Mordheim

HOW I ENDED UP IN MORDHEIM

The story I am going to tell you happened a long time ago when I was still a young lad studing the art of fencing under my tutor the famous fencing master Giacomo di Grassi of Remas. As you probably know Giacomo di Grassi was one of the three premiere Tilean fencing masters that ever lived. Maestro Grassi invented many of the tactics we use in fencing today. The master prefered the short sword to the Rapier, and practically invented the modern parry. Most people at the time only attacked and counter-attacked, without much thought towards defense, so his ideas were a drastic change. Maestro Grassi's most famous book is entitled "My True Arte of Defence".

But here I am again being carried away talking about my favorite subject.

To continue with my story..

It all began like this...

The thin sun of afternoon glinted off my father's sword where it lay on my bed. I stood before my looking glass, assessing my reflection as if it were a rival suitor. With a smile, I pinned in place the favor the Dutchess Cecile of Ludwas Schlosstein of Uber-Groswitsch III had given me: an enamel brooch trimmed with a flourish of delicate lace. I positioned it on the lapel of my vest, directly over my heart. Smiling at the memory of last night, I spun on one heel - my short duelist's cloak whipping about my thin waist - I snapped up the sword and headed out into the street.

The cobblestones clicked sharply under the wood of my boot heels, and in my excitement I barely noticed the thick smell of live poultry in the air or the belligerent calls of merchants and tavern owners hawking their wares. I struggled to concentrate on the duel before me, but my mind insisted on wandering.

The night before Cecile of Ludwas Schlosstein had given me the opportunity to prove my devotion. For two weeks I had courted her slyly with passing glances and subtle gestures. Last night she had sought me out and we had passed the entire evening together. Before she left me to rejoin the friends she was staying with, she had even shared a confidence with me.

A young nobleman at court Brutus Gr'lla from Remas, also known as the strongest man in the Old World had professed love to her younger sister and then been inconstant. Cecile fretted that she had no way to strike back at him for his lack of consideration. Then, with a mischievous light in her eye, she had asked me if she might hire me to challenge the noble in question to a public duel, a fight to the first blood to humiliate the impudent fop. "After all, Donato," she whispered in a voice like sweet honey, "you are a swordsman by trade. Surely you can best another noble." And, of course, the hint of payment was there in her lips and in her eyes.

Despite my perpetual poverty as a fencing student, I gallantly refused the payment. I smiled to myself again thinking of the way I had handled the whole matter. Surely my generosity would win me further favor in her eyes.

The gates of the city's center garden rose up before me, gleaming and golden like the gates to paradise. With a quick breath, I strode inside and headed for the center courtyard. The center court was the fashionable place for all the local and visiting gentry to spend their early evenings. Turning past a great hedge sculpture, I spotted my man. Dressed in a crisp blue coat, his hair drawn back in a casual tail, stood Cecile's enemy. He was speaking with two older gentlemen, members of his own court.

Standing boldly forward among the well dressed lords and ladies, I drew my blade, kissed it and pointed it directly at the older nobleman.

"Sir," I raised my voice for all those assembled to hear. "I challenge you to a match to the first point. The matter," I paused for effect, "is one of honor." Then I took a single step forward and lowered my sword point to the floor before my feet.

The nobleman looked puzzled at first, glancing around to see if one of his companions might offer some explanation. "Go on, Brutus," one of them said with a smile. "You must have upset somebody somehow."

"It should be a good bit of before-supper sport," agreed the other. "Go on and show us how the nobles of Remas fight these days. Here, I'll hold your coat for you." Brutus agreeably undid the fastenings of his overcoat, folded it neatly and handed it off to his friend. I removed my coat as well, setting it on a nearby bench. Walking forward to meet my opponent, I stretched my arms, swiveling them once, then twice, loosening the muscles.

The man called Brutus stepped forward until only a few feet separated us. Then he stepped into a relaxed but deliberate stance, sword pointing upward. I raised my own blade until they were tip to tip.

"Begin?" the other man asked. I inclined my head and the two swords sprang apart as if on a pivot. Strike. Parry. Counter-strike. We moved across the square in a lightning-quick dance, our blades nearly invisible. The crowd gathered around us, moved and shifted like the waves of the sea, back as we approached and forward again as we retreated.

