One thing he knew he had definitely lost, however, was his gift of foresight. Perhaps it had been the warpstone that had deprived him of the extra sense. In freeing him from the bronze armour, the substance had restricted him to normal vision. By now, he was sure that the talent had left him, but he had no regrets. In future, he must rely upon his five normal senses like every other human. Or like most humans…
He had allowed Wolf to throw away the black quiver, to drop it in the ashes and dust of the manor house where Elyssa had lived — and died. Looking back, it seemed as though Wolf had been familiar with the emblem, yet for some reason Konrad had never later questioned him on the subject. Neither had he ever asked about the bronze knight, who Wolf said had been his twin brother. Both of these seemed so important now, although they had appeared of little significance at the time. They were matters which belonged to Konrad’s past, which he had wanted to forget — yet suddenly they had become a part of his life once more. What had happened to Wolf? Had he left the frontier and returned to the Empire? Altdorf was his native city, and so perhaps he was back in the capital. A town might suit him for a few days, but he soon became restless with nothing to do. Wherever there was action and danger, that was where Wolf could be found.
After the beastmen had destroyed the mine, they had headed south. There had been relatively few of them, compared to the number of troops that Kislev could muster. But many more marauders could have swept down from the frozen wastes since then. Kastring’s brutal band had penetrated deep into the Empire, and his could not have been the only bestial pack that had crossed the border. Was Wolf now fighting on the new frontier?
There was no chance of ever recovering the rippled leather quiver that Wolf had casually cast aside. The bow had snapped years ago, and all the arrows were long gone — the final shaft fired into Skullface’s chest, only to be pulled aside and snapped. But not, Konrad remembered, until the bald inhuman had studied the crest.
Skullface had stood in the blazing entrance to the Kastring house, and five years later Konrad had encountered one of the Kastring brothers. When he had asked him about the arrows and fist design, Kastring answered that he thought the heraldic pattern was something to do with an elf — but he could have been lying.
Whether the first owner had been elf or human, the shield should not now be possessed by a skaven. Konrad ought to have it, yet he was aware that the chances of doing so were very slim. Having survived two recent encounters with the giant rodents, he should do his best to avoid all future contact. He had killed enough of the ratmen to settle old scores.
Was Litzenreich serious when he claimed that he intended to stop the skaven from replacing the Emperor with a double? Konrad was all in favour of so doing, but surely all that was necessary was to issue a warning to the Imperial bodyguard. It appeared that the wizard personally planned to foil Gaxar’s scheme, that they were old enemies.
Konrad was still not convinced that the pathetic figure he had seen deep in the skaven domain had really been an incarnation of the Emperor. Gaxar had fabricated a replica of Konrad from a corpse, using some of his flesh and blood in the necromantic recipe. Would it have been so simple to obtain the necessary ingredients from the Emperor?
Konrad only had Litzenreich’s word for what Gaxar was planning, and the sorcerer was almost as untrustworthy as the grey seer.
The stories that he told their fellow coach passengers were complete lies; but the more improbable his tales, the more he was believed. Konrad said very little during the journey, and Ustnar contributed even less to the various conversations.
Litzenreich had stood in front of the stagecoach a few miles beyond Middenheim, halting it so that he and his two companions could board. Neither the driver, the two guards, nor the five other passengers ever commented upon this. Even the two who were displaced from their seats within the vehicle and forced to ride outside made no objection. It was apparent that the magician had blocked the event from their minds, just as he was able to persuade all the tavern owners that he had paid for each night’s lodgings.
Observing Litzenreich’s talent in operation, Konrad wondered if his own will was similarly held in thrall. Had Litzenreich mesmerized him? Was that why he was going to Altdorf? If such was the case, what did the magician want with him?
