[Empire Army 01] - Reiksguard

by Richard Williams - (ebook by Undead)

  As he brooded on such thoughts, the noise of his comrades’ discussions around him began to intrude. None of them could stop talking about the events of the day; those with whom the Emperor had shared a few words repeated them endlessly to anyone who would listen, and everyone spoke of how they now had a far greater insight into the man because of the way he had looked into their eyes. As with all such events, though, there was always one speaker driven more by his personal concerns.

  “Here’s what I do not comprehend,” Hardenburg grumbled as he pulled his sabatons from his aching feet, “why are we barracked so far from the palace? I swear I can see the heat shimmer from my foot. Look at this.” Hardenburg pushed his foot at Proktor who scowled and quickly retreated from the offending object. “They should have built our chapter house right beside it. Then we would not have to trudge there and back for every occasion.”

  “If you did not have to gawk at every pair of peaches on display then we could march all the faster,” Proktor snipped.

  “Ah,” Hardenburg sighed, “but how can I resist when in this heat they do swell so delightfully?”

  “You’re disgusting, Hardenburg.”

  “For your opinions, brother, I do not give a fig.”

  “I do not give a fig for what you think either,” Proktor retorted.

  “Keep your fig then, I say. Though I should be heartily surprised if you ever find a lady to accept it.”

  Some of the other knights laughed at that and Hardenburg bowed ostentatiously. Flustered, Proktor looked imploringly to Falkenhayn, but his friend was enjoying his embarrassment as well.

  “Ya, he makes his point,” said Bohdan, stirring from the other side of the room. “In case of sudden attack or riot, we should be close to the Emperor’s side. In Ostermark, when the night closes in, a guard should be with his master. Out of sight…” Bohdan shook his head. “One can never be sure what is out there.”

  “Who can say?” Falkenhayn spoke up, resenting the Ostermarker’s intrusion in their conversation. “Most likely there was not space in the palace when the order was founded.”

  “Perhaps then you do not recall the palace well, brother.” Bohdan’s thick accent only added to the contempt in his voice. “Your many absences from sentry duties must have blunted your recollection.”

  Falkenhayn’s anger rose at the impertinence, but Hardenburg was quicker.

  “More likely the Emperor wanted distance from our stables,” he said, chortling at his own wit. He addressed Delmar, “Brother Reinhardt will tell you what a noxious place they are, for he spends more time there than anywhere else.”

  Delmar did not wish to be drawn into the conversation, but he would not shy from it. He stepped in between them to hang his breastplate upon the rack. “It does not become you to be so discourteous, my brother,” he admonished Hardenburg lightly. Delmar turned to Bohdan: “And your concern is proper, my friend, for the protection of the Emperor is our highest duty. What are we if we cannot protect him? But it is not so very far between here and there. We have sentries there to counter smaller threats and, in case of larger, they know to raise the alarm. The whole order then can ride, and any besieger who threatens our Emperor’s life will quickly find himself surrounded. So for any such assault to succeed, the foe would have to stop up two locations instead of one, divide and weaken their forces. It is sound doctrine.”

  The proud Ostermarker held Delmar’s gaze for a few moments, then nodded his approval. That satisfied them all; even Hardenburg had no glib response. Falkenhayn allowed himself to be calmed, and in greater peace they set back to unfastening their armour.

  “It is in case the Reiksguard ever turn on their Emperor,” Siebrecht spoke up from the corner. “So that he will have at least some fortification between him and his guard.”

  The room went deathly quiet. Falkenhayn drew breath to erupt, but Delmar stilled him with a gesture.

  “Repeat what you said,” Delmar told Siebrecht.

  Siebrecht looked up from his half-unfastened greave. He had said it as an off-hand comment. The thought had struck him and gone to his mouth without his mind intervening. He could take the words back easily, but then he saw the expression on Delmar’s face: the intense seriousness in the broad, open features, the furrowing of his brow in disapproval. It was all Siebrecht could do not to laugh at how ridiculous he looked.

  Instead he stood and readied himself. If this was to happen, then let it happen here.

