SMALL MERCY 
by Richard Ford 
	
	The aroma of sour ale hung thick in the oppressive confines of the border inn. The door was closed against the chill autumn wind and a sputtering fire struggled for life in one murky corner. A bright midday sun shone through the grime-stained windows, framing the patrons as they nursed their tankards. A ragged urchin played between their legs; the only source of any sound. For the most part he was ignored, though he would receive the occasional scolding glance if his reverie became too high-pitched.
	Swinging his crooked, wooden 'sword' wildly the lad sped around the inn, his bare feet clapping against the uneven boards as he pursued his foes, shouting curses and black oaths as they fled.
	With an ear-splitting crack that disrupted the room's muted atmosphere, the inn door burst open. All at once the boy's game was over as a battered body was flung into the inn, heralded by a snow-whipped gust of air. The pulped figure hit the wooden floor with a moist thud, like a drum being struck with a damp rag. He lay there unmoving, his face a matted mass of beard and clotting crimson, leaking his juices onto the filth-encrusted floorboards. Rusty chains bound his wrists and their reddened appearance suggested that he had been dragged for many miles.
	Two bearded men stepped into the inn behind him, wrapped in wolfskin and leather. One of them grabbed the battered body by the hair and dragged it towards the centre of the inn. The second hirsute figure approached the bar.
	'You can't bring that in here,' shouted the innkeeper, Boris. The boy had never seen him sound so panicked before.
	'Keep your hair on, barkeep. There are no other Kurgan for a hundred leagues. We caught this one scouting a village further west but they wouldn't pay the bounty. All we want is a meal and a drink and we'll be gone.'
	Boris frowned, considered their tale and then gave a reluctant shrug. The bounty hunter turned to his companion and nodded. Quickly he tied a rope to the rusted manacles and flung it over the inn's low rafters, hoisting the body up. There was a harsh creak as the rafters strained against the weight of the sinewy body.
	Some of the inn's patrons dared to creep a little closer as the bounty hunter tied the rope off against the footrail of the bar. The urchin could only stand and stare, having never seen a real corpse before.
	As the braver patrons crept forward, there was a sudden expulsion of air, like a thin breeze creeping beneath the jamb of a door. One eye flickered open on the corpse's face, a bright blue orb against a red mass of hair and gore. The gathering crowd forgot their bravery and stumbled backwards, cries of alarm echoing through the fusty room. Amidst them all, the boy stood, transfixed by the piercing eye. It locked on him, holding him in its grip.
	'He's still alive,' shouted Boris. 'Are you mad?'
	'The elector counts pay twice as much for live captives. Who knows what information he has? He wouldn't tell us a thing.' the bounty hunter glanced over at the broken figure strung from the rafter, 'but the torturers of Ostermark have methods all their own...'
	This brought several sniggers from the patrons, who were steadily regaining their nerve.
	'So how did you manage to bring him down alive?' asked Boris.
	'Well, it certainly wasn't easy...' he began. Eager bodies soon surrounded the bounty hunter. In their clamour to hear his story they forgot about the marauder and the waif, who was still held enraptured by the single eye.
	The boy took a step forward, his fear overcome by curiosity. The captive opened his mouth as if to speak but only a line of bloody drool oozed out. Looking around, the urchin spied an abandoned tankard. He picked it up, pleased that there was still a drop of pungent ale within. There was a harsh scraping sound as he pulled a chair up in front of the man and climbed onto it, holding the tankard up to the cracked and swollen lips. Alerted by the sharp noise, the bounty hunter, whose companion was still locked in the midst of his tale, glanced up, a look of horror crossing his face.
	No sooner had the tankard touched the captive's lips than the boy was struck on the side of the head. It was an opened-palmed blow and the sound echoed across the inn. The urchin fell, the tankard bouncing off the hard floor beside him and spilling its contents on his ragged jerkin.
	'Idiot boy.' scolded the bounty hunter. 'Don't you know what this is?' He turned his attention to the captive, who still stared defiantly. The bounty hunter raised his hand again, this time balling a fist. Before his blow could land, the door to the inn burst open for a second time. The horror that spewed in took the patrons and their bounty-hunting visitors completely by surprise.
