Swords of the Emperor

by Chris Wraight

  With the laceration closed, he began to wind fresh sheets of bandage across it. He finished with a layer of leather strapping before replacing the jerkin on top. Even before he was finished he saw the spider-like tendrils of crimson begin to appear again.

  Skarr stood up, putting the needle and thread away. He felt no confidence in his work. Helborg needed the services of a real apothecary. The longer they stayed out in the wilds, the worse his condition would get.

  “What are we going to do about him?” Eissen had come to his shoulder. He gestured towards the sullen figure of Leitdorf. The deposed count huddled far from the fire, watched over carefully by his guards. Skarr felt a sudden flush of anger. This was all because of that wretched, figure.

  “Douse the fire,” he ordered. “Organise a watch party. I’ll speak to him.”

  He strode over to Rufus, his expression dark. As he approached, Leitdorf shrank back even further, looking like he’d seen a wraith.

  “Now then, my lord,” said Skarr, lacing his words with heavy irony. “I think it’s time you explained what in Morr’s name happened back there.” He crouched down opposite the shaking figure and looked him directly in the eye.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Bloch shaded his eyes. The cold had grown steadily. Ahead of him, the Worlds Edge Mountains reared their lofty peaks towards the sky. The flint-grey cliffs soared ever higher, flecked with frost and lingering snow at the summits. The walls of rock were massive, far higher than those of the Drakwald or the Mittebergen. Truly, Bloch saw how the range had earned its name. As he gazed at the mist-shrouded peaks in the distance, piled atop one another in an endless series of stone faces, gullies and terraces, it seemed indeed that they marked the limits of the realm of mortals. Whatever lay beyond such vast pinnacles must have been shut out for a reason. This was where the jurisdiction of the Emperor ran out. The lands on the far side could surely be nothing but blasted wastes.

  The army had already climbed far. As they’d travelled, storms had passed over them, moving swiftly westward. As if to compensate for the weeks of unbroken sun, now the world threw heaps of storm cloud at the lush pastures of Averland. The wind was biting. Bloch found himself missing the hammering heat of the lowlands. He’d cursed it when he’d been marching through it, but even that sweltering weather was better than the endless swirling gusts of ice-wind in the high peaks.

  He looked up. Even so high up, the road was wide and well ordered. The engineers who had carved the way had been artisans of the highest order. That didn’t prevent some perilous passages as the path twisted up into the heights. Ahead of him, the route passed under a cliff edge on the right-hand side. To his left, the stone fell away sharply. A deep ravine had been carved into the living rock and the sound of running water echoed between the buttresses of stone. Beyond that the landscape dissolved into a tumble of windblasted outcrops and crags on either side of the path.

  Kraus came to stand at his shoulder.

  “We loop around that cairn?” Bloch asked, pointing to a conical pile of rocks at the summit of a typically fractured rise. On either side of it, the going looked tough. Scree littered every exposed surface.

  Kraus squinted up at the rising stone. The sunlight reflected harshly from the cold rock, and his old face wrinkled as he studied the way ahead.

  “Aye. There’ll be a way-fort soon. But we’re still far from the passes.”

  “How far?”

  “A day. Maybe two.”

  Bloch felt his heart sink. They’d already spent more time than he’d have liked hauling themselves up into the mountains. The sooner they reached the fortress at the head of the pass, the better.

  “You’re not filling me with confidence.”

  “Two days, then. I’d bet on it.”

  “How much?”

  “A schilling.”

  “You’re a tight bastard, Kraus, and you’re still not filling me with confidence.”

  Kraus laughed. It was a tough, grating sound. The man looked almost as battered as the stone around him.

  Then Bloch saw the shadow against the rock. He tensed immediately.

  “See that?” he hissed, grabbing his halberd.

  Kraus was ahead of him. He dropped into a half crouch, pulling the sword from its scabbard with a swift movement.

  “Aye,” he whispered. His eyes narrowed.

  Bloch turned and frantically signalled to the men toiling up the ridge behind him. They halted, and the order passed down the ranks quickly. The only sound was the serried drawing of weapons. They’d already encountered the last fragments of the orc army in the foothills. Bloch had assumed they’d finished off the last of them. Perhaps not.

  He looked back up. The wind moaned against the granite. Everything looked empty.

  “What d’you think?” he whispered, peering up at the cliffs.

  Kraus shrugged. “Maybe noth—”

  He never finished his sentence. From the cliff above them, dark forms fell. Bloch tried to get his halberd in position, but he was far too slow. Before he knew what had happened, Kraus and he were surrounded by nearly a dozen men. They were dressed in Imperial garb modified for the cold. Most had fur-lined jerkins, cloaks and heavy leather boots. The colours suited the mountains around them; grey, pale, drab. From a distance, one would never have known they were there.

  Bloch froze. He found himself staring down the bronze barrel of a long gun. At the other end of it, carefully shielding the cord, a man with a grey moustache and thin lips was staring at him. He didn’t look friendly.

  “State your business,” he growled. His voice sounded almost as harsh as Kraus’. At the edge of his vision, Bloch could see the other intruders move to disarm the guard captain. Three of them had guns. The rest carried crossbows, all loaded with bolts.

  “Who’s asking?” said Bloch, working hard to maintain his dignity. He didn’t like having a gun pointed in his face. He also didn’t like people being rude to him.

  The man smiled coldly.

  “You’re not in a position to be asking questions, master halberdier.”

  “Oh yes? You might want to take that up with the men behind me.”

  “They’ll not attack while we hold you.”

  “Don’t be so sure. I’m a tyrant. They might be pleased to see me dead.”

  The gunner smiled again. He let the gun drop.

  “Something tells me you’re not like the others.”

  Bloch relaxed his shoulders. His fingers had been clenched tight around the halberd, ready to swing it up in a sudden movement. He let them loosen. All around him, the other gunners lowered their barrels. But they kept the guns to hand.

  “What others?”

  “First tell me who you are. This is my country.”

  “Fair enough. I am Commander Markus Bloch, charged by the Lord Schwarzhelm to drive the greenskins from Averland and reinforce the passes. This is Captain Kraus of the general’s honour guard. You’d better introduce yourself now. Some of my men have itchy trigger fingers of their own. I’d hate you to take a stray bullet now we’ve become such good friends.”

  “Schwarzhelm, eh?” said the man, looking impressed. “I’d heard he was headed for Averland.” He gestured to his men, and they stood down. He extended a gnarled hand to Bloch. “Captain Helmut Drassler, bergsjaeger of the passes.”

  Bloch looked blank