Warhammer [Ignorant Armies] Read Online Free PDF Page B

twilight sun caught the edge of his blade, flashing feverish highlights in their eyes. "We go to war, as ever. We will fight, we will loot, we will take honour and booty home when we leave, and the wailing of their women will be nothing in our ears. But. This time is not the same."
    He paused. Before him, the priest was readying his infusion, oblivious to the tension in the warriors around him. The cauldron bubbled as he stirred a handful of ground cinnamon into the ritual wine. Ragnar felt a great hollowness in his chest, a lightness in his head as he inhaled the fumes.
    "Listen!" he shouted hoarsely. "The fisher-rats have gone too far. Their desecration offends the gods. Their dark magic has brought famine to our coasts; the fish rot in our nets and the enemies of Ulric walk in the lands of man. This time is different! Let our swords be red and our arms strong as we punish them for their evil!"
    A roar answered him. If any of the soldiers had reservations they kept them well concealed. And soon, as soon as the priest was finished, they would have none.
    Ragnar looked down with his one eye, and the priest looked up. Black eyes glittered in the man's thin, pinched face; he opened his mouth and spoke impassively. "The host is ready, lord and master. Will you officiate?"
    Ragnar grunted impatiently. "Yes, by Ulric's blood. Now!"
    The priest wordlessly held up the bowl, and a long, small spoon. Ragnar took both, and holding them, intoned: "Blessed are they who drink the wine of Ulric, for they shall reign supreme in the field of battle, and dying shall experience the delights of heaven. Banish fear and doubt from our hearts and inner reins; make strong our hands to smite the enemy. Let us commence. Wulf!"
    Wulf, a hulking lieutenant, stepped forwards. Ragnar raised the spoon to his face; wordlessly Wulf sipped from it, and turned away. A queue formed, in rigid order of rank. Presently, all had drunk from the bowl; and the ship was running through the breakers. Ragnar raised the pot to his face and, glaring out towards the beach, drained the mouthful remaining in it.
    The slaughter was about to begin.
    Maria Kerzer was not a happy woman. She was not old, but time had attacked her savagely. Married young, she had given her husband only one son before the sea stripped his family from him; and that one had grown up sickly and introverted. And her husband's lot had sunk, for when the ship bearing his father and brothers was lost, so was much of their fortune. So he drank, and brooded, and Maria raised chickens and geese and vegetables and prayed that she might yet bear him another son; and meanwhile the years stole up on her with the harsh, scouring winds of the coast.
    That evening he returned from the beach early, stern-faced and angry. "Where's that layabout son of yours?" he demanded, seating himself heavily on the stool by the fireplace where Maria did her spinning.
    She shrugged. "He does as he will, that lad. What's he done now?"
    Klaus cast a black look at the door. "He was to have mended the trawls, but I've seen hide nor hair of him since noon. Doubtless the dolt's in hiding somewhere. If the net's not sewn he'll not eat, I promise you."
    Maria cast a critical eye at the hearth and poked it with an iron. "Needs more wood," she observed.
    "Then fetch it yourself. I'll not be trifled with by the whelp!" His indignation vast, he settled down on the stool until it creaked. Maria wordlessly opened the door and went outside. A few moments later she returned, bearing an armload of branches from the store.
    "I smell smoke," she said. "Can you believe some man be burning wood outdoors at this time of year?" Her shoulders hunched in disapproval, she bent to place a length of kindling on the fire.
    Klaus sighed. "Woman," he said, in an altogether softer tone of voice than he had used previously, "how long have we been married?"
    She answered without turning round, "'twill be a score years next summer." Still bent, she stirred the