Hans Baecker got up, offered greeting, and bid them join the circle. Two officers wearing scarlet moved aside, making room for Stefan and his friends. Only as he sat did Stefan notice the man and woman who, although part of the wider circle, seemed by their presence to dominate. The man, Stefan saw at once, was the one he had seen depicted all through the citadel.
“AH honour to our Guides,” Baecker began, addressing the couple directly. “I beg to present Stefan Kumansky, Bruno Hausmann and Beatrice de Lucht, who joined arms with us in glorious battle. They have travelled far to this land, from beyond the borders of Kislev.”
“Not I,” Bea corrected him, hastily. “I hail from Mielstadt, a place not so very distant from here.”
The man that Baecker had addressed as Guide nodded, signalling familiarity with the lands to the east, or with Mielstadt, or both. He studied Stefan and his companions with the steady, unhurried ease of a man grown comfortable with holding power. His lean face and fine, almost aristocratic features, gave his face a look of power tempered with wisdom. Stefan put his age at about forty years, or possibly even more, his years betrayed by the flecks of grey in his hair and beard.
“Welcome to Sigmarsgeist,” he said. “Through the naming of our citadel, and through the works of all its people, we glorify the spirit and memory of our great emperor.” He turned to the woman next to him. “We extend the hand of friendship to these, our most honoured guests, do we not?”
The woman was some ten years or so younger, with dark hair swept back from an unblemished, olive-skinned face. Her heavy-lidded eyes would have given her an almost languid look but for the expression in the eyes themselves: bright and piercing. Like her companion, she exuded authority. She sat, hand-in-hand with her neighbour, yet some similarity in the delicately chiselled features of the two suggested they were not husband and wife. The woman inclined her head and favoured the newcomers with a smile.
“You are welcome indeed,” she concurred. “We have had reports of your valour in coming to the aid of our people—both with your swords, and—” her smile broadened as it fell upon Bea—“with your sacred powers of healing. We are thankful indeed, and indebted.”
“Your thanks are appreciated,” Stefan replied, “but you owe us no debt. Your enemies are ours, too.”
“Indeed they are,” her companion concurred. “I am Konstantin von Augen, the Father of Sigmarsgeist.” He indicated the woman seated beside him. “And this is Anaise, my beloved sister.”
Stefan bowed again. “You rule over a most remarkable city.”
Von Augen raised both hands as if to fend away the words.
“No, no,” he insisted. “We do not rule. Here in Sigmarsgeist we have moved beyond the crude rudiments of rule and servitude.” He looked to his sister. “The title of Guide is carefully chosen. We provide guidance to the people of this citadel: spiritual, moral, practical guidance. If the people follow that lead, then it is through choice.”
“Choice,” Anaise concurred, “and a shared view of the troubled world we walk upon.”
“I beg your pardon,” Stefan demurred. “I see there is much we have to learn about your city.”
“There is, and you shall,” Konstantin agreed. “But first, we would learn a little of you, if you have no objection.”
“Of course.” Stefan’s heart told him to be as open with his hosts as possible, yet his head told him there were aspects of their recent history that he should hold back yet a while. He would see; something told him that Konstantin and his sister had already guessed at much of their tale.
“You have been in Kislev,” Konstantin began. “Perhaps you were at Erengrad?”
“We were,” Stefan confirmed. “We fought with the army of men led by Gastez Castelguerre.” A ripple of conversation spread across the room in response to Stefan’s words. Remote the citadel might have been, but it was clear that news of the battle in the east had reached Sigmarsgeist.
“The army that denied the Dark Ones in their assault upon the city?”
“Yes.”
Konstantin nodded, approvingly. “And now Erengrad is made whole again,” he said. “A new alliance is forged between the great families that would rule that mighty city.”
“We had a part in that, too,” Bruno added, before Stefan could consider his response. “It was Stefan and I—amongst others—who returned the daughter of one family, safely home from exile.”
“Truly?” Konstantin’s eyebrows arched in surprise, his calm countenance broken for a moment. “Then you are due honour indeed.” He conferred briefly with his sister. Stefan heard the word “Altdorf” repeated, together with other cities within the Empire. “But tell me,” he went on, “if you are now on your way back to Altdorf, how did your journey bring you here? By my calculation, your road should have taken you due south from Kislev, along the trading route that runs to the city of the White Wolf?”
Stefan hesitated. This was the part that instinct would have had him hold back, the purpose behind their quest since quitting Erengrad. But, then again, he could think of no good reason why now he should not be candid. They shared a common cause, he reminded himself. More than that, it was surely not beyond possibility that the men of Sigmarsgeist would choose to aid them in their search for Zucharov.
“If we were bound for Altdorf our road would indeed have been for Middenheim,” he conceded. “But we cannot go home yet. We fear that one of our closest comrades may have been taken at Erengrad.”
“Taken?” Anaise queried. “You mean killed?”
“We believe he still lives,” Bruno said. “Lives, but only so far as a man can be said to live when tainted with the poison of Chaos.”
