[Empire Army 01] - Reiksguard

by Richard Williams - (ebook by Undead)

  Another horseman had entered the village, but this was no town official nor messenger. It was a warrior. A knight. A knight who was robed in red and white and who wore the symbol of the skull encircled by a laurel wreath.

  “Sir knight!” the alderman hailed him. “If you come for battle then I fear you are a day too late!”

  The alderman glanced at Delmar, only to see the nobleman’s face wide with amazement.

  “Griesmeyer!” Delmar shouted with delight.

  It had been eight years since Delmar had last seen his father’s old brother-in-arms. Griesmeyer appeared older now than Delmar remembered, of course. His dark red hair, kept close-cropped in the young man’s fashion, was shot through with grey. The lines on his face were etched deeper. But the greatest difference was not in the knight, but in himself. He had grown from a child to a man and now was almost half a head taller than the knight who used to tower over him. It felt wrong: he should not be able to look down upon such a great man as Lord Griesmeyer.

  The timing of the knight’s return could be no coincidence. His grandfather, in one of his few lucid moments, had written to the order recommending Delmar to their service not two months before, and now surely Griesmeyer had brought their reply. Delmar burned with the urge to ask, but it was not his place to demand answers from a Reiksguard knight.

  Griesmeyer had visited the Reinhardt estates often, though given his service to the Emperor, his arrival could never be predicted. But eight years ago his visits had ceased entirely. When he had asked his mother why, she did not reply. She could not stand even to hear Griesmeyer’s name mentioned, and Delmar had acquiesced in her wishes. But he had been barely more than a child then; now he was a man. As the two of them rode into the estate’s courtyard, Delmar vowed to himself that whatever his purpose, Griesmeyer would not leave so abruptly this time.

  “Lance and hammer, Delmar, you are so changed, and yet your estate is exactly as it was,” Griesmeyer called over the clatter of the horse hooves on the cobblestones.

  “We change nothing here. Not in the last eight years, not in the last twenty.” Delmar jumped off his horse, his fatigue forgotten.

  “Come,” Delmar continued, calling for the family’s manservant to attend. “Take your ease with us. Let me take your saddle and come inside.”

  Griesmeyer looked as though he was about to accept, but then glanced up over Delmar’s head. “No, my boy, I have arranged lodgings in Schroderhof. I will spend the night there and return tomorrow.”

  “In Schroderhof?” Delmar was taken aback. “We have more than enough room for old friends of my father’s. You will stay here.”

  Griesmeyer glanced above again and this time Delmar half-turned to see what had caught his eye. His mother stood at the nursery window, staring down at them.

  Griesmeyer’s tone turned serious. “Your father, Morr allow him rest, would have advised you better than to gainsay your elders.”

  The knight reached into his saddlebag, pulled out a sealed parchment and handed it to Delmar. “Here. My mission today was solely to deliver you this. You will need the day to rest from your exertions and then say your goodbyes. And so I leave you ’til tomorrow.”

  Delmar looked at the parchment; he could scarce breathe with excitement. The seal was that of the Reiksmarshal, the Captain of the Reiksguard, Kurt Helborg himself. The letter had to be what Delmar hoped; it could be nothing else.

  “And there was one other matter…” Griesmeyer reached again into his saddlebag and pulled out a sword, its sheath marked with the Reiksguard colours.

  “Your sword?” Delmar asked.

  “Not my sword,” Griesmeyer replied, turning his horse away. “Your father’s. And now yours. Keep its edge keen, young Delmar von Reinhardt, for the Reiksguard will need it, and you, before long.”

  Despite Griesmeyer’s assurances, Delmar was not content that the knight felt unwelcome at the estate. Nevertheless Delmar was ultimately grateful for Griesmeyer’s tactful retreat. When the household learned that the Grand Order of the Reiksguard had received his grandfather’s recommendation and were willing to consider him, there was an outpouring of emotion from family, friends and servants alike that would have mortified Delmar if Griesmeyer had been there to witness it.

