Blackhearts: The Omnibus

by Nathan Long

  ‘And that was it,’ said Gutzmann dryly.

  ‘Yes, my lord. Middenheim held, and Archaon’s army was dispersed.’

  Gutzmann snorted again. ‘And Altdorf calls it a great victory.’

  ‘Your pardon, my lord?’

  ‘The Empire was saved not by the reincarnation of Sigmar or the might of Karl-Franz’s knights, or the much vaunted Company of Light, but by an orc warboss and an undead sorcerer.’

  Reiner coughed. ‘Er, they may have been in at the end, my lord, but the brave defensive actions of the men of Ostland and Middenland that kept the hordes at bay cannot be discounted. Middenheim would surely have fallen without them.’

  ‘And if they were well led,’ cried Gutzmann, ‘the hordes would never have reached Middenheim at all! How many men died unnecessarily because our hide-bound counts continue to think that the only way to defeat an enemy is to fight him head to head, no matter the circumstance? If they hadn’t insisted on swinging Sigmar’s hammer at targets better slain with a stiletto, it might have been over in weeks, not months.’

  ‘My lord,’ said Reiner, annoyed in spite of himself. Gutzmann might well be the tactician he thought himself, but he hadn’t faced the hordes. He hadn’t stood toe-to-toe with a Kurgan warrior. Reiner had. ‘My lord, they were a hundred thousand strong. And the smallest of them as big as two normal men.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Gutzmann. ‘A hundred thousand titanic men who must eat pounds of food every single day to keep up their strength.’ The general leaned in, eyes gleaming. ‘Tell me. You fought them. Did you notice their supply lines? Were they victualled from some northern stockpile?’

  Reiner laughed. ‘No, my lord. They were barbarians. They had no supply lines. They barely had an order of march. They raped the lands they moved through for their dinner.’

  Gutzmann jabbed a finger at Reiner. ‘Exactly! So, if one of our noble knights, our paragons of martial virtue, had had the forethought to harvest all the crops and slaughter all the game in Archaon’s path, then burned the farms and forests before he reached them?’ He banged the table with his palm. ‘The northmen would have starved on their feet before they were halfway from Kislev, or more likely fallen to eating each other, the savages. Either way, they would have reduced their numbers considerably with almost no losses on our side. Instead Todbringer and von Raukov sent hastily equipped, unprepared forces against them, which, though they may have slowed them down, also fed their cooking pots and kept them strong.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘The knights of the Empire so love their tests of arms that they sometimes think that it is better to fight without winning than it is to win without fighting.’

  Reiner was no student of military science. He had no idea if Gutzmann’s theories would pass muster with other generals, but they sounded sensible.

  Gutzmann shook his head. ‘It is madness that I should have been sent here while Boecher and Leudenhof and fools of that calibre were sent to defend the Empire in its darkest hour.’

  Commander Shaeder leaned forward, eyes anxious. ‘But of course we must do as the Emperor bids us, my lord. Certainly he knows better than we how best to defend our homeland.’

  ‘It wasn’t Karl-Franz who banished me!’ snapped Gutzmann. ‘It was that hen-house of Altdorf cowards who were so afraid of my victories in Ostermark that they imagined I would break it from the Empire and crown myself its king. As if I would ever do anything to harm the land I love.’

  ‘Then why,’ said a captain of pike from down the table, ‘do you turn your back on that land?’

  ‘None of that!’ barked Shaeder, glaring at the captain. ‘You forget yourself, sir.’ A few of the cavalry officers slid nervous glances toward Reiner. Reiner’s heart pounded. What was this? This sounded exactly the sort of thing Manfred had asked him to look out for.

  ‘I do not turn my back on the Empire,’ said Gutzmann quietly. ‘It turns its back on me.’ His mouth twisted into a sneer of disgust. ‘I wonder sometimes if it would notice if I were gone.’

  The table fell silent. Gutzmann looked around, as if only now remembering where he was.

  He laughed suddenly, and waved a hand. ‘But enough of hypothetical. This should be a merry occasion.’ He turned to Reiner. ‘Come, sir. What are the new songs in Altdorf and Talabheim? What do they play on the stage? We are starved for culture here in the hinterlands. Will you sing for us?’

  Reiner nearly choked on his wine. ‘I’m afraid I am no singer, sir. You would be hungrier for culture when I finished than when I started.’