His words sparked further animated conversation around the circle. Konstantin called for silence, and cupped his head in his hands in contemplation. “Like you, I would be disquieted at such news,” he said. “But to come this far for one man? The world is large, and—as I’m sure you need no reminding—there is much evil to be found. Why this man?”
“This is—or was—no ordinary man,” Stefan told him. “Alexei Zucharov was a formidable fighter in his mortal life. A man seized with an unquenchable fire for battle, for struggle. We greatly fear that Chaos will only have added to that power, and have turned it way from light, towards the darkness.” He paused, deep in thoughts of his own. “Besides, Alexei was a comrade, a brother of the sword. I have a debt to discharge, a debt to the man I once knew.”
“So, your search can only end in ultimate resolution, for you or for the man who was once your friend.” Konstantin observed. His sister peered intently at Stefan.
“You are a driven man, Stefan Kumansky,” she concluded. “You see what others often will not see. You have decided you will not rest while there is evil upon the face of this world.”
Stefan said nothing for a moment. The feeling that Anaise von Augen had so easily captured the very essence of him was far from comfortable, but he could not disagree.
“It never seemed like a choice to me.”
Anaise rose to her feet. “A noble tale,” she exclaimed. Her face was flushed, her voice strident and enthusiastic. “Your cause is just and valiant, and it is your valour that has brought you here to us.”
“The same valour may take us from here before long,” Stefan observed, cautiously. “We cannot relinquish our search for more than a day or two.”
“Of course, of course,” Konstantin concurred. “But you must remain with us a while yet, draw strength and such provisions as we can offer. Then you can ride on with full belly and good heart. Will you consent to rest with us at least until the halving of the moons?”
“Enough talk for now, brother!” Anaise chided, resuming her place. “Time to tell our guests something of the history of our citadel. I assure you,” she added, turning to Stefan, “it is a history worth hearing.”
Konstantin von Augen smiled, and took his sister’s hand. He laughed, a soft, gentle sound. “As ever, you guide your errant brother back upon
the just course,” he said. “Apologies, dear friends. I had not meant to cause offence, nor press you unduly concerning the length of your stay with us.”
“No offence taken,” Stefan assured him. The halving of the moons was little more than three nights distant. Whilst they had no trail to pursue, nor any lead remaining that they might follow, it hardly seemed like time wasted to stay that long in a place such as Sigmarsgeist.
He glanced at Bruno, and read the assent in his comrade’s eyes. “We would be honoured to accept your hospitality until the halving night,” he said.
Konstantin clapped his hands together, firmly. “Then let us all here break fast together,” he declared. “For there are few stories told that do not sit better upon a full stomach.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Against the Dark Tide
They breakfasted on bread, fruit and cheese, and drank from flagons of water. Whilst they ate, Konstantin and Anaise recounted their history to Stefan and his two companions.
“We know your lands well enough,” Konstantin informed them. “Though it is—how long?”
“Ten full years,” his sister supplied.
“Ten years,” Konstantin continued, “since we began our pilgrimage from those lands.”
“Where in the Empire are you from?” Stefan asked them.
“Middenheim, Nuln, Altdorf, we have known most of the great cities,” Anaise replied. “And many other places in between. But none of them could we call home.”
“You see,” Konstantin went on, “we became refugees in our own land. My sister and I, and others like us. There were few enough of us at first, but, over time we grew steadily in number.”
“We grew in number until we decided the time had come to go in search of a place where we could build ourselves a home,” Anaise explained. “A place where we could live in peace, free of persecution.”
“A place where we could devote all our energies to our greater purpose,” Konstantin added, eyeing the newcomers carefully.
“And what was that purpose?” Bea asked. “What cause could sustain you across all those hundreds of miles, then make you to build a city like this?”
“Knowledge,” Anaise replied. “Knowledge, and our fears for the dark times to come.”
“Understand this,” Konstantin interjected. “Sigmarsgeist is a place of purity, of devotion to the ideals enshrined by our ancestor and emperor. But it is also a fortress ready to stand against all the dark might of Chaos.”
Stefan sat, absorbing the words. It was not often that he heard the name of the dark powers spoken so openly. Nor had he known a people whose whole purpose seemed so defined by the existence of evil. The revelation thrilled and troubled him in equal measure. In the end it was Bruno who voiced the doubts in Stefan’s mind.
“But, surely,” he insisted, “the threat from Chaos has been overcome? You cannot tell me the battle for Erengrad was for nothing.”
“It was not,” Konstantin agreed. “And yet Chaos is far from overcome.” He picked a piece of fruit from the bowl at his feet and began to eat slowly, methodically. “Erengrad was an important victory, and your part in that victory will surely stand amongst the great deeds of history. But the war in Kislev was a beginning, not an end, and Erengrad but a single piece in the larger design yet to unfold.”
“The larger design?” Stefan asked. He much feared he would not like the answer he would hear. The Guide looked up, scrutinising each of their faces in turn.
