was hardly the worst of it. A bronze-coloured epaulet shimmered dully from the red shoulder of his padded tunic. A singular leather vambrace that was scratched almost white hung loose on one strap. He looked up vaguely at Felix and, to his minor irritation, saluted.
‘Corporal Herschel Mann, my lord, Hergig city militia. At your service.’
Felix raised an eyebrow and smiled at the slumped soldier. ‘At ease, corporal.’
‘Aye, sir,’ the man murmured.
‘I apologise on behalf of my… friend,’ said Felix, glancing across to Gotrek who returned the stare with diamond tips. ‘I assure you he’s the same with everybody.’
The man took another squeeze of water and swallowed nervously. ‘Forgive me, my lord. He asked if I had news of Altdorf and I told him aye, I did. Several of the men with me were attached to Reikland regiments, garrisoned in the outlying countryside during the… fall.’
To Felix, the air suddenly felt too thick to breathe. His heart didn’t seem to want to beat.
‘The fall of what?’ asked Gustav.
‘Of Altdorf,’ said Corporal Mann. ‘The fall of Altdorf, my lords.’
Shouts of denial rose from the company sergeants who had not already been present to hear the news with Gotrek. Most of them had been enlisted men serving in regiments on the Empire’s hinterlands or, in the case of the Kislevite contingent, beyond it. Felix doubted whether half of them had ever been to Altdorf, but that didn’t matter. It was the seat of Imperial power, home to its most exalted institutions and most decorated regiments, a cultural home if not an actual one. It was unconquered and unconquerable.
It was Altdorf.
Felix stared at the shattered soldier for a long moment, not entirely comprehending. He felt the stool kicked out from under his heart, the noose tightening around his neck as it dropped. The disbelieving chorus of his men blended together into a whining note of white noise. Deep down he had suspected that even the great citadels of Reikland could not stand against the forces he had seen heading towards them. Mentally he had prepared himself for it, but to have it confirmed hit him emotionally like a kick in the gut.
Felix raised his left hand to his eyes. The lantern-light reflected from the angular edges of his ring, short-lived tears of ethereal gold.
No.
He forced himself to swallow, and then to look up. Sound crashed back in a tumult of angry, frightened voices.
He turned a look of anguish to the corner where Gotrek sat, arms crossed and surrounded by empty chairs. There was a grimness on the dwarf’s face that Felix didn’t like. A blue vein bulged from his temple, and he appeared to swell as he clasped hands to his enormous biceps and stared through Felix into the rain. West – to Altdorf. Returning to Altdorf and reuniting Felix with Kat – and perhaps expunging some guilt of his own in so doing – had been Gotrek’s unwavering goal for over a year. In all of Felix’s own worries and doubts he’d never thought to consider how his former companion would respond to failure.
‘Lies,’ said Gotrek in a voice that could have ground gravel. ‘He didn’t tell you the rest. Said Sigmar’s own second bloody coming fought and lost. And there’s more too, if your head’s not already too full of foolishness to hear more.’ Gotrek snorted angrily. ‘Gods. Manling nonsense if ever I heard it.’
‘What of the Emperor?’ said Gustav, lifting his voice above the clamour.
‘Safe, I heard,’ said Mann, relieved to have something positive to share with his rescuers. ‘The old King of Bretonnia rode to his aid, and,’ he glanced anxiously towards Gotrek, ‘and the gods themselves.’
A few men made signs to Sigmar and Ulric across their chests. Kolya chuckled drily. ‘We could use some of that, no?’
‘Gods or Bretonnians?’ Gustav murmured, a half-smile teasing his troubled mask.
Kolya shrugged. ‘So long as they bring their horses.’
The kossar sergeant by
‘Corporal Herschel Mann, my lord, Hergig city militia. At your service.’
Felix raised an eyebrow and smiled at the slumped soldier. ‘At ease, corporal.’
‘Aye, sir,’ the man murmured.
‘I apologise on behalf of my… friend,’ said Felix, glancing across to Gotrek who returned the stare with diamond tips. ‘I assure you he’s the same with everybody.’
The man took another squeeze of water and swallowed nervously. ‘Forgive me, my lord. He asked if I had news of Altdorf and I told him aye, I did. Several of the men with me were attached to Reikland regiments, garrisoned in the outlying countryside during the… fall.’
To Felix, the air suddenly felt too thick to breathe. His heart didn’t seem to want to beat.
‘The fall of what?’ asked Gustav.
‘Of Altdorf,’ said Corporal Mann. ‘The fall of Altdorf, my lords.’
Shouts of denial rose from the company sergeants who had not already been present to hear the news with Gotrek. Most of them had been enlisted men serving in regiments on the Empire’s hinterlands or, in the case of the Kislevite contingent, beyond it. Felix doubted whether half of them had ever been to Altdorf, but that didn’t matter. It was the seat of Imperial power, home to its most exalted institutions and most decorated regiments, a cultural home if not an actual one. It was unconquered and unconquerable.
It was Altdorf.
Felix stared at the shattered soldier for a long moment, not entirely comprehending. He felt the stool kicked out from under his heart, the noose tightening around his neck as it dropped. The disbelieving chorus of his men blended together into a whining note of white noise. Deep down he had suspected that even the great citadels of Reikland could not stand against the forces he had seen heading towards them. Mentally he had prepared himself for it, but to have it confirmed hit him emotionally like a kick in the gut.
Felix raised his left hand to his eyes. The lantern-light reflected from the angular edges of his ring, short-lived tears of ethereal gold.
No.
He forced himself to swallow, and then to look up. Sound crashed back in a tumult of angry, frightened voices.
He turned a look of anguish to the corner where Gotrek sat, arms crossed and surrounded by empty chairs. There was a grimness on the dwarf’s face that Felix didn’t like. A blue vein bulged from his temple, and he appeared to swell as he clasped hands to his enormous biceps and stared through Felix into the rain. West – to Altdorf. Returning to Altdorf and reuniting Felix with Kat – and perhaps expunging some guilt of his own in so doing – had been Gotrek’s unwavering goal for over a year. In all of Felix’s own worries and doubts he’d never thought to consider how his former companion would respond to failure.
‘Lies,’ said Gotrek in a voice that could have ground gravel. ‘He didn’t tell you the rest. Said Sigmar’s own second bloody coming fought and lost. And there’s more too, if your head’s not already too full of foolishness to hear more.’ Gotrek snorted angrily. ‘Gods. Manling nonsense if ever I heard it.’
‘What of the Emperor?’ said Gustav, lifting his voice above the clamour.
‘Safe, I heard,’ said Mann, relieved to have something positive to share with his rescuers. ‘The old King of Bretonnia rode to his aid, and,’ he glanced anxiously towards Gotrek, ‘and the gods themselves.’
A few men made signs to Sigmar and Ulric across their chests. Kolya chuckled drily. ‘We could use some of that, no?’
‘Gods or Bretonnians?’ Gustav murmured, a half-smile teasing his troubled mask.
Kolya shrugged. ‘So long as they bring their horses.’
The kossar sergeant by
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