  “Brothers!” Verrakker shouted, appearing at the door. “What are you all doing still half-armoured? You are all tardy. Wasting your day with talk, no doubt. I should rip your tongues out! Back to your task. In silence! Not another word from any of you. I can’t cut your tongues, but I can cut your wine. Yes, Brother Matz, I thought that would catch your attention. Back to it!”

  Verrakker glared at them all, his hand twitching as his drummed his non-existent fingers in impatience. The knights quickly bent themselves back to their armour, obedient Delmar amongst them. Siebrecht slowly breathed out, and relaxed his grip on the heavy metal arm-guard he was holding behind his back to knock Delmar senseless.

  “Daemon’s breath,” Bohdan swore as they left, “what ever possessed you to say such a thing?”

  Siebrecht shrugged. “But am I wrong though?” Siebrecht turned to the Nordlander striding beside them, “Am I wrong, Gausser?”

  “That is not important.”

  “It’s important to me!”

  “Matz! Matz!” The knights heard the steps of someone running up behind them. It was Proktor. He halted in front of them.

  “Siebrecht von Matz,” he started formally, “my brother Delmar von Reinhardt requires an apology from you, for the offence you have caused the order.”

  “Tell me, Proktor,” Siebrecht rounded on him, “is this Reinhardt or is this your precious Falkenhayn speaking through him?”

  Proktor looked stricken for a moment and then recovered. “I do not know what you refer to, I come from Reinhardt as one of his seconds.”

  “One of his seconds?” Siebrecht replied in disbelief. “He wishes to duel over this?”

  “No duels, no duels…” Alptraum said, mimicking the long-departed Weisshuber.

  Proktor ignored the Averlander. “He does not wish to, but he is prepared to do so if you refuse.”

  “Siebrecht…” Gausser began.

  “Damn his blinkered arrogance then!” Siebrecht spat. “I will not apologise for Reinhardt’s propensity for self-deception! As he is so eager to style himself the order’s champion then he will have to prove his ability. Tell him I will meet him outside the western city gate.”

  Proktor reeled slightly from Siebrecht’s fierce response. “At what time?”

  “Now!” Siebrecht growled at him. Proktor hurried away. It was too much. It was all too much. Months of training with these insufferable Reiklanders, enduring their pomposity and righteous belief in their born right to lead. Then Krieglitz and the cold calculating stare of that knight Griesmeyer, with whom Delmar had been so sickeningly proud of having an association. Now this?

  “Siebrecht…” Gausser began again, with a tone of warning.

  “No, Gausser,” Siebrecht defied him. “It is enough. You may be with me, or you may walk away, but do not try to stop me. You had your crack at Reinhardt and you couldn’t keep him down. But I will have a sword in my hand. Let me see him defy that.”

  Duels between brothers of the order were forbidden; discipline was a cornerstone of the Reiksguard’s effectiveness and discipline could not be maintained with brothers drawing their swords upon each other in anger. Instead, the order had developed a very formal process to resolve accusations. It was designed particularly to draw the heat from any disagreement and to emphasise the order’s fraternity, to ensure that hundreds of proud noblemen, used to their own way, could live together in close quarters without killing each other. The weight and slow deliberation of this system, however, made it all the more attractive for hot-blooded young knights
to settle their grievances quickly and physically. Though the order’s jurisdiction extended to its knights wherever they were, such combats were always arranged outside the city walls to avoid interruptions and, should injuries result, they could be blamed upon a sudden attack by brigands or a beastkin warband.

  “Matz has brought this all upon himself, brother,” Falkenhayn assured Delmar as the Reiklanders pushed their way through the streets, still crowded from the Emperor’s inspection earlier in the day. “From the very beginning he has treated the order with the utmost contempt. The drinking sessions, his rudeness to our masters, and remember Krieglitz and him? As thick as thieves, and look now what we know about that family.