  Much had to be done, though in truth less than Delmar expected. His mother had been readying for the day that her only son should follow his father’s path for years. The estate’s steward was an experienced, sensible man and well trusted in the locality. He advised Delmar to call an immediate conclave of the aldermen of the neighbouring villages. They gathered quickly and applauded Delmar’s success. Many of their sons had gone away to war already. Now the threat of the beastkin was gone, they were proud that their lord would be there with them. The aldermen readily reaffirmed their oaths of loyalty to the Reinhardt family, as Delmar reaffirmed his family’s oaths to them.

  When Griesmeyer returned early the next morning, he found Delmar already waiting, packed, horse saddled and his duty done.

  “I was surprised yesterday, my lord,” Delmar said, as they walked their horses to the Altdorf road. “I had expected… that is, I had hoped that a messenger would come. I could never have dreamed that a knight would deliver the message personally.”

  Griesmeyer rode slowly, bareheaded, enjoying the sun. Delmar watched as the knight drank in the soft countryside that they passed, the blossom on the trees, the bright spring flowers in the field.

  “Lord Griesmeyer?”

  The knight turned back to him. “Apologies, Delmar. It has been a long, harsh winter. I am glad to be reminded that there are still places in the Empire of peace and beauty.”

  Delmar briefly thought of the blood that had been spilt not two days before, but said nothing. What had been a great battle to him was little more than a skirmish when compared against the clash of armies in the north.

  “The order would not normally send a knight on such a mission, no,” Griesmeyer continued. “I requested it specifically. I have been looking for an excuse to travel back here for years now, but my duties have prevented it. When I learned of this though, a chance to welcome the next generation of Reinhardts into the Reiksguard, how could I pass it up?”

  Delmar felt his chest swell with pride, but it did not deflect him from his purpose. “Has it been your duties then, that have kept you from returning to us?”

  “Aye,” Griesmeyer replied. “I swear I must have travelled to every province, eaten in every town and slept in every field following our Emperor. People will say that he will slow down as he grows old, and I say to them that I believe the sun will slow in the sky before our Emperor Karl Franz!”

  “I do not doubt it,” Delmar agreed.

  “I was glad to see your grandfather looking so well also, I had heard he had been taken very ill last winter.”

  “He is recovered now. His body at least.”

  “And what of his other condition, has there been any improvement?” Griesmeyer asked.

  Delmar’s mind flicked back to his grandfather last evening. He had been happy then, but it had been the happiness of an infant. He had no understanding of what was happening around him; he merely watched in wonder at the celebrations. Delmar had tried to speak to him, tried to say goodbye, had hoped that his departure might raise a spark of the great man who had once lived inside that body, but he was disappointed. Delmar had nodded and smiled, and his grandfather had nodded and smiled back again. He wondered now if he would even notice that his grandson had left.

  “I am afraid not, my lord. We had some hope that his mind might recover in those first few years, but now we have reconciled ourselves that he will never truly return to us.”

  “A great regret,” Griesmeyer said. “I never had the honour to fight beside him, but whenever we speak of those days, he is always spoken of in the highest regard. Just as his son is, and his grandson will be, I am sure.”

  Delmar wished to ask then of his father. It had been eight years since he had last heard
Griesmeyer’s tales of their time together in the order. But after eight years of wanting, Delmar found himself hesitant to ask.

  Instead, they rode for two days, talking of everything but. Griesmeyer asked of all the events of Delmar’s life that he had missed and, in return, the knight recounted tales of eight years of the Empire’s wars. It was not until they were in sight of Altdorf itself that Delmar dared ask about his father’s last campaign. Griesmeyer held silent for a few moments. For the first time, Griesmeyer’s contented mask slipped, and Delmar saw the look of sorrow that he wore behind.

  The old knight’s tone was sombre. He described it all in great detail: the argument between the elector count and Helborg, Nordland’s failed assault, the Reiksguard’s charge and dispersal across the slope, and then the young nobles’ foolish attack. Delmar’s father, Brother Reinhardt, had been the closest. Without hesitation, he had plunged into the Skaeling horde and pulled the youth from the ground. Griesmeyer had seen Reinhardt’s horse run clear, Nordland’s son unconscious across its saddle. He and his brother knights had cut their way through the Skaelings, trying to reach where Reinhardt still fought, but their efforts had not been enough. Reinhardt disappeared under a mass of the savage warriors and it was all the knights could do to turn about and escape themselves.

