Their mad journey seemed to go on for an eternity, yet ended abruptly after they took a final turn and found themselves on a street leading to a market beyond which impressive ramparts loomed. The walls were over thirty feet high, twice as thick as a man was tall, and holding a massive gate with swirling ornate designs. Once the mighty double gates had shone like gold in the sun, flaunting the wealth of the ones they protected, now they stood dulled by smoke and months of neglect. Still, they were without doubt fortifications the kind of which most cities could only dream. Here in Covenport they merely marked the entrance to the Golden Holt, the city-quarter that the rich and noble had been lucky enough to call home.

"Hooo! Hooo!" cried the driver, pulling on the reins of his horses.

Countless desperate soldiers trying to get within the walls of the Golden Holt clogged the gate and the small marketplace before it. Whipped by the rain, the mass of men writhed and shifted like a single amoeboid organism trying to squeeze through the gates. Wherever Brass looked, he saw haunted faces, many bearing the traces of battle. Akin to sheep beset by wolves, they used what little fight they still had in them to push aside their comrades in order to get closer to the gate. Thunder cracked above and lightning followed, transforming their faces into grimaces of terror.

"What the hell has happened?" Brass muttered.

Part of their escort immediately overtook them, driving their horses into the milling crowd while shouting orders for the men to move aside, battering those with the flat side of their swords that were not quick enough. Most of the soldiers moved out of the way once they saw the powerful war-horses looming up behind them. Some, more frightened or stupid than the others, did not and were pushed aside. Most of them fell, their screams gut-wrenching as their comrades or the horses trampled them. Some managed to fight their way up again, holding on to broken fingers and limbs, the rest was not that lucky. It was a bad time and place to be on foot, and if not for their escort, the more desperate souls might even have tried to climb on the wagon to escape the chaos.

Since their ride had slowed down substantially, Brass allowed himself to loosen his death grip. He lifted his skull-mask and crawled over to Draemaugh. "How's the leg doing?"

The wounded barbarian did not answer, his eyes seeing right through him. Covered in filth and gore and with his mutilated face and wounded leg, Draemaugh looked little better than many zombies they had seen on their flight.

"Shit," Brass growled. "Echser? Echser!"

The alchemist, who sat at the forefront of the wagon and behind Craven, swiveled around. Once more Brass thought the man looked more like an insect than a human being.

"Get your ass over here! I need your help!"

To his credit, Echser did curse and moan only for a little while before he made his way past the others and towards him. The eyes in his narrow face had a wild, feverish glint to them. He was probably still under the effects of one of his many potions. "What is it, stupid oaf? Got a booboo that needs stitching?"

"Can it and have a look at Draemaugh. He's unresponsive. Shit, I'm not even sure if he's still alive."

With all the empathy of a log, Echser poked the spear shaft still embedded in Draemaugh's leg and a visible twitch went through the wounded barbarian, not quite reaching his mutilated features.

Echser nodded. "He's alive, all right. Never thought he'd succumb to battle shock, though. Ah shoot, I forgot my other potion pouch... Don't just sit there and ogle around, go and fetch it, oaf! It's in the top pocket of my backpack. Shoo-Shoo. I'll remain here and see what else I can do."

Cursing and crawling on all fours, Brass made his way towards the front of the wagon. An exercise that every muscle in his body – and Brass had a lot of those – vehemently protested. At least most of his wounds had stopped bleeding after the swill that Echser had forced him to drink earlier.

I'm going to be sore in the morrow like nobody's business, he thought, moving on with grim determination, even managing a smile as he passed Idana and Aleot. Not an easy task considering the fact that it had fallen upon them to secure the limp body of Ferdinand Goorm. Idana had the Lordling's head on her lap holding him tight and for that alone Brass wanted to cave the arrogant little pricks face in.

Your own fault... You had your chance and could have let him die.

He swallowed his jealousy, smiling at her instead. "You all right?"

Brass knew it was a stupid question even while he uttered it.

Idana shook her head. He saw unshed tears shimmering in those marvelous green eyes and the sight pained him more than all his wounds added together. "No, nothing is all right, not sure it ever will be. Mountain... Mountain is dead."

