The Ambassador Chronicles

by Graham McNeill

  'My queen,' said Losov, dropping to his knees before her. 'You are hurt!'

  'I will live, Pjotr, it-'

  'Oh, it gladdens my heart to see you.' interrupted Losov. 'When I heard that there had been an attack I feared the worst and set out to double the guards on the gates. Ursun bless us, but I am so glad you are alive.'

  'Spare me your lies, Pjotr.' said the Tzarina, her voice like a dagger of pure ice. 'It is your own hide you should be more concerned with now.'

  'Lies? I don't understand.'

  'Come now, Pjotr... did you really think you could have betrayed me for all this time without me knowing?' asked the Tzarina, a mist of sparkling cold forming around her.

  'Betrayed you? I swear I am loyal!' protested Losov.

  The Tzarina shook her head. 'Stop it, Pjotr, you only diminish yourself further now. You of all people should know that the Chekist have eyes everywhere. I know all about your sordid little visits to the Lubjanko and what you do there. Your deviant practices disgust me, and you will pay for all the suffering you have caused. But to think you could fool me for so long, that is just insulting.'

  Despite the icy mist that reached out from the Tzarina, Kaspar could see that the kneeling Losov was sweating now and relished the man's discomfort.

  'No, no, you are mistaken, my queen!'

  'It was useful and amusing for me to keep you around, to listen to your prattle, your pathetic attempts to manipulate me and manipulate you in turn, but now many of my finest warriors are dead or dying and the commander of my allies is vanished. You are no longer useful or amusing, Pjotr.'

  Losov spun, seeking supporters around the hall, but finding none. Kaspar saw the fear in his eyes and raised his mug of kvas in mocking salute.

  'Now all that remains is for you to tell me who you have been collaborating with, for I know a man as foolish as you could not be working without a more cunning master. Tell me, Pjotr, who else is involved in this conspiracy to kill me and destroy my land?'

  Kaspar and Pavel listened intently, both eager to hear more of Losov's disgrace. Kaspar desperately wanted to know why Losov had paid to have Anastasia's husband killed, sure that the name the Tzarina would get from the traitor would be his answer.

  'It is of no matter now, Pjotr.' continued the Ice Queen when Losov did not answer her question. 'One way or another I will find out what I want to know. You have seen theChekist's gaol and you know that there is no man alive who can withstand their tortures. Tell me what I want to know and spare yourself that agony.'

  Final desperation flashed in Losov's eyes and Kaspar saw him snatch for the assassin's fallen weapon. Losov surged to his feet, the blade stabbing upwards for the Tzarina's stomach.

  Kaspar saw a flash of blue steel and a spurt of red, and Pjotr Losov was falling, his sword arm severed at the elbow and his torso cleft from pelvis to collarbone by the freezing edge of Fearfrost.

  The Ice Queen held her sword before her, frozen icicles of blood dripping from the blade.

  Boyarin Wrodzik kicked the dismembered body into the crater along with the charred corpse of the black robed assassin and spat on Losov's remains.

  'Such is wrath of the Khan Queens and the fate of all traitors.' said the Tzarina.

  II

  Dawn was already lightening the sky by the time Kaspar and Sofia were able to finally return to the embassy, carried back in one of the Tzarina's lacquered, open topped carriages driven by an uncommunicative driver in a square red cap. They were swathed in furs and though it was nowhere near as cold as it had been in previous months, they huddled close to one another beneath the thick furs for warmth and comfort, the fingers of their hands laced together.

  Neither of them had said anything on the way back, still in shock at the bloody events of the night and the cold anger of the Tzarina. Far from the regal, aloof monarch the Tzarina usually appeared to be, her execution of Pjotr Losov had recalled the wild ferocity of the first khan queens, and Kaspar shivered as he remembered how he had shouted at her several months ago.

  Surgeons more qualified in battlefield injuries had taken over from Sofia, and she had only reluctantly allowed herself to be led away where she could clean her bloody hands and change from her gore-smeared dress.

