[Empire Army 01] - Reiksguard

by Richard Williams - (ebook by Undead)

  Delmar looked for a gap and twisted the blade so that it was pointed at the join in the armpit. Up close now, he could hear a slight buzzing noise from within. With a glance at the fightmaster to ensure he should continue, Delmar slid the blade firmly through the join and into the space for the body. There was a second’s resistance inside, but then the blade slipped easily through.

  “Well done, Novice Reinhardt.” Talhoffer smiled a cold smile.

  Suddenly, Delmar coughed and gagged. A foul stench erupted from the armour, and the other novices who had come in close to watch stumbled backwards, spluttering.

  “That is the last lesson about fighting these casements,” the fightmaster warned. “When you do break it open, you can never know what you will find inside!”

  Talhoffer ripped open the helmet’s visor to reveal an inhuman face, rotted through, its maw hanging open in seeming surprise. From its mouth emerged a stream of flies, disturbed from their feeding by the blow to the head. The novices scrambled back a distance.

  The sergeants laughed hugely. It had not been easy to manhandle the dead pig in there at first light this morning. But it had been worth it to see their charges’ faces.

  Talhoffer did not laugh however. If Verrakker thought that they were ready for the test of spirit then he was sorely mistaken.

  “Novices!” Talhoffer called them back to order, but his instruction was fated not to continue.

  “Brother Talhoffer! Brother Ott!” a knight called from the steps of the chapter house. Talhoffer, Ott and Verrakker went over and gathered in a tight huddle, exchanged a few words, then hurried into the chapter house together.

  “Do you sense it, brothers?” Krieglitz asked the others.

  “No,” Siebrecht replied, “but I see it.”

  “The tension,” Alptraum spoke up, “the concern they have. They don’t count us at services; they don’t care if we whisper at meals. None of them raises his voice anymore. It is as if they must stay quiet so as to hear whatever may come.”

  “All the better for us,” Siebrecht joked, but even he could not convince himself that he enjoyed the oppressive atmosphere. It reminded him too greatly of home, where his father was always waiting for the next disaster to befall them.

  The wind picked up. Alptraum stopped and turned into it.

  “It’s from the north,” the Averlander stated, his eyes closed.

  “There’s blood on it.” Gausser’s great nostrils flared, as though he were a whale dredging the sea.

  Siebrecht looked at Krieglitz in bemusement at their friends’ strange behaviour, but Krieglitz too was staring with them in the same direction.

  Out in the city, a bell started to strike. It was one of the bells of the Great Temple and it sounded a doleful, sorrowful note. Then a second bell rang; this one with a lighter tone. Then a third chimed, and a fourth, and a fifth. And now they were ringing all across the city.

  “Victory! Victory! The siege is lifted! The foe are on the run!” the cry went up from the chapter house. Victory. Victory. The word resounded in the novices’ heads so loudly that they no longer heard the bells. Victory! Gausser gave a giant whoop of delight. Krieglitz clasped Siebrecht’s hand and shook it with delight.

  “Victory!” Delmar shouted to the Reiklanders, and even Falkenhayn could not help but smile with relief.

  Delmar saw Talhoffer step out of the chapter house.

  “Master!” he called out. “The war is over!”

  Talhoffer strode quickly over. “We are done for the day,” he ordered the novices. “Be back tomorrow at first light. We will need to make up for the time we have lost.”

  “Master, is the war over?” Delmar asked.

  “We have a victory, Novice Reinhardt, that is all. Tomorrow, first light, all of you.”

  But the city did not share the fightmaster’s dour assessment. They had endured a hungry winter and a spring of fear. The news of the great victory around Middenheim was their first glimpse of hope and they would make the most of it.

  As the novices’ training intensified, all they could hear for days beyond the walls of the chapter house was the city celebrating with everything it could. The beggars in the streets and the refugees from the other provinces, who had been despised as parasites dragging Altdorf down, were treated once more as fellow subjects. The Altdorfers’ hatred would turn back upon them, the refugees knew, so the most hopeful of them departed the city to journey back to their homes, though none of them knew what they would find left.