  “Who is he anyway? He’s been a Reiksguard knight a few weeks, never stood in a battle line, and he thinks it’s his place to spit on the order’s name and drag it through the mud. He thinks it’s his place to tell us, when our families have served faithfully for generations?” Falkenhayn shook his head in exasperation. “It is more than a quarrel, brother, it is your duty to teach this wastrel some respect before it is too late.”

  Siebrecht and Gausser were waiting for them outside the gate, and the group moved a distance away from the crush of wagons trying to enter or exit the city. Once they were far enough away, Delmar nodded at Proktor.

  “Brother Reinhardt gives you one last chance to apologise for your offence,” Proktor announced.

  Siebrecht, in reply, held his pinky finger on which he wore his signet ring up at Delmar.

  “He knows what he can do,” he smirked. “Tell Brother Reinhardt he has one last chance to apologise for his idiocy.”

  Delmar had not wished to fight before, he had merely wanted Siebrecht to take back his words, but now nothing could divert him from this course. This was not Griesmeyer, this was not his father, this was simple. He was right and Siebrecht was wrong.

  They strode away from the western gate in silence until they reached the tree-line and were concealed from the road. They found a suitable clearing and the two parties retired to either side to ready themselves. At one end, Falkenhayn continued to feed Delmar gleeful encouragement: “He’s quick, don’t forget, brother. He’ll feint most likely; do not allow him to draw your guard. Keep pressing him back, get him close and you’ll have him!”

  Delmar heard him, but needed no words to inspire him. The sight of Siebrecht’s face and his permanently self-satisfied expression were all the encouragement he required.

  At the other end, Gausser was less supportive: “This is truly what you wish, brother? For your family? For your name? For your life?”

  “My life? My life is in no danger. It is Reinhardt’s you should concern yourself with, for he can never best me with the blade.”

  “That is not my meaning,” Gausser scowled.

  As much as he could lie to Gausser, Siebrecht could not lie to himself. Though he felt his body energised for the upcoming fight, he could not deny that, underneath, he was exhausted. The drink from the night before, the lack of sleep, then to spend the whole day at attention, roasting in the sun. His mouth was dry, his hands were clammy; he drew his sword and held it out, and could see the blade shake in his grip. If he could not finish the fight in the first few strokes, then may the gods lend him strength, for he would have none left himself.

  On the other side, Delmar drew his own sword and held it ready. He did not nervously practise a few swings, nor fearfully take up a guard before it was time. He was just ready. Watching him, Siebrecht’s treacherous mind flicked back to that day before Master Ott, where Delmar had taken all that Gausser could dole out and still refused to give in; and then Siebrecht recalled the story of Delmar and his battle against the beastmen. Siebrecht had assumed that such stories were like those he told of himself, each one consisting of a grain of truth well fermented in bravado. But what if Delmar’s stories had all been true? Gods, Siebrecht realised, just how far had he underestimated this Reiklander?

  Proktor stepped into the middle of the clearing and asked one last time if Siebrecht would apologise. Siebrecht, focused upon Delmar, curtly shook his head. It didn’t matter. It was too late now anyway.

  “Then let it begin!” Proktor announced and stepped away.

  Siebrecht never even saw the blow. The fist struck him in the side of his face with all the power of a cannon. His vision exploded and went black; he did not even feel himself hit the forest floor. His eyes fluttered open for a moment and he saw his attacker standing over him.

  “Gausser?” he mouthed.

  Gausser stepped away from him, stretching his fist. On the other side of the clearing Delmar watched, astonished, as the Nordlander then drew his sword and took up a ready stance.

  “What trickery is this?” Falkenhayn cried beside him.

  “No trickery,” Gausser replied. “If a fighter cannot fight, then his second takes his place.”

  Falkenhayn started to protest again, but Delmar cut him off.

  “Step away, Gausser. My quarrel is not with you.”

  “That cannot be done, Reinhardt.” The huge Nordlander did not move an inch.

  “Our families are linked, Theodericsson. Not by blood, but by battle.”

  “That I know.”

  “Our fathers fought, side by side, comrades-in-arms against your foe. I ask you… on that bond… step back.”

