Delmar read the line a dozen times, willing more to appear. “Is this all?” he asked Lehrer.
“Not what you expected, is it.”
“This cannot be all there is.”
“You tell me, Novice Reinhardt. You are the one who has supposedly been paying attention when I have spoken of the internal functions of our order.”
“What else…? Wait,” Delmar realised, “he’s on the wall of remembrance. And before a knight is added, you said there is a hearing to ensure that a knight did not pass through want of bravery.”
“That is correct. And there would have been a hearing in this instance, because of the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
“Brother Heinrich von Reinhardt died because he disobeyed the orders of his preceptor,” Lehrer explained. “He broke ranks from his squadron and rode into the heart of the enemy. He did it for the noblest reasons to be sure, but to be a knight of the Reiksguard is to renounce one’s own will and subject oneself to the will of another. It would have had to be deliberated. Alas…”
But Delmar was already moving through the shelves into the depths of the library. He returned a few minutes later, bearing an open document holster.
“It’s empty.”
“Alas,” Lehrer continued, “our records of those deliberations were taken from us. I was here by that time. I recall the master librarian then was quite put out by it.”
“Who took them?”
“The orders came from the inner circle. But the knight who took them was—”
“Griesmeyer.” The name jumped unbidden to Delmar’s lips.
“Yes.”
Lehrer took the holster from the novice’s hands and closed it. “You should not consider it too unusual. Brother Griesmeyer was the only one who was with your father at the end. The deliberations were almost entirely his testimony. And they were great friends.”
“So I have been told.”
“I was relieved, in a way, when I heard that they were together when your father passed. I do hope that they had had a chance to put their differences behind them before the end.”
Delmar was still thinking of how he might retrieve those records when Lehrer’s words sunk in.
“Put what behind them? I did not know of any argument between them. What were their differences?”
“Oh,” Lehrer remarked, placing his forefinger on his temple as if it would aid his recollection. “Well, this was all a long time ago. I do not think I ever knew. They certainly were great friends as novices, and then after… But it was…” Lehrer rocked back thoughtfully in his chair.
“Yes, I remember, it was when your father came back from the Patriarch’s expedition in Ostermark. That was the time I met you, in fact. Your grandfather brought you and your mother here. We thought that your father might heal quickly once he was back, but it was not so. Rather than keep you and your mother in lodgings in Altdorf, he decided to return to his estate for his convalescence. At that time, I am sure that he and Brother Griesmeyer were still as close as they ever were. When your father returned, it was after the election and so it must have been no more than a year later, but the two of them were much changed. They had previously been inseparable, but by then they were never seen in public together. There were stories of some terrible arguments between the two of them in private. I would never have spoken to them about it, but it was well known at the time. Still, when the new Emperor gave the call to march to the north, they both went. Perhaps being on campaign together again may have made the difference. I certainly hope it did.”
“Yes,” Delmar muttered.
“What of you, novice? Do you not have any memories of that time?”
“A few,” Delmar thought back. “My mother, crying in the nursery. Over my father, I think. But then sometimes when I remember it I see him there as well, or a shape at least, of a man. A knight, most definitely a knight. So perhaps it was before he passed, but then it should not be that she was so distraught. I do not know.”
“Or perhaps they are several memories blended together,” Lehrer mused. “Memory is an uncertain record when set against ink and parchment. I have discovered many people who will swear in all honesty that they remember as red what was blue, and as white what was black. Do not let it trouble you. Keep to your reins, Novice Reinhardt.”
The vigil began at dusk and was held in the Reiksguard’s chapel, sited beside the chapter house’s main chamber. The eight novices who still remained had processed in, wearing simple white shifts. They were each first interviewed by two knights, brothers that none of them had seen before, and questioned as to their beliefs, their faith, their families and whether there was any hidden infirmity or physical corruption that would prevent their serving the order. Once this was satisfactorily completed, they were reminded of the oaths that they were to swear, and of the rules and regulations of the order, and then they were left to pray.
There was little to see within the chapel. The interior was lit only by a few evenly spaced candles, and without the sun outside, the glorious scenes set in the stained-glass windows were dark and could not be seen.
Siebrecht knelt. His thoughts chased round and round his head. He told himself that though he did not know enough, there was no way he had at present of finding the answers, and so he should concentrate on being at peace. He settled his thoughts for a time, and then a minute would pass and he would notice Krieglitz’s absence once more and the thoughts would chase around again.
Delmar knelt, and tried not to think. He tried not to think of how his father and Griesmeyer had knelt together in this exact same spot twenty-five years before at their own vigil. He tried not to think of his ancient memory of his mother in mourning and yet another knight being there. He tried not to think of the chill in his mother’s voice when she spoke of Griesmeyer or the look in her eyes when she saw her son with him. He tried not to think of the dream of his father and the doubts that it had placed in his mind. Above all, he tried not to think of that battle in which his father had paid his final service, and how the only witness to his last few minutes alive was Griesmeyer. Delmar tried not to think. He tried to pray, but to no avail. Either the gods did not hear him, or they had sent him these thoughts themselves.