  Seventeen men had lost their lives in the attack. Clemenz Spitzaner and most of his staff officers had survived the violence, but General Pavia and his senior commanders had not. In the context of the loss of life suffered at Krasicyno and Mazhorod, such numbers were slight; they represented the upper echelons of command in the Stirland army.

  Seven boyarin were dead, obliterated like the general by the terrible weapon the robed assassin had used, and six others would never fight again.

  Kaspar had immediately volunteered for a field rank. Of course Spitzaner had protested immediately, but Kaspar had seen that the idea appealed to the remaining officers of the Stirland army, his reputation as a fine commander well known to them. Kaspar had arranged a meeting with them in the morning, giving everyone a chance to recover from the night's slaughter before speaking of such weighty matters.

  Despite the bloodshed of the evening, the thought of leading men into battle once more gave him a satisfying feeling that he would be able to play a part in the coming war. He could see that Sofia was unhappy with his decision to volunteer for command, but he could not take it back now.

  Before leaving the palace, Kaspar had approached Pavel and said, 'I never thanked you properly for pulling me away from that vile darkness. I think I would have died there if not for you.'

  'Is of no matter.' said Pavel lightly, but Kaspar could feel the gratitude in his words.

  'No.' said Kaspar. 'It is of some matter. You and I have been through much together and I counted you as one of my truest friends, but too much has happened in Kislev for me to forget the things you have done since I saw you last.'

  'I know.' said Pavel. 'There nothing can undo what I did, but I wish...'

  'Wishes are for songs, Pavel, and neither one of us can sing worth a damn. But know this: if the fates see fit for us to fight alongside one another again, I will do so gladly. I think our friendship has died here, but I will not be your enemy.'

  'Very well.' agreed Pavel. 'A man can ask for no more than that.'

  Kaspar nodded and offered his hand to Pavel. 'Fight well and try not to get yourself killed.' he said.

  'You know me.' grinned the big Kislevite, shaking the ambassador's hand. 'Pavel Korovic too stubborn to die. They will tell tales of my bravery from here to Magritta!'

  'I am sure they will. Farewell, Pavel.' said Kaspar as Sofia led him to the carriage that would carry them back to the embassy. The journey passed in silence until the driver halted before the embassy, stepping down from his seat to open the door for them. He accepted a copper coin from Kaspar before climbing back and driving off in a clatter of hooves.

  Red and blue liveried guards opened the gates for them and as they walked arm in arm to the embassy, Sofia asked, 'Do you really mean to take a field rank if they offer you one tomorrow?'

  Kaspar nodded. 'Yes, I do. I have to.'

  'You don't, you know. You have done your duty to the army and there are others who can do it.' said Sofia.

  'No, there aren't and you know it.' said Kaspar softly, seeing the worry in Sofia's face. 'Spitzaner cannot command two armies and I am the only other man who has experience of leading such numbers of soldiers.'

  'Surely one of the boyarins could command?'

  'No, the Empire soldiers would not accept a Kislevite as their general.'

  'But you are too old to go into battle.' protested Sofia.

  Kaspar chuckled, saying, 'Very well, there you might be correct, but it changes nothing. If they offer me the rank, I will take it, things are moving too fast for me to refuse.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Don't you feel it, Sofia? History is unfolding before us,' said Kaspar. 'I remember once the Ice Queen told me that I had the soul of a Kislevite, that the land had call
ed me back here to fight for it and that I had something to do here. "Come the moment, come the man", those were her very words. I didn't understand what she meant then, but I think I am beginning to.'

  'Damn you, Kaspar, we had no time,' said Sofia, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. 'Why did this have to happen now?'

  'I don't know,' replied Kaspar, stopping and turning her to face him. 'But it has, and sometimes there are things we have to do, no matter what our heart tells us.'

  'And what is your heart telling you to do?'

  'This,' said Kaspar, leaning down to kiss Sofia on the mouth.

  They kissed until a booming laugh sounded from outside the embassy gates and Vassily Chekatilo said, 'This all very touching, Ambassador von Velten. I think I right when I ask you if you in love with Madame Valencik.'

