[Empire Army 01] - Reiksguard

by Richard Williams - (ebook by Undead)

  “These are the Emperor’s mounts,” Delmar whispered.

  “That’s right, Novice Reinhardt,” Verrakker replied.

  Delmar stared, his mouth open, at the pegasus as it whinnied and bucked while its handlers tried to calm it.

  “Come on, this way,” Verrakker said. “There is more to see.”

  Here, behind the stables, there were a series of other enclosures, each one containing a majestic beast: griffons, pegasi and more. In one massive, darkened enclosure they could see nothing in the shadows, yet Delmar felt a cold, ancient gaze bearing down upon him.

  Delmar asked why the bars on the enclosures were only ten feet high. “These beasts can fly,” he said, “those bars will not keep them in. Why is there no roof?”

  “The bars are not meant to keep them in,” Verrakker replied, “these creatures are here by their own will. The bars are there to keep inquisitive fools out.”

  At that moment, the Emperor’s mounts all lifted their heads as one and gave an ear-splitting cry. The novices jumped away from the enclosures; even Verrakker took a step back. Then their cry was answered from above. Delmar looked up and saw a griffon in the sky, wheeling and swooping above the zoo. And on its back was a rider, whose distinctive profile was known across the land.

  “The Emperor!” someone shouted, as handlers and retainers raced to the stableyard where the griffon was coming in to land. The novices ran with them.

  Delmar arrived first, in time to see the fierce griffon Deathclaw slow his flight with backwards beats of his mighty wings and settle on the ground with incongruous grace. The handlers took the griffon’s reins and helped the rider out of the saddle. There he was, Delmar realised, no more than a dozen feet before him. Emperor Karl Franz, Prince of Altdorf, Grand Prince of Reikland, Count of the West March. Delmar stared at him and, for the merest instant, the Emperor looked back. Delmar was struck by the tiredness in his eyes. Then the Emperor was distracted by one of his attendants, and turned back to give Deathclaw an affectionate rub behind its ears and on its beak. Delmar found himself surprised to see this legendary figure make such an ordinary gesture. He noticed then that the griffon was sweating and shaking with exertion. There must be some emergency for the Emperor to come back alone, unexpected, with the army still so far distant.

  Then a band of Reiksguard knights, who were on guard at the palace, came running up and formed a crude protective circle around the Emperor. Verrakker grabbed Delmar’s shoulders and ushered him and the other novices out of the way.

  The novices were left in a state of high excitement and yet they were told little of what had transpired to hasten the Emperor’s return. Their regular training was curtailed, as the order required every able knight to stand guard duty at the palace until the Reiksguard squadrons returned. Talhoffer, Verrakker and even Ott took up their old ceremonial guard armour and joined the regular garrison. The novices were left to spar with each other and run drills under the supervision of their sergeants; of their tutors only Master Lehrer remained, and they had never seen him out of his library, or even out from behind his desk.

  Three days after the Emperor’s arrival, the squadrons of the Grand Order of the Reiksguard processed into the capital with Kurt Helborg at their head. They were the first of the regiments from the victory at Middenheim to return to the city, and the novices joined the hundreds of citizens of Altdorf who sweltered in the summer heat to line the route and cheer them home. The knights, their silver armour dazzling in the sun, marched their warhorses in close order through the streets up to the chapter house, as stoic in the face of popular acclaim as they had been in the face of the enemy. Delmar and the other novices, swept up in the jubilation, yelled their praise. The great Wilhelm Gate of the chapter house opened and received them home again.

  It was Siebrecht who first spotted the second group of arrivals. They appeared at the chapter house in covered wagons through the white gate to the side of the barracks. That caravan carried the injured knights who had survived, but had not been fit to ride back in with the main procession. It also carried the precious armour of the knights who had not been so fortunate and had been buried on the battlefields of Middenland.