The novices remained there until dawn when the light from the rising sun shone through the glass windows and the image of Sigmar Triumphant blossomed before them. They were led from the chapel into the chapter house where every brother of the order without duty had gathered. The novices recognised some of the knights, their tutors: Talhoffer, Ott, Verrakker, even Lehrer was there in his engineered chair, a cloak covering the stumps of his legs. In the centre sat the grand master, Reiksmarshal Kurt Helborg himself, the officers of the order by his side, and by them Delmar saw Griesmeyer, a smile of pride on his lips. Before the assembled order, the novices swore the solemn oaths of fraternity and, one by one, their names were called for the order’s assent.
“Brothers of the Grand Order of the Reiksguard, here stand before us those who would join our ranks. Each one, the eldest son of a most noble family, and able to bear arms. They have proven themselves of sufficient strength in body, mind and spirit. They have sworn to uphold our duties and they have pledged themselves to our cause without doubt, without condition, without restraint. Will you call them brother?”
The eight of them, four Reiklanders, four Provincials, stood as a single squadron. Each man stepped forth when his name was called and, as the order confirmed him, the Reiksguard insignia was placed over his shoulders.
Delmar listened as the knight acclaimed each novice in turn: Alptraum of Averland, Bohdan of Ostermark, Falkenhayn, Gausser of Nordland, Hardenburg, and Siebrecht von Matz. When they reached Proktor, the knights’ shout was so loud that it fair rattled the glass in the windows. Then came his turn.
“Delmar von Reinhardt?” the officer called.
“Aye!” The knights bellowed and cheered their new brothers.
And with that they be
came Reiksguard.
CHAPTER SIX
KRIEGLITZ
While the Emperor had been away, his palace had been in hibernation; once he was back it awoke with a surge of vitality. The Imperial officers returned and reestablished themselves and their staffs in their appointed chambers. Servants bustled from room to room, preparing each so that no matter where the Emperor chose to walk he would find his path furnished and well fragranced against the smell of the city outside. Noblemen flocked back so that they might garner the Emperor’s favour, and the Reiksguard tripled the palace guard to ensure that each of these different groups did not trespass where they should not.
“As part of the palace guard,” Verrakker briefed the new young knights, “you must be ever vigilant, ready at a second’s notice to halt an assassin or an enemy assault. What you will find, however, is that you spend most of your day telling some persistent perfumed fop of a courtier to step back and allow the Emperor his privacy. It is the Emperor’s will when he wishes to make himself available and when he does not. It is their duty to obey, and not to substitute their own wishes for his. No matter who they are. They will all be noblemen and lords, unused to being denied. Some may even try to pull rank over you; if they try they shall not be successful.”
Delmar, Siebrecht and the other young knights laughed.
“And finally, I would remind you all: though it is rarely glorious, being a guard at the palace is one of the most solemn duties within the Reiksguard. A lapse on your part could be the means by which our Emperor is murdered, a civil war erupts and the Empire collapses in flames. So consider that. And then consider that any negligence, any dereliction, any reckless act committed whilst on this duty is considered treason. And guards have, and will continue to be, executed for that crime.”
The problem of protecting the Emperor was made all the more difficult by the Imperial Palace itself. Though the Reikland princes had only been elected to the Imperial throne a hundred years previously, the palace had been built long before. Some even said that part of its structure dated back to the first time Altdorf had been the capital of the Empire, centuries ago. The place itself had been built and rebuilt, extended and redesigned as it had been put to different uses over the years. This rate of expansion only increased when the emperors took occupancy and adapted it to be the principal seat of government. Separate buildings were sited nearby for these purposes and, as the palace grew still further, these buildings were connected and subsumed into the whole. A past Imperial architect had described the result as, “a residence where the differing architectural styles were not so much at odds as in outright conflict”, and had begged the emperor of his day for the funds to build a fresh palace anew. Those funds, once collected, instead were spent quelling a provincial uprising, leading the architect to append to his previous comment the words, “and therefore the palace is as fitting a symbol for the Empire as anything”.
Architectural symbolism aside, this left the palace in some areas full of grand reception halls and elegant apartments, in others a maze of uneven courtyards and twisting passages, and all the more difficult to guard as a result. Exploring the buildings, learning his way around, kept Siebrecht from his thoughts for his first few days on guard. But as the novel quickly became the routine, he found himself brooding again over his friend’s troubles. There was little else to distract him; the courtiers, for all Verrakker’s warnings concerning their tenacity, had learned from grim experience that arguing with the impassive Reiksguarders was at best a waste of breath, and at worst would find them exiled from court after a short stay in the palace’s cells.