	A mob of bearded devils rushed in, screaming fell curses the urchin could not comprehend. They charged past the prone boy and fell upon the inn's occupants with unrestrained savagery, swinging their axes, severing heads and slicing limbs with huge swords. Despite the horror before him, the boy could not pull his eyes away as he watched folk he had known all his short life cut asunder by blade and battleaxe. There were grins of ecstasy on the bearded faces, whoops of joy as they dismembered man and woman alike, yet still the boy watched as the carnage raged around him. When it was over he was the only soul left alive amidst a pool of cooling blood and broken bodies.
	The savages cut down the captive and sheared his manacles in two, patting him on the shoulder as though they had all just shared some raucous joke. One of the bearded wild-men noticed the lone child, still lying on the floor. He smiled, a friendly, genuine smile, and began to approach, lifting his axe. Before he could move two steps a gore spattered arm grabbed the axe's shaft. The bearded man looked to his side and into the single, deep-blue eye. He uttered harsh words in his strange language, words of obvious protest, but he was forced to stand down, cowed by the gaping blue orb. One by one the barbarians filed past and left the inn.
	Slowly the former captive walked up to the urchin, once again locking him in the enchantment of his gaze. 'My brothers wish me to end you,' he said in a thick accent. 'They believe mercy is a sign of weakness, but I think you can be spared.'
	With that he was gone from the confines of the inn. The wind blew through the open door, snow drifting in to cover the steaming body parts. It was a long time before the boy found the will to stand.
	The rain beat hard against late summer leaves, but its sound was not enough to drown out the screams of the dying. It was a grim afternoon, the sun hidden behind a grey mask of cloud, the uncharacteristic weather having followed Archaon's forces down from the wastes. They called it a 'tactical retreat', luring the invading armies deeper into the Empire, holding them off long enough for Valten, Huss and Karl-Franz to march their forces forward. It had been more like a complete rout.
	Captain Bauer struggled through knee-deep puddles, his armour weighing him down and his greatsword now a hindrance, despite the number of times it had saved his life. His men lay dead around him, alongside the corrupted bodies of their foes. The fact that there were more corpses that belonged to the enemy this day was little consolation.
	There was a sudden splashing behind him as a figure hastily approached, racing through the boggy woodland. Bauer turned raising his sword, expecting another foe. Instead, he saw the desperate face of an Imperial archer, his bow long forgotten, his empty quiver bashing feverishly against his leg as he ran headlong through the wood.
	Bauer lifted his hand in an unspoken order for the man to stop but he was ignored, the man streaking past without pause. Noise from the direction the archer had come from told Bauer why he was in such a hurry. He lowered the visor of his sallet and tried to position himself on a less saturated area. No sooner had he found a dry patch of ground than two of Archaon's warriors burst from the shadows with absurd speed. They seemed to disregard the fact that they wore heavy armour, charging forward like unsaddled geldings.
	As they moved in, Bauer dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding their ferocious attacks. His own greatsword swept down, bouncing off the nearest spiked shield, which carried an impaled head, a rictus grin spread across its blank face. The warrior kept his guard up, waiting for Bauer's next attack, whilst his comrade tried to manoeuvre around the flank. Recognising their plan, Bauer staggered backwards, trying to keep both of the fiends in front of him. Seeing that Bauer had spotted their intention they charged forward. Bauer's sword crashed down a second time against the head-bearing shield. The second warrior was quick to counter and Bauer barely ducked in time as the dark iron sword swept towards him. It struck a tree, showering the back of his head with splinters. He just had time to look up to see a second dark sword sweeping towards his head.
	There was a dull ring of steel on iron before the blow could land. General Metzger crashed into the Chaos warriors with a fury that even the most berserk Kurgan could not have matched. The first was taken by surprise, unable to raise his shield in time to catch Metzger's blow. It smashed into the horned helm, buckling the front plate and crushing the head within. Blood spewed from the neatly sliced metal and the warrior dropped like a felled oak.
