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The Siege of Greenspire – Extract

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The Siege of Greenspire

Anna Stephens

Brida Devholm, captain of the Freeguild company Lady’s Justice, watched with dismay as the most incompetent of her new recruits staggered, fell and landed hard on the stone courtyard that made up the ground floor of the watchtower known as Greenspire. The barrel he was carrying slammed onto the flagstones and split, and a cascade of fine black powder spilt forth over him and the stone while clouds of it plumed into the air.

Brida leapt back on instinct. ‘Careful, idiot,’ she shouted. ‘You want to blow us all up? That’s gunpowder! Why not just strike a spark while you’re at it?’

It was no use. Kende had hit his chin on the top of the barrel as he went down and was sitting in the drift of gunpowder, bleary-eyed and spitting blood from a bitten tongue. ‘Sorry, captain,’ he managed. He made it to his knees, upended the broken barrel and began scooping the powder back into the hole cracked into it, scraping handfuls up off the stones.

Brida ran forwards and snatched the barrel from him, spilling more onto herself and the ground with the violence of the movement. ‘By the Lady, are you stupid?’ she demanded, despite the clear evidence confirming her suspicion. She pointed at the ground as he blinked up at her, confused. ‘That powder’s contaminated now, full of dirt and dust, your blood and sweat, stone chips even. You’ve just mixed it with the pure still left in the barrel.’ He stared at her, still not understanding, and Brida cursed him silently.

‘Do you know what happens when you put dirty gunpowder in the firing pan of your musket? Either it doesn’t fire, leaving you unarmed against the hordes trying to claw your guts out of your belly, or it backfires and blows your damn hand off. Which would you prefer, Kende?’

Kende wiped blood from his chin with a blackened hand and scrambled to his feet. ‘Um, neither?’ he ventured.

Brida nodded. ‘Neither. Good choice. Now think what would happen if you loaded it into the breech of a cannon.’ She cursed again as she peered through the split wood and gave the barrel a tentative shake, judging its weight. It had been full. She groaned and gave it back to him. ‘Congratulations. Your first month’s wages are forfeit to enable me to purchase more powder, though it’s anybody’s guess when the suppliers will be back this way. And don’t even think about complaining.’ She stared him out and Kende closed the mouth that had been about to utter something very unwise.

‘Shovel the rest of it back in there and then mark up the barrel with chalk so we know not to use it in the weapons. Might be we can sprinkle it in some of the traps out front, add a little excitement for when the beasts come again. And then sweep this yard – I don’t want a stray spark setting my company alight because the ground’s dusted with gunpowder. And then report for night duty – no, I don’t care that you’ve just pulled a day shift. And try not to fall over your own feet next time, yes? Alarielle knows what you’ll be like in an actual fight.’

The torrent of orders and abuse withered the man like a tree before Nurgle’s rot and he nodded, mute, his black-stained face slack with chagrin. Brida bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself saying more, and sighed. She shouldn’t be too hard on him; he’d been a farmer before a tzaangor warflock from the Hexwood took everyone he loved and he swore to end his days fighting them. The problem was, he was doing a damn fine job of trying to take Lady’s Justice and Greenspire with him when he went.

His was a common enough tale in Verdia and, truth be told, she knew a thing or two about that driving need for vengeance and where it could take a person. She just had to hope Kende could learn weapons easier than he could carry barrels of gunpowder across a flagstoned courtyard. And he wasn’t the only one. The last skirmish had left her company under-strength, and they’d replaced the dead with a dozen raw recruits – some barely more than children, the others merchants or farmers like Kende. A dozen who didn’t know which end of a sword was safe to hold. One, Raella, who’d discovered she didn’t like heights and cried every time she stood watch on the third level, spending most of her time with her eyes screwed shut and clinging to the guard wall until they prised her loose and sent her down to the ground floor again.

A muscle jumped in Brida’s jaw, but she managed to keep her frustration trapped behind her teeth as Kende resumed funnelling wasted powder into the barrel. He’d learn or he’d die, all of them would; that was the way of it out here on the Emerald Line, which stretched from Fort Gardus to Hammerhal-Ghyra. Brida’s concern was that they didn’t take too many seasoned soldiers with them into death.

