Delmar shook his head. “I cannot accept that.”
“Very well,” Siebrecht countered, folding his arms. “In that case, consider this if it gives you comfort. I did myself no harm today in defending you. I did not share the ‘glory’ in taking some ragged, rotting standard, but still I hear my name mentioned.”
Siebrecht got to his feet so as to make his gestures all the grander. “A single knight, standing above his fallen brother, defending him against every foe that approaches; to these Reiksguarders it is the greatest symbol of their noble ideals of brotherhood. Glory is one thing, any knight can gain glory. But brotherhood… that is what they hold as the true virtue of this order. Think of it this way, Delmar; that I knew I would garner far greater renown for myself defending you than I would with the others. And so, though my actions were good, you may disregard my service for my intentions were all for my own reward.”
Siebrecht bowed theatrically and stood over Delmar, willing him to agree. Agree, Delmar, he thought, compromise your precious duty and admit your own self-interest. Prove yourself no better than my uncle, no better than me.
Delmar spoke: “I cannot think that way, brother.”
“I can,” Siebrecht flopped down again, “but sometimes I wish I did not.”
They shared a moment’s peace, broken only by the sound of their friends’ revelry around the preceptor’s fire.
“It sounds to me,” Delmar began, “that your uncle has had great influence over you.”
“As much as your father has had over you.” Siebrecht flicked a rock idly into the flames.
“Perhaps that is true,” Delmar conceded.
“And we cannot escape them. I cannot escape mine because he seems to be wherever I go; and you cannot escape yours because you carry him with you. And everyone who knew him sees him in you.”
“You did not know him though,” Delmar said.
“No. But at times I feel as though I am the only one who does not. Even Gausser has stories of the Reiksguard knight who saved his father’s life. And just this evening, in fact, another knight told me that my rushing to your defence reminded him of Griesmeyer galloping to your father, and that you must inspire the same devotion in your friends that your father did.”
Siebrecht gave a hollow laugh. “It is just my luck, that it is my most noble act that inspired him to think the best of you!”
“What knight was this?” Delmar asked.
“What?”
“The knight who said I reminded him of my father.”
“I don’t know his name,” Siebrecht replied, a little irked at Delmar’s failure to appreciate Siebrecht’s woes. “But you know him, we saw him today. The one with the long beard and the broken nose. He was in Wallenrode’s banner. Wolfsenberger, that is his name.”
“Yes, I remember.” Delmar quickly got to his feet.
“You’re not retiring are you?” Siebrecht asked.
“Yes,” Delmar lied instinctively, but then reconsidered. He would not fool Siebrecht in any case. “I mean, not yet. I am going to look for him.”
“Of course you are,” Siebrecht muttered. “You can carry your father with you as long as wish, Delmar. But sooner or later you will have to accept that the man he was is not the man you are.”
“It is not that. It is…”
“It is what?”
No, Delmar considered, he would not tell Siebrecht of his doubts of his father and Griesmeyer. There were some things that could not be said. They could barely be thought.
“Good night, Siebrecht. Thank you for the wine.”
Siebrecht scoffed and Delmar left. Siebrecht threw another stone on the fire. The noise from around the preceptor had quietened, but there was still no sign of Gausser or the others. His thoughts returned to Delmar and his father. He simply did not understand Delmar’s obsession with one who had died so long ago. Siebrecht could tell him that no matter what he learnt, he would discover nothing about himself that he did not already know.
Taal’s teeth, Siebrecht swore to himself, he could tell Delmar from the bitter experience of knowing his own father that there was no insight to be had there. No, there was no one in his family to whom Siebrecht thought he bore any true resemblance. Not his father, not his younger brother or sisters, and most definitely not his uncle.
“I am encouraged to see that you are making new friends, Siebrecht.” Herr von Matz stepped into the circle around the fire.
Of course, Siebrecht sighed to himself. If you even think his name he shall appear. For once, however, his uncle was alone.