	Bauer wasted no time and quickly engaged his remaining opponent. The northern invader parried Bauers sword with ease but again Metzger charged in, screaming like a wounded dog, his face a mask of vengeful rage. There could be no defence against the general's onslaught as his greatsword swooped down from over his right shoulder. The blow shattered the metal shield and severed the arm beneath. Despite the grievous wound the Chaos knight kept on coming, but Metzger was ready. With seemingly divine strength he thrust his greatsword forward, straight through the warrior's breastplate. Bauer wasted no time, hacking his own greatsword into the blood-spattered shoulder plate. The huge figure dropped to its knees. Metzger wrenched his weapon free and kicked out, knocking the body back into the sodden earth.
	Bauer looked to his general, trying to find words of thanks but Metzger did not pause for breath. 'Rally to me!' he bellowed, racing towards the sound of fighting further off through the trees. 'Men of Middenheim! For Todbringer and for Ulric, rally to me!' Bauer instantly heard the sound of men's voices carrying through the wood. He quickly followed, adding his own voice to the general's, urging any survivors to gather to their call.
	One by one their men began to appear through the trees, heartened by the sound of their leaders. Within minutes there was a group of thirty Middenheimers tearing through the wood, swordsmen, handgunners and archers alike. Archaon's troops were not far behind and Bauer knew they would not stop until they had slaughtered every last one of the Imperials. He had already seen them cut down wounded men, hacking them to pieces just for the thrill of seeing their mutilated parts.
	Metzger stopped a little way ahead, turning to face the oncoming horde. 'Keep moving,' he shouted to his fleeing troops. 'We will take them on open ground. Remember, you have the fire of Ulric in your bellies. What we do today we do for Middenheim and the glory of Karl-Franz.' His eyes were twisted in rage and his wild hair and beard made him look more like a Norscan than an Imperial general.
	Soon the fleeing troops broke the tree line and ran across an open field. They could hear their heavily armoured pursuers crashing through the undergrowth, every second bringing them nearer. As Bauer raced to join the thin ranks that remained, he suddenly saw something at the top of a nearby hillock. Through the rising dark he could just make out the silhouette of a building.
	'Look.' Bauer pointed. Metzger turned, his mask of fury suddenly lifting.
	'A keep.' he suddenly cried. 'Ranald smiles on us this day!' With a wave of his huge greatsword the general led the way up the rise towards the looming construction. Bauer waited until all his men were on the move and then took up the rearguard. He glanced over his shoulder towards the edge of the wood, expecting the Northmen to burst onto the field and run them down any second.
	It was a struggle to make it up the rise, the way was muddy and damp and several men slipped, sprawling in the filth. More than once Bauer had to pick up a panicked bowman or a pistolier with terror scrawled across his face.
	When they eventually made it up the hill and Bauer saw the dereliction of the building, his heart sank. The keep was little more than a shell, long since abandoned to the elements. There was no way this could be made into any kind of defensible stronghold.
	Despite the crumbling walls and paltry defences, Metzger began organising his men. By the time Bauer entered within the walls of the keep, the general had ordered his swordsmen into two ranks at the far end of the courtyard. The pistoliers and archers had been ordered to mount the battlements and hide themselves. Bauer instantly saw the sense in Metzger's plan.
	Glancing over his shoulder he could see the horde had broken from the woods and was following the muddy trail left by the Imperials.
	'They come.' shouted Bauer, rushing forward to join the swordsmen. The walls of the keep would not stop the Chaos warriors, but that was what Metzger was hoping. A large gap in the wall would lead the howling pack straight towards the swordsmen, who were standing as bait on one side. As they charged it was unlikely they would notice the archers and pistoliers crouched on the battlements.
	'On my order.' said Metzger, his voice echoing within the ruins.
	Iron-shod boots broke the silence of the keep as they drew closer. There were two dozen, maybe more, Bauer could not tell.
	'Stand fast men.' whispered Metzger. 'We charge on my order.'
	With a diabolical howl, the first Northman leapt over the remains of the keep wall. As he raced forward he was closely followed by other iron-clad figures. Their boots pounded against the cracked flagstones as they drew closer, covering the yards with an unholy speed, but still Metzger did not give his order. Twenty yards away... fifteen... ten...
	'Fire!' screamed the general.