  'Chekatilo,' snarled Kaspar turning to see the fat Kislevite lounging beside the embassy gates in a thick cloak of black fur. 'Get out of here, you bastard.'

  Chekatilo chuckled and shook his head. 'No, not this time, Empire man. This time you will listen to me.'

  'You and I have nothing to say to one another, Chekatilo.'

  'No? I think you wrong. You still owe a debt to me and I here to collect.'

  Sofia opened the door to the embassy and more guards appeared, their halberds bright in the first rays of morning sunshine.

  'And I will tell you again that I will not give you what you want. I know about what you had Pavel do, so you can forget about getting him to do your dirty work any more. Get it through your thick skull, Chekatilo, I will never help you!' shouted Kaspar. He felt his temper getting the better of him again, but had seen too much pain and suffering tonight to be browbeaten by a common criminal.

  'I think you will tonight,' promised Chekatilo.

  'And why is that?' asked Kaspar, not liking Chekatilo's catlike grin one bit.

  'Because if you do not, Anastasia Vilkova will be dead within the hour.'

  III

  Rejak yawned, flexing his shoulders as he watched the house come to life. Servants filled pitchers of water from the well and opened shuttered windows to let the weak morning sunlight in. He cracked his knuckles and rapped his fingers against the iron pommel of his sword with a predatory smile.

  He sat resting his back on the wall of the building across the street from Anastasia Vilkova's house, his sword concealed beneath his cloak and features obscured by a furred hood. He did not think that the Vilkova woman knew him or would recognise him, but there was no sense in taking chances.

  He knew she was home, having seen her return less than an hour ago. Where she had been he didn't know, probably enjoying a tryst with the ambassador and returning before morning to avoid scandalising her prettified society.

  Reasoning that enough time had passed for her to have gotten herself cleaned up and perhaps even undressed, he pushed himself to his feet, wincing as the injuries to his shoulder and stomach pulled tight. He had always healed fast and the weeks since his wounding by the black-robed killer had been hard for him, unused as he was to enforced inactivity. But the wounds had healed well and though he would never be as supple and fast as he once had been, he was still as quick as any man alive he knew of.

  Rejak strode across the street, his excitement growing at the thought of violating such a beautiful and respected woman. Normally his conquests were weirdroot whores from Chekatilo's brothels, and the idea of this influential woman beneath him and begging for her life as he took her hurried his steps. He thought of her soft mouth, long dark hair and full breasts and licked his lips. Yes, he would enjoy breaking this bitch.

  He entered the grounds of her house, marching up the gravel incline and passing the pathetic specimens of humanity she had granted shelter within her walls. Scores of people camped within her grounds, hardly any of them sparing him a second glance as he made his way to the front door.

  The main door was lacquered black wood with a brass knocker at its centre. He gripped his sword handle and rapped the brass ring hard against the door. Best to give the impression of civility, he supposed.

  Rejak heard the tumblers of the lock turn and a click as the door eased from the frame. He hammered his boot into the timber, slamming the door back on its hinges and sending the old servant woman behind it sprawling with blood streaming from her face.

  Swiftly he crossed the threshold, entering a marble-floored hall and seeing a curved flight of stairs with a brass balustrade rising to the upper floor ahead of him. Twin suits of armour flanked the bottom of the stairs and a family crest bearing two crossed cavalry sabres hung from the adjacent wall. An incongruous door of iron was set on the curve of the stairs, partially obscured by a leafy potted evergreen, but Rejak ignored it as he heard a door slam upstairs.

  That would be her, reasoned Rejak, shutting the front door then locking it and pocketing the key. He sprinted for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Upon reaching the upper landing he drew his sword and made his way down a long, carpeted hallway. Heavy doors lined one side of the corridor and he began kicking them down one by one.

  'Come out, come out, wherever you are!' he yelled.

  He saw a flash of colour from ahead of him and grinned as he saw Anastasia in an emerald green nightgown running for another set of stairs at the far end of the corridor.

  'Oh, no, pretty one, you won't get away from Rejak that easily,' he shouted, sprinting after her. She was quick, but Rejak was quicker, catching her as she reached the top of the stairs. She spun, lashing out with her fist at the side of the head.