Konrad resolved that as soon as they reached the capital, he would slip away from Litzenreich. There was no point in doing so now, not when they were so close to the capital. And if he were unable to break free, it would prove that he was indeed under Litzenreich’s spell. He wondered, however, if the very fact that he was capable of considering whether his mind had been enslaved meant that it could not have been…
He would soon find out. They spent the night at the Seven Spokes inn, the last stop on the route to the capital. The driver and the two guards were looking more relaxed now that the journey was almost over. Although the coach may have been travelling from one side of the Grand Duchy of Middenland to the other, over roads that were regularly patrolled, even the heart of the Empire was not safe from the Chaos predators.
The capital of Sigmar’s Empire had been Reikdorf, which was later renamed Altdorf; but in the two and a half millennia since then, the focus of central government had moved several times. The location of the capital depended upon the balance of power and political alignments amongst the different states that composed the Empire. Now, however, Altdorf was once more the Imperial capital and as the stagecoach rounded a curve in the road and finally emerged from the Drakwald Forest, it was revealed to Konrad for the first time.
Surrounded by massive white walls topped with red tiles, the city lay at the confluence of the rivers Reik and Talabec, built upon the islands between these rivers and their tributaries. The Reik was navigable all the way to Marienburg and the Sea of Claws, and the harbour was full of ocean-going vessels as well as river boats. But their tall masts and furled sails were dwarfed by the two great buildings which dominated the city, two of the most magnificent constructions in the known world: the Imperial Palace and the Cathedral to Sigmar.
As the coach passed through the northern gates and entered the capital, Konrad stared at all the buildings, all the people. Excluding his brief sighting of Middenheim, the largest town he had ever seen until now was Praag, but it was as nothing compared to Altdorf. The largest city in the Empire was a place of untold wonders.
The vehicle halted and Konrad was the first to jump out. As he did, he gazed down at the cobbles beneath his feet, wondering if there were another city far below the human capital, a skaven lair deep underground. Then he noticed that the central square was deserted. Or almost deserted: a line of troops encircled the coach. Most of them were halberdiers, clad in red caps, long ochre tunics, red leggings, brown boots. They held their weapons horizontally, pointed at the stagecoach — at Konrad, Litzenreich, Ustnar.
No blades longer than a certain length were permitted to be worn within the city walls, except by the military, and Konrad’s sword was wrapped up in a bundle. He cast aside the material, gripping his weapon by the hilt. He no longer had a shield, having abandoned it during the ascent from the skaven warren. Ustnar was clutching his axe. Konrad glanced at Litzenreich, expecting him to use his powers to reduce the odds to more favourable proportions. But the wizard studied the array of troops, and his attention focused on the only two figures amongst them who were not clad in uniform. Altdorf had its own wizards. Litzenreich shrugged. Taking this as a signal, Ustnar lowered his weapon.
The halberdiers advanced, closing up around the coach. Konrad knew it was hopeless, although that had never stopped him before.
“It’s them we want,” said a voice. “Not you.”
Turning, Konrad looked at the soldier who had spoken. He was a sergeant, thick set, clad in a brass helmet which was topped by a cobalt plume, wearing a scarlet uniform and polished brass armour. His breastplate was embossed with a twin-tailed comet, one of the insignia of Sigmar. His sword hung at his hip; amongst so many armed men,
he had no need to draw his weapon.
Konrad wondered how many of the Altdorf soldiers he could kill before they could overpower him, but he lowered his blade.
There were various ways that a message from Middenheim could have arrived in Altdorf before the travellers had done. The authorities in the City of the White Wolf could have sent couriers to neighbouring towns, or used the Empire’s network of semaphore towers to deliver a warning of the fugitives. Signals must have gone out to every town and city, because there could have been no way of knowing which direction Litzenreich had taken. The wizard had most likely been identified at one of the coaching inns, and a message forwarded to the capital.
Unable to find Litzenreich’s corpse, the survivors from the attack on the skaven lair would have known that the wizard had escaped. The signal sent from Middenheim must have been to arrest him and any dwarfs in his company. It was known that the dwarfs assisted Litzenreich with his warpstone experiments. There had been no warrant issued for Konrad. No one in Middenheim was aware of his existence, no one still alive.