“The larger design is absolute, all-engulfing war,” he said solemnly. “War that will sweep like a black tide across the face of the known world. At its centre will be the Empire, the prize coveted above all prizes by the Dark Gods. It will be a conflagration set against which the wars in Kislev will seem like nothing but a minor skirmish. A rehearsal for a tragedy the like of which mankind has only imagined in its worst nightmares.” He paused, letting the heavy silence settle upon the chamber. “Unless we art now, it will be the final enactment of our existence.”
Bruno reached for his cup, then set it to the ground without drinking. “Then victory in Erengrad-”
“Bought us time, no more, no less. But the powers of Chaos will have learned lessons from their grievous wounds. When they return, they will be stronger, more cunning, and more cruel than ever before.”
Stefan reflected upon the Guides’ words. The vision that they conjured appalled him. But in truth, it only accorded with what in his heart he knew to be true. That all life would become struggle; that the battle between light and dark would only intensify, not diminish. He had been born to sustain that struggle, to ensure that there would be another dawn to fight for, and another after that.
Even this did not fully explain the existence of Sigmarsgeist. He looked from Konstantin to his sister Anaise.
“I share your fears for the world. But would not your cause—and the cause of all mankind—be better served by bringing the swords of your men to bear in the service of Middenheim, or Talabheim, or any of the great cities you have named? If what you say is true, then they will have grave need before long.”
“We would do so gladly,” Anaise replied, “were the rulers of those cities not blind to all reason.”
“The Empire has seen clear warning of the dark flood to come,” Konstantin said, gravely. “Seen the warning, and chosen to ignore it. When I look upon my former homeland, I see a land that has become lazy and corrupt. Too busy with its own conceits to see the mortal danger now facing it. We here are pledged to defend the inheritance of our mighty Sigmar. To defend it, if necessary, by building the world anew after the dark tide has finally ebbed.”
“But surely,” Bruno protested, “all true men are loyal to the memory of our great Emperor?”
“No!” Konstantin thundered. “Not all, not by any means. Look anywhere, and you will see decadence, indifference and self-obsession. Mark my words, the Empire will not waken to the threat until it is too late.” He paused, his face reddened with anger. “I take no pleasure in this,” he declared, “but I must speak what I know to be true. You are honest men. Can you say otherwise?”
Stefan hesitated. Dearly as he might want to contradict this bleak vision, in all honesty, he could not. He himself had grown used to being branded a madman or a fool, a zealot who saw evil lurking where others saw none. He understood exactly what the Guides meant, and he feared for the peril that the world might face.
“Do not misunderstand,” Anaise continued, her soft tone a contrast to her brother’s. “When the time comes, we will help our brothers and sisters in the Empire in any way we can. But we will not trust our survival to complacent, bloated leaders who might choose to look the other way. In building Sigmarsgeist, we have taken our destiny into our own hands.”
“Not completely, surely,” Stefan interjected, thinking of a comment Bea had made. “Don’t you still trade with the world outside?”
“True, for the moment,” Konstantin conceded. “Sigmarsgeist is growing faster than we have capacity to feed ourselves. So, yes, we trade with the nearer villages.”
“We take whatever we cannot produce ourselves,” Anaise added. “Water, particularly, is scarce here.”
“But take against what?” Bruno asked. “What do you offer in return?”
“Our strength,” Anaise replied, matter-of-factly. “We can protect them from the dark hordes that prey upon them. At least,” she added, “as far as they will allow us to protect them.”
“Remember, not all see the struggle between dark and light as starkly as we,” Konstantin reminded them. “I regret we are not welcome everywhere, however good our intentions.”
His voice trailed away, lost in contemplation. Anaise continued the story. “In time Sigmarsgeist will become our fortress,” she told them. “Our great ship, upon which we shall ride out the turbulent seas of change soon to afflict us all. We are the True Faith of Sigmar.” She spread her arms wide, towards the sentries standing guard upon the chamber.
“These are his soldier
s. Their tunics are the red of Sigmar’s blood.”
Anaise indicated the smaller group of men sitting with them in the circle. “Those gathered around you are from our elite inner guard,” she explained. “The white that they wear signifies the purity of their faith.”
The dozen or so white-clad men had so far sat silent, but one now turned towards Stefan and addressed him directly “Our purpose is to protect the Guides,” he said. “Protect them from all danger.”
Stefan bowed politely in the man’s direction. The answering look he received was cold, and far from friendly. Stefan had grown used to the welcome they had received in Sigmarsgeist. It came of something of a shock when he realised that the comment had been meant as a warning. Before he could reply, Hans Baecker spoke up, the emotion apparent in his voice.
“They are here as our guests,” he proclaimed. “And, lest we forget, they have already proven themselves on the field of battle.” He looked around the room before fastening his gaze upon the man who had spoken. “I see no mischief in any one of them, only good.”
“That is why you wear the red of Sigmar,” the other said, coldly. “And I wear the white.”
Stefan stood up, determined that they should not be the cause of any ill-blood. “It is right and proper to remain vigilant,” he said, in deference to the first man. “And in truth you know no more of us, than we do of you. But I swear by almighty Sigmar, we come in friendship, and wish no harm upon any of your people.”
“You will do no harm,” the man replied, offering Stefan a brief, humourless smile. “We will see to that.”
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