were more than a dozen armed men spread among them and a huddled group Dubnitz took to be the prisoners. On the lead skiff, the steersman stood and let his pole rise. Fulmeyer rose to his feet and stood on the prow. He pulled a strange object from his belt and raised it to his lips. The other two skiffs stopped as Fulmeyer stood.

  The horn was small, as horns went. It was curled tight on itself, like a ram’s horn, and bore no decoration save for certain familiar markings. Fulmeyer blew a single, bleating note and the flames on the stones seemed to blaze more brightly. He blew another, and the mist began to thicken and rise. Dubnitz, in his hiding spot, froze. Fear slithered through him; it was an ancient fear, bred into his bones and mixed into his blood. Childhood nightmares bristled in the caves of his mind. ‘The lords of the marsh,’ he murmured. Who, or what, held that title?

  ‘Where have you brought us?’ Sascha snapped, her voice carrying across the oppressive silence of the marsh. ‘My father will hear of this! He is a personal friend of the Elector of Averland!’

  ‘Is he now?’ Fulmeyer didn’t sound impressed. Dubnitz restrained a chuckle.

  ‘He will have you fed to bears!’

  ‘That’s a new one by me. Remind me to stay away from Averland,’ Fulmeyer said, and several of his men chortled appreciatively. ‘You’re in no position to demand anything,’ he added, grinning, his gold teeth glinting in the light of the bale-fire as he grabbed Sascha’s chin and tilted her head up. She spat in his face and Fulmeyer slapped her, an oath escaping his lips.

  Sark shot to his feet and lunged for the pirate. The others fell on him, beating him down as Fulmeyer chuckled. Dubnitz grimaced and looked away.

  Across the water, the mist rose and spread like an ocean wave, cresting over the trees and then just as quickly falling to reveal – what? They were stones, but not solitary ones. Instead, they were towers of heaped stone, rising from solid islets in the mere like the grave markers of giants.

  They looked flimsy and ill-stacked, but somehow more solid than even the best-built manor house of Marienburg’s aristocracy. Moss and mould grew on them, coating the dull black and brown and grey in sheaths of green and yellow, and on them, and in them and between them, dim shapes moved, as if summoned by Fulmeyer’s horn.

  On the skiff, Sark was struggling as Fulmeyer jerked Sascha to her feet and shoved her into the prow. Fulmeyer jerked her head back by her hair and shouted something that the mist swallowed. As he called out, several pirates climbed down from the skiffs, dragging the prisoners with them.

  ‘They’re paying the toll.’ That was what Schafer had said. But paying it to what? Dubnitz hesitated. The mist was coalescing like a thing alive, and vague, titan shapes seemed to move within it as the echoes of the horn faded. It looked as if he were going to get the answer to his question. The mist was dispersing. He could see the heaps of stone more clearly, noting the profusion of strange dark stains which marred the rocks at the upper levels.

  Something about those stains set his stomach to roiling. They looked far too similar to the splash of Schafer’s blood he’d seen on the marker stone earlier. The fear grew in Dubnitz’s gut. He could slip away now. No one would know. He was no hero, to die of shame. A fight you couldn’t win wasn’t glorious, it was foolish.

  ‘Then again, I’m already here. Besides, fortune favours the bold,’ he muttered. With a shout, Dubnitz shot to his feet and ran towards the closest of the pirates, drawing his sword as he drew close. The man spun around, his jaw dropping. Dubnitz’s sword sprang from its sheath and cut a furrow through the pirate’s chest and face.

  Even as the first pirate fell, Dubnitz waded into the others. Surprise and speed were enormous advantages, if you were audacious enough to take advantage of them. Unfortunately, even the smallest thing could take that advantage away. His sword swept up, chopping into a tattooed chest. He cursed as the blade became lodged in a breastbone. Dubnitz jerked at the sword and planted his foot on the twitching body, trying to jerk it loose.

  Despite his predicament, however, the remaining pirates weren’t attacking. Dubnitz gave a grunt and finally freed his sword. Water splashed behind him. ‘Erkhart,’ Sascha screamed, struggling with her captors.