Litzenreich and Ustnar were chained and manacled, loaded into a cart and driven away. The sergeant and two other troopers escorted Konrad away from Konigplatz and through the crowded city. Once it had been wrapped again, he was allowed to carry his own sword. He was not a prisoner, but it was clear that neither was he a free man, and he tried not march in step with his escort.
Although concerned about where he was being taken, but determined not to ask, Konrad was overwhelmed by the sight of the city’s two great buildings that lay ahead of him. Alone, they would have been very impressive. Together, they were absolutely spectacular, each so different in shape and construction yet perfectly complementing the other.
Sigmar’s cathedral stood to the left, its huge central gilded cupola gleaming in the early winter sunlight. Close by was the Imperial Palace, its pinnacle built from granite blocks brought back from Black Fire Pass, the scene of Sigmar’s greatest triumph. The apex of each imposing edifice was exactly the same height, so that neither could be said to dominate the other.
Altdorf was Sigmar’s city, and tribute was paid to him throughout the capital. The palace spire was topped by a huge replica of Ghal-maraz, the immortal hero’s great warhammer. The massive cupola of the cathedral was etched with a pattern of eight-pointed stars, symbolic of the eight divided human tribes that Sigmar had united as one.
The long shadow of the palace blocked out the low sun as Konrad was led into the courtyard below, through a doorway into a building that formed part of the defensive walls. He found himself in a guardhouse, and a number of troops sat near the fire which blazed in the hearth. They talked and laughed together, paying little attention as Konrad and his escort entered. The other two soldiers shrugged out of their armour and joined their comrades.
“Sit down,” said the sergeant, as he took a seat on one side of a roughly hewn table. He removed his helmet and set it down in front of him. He was a grey-haired veteran, and the wounds on his face were true battle scars. “Let’s take a proper look at that sword.”
Konrad sat down opposite, laid his blade on the table, then unwrapped it. The sergeant studied the wolfs head embossed on the guard.
“Those other two,” he said, “have broken Imperial law. You, however, seem to have broken Middenheim law. It appears that you’ve stolen a sword.”
It was evident that he recognized the weapon as belonging to a Middenheim regiment, and the Imperial law to which he was referring must have been the one about using warpstone. Perhaps, however, the sergeant did not know the precise nature of Litzenreich’s crime. He may never have heard of warpstone. Konrad himself had only recently learned of the substance.
“I bought it off that dwarf,” Konrad said, “the one you arrested. He and his companion were dangerous criminals? They broke Imperial law? I thought there was something suspicious about them. I lost my previous sword when a beastman ran off with it; it was wedged in the thing’s skull.”
The sergeant nodded slowly. He seemed amused. “Possession, they say, is nine-tenths of the law. Possession of a stolen weapon is therefore nine-tenths as bad as having stolen it.”
“It’s a Middenheim sword. You said it came under Middenheim law. What does it have to do with Altdorf?”
“We like to oblige our allies. The sword will be returned to them, but the question is: do we also return you?”
“What for? I bought it from the dwarf, ask him.”
Konrad had no doubt that they would not ask Ustnar about the blade. Wherever he and Litzenreich were, there would be far more important questions for them to answer. Altdorf had a reputation for the excellence of its judicial system. During their interrogation, the two prisoners would be tortured less than anywhere else in the Empire. There would also be a trial before they were executed.
He did not expect that the sergeant would really believe his story about the sword, but the most important thing was that he should not think there was any connection between Konrad and Litzenreich. So far as Altdorf was concerned, it was chance that he and the sorcerer had been on board the same stagecoach.
“Evidence from a criminal is no evidence,” said the sergeant. “And if I send the sword back, there’ll be so many queries, so much paperwork.”
“Then don’t send it back.”
“No, we must do that. If they found an Imperial guard sword in Middenheim, I would hope they would return it to us. If you went back with the sword, you could answer all their questions personally. That would seem to be the most prudent course of action. What do you say?”