  In such a time of general well-being, Siebrecht could not resist slipping out into the city to enjoy the jubilation. He had thought he had covered his tracks well, but he had no regrets when the sergeants came for him again.

  Siebrecht, prepared for the worst, was escorted to the guardhouse by the white gate. There, however, he realised that, for once, it was not him that was in trouble.

  “Ah, there you are, Siebrecht,” a familiar voice greeted him. “Be a good boy now and explain to these suspicious gentlemen that I am no spy or pilferer.”

  There sat a man whom Siebrecht instantly recognised. The forehead was higher, the hair greyed, the skin sagged slightly over the distinctive cheekbones, but the family resemblance, alas, was clear.

  “You can stand testament for this man?” The sergeant asked.

  “He’s my uncle,” Siebrecht said.

  “You sound surprised,” his uncle retorted. “Did you not receive my letter? I could scarcely pass through this great city without paying a visit to my dearest nephew.”

  “We discovered him concealed within a goods cart,” a sergeant said, his posture stating clearly his desire to drag their captive out feet first.

  “I was not concealed and I resent your implication,” Herr von Matz said, taking umbrage. “I was inspecting the guildmarks upon the seals. My good brother, the Baron von Matz, has entrusted his eldest son into your order’s care and I will report back of the dubious origin and the even more dubious quality of the food you serve here. I am certain that he will apply most readily to your commander as regards your treatment of his son and your rough handling of me.”

  “Uncle!” Siebrecht admonished him. “Sergeant, my uncle’s name I can stand surety for, to his nature I cannot. Do you wish to hold him further?”

  “I do not wish to hold him, nor see him again.”

  “Wishes, sergeant…” his uncle began, but Siebrecht shot his uncle a sharp look and he subsided. “Come on, uncle.”

  “If I may be permitted to speak, I would like to ask for my hat back.” He stared pointedly at the sergeant, who disdainfully retrieved the ridiculously plumed hat and handed it back.

  “Novice Matz,” the sergeant said as he showed them out. “Herr Matz.”

  “Herr von Matz,” the uncle corrected tartly, and the sergeant closed the door on his face.

  Out on the crowded street, Siebrecht saw his uncle drop his pretence of petty indignation and straighten into the role of a respectable man of means. Herr von Matz led his nephew a short way through the busy streets back to his lodgings, ignoring all of Siebrecht’s attempts to question him along the way. Finally Siebrecht gave up, and followed in silence as his uncle entered an unremarkable house, nodded his greetings to the housekeeper and sat down in a private room where some food had already been laid out.

  Herr von Matz produced a small wooden case, delicately inlaid with sculpted bone. He took out his knife and carving fork and sat down to eat. Seeing his chance, Siebrecht took control of the conversation.

  “So, my uncle, is your purpose here solely to embarrass me before my order?”

  “Embarrass you?” Herr von Matz paused mid-slice. “I am quite certain I took considerable pains to ensure that I only embarrassed myself.”

  “What?”

  “You, meanwhile, played the role of the mortified and reasonable relative superbly. I can assure you that the next time those sergeants see you they will not be thinking how exceedingly arrogant you are, rather they will reflect on how
great an improvement you are on the previous generation.”

  Siebrecht could not believe his uncle’s gall. “Are you claiming that you provoked the entire thing in order that I would appear less annoying to some common sergeants?”

  Herr von Matz waggled his fork at his nephew. “Don’t be dismissive of your lessers, my boy. An Emperor may give you titles, but he’ll never clean your boots. Those sergeants there, I’m sure they have the run of the chapter house, am I right? Keys to every lock, an ear to every door? Very useful.”

  Siebrecht lavished scorn in his reply. “So you crept into a cart and hid so that I may have the opportunity to befriend them.”

  “No, of course not. That was a mere fortuitous opportunity.”

  “Then what were you doing?”

  “Trying to see the seals, the guildmarks, as I said.”

  “You truly care about the freshness of the food?”