Brass nodded, not knowing what to say. What could he say? Idana had loved the gentle giant almost as much as his brother did. His hand twitched into her direction, wanting to reassure her, wanting to give her comfort but as so often before when she was concerned he faltered and the moment was gone.

"But we have survived," she continued. "We have survived... at least most of us. What happened, Brass? Where did all the undead come from and—"

"Oaf!" shouted Echser. "I'm not getting any younger!"

Brass gave Idana an apologetic smile, then crawled on, past Aleot who watched him with dead eyes until he reached the front of the wagon and Echser's huge backpack there. While rooting through it, he looked up to Craven. Their leader had taken his seat beside the driver and as usual, it both reassured him and pissed him off to see how little the horrors of the past hours seemed to have affected the black-eyed bastard. He seemed as calm as calm could be, studying the chaos surrounding them with an almost bored expression while talking to the driver. Brass tried to listen in, yet the pandemonium all around them made it impossible to make out anything. Growling he made his way back towards Echser who all but ripped the medicine satchel from his hand.

"Took you long enough! Now sit back and don't try to fall off the wagon and on your big head. I got quite enough work as it is already..."

Brass briefly thought about tossing Echser from the wagon – and under the wheels – but pushed the murderous urge aside. Instead, he settled his bulk beside Idana, who gave him a weak smile that nonetheless soothed his anger.

If only all ailments could be fixed that easily...

***

Even aided by the brute administrations of their escort, it seemed to take forever for the Skulltakers to reach the high gates of the Holt and the situation did not change much once they had passed through. Some soldiers just slumped down where they stood once they had reached relative safety. Others stood around in confused clusters, not knowing where to go and what to do, involuntarily adding to the clogging of the street and hindering their comrades from following suit. Officers on horseback tried to bring order to the chaos, bellowing commands while sergeants gave their best to follow them. It was here that the biggest flaw of the so-called Grand Crusade became all too apparent...

No unity.

Even with a common enemy pressing towards them on all sides, the century-old rivalry and hostility dividing the Scarred Empire's different kingdoms were freezing many of its soldiers in indecision, making it even harder to establish order. Liegeland soldiers more often than not ignored the orders of Solden officers, as did the troops of Marshen. Still, there was hope, isles of sanity in an ocean of clusterfuck madness.

A stern-faced captain in the white coat of a Liegeland officer rode beside their wagon for a while, vehemently barking orders and uttering vile curses until the soldiers he shouted at followed close behind. Sergeants pushed through the masses, grabbing every man who looked able to fight right from the street and bullied them up to the ramparts. It was the face of an army in retreat, of men and woman fighting for survival. Scarred, yes, but not yet broken, at least not completely.

It took forever to clear the chaos beyond the gates so that the driver could embark deeper into the Golden Holt. Soon they were ascending the steady slope of a smooth street wounding its way deeper into the once-luxurious city quarter, past overgrown parks and spacious gardens now littered with hastily erected tents of all sizes. Once these parks had been masterworks of landscaping; now they looked as dead and charming as graveyards. Not even a stalk of green grass was in sight. It seemed the Rising that had followed in the wake of the Blood Plague had sucked the very life from the soil. Permanently. Beyond them, illuminated by flashes of lightning stabbing down from the broiling sky, Brass saw the outlines of manors, some little more than ruins, others barely touched by the fires that had havocked the city. From those that survived, each looked more magnificent and marvelous than the next.

"It must have been so beautiful here," Idana muttered. "I wish I could have come here before all... before all this had happened."

Brass snorted bitterly. "They wouldn't even have let you past the gates. Well, maybe they would have let you in but I can tell you from personal experience, they would not let anybody in with a mug as ugly as mine."

"You've been here before?"

"Almost ten years back now. I was still a soldier, part of an escort waiting for the arrival of a shipment of weapons. We had a bit of free time to kill and I was foolish enough to slog up the hill to see the famous Golden Gardens. Wished I had asked around a bit more, then I would have learned that even most of those who lived in Covenport all their lives only ever get to see the gardens from afar. The pleasures of the Golden Holt were strictly reserved for those with power and coin, not for the rabble. Yet they sure liked to flaunt their riches... Can't help but think that at least they deserved what happened to them."

