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“On my mark then,” she said. “Three… two… one… ride!”
His horse spurred as he kicked its flanks, a second hit urging the destrier on. He jerked in the saddle at the sudden speed, the wind whistling through his ears as its pace launched into a gallop. The trees and shrubs blurred past to either side, a few errant branches and leaves flicking against his vambraces, but he paid them no mind - Roderick was no stranger to cavalry charging through rough terrain.
The horse’s lustrous mane rippled before him as the mount lurched its head, snorting as he steered it round the trunk of an oak. The edge of the grove was rushing up to meet them, and with a flash of sunlight he was launched out into the steppes beyond, the fronds giving way to ankle-high grasslands.
Beyond the wind and the clopping of his horse was something else, and he turned to look over a shoulder, seeing Mazkha pulling up by his flank. The great boar she rode seemed to lumber rather than sprint with its great stumpy limbs, far from the grace of a horse, but just as able to keep pace.
“I said a race, not a trot, little knight!” she called, picking up in speed as she sidled round to overtake him. “Where’s that legendary Imperial horsemanship I’ve heard all about?”
“Go, go!” Roderick growled, conveying his urgency through his tone. Not to be outdone, he spurred on his destrier, the mounts exchanging the lead but never quite outpacing the other in a steady but frantic sprint. Mazkha’s beast was snivelling like a piglet seeking out truffles, but Gods be damned if it couldn’t hold its own.
Roderick blood began to warm as he seemed to share in the adrenaline of his horse, the ground below blurred into a mess of drab colours. There were so many sensations - the wind rippling his hair, the steady clock-clock-clock of pounding hooves, the rhythmic rolling as his saddle buckled against the flexing torso of his war mount. Everything else melted away in the swelling rush, Roderick’s thoughts becoming as clear as the sheer emptiness of the steppes now surrounding the two skilled riders.
His heart knotted with tension as they pulled up to the beginning of the rise, their invisible finish line rapidly approaching with the both of them practically neck-to-neck. Roderick had not rushed the horse, but with a kick of his legs he quickly changed this, and he gently began to pull ahead. Mazkha noticed, her boar squealing as she pushed it harder and harder, but it was clear she’d burned too much speed too early.
They rushed across the rise like two bullets, but it was clear who was the victor. The pair gently pulled on their respective reigns as they descended the far side of the hill.
He smirked at the she-orc as they pulled up to let their mounts catch a breath, Mazka grumbling under her breath as she scowled back, but he could tell it was good natured.
“Alright, quit yer grinnin’,” she said. “Today just weren’t our day, ain’t that right, big girl?” she added, addressing her snivelling boar. “She needs to stretch her legs out a bit before going full kilter, she ain’t used to all this uneven ground.”
“And the sun was in your eyes, wasn’t it?” he joked. Mazkha snorted, reaching over to give him a playful punch on the arm.
“All right, all right, I’ll admit it, you ain’t half bad in the saddle. Most of the boyz can’t ride for shit, but you’re a different cut of the usual cloth, little knight.”
“So are Brettonian studs, it would seem,” Roderick replied, giving his destrier a stroke on the neck. It whickered and bobbed its head, as though in agreement. “Their reputation proceeds them, I’ve never ridden a finer horse before.”
“Makes sense,” Mazkha said. “considerin’ how their knights go on and on about them, wouldn’t surprise me if their Lady of the Lake was a mare herself!”
Roderick shook his head, pausing to admire the sight, letting the wind caress his face. The adrenaline of the ride was still fresh in his veins, as though he’d just been given a fresh boost of energy.
“Told ya it would feel better, didn’t I?” Mazkha asked.
“Indeed,” he replied. “Thank you, Mazkha. You’re right, I needed something to clear my thoughts.”
“I’ve got plenty of other ways of clearing your head,” Mazkha said, her tone turning sly. “Both in and out of the saddle, and they all involve riding.”
“You just persist and persist, don’t you?” he chuckled, struggling to supress a creeping blush.
“I find the best way to cross an obstacle is just to smash right through it,” Mazkha said, shrugging her shoulders.
“I can tell. My heart lies with another, Mazkha.”
“So you’ve told me. Ratlover,” she chuckled. “You’ll like me back eventually, little knight, and trust me, you won’t regret the day.”
“Do your worst,” he said, his tease only seeming to make the orc more frustrated than ever. “Come,” he said. “Let’s move on, we’ve still plenty of ground to cover.”
They pressed on into the steppes, their surroundings rolling on into the horizons in relative flatness. Distant mountain tops loomed beyond them, the silhouettes of vigilant castles standing like gargoyles here and there. No doubt their occupants carried telescopes to command all vision across the Contreforts, Roderick’s company may have been spotted several times up to this point by them, but they hadn’t seen fit to bother his scouts yet.
Although they may be allies to Edouart’s men, and he carried their blessings in the form of a signed letter written out in his hand, Roderick was fine with being left be. Strangers in wartime were bound to cast more than suspicion, just as Roderick’s first meeting with the Brettonian had almost come to blows.