Above, Greenspire’s bell rang the changing of the watch, and Brida left Kende to his task with a final reminder to bathe and change before going near any naked flames. She jogged up the stairs to the top floor of the tower and marched a brisk round of all four sides. This evening the approaches from the Hexwood were clear, although there was a tangle of vine crawling out from the treeline towards them, already closer and thicker than it had been at dawn. Brida rubbed a weary hand across her face. The Lady of Leaves would need to be propitiated and placated before they could hack away the vines; left untouched they would strangle Greenspire, cracking the strong stone foundations and tumbling it into ruin, leaving a gap in the Emerald Line through which the beastkin and tzaangors of the Hexwood could launch attacks.

‘A captain’s work is never done,’ Brida muttered under her breath, though in truth she wouldn’t have it any other way. Her hand found the thick gold ring hanging from its cord around her neck and she squeezed it, feeling the reassuring weight and warmth of the metal – more habit than reminder of all she’d lost to bring her to this point. It wasn’t often she thought of her life before, but Kende’s earnest incompetence and the hesitant, awkward actions of the other recruits brought back an old pain, one never fully healed.

She was relieved when Drigg, her duardin second-in-command, appeared at her side and the memory rolled like a corpse in a river and submerged again. It’d be back, it never left her for long, but hopefully not tonight to steal her sleep. ‘All quiet?’ Drigg asked. He’d been awake for a couple of hours and already knew the answer, but she appreciated him asking. It signalled the formal transference of power from her to him for the night watch.

‘Too quiet, and for too many days,’ Brida said. ‘I don’t like it.’

Drigg laughed, the sound rusty and low in his throat, and shifted the double-headed axe hanging from his belt. ‘You wouldn’t like it if Sigmar and Alarielle themselves came down here and proclaimed the war against Chaos over, the enemy defeated, and all of us able to go home to peace.’

The corner of Brida’s mouth twitched. ‘I’m a careful sort,’ she acknowledged.

Drigg shook his head. ‘You say careful, the rest of us say suspicious and untrusting. And this is a duardin speaking. Careful is what we do.’

Brida glared at him for a long second, but there was no heat in it. ‘It’s strange how often the two sentiments can be confused. Check floor two for me, would you? Orla reported an issue with cannon one, something about the vent hole being blocked, so I’ve ordered crossbow emplacements set up at each corner. I know, I know, I’d have told you earlier if I’d known earlier. I didn’t. You’ll have to tinker with it in the morning, we can’t risk moving it now. Even a visual deterrent’s better than nothing. Oh, and Kende’s pulling a double shift – or maybe a triple if I decide he’s on duty tomorrow as well, so keep an eye on him. He’s greener than springtime and clumsier than a one-legged tzaangor, but he needs to learn, and fast.’

‘Because you have a bad feeling?’ Drigg asked.

‘Because I have a bad feeling, and because he’s fouled an entire barrel of gunpowder,’ Brida confirmed. ‘You have the watch, lieutenant.’

Drigg saluted and stepped back. ‘I have the watch,’ he confirmed formally. ‘So you can take your bad feeling off my wall,’ he muttered, and only their long familiarity allowed him the privilege – and then only when no other soldier could overhear. Drigg and Devholm, backbone of Lady’s Justice for twenty years. Other than Brock, Orla and a couple of others, the only surviving members of the company from back when it was formed. Years and battles and deaths and horrors they’d been through, saved each others’ lives more times than she could remember, and she’d never once got Drigg to admit her bad feeling had been right. He always insisted it was coincidence.

She listened to his footsteps retreating along the walkway, the crisp commands as the watch was handed from the day to the night units. The wind hummed around the watchtower, warm and pleasant and vibrant with life – and, every so often and only from the west, tainted. The tiniest breath of foulness, there and then gone so fast she almost couldn’t detect it. But there.

Brida’s scarred fists clenched on the waist-high guard wall and though she was now officially off-duty, she didn’t move. There was something wrong.

There was something coming.

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A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Paul Dainton.

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ISBN: 978-1-78999-920-4

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