I felt the heat of the fight rise in me, one movement flowing into the next as I slipped into the rhythm of the duel. Parrying a deft blow and enjoying my opponent's surprising skill, I threw my hair back over my left shoulder. It was possible that I might even lose this fight. That would be a shame if it lost me Cecile's favor, but I was enormously pleased at finding so fine a swordsman. Well, there are other women in the world, I thought. And if the gentleman has played a little falsely to a young girl, it was all a part of the great game of love.

I brought up my blade to block the anticipated stroke and almost stumbled when it met no resistance. Surprised, I looked into the face of my opponent. All the humor and curiosity had gone out of Brutus's face. Instead he had the look of a man fighting for a grave cause. I only barely sidestepped the sudden thrust that came at my left ribs. The stroke hadn't been a casual one. It had been meant to cut - deeply.

The nobleman followed it with a series of fast, furious blows. It was only my training under Maestro Grassi and a healthy amount of luck that saved me from some of them. Confused, I glanced around the assembly. Over Brutus's shoulder I could see Cecile smiling sweetly at me. Then she turned to exchange words with the man beside her, laughing at whatever he said. No one else appeared to notice the change in the tone of the fight. They still watched with keen amusement, thinking the duel would end with the first flash of blood.

Knowing that I could expect no help from the courtiers surrounding me, I concentrated on defending myself. Using a trick Maestro Grassi had taught me, I let the other man come in for a strike; then, turning my body so that the blade slid past me, I hooked the decorated edge of my basket hilt around the base of the blade and gave a sharp twist.

The sword flew out of the other man's hand, clattering along the flagstones. Cursing, the disarmed Brutus leaped away from me. Feinting as if he would circle to the left after his lost blade, he instead threw hisself at my feet, bowling me over. By the time I had regained my feet, Brutus had regained his sword.

I stepped forward only to feel my left leg give way, still stunned from the fall. As the ground came up, Brutus closed, a killing look in his eyes. I rolled to the side, bringing my own sword up between us. The blade passed so cleanly through the other man's body that at first I wasn't sure I had struck him at all. But then Brutus fell forward onto my chest and the hard, sluggish thudding of the man's heart told me I had struck true.

A moment that lasted a lifetime. A single realization pounded against the back of my eyes.

I've killed him.

Brutus's eyes went vacant and his body buckled, like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

I've killed him.

I tried to catch him, but the weight of the nobleman was too much, falling too quickly, and we
hit hard on the cold flagstones.

By Sigmar, I've killed him.

I searched the man's eyes, his face only a few inches from my own, and tried to form a question. "Damn her," Brutus whispered, blood flecking his lips. "But, you're damned already, aren't you? She'll pick your bones clean, boy, and eat your soul for dessert." The last words rattled out of the dead man's mouth.

Blood pounded in my ears and it seemed as if sound and sight ran out of the world hand in hand for a moment, leaving only the dead man's face in my mind. Then in a rush it came roaring back. All around me came gasps and cries and exclamations. Hands were pulling the body off of me, rolling it onto its back on the ground and seeking signs of life. My sword clanged to the ground where it lay in the pooling blood. Other hands hauled me to my feet, and I became aware slowly of harsh voices demanding I answer them. Startled, I scanned the crowd for Cecile, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"It's murder, man," one of the men Brutus had been speaking with before the fight said into my ear. "You'll hang if you can't answer for what you've done!"

"What possessed you?" demanded another. "What treachery is this?"

"It was a friendly fight!" I tried to answer, but my tongue felt thick and my mouth was dry. "I don't understand what happened! Where is Cecile? She proposed the duel. Where is she?" I cast around desperately.

Cecile stepped out of the crowd before me. "Do you know this man?" asked one of the king's advisors. "Was the duel yours?"

Her pretty curls waving, Cecile of Ludwas Schlosstein shook her head. "I know him only a little. And I have no idea what he is suggesting."

"That isn't true," I gasped, stunned. "I have proof! I have her ..." The words trailed off as my gaze fell on the bare lapel of my vest. Slowly I raised my head. The brooch with its white lace trim stood out sharply against the deep crimson of Cecile's dress. Her perfect lips curved in just the faintest hint of a smile before she turned and disappeared back into the crowd.