They had left the camp late in the morning, the sun passing swiftly overhead as they rode on for hours in relative silence, their mounts carrying them swiftly through the dried stretches of grass. At one point in the evening they came upon one of the roads the bridges the gaps between the few humble settlements out in the Contreforts, but as tempting as clean ground was, they veered off and carried on to the east. Even if they encountered simple travellers, having an orc in his company might give the wrong impression.
As evening drew closer the sun was low and at their backs, a canvas of stars creeping into the sky. The night’s out here weren’t as dark as he was used to, the pale glow of the moon shining brightly from directly overhead. He pushed his horse on a little longer, until Roderick decided to pull up for the day.
“I wouldn’t want my horse breaking an ankle in this place,” Roderick announced. “We should stop to make camp soon.”
“I see a couple rocks up ahead,” Mazkha said, gesturing with a green arm. “Better than roughin’ it out here in the open.”
The rocks were little more than a pile a little taller than Mazkha’s nine-foot frame, but it would serve to break camp. They left their mounts to graze as Roderick set about making a fire to drive back the night’s chill. Roderick sat to rest, his arse sore from the hours of the saddle, pulling out a dried ration from his pouch.
“Put that away,” Mazkha said, holding out her hand. “Don’t you remember our wager? Dinner’s on me tonight.”
“I didn’t think you were being serious,” Roderick replied. “Come, I brought plenty of food to share.”
“I ain’t goin’ another day eatin’ tough bread and bone-dry jerky,” Mazkha said. “Especially when there’s fresh game around.”
“What game?” he asked, gesturing to the quiet, empty surroundings.
“I spotted a herd not a few leagues back. I reckon I could bag one before long.”
“At this hour?” he asked, but Mazkha seemed undeterred, producing her rotary crossbow and checking its four springs were loaded.
“It ain’t that dark yet,” she replied. “Keep that fire brewin’, and prepare some pans from my saddlebag, I’ll be back with supper before you know it.”
And then she was off, rushing out into the relative darkness, her long hair whipping in the breeze. Orc eyes must be sharper than his, if it were him out there without so much as a torch, he’d roll an ankle before very long. She hadn’t even seen fit to take her mount, but the great beast was more like to scare away all the wildlife.
He moved to retrieve the cooking gear she’d mentioned, a little pensive about getting too close to the boar. Yet the beast must have remembered him from earlier, as it paid him little mind beyond an initial sniff of his boot.
Roderick was left waiting for an hour and more, little to do but chew on some unappetising beef and prod the camp’s embers with a stick. The wind howled around him, the stars glittering against the dark canvas of the heavens. There was not a cloud in sight, the sky as clear as the forlorn land. He watched the constellations rotate above, spotting the Great Wolf and the Maw, remembering that time he had stargazed with Skyseeker the first time. The memory should have made him happy, but it just made him feel empty. At least the wight of the relic against his belt made him feel at peace in this hostile land.
When nearly the second hour had passed he had begun to worry, until he heard the sound of rustling grass. Mazkha came hulking out of the darkness, the campfire casting her green skin in orange hues. There was something draped across her shoulders, and at first he thought it was a deer, but when she turned he spotted a crown of twisting horns rising from the forehead and the lumpy nose.
Mazkha dropped the antelope beside the fire, the animal’s fat deposits jiggling with the impact. “Supper!” she declared, placing her hands on her muscular hips.
“Well done,” Roderick said. “I’d almost expected you to come back empty-handed.”
“I’ll have you know I’m one of the Warrgh’s best huntresses, used to have to bring down ten or twenty stags just to feed the boys for a few days. One supper is child’s play.”
“Twenty stags?” he asked, watching as she produced a hunting knife and began to skin the animal. “You could throw a couple feasts with that amount of venison.”
“Human feasts sure, but we orc’s ain’t puny like you lot. We burn a lot of energy takin’ the fight to our foes, got to keep the old tank filled up somehow,” she said, giving her belly a pat. She may have been built like a beast, but there were still soft parts of her that quivered enticingly.
Soon they had slabs of meet sizzling over the flames, Roderick’s stomach grumbling in anticipation. When the first serving was cooked through, Mazkha sat beside him and they both dug in. As much as dried rations would feed him and keep him on his feet, he had to admit the venison was far tastier, Mazkha cooking it in the sweet spot between not too rare and not too well done.
“How is it?” Mazkha asked, Roderick nodding as his mouth was full. “Two for two good ideas today, aren’t you glad I came along as your escort?”
“It’s downright decadent, considering the circumstances,” Roderick replied after swallowing. “All we need is some mushroom sauce, maybe a couple eggs and some bacon rashers, and we’d have ourselves a little feast.”
“Bacon?” Mazkha stuck out her long tongue in disgust. “Dunno how you lot eat that stuff.”
“What’s so bad about bacon?”
“It’s weird! Much like asking if you’d eat meat that came from a horse.”
“Ah, of course,” he said, turning to look at the saddled boar. “That makes sense.”
“So what’s the plan of attack when we reach yer Empire?” Mazkha asked, holding her steak like one would a sandwich. “What’s the city called again?”