“So where is Twoswords?”
“Twoswords?”
“You bodyguard. Your escort. Your sentinel. Your chaperone. The one with the face only fit for the circus or the zoo.”
“Yes, I understand,” Herr von Matz said, amused. “Twoswords, you call him? How interesting.”
“Not really.” It had been a long, bloody day and Siebrecht was not in the mood for his uncle’s diversions. “What’s his real name?”
“I don’t know.”
Siebrecht blinked. “You don’t know his name?”
“No, you asked if I knew his real name, which I do not. I know the name by which he was introduced to me and how I think of him. But now you say it, Twoswords has a certain ring. I think I shall use it in the future.”
Siebrecht was weary. “Whatever you wish, uncle.” He waved him away, but Herr von Matz instead took it as an invitation to sit.
“I hear you have made something of a name for yourself in the last few days. Besting an ogre single-handed.”
“I was lucky, that was all.”
Herr von Matz peered at his nephew, unimpressed.
“I am not here to praise you, Siebrecht. Risking your life for so little consequence? When I heard of your exploits I could scarce believe my ears.”
Siebrecht could scarce believe his own ears. “What are you saying? That I should not have killed it?”
“I am saying that you should never have put yourself in a position where you had to best an ogre single-handed in the first place. What were there? Near a hundred knights with you? As many dwarfs again?”
Herr von Matz shook his head in dismay at his nephew’s thick-headedness. “I told you before, resist the urge to plunge your chest upon the enemy’s swords. You thought I was a fool back then, didn’t you? But I know better than you think. I’ve seen how these knightly orders instil their doctrine within impressionable young men: the blind devotion to fraternity, the passion for self-sacrifice. That is not to be your destiny, Siebrecht.”
“If that is the case then I find it all the harder to understand why you have placed me with them.”
“Because I believe better of you than you do yourself. I believe you are sharp-witted enough to see past the fiction that entrances the rest.”
“But if I am so important to you, to the family,” Siebrecht exclaimed, giving vent to his bewilderment, “then why expose me to such danger?”
“All life is risk and danger. If you listen to me and do as I say, but still Morr takes you, then I shall weep for you. But if you die because you have stood forwards and taken a blow meant for another, because you have been convinced that your brother’s life is worth more than your own, then I shall not shed a single tear. Let those that crave honour in death seize it; do not let their example blind you as well.”
Siebrecht could not make out his uncle at all. Herr von Matz berated him with concern, bludgeoned him with kindness, to keep him safe.
“Is this all you came for, uncle?”
“No, I have something more interesting for you.” Herr von Matz smiled. All trace of his previous censure dropped away and Siebrecht felt the tendrils of his uncle’s ingenious charm reach out towards him. “It is something of great opportunity for us.”
“By which you mean, of great opportunity for yourself.”
Herr von Matz leaned in close and whispered: “Not at all. Not at all. It is an opportunity for those who would see this c
ampaign concluded in victory and Karak Angazhar freed. Not in weeks, but in days!”
The reflection of the fire danced in his eyes. “Are you one of those, Siebrecht?”
“Of course. What must I do?”
“Not here. Come with me.”
Siebrecht followed his uncle to the northern edges of the camp and the pickets stationed there. Siebrecht thought that his uncle would stop there, for they were far enough out of earshot of any casual eavesdropper, but he did not.
They were challenged from the darkness. Herr von Matz identified himself and the bergjaeger emerged, greeting him like an old friend. Siebrecht saw the glint of the coin pass from his uncle to the sentry. The bergjaeger disappeared back to his hiding place and Herr von Matz beckoned him on.
“Wait, uncle. You cannot mean to go out there now.” He peered warily back down the Dragon’s Jaw. The Reik had returned to its old course and the night made it as black as pitch. It had washed away much of the remnants of the day’s carnage, but only the gods knew what else might be out there, picking over the remains. Only the gods, Siebrecht reflected, and maybe his uncle.