Cecile did appear at the trial. She still wore the brooch, and this time the dress was a flushed rose that reminded me of purity stained. Before a court of Remas's highest nobles she told them in her clear and lovely voice that she had met with me on only one occasion, the night before the fight. I had professed affection to her, and she, shocked by my forward manner, had told me that she was already being courted by the visiting nobleman Brutus Gr'lla. In fact, she explained, she had only known the other man a little, but she had been frightened by my determination and had sought to put me off. Now of course, she regretted her words terribly, but who could have known that my jealousy would drive me to do such a violent thing?

Other individuals testified that they had, on several occasions, seen me follow Cecile with my eyes, and that I had inquired about her more than once. And this of course was true. Damning, but true.

Never called to testify in my own defense, I stood in silence as the day of my death was announced.

My last dinner was overcooked lamb, and I poked at the greasy meat with distaste. Then, I heard the footsteps coming toward my cell. Too slow to be the prison guards, and too light to belong to any man. Cecile stepped from the shadows and moved forward until the last light fading from the narrow cell window shone off her golden hair.

If only she would come a little closer, I thought, I might reach her narrow, lying throat through the crude iron bars. As if she could hear the thought, Cecile smiled and stopped just out of reach.

"You did very well, you know," she said, and there was an amusement in her voice that seemed obscene in this miserable place. Mixed with the sweet fragrance of her perfume, the rot on the walls was all the more potent. "I didn't think you'd win, really. Brutus was an excellent champion." The last word wounded me nearly as deeply as he had wounded Brutus. Glancing around the place, she pulled a painted fan from the sleeve of her dress and toyed with it as she continued. "Really, I thought he would be visiting me here tonight, convicted for your murder. But that was the beauty of it, after all; either way, I won." She smiled up at me with the innocence of a happy child.

"It seemed rude not to pay my respects, and to send you to the scaffold entirely ignorant. Cecile is a lovely name, but it isn't my own. Neither was the one that Brutus knew me by when we first met in Miragliano. We were very close there before I left, and that was my own foolishness. You see, you travel a great deal in my trade.

"When Brutus arrived here, I was already established with all the right people as Cecile of Ludwas Schlosstein. It wouldn't do to have him upset all my work, and he knew it. He suspected that I might try to insure his silence. That's why he grew so violent when he saw you with my token." Her fingers brushed the brooch still pinned on her bodice. "I'm afraid he assumed you were an assassin."

"But he hadn't said anything." I fought to keep my voice level. "What made you think he would?"

"I didn't, to tell you the truth. But I really couldn't take the chance," she said with a slight shake of her head. "This has been a very profitable trip."

I lunged forward, the bars thundering under my weight as I tried to reach her. "You're a witch," I spat. "A soulless demon!"

"So I've been told," she murmured, lowering her eyes demurely. "At any rate, I seem to have overstayed my welcome here. I'm off for Altdorf in the morning. I'm afraid I can't stay for your show. Better luck next time, Donato." The last words were a whisper, intimate and low. She walked back into the darkness, My howl of rage echoing after her.

The next day was gray and thick with the expectation of storm. It felt fitting to me as I was led, arms bound, toward the scaffold. The wooden steps creaked under my weight as I climbed them. One. Two. Three. Four. I counted all thirteen, each step a little prayer. Then the platform stretched ahead, the rope hanging thick and sure in its center. The crowed gathered around the stand was mostly made of peasants and a few tradesmen. It was market day and a crowd had gathered. Viewers of higher standing could watch from the comfort of their balconies above the square. True to her word, Cecile was not among them.

The guards led me forward and the hooded executioner placed the rope around my neck. Thick and heavy, it felt like the weight of the whole world. My vision closed in dark around the edges as I fought not to show the panic I felt. To my left, a priest chanted prayers too quietly for me to make out the words. My stomach cold, I closed my eyes tight.

I heard the 'click' of the lever being pulled and held my last breath. But the floor beneath me stayed solid. Letting go the breath slowly, I opened my eyes. Only inches in front of my face was a pistol, the hammer pulled back. That had been the "click." The gun was in the hand of the priest, and it pointed directly at the executioner standing to my left, his hand still on the switch. "Not today, my friend," said the man in priest's robes in a good-natured tone. His voice held an accent I couldn't place. "Cut the rope."

The executioner nodded cautiously and, stepping away from the lever, drew a sharp knife. He moved it near to my neck. "Higher please," smiled the stranger. Obediently, the executioner raised the blade, cutting through the rope a foot above my head. Then he cut the ropes tying my hands. Hurriedly, I loosened the noose and drew it over my head. It fell to the floor with a thud.