  Delmar followed the knightly procession into the grounds of the barracks and around the side of the chapter house through to the stables. When he arrived the yard was full of sweating horses, irritable in the heat of the midday sun. Stablehands hurried back and forth as fast as their dignity allowed, helping the knights out of the saddle and leading their steeds to the next empty stall.

  Delmar skirted his way around the edges until he saw Griesmeyer, his red hair matted and darkened with sweat. He was still mounted, waiting patiently for a stablehand to attend him.

  “Lord Griesmeyer!” Delmar cried as he squeezed his way past two warhorses.

  Griesmeyer turned in his direction, and in that instant before recognition dawned, Delmar saw the tightness around his eyes and the furrows in his brow. Then his face broke out into a smile and the ghosts were gone.

  “Delmar!” he said. “I thought it would not be long until I saw you.”

  Delmar respectfully took hold of the knight’s reins and stroked the horse’s neck. “My lord, how went the battle?”

  “Sigmar’s breath, novice! I shall tell you all, but give me a moment.”

  Griesmeyer was even better than his word. He went with Delmar to the novices’ quarters and there sat and answered all their questions of the siege. The knight conjured up images of the ravening hordes of savage northern warriors; the horrific mutants and monsters that they held captive to unleash upon their enemies, the daemonic war engines made of metal which pulsed with life, and the dark champions that strode through the ranks, gripping ancient weapons inscribed with arcane markings that burned with power.

  But then he spoke of the Empire’s army, where the most famous regiments stood in a single battle line: the Carroburg Greatswords, the cannon of Nuln, the Scarlet Guard of Stirland, the Death’s Head of Ostermark, huntsmen from Ostland, the Hochland rifles, and halberdiers, spearmen, swordsmen and archers from across the provinces.

  The novices felt a surge of pride at that, and even more so when Griesmeyer described the Reiksguard’s final charge which broke the last of the foe’s resistance. None were more proud though than Delmar, for the other novices knew that the knight had visited them because of him. And he was proud also, he realised, to see his fellow novices united.

  Afterwards, Griesmeyer asked Delmar to walk him back across the yard.

  “Do you think they enjoyed my stories?” he asked.

  “Aye, my lord,” Delmar replied, “I think that their only regret was that they could not be there to see it themselves before it was all done.”

  “Good, for the war is not done at all.”

  “Pardon, my lord?” Delmar could not quite believe what the knight had said.

  “This war could not be won in a single battle. Some of their warbands have scattered, but many have stayed together under one of their generals and retreated into the mountains or the forests. It is a snakebite, the fang has gone but the poison is left behind. I am sure we will march north again soon, unless the Emperor has another purpose for us, and then your friends will have their chance. Presuming you have been found worthy of joining, of course?”

  “The masters have said that the testing is concluded. But they have not yet told us their decision. Have you heard that I—”

  “I have not spoken to them,” Griesmeyer cut him off, “but I am sure you have trained hard and that your dedication will be rewarded. When is your vigil to be held?” he asked.

  “The night after next,” Delmar replied.

  “For certain you will know before then,” the knight replied unhelpfully. “I am glad they waited until the order could return.”

  “Is that why they have delayed?” Delmar queried. “For our testing is finished. We do not know what we should be doing.”

  At that Griesmeyer stopped in his tracks. He peer
ed into Delmar’s eyes for several long seconds, as though he was searching for something there.

  “Keep your guard high, novice,” Griesmeyer finally said. “It is not finished until you take the oaths.”

  “I will, my lord,” Delmar muttered, then Griesmeyer dismissed him and went on alone.

  Delmar sat quietly in his small cell, trying to pray. The novices had all been moved from their dormitory for that night and each was placed in a separate cell within the chapter house. It was supposed to allow them some privacy and rest before their vigil the next night. The vigil was to be the last test they would face as novices. Should they pass, then they would be called to take their oaths to become a full brother-knight of the Reiksguard. Throughout their vigil they would pray and be prayed over.