  Gutzmann shrugged. ‘Very well.’ He turned to the hall. ‘Anyone else? Will any of the new men give us a song?’

  There was a long pause as the recruits squirmed uncomfortably. But at last Karel stood, knees shaking.

  ‘Er.’ He swallowed, then began again. ‘Er, if my lords would care to hear a ballad, there is one that the ladies ask for at the moment.’

  ‘By all means, lad,’ said Gutzmann. ‘We are all ears.’

  Karel coughed. ‘Very good, my lord. Er, it is called, “When will my Yan come home?”’

  Reiner braced himself for the worst, but after a few more hesitations Karel stood straight and began singing in the voice of a Shallyan choir boy; high and pure. The room sat silent and rapt as he sang the story of the farm girl waiting for her lover to come back from the war in the north, only to have him return on the shoulders of six of his friends, dead from a poisoned arrow. It was a heartbreaking song, sung with a heartbreaking sweetness, and when at last the farm girl decided to wed her lover in death by scratching herself with the arrow that killed him, Reiner saw many a knight dabbing his eye.

  It only seemed to make Gutzmann angry, though he masked it well. ‘A beautiful song, lad. But how about something jolly now. Something to lift our hearts.’

  After a moment’s thought Karel broke into a song about a rogue brought to ruin by a false nun, which had the whole hall singing along by the second chorus, and after that the atmosphere became relaxed and the conversation turned to light topics and filthy jests.

  Towards the end of the meal, when pudding laced with brandy had been served and Gutzmann was involved in a loud conversation with some knights to his right about tent-pegging contests of yore and who had fallen and who had broken an arm or leg, Captain Shaeder leaned toward Reiner.

  ‘You must forgive General Gutzmann,’ he murmured. ‘He is a passionate man, and the inaction of this posting frustrates him. But we are all loyal men here.’ He laughed stiffly. ‘If the general had a few more years, he would understand that no post is less important than another. And there are many who would be happy with any post at all.’

  ‘Very true, commander,’ said Reiner. ‘And I took no offence, fear not.’

  Shaeder inclined his head, nearly dipping his beard in his pudding. ‘You ease my mind, sir.’

  AFTER THE MEAL was done, Matthais volunteered to lead Reiner to his quarters, apologizing that he must bunk in a tent outside the north wall, rather than the pistoliers’ barracks within the fort.

  ‘We are too full at the moment,’ he said.

  ‘Aye,’ said Reiner. ‘I noticed. Don’t quite understand why. The way you described our situation there doesn’t seem the need for so many men.’

  ‘Er, yes, well…’ Matthais coughed, suddenly awkward. ‘I believe I mentioned before some trouble in Aulschweig?’

  ‘Aye. Infighting amongst the rulers or some such.’

  Matthais nodded. ‘Exactly. Younger brother wants older brother’s throne. The usual Border Princes’ nonsense. But there’s a danger of it coming to a boil presently. The younger brother is Baron Caspar Tzetchka-Koloman, a blow-by who has a castle just the other side of the border. The older is Prince Leopold Aulslander. Altdorf wants Leopold to remain in power, as he is the more stable and level-headed of the two, so we may have to intervene if Caspar makes his play. Thus, extra troops.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Reiner. ‘All becomes clear.’ Or did it, he wondered. Matthais’s explanation made se
nse, but the angry pike captain’s outburst at the dinner table still rang in Reiner’s ears.

  ‘At least you’ll have a tent to yourself,’ said Matthais, ‘if that’s any consolation.’

  Reiner’s heart leapt, all thoughts of intrigue gone. Alone with Franka? ‘Oh, I think I will manage.’

  Matthais had been laughing and merry as they left the hall, but now, as they walked through the fort in the cold night air, the young knight lowered his voice. ‘Er, I hope you read no treason in General Gutzmann’s words tonight, corporal.’

  ‘Not at all, Matthais,’ said Reiner. ‘His seems a reasonable enough complaint, considering the circumstances.’

  Matthais nodded earnestly. ‘Then you understand his frustration?’

  ‘Of course,’ Reiner replied, pretending the sort of bluff courage he knew lancers of Matthais’s kidney valued. ‘Any man would be disappointed to be kept so far from the front.’