	Bauer winced as the sound of pistol fire reverberated around the shell of the keep. Smoke billowed from the battlements as lead shot was propelled towards the onrushing juggernaut. With it, white-feathered arrows flew. Those warriors not felled by pistol shot were impaled, their bodies falling with foot-long shafts standing to attention from their twitching bodies. Bauer could feel the swordsmen behind him itching to press forward, keenly anticipating the order to charge, but Metzger still held his tongue.
	Three Chaos warriors charged on, despite the arrows and shot holes peppering their armour. The archers quickly re-knocked and loosed their bows, felling them before they could reach the waiting swordsmen.
	More of the enemy poured in. Metzger allowed five more warriors to enter the keep then began to race towards them, bellowing his long-awaited order. Bauer was sure the general had shouted 'charge' but it sounded more like a war cry; a feral shriek of rage.
	'At them!' Bauer added, as he and the swordsmen raced forward.
	Before the general could engage, some of the pistoliers had managed to reload, sending their shot into the approaching warriors. Metzger vaulted the falling bodies of two Chaos knights and smashed into the warriors behind them. Realising they would only hit their own men with further fire into the courtyard, the archers and pistoliers leaned over the makeshift battlements of the keep and began to fire down on the Chaos forces approaching up the field.
	Bauer rushed forward, flanked by his swordsmen. Metzger had already dropped one of the warriors and was locked in combat with a second, their swords bouncing together as each tried to grind the other down. More warriors poured into the keep and the swordsmen met them, equalling the ferocity of the savage Northers. Bauer dropped his shoulder and rushed at the first black-armoured warrior he could see, barging into his shield. His opponent was knocked back a step, just long enough for Bauer to press forward, lunging to the side of the shield and bringing his sword around in a wide, horizontal arc. The weapon cut through his opponent's arm at the shoulder and it fell to the ground, still gripping the rusted shield. Bauer hacked once more, this time aiming at the black helmet. A spurt of blood crested upwards as Bauer severed his enemy's head and he quickly glanced around for his next target.
	The swordsmen were more than holding their own against the Chaos forces but Metzger was in trouble. Surrounded by three warriors he was tiring, wearing himself down with each frenzied attack. Bauer bolted forward and by the time he reached his general, one of the three Chaos knights had fallen, a wide gash splitting his breastplate. The other warriors pressed in, one of them scoring a hit and denting Metzger's vambrace. The general dropped his sword arm, leaving his body open for an attack. Bauer intercepted, taking the brunt of the blow on his spaulder whilst simultaneously spearing the warriors abdomen. As he fell back the warrior grasped Bauer by the lip of his sallet and both of them tumbled to the ground. Quickly, Bauer slipped his head out of the helmet, the warrior still grasping it in dead hands. He turned in time to see Metzger cut down his remaining opponent, a twisted smile shining through his dishevelled beard.
	Bauer grabbed his helm and pulled himself to his feet, ready to rejoin the fray. As he stood he saw his swordsmen chopping down the last of their enemies. He dashed to the break in the wall of the keep and saw the rest of Archaon's warriors retreating into the woods.
	General Metzger howled like a baying wolf. 'For Ulric,' he cried, his face racked with elation.
	Bauer looked from the general to his men. They were bewildered, elated from their victory but physically exhausted. For their sake he hoped the coming night would be brief.
	The screams of tormented men rose from the woods. For hours the sound of tortured captives assailed the keep's terrified defenders.
	As his men cowered beneath the weathered buttresses, Bauer stared out across the fields. There was little illumination; a thick layer of cloud covered the gibbous moon. Despite this, Bauer knew the enemy was waiting, could hear their reverie in anticipation of the morning's slaughter.
	'Tomorrow we will face them.'
	The voice made Bauer's skin tighten. He looked over his shoulder to see Metzger leaning in closer. 'Fear not, captain. You will have your day.'
	Bauer gave no reply, unsure of what answer to give his general, who even now seemed only too eager to face their relentless foe.
	'But we have a defensible position, general. Why leave it?'
	'The enemy we face cares little for the manner of our death, or how long it takes. We have no supplies and the longer we stay, the weaker we will become. Our foe will simply wait. I fear more daemon-serving scum will arrive to aid their brethren long before any allies of our own. Tomorrow we will make our escape or we will die.'
