The ambush in the Great Forest

It was a fine day. Sun was shining brightly, and the air was hot. Not even a slightest breeze moved the leafs of the old wood. And despite the heat, long column of men was marching along the Old Dwarf road. A hundred soldiers, garbed in black and yellow, moved along a coach. The coach itself was heavily carved and gilded, and the doors were decorated with the coat of arms of a noble family. Curtains were pulled across the windows, so the passengers were not visible to the outsiders.

The convoy reached a crossroad. One side of the signpost pointed to Averheim, the other to Hergig. Commander of the military escort directed one half of his men to go before the coach. Soldiers started marching on a familiar route. They were heading home. To Averheim.

Sweaty, tired men were rejoiced. Only twenty more miles to the capital city of their county.
Young soldier had started singing, and very soon whole regiment was following his lead. They sang of joy, of their illustrious realm, they sang songs of love when they recalled their wives, whom they haven’t seen a long time.

Commander took his flask and took a sip of vine. That was the last thing he did. An arrow pierced his cuirass and his mouth was filled with blood. Commander fell to his knees, and down onto the paving stones of the road. Soldiers were caught by surprise. Sheer shock was etched on their faces. They were so close to their home, and someone was attacking them. A flock of arrows flew in their direction. Quickly and efficiently, they formed a circle shieldwall. Two dozens of soldiers drew their great swords and formed a tight cluster around the very doors of the coach. Their captain, grizzled old man with long mustache, bellowed orders.

Then, a circle of marauders appeared around them. A rabble of men in ragtag clothes carrying weapons which were probably stolen from the victims of some long-fought battle, and yet, it seemed that they knew how to use those armaments. Some of them were wearing tattered imperial uniforms. The captain of the Greatswords recognized the Stirland patrol, Nordland marines, dull uniforms of Ostland…

“We’re encircled, my lady”, growled the captain before the window of the coach just as a hand removed the curtain. “They outnumber us at least three to one”, said the old warrior. “We’ll try to clear the path for you. My men will attack their ranks and we’ll try to make a breach for your chariot. May Sigmar give us strength.”

“Thank you, Werner”, softly said the woman in the coach. There was great sorrow in her voice. “Do try to survive, old friend”, said the lady.

“I will save you, or die trying, my lady!”, stubbornly said captain Werner.

As the enemy closed on them, the old captain yelled words of encouragement to his troops. “Stand fast, men of the Empire! The realm of Morr awaits the brave ones! Make our lady proud! Death to the scum who dares to attack the Averland’s finest!”

Half of the Greatswords formed a wedge and attacked the enemy lines. Their superbly balanced weapons were swung with deadly precision, and their Dwarf-forged armour deflected all but the heaviest blows. They were cleansing the bandits with sheer ferocity and savagely butchered the mob who attacked them. And yet, they were failing to provide a gap for the coach. Of the original twelve, only seven remained. Six. Two. None…

The bandits closed on the soldiers around the gilded coach. And then, salvation came. A warhorn sounded, and a mass of short, bearded and angry warriors attacked the rearguard of the bandit rabble.

“Dawi Karak! The Dwarfs endure!”, roared the old white-bearded Dwarf who led them. His golden armour shone like the sun. The enemies were unable to look upon him, and his axe reached the waist of the first man. Reikland uniform was torn by a mighty swing, and the bandit’s guts spilled to the ground.

Dwarf crossbow bolts pierced many of the enemies, and their moral started to crumble. And then, one of the bandits sounded a trumpet, and half of their number formed ranks. Their disciplined moves betrayed their profession. They were soldiers trained in the barracks of the Empire.

“Show them what we’ve got”, said the Dwarf lord with a malicious smile. Dwarf ranks parted and a dozen of them pulled a cannon in the front.

“Fire!” roared the old Dwarf. Rune-inscribed cannon unleashed it’s deadly load, and the first rank of the false bandits was blown apart. The Dwarfs seized the opportunity and charged into the breach.

Soon, it was over. All of the enemies were dead, except the five who were put in shackles and questioned by the Averland soldiers.

Old captain opened the doors of the coach, and its passenger appeared. It was an old lady of regal bearing. Her hair was silver, her skin was like old parchment, but her will was iron.

“I am Grand Countess Ludmilla von Alptraum”, announced the lady. “Whom do I have to thank for my rescue, my lord Dwarf?”

“My name is Sigurd Hammerfist”, said the Dwarf lord, “and we are the rangers of Karaz Thingaz. My brother, king Hagen, has sent us to escort some cannons to countess von Liebewitz in Nuln.”

“I am most grateful for your aid in my time of need”, said the old countess. “Name your reward, and you shall have it”, she announced.

“There is no need for that, my lady”, replied the Dwarf. We are sworn to help each other, and Dwarfs hold their word. We will stand along the men of the Empire till the last entry in the Book of Grudges is written, and till the world is no more”, Sigurd Hammerfist said proudly.

“Than we are priviledged to have such allies”, whispered the countess Ludmilla. She turned to the captain of her guard. “Werner, did you find something out? Who ordered this attack?”

The captain took one of the prisoners by his collar and raised him. The man was missing an eye, and his teeth were smashed by a gauntlet. Blood pooled in his mouth.

“This scum claims that Grand Duke Gustav Krieglitz dispatched them to slay you, my lady”, said captain Werner with disgust. “He is is no state to lie”, he added grimly, showing the prisoner’s wounds, inflicted by angry questioners.

“Very well. I shall write to the Emperor, and he’ll deal with this treacherous mongrel. My word has considerable strength in Volkshalle, and Karl Franz is very just. Count Krieglitz will pay for this”, claimed the old lady. “And you, master Dwarf, are invited to my court in Averheim. A feast is the least I can do to repay you for your help. Marianna von Liebewitz can live without her cannons for a little longer”.

“Well, what do you say, lads?”, lord Sigurd addressed his warriors. “Shall we accept it?” A single roar of approval echoed within the Dwarf ranks, and the old Dwarf smiled to the countess…

Lord Ravenhelm