  ‘But you see the unfairness of it,’ the youth pressed as they exited through the north gate. ‘The deliberate slight. The danger into which the Empire was placed because of fear and favouritism.’

  Reiner hesitated. Matthais’s eyes were shining with almost religious fervour. ‘Oh, aye,’ he said at last. ‘A damned shame. Absolutely.’

  The young captain grinned. ‘I knew you’d see it. You’re a bright fellow, Reiner. Not a stubborn old fool.’ He looked up. ‘Ah. Here we are, your canvas castle.’

  He reached for the tent flap, but it opened from within.

  Franka bowed in the opening. ‘I have laid out your things, my lord.’

  Matthais nodded approvingly. ‘You’re wise to bring a valet from home. I’ve had to make do with a local boy. Horrible fellow. Steals my handkerchiefs.’ He executed a clipped bow. ‘Goodnight, corporal. Good luck with your new duties tomorrow. You’ll like Vortmunder. He’s a bit of a Kossar, but it’s all bluster.’

  ‘Thank you, captain. Goodnight,’ said Reiner, returning the bow, then letting the flap drop.

  He waited for Matthais’s footsteps to fade, then turned to Franka, grinning. ‘Ha! Alone at last. I have been waiting the last four months for this moment.’

  ‘And you will wait yet another three, my lord,’ she replied tartly. ‘For my vow is as strong here as it was in Altdorf.’

  Reiner sighed. ‘But we have the opportunity now! In three months we might be on the march, or trapped in Manfred’s town-house again, with no chance for privacy.’

  ‘It will only make it the sweeter when the time comes.’

  ‘Bah!’ Reiner started unlacing his jerkin. Then he stopped and looked back at Franka. He smirked. ‘Unlace me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You are my valet, are you not? Unlace me.’

  Franka rolled her eyes. ‘You wish to continue the charade out of the public eye?’

  ‘And why not. It will keep us from slipping when we are in company.’

  Franka scowled. ‘My lord, you seek to cozen me.’

  ‘Not at all. I don’t ask to unlace you, do I?’

  Franka snorted. ‘Very well, my lord. As my lord wishes.’ She stepped forward and began tugging roughly at his laces.

  ‘Easy, lass,’ Reiner laughed, as he fought to stand still. ‘You’ll scuttle me.’

  ‘“Lass”,’ my lord?’ said Franka, ripping open his last stays. ‘You call your valet “lass”? My lord’s eyes are failing, perhaps.’ She grabbed his collar and began yanking it down from his shoulders.

  ‘Franka… Franz… you…’ With his arms trapped in his sleeves Reiner couldn’t keep his balance. He staggered and fell. Franka tried to catch him, but instead went down with him, tipping the cot over. They ended in a muddle of blankets, the light wood frame on top of them.

  Franka flailed a slap at him, laughing. ‘You did that a’purpose!’

  ‘I didn’t!’ Reiner cried. ‘You were too rough, sir!’

  He caught her wrist to stop another slap and suddenly they were in one another’s arms, clinging desperately and kissing deeply. They moaned their desire, their hands moving feverishly. Reiner rolled to pull her on top of him, but Franka broke away with a sob.

  Reiner sat up. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I am sorry, captain,’ she said, hiding her face. ‘I do not mean to tease, but I am not as strong as I pretend. This is why I beg you so not to press me. For it would take so little to make me give in, and then I could never forgive myself.’

  Reiner sighed and pulled her head to his chest. ‘Ah Franka, I…’

  There were feet approaching the tent. ‘Corporal Meyerling!’ came a voice. ‘Are you within?’ It was Karel.

  Reiner and Franka leapt up like guilty schoolboys. Reiner tore off his jerkin and tossed it to Franka. ‘Here, take this and put it away. And dry your eyes. Hurry.’

  Franka turned to Reiner’s travel chest as Reiner righted the cot and piled the blankets on top of it. ‘Come in,’ he called. Karel ducked through the flap, his saddle-bags and armour over his shoulders.

  ‘Corporal Ziegler?’ said Reiner.

  ‘They are overbooked, corporal,’ Karel said, smiling. ‘Thought they had more tents, but they didn’t. I said you wouldn’t mind if I bunked with you.’

  Behind him Franka made a barking noise that might have been a sneeze, but probably wasn’t.