	Bauer made no protest; despite the hopelessness of the plan there seemed no alternative.
	'Are you scared Bauer?' Metzger asked, as though it were a reasonable question.
	'I fear for my men,' lied Bauer, wishing he could express just how terrified he was.
	'Don't. This is a fight we must all be a part of. The fate of the Empire rests with us. The men fight for their families, for their homes, they will not falter. And when this is all over they can travel home again and hold their wives and their children and be proud of the glory they have brought themselves.' Metzger suddenly looked down, as though his thoughts had drifted elsewhere.
	Bauer could only imagine what he was thinking. What must have happened in the old general's past to make him so driven, willing to sacrifice so much to face and defeat the enemy.
	The general looked up suddenly, his despondence disappearing as quickly as it had arrived.
	'Tomorrow,' he growled, a wild glint in his eye. With that he strode off across the wall of the keep.
	Bauer watched him go as another screech of pain echoed from within the woods.
	'Pistoliers to the right flank, archers to the left!'
	It was a misty morning and the men were exhausted. Bauer could only feel pity for them. All night they had been kept awake by the screams of their comrades and now they were preparing to charge straight into the maw of the beast. Amongst them strode Metzger like a caged tiger, his eagerness to face his fate all too obvious.
	'We will be moving fast so stay close. Sokh is due east of here. We do not stop until we have her in our sights.'
	The men mustered together, some fearful, others showing dull-eyed resignation. Bauer's hands tightened on the grip of his sword as he stared down the hill towards the trees. He could not see the enemy beyond but he knew they were there, eagerly awaiting their prey.
	'Men of the Empire! Men of Middenheim, on me,' shouted Metzger, lifting his greatsword high and leaping from the protection of the keep.
	As one, the ragged group of swordsmen, pistoliers and archers raced down the hill. Bauer could still see no sign of the Chaos horde and all he could hear was the sound of his own men, their panting breath, their feet tramping on the dewy earth.
	Metzger was first to storm into the woods, Bauer following close behind. At first there was still no sign of the enemy. Then, one by one, they began to appear, approaching from both flanks. The first few were cut down by arrow and shot, not reaching within ten yards, but then three warriors appeared from the front, barring the way.
	'Lead them on Bauer,' cried Metzger as he bowled into the wall of pitch-covered armour.
	Bauer ran past, this time not thinking of the general, only of himself and his men. If the general wanted to go down fighting then so be it, Bauer would not stop him.
	As he charged on Bauer was relieved that he was still followed by his men, they were obeying their orders and not stopping to engage the enemy. He ducked beneath a low branch and, as his head came up again, he almost stopped dead. Up ahead, tied to the branches and bows of trees were the freshly tortured bodies of his captured men. The soldiers behind him gasped, some crying out in anguish, but Bauer was not about to stop. Without breaking a step he continued through the woodland charnel house.
	They ran for a mile or more, Bauer occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure he was still being followed, until eventually he found himself leaving the corpse-strewn wood. In front was a thick mist but it was open ground. Sokh could not be far away!
	'Gorag, kas'at naza!' The words pealed from the mist ahead. Bauer stopped, holding up an arm to halt his men. An archer stopped at Bauer's shoulder, straining forward, his eyes trying desperately to penetrate the grey wall. With a hiss, a black-shafted arrow shot from the fog, embedding itself in the archers throat. He fell forward without a sound.
	Ahead, the mist suddenly swirled and lifted. From beneath his visor, Bauer could see two ranks of warriors; dark sentinels from his deepest nightmares. At the front was their massive chieftain, one horn missing from his huge helmet. With his armour and the bearskin that adorned his shoulders he was at least seven feet tall and almost as wide.
	'Greg'oz karas'nak,' he bellowed and his warriors began to spread themselves wide, blocking Bauer's escape route.
	He was suddenly overcome. Everything Metzger had said suddenly made sense. Better to die with sword in hand than cowering in fear.
	Bauer ran forward, straight at the massive warrior. His first strike was clumsy but powerful, aimed straight at the chieftain's head. With a lazy swipe of his arm the Northman's own sword swept up to parry. Before Bauer could bring his weapon about, Archaon's captain had countered, easily swinging his sword back and landing a stinging blow against Bauer's head.
