'You can moan about this posting later, Stefan. I want to get to the embassy before our intoxicated friend sends word ahead.'
'Pah! That drunken fool probably doesn't even remember us by now.'
'Probably not, but it won't hurt to be sure,' said Kaspar. He turned in the saddle to address Kurt Bremen and waved his hand at the three streets ahead.
'You've been here before, Kurt. Which is the quickest way to the embassy?'
The leader of the knights pointed up the central street, 'There. The Goromadny Prospekt leads through the city to Geroyev Square. The embassy is behind the high temple to the wolf god.'
Kaspar laughed. 'Even in their town planning they thumb their noses at us, putting a Sigmarite nation's embassy behind Ulric's temple. Oh, they are sly these Kislevites. Come, let us be on our way. I'm sure Ambassador Teugenheim will be only too happy to see us.'
The wagons and carriage began forcing their way slowly along the Goromadny Prospekt. The streets were thronged with people hurrying about their business, well dressed in warm fur cloaks and woollen colbacks. They were a fierce looking people, saw Kaspar, shorter than most folk of the Empire, but they carried themselves proudly. Here and there he could see grim, swaggering figures clad in armour and furs, reminiscent of the Norse raiders who plagued the coastal settlements on the Sea of Claws. Bremen and the knight with the banner pole parted the sea of scowling Kislevites with their giant destriers, Kaspar and the others following behind.
Lining the gutters and street corners limbless beggars were pleading for a few kopecks, and painted whores hawked their wares with weary resignation. The city reeked of desperation and hopelessness. Much like any city in the Old World these days, reflected Kaspar.
The wars of the past year had brought hardship to all corners of the world and forever changed the landscapes of the Empire and Kislev. Whole swathes of the Ostermark, Ostland and southern Kislev had been laid waste by the march of armies, and famine stalked the land like a hungry killer. Following the calamitous defeat at Aachden, tens of thousands of blood-soaked tribesmen had invested the Empire city of Wolfenburg. The hopes of Kaspar's nation now rested on this grand northern city holding out until winter when the enemy army would freeze and starve. Should it fall before then, the road south to Altdorf would be wide open.
Hordes of refugees, thousands strong, were fleeing south from the armies of the northmen and entire communities were now little more than ghost towns. These were harsh times to be sure, but there was something else as well - an undeniable tension that had nothing to do with the drums of war, as though people did not wish to linger outside any longer than they must. Strange...
A flash of colour further up the street drew his gaze and he saw a gleaming dark green carriage coming from the opposite direction. The design was old fashioned but regal and Kaspar noticed that the Kislevites happily moved clear of this vehicle's path without the grumbling that accompanied his own passage. The lacquered door bore a crest depicting a crown encircling a heart and as the carriage passed, Kaspar caught a glimpse of a woman with raven black hair through the open window. She nodded towards Kaspar and he craned his neck to follow her carriage as it travelled the way they had just come. Soon it was lost to sight, turning a corner to follow the line of the city walls.
He turned his attention back to the street, wondering at the identity of the woman, and sharply pulled back on the horse's reins as a black-robed figure leapt in front of him. The man's garb marked him as one of the Kislev priesthood and his face was lit with an expression of lunacy that Kaspar liked not at all. He touched the brim of his hat respectfully and pulled the horse left to move round the man, but he stepped into Kaspar's way once more. Not wanting any trouble with the local church, Kaspar forced a smile and pulled his horse away again. Once more the priest moved to block his path.
'You will be judged!' he yelled hoarsely. 'The wrath of the Butcherman shall fall upon you! He will cut out your heart for a sweetmeat and your organs will be a banquet for his delight!'
'Ho there, fellow,' snapped Kurt Bremen, riding in front of Kaspar. 'Be about your business. We don't have time to dally with the likes of you. Go on now!'
The priest pointed a long, dirt-encrusted finger at the knight. 'Templar of Sigmar, your god cannot help you here,' he sneered. 'The Butcherman's blade will open your belly just as easily and his teeth will tear the flesh from your bones!'