  He laughed, catching her wrist and backhanding his sword hand into her chin.

  She screamed and fell against the wall, blood streaming down her chin.

  'You bastard!' she shouted, aiming a kick for his groin. Rejak twisted out of the way and slapped her hard with his free hand. His excitement was growing and he pressed himself against her, tearing her nightdress from her shoulder. 'Careful there, my beauty. Don't want to hurt me there. Not when I've still got things to do to you.'

  To her credit she kept on struggling, even though she must have known it was useless against his superior strength and only served to arouse him more.

  'I can see why von Velten likes you,' he hissed in her ear. 'I hope he doesn't mind spoiled meat, because that's all you're going to be soon.'

  Rejak pinned her against the wall and pressed a hand to her breast. He squeezed hard, grinning lasciviously as it drew a cry of pain from her. Her chest heaved in terror and he laughed. 'That's it... struggle harder!'

  He lowered his head to lick her cheek.

  She slammed her forehead into his face and he cried out in pain, releasing her as his hands flew to his face and blood burst from his nose.

  'Bitch!' he yelled and hammered his fist into her jaw.

  She fell to the floor, but rolled quickly to her feet as he shook his head clear of the headbutt's impact. He turned his bloody face towards her as she lurched along the corridor towards the stairs that led to the main entrance and shouted, 'That's it, you bitch! I'm really going to hurt you now!'

  Rejak set off after her, his anger hot and urgent.

  He caught her at the top of the stairs, grabbing her by the arm and twisting her around. She spat in his face and he hit her again, sending her crashing downstairs. She tumbled all the way to the bottom, landing awkwardly and he followed her, no longer caring about having her, just about killing her.

  She scrambled back from the bottom of the stairs, running to the front door, tugging ineffectually at the brass handle.

  Rejak lifted the key from his pocket and grinned. 'Looking for this?'

  She edged away from him around the walls, but there was nowhere to go. 'You die now.' he said.

  IV

  Kaspar ripped a halberd from one of his guards and ran to the iron gates of the embassy. Chekatilo backed away towards the gurgling bronze fountain in the centre of the courtyard in front of the embassy, his hands raised in theatrical terror.

  'You kill
me and she dies.' he promised. 'If Rejak not hear from me in one hour, he is to treat her like whore and then cut her into pieces. He do worse than Butcherman, that one, I think. Loves to kill, too much maybe.'

  Kaspar forced himself to stop moving, to lower the halberd and think clearly. He felt his hate for Chekatilo threaten to overwhelm his judgement. He cried out in anguish and threw the halberd aside, taking several deep breaths as he fought for calm.

  'What have you done?' he demanded. 'As Sigmar is my witness, if any harm comes to her, no force in the world will stop me from hunting you down and killing you.'

  'She not be harmed if you honour debt to me and give me what I want.' said Chekatilo.

  'How do I know she is still alive? For all I know, she's already dead.'

  Chekatilo looked hurt at Kaspar's accusation. 'I many things, ambassador, but I not a monster. I hurt people because sometimes that the only way to get what I want. So now you will give me what I want or I have Rejak kill her in such painful, degrading way that people will talk of it for years.'

  Kaspar wanted to run through the gates and strangle Chekatilo with his bare hands, to choke the life from his miserable, filthy body and spit in his eye as he died. But he could not, and from Chekatilo's smug expression, he could see the bastard knew it too.

  'Damn you, but you are wrong, Chekatilo. You are a monster.' he said.

  Chekatilo shrugged. 'Maybe I am, but I get what I want, yah?'

  Kaspar nodded. 'Very well, I will give you what you want.' he said slowly.

  Chekatilo laughed as Kaspar turned and entered the embassy.

  V

  Anastasia edged around the hall, her breathing ragged and laboured. Rejak could feel his arousal growing again as he saw the curve of her breasts exposed where he had torn her nightgown.

  'Nowhere to go.' he said, wiping blood from his chin.

  'No.' she agreed, continuing around the edge of the hall and looking at something beyond his shoulder. 'There isn't, is there?'