“Marienburg,” he said. “And I’m not sure. We have no information on the state of the city beyond rumours and outdated reports. Need to see the city firsthand before we think of how to break the siege.”
“Did ya used to live there or something?” she asked.
“No, I lived mostly in Altdorf, but I frequented the city a few times. It’s a bustling place, people from all over the continent find themselves there, doing business or just passing through deeper into the Empire. It’s never quiet behind its walls, even in the dead of night.”
“Sounds a little too crowded for my tastes,” Mazkha said. “Gimme a hut and a nice meadow to camp by any day, at least out in the wild you got yer freedom to go anywhere.”
“There are quiet places in the city,” Roderick said. “Especially near the canals that run through its heart. I liked to go strolling along them during my visits, watch the ships go by. The walls of the channels are deeper than the city, so all you can hear down there is the flaps of the canvas, and the water’s a deep teal colour.”
“Sounds romantic,” Mazkha cooed. “Maybe I could be persuaded to be taken there, if someone were to offer to walk me.”
“You don’t come off as the kind of lass who falls for long walks,” he said.
“No, you humans beat around the bush all too much. If two of you’s like each other, why shouldn’t they have a little fun together?”
“And what if one side’s not interested?” he asked, seeing where she was going.
“You’re too honest for yer own good, little knight. I see you sneakin’ a peak at me from time to time. If you wanted to do some more touchin’ instead of lookin’, you need only ask.”
“And you’d be delighted if I did that, wouldn’t you?” he said.
“On the contrary, you have no idea how many of my little brother’s boys have thrown themselves at my feet for a chance to cop a feel. It’s refreshin’ to be on the other side of the hunt.”
He surmised as much that as sister to the warboss, Mazkha could have her pick of partners whenever she pleased, so it must be a novelty to be denied.
“You ever taken part of a siege before?” he asked, trying to change the subject.
“Once or twice,” Mazkha replied. “There’s this place in southern Brettonia, Mousillon, it’s called. Some vampire Count had pushed us back across the river and we took cover inside the walls with the humans. I couldn’t tell ya how many undead critters he had under his command, but their army was thick enough to surround the city in a sea of decay. We must have been kept inside for damn near two weeks, fighting off wave after wave, repelling those hordes day and night. Thought I was going to go crazy in there – orcs don’t do the whole sittin’ in one place for that long, y’know?”
“How did you break free?”
“The vampire turned out to be just as restless as we were. He personally led the next and last wave, and credit where it’s due, he managed to seize the gate and let more of his cronies into the walls, but in the brawl, it as we orcs who came out on top. My little brother put his head on a pike and walked across the drawbridge, and the very sight of it was all it took to scatter the rest. They were thousands strong, but vampires ain’t nothin’ without a strong fist to hold them together.”
“If only Chaos has such a critical weakness,” Roderick muttered. “They do not have such a centralised command structure. Even if we were to slay their leader, it wouldn’t be long before the next strongest took his place. Chaos leaders are fickle positions in their hierarchy, and they toss out champions like one reloads a pistol.
“Then how’re we supposed to save your city?” she asked.
“If we can take them unawares, hit them in the rear, we can sow enough confusion to disrupt their logistics and communications. Maintaining a siege is a tough affair, even for Chaos, a sudden strike to the rear will be their weak point.”
“So much for needin’ a better look before making a plan,” she said. “Let’s hope you little Captain Kessel listens to you.”
“Why would he not?” Roderick asked, Mazkha chuckling at him.
“Some of me orcs saw you and the Captain get a little heated, the day after the attack at Cassel. And some were sayin’ you and he were arguing in the middle of the ambush. Can’t be coincidence this all happened, right before he sent you off on a scoutin’ run while he stayed behind.”
Mazkha was more perceptive than he gave her credit for. It was obvious enough he’d been sent away because he’d undermined Kessel’s authority, but the Captain wouldn’t hold a grudge, would he? Wilfred had placed his trust in the man, and he had sailed his ship and crew across the ocean just to help in his mission for the relic.
Then again, he’d had no idea that Skyseeker would get involved, and he’d made it clear where he stood when it came to the Skaven. Perhaps now that she was missing, it was Roderick being caught in the crossfire. He had brought her on board in the first place, of course.
“Von Kessel is an heir to Sigmar,” Roderick said. “As am I, and we both share a common goal in this.”
“Still doesn’t sit right with me,” Mazkha said. “He commanded a boat, while you commanded armies, and he’s the one callin’ the shots? That don’t sound right at all.”
“When you put it in such terms, it does,” he admitted. “But consider this. Von Kessel holds rank, while I was stripped of mine long ago. If he wants my counsel, I will give it. If not, then he has my sword.”
“I that what you did when you rode out to battle, while Kessel hid inside the Cassel fort? Was that what you call counsel?”
“Perhaps… not,” he admitted, not really liking where this line of conversation was going. “Von Kessel is a tactician on the waves, this I’ve seen, but his work on dry land could use some… improvement.”
“That’s puttin’ it lightly,” Mazkha said. “I’ll tell you this, if he were a warboss in my Warrgh, and he got us into a tight scrape like in that ambush, he wouldn’t last till sunrise.”