  Delmar had only the faintest memories of his father. All Delmar could remember was of playing with a toy that his father had given him, and of a knight tending to his mother when she was bedridden. He would not even know his father’s face if his mother had not kept a portrait. Even so, Delmar felt proud to be associated with his father’s heroism, the only sadness he felt was that he had had no chance to know him.

  The road to Altdorf ran to the western bank of the Reik, and from there it followed the river until it reached the great Imperial city. The river was crammed with boats, traders journeying back and forth to Marienburg, but also ferries and transports, anything that could float, stacked with people heading upriver from Altdorf. Delmar stared at them from the bank; these were not travellers by choice, they were farmers, trappers, village folk. They were refugees.

  “Surely,” he said to Griesmeyer, “the war cannot have reached so far south that the Reik is threatened?”

  “I do not know,” Griesmeyer replied, echoing Delmar’s concern. “Perhaps there has been news in the last few days. The foe’s great armies are on our northern border, it is true, but the Empire is riddled through with their allies and followers. The beastkin in the forests, the greenskins in the mountains, the marauder bands who may ride where they will, now our armies are distracted. It is a time that any man of sense looks for a thick wall to stand behind.”

  They left the slow-moving boats behind and approached Altdorf itself. The closer they rode, the more noxious the river became. For the Altdorfers, the Reik was not only their trading lifeline, it was also their sewer, and the refuse they dumped washed up along the banks. Griesmeyer cut away from the river then, and headed for the main road leading to the western gate. An hour’s travel along a track through the woods, and finally there it was.

  Delmar had been to the capital before, but only as a child. He had wondered if, like Griesmeyer, the city might appear lessened now he was a man.

  It did not.

  The city of Altdorf rose high above the forest, as though a god had lifted the towns from an entire province and stacked them all one atop the other. A grand wall had been built about it for its defence, but the buildings inside had long since risen above the wall’s height. Every scrap of land, no matter how unpromising, had been built upon, and when the land within the walls was exhausted, Altdorf had begun to build upon itself.

  They approached through the western gate, solidly fortified and flanked by two stone statues of watchful griffons bearing hammers. The gate was jammed with wagons, once again some traders and some refugees who were clamouring to get into the city, but one look at Griesmeyer’s insignia and uniform were enough for the guards there to wave them in. Once inside, Delmar was plunged into a greater darkness than he had experienced in the forests. The sky disappeared amongst the towering buildings. The crowds, the noise, the stench of the place were overpowering; so many people all pressed close together. The villagers around the Reinhardt estate had weathered the famine, but others had not. When the crops failed last summer, men took their families from the starving countryside into the cities to find what work they could. Altdorf, the glorious capital of the great Empire, had become a meat barrel crammed with the desperate and the dying.

  Delmar constantly soothed Heinrich as they pushed their way through the hawkers, the labourers, the vendors and the beggars. He kept as close as he could to Griesmeyer, steering his own horse calmly ahead. They were not far from the Reiksguard chapter house when a trumpet sounded ahead of them. The mass of people parted and crammed against the buildings. A squadron of Reiksguard cavalry had appeared, thundering through the streets. Delmar moved aside, but Greismeyer hailed them and their leader brought them to a halt.

  “Brother Griesmeyer,” the lead knight commanded. “You have returned in rime. The invasion has begun and the Emperor needs our swords.”

  “Aye, Marshal, we will come at once.”

  Marshal? Delmar nearly exclaimed. This was the Reiksmarshal! This was Kurt Helborg himself before him. Delmar stared at the knight on his fearsome grey steed. The man was powerfully built, far more so than the slighter Griesmeyer. His eyes were stern, unyielding, but the most distinctive feature of his face was his mighty moustache. It was thick as a plume and stretched nearly twice the width of his face, curled with precision to either side. Truly it was a monster that doubtless scared any opponent as much as any weapon in his hand.