“Come on, Siebrecht. Not much further.”
He felt his uncle’s urging; he should follow him as he wished. After all, he surely had Siebrecht’s best interests at heart. He should just say yes and follow him.
“No,” he said. “No, uncle, I go no further. You see I have learnt one lesson from you at least: I shall not follow any man blindly. Any man, including you.”
Herr von Matz regarded the young knight without expression; his attitude of easy geniality had evaporated. Siebrecht waited. For the first time he found that his uncle could neither fluster nor infuriate him. He felt calm, perfectly calm.
“Very well then,” Herr von Matz began, “I shall attempt to open your eyes.”
“The truth, uncle,” Siebrecht warned.
“Yes. The truth.” Herr von Matz stepped towards his nephew. “Ever since we entered these mountains, my guards and I have been searching for a single piece of information. One fact that will allow the Reiksguard to end this campaign at a stroke. I will not toy with you and ask you to guess what it is.”
“I do not need to guess, uncle. I know. It is the location of Thorntoad’s lair.”
“That it is.” Herr von Matz was impressed. “The Reiksguard does not face a single army of goblins; it faces ten tribes of them, far more used to battling between themselves than cooperating. It is only the sheer force of their leader’s will that keeps their claws from each others’ throats. Remove Thorntoad and you will not need to kill the rest, they will tear each other apart to choose a new leader. And by the time they’re finished, what horde remains will not be worthy of the name and it will be years before they will threaten Karak Angazhar or the Empire again.”
“And you know where it is?” Siebrecht felt his heart pound; his uncle had not lied, this was a great opportunity indeed.
“I am close. I have the name of one who can tell me and, an hour ago, we made contact. I am to go and meet him now, though I do not know what to expect, and so I want you to come with me.”
“What of your men? Won’t they protect you?”
“They will go. They are not far from here.” His uncle leaned in very close to whisper. “But they are not what you think. They are not my protectors, they are my keepers. They serve another master, not me. I cannot be sure what their true orders are. There is no man within a hundred miles of here whom I trust more than I trust you. And so I ask you, my nephew: come with me.”
Faced with such a plea, Siebrecht did not deny him. “I will come.”
Twoswords and the other keepers were, as his uncle had said, close by. They were hidden, quiet, amongst the talus and scree at the base of the Stadelhorn Heights, waiting and watching. Without a word, they fell into step with the knight and his uncle. They were dragging two loads behind them, wrapped in canvas. None of them carried torches or lanterns; instead their compliant dwarf led the way, the starlight more than enough for him.
They struck suddenly into a tunnel burrowed into the heights and emerged in a dry crater. One of the keepers lit a fire at the bottom. It would not be seen far. The keepers shrank away from the light. They were on edge; they knew how exposed they were here and they did not like it.
Herr von Matz, though, stood in the light and Siebrecht stayed with him, though he kept his hand near his weapon. He did not know what kind of man they were to meet out here, but he would have to be exceptional indeed to meet so close to the foe. A foul wind gusted down into the crater for a moment, and then a new range of boulders appeared above them at the crater’s lip. One of them stepped forwards.
It was an ogre. Siebrecht went for his sword.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WOLFSENBERGER
“I do wish you hadn’t done that,” Herr von Matz remarked.
The ogre thundered at them; its folds of muscled flesh, mottled and embedded with hooks and skinning knives, rippled in outrage. Its two meaty hands, each as big as a cannonball, grabbed a pair of wicked blades from the armour plate covering its gut and its huge mouth opened wider and wider as if to swallow them all. A dozen more of its kind rose from the crater’s lip, as if the boulders had stood and were readying to charge.
The keepers drew an assortment of weapons as well, but Herr von Matz stepped in front of them. He stared the ogre in the eye and bawled right back in its face.