Idana frowned. "Nobody deserved what has happened here. Nobody!"

Brass wisely kept his counsel.

They rode on silently for a while, observing with tired eyes the ebb and flow from the frontline. Units with fresh men – their faces frightened but determined – passed them as they marched downhill toward battle. Heralded by the screams of the wounded, makeshift infirmaries soon came into sight. Already swollen beyond their capacity, dozens of soldiers wrapped in bloody bandages sat at the sidewalks, shivering violently and watching their passing with haunted eyes.

"Dear gods," Idana muttered. "So many wounded..."

"Most will not see the light of dawn," Echser said. "I hope they are clever enough to decapitate those that won't make it through the night. This is desiccated ground, a Dead Zone still saturated with the essence of the Void. Any who die here might rise again, playing for the other side..."

"Good that we have you," Brass muttered. "Always looking on the bright side..."

Echser snorted.

A cart with gravely injured men soon came into view. Most of the bloodied and battered soldiers lay haphazardly around. Some were moaning, yet most were unconscious, which was just as well, for at the wagon's side and open to the elements a gray-bearded surgeon with a butcher's built and apron practiced his bloody business. The edge of a gory saw glittered in his meaty hand as lightning once more arced over the sky and Brass swallowed hard as he saw the contents of the barrel beside the butcher. A human foot and an arm were poking out of it, the spoils of a terrible harvest. The next one in line to lose part of himself was a young soldier in the colors of Solden, little more than a boy really, his right calf a shredded down to a mess of red-glistening tissue and white bone. Three medical orderlies, their white uniforms now almost red with gore, held him down as the butcher-surgeon took a step forward and lowered his saw.

"Look away," Brass said to Idana.

Moments later, anguished screams filled the air but they were but one more musical instrument in a symphony of agony. Feeling a pang of guilt, Brass glanced down at Ferdinand, his gaze drawn to where his lower left leg once had been. He had to cut it off in order to save the Lordlings life but knowing the character of the noble, Brass had little doubt that the young prick would see this quite differently. He wondered what the reaction of the soldiers that lost their limbs this night to a surgeon's saw would be in the morrow. Would they thank him for saving their life, or curse him for crippling them?

They rode on in sullen silence, the screams soon swallowed by the pattering of the rain and the rumbling and thundering. With the immediate danger gone, Brass found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open despite the cold. Again and again, his head fell on his chest only to snap back up. Idana fared little better, leaning against him and resting her head on his shoulder. That alone warmed him more than any blanket would have. He closed his eyes, savoring her warmth, her closeness.

At some point, he must have dozed off for good, for when he opened his eyes again the rain had stopped. They were off the street too, their wagon rolling down a gravel path on its way to a foreboding structure. Dead gardens patrolled by several units of heavily armored guards surrounded them and in the light of the lamps they carried, Brass could see the colors of Liegeland, Marshen, and Barvarus. There was even a group of dwarves clanking about in their heavy armor. All had the bearings of professionals, fog rising from the dead ground swirling around their feet.

He waved to get Aleot's attention, whispering. "Where are we?"

The hollow-cheeked ranger pointed at the brooding structure, half hidden by the mist. "I've never been here but would bet good coin that this is the Grimhold. I doubt there is another structure as ugly as this one anywhere in the quarter. Family estate and home to the High-Inquisitor – easily the most hated and feared man in the whole of Covenport."

Brass nodded.

The Grimhold had indeed little in common with the many mansions they had seen so far. Where they were impressive this one was imposing, where they were charming to the eye this one was austere. More a fortress than a proper townhome, it stretched out like a toppled monolith, three stories high, flat and larger than most castles Brass had visited. It did not even have any windows on the first two floors, and the ones on the third were teeming with archers.

"Lovely place," Echser muttered in an unusual display of sarcasm. As if to add credence to his words, lightning flashed over the sky in a final spasm of the dying thunderstorm, illuminating the rows of grinning gargoyles leering down from the roof of the building. Echser's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Yes, truly lovely..."

*******************************

Here we go guys.

I hope you liked that latest update, and if yes, please vote and comment.

Cheers and see you next week! 

:)

M.