  Siebrecht clambered back to his feet. “I will be considered no coward, who will not fight for himself. Where did my sword go? Give me that blade, Gausser. I do not need you to stand before me…”

  Gausser smoothly turned around and punched him hard above the stomach. Siebrecht’s eyes bulged out of their sockets and he slowly folded up into a ball on the ground, struggling for breath.

  Delmar stared in disbelief. “What are you doing? What has he done for you that you protect him so?”

  Gausser slowly shook his head. “You do not understand. Matz is my friend, yes. My brother. I would not see him hurt. But I do not do this for him. I do this for you, Reinhardt. I do this to honour your father, and to honour mine. You do not know it, what I can see. You do not know it, but you are the best of us. You are not the strongest; you are not the fastest; but you are the bravest. Before, you stood up against me for your friend, knowing you would most likely lose. You hold firm in your convictions against those who try to turn you from the true path of the knight. I have seen you with your family and you are the stone that they build themselves upon.”

  “But this…” Gausser continued on, gesturing at the swords, at Siebrecht, and everything around them. “This is not bravery. Your comrade here, your brother, is hurting. Not in his body, but in his mind, in his spirit. You can hurt him more if you wish; you can kill him, easily. But is that a brave act? Is that what a brave man does for his brother in need? I do this for you, Reinhardt. We will fight. You will vent your anger upon me, as you once allowed me to do upon you. We will fight until we drop. Then we will be friends again. And you will go forth from this place without the wound to your soul that you would inflict if you fought your poor brother here. And then, when you see in yourself what I see, you will still have the chance to become the knight you should be.”

  No one spoke. No one had ever thought that Gausser could speak for so long, and with such power.

  “Theodericsson Gausser,” Delmar finally began, his voice suddenly weak. “You have shamed me. Your words have… No… I have shamed myself. I cannot fight you. And if you do not stand aside I cannot fight him either. And in this circumstance, I find my anger is now dissolved. All it leaves behind is the lesson you taught me here today.”

  Delmar sheathed his sword. With his head bowed, he walked out from the woods. Falkenhayn met Gausser’s steady gaze for a moment, then he ran after and Proktor after him.

  “That cannot be it,” Falkenhayn exclaimed. “The savage and the slanderer are standing there and you are just going to run away like a coward?” Falkenhayn took a hold on Delmar’s shoulder to stop him.

  Delmar halted. Falkenh
ayn, despite himself, edged away. Delmar looked deep into his eyes and said in final tones: “Do not touch me again.”

  With that he walked out from under the trees and back into the sun.

  * * *

  The Wilhelm Gate of the citadel opened, and once more the Grand Order of the Reiksguard processed through. There were crowds to see them go, but they were quiet, more respectful, for the knights were marching to campaign. Their route had been cleared for them and so they proceeded without interference through the city, past the Imperial Palace and down to the river. The supplies they would need had been loading aboard their boats since first light; they would travel even quicker than the knights could on land and so would be ready for them when they stopped at night.

  As they crossed the bridge, Siebrecht, a welt of a bruise upon his cheek, deftly removed a gold crown from his belt and tossed it high out over the water. Gausser looked in askance at his bizarre behaviour.

  “Settlement of a wager,” Siebrecht replied.

  Gausser, who understood when words were needed and when words were not, decided not to inquire further. Instead, he checked his distance a fraction from the knight riding in front of him, and returned his attention to the magnificent sight of the Grand Order of the Reiksguard marching to war.

  PART TWO

  “On this day, I counted how long we have endured the grobi’s siege, for I thought we may have reached one hundred days. I searched out our records, their runes freshly marked, but could find no date for its commencement. I spoke to the king, but he said that I should dig for the answer myself.

  “I stood at the guard post in the western tunnels, but the grobi launched no attack today. When my watch was done I returned to my endeavour. I found the date that Thorntoad first attacked our patrols. I found the date the last trading boat reached us unmolested. I found the date we retreated from the hold of find Urbaz north of the pass, the date our settlers were recalled from the highland meadows, the date we closed our gates and tunnels against our foes outside. But none of these was called the start of the siege.