It was like a small-sized Imperial cathedral. It was completely imperial in style; descent sculpts all around the wall, a tower with a clock on it and brownish stone as raw material. Although, it wasn’t a great building, even our Principal Palace was better looking. Soldiers in silly bear-furred hats were standing the guard around it, wielding second-hand handguns and old-fashioned imperial swords. I knew that Eva was inside, so I prepared myself to enter.
‘Hey, you!’ I heard from behind. I didn’t concern with it, but now, my dear masters, I know that was a fault.
‘Hey! Yes, you, you Sartosan scum!’ the voice shouted. I turned around and found ten spearmen in rugged Nordlander uniform aiming at me.
‘You’re researched in the whole World Sea, pirate!’ said the sergeant.
‘Oh, I should be surprised?’ I replied not without sarcasm in my voice.
‘Hold your tongue behind your vampiric teeth, buccaneer!’ hissed the champion. ‘You have no right to offend us! We are the mighty Nordlander 45th Spearmen Unit!’
The 45th...I’ve heard about them.
‘Oh, the one that was annihilated by Harkon’s zombie handgunners?’
‘No, that one was the 54th.’ answered now a slim, elderly spearman with binoculars.
‘So, not so famous’ I said cynically.
‘WE’RE THE BOUNTY HUNTERS! THE PIRATE SLAYERS! THE SIGMARITE SEAINQUISITION!’ cried the sergeant, now with a dramatically aggressive tone.
‘Oh, then I’m in big trouble’ I abused him.
Their reply was clear and fast. All of them charged me shouting Sigmar’s name. I had no other choice, but to prepare to the fight. My dear masters, you see that I had no other choice. I never liked to kill the Emperor’s soldiers, but in some occasions, I was forced to do it.
Although outnumbered, I always was an excellent duellist, capable to fight more than one enemy at a time. I drew my sword and fought.
The first wound was on a tall, elfish-looking man, whose index finger was cut off. Then followed a silly-bearded warrior, whose bald head has been since decorated by a nice injury made by my sword. The musician had his ear cut down, while the standard-bearer lost several teeth due to a meeting with my fist. Beatrice, my crow, also did what she attacked the small man with binoculars.
I now prepared to fight my next opponent; the sergeant. All his soldiers knew that this is going to be a duel, so no one stood between me and the champion.
He was tall and bearded. His shoulders were as wide as rhinoxen. Actually, the whole man looked like these horned beasts of the Ogre Kingdoms. Hairy, savage, fierce with small, incredibly stupid-looking eyes. No fat was present on the warrior, only bones, skin and muscles everywhere. His teeth were yellows and at least half of them were missing. A nice Sigmarite twin-tailed comet tattoo was designed next to his ears, on his hairy head.
He shouted Sigmar and charged.
I parried his spear with ease, telling him that his god seemingly was busy helping other, more important people.
‘Everybody is in the same importance in Sigmar’s holy eye’ he replied angily.
Now he tried to stab towards my heart, but, of course, my blade was much faster.
‘Go home! 500 golden crowns are not enough for your life, and believe me, one day they’ll pay more for my head.’ I said.
‘Coward!’ he yelled.
Now he tried to jab my right arm. My dear masters, maybe I forgot to mention it, but I was always fighting with my left hand. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t defend my right limb in need. On the contrary, I easily turned out of his spear’s way. That started to be rather boring...
‘I say for the last time: Go home! I’ll only cost more if I kill you’ I told him.
‘No, if I’ll kill you!’ he shouted and prepared to attack.
But he couldn’t attack. It was my turn and I did my best; I knocked his pole arm out of his hands and cut his throat. Blood split everywhere. His men ran in cowardice, seeing their champion slain. The passer-byes didn’t look on us; they only walked to their job, dodging my enemy’s blood-puddle.
‘Oh man! That’s what I call a flesh wound!’ said a known voice behind me. It was Toni, my second-in-command.
‘What?’ asked Kahisi, the Southlander.
‘Didn’t you see the Monthias Pithoner’s Holy Grail-parody? It’s about Gilles le Breton who...’
‘Toni, please shut up.’ said my wife, now appearing from behind my unit. ‘Alex, bravo! We’re here to discuss in the political way, you know. Not killing as barbaric orcs, but talking as civilized humans...’
I always hated when she told me off, but I needed to admit she was right. However I couldn’t lose my face in front of my soldiers!
‘So you would prefer an imprisoned or dead husband’ I said coldly.
Her face went blank.
‘No, I’m not saying that...’ she started, but I interrupted:
‘Yes, you’re saying that.’
‘No! But you shouldn’t have to make a bloodbath in front of the assembly!’
I felt I’m losing, so I asked:
‘By the way, how did the politics gone inside the Parliament?’
‘Mediocre. Half of the chieftains were in accord with me, half not. At least, two of the three great clans’ chief is with us; Willis the Bruce, who was converted to Sigmarism and is bald as a priest, and Mel “Braveheat” Mac Gib.’ she replied, seemingly forgetting our discussion, but her eyes showed that she retained it in her memory. ‘But the leader of the hugest and richest tribe is against the alliance, Master Mortiaris of the Mac Laggen-clan.
Her last phrase drew my attention:
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘The Mac Laggens. Silly name isn’t it?’ replied Toni instead of Eva.
‘No, I asked the patriarch’s name.’
‘Mortiaris, why?’ answered my wife surprised.