  “Why should I? I’m not going to eat it, am I? If I wanted to trade in food then I would buy it at home, or Averland, and I would send it north. Far too dangerous though, the cost of escort would be prohibitive. And so few people in the north have the money to pay these days.”

  “Then what were you interested in?”

  “The ore, of course. The ore, the charcoal, the doth. Anything that can travel. You see the seal, you know the supplier.”

  “You wish to supply the Reiksguard? Is that it then?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps there are some suppliers who are taking too great a profit, or have one too many middlemen that might be circumvented. The value of good ore is high now because of the war; charcoal is short because of the danger in the forests; so much doth is needed for all the uniforms for the Emperor’s armies; but when the war is done will the values stay high? Or will the wars never end?”

  “Did you not hear the bells, uncle? The war has just ended.”

  Herr von Matz gave a tiny short laugh, which fully encapsulated his opinion on his nephew’s naiveté.

  “There cannot be a new campaign,” Siebrecht said. “Not already.”

  Herr von Matz sized up his nephew carefully.

  “You will find, young Siebrecht, that the beginnings and ends of wars are marked by historians. Not by those who are still fighting them long after some man of letters has declared that a victory was won. Here’s a piece of information for you. See how you fare in realising its value. Have you ever heard of a dwarfen hold named Karak Angazhar?”

  “No. Should I have done?”

  “Not a youth in your position, whose only interest is in the next bottle, no.”

  Siebrecht bit back a sharp remark. “What about it then?”

  “It has been besieged, for several months now, by the goblin tribes of the Black Mountains.”

  “Dwarfs and goblins fighting. My word, uncle, what astonishing news you bring me,” Siebrecht replied, barely trying to conceal the sarcasm in his voice. “I am truly staggered.”

  Herr von Matz gave his nephew a sharp clip around the ear.

  “Oh, I did forget how clever you are. Very well then, I will leave it at this. Karak Angazhar is not one of the great dwarfen strongholds, it is no equal of Karaz-a-Karak or Barak Varr, and yet before this month is out the soldiers of the Empire will march from Altdorf to go and rescue it. And, most likely, the Reiksguard will be at their head.”

  “What? Why would we? The old alliance is strong of late, but we are stretched to the limit. And if it is a choice between dwarfs and our own realm, then I know which we should defend.”

  “That, I will leave you to discover. And when the Reiksguard marches, you had better ensure that you are still with them. And still in a condition to give a good account of yourself.” He pointedly picked up Siebrecht’s glass and placed it on the far side of the table, out of his reach. “It would not do to have the order think ill of you.”

  Siebrecht snorted. “I would not care if they did.”

  “Decide upon your opinions, Siebrecht,” his uncle taunted him. “First, you are ashamed that I have embarrassed you before your brothers, and now you say you do not care what they think.”

  “Let me be sure that you rightly understand the truth of your circumstances.” Herr von Matz fixed Siebrecht with his glare. “The Reiksguard was not so willing to consider your application, simply because of your name. Your name, our name, has little to recommend it anymore. No, the Reiksguard’s consideration was bought; yes, with that same coin that you so quickly squander.”

  “You bribed the Reiksguard to accept me?” Siebrecht could not believe it.

  Herr von Matz sighed heavily. Under his brother’s indolent upbringing Siebrecht had obviously experienced much of the world, but had never thought to understand it.

  “No,” he said patiently. “I would not even try. Men of honour are simply too expensive for the worth they can provide. And as soon as they accept, they lose their one source of value. Their honour! You do not bribe men of honour. You bribe the amenable men whom the men of honour trust. You needed recommendations and there are nobles highly placed in Wissenland, all around the Empire, who are willing, nay eager, to be influenced. Some of them near ripped my hand clean off, so keen were they to grasp their gratuity.”

  “For what purpose then?” Siebrecht pushed himself away from the table and stormed around the room. “For what purpose was I sent here, away from my family, away from my friends, away from my life? To be run ragged by Reikland martinets? To have insults hurled at me by Reikland boors? To die, protecting a Reikland prince?”

