The sound of footsteps on the other side of the cell door interrupted his thoughts. They all looked up. A key turned in the lock, the door creaked open and in walked two guards followed by a sergeant.
"Get up, scum," he said.
"Are you going to take us to take our last meal?" asked Hals.
"Your last meal will be my boot if you don't move. Now, get out in line."
The prisoners shuffled out. Outside awaited two other guards. Together with the sergeant, they opened the march into the frigid dusk through the muddy courtyard of the castle where the garrison was housed.
Large snowflakes were falling. The hair on the back of Reiner's neck stood on end as they passed the scaffold that stood in the center of the courtyard.
They entered the keep of the castle through a small door and, after descending a long spiral staircase, were ordered into a low-ceilinged chamber that smelled of wood smoke and hot iron. Reiner swallowed nervously as he scanned the room with his eyes. Shackles and cages flanked the walls, as well as instruments of torture: foals, grills and metal boots. In one corner, a man in a leather apron watched over irons gleaming on beds of glowing embers.
"Eyes front!" bellowed the sergeant. "Fall in! Attention!"
The prisoners formed up in the center of the room with varying degrees of alacrity, then stood at attention for what seemed like an hour as the sergeant gave them a fierce look. At last, just when Reiner thought his knees would stand no more, a door opened behind them.
"Eyes forward, you fuckers!" the sergeant shouted. He himself stood at attention as two men appeared in Reiner's field of vision.
The first, Reiner did not know: he was an old, scarred soldier with dark gray hair and a slight limp. His face was stern and heavily wrinkled, with slit-like eyes hidden under bushy eyebrows. He wore black doublet and pants slashed red.
The second man Reiner had seen once or twice from afar. He was Baron Ulbert Franzen, younger brother of Duke Herlmann Franzen of Nordland and second in command in his army. He was tall and broad-chested, with a strong build that was beginning to accumulate extra fat, and he had a sucking face. His reputation for ruthlessness showed in the cold, stern face like an iron door. He was dressed in dark blue velvet under a fur coat that he dragged along the floor.
The sergeant gave a military salute.
"The prisoners, my lord."
Ulbert nodded with an absent air as his ice blue eyes watched them from under dark short hair.
"Ulf Urquart, my lord," the sergeant said the moment Ulbert and the old captain stopped before the brooding giant. "Engineer. Charged with the murder of a fellow officer. Killed him with a sledgehammer."
They moved on to Hals and his skinny friend.
"Hals Kier and Paval Bross. Pikemen. They murdered a nobleman during battle."
"We did not!" protested Hals.
"Silence, scum!" shouted the captain and backhanded him with a gloved hand.
"All right, sergeant," said Ulbert. "Who is this?" he pointed to the handsome lad.
"Franz Shoentag, archer. He killed his tent mate. Claims self-defense."
Ulbert and the captain grunted and advanced to the angular gunner.
"Oskar Lichmar, gunner. Cowardice in the face of the enemy. He abandoned his catapult."
The gray-haired captain pursed his lips. Ukbert shrugged and advanced to the blond-haired gentleman who was staring straight ahead in perfect attention posture.
"Erich von Heisenberg, gentleman," said the sergeant. "He killed Viscount Orlan Marbur during a joust."
Ulbert raised an eyebrow.
"A capital offense?"
"The viscount was only fifteen springs old."
"Ah."
Next they came before the mercenary of the republic.
"Giano Ostin" said the prison captain. "Mercenary crossbowman. Stole firearms from the Empire and sold them to militiamen."
Ulbert nodded and advanced to the plump man who had refused to mention his crime. The sergeant glared at him with distaste.
"Gustaf Schel, surgeon. Charged with using force on a person who carried supplies for the troops."
Ulbert looked up.
"I am not familiar with that accusation."
The sergeant looked uncomfortable.
"He...uh...molested the daughter of the farmer whose house your unit was billeted in and killed her."
"Lovely."
The men advanced to a halt before Reiner. The captain and Ulbert looked him up and down coldly. The sergeant gave him a fierce look.
"Reiner Blackbrick, gunslinger. The worst of the lot. A sorcerer who murdered a holy woman and summoned unclean creatures to attack your camp. I do not recommend him to you at all, my lord. The others are evil men, but this one is a demon in human skin."
"Nonsense," replied the captain, who was speaking for the first time. His voice was like the sound of gravel under iron wheels. "It's not a spellcaster. I'd smell it."
Reiner's lower jaw dropped. He was flabbergasted.
"But..., but, then, my lord, there can be no doubt that the charges against me must be false. If you know that I am not a demon, then it is impossible for me to have summoned those creatures and..."
The sergeant punched him in the stomach.
"Silence! You beggar!"
Reiner folded in half, a victim of nausea, as he clutched his belly.
"I read your statement, sir," Ulbert said as if nothing had happened. "And I believe it."
"So..., will you let me go?"
"I think not. For it shows that you are something infinitely more dangerous than a sorcerer. You are a greedy fool who would allow his native land to be burned if he thought he could make a gold coin out of it."
"My lord, I implore you. I may have made some errors of judgment, but if you know that I am innocent..."