Konrad said nothing. If he were sent back to Middenheim, even under armed escort, he had no doubt that he could escape before ever reaching the city. But he did not wish to leave Altdorf, not yet.
The sergeant was watching him strangely, and he kept smiling. It seemed that he was not taking the interrogation very seriously and Konrad did not understand the joke.
“If,” the sergeant added, after a while, “this sword had happened to come into the possession of, say, an Imperial guard, then naturally he would be above suspicion.”
Konrad finally understood, but he said nothing.
“It’s a good job, good hours, good—” the sergeant slapped a golden crown on the table, “pay.”
“The Imperial guard?” said Konrad, and he studied the soldier’s immaculate uniform: the polished brass, the plumed helmet, the pearl buttons, the decorative braid, the elaborate insignia. “I don’t know if I want to be a toy soldier — marching up and down, standing in a sentry box, holding a flag instead of a sword, all neat and tidy like some ornament.”
“We are not toy soldiers, Konrad! We are the Empire’s best, the Emperor’s loyal bodyguard!”
Konrad stared at him, wondering how he knew his name.
“I was in Praag that winter,” came the unbidden answer. “Remember? My name is Taungar.”
Konrad nodded. He remembered Praag.
How could he forget that siege? But there was no reason why he should have recognized an Altdorf sergeant, although Taungar knew him.
“Whatever your reason for coming here,” Taungar said, “you can’t do better than enlist in the guard. It’s the best opportunity for any fighting man. And I mean ‘fighting’ — not marching, not parading. I know you’re the kind of man we need.”
“Or?”
Taungar shrugged and looked at the sword with the wolf emblem.
“Do I get another sword?”
“We’ve discovered that guards can perform their functions best if they are armed.” Taungar reached behind him, taking down a belt and scabbarded blade from a peg on the wall. He put it on the table, next to the Middenheim sword, next to the gold coin.
Konrad drew the blade from its oiled sheath, gripping it by the handle of white bone. The guard was embossed with the Imperial crown. He glanced at the crown on the sword, the golden crown on the table, and he picked up the latter with his left hand.
“You’ve acc
epted the Emperor’s coin, Konrad. Now you must swear allegiance. Stand up.”
Konrad did so, and he pledged the oath of blood loyalty, swearing by Sigmar that he would faithfully and obediently serve the Emperor, laying down his life if necessary in the service of the Empire.
“Welcome,” said Taungar, offering his hand.
Konrad transferred the sword to his left hand, held out his right. The two men gripped each other’s wrists.
There had been many questions in Konrad’s mind, but he did not ask them. He would soon be able to discover what he needed to know. For the rest, he did not intend to stay around long enough to require the answers.
Konrad’s hair was cropped so that it did not hang below his helmet. He also had to shave, for the first time since leaving Kislev, because only officers were permitted beards. Then he was fitted out with his uniform. The outfit was the same for every infantryman, whether a raw recruit or senior officer. The only difference was in the colour of the long helmet plume. The higher the rank, the deeper the blue, from aquamarine through to indigo.
There was no need for Konrad to stand in one of the Imperial sentry posts. Taungar had plenty of identical troops to do that. But even ornamental sentries had to learn more than parade drill and standing straight and immobile, and Konrad was enlisted as a combat instructor. That did not mean he was able to avoid his share of dressing up, of polishing armour so that he could see his face — his scarred face — in the burnished brass. And, as always whenever he saw his reflection, he remembered the first time he had seen his own image, in Elyssa’s mirror.
He almost became used to wearing clean outfits, of hearing his boot heels click on the marble floors of the palace. There was something very reassuring in being one of so many others, all doing precisely the same task, of having regular hours and knowing exactly when he would next be able to eat, to rest, to sleep.
There was no need to think, because everything was so organized; all he needed to do was react.
[Konrad 02] - Shadowbreed Page 20