  Reiner ground his teeth. ‘Not at all, sir. Not at all. Come in. Take the other cot.’ He glared at Franka. ‘Franz will sleep on the floor.’

  FOR OBVIOUS REASONS, Reiner found it difficult to fall asleep that night, and so while Karel snored happily on his cot, and Franka slept curled in her bedroll, Reiner sat outside the tent, wrapped in his blankets, staring at the stars.

  Part of him cursed Karel’s inopportune interruption. Part of him thanked him. Reiner had no wish to hurt Franka, but whenever he was in her presence, the urge to crush her to him was overwhelming, and he forgot all promises and honour. Three months! Blood of Sigmar, he might explode by then!

  A movement to his left caught his eye. He craned his neck. Three figures were slipping through the tents toward the north road. They all wore long cloaks with hoods pulled far forward to hide their faces.

  Reiner frowned. The men might of course have a perfectly innocent reason for being abroad at this hour. A patrol, perhaps. And it was cold. They might wear cloaks to keep warm, but something in the furtiveness of their movements spoke of some dark purpose.

  So much cheer on the surface of this place, Reiner thought, sitting back. The games, the songs, the love the soldiers had for their commander. But things stirred in the depths. Both Matthais and Shaeder had tried subtly to discover how Reiner felt about Gutzmann. Was he sympathetic to the general’s frustrations, or did he believe the Empire right in all things? Strange—or perhaps not so strange—that Reiner found himself drawn more to Gutzmann’s side. The general wanted to escape the suffocating embrace of authority, and so did he.

  SIX

  Where Does He Lead Us?

  THE NEXT MORNING, after entirely too little sleep, Reiner was awakened by Karel, who sprang out of his cot and began donning his new uniform, whistling all the while.

  Reiner opened one eye. ‘Would you mind very much jumping off a cliff?’

  ‘Did you not hear the bugle?’ asked Karel. ‘The day has begun.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I can smell our breakfast cooking in the great hall from here.’

  Reiner waved a hand. ‘Go on without me, lad. I will follow momentarily.’

  Karel grinned as he stepped to the door. ‘Don’t tarry too long, slug-a-bed, or you shan’t get any bacon.’

  Reiner groaned, nauseous. Who could think of bacon at this hour?

  ‘I begin to see why Manfred wanted that boy out of his hair,’ said Franka, rising from her bedroll.

  ‘Aye.’ Reiner sat up, rubbing his face. He sighed. ‘Well, Franz, lay out my uniform. Time to go learn my new duties.’

  Franka saluted sleepily. ‘Aye, sir.’ She crossed to his trunk and took out his newly assigned unifo
rm: slashed breeks and jerkin in Gutzmann’s deep blue and white. Reiner splashed his face in the bowl of freezing water at his bedside and shivered in the morning chill. He almost longed for the comforts of Manfred’s townhouse again. Almost.

  ‘While I’m gone,’ he said, as Franka helped him into his jerkin, ‘your duties are to nose about and listen to the other valets, cooks and so forth. Rumour flies faster through the kitchen than the parlour, as they say. See what they are saying about Gutzmann and Shaeder and the rest. There’s a struggle going on here and I want to know who has the winning hand. If you see any of our comrades, canvass them as well.’

  ‘Aye, captain.’

  ‘And give us a kiss.’

  ‘No, captain.’

  ‘Bah! Insubordination. Intolerable!’

  AFTER BREAKFAST, WHICH he found he had a stomach for after all, he presented himself to Captain Vortmunder outside the stables, which were huge—three long wooden buildings—crowded with horses and swarming with knights, lancers and pistoliers.

  The captain scowled at him, his moustaches like needles pointing at the sky. ‘Sleeping late your first day, Meyerling? An excellent start.’

  Reiner clicked his heels. ‘Forgive me, captain. I am still a bit unfamiliar with the camp.’

  ‘Then we will remedy that.’ Vortmunder looked around at the men walking their horses out of the stables and fitting them with saddle and bridle. ‘Hie! Grau! Here!’

  A corporal saluted and trotted over. He was a square-jawed bantam-weight, lean and compact, with close-cropped blond hair and a neat beard. Reiner saw that many of the young cavalry officers sported the same look—an army of Gutzmann imitators—or perhaps worshippers. ‘Yes, captain,’ the corporal said, coming to attention.