	The sallet spun off into the mist as Bauer crashed to the ground. He was dazed, his sword lying on the grass several feet away, blood seeping from his ears. The chieftain towered above him, raising his sword. Bauer stared up defiantly, ready to take the final blow.
	Slowly, the chieftain lowered his weapon. Bauer could hear his men behind, shuffling, uncertain of what to do.
	Reaching up with one massive, mailed fist the chieftain gripped the single horn of his helmet and lifted it from his head. He stared down at Bauer with a single, piercing blue eye.
	Bauer recognised it immediately. It was not the same face he had seen in the tavern those long years ago, it was now infinitely more corrupted, but the eye was unmistakable.
	Slowly a smile spread across the chieftain's twisted face. He held out his hand to Bauer, mouth opening as though to speak.
	The misty air was cut by a bellow of rage as Metzger charged forward, greatsword raised. The chieftain had just enough time to hoist his own sword before the blow fell. Their weapons clashed and became locked together as Imperial general and Chaos chieftain stared at each other over crossed blades.
	Metzger suddenly swung his greatsword around, twisting his opponent's weapon from his grip and sending it spinning away. The chieftain swiftly grabbed the blade of the sword with one hand and Metzger's wrist with the other. Metzger in turn grabbed his blade and pushed it forward towards the chieftain's head. They wrestled for several perilous seconds, their men watching spellbound. Slowly the blade drew closer to the chieftain's face as Metzger began to win their contest of strength.
	A sudden smile spread on the twisted face, the single blue eye brightening. The chieftain opened his mouth wide and bit down on the blade. As his yellow teeth gnashed against the solid, Middenland steel, the blade began to buckle. Corrosive blood poured from the chieftain's gums, causing the blade to hiss and melt.
	Growling like a wounded animal, Metzger wrenched the damaged greatsword aside, pulling the chieftain over. Both fell to the ground and Bauer, still dazed, could only watch as they wrestled like two starving bears, fighting over rotten scraps.
	In turn, each seemed to take the edge over the other - pounding, biting and clawing - until eventually Metzger was on top of the huge warrior, one arm and one knee pinned his adversary to the ground. Without hesitating he smashed his armoured fist into the grinning face. Again and again the fist flew down, smashing teeth and bone and pulping the shining blue eye. Metzger was like a smith at the anvil, hammering his enemy's head into mush.
	When there was nothing left to hit, Metzger stood, panting from the exertion.
	The remaining Chaos warriors, seeing their leader bested, looked at one another uncertainly. Several brandished their weapons threateningly while others took a pace backwards. A pistolier suddenly raised his weapon and fired, his round immediately joined by a volley of arrows and burning shot. Faced by such a sudden onslaught the warriors began to flee, retreating into the dense mist.
	Bauer managed to rise to his feet and approach the general who was staring at the body at his feet.
	'General?' said Bauer, reaching out a hand towards Metzger's shoulder.
	The general turned before Bauer could touch him and took a purposeful step forward. 'Traitor!' he hissed, smashing his gore-encrusted fist into his captain's face.
	Bauer was unconscious before he hit the ground.
	The oak's thick branch groaned in protest against the rope tied to it. In turn, the rope seemed to creak in complaint about the body that hung below. Bauer, swinging gently in the breeze, did not complain - his tongue was too swollen in his head and his last gasping breath was long gone.
	One of the pistoliers approached warily, glancing about him, unsure of whether the invaders would spring from the trees at any moment.
	'General?' he said quietly, 'are we to leave now?'
	General Metzger stared upwards, sorrow tainting his wrinkled brow.
	'Yes,' he replied. 'We should not tarry here.'
	'Was it really necessary to hang the captain?' asked the soldier, instantly regretting his candid question.
	Metzger looked down at the handgunner, sorrow still marking his face.
	'Should I so obviously show truck with the followers of the Ruinous Powers, I would expect the same mercy.' He clapped the pistolier on the shoulder, the flame returning to his eyes. 'Now come. Sokh is at least a day away and there are still enemies abroad.'
	As they set off eastwards the pistolier took one last look towards Bauer's swinging body. Silently, he prayed to Shallya that the northern daemons never showed him any mercy.