Forged in Battle by Justin Hunter - (ebook by Undead) Read Free Book Online Page B

me. We are
interested, but I have to say that there are other things that interest me
more.”
    “Will you be partaking of our Helmstrumburg hospitality for
long?”
    “I doubt it,” Eugen replied, and Theodor laughed.
     
    Sigmund was reliving the argument with the burgomeister when
he stepped inside the Crooked Dwarf inn. There were a couple of regulars,
sitting at the bar, tall steins of beer in front of them. Sigmund acknowledged
them as he walked up to the bar.
    “Now then, Guthrie,” he said and leaned his arms on the
smooth wood of the bar. “What’s new?”
    “Nothing new.” Guthrie continued drying his tankard. “I hear
you brought my lad back alive.”
    “I did,” Sigmund said.
    “Coming home with living men is a good habit for a captain to
have,” Guthrie said. “Keep it up.”
    “I intend to,” Sigmund snapped, surprised by the animosity of
the jolly ostler. Turning round, he saw Edmunt sitting in the corner with a
steaming platter of beef, bowls of pickled cabbage and good thick trenchers of
rye bread. Sigmund walked over to him, pulled out a stool, and sat down.
    Edmunt nodded to Sigmund to help himself. The two men had
been friends long before they’d enlisted. That feeling still blurred the
distinctions between captain and halberdier.
    “I saw Frantz,” Sigmund said.
    “How was he?”
    “Good.”
    They ate in silence for a few moments.
    “The burgomeister refused to ask for more men.”
    “Did you expect anything else?”
    Sigmund shook his head and kept eating.
    “Did you deliver our friends to him?”
    “I did,” Sigmund said and smiled. “Strange pair.”
    “They are.”
    “What do you think?”
    Edmunt took another bite of bread. “Who can tell,” he said at
last, cut a piece of meat and began to chew.
    Sigmund put his beer down. “I don’t trust them.”
    Edmunt nodded. They ate in silence for a while. After they’d
finished wiping their bowls clean, Edmunt let out a belch of satisfaction.
    “How’s Elias’ cut?”
    “We cleaned it. He’s resting.”
    Sigmund nodded. “I’ll go see him,” he said and stood up. On
his way out of the door he paused and looked back at his friend. Edmunt had
grown up in the high country. He’d known Osman, and even more than that he’d
known the trader’s daughters. He watched his friend take a long swig of his
tankard. After what they’d seen in the hills they were all a little shaken.
Getting drunk was one way to forget.
     
    The Helmstrumburg barracks backed onto the river. Ringed by a
stone wall, meant as much to keep the soldiers in as angry fathers out, there
was a wide drill ground and then a “U” of buildings with their back to the
river, the long draughty barrack formed the right wing. The left housed
kitchens, the armoury and a stable, which was used to store grain and
blackpowder, and the two nags that the soldiers used to collect their provisions
from the docks.
    Across the top were the officers’ rooms, sick room and
shrine, with its small statue of Sigmar. While Sigmar may have cleared the
forests of greenskins, it was Taal who created them, and Taal who had named this
land, and Taal who owned the hearts of the men of Talabecland. He shared his
shrine with his brother, Ulric, at the base of a tree near the river. It was a
crude thing, which passing soldiers had built up over the years. The coloured
strips of cloth upon which they’d written their prayers were completely faded.
    The barracks had been strange at first to Sigmund, but now
the smell of oiled metal, sweat and waxed cuirboili breastplates seemed like
home.
    Sigmund hailed Vostig, sergeant of the handgunners, who was
sitting with his men, cleaning their guns. They’d been shooting that morning and
their clothes and faces were dark with soot.
    “You should try washing your clothes some day,” Sigmund told
them and Vostig grinned.
    “When you get proper uniforms,” he bantered, “then we’ll
wash!”
     
    Sigmund was still