Bremen drew his sword partly from its scabbard, showing the dirty-faced priest the gleaming blade meaningfully. The man spat on the ground in front of Bremen and turned tail, sprinting nimbly away from the knight. The crowd soon swallowed him up and Bremen let his sword slide back into the scabbard. 'Mad,' he said.
'Mad,' agreed Kaspar and rode on.
The Goromadny Prospekt was a long street, running through the city for almost half a mile, an industrious place where all manner of business was conducted. Stallholders yelled at passers-by as footpads sprinted from their pursuing victims and fur clad citizens travelled back and forth. Most of the men sported shaven heads with some form of elaborate topknot and long, drooping moustache, while the women wore simple woollen dresses with richly embroidered shawls and furred colbacks.
Eventually the street widened into a tavern-lined boulevard, thronged with carousing men who sang martial songs and waved long axes. As Kaspar and his entourage passed, the songs swelled to new heights, the axes brandished threateningly towards the knights. The boulevard continued to widen until it opened into the granite-flagged centre of the city, Geroyev Square. Hulking iron statues of long-dead tzars edged its perimeter, and forming the square were ornate buildings of red stone with high peaked roofs crowned with onion domed towers and narrow windows.
But as spectacular as the buildings around the edge of the square were, they were but pale shadows of the mighty structure that dominated the far side, the palace of the Tzarina, the Ice Queen Katarin the Great. The mighty fortress rose in tier upon tier of white stone towers and colourfully festooned battlements that reached their pinnacle as a great golden dome. Its beauty was breathtaking, like a vast ice sculpture rising from the ground, and Kaspar felt a new respect for the Kislevites. Surely a people that could build such beauty could not all be savages?
Dragging his attention back down to earth, he guided his horse towards the temple of Ulric, a massive edifice of white stone adorned with statues of fierce wolves that flanked the black wooden doors. Knots of bearded, black robed priests stared at them with quizzical glances from its steps.
In the grassed centre of the square a wide corral had been set up with scores of ponies being walked in circles before a baying crowd of prospective buyers. These were plains ponies, sturdy beasts that thrived in the harsh climate of Kislev, but were slower on the gallop than the grain fed horses of the Empire. Even at this distance Kaspar could see that many were sway-backed. He gave none more than six months of useful life.
A narrow street ran along the side of the wolf god's temple, the buildings to either side shrouding it in darkness.
Kaspar waited until his carriage and wagons caught up to him before heading down the deserted looking street. It led into a wide courtyard with a bronze fountain at its centre, a patina of green covering its every surface. A dirty brown liquid gurgled from a small angel's cup, filling the fountain's bowl.
Behind the aged fountain and a rusted iron fence was the embassy of the Empire.
Having read Ambassador Teugenheim's letters on the journey from Nuln, Kaspar had expected the embassy to appear somewhat run down, but nothing had prepared him for the state of neglect and air of abandonment he saw before him now. The building's windows were boarded up with lengths of timber, the stonework cracked and broken, and illegible Kislevite graffiti was daubed across the doors. Were it not for the two guards lounging on halberds, Kaspar would have thought the building deserted.
'Sigmar's hammer!' swore Bremen, appalled at the embassy's appearance. Kaspar could feel his fury mounting towards Andreas Teugenheim, the
man he was to replace. To have allowed an outpost of the Emperor to fall into such a state of disrepair was unforgivable. He rode through the sagging, open gate and as he approached the building, he saw the guards finally register his presence. Kaspar took no small amount of satisfaction from the look of alarm on their faces as they saw the Knights Panther and the Imperial banner fluttering behind him.
Had he not been so angry, he would have laughed at their pathetic attempts to straighten their threadbare uniforms and come to attention. They probably wouldn't yet realise who he was, but must know that anyone distinguished enough to merit an Imperial banner and sixteen Knights Panther for an entourage was clearly a man not to be trifled with.
He halted before the door and nodded towards Kurt Bremen who dismounted and approached the fearful guards. The knight's face was set in a granite-hard expression as he cast his critical eye over the two men.
'You should be ashamed of yourselves.' he began. 'Look at the state of your weapons and armour. I should put you on a charge right now!'
Bremen snatched one of the halberds and tested its nicked and dull edge with his thumb. Blunt.
He held the weapon in front of the guard and shook his head.