Albrecht sniffed through his nose and turned his back on him.
"Well, captain?" he asked.
The old captain pursed his lips.
"I wouldn't give a penny for all of them."
"I'm afraid that's all we have at the moment."
"In that case, I'll have to make do, won't I?"
"Indeed." Ulbert turned to look at the sergeant. "Sergeant, get them ready."
"Yes, sir." The man signaled the guards. "Into the cell with them. All but Orc Heart."
"I'm not an orc!" protested Ulf as the two guards shoved Reiner and the others into a tiny steel cage set into the left wall. The other two led Ulf to the other side of the room, where the man in the leather apron was stirring the embers. The guards beat Ulf on his legs until he knelt, then held one hand, open, on the surface of a wooden table.
"What are you doing?" the big man asked uneasily.
One of the guards put a spear to his neck.
"Stand still!"
The man in the apron pulled a red-hot iron from the fire. The gleaming tip was shaped like a circle with an X in the center. Ulf's eyes widened.
"No! You can't! This isn't right!" he debated. The other guards rushed over and restrained him. The guard with the spear prodded his skin.
"Easy."
The torturer rested the red-hot mark on the skin of Ulf's hand. There was a hiss, Ulf screamed and collapsed, fainting in pain.
Reiner swallowed, his stomach churning at the smell of roasting meat, unpleasant and pleasant at the same time.
"Okay," said the sergeant. "Next."
Reiner suppressed a shudder. Beside him, Oskar, the gunner, was sobbing like a child.
Reiner awoke with a cold sensation in one cheek and a searing pain on the back of his hand. He opened his eyes and found that he was lying on the stone slabs of the torture chamber. Apparently he, too, had fainted when he was branded. Someone kicked his legs.
"On your feet, warlock," said the sergeant.
He found it difficult to understand the order. His mind was far away, distanced from his body like a kite tied to the end of a string. The world seemed to revolve around him behind a thick glass wall. He tried to get up, actually thought he had, but when he refocused his gaze he saw that he was still on the floor as the pain in his hand shot up his arm in slow waves.
"On your feet and steady, damn you!" roared the sergeant. And he kicked him again.
This time he succeeded, though not without difficulty, and rejoined the others, who formed an unequal line before Ulbert and the captain. Each prisoner had on his hand an ugly burn in the shape of an X, faced by a circle. Reiner resisted the urge to look at his. He didn't want to see it.
"Sergeant!" bellowed Ulbert. "Get bandages to the surgeon to wrap those wounds."
The torturer in the leather apron pulled out some ointments and bandages which he handed to Schel. The tubby surgeon smeared and bandaged his own burn first, then started on the others.
"Well," Ulbert began as Schel worked. "Now that we've put the scouring pad on you, we can get on with it."
Reiner grunted to himself. They had indeed put the scourer on him. He had been scarred for life. The X mark would tell all who saw it that the man who wore it was a deserter and they could kill him as soon as they laid eyes on him.
"I'm here to offer you something you didn't have an hour ago," Ulbert said. "A choice. You can serve your nation on a mission of great importance, or you can be hanged on the scaffold this very night and march off to whatever fate awaits you."
Reiner cursed. "Hanged tonight?" He was going to escape at midnight. Now, the demons had taken even that away from him.
"The odds of surviving the mission are slim, I guarantee you," Ulbert continued. "But the rewards will be great. You will receive absolute forgiveness for your crimes and will be given your weight in gold."
"What good will it do us when you have done this to us as well?" growled Hals as he presented him with the back of the burned hand.
"The King so values your service in this matter, that he will commission a sufficiently powerful cleric to remove the mark from you when you return victorious."
"This seems too good to be true," thought Reiner. The sort of thing he would say himself if he were trying to persuade someone to do something stupid.
"What's to be done?" asked Paval sullenly.
Ulbert gave him an affected smile.
"Do you intend to bargain? You will know the nature of the mission when you have volunteered to carry it out. And now, gentlemen, give me your answer."
There was much hesitation but, one by one, the others gave their consent aloud or with a nod of the head. Reiner cursed Ulbert to himself. Choice, he called it. What choice was there? With the mark of the X, Reiner would no longer be able to travel easily through the Kingdom. It was early spring. He could still wear gloves for a while, but in summer he would attract as much attention as a sheep in a pack of wolves. He would never be able to return to the gambling halls and cafes, the theaters, dogfighting pits and brothels he called home. Even if he managed to escape from prison, he would have to leave the Kingdom for foreign lands and never return. And now that Ulbert had brought his execution forward to that very night instead of dawn the next day, which had spoiled his only plan, even that unattractive option was out of his reach.
Only by accepting the mission would he have a chance of escape. Perhaps somewhere along the way he could slip away: east to The Empire, south to the Republic, or some other filthy hole. Or maybe the mission would not be as dangerous as Ulbert presented it. Maybe he would get to accomplish it and get the reward..., if Ulbert really intended to give it to him.
The only sure thing was that if he declined the mission he would die that night, and then there would be no more.
"Yes," he said at last. "Yes, my lord. I am your man."