The Emperor himself had pared his schedule of public appearances to the bone and made it plain to all that his first, last and only order of business at present was the ongoing conduct of the war, and that he would not entertain any personal applications. Instead, his day was dominated by meetings of the Council of State; the members of that council quickly became familiar faces to Siebrecht and the other young knights. This merely added to Siebrecht’s frustration, however; in the next room from him the most senior members of the government were in discussions that were deciding the future of the Empire, and yet he was stuck outside warding away the unwelcome. The council members themselves treated the knights as little more than pieces of furniture and ignored Siebrecht’s presence even as he stepped smartly aside to let them pass. Siebrecht silently nursed a grievance at such treatment; he was not a servant, he was a noble lord and now a knight of the grandest military order. It was all yet another example of Reiklander arrogance. Yet then he overheard something that cast such petty thoughts from his mind.
“But if he should ask about Karak Angazhar, I would not know what to say.”
The speaker was Baron von Stirgau, Chamberlain of the Seal and the Emperor’s diplomatic advisor. Karak Angazhar was the name of the dwarfen hold that his uncle had mentioned weeks before. Siebrecht had given it little more thought at the time, however now he found it being discussed at the highest levels. Baron von Stirgau quietened his conversation before entering the council chamber, but he had not cared about speaking before Siebrecht, standing immobile beside the entrance. Perhaps there was an advantage to being treated as part of the furniture after all. The council meetings were held in seclusion with the Emperor and even Reiksguard knights were not privy to them; however, Siebrecht could piece together much from what the councillors said privately to each other before they entered and as they left.
“…retreated to the Middle Mountains, our silver mines there are lost…”
“…still no word from Count Feuerbach, and now this scandal in a noble family, Talabheim is on the edge…”
“…last we saw them was Krudenwald, but an army such as that cannot simply disappear…”
“…a dozen more bodies hanging from trees, not that I’d mourn the loss of such scum, but better human scum than that which is replacing them…”
“…who is in power down there. Is it anyone?”
“…the Cult of Sigmar have their own problems at present, I should leave them be…”
Siebrecht absorbed it all, inferred and speculated on what he could. He was missing many of the specifics, but he could gather what desperate straits the Empire was in: three of its grand provinces devastated by the northern war; two more without clear leadership; their recent allies increasingly distracted by their own concerns; a canker was left near its heart, defeated but not destroyed; and money.
“…think the regiments will be disbanded anytime soon, you are much mistaken…”
“…he cannot afford to do it, he cannot afford not to do it…”
“…I do not believe that for a moment…”
“…but where is the money to come from?”
Money needed for the troops; money needed to rebuild walls, roads, cities, farms; and from the sour look upon the face of Chancellor Hochsvoll and the way she uneasily toyed with the rings upon her grasping fingers, it was money the Empire did not have.
But Siebrecht did not hear any further mention of Karak Angazhar until one hot night at the height of summer. Siebrecht was stationed immediately outside the council chamber; council meetings were typically formal, sedate affairs, but this time the voices were raised and Siebrecht could hear them.
“I appreciate the tremendous difficulties of our situation in the north, it only makes it all the more imperative that we secure our border to the south as well.” Siebrecht recognised the voice of Count von Walfen, the Chancellor of Reikland and, it was said, the Emperor’s personal spymaster.
“I do not understand why the dwarfs cannot help themselves,” Chancellor Hochsvoll replied, her tone icy even in this heat.
Baron von Stirgau sought to explain in his distinguished intonation. “The ambassador from the High King has been very open concerning this. Both their strongholds of Barak Varr and Karak Hirn have been besieged; the attackers have been driven off, but at such cost that they cannot send out an expedition to relieve Karak Angazhar.”
/> “If they do not care sufficiently to defend it, why should we?”
“Because of its location, chancellor,” Walfen repeated. “It is at the head of the Upper Reik and no more than a few days’ march from Black Fire Pass. If it should fall, it would be the perfect staging post for all manner of attacks into Averland, all our defences in the pass itself would be outflanked and rendered useless, and we would forever be under the threat of attacks launched down the Reik river itself. The dwarfs would survive it, but we would not. Our southern lifeline could be cut.”
“You mean the trading routes would be cut,” Hochsvoll retorted. “Do not think I am unaware of your interests in that area.”
“The Empire’s interests, do you mean? Or do you consider that the maintenance of healthy, profitable and above all, taxable trading routes to be of no interest to the Imperial coffers?”
“Future revenues are all well and good, but who is going to pay for it now?” Chancellor Hochsvoll retorted.
“It is not money which is the issue,” the bass voice of the Reiksmarshal Kurt Helborg interrupted, “it is men. The army is still needed in the north. Despite what you might hear people say in the streets, the war is still being fought.”
“Could you not simply spare a handful of regiments?” Baron von Stirgau asked.
“No.” The Reiksmarshal’s tone brooked no refusal.
“Well, what about the mercenary armies?” Stirgau continued.
“And who would pay for those?” Hochsvoll began again.
“There are still troops in Averland, Reiksmarshal,” Walfen interceded.
“Averland’s regiments marched north, Wissenland’s as well.”
“I was referring to the Reikland garrisons that we have maintained in Averland these last two years. Since the unfortunate death of Elector Count Leitdorf.”
[Empire Army 01] - Reiksguard Page 13