Cries of panic and surprise broke out in the street as four men on horseback thundered down the central road. Leading two more mounts behind them, they drew up beside the platform.

"Shall we?" asked my rescuer, and the two of us leaped over the railing onto the waiting horses. Shouts and shots rained after us as we thundered away, but were too late to do any good.

From the hills overlooking Remas, I watched the sun set behind the the city. The last rays cast the peak-roofed buildings in silhouette, and flamed off the gilded dome of the Great Cathedral in a blaze of red and gold. I took a deep breath savoring the sight before me mixed with the sharp smell of cypress trees native to the place. I knew already that it would be a long time before I stood here again.

With a last sigh, I turned back to my new companions. Gustav, having cast aside his false priest 's robes, stood comfortably in the heavy cloaks of an Middenheim mercenary. Standing at his full height, without his affected hunch, he was a great bear of a man, more than six feet tall.

With him stood Belmont, a noble from one of the smaller houses of Miragliano. I had wanted to dislike him if only for Cecile's sake, but the Tilean had such a pleasant manner and a gift for lewd jokes that I already found it difficult. Tending the horses and speaking to each other in low tones were two brothers from Prague. I still couldn't quite wrap my memory around their names. Both were of slight build with long fine black hair and eyes flat like a lizard's.

"Who are you?" I had asked when our mad ride out of the city had slowed enough for talk.

"We're mercenaries!" Belmont declared, laughing into the wind. "Can't you hear the armor creaking?" I only shook my head in confusion.

"This is what he means," Gustav said, raising up his right hand. On the third finger, I saw a gold ring, emblazoned a flaming comet in the shape of a warhammer. "Sigmar's hammer and the twin-tailed comet?" I whispered. Gustav nodded silently.

Hours later, I was standing in the twilight, I looked at each of them, hoping I was hiding the wonder in my eyes. I had heard of the Order of the Twin Tailed Comet, knew of the famous deeds and heroic rescues, but I never dreamed I would be standing with them . or that they would be saving me from the Chaos's daughter.

The last of the group, Nigel, approached me. He was nearly the same height as I, and his eyes were of a peculiar bright shade of blue that seemed to expect me to look right at them. "We'll be leaving in just a few moments," he said with a slight smile. "Have you finished with your good-byes?"

I blushed to think my mood had been so transparent. "I'm ready. But where are we going?"

"After the conniving she-devil, of course," called out Belmont from a few yards away. "To keep her from wreaking any further havoc on the innocent and impressionable."

Nigel shook my head. "Belmont is blunt, but correct. We'll follow after her and try to keep any additional damage to a minimum. Our informers have told us that she is on her way to the City of the Damned..Mordheim. The woman you knew as Cecile has left a trail of disaster in her wake. For a spy, she's incredibly unsubtle."

"How did you know to follow her here?" asked I, still embarrassed by being called "innocent."

"I received a letter from my brother. He'd met her before." Nigel paused and took in a deep breath. "Before we go, I have something for you." Reaching beneath his thick cloak, he drew forth a sword I had never thought I would see again.

"How did you manage to lay hands on it?" Running my hands lovingly over the sheathed blade, I felt the loneliness of leaving my master slip away, replaced by the familiarity of the heirloom. I stopped cold at Nigel's next words.

"The court gave it to me. As partial recompense for my brother's death." Nigel's voice stayed even, but low.

I tried to speak, but felt my throat close on the words. Looking at Nigel now, I could see the same set of the brow, the crook to the nose.

"You didn't kill him," Nigel stated flatly, determinedly. "She did. And if we'd come any later, she would, in effect, have killed you too. Brutus recognized her when he saw her here, and he wrote to me. But he didn't take the harm she could do him seriously enough."

We stood facing each other. Then Gustav's coarse voice broke the silence. "Time to ride. Let's go before we lose the rest of the daylight." Nigel nodded and gave me a broad smile before turning to his horse.

I followed suit, and with one last backward glance and the sword on my belt as familiar as the hand of an old friend, I spurred my horse after my new companions.

And that is how I ended up in this cursed city.

Ah, stranger I see that you have finished your meal. Am I talking that long?

Xhil, give everyone a round of drinks! I think they have become thirsty by all that listening to
my boring story.

The End

It is not enough to kill your enemies. You must bury them, and bury them deep. A good rain can dig them up again.- Maestro Grassi's Proverbs