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Part 5
Devotion's Test
Wolfgard and his retinue slogged through the mud, but at least the rain had stopped. The men were tired from their trip, forced upon them by the swelling flow of the Upper Reik. The small barges used to drift downstream were traded in for horses, but only a few. Wolfgard rode at the head of the column flanked by his servant Gregor and one of his finest Marshals, Hoffman Breytenbach, with a few aides close at hand.
The trip to Wissenburg was quite disappointing and frustrating in Wolfgard’s opinion. He went to discover the Count’s decision regarding the upcoming crisis in Ostermark, but only received more indecision. Wolfgard understood the weight that came with this decision, so he did not condemn his lord. After all, he himself had the same difficulties. The one positive, he thought as they marched, was that the Count did assign a contingent of provincial troops to serve under him and utilize them as he saw. These handgunners, as they were called, would provide an extra punch to his forces.
“Damn the rain,” spoke Breytenbach. “The barges would have made this easier.”
“You know as well as I, Hoffman, that they would not make the trip upstream,” responded Wolfgard as he snapped out of his trance. “It would have been too difficult and dangerous,” he said glancing towards his friend lethargically.
“You are right my lord,” Breytenbach sighed in response. “This marching through the mud has worn out the men,” he then said turning in his saddle and seeing the soldiers of the Graf’s guard marching wearily. The handgunners walked directly behind them while the halberdiers pulled up the rear. They moved in a haphazard manner, trying to keep up with their lord commander. Despite the fatigue, they all carried their weapons skillfully over their right shoulders.
“I know, Hoffman, they have done well to march so steadily. We are close to home, their rest will come soon,” replied the Graf, pointing towards a small sloping ridge ahead. Behind the trees that lined it, the walls of Brennenburg would be in plain site.
Suddenly, an arrow whistled through the air, flying between Wolfgard and Hoffman, striking an aide and toppling him from his horse. Quickly other arrows started to land around Wolfgard and the forward elements of his column, frightening the horses.
“Ambush!” shouted Hoffman, steadying his steed.
“Battle formation!” roared Wolfgard, pulling his sword from it’s scabbard. “Gunners pour a volley into those trees,” he pointed towards the grove ahead and wheeled his horse to look at his men rushing into formation.
The handgunners stepped up and moved into two files, the first kneeling, and fired a volley. The effect was not what Wolfgard was hoping. A few shots went off, splintering tree limbs, but the damp air made it difficult for the matchlocks to stay lit. “Come on boys!” shouted their sergeant, cursing as he realized what the problem was. “Fire at will!”
The arrows began to come quicker, a few of the gunners clutching arrows that protruded from their body. Breytenbach rode over to them seeing what the problem was and he and the sergeant screamed at each other to understand. With the shouts of the other men and the occasional shot it was nearly impossible to hear.
The halberds moved to the right of the handgunners pushing forward a bit drawing the fire from their exposed comrades. “Come on lads!” their sergeant shouted as an arrow struck him sending him to the ground. As the men formed up, the next in line took command and the halberdiers pushed forward as quickly as possible, fighting fatigue and mud as they went.
“That’s it lads, push on!” shouted Wolfgard as he spurred his steed, with Gregor close behind, bow in hand. As the men rushed forward, their lord passed them and headed directly into the griffon’s lair, determined to vanquish the threat that hid in the trees. As Wolfgard approached, a man turned the corner of a tree readying himself, but was relieved of his head before loosing his bow. “What is this?” Wolfgard shouted in confusion, expecting orcs or goblins.
Another foe, seeing the Graf of Brennenburg exposed, rushed from behind to cut him down. Gregor rode between his lord and the assailant and unleashed an arrow that plunged into the man’s chest. “You must be careful my lord,” said Gregor calmly, restringing his bow and loosing another upon a shadow scurrying through the grove.
The halberdiers crashed through the trees around Wolfgard, screaming and brandishing their weapons, a sudden jolt of energy bolting through them. They hacked and slashed through any enemy that was unfortunate enough to cross their paths. Following close behind was Hoffman shrieking at the top of his lungs, bypassing pleasantries with his lord, seeking the head of the fool in charge of the ramshackle ambush.
“Are you alright my lord?” Gregor asked surveying the chaotic scene.
“Yes, thank you my friend,” he said panting from the exhilaration. “Looks as though you have saved me once again.” He himself began scanning the area, and the sounds of the fray were dying away. The halberdiers were mopping up resistance, which was heard by the occasional cry of pain.
“Lord Wolfgard!” The shout came from Breytenbach and seemed to originate from the foliage itself.
Wolfgard and Gregor headed towards the direction of the voice, until soon they came upon a small group of men huddled together around a large tree. “What is it?” questioned Wolfgard as he dismounted, Gregor taking the bridal of his horse. As he walked through the small cluster of his guard meeting Hoffman at the center, he saw the frame of a man with a large gash disfiguring his chest.
“Father Sebald?” Wolfgard gasped in amazement as he fell to his knees next to the young priest. “What is this about?” he wondered as he looked up at his men who returned looks of confusion.
“I did not mean to,” choked Sebald as the blood ran from his mouth. “It was the only way to show my devotion,” he began to sob uncontrollably. “Oh, Sigmar, I’m not worthy of your grace!”
“Shhhh, shhh,” whispered Wolfgard. “Sigmar loves all of his children, you are no different,” he tried to console the young man. It seemed little use, Sebald continued to weep as his eyes slowly closed and his breathing faded.
Silence fell upon the men as they looked to their lord for any sort of reaction. He only stood and reviewed his men. Looking finally upon Breytenbach, Wolfgard began. “Tell the men to keep silent of all that happened here. We were ambushed by orcs. Is that understood?” Hoffman and the rest of the men nodded in agreement, all realizing the magnitude of the situation. “Good,” Wolfgard continued. “Good job lads, you fought well,” he said taking a deep breath. “Tend to the wounded…let’s get them home.”