The ogre paused; it opened its mouth again and a lower rumble emerged. Herr von Matz replied in a series of grunts, smacking his fist on the ground and on his belly. He turned to his men and indicated for them to lower their weapons. He gave Siebrecht a pointed look and the knight grudgingly sheathed his sword.
Siebrecht watched his uncle and the ogre communicate. The ogre growled, making a noise like an avalanche, and Herr von Matz did the same. He made savage gestures with his hands, just like the ogre. It looked bizarre, the diminutive figure of his uncle “speaking” the ogre’s own language, but it was working. Herr von Matz was making himself understood. He waved at his men and four of them dragged up the heavy sacks. They loosened the threads and opened the canvas, revealing two dead Averland longhorn cattle, taken from the army’s herd.
The ogre peered at the meat and Siebrecht could see it start to salivate. It ripped a leg off one of the cattle and tore into the dripping flesh with its teeth. The other ogres moved into the light, their bodies daubed with warpaint in a variety of different colours. They clustered in behind, sniffing the air and drooling. Their chieftain finished with the leg and threw the remains, still with a fair bit of meat on, over his shoulder, and there was a scuffle to catch it.
The ogre chieftain lifted the carcass and began to chew upon the torso. Though its mouth was full, Herr von Matz began to speak again in that crude language. The ogre initially ignored him, its gaping maw feasting on the first longhorn, then throwing what was left to the others, before starting on the second. As Herr von Matz continued, however, the ogre began to respond. Its voice still rumbled, but it was quieter than before, its actions less violent; the beast was actually listening to what Herr von Matz was saying. The atmosphere of hostile encounter had dissipated, to be replaced by one of negotiation.
Burakk the Craw led his ogres back to their stronghold further up the heights. The human had surprised him. He had simply gone there to eat. They had eaten the scout the human had sent to find the ogres, cutting it up even as it screamed out its message. It had said that more of its kind would be at that place and so Burakk had gone to add them to his gut.
But while he had been eating the cattle, the humans’ words had sunk into him. The deal was simple. Burakk liked simple. Thorntoad made things too complicated. The goblins did not understand how the world worked. Burakk was strong, his ogres were strong. They would take what they wished, and the goblins could fight over what remained.
Burakk had no desire for a dwarfen hole in the ground. That was what the goblins wanted, not he. No, it was time to s
et the world back to how it should be. And the human’s deal was tempting indeed.
Herr von Matz and his keepers retraced their path to the camp. The sad dwarf, who, Siebrecht had noticed, had made himself scarce during the encounter with the ogres, was once more leading the way.
“You must manage your instincts better in future,” Herr von Matz chided his nephew. “We are lucky the Craw did not think you were a real threat otherwise he would have killed us both where we stood. And then where would we be?”
“Dead?” Siebrecht glibly replied. His thoughts were still tangled in confusion and fear, and in such instances his quick tongue answered without him.
“Do not make light of such things,” his uncle warned. “I lost two of my men just trying to get this ogre’s name.”
“Burakk.” Siebrecht had heard his uncle already mention it, though he could barely conceive honouring such a monstrosity with a name of its own.
“Yes, Burakk the Craw. Aptly titled as well. I’ve never seen any creature eat so, but I suppose it is no stranger way of choosing their leaders than ours. I feared that even two full-grown longhorns might not keep his attention for time enough.”
“How can you speak so casually about them, uncle? They’re the enemy,” Siebrecht stated.
“To mercenaries, the only difference between enemy and ally is simply who pays them the most,” Herr von Matz replied.
“They are mercenaries?” Siebrecht had seen mercenaries before, Tileans mainly, in Nuln to sell their services. They typically wore colourful uniforms with outrageous plumes and boasted of their great victories; they were a far cry from the ogres they had just left.
“They were not, but they are now.” Herr von Matz looked at Siebrecht. “Can you work it out? Who they are? Or do I have to spoon-feed you again?”
“Who they are, uncle? They’re ogres! What more is there to know?”
[Empire Army 01] - Reiksguard Page 25