  Rumours abounded amongst the novices that the prayers the priests used were ones of exorcism and that in times past novices had had daemons discovered within them, had been driven mad, attacked their fellows or even burst spontaneously into flames. Griesmeyer had scoffed at such tall tales, though he could recall an instance where the intensity of the ceremony had been such that one novice, who had been put under great pressure by his family, burst out laughing and had to be removed and calmed down.

  The purpose of the event in truth, Griesmeyer had said, was to give each novice a final chance to reconsider whether they could honestly swear the binding oaths of loyalty that would then be asked of them. The oaths of a brother-knight to the Reiksguard and to the order’s rule superseded any others that a warrior might take, whether to family, province, friends or gods, short of those he took to the Emperor himself. As strange as it seemed to Delmar, Griesmeyer said that there had been occasions where it was only at the vigil itself that a novice had realised that he could not swear sole loyalty to the order and so had had to withdraw. The brother-knights who successfully completed the vigil together would, from then after, forever be witnesses to the fact that each of them had taken their oaths to the Reiksguard with the full knowledge of what that entailed.

  Delmar did not believe that this would present any difficulty for him. He knew the oaths, he had learned them by heart from his grandfather ten years before he would set foot in the chapter house as a novice. He would not baulk now at swearing them in earnest. Nevertheless, he could not settle at prayer. They had each been given an icon bearing the cross, skull and laurel wreath, the insignia of a full brother-knight, to aid them. He had felt a surge of pride as they placed the icon around his neck, but he found it of no help in prayer. It was quiet outside his cell, dark also; he could think of no reason why he should not be at peace and yet he was not. Disappointed at himself, he gave up on his prayer and instead decided that rest was what he needed. He lay down on the cot and closed his eyes. He felt his breath deepen and sleep quickly took him.

  Delmar woke. There was a sharp smell in his sinuses and he sleepily rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. It was still quiet. He turned onto his side to get back to sleep. No, it wasn’t quiet, it was completely silent. There were no croaks or calls from the night animals in the chapter house’s grounds. No murmurs from the ever-wakeful city around its walls. Delmar opened his eyes. There was a flickering light from under his door. A lantern. Something, someone, was outside.

  The door-bolt began to slide back.

  Delmar shot up as though ice-water was in his veins. He dived from his bed; he did not have his sword, but his hand reached for a weapon, for any weapon. The intruder heard the noise and slammed the bolt back. The door flew open. A man stood there, silhouetted by the lantern light.

  “Delmar?” the man asked. His voice deep, thick, but not harsh.

  Delmar squinted at him and took a grip on one of the bed legs, readying to throw the entire piece of furniture at the assailant if need be.

  “Who is that?”

  The man held the lantern in front of him and its light fell upon a face that Delmar had only seen in portrait but yet knew better than his own.

  “Delmar, my son.”

  “Father?”

  “Father?”

  “Yes, son?”

  “Father.” Delmar rose to his feet and took the hand held out to him. The hand gripped him back. It was flesh. It was real.

  “Father,” Delmar said again and grasped the man’s shoulder. It was solid.

  “Yes, son?”

  Delmar looked into the blue eyes, greyer slightly with age.

  Delmar clutched him close, expecting the body to evaporate like smoke. It did not. Delmar hugged his father tightly to him, unable to contain his joy.

  “It’s all right, son. It’s all right,” Delmar heard him whisper in his ear.

  Then, and only then, did the questions tumble out. “What are you doing here? Where have you been? They said you were dead, Father. They told Mother you were dead.”

  “They were lies, Delmar. Everything they told you was a lie. But come, quickly, I cannot be found here.”

  Delmar followed him out of the cell and down through the corridors. His father wore a long travelling cloak, but beneath it his clothes were matted dark red.

  “Is that blood? Are you injured?” Delmar asked.

  “It is not mine,” his father replied, and Delmar saw the slumped bodies of sergeants hidden in the shadows. Delmar looked away, and his father led him out of the buildings and towards the stables.