'If I were to try and enter this building, how would you stop me?' he bellowed. 'With this? You couldn't cut your way through an Altdorf fog with this edge! And you, look at the rust on that breastplate!'
Bremen spun the halberd and jabbed the butt of the weapon hard against the man's chest. The breastplate was rusted through and cracked like an eggshell.
'You men are a disgrace to the Empire! I shall be having words with your commanding officer. I am relieving you of duty as of this moment.'
The guards withered under his verbal assault, eyes cast down. Bremen turned to his knights and said, 'Werner, Ostwald, guard the door. No one enters until I say so.'
Kaspar dismounted and stood beside Bremen. He jabbed a finger at one of the guards and said, 'You. Take me to Ambassador Teugenheim immediately!'
The man nodded hurriedly and opened the embassy door. As he scurried through, Kaspar turned to Kurt Bremen and said, 'You and Valdhaas come with me. Leave the rest of the men here with the wagons. We have work to do.'
Bremen relayed the orders to his knights and followed Kaspar and the guard inside.
III
THE INTERIOR POSITIVELY reeked of abandonment, the embassy's air of neglect and emptiness even stronger now they were inside. The timber-panelled walls were bare of hangings and the floorboards were discoloured where carpeting had obviously been ripped up. The guard reluctantly ascended a wide staircase that led to the next storey with Kaspar, Bremen and Valdhaas following behind. The man was sweating profusely. Kaspar noted, his every movement furtive and nervous. Like the ground floor, the second level of the embassy had been stripped of furnishings and decoration. They walked along a wide corridor, footsteps loud on the bare boards until finally arriving at an ornately carved door.
The guard pointed at the door and stammered, 'This is the ambassador's study. But he... well, he has a guest. I'm sure he'd rather not be disturbed.'
'Then this really isn't his day,' snapped Kaspar, twisting the handle and pushing the door open. He entered a room as plushly furnished as the rest of the building was empty. One wall was dominated by a huge oaken desk and drinks cabinet while on another, a log fire blazed in a marble fireplace before two expansive leather chairs. Seated in the chairs were two men, one of whom was obviously a Kislevite, with a drooping moustache and swarthy complexion. He was enjoying a snifter of brandy and a cigar and regarded Kaspar and the knights with only mild interest. The second man, whip-thin and dressed in a red and blue doublet sprang from his seat, his face a mask of forced bluster.
'Who in the name of Sigmar are you?' he demanded in a reed-thin voice. 'What the devil are you doing in my private chambers? Get out, damn your eyes, or I shall call for my guards!'
'Go ahead, Teugenheim,' said Kaspar calmly, 'for all the good it will do you. I doubt one in ten of them has a weapon that wouldn't shatter on the armour of these knights here.'
Bremen stepped forward, resting his hand on his sword hilt. Ambassador Teugenheim blanched at the sight of the two fully armoured knights and the pelts over their shoulders. He stole a glance at the seated man and licked his lips.
'Who are you?'
'I'm glad you asked.' said Kaspar, holding out the same wax sealed scroll he had earlier shown to the gatekeeper. 'My name is Kaspar von Velten and this will explain everything.'
Teugenheim took the scroll and broke open the seal, quickly scanning the contents of the document. He shook his head as he read, his lips moving soundlessly.
'I can go home?' he wheezed slowly, sinking into the leather seat.
'Yes. You've been recalled to Altdorf and should leave as soon as your effects can be gathered together. There are dark times coming, Andreas, and I don't think you're up to facing them.'
'No,' agreed Teugenheim, sadly. 'But I tried, I really did...'
Kaspar noticed that Teugenheim kept throwing mournful glances towards the seated figure and turned his attention to the large man, asking, 'Sir, would you be so good as to give me the pleasure of your name?'
The man rose from the chair and Kaspar suddenly realised how huge he was. The man was a bear, broad shouldered and slab muscled. His gut was running to flab, but his physical presence was undeniable. Bremen moved closer to Kaspar and stared threateningly at the man, who grinned indulgently at the knight.
'Certainly. I am Vassily Chekatilo, a personal friend of ambassador.'
'I am the ambassador now and I have never heard of you, Chekatilo. So unless you have some business with me, then I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave.'