  Dubnitz turned. A smell, like old deep, wet places, washed over him. A single cyclopean eye burned into his wide ones, and a leathery beak split in what could only be called a smile, revealing dagger-fangs. It shed the mist like water, and its scaly flesh was stretched over inhuman muscle beneath ancient bronze armour that did little to conceal its contorted shape. The armour was engraved with looping patterns that hurt Dubnitz’s eyes to look at. A stone maul, dripping with filthy water, rose, clutched in the thing’s two large hands.

  ‘Manann preserve me,’ Dubnitz whispered, as certain stories of his childhood suddenly rose to the fore of his fragmented thoughts, stories of terrible marsh-demons, driven into the mists by Sigmar and Marius the Fenwolf, in a time of legends before Marienburg was anything more than a dream.

  The maul rose and fell with a monstrous finality and Dubnitz only just dove aside as the weapon set up a splash of water. He turned and a club-headed tail crashed against his side, driving him to one knee. The thing circled him on bowed legs, its heavy shape sending rough ripples through the water. The leathery snout wrinkled and a sound like water gurgling over rocks escaped from between its teeth.

  ‘What the devil are you then?’ he hissed.

  Things that might have been words dripped from between its tusks, bludgeoning his ears. If it had answered his question, he couldn’t say. Nor did it seem particularly important. Dubnitz shoved himself to his feet using his sword. More creatures had joined the first, the mist clinging to them like some vast, communal cloak. They watched him and the first moved forward, raising its maul. Dubnitz extended his sword and stepped back.

  There were dozens of them, perhaps even hundreds. Where had they all come from?

  ‘The mist,’ Fulmeyer called out, as if reading his mind. ‘They live in the mist. That’s where they went when Sigmar and Marius put them to the sword. A good hiding place, if I do say so myself.’

  ‘You’d know all about hiding,’ Dubnitz muttered.

  ‘If you put the blade down, they’ll make it quick. They’re not as bad as some,’ Fulmeyer said. The pirate captain had one foot cocked up on the prow of the skiff, and leaned across his knee, the horn dangling from his hand. Dubnitz glanced over his shoulder.

  ‘When did you begin worshipping daemons, Fulmeyer? I always thought you were an honest rogue…’ he grated.

  Fulmeyer gave a bitter laugh. ‘I’ve always had an eye for opportunity, me, you know that Dubnitz.’ His face fell. ‘Of course, sometimes opportunity finds you, rather than the other way around.’

  ‘What foul hole did you find this particular opportunity in?’ Dubnitz said. The creatures splashed around him, never drawing too close. He wondered if one of them had done for Schafer.

  ‘Here, actually,’ Fulmeyer said conversationally. He’d always liked to talk, had the Marsh-Hound and Dubnitz intended to keep him barking away until he could figure out how he was going to salvage the situation. ‘I was looking for sanctuary from the damned Altdorf River Patrol. I found it, and allies with it.’

  ‘Allies, is it?’ Dubnitz said. ‘I didn’t see them helping you take the .’

  ‘Didn’t you?’ Fulmeyer said. He waved the horn. ‘Then you’re blind as well as stupid. I said they live in the mist, didn’t I, and it does as they ask. And they do as I ask…’

  ‘And in return, you give them what – human sacrifices?’

  Fulmeyer’s glee dissip
ated. ‘Better them than us,’ he snarled. ‘Everything has a price!’

  ‘Ah, the rallying cry of every half-baked cultist,’ Dubnitz said. ‘A match made in darkness, to be sure, Marsh-Hound. You get to loot to your black heart’s content, and all you have to do is turn the innocent over to inhuman monstrosities.’

  ‘I pay the toll required, Dubnitz. And it’s your bad luck that tonight’s toll is you,’ Fulmeyer said, gesturing. The pirates formed up around the skiff, their weapons prodding at Dubnitz, keeping him from coming too close. They did not look so much triumphant as terrified. They had pulled Sascha and her brother off of the skiff and thrust them into the water. With curses and oaths, they shoved them and the other survivors of the towards Dubnitz.

  ‘I said it before – drop your sword, Dubnitz. Go quiet like, and they’ll be gentle. As gentle as they get…’ Fulmeyer said. Dubnitz ignored him, checking on the others. There was only a quartet of the ’s crew remaining, and two of them were the worse for wear. Sascha and her brother seemed healthy enough, despite their terror.

  ‘You’re late, Erkhart,’ Sascha said, her voice tight.

  ‘A horse would have come in handy,’ Dubnitz said.

  ‘Get us out of this, and you’ll have more horses than you can stable,’ Sark said, his face pale.

  Dubnitz didn’t reply. He glanced at the pirates. There were more than a dozen of them, but they looked ready to bolt. Fulmeyer’s protestations to the contrary, his men weren’t entirely comfortable with their ‘allies’.

  ‘Everyone stays together,’ Dubnitz said. The creatures appeared to be growing impatient and several were splashing forward, their club-tails lashing.

  ‘Maybe we should run,’ Sascha said, clutching at his arm.

  ‘I don’t think we’d make it very far,’ Dubnitz muttered.

  As if it had overheard them, one of the creatures gave out a great cry and the others followed suit, slapping the water with their tails and stamping their feet. At the sight, one of the sailors sidled away from the bulk of the group, his face tense and pale with fear.

  ‘Don’t,’ Dubnitz said. The sailor didn’t listen. He turned and began to splash away, uttering prayers to Taal, Manann, and Sigmar as he ran. The mist seemed to solidify in front of the fleeing man and then the shape of one of the creatures lunged from it, incredibly swift. Talons fastened almost gently about the man’s head, cutting off his scream. The creature lifted the struggling man and the other things set up another howl.

  ‘Damn it let him go!’ Dubnitz roared, lunging forward. He had little hope of helping the sailor, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try. His sword chopped into the rubbery limb and the thing shrieked, more in surprise than pain. It flung its arm out, knocking Dubnitz off his feet.

  The stone maul wielded by the first of the beasts he’d encountered smashed down, spraying him with water and nearly mashing his head to paste. It drove him back, away from the one he’d attacked, swinging its maul out in short and brutal arcs. It didn’t seem to want to kill him so much as prevent him from interfering with whatever its companion was doing.

  ‘Erkhart, be careful!’ Sascha shouted, her brother holding her back.

  ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ he yelled back. The maul dropped, nearly crushing his foot. Reacting swiftly, he stepped on the haft and half-threw himself forward, his sword slashing wildly at the glaring, single eye. The creature reared back and the sword barely missed its snout. It jerked the maul out from under him, tumbling him into the water with ease.

  A massive three-toed foot slammed down on his chest, pinning him in the water. The creature looked down at him, and there was something that might have been respect in its eye. It gestured with its weapon.

  The other creature loped towards the tumble of stone with its captive. It climbed up the stones, displaying none of the awkwardness its ungainly form would imply. As it reached the top, something bent and hidden within thick, sodden animal hides crawled out of the rocks to meet it. Despite the concealing skins, Dubnitz could tell that it was of the same race as the others, though wizened and perhaps crippled. It leaned on a staff and croaked something at the other. The sailor’s screams were muffled by the beast holding him.

  The bent beast scooped up what looked like a length of crudely woven rope and set a noose around the writhing, whining sailor’s neck. Then, with a gurgling roar, the first creature sent the sailor tumbling from the stone. The rope pulled taut and the sailor smashed headfirst into the stone, leaving a new stain to join the old ones that Dubnitz had noted earlier.

  The creatures howled, clawing at the air or gesticulating with their weapons. The one holding Dubnitz down stepped back, letting him climb slowly to his feet. Rubbing his aching chest, he backed away. The body of the sailor twisted in the muggy breeze, and its heels drummed on the stone.

  Behind Dubnitz, Sascha gasped and turned away, leaning against her brother. ‘Stay close, all of you,’ Dubnitz barked as he rejoined the others. He swallowed thickly and put himself between them and the beasts that squatted, waiting.

  Why weren’t they attacking? What were they waiting for?

  ‘Going to fight them all, Dubnitz?’ Fulmeyer called out, half-tauntingly, half-admiringly. ‘That doesn’t work. I know.’

  ‘Talk your way out of that noose as well, did you?’ Dubnitz shouted back. ‘A trade was it?’

  ‘And if it was? Is my life – our lives – worth any less than these fine, fancy folk?’ Fulmeyer said.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Dubnitz said bluntly. ‘You’re noose-bound, human hangman or otherwise, if I have anything to say about it.’

  ‘Good thing you don’t, then,’ Fulmeyer said, laughing harshly. ‘The lords of the marsh will do for you!’

  As the pirate cackled, the creature that had first confronted Dubnitz gestured with its maul and gave a querulous croak. Fulmeyer stopped laughing. More of the creatures emerged from the mist, appearing on the other side of the pirates’ skiff. Fulmeyer half-lifted the horn, and the creature bellowed. On the high stones, the wizened monster raised its staff and shrieked. The pirate flinched, like a beaten dog. Dubnitz grinned. ‘Will they now? Somehow, I think you spoke too soon, Fulmeyer.’

  Dubnitz had seen enough to know that form and ritual were everything where sacrifices were concerned. If the creatures had bothered to bargain with Fulmeyer, they would abide by the rules they had laid down. It seemed that they wanted their sacrifices delivered to them, not just dumped on the doorstep.

  Fulmeyer swallowed and hopped off the skiff. He drew his sword as he splashed forward, and gestured with the hand that held the horn. ‘Take them,’ he snarled, and his men moved forward, grimly intent, more than one of them darting a nervous glance at their monstrous allies. Dubnitz realised that he had been wrong earlier. It wasn’t an alliance; the river-pirates were simply hunting dogs and now they were being whipped to the kill.

  Fulmeyer and a large, tattooed Nordlander closed on Dubnitz. ‘Don’t kill him,’ Fulmeyer growled. ‘They wouldn’t like that. Just get that sword out of his hand.’ He grinned in a feral fashion. ‘In fact, take the hand as well.’

  The Nordlander roared and lunged, his boat-axe swooping down. He was bigger than Dubnitz, and wore a rust-riddled sleeveless suit of mail. Dubnitz lunged forward, and the axe blade skirted down the side of his cuirass at an angle, shaving the metal and creating an ache in Dubnitz’s chest. He smashed the pommel of his sword into the Nordlander’s face, busting teeth. The big man reeled with a moan and Dubnitz cut his leg out from under him. The Nordlander fell with a scream and Dubnitz stepped over him, moving towards Fulmeyer.

  More pirates closed in, leaving their captives unattended. Armed and in a foul mood, Dubnitz looked more dangerous than a pack of terrified sailors. Fulmeyer barked orders, trying to regain control of the situation, but to no avail. Dubnitz swept his sword out in a wide arc, spilling red into the water. A pirate screamed and sank, clutching at his ruined hand. The heavy blade in the knight’s hand was littl
e more than a cleaver with a pointed end; Dubnitz had grown to manhood in Marienburg’s tannery district, chopping through the muscle and bone of abattoir animals.

  The pirates fell back after a few fraught moments, leaving the dead and dying in their wake. The creatures set up a cry and the mist seemed to vibrate with the frustration inherent in that sound. Fulmeyer’s eyes bulged and he half-lifted the horn.

  ‘Go on,’ Dubnitz wheezed. Sweat coated his face and his shoulders twitched with strain. His sword blade dipped towards the water. ‘Blow it, Fulmeyer. Send them back. Break your damnable bargain.’

  Fulmeyer’s face hardened. ‘It ain’t that simple.’

  ‘No, it never is,’ Dubnitz said. His armour felt as if it had grown heavier. He looked up. The darkness at the edge of the mist had faded, turning from purple to pink. One of the creatures snarled something unintelligible and pointed a talon at Fulmeyer, who flinched and waved his sword.

  ‘I’ll do it, damn your eye! Our bargain stands!’ the pirate screamed. He charged awkwardly through the water towards Dubnitz. ‘Take him, you marsh-dogs! Take him or we’re all for having our brains dashed on those cursed stones! Take him before cock-crow!’ His sword rattled off of Dubnitz’s own hastily interposed blade. Several other pirates surged towards them, their obvious panic sharpening their faces to vulpine ferocity.

  The creatures seemed to gather close, their heavy shapes moving towards the others. Dubnitz booted Fulmeyer in the belly and spun around. ‘Run!’ he roared. ‘All of you run!’

  The sailors needed no prompting. They broke and fled, thrashing towards the skiff, the hale helping the wounded. Sascha, however, snatched up an axe from one of the dead pirates and promptly brained the closest of his still-breathing compatriots. Her brother punched another and jerked the stumbling man’s blade from its sheath. Dubnitz cursed. ‘Get to the boat you fools,’ he snarled, grabbing a pirate’s shirt and jerking the man forward so that their skulls connected.