  “What has happened to you?” Delmar asked, hurrying to keep up.

  “Many things, Delmar. Many things,” his father said, moving quickly between the horses’ stalls. “I have seen marvels. Experienced wonder. I have touched the edge of existence and my eyes have been opened.”

  “Here,” his father said, stopping at the stall of Delmar’s horse. “Put a saddle on Heinrich and let us be gone.”

  Delmar hesitated.

  “What is the matter?” his father asked. “Is this for the night? Is it for good? I… I cannot just leave.”

  His father looked at him for a moment, then saddled the horse himself. “I am leaving, Delmar. Stay if you wish, but if you do, you shall not see me again.”

  “Wait! That is not fair!” Delmar exclaimed. “Of course I wish to come with you. But I have taken oaths…”

  “Then all you have done is lie to liars. Do not concern yourself with your oaths, for they do not if it does not suit their interest.”

  Delmar reached into his saddlebag.

  “Let me then at least leave a note for Lord Griesmeyer. I shall not mention anything, but merely say that I left of my own accord.”

  His father pulled himself into the saddle.

  “Leave your note then,” he said. “But your Lord Griesmeyer will never read it.”

  Delmar looked up at his father and saw again the blood on his clothes, on his hand.

  “Do not judge me, Delmar,” his father said. “He took your father from you. He took my life from me. It was quicker than he deserved.”

  Delmar took a step back, then steadied himself against his horse.

  “If it is any comfort,” his father continued, “he died with honour. Such honour as he had left.”

  “Give me your hand, Delmar,” his father reached out. “Give me your hand. We must go. We must go now.”

  Delmar looked up at his father. His hero. His measure of nobility. He looked at the bloodied hand held out towards him. Sigmar help him, he took it.

  The white gate was unbarred and open for them. Delmar could see no sign of the sergeants that should be at posts there. Instead, as they rode through, Delmar saw the shadows shift in the corner of his eye. He turned but the movement was gone. His father paid it no heed and guided Heinrich through the quiet streets towards the tenements of the poor quarter. The houses’ windows were all battened and shut, those refugees who’d stayed lay crammed in the gutters and did not look up as the lone horse walked by. A pox had begun to spread amongst the poorest of Altdorf and the word was out that the refugees were to blame.

  As they rode, his father pressed Delmar for deta
ils of his life, the estates, his grandfather and mother. Delmar related all he could remember, and then asked him of how he had returned to them. His father grew quiet; he spoke softly of his time as a captive of the Skaelings, how he had been sold as a slave to another tribe further north, of his failed attempts to escape and, finally, how he had rendered such service to his master that he had been freed.

  “When was this?” Delmar asked. His father appeared fit and strong, he was not fresh from a slavedriver’s whip.

  “Over five years past now.”

  “Five years?” Delmar gasped. “You stayed away so long.”

  “I was freed, Delmar, but I was not free. I had obligations to meet and debts to repay. If I had fallen in the midst of them, well, I did not want you to have your father returned to you only to have him snatched away again.”

  “But now you are done? You are free?”

  “No. But I had to come back now. I had to because of you, Delmar. You have disappointed me.”

  Delmar felt a hole open in his chest as he heard his father’s words. “Disappointed? How?”

  “When I heard you had joined the order, when I heard that you had left your mother and your grandfather behind to pursue your own selfish ambition.”

  “What?” Delmar gasped. “It was nothing of the kind. They wanted me to come.”

  “They wanted to be left alone? Vulnerable? Eking by on what little fortune the family has left until some passing marauder takes even that from them?”

  Delmar could not believe it. For all his life he had hoped for his father to return, had dreamed it, but never had he conceived that he would return for this.

  “I do not understand, I thought it was my duty. I thought it was your duty, your path that I was to follow.”

  “You will learn, Delmar, that you will make mistakes that you cannot correct. Only pray that your child does not make the same ones.” His father carried on riding calmly. “I know now that my prayers were in vain.”