Broken Honour (Warhammer Fantasy) by Robert Earl

Author:Robert Earl [Earl, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2011-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Erikson awoke to the urgent sound of the company’s drum. The beat was quick and insistent, and as he rolled out of his cot and pulled on his boots he could already hear the rest of the men racing to their defensive positions. Sergeant Alter could already be heard bellowing encouragement, and the clink of metal accompanied the pounding of rushing feet.

Pausing only to buckle on his sword belt and cram his hat onto his head, Erikson went to join them.

He was surprised to find that, although the chill of dawn was still in the air, the sun had risen high enough to light the ground around them. He had expected the beasts to attack at night, using darkness to hide the beginnings of their assault.

The captain found himself wishing that he had a cannon, or even a catapult. He should have had the townsfolk build one, although it was too late for that now. He shrugged off such useless thoughts as he sprinted down to the gate and raced up the ladder to the fighting platform that rested behind the stockade. Dolf was there already, his eyes bright with excitement as he beat the alarm.

‘Where are they?’ Erikson asked, squinting into the rising sun.

‘There,’ Dolf told him without a pause in the beat. ‘Coming along the road.’

Erikson pulled his hat down lower so that the brim eclipsed the sun, and leaned forwards. The figures that were approaching were still indistinct, veiled by the mist that steamed from the wheat around them.

‘They didn’t hang around,’ Porter said. ‘Must have got a taste for man-flesh, eh, captain?’

Erikson glared at Porter, who smiled before moving away to busy himself with his section. By now the men were assembled on the fighting platform in units of half a dozen or so. The townsfolk were climbing up between these groups, their own weapons and garb hardly less motley than the soldiers’ own. Behind them, formed up on the parade ground, Gunter waited with his section and a dozen of the heftiest townsmen.

Not much of a reserve, Erikson thought. But then, we’re not much of an army.

Then, from along the fighting platform, a peal of laughter turned into a ragged cheer. Dolf’s drumbeat hesitated and then stopped as he joined in. Erikson gazed quizzically towards the enemy.

Except that they weren’t. Now they had emerged from the blinding light of the sun and the clinging shadows and mist of the forest he could see that they were a company of mounted soldiers. They flew no flag, but their weapons glinted in the early morning light, and a small wagon bounced along halfway down their column.

‘Shall we open the gates, captain?’ Sergeant Alter asked, his wrinkled features split open in a smile of relief.

‘Not yet,’ Erikson told him. ‘Let’s see what they have to say for themselves first.’

The cheering grew louder as the men cantered closer, then disintegrated into catcalls and whistles as the column drew to a halt in front of the stockade. There were

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