'You talk big for a little man.' rumbled Chekatilo. 'Especially when you have shiny soldiers with you.'
'And you are a fat man who doesn't understand simple requests.'
'Now you are insulting me.' laughed Chekatilo.
'Yes,' said Kaspar, 'I am. Do you have a problem with that?'
Chekatilo grinned and leaned in closer, 'I am not man who forgets insults, von Velten. I can be good friend to those who remember that. It would be foolish of you to make enemy of me.'
'Are you threatening me in my own embassy?'
'Not at all... ambassador.' smiled Chekatilo, draining the last of his brandy and taking a huge draw on his cigar. He blew the smoke into Bremen's face and laughed as the knight spluttered in the blue cloud. He dropped the cigar butt and crushed it into the carpet with his boot.
Kaspar stepped closer to Chekatilo and hissed, 'Get out of my embassy. Now!'
'As you wish.' said Chekatilo. 'But I warn you, I am powerful man in Kislev. You do well not to forget that.'
Chekatilo pushed past Kurt Bremen towards the door and sketched a mocking salute to him before departing with a derisory laugh. Kaspar fought down his anger and turned to Valdhaas, pointing at Teugenheim.
'Escort Ambassador Teugenheim to his chambers and have your squires assist him in packing his effects. He will remain here until we can arrange his transport back to Altdorf.'
The knight saluted and indicated that Teugenheim should follow him.
Teugenheim rose from his chair and said, 'I don't envy you this posting, von Velten. This place is a haven for beggars and thieves, and there are so many excesses and disorders that after sunset nobody dares venture abroad without sufficient company.'
Kaspar nodded and said, 'It is time for you to go, Andreas.'
Teugenheim smiled weakly, 'As the lord Sigmar wills it.' and followed the Knight Panther from the room.
Kaspar slumped down in one of the chairs and rubbed his forehead with both hands. Bremen stood beside the fireplace and removed his helm, tucking it in the crook of his arm.
'Now what, ambassador?'
'We get this place back on its feet and make it a post worthy of the Empire. War is coming and we must be ready for it.'
'Not an easy task.'
/> 'No,' agreed Kaspar, 'but that's why they sent me here.'
IV
NIGHT WAS FALLING as Kaspar put aside his quill and carefully reread the words he had just written. Judging the tone to be erring on the correct side of caution he dusted sand over the ink before folding the letter carefully and sealing it with a blob of red wax. He pressed a stamp with the imprint of a twin-tailed comet into the soft wax and set the letter to one side.
He pushed back the chair, rising stiffly from behind the desk and walking to the window to stare down into the street below. Tomorrow one of the Knights Panther would deliver his missive to the Winter Palace, requesting an audience with the Ice Queen and the opportunity to present himself with a formal introduction. He just hoped that whatever damage Teugenheim had done in his time as ambassador would not prejudice the Tzarina against him.
His exact knowledge of what had gone on in Kislev was limited, though, given the state of the embassy and its emptied coffers, it seemed clear that Chekatilo had been extorting Teugenheim or otherwise blackmailing him. Andreas Teugenheim should never have been appointed to Kislev, it was a war posting and the man had neither the temperament nor the strength for such a position.
With armies on the move throughout the Old World, men of courage and steel were needed to fight the coming battles, and the powers that be in the court of Altdorf had decided that Teugenheim had neither. The first blow of any real invasion of the Empire would have to come through Kislev and thousands of his countrymen would soon be marching north towards this desolate, wind-blown country. Men who understood war would be needed to ensure that they were able to fight alongside the Kislevites and Kaspar knew his years of service in the armies of Karl-Franz made him an ideal candidate for this posting. Or at least he hoped he did. The art of war he could understand, but the subtleties and etiquette of courtly life were a mystery to him.
Years before, Kaspar's wife, Madeline, had made sure he was a regular visitor to the royal court at Nuln. She understood better than he the value of the Countess-Elector Emmanuelle von Liebewitz's patronage and, despite his protestations, dragged him to every one of her legendary masked balls and parties. His tales of battle and life on the campaign trail always thrilled the effete courtiers and made him a popular, if reluctant, guest at the palace.
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