  “Who is this?” Helborg demanded, his deep voice stern.

  “This is Delmar von Reinhardt, he will be joining our novices.”

  Delmar thought he saw Helborg give a flicker of recognition when Griesmeyer said the Reinhardt name. But if it had been there, it had quickly vanished in the Marshal’s scowl.

  “This is a matter for the inner circle, Brother Griesmeyer. Send the novice on his way.”

  “At once, my lord,” Griesmeyer replied. Helborg spurred his horse and the party was away.

  “You know the chapter house?” Griesmeyer asked. Delmar nodded. “Good. Give them your name. You are expected.”

  With that, Griesmeyer rode after them and the crowds swarmed back into the middle of the gloomy street and Delmar made his way onwards.

  The chapter house of the Grand Order of the Reiksguard was not hard to find. It was a separate citadel within Altdorf, encircled by its own wall and defences so that a hundred trained warriors might hold it even if the rest of the city should fall. Unlike the rest of the city, the houses around its wall had been kept low, only a couple of storeys, and none higher than the wall itself. Stringent city ordinances stipulated these restrictions, and where these ordinances were ignored the Reiksguard’s own ordnance enforced them.

  Delmar had found the large black gates of the chapter house imposingly barred and locked. He was challenged from above. Delmar looked up and saw a guard on duty, standing beside the ornate frieze of the coronation of Emperor Wilhelm III that arched over the gates.

  “I am here with a letter. I am to join the order.”

  “Are you? We’ll see,” the guard replied, a snicker in his voice. “Keep going around. You want the white gate, the next one.”

  Delmar thanked him despite his rudeness, and continued on. The next gate was smaller, decorated only with a small sculpture of Shallya, but no less closed. The guard there challenged him. Delmar shouted up over the raucous bellowing of the street vendors.

  “I am Delmar von Reinhardt. I am one of the novices.”

  “Wait there, Lord Reinhardt,” the guard shouted back, “someone is already coming.”

  Delmar nodded and urged Heinrich to the side to move him from the middle of the street.

  “You there! On the horse! Do not move!”

 
Delmar looked back up, but the shout had not come from the walls. He turned and there, in a knot of the crowd, he saw a pistolier, weapon drawn and pointed straight at him.

  “Do not move!” the pistolier shouted again, and fired.

  The bullet whipped straight over Heinrich’s head and Delmar tipped back on instinct. Heinrich, spooked and sensing his rider’s distress, reared back. As Heinrich went up, Delmar felt his balance begin to go and threw his weight forwards to stay in the saddle. The Altdorfers nearby backed away from the horse’s flailing hooves. Heinrich landed, and before he could rear again Delmar dragged its reins to the side, forcing the horse to turn, preventing him from balancing evenly on its hind legs and rearing again. Delmar gripped the reins and jumped from the saddle, searching for his attacker.

  The pistolier was still there, but he was not reloading his gun, nor even making his escape. He and the women around him were laughing!

  Enraged, Delmar pulled Heinrich forwards and shoved his way through the gaggle. The women, street jades interested only in passing distraction, fell back leaving the indolent pistolier alone. Automatically, Delmar sized up his opponent. This was no petty Altdorf cut-throat: his clothes were black, but richly made, cut to show red cloth beneath. He was bareheaded, for he had given his hat as a mark of favour to the prettiest of the jades, who in turn planned to barter it for liquor as soon as she could. His thin face, more accustomed to a cockily ingratiating smile, was frowning with irritation.

  “Hey!” the pistolier shouted as Delmar seized him by the neck.

  “Who are you?” Delmar demanded. “What in Sigmar’s name were you doing?”

  “What was I doing?” The pistolier twisted in Delmar’s grip. “What were you doing wandering into my shot?”

  “Your shot?”

  The pistolier pointed past Delmar’s head. Delmar glanced around and saw the weathervane upon the chancery behind him still spinning from being struck by the pistolier’s bullet.