  Herr von Matz met his nephew’s fiery outburst coolly. He continued eating without even looking up. Siebrecht felt stymied, and yet he was unwilling to give up his temper. Instead, he stomped over to the shutters and slammed them back hard. The sounds of the city burst in, and Siebrecht leaned into the street and sucked in the air.

  “When you’re finished,” Herr von Matz remarked between mouthfuls, “do close those shutters and sit down.”

  Siebrecht stubbornly held his post at the window for a minute more, but then did as his uncle told him.

  “What do you think of Novice Gausser?” Herr von Matz asked as he sat.

  “Gausser?” Siebrecht was taken off guard by the change in topic. “Well… he’s as strong as an ox and about as bright.”

  “Do you think he’s good to his friends?”

  “I suppose.”

  “He could be Emperor one day, you know.”

  Siebrecht laughed at that. “Is that another certain prediction of yours? I’ll take your wager on that one for sure.”

  “Why not?” Herr von Matz replied calmly. “He is the grandson of an elector count, if he inherits that then all he need be is elected. Alptraum?”

  “A loon!”

  “His family hold the Averland guilds and merchants in their pocket. Falkenhayn?”

  “A Mootland cesspit!”

  “He will inherit whole streets here in Altdorf, indeed the one this very house is in.”

  “Ranald’s balls, uncle, do you know all the other novices? Have you had your spies on me ever since I arrived?”

  “Spies? Who would need a spy for that? You and your fancies, Siebrecht. You think I wouldn’t ask who you were training with? It’s not a secret. If a family have their son in the Reiksguard they proclaim it from their rooftops.”

  “Excellent, then! Now you’ve shown me that they are rich and I am humble, I feel a whole new joy at my internment with them.”

  “The point is, Siebrecht, that they are rich and you are with them. These men whom you have so quickly dismissed, each one of them is of ten times the consequence of any of your drinking partners in Nuln. You are here so that, in years to come, when you have long quit the Reiksguard, you may enter the court of any province in the Empire and be welcomed there by its ruler as an old and dearest friend. Money has less relevance than you assume, those sergeants’ treatment of me today is ample proof of that. Look at Reinhardt, you know Reinhardt?”

  “Oh, I’ve met Novice Rei
nhardt.”

  Herr von Matz ignored the rancour in Siebrecht’s tone.

  “The Reinhardts have little money beyond their estate. But his great-grandfather was one of the first Reiksguard knights. His grandfather served. His father died in battle. Do you think he had to buy the recommendations from petty nobles for the order to consider his application? No money can buy the influence his name has in the order and, through them, with half the rulers in this land. The privilege will flow to him like honey. All I want for you is to be able to taste it. This is an opportunity that you will have at no other time in your life.”

  “An opportunity for you, you mean,” Siebrecht struck back, “to say that your family has a son in the most prestigious guard of the Emperor.”

  “It will get you coin if you want it. Titles, if you want those. Do not doubt that women come with both if that is your only desire. Forgive me then for a design which meets both our ambitions.”

  “We have coin. We have titles. You make us sound so desperate, uncle.”

  “You think there is coin in the barony?” Herr von Matz said as he poured himself another glass. “For generations now its wealth has been ebbing away. Your father inherited the barony and then sat on it, like an addled hen that sits on a stone and waits for it to hatch. He feels his way of life slipping away but he does not know how to stop it. He’s become quite solicitous to me these last few months, did you know? Why do you think that is? Brotherly love? Not a chance. It is my coin that he hosts, not his brother. No, Siebrecht, it is well you know now: there are no riches in the barony. And that means that you must either be a great Baron von Matz, or you will be the last.”

  Siebrecht sat, silenced by his uncle’s frank admissions.

  “It is only for a few years,” Herr von Matz continued, his tone more conciliatory. “Serve well. Make your name. Resist the urge to plunge your breast onto the enemy’s sword. Then come back to your life, though I predict that you will not look on it the same as you did. You will help your father in managing the estate, and you will have the privilege to do what it will take to restore the family’s fortunes.”