‘Does it matter?’ Goetz asked. ‘It’s not like any of us will get the chance to drink it.’
‘Pay him no mind, Wendel, he’s a Talabeclander. Got the taste buds of a radish,’ Dubnitz said. He snagged the braided beard of his opponent and jerked the northman towards him. Their heads connected with a dull sound and the Chaos marauder staggered back, eyes wide. Dubnitz gave a laugh and lunged, spitting the man on his sword. He whirled and smashed aside the shield of another warrior, opening the man up to a skull-splitting blow from Goetz. ‘There we go – look at that. Just like old times, my friend,’ Dubnitz chortled.
‘Erkhart – look out!’ Volker reached for Dubnitz, even as the Chaos warrior’s blade erupted from the other knight’s chest. Dubnitz coughed and lurched forwards, pulling himself off the blade. He sank down to one knee, his hand clamped to the wound. Goetz caught the Chaos warrior a blow on the head, staggering him.
‘Get him up and out of here,’ he snarled, as he moved to confront the warrior who’d felled Dubnitz. The Chaos warrior came at him, roaring something in a guttural tongue. His sword seemed to drink up the blood that coated it, and it glowed with pale flames. Goetz moved quicker than Volker thought possible for a man in full plate, blocking his enemy’s blow and countering with one of his own. The two warriors traded blows in the breach, neither giving ground. Behind the Chaos warrior, more northmen mustered, ready to rush the gatehouse when the contest was over. Volker could see that Goetz was tiring, despite his spirited defence. He felt a grip on his arm and looked down into Dubnitz’s bloody grin.
‘Second privy from the left,’ Dubnitz said.
‘What?’
‘The wine, Wendel. Just in case you live through this,’ Dubnitz wheezed. He levered himself to his feet with Volker’s help. ‘Fall back. They’ll need you out there, and no sense in you dying here. Two will do as well as three. We will hold them here, as long as possible.’
‘You’ll die,’ Volker protested.
‘Really? Hadn’t thought of that. You’re right. You stay, we’ll go.’ Dubnitz caught the back of Volker’s head and gave him an affectionate shake. ‘Don’t be an idiot. My guts would trip me up before I took two steps, and poor Hector has been looking for a place to die since Talabheim.’ He smiled weakly. ‘It’s a funny old world, isn’t it? I thought I’d die at the hands of an irate husband. At the very least, I’d do it in Marienburg. Still, one place is as good as any other. Like Hector’s late, lamented brothers were wont to say, we do what must be done.’ He pushed away from Volker. ‘Remember – second one from the left. Don’t let it go to waste,’ Dubnitz called, as he staggered towards the gatehouse. Along the way he snatched up one of the braziers the sentries had used for light, and hefted it like a spear.
As Volker began to back away, he saw Dubnitz give a shout and lurch into the Chaos warrior, smashing the armoured brute from his feet with the brazier. Goetz was too busy to capitalise on his foe’s predicament, as the massed ranks of the enemy gave a roar and charged into the courtyard. Goetz hefted his shield and readied himself to meet them.
The first of the invaders reached him, and their shields slammed together. Goetz was shoved back, but his sword slid across the top of both shields and through his enemy’s visor. He wrenched the blade free and shoved the body back, even as a number of slavering Chaos spawn bounded towards him and Dubnitz out of the smoke, their jaws wide. Dubnitz shoved himself to his feet, and for a moment, his eyes met Volker’s. He grinned briefly, displaying blood-stained teeth, and winked before he swung around, catching the first of the spawn in the side of its malformed head with the brazier.
Volker turned away. He heard Goetz cry out the name of his goddess, and then he was staggering out of the courtyard, chest heaving. A rank of levelled spears awaited him, protruding from within a wall of locked shields. He stopped short, and then turned as a wild scream caught his attention. A northman charged out of the courtyard, axe raised. And then another, and another. Volker backed away, shield ready. He killed the first of them, grief and anger adding strength to his blow. The second slammed into him, and they fell in a tangle. Volker slammed the pommel of his sword against the warrior’s head, and then opened his throat to the bone.
Before he could get to his feet, the third was upon him, axe raised for a killing stroke. Volker tensed to receive the blow he knew was coming. Sorry, Erkhart, he thought. I guess that wine will go to waste after all.
Moments before the barbarian’s blow landed, a warhorse interposed itself, and a hammer sang down, driving the warrior to the ground in a broken heap. Volker looked up into the eyes of the Herald of Sigmar himself, and felt the despair of only a few moments before begin to give way before a surge of hope. ‘Are you the last?’ Valten asked, his voice carrying easily above the din of battle.
‘I… yes,’ Volker croaked, trying not to think of the others. I’m sorry, he thought again.
Valten nodded brusquely, and turned his head towards the gatehouse. ‘Then on your feet, Reiksguard. I need every man who can stand. The enemy is coming, and I would welcome them properly.’
Canto Unsworn strode over the tangle of bodies that blocked the way into the gatehouse courtyard. Dead Chaos spawn, tribesmen and the armoured figures of several of Halfgir’s more eager Headsmen were in evidence, as were the bodies of the defenders, one clad in bronze, the other in green. Two men, he thought. Horvath strode past him, kicking a plumed helmet aside. ‘Two men did all of this,’ Canto said, keeping pace with him as they headed for the shattered portcullis at the far end of the courtyard at a fast lope.
‘Khorne will welcome their skulls,’ Horvath growled. They stepped out of the courtyard and into a melee. Canto saw Count Mordrek wading through the enemy with casual disregard, his blade shrieking in pleasure as it tore the humanity from its victims.
‘Maybe so, but I’m not very keen on this invasion if that’s the sort of welcome we can expect,’ Canto said as he parried the blow of a desperate halberdier. ‘These sorts of things have a way of – well, let’s be blunt, shall we? – spinning out of control.’
‘Silence, Unsworn,’ Horvath growled as he chopped through an upraised shield and into the man cowering beneath it.
‘All I’m saying is, this just proves that things could go very badly, very quickly. Pivotal moments, Horvath. They’re an unsteady sort of foundation to build future endeavours on.’
‘By all of the names of all of the gods, would you be silent, Canto? You’ve been yammering incessantly since Praag,’ Horvath hissed. ‘If Halfgir were to hear you…’
‘Halfgir caught a cannonball in the gut coming up the viaduct. He’s not hearing anything any time soon,’ Canto said, not without some humour. ‘I suppose that means you’re in charge of the warband now – Horvath’s Headsmen, they’ll call us.’
‘I said be silent,’ Horvath snarled, slapping a swordsman aside. ‘By the brass balls of Khorne, do you ever shut up?’
Canto didn’t reply. An Ulrican priest circled him, moving lightly across the blood-slick cobbles, hammer raised, wolf-skin cloak flapping. Canto concentrated on the man’s sweaty, snarling features, waiting for that oh-so-familiar tightening of skin around the eyes that would betray his next move. Flesh crinkled, and the Ulrican stamped forwards, hammer whirling. Canto twisted aside at the last moment, and the hammer smashed down, shattering cobbles. Before the priest could recover, Canto drove his sword through the man’s side. The Ulrican howled, and Canto twisted his blade and shoved, chopping through the man’s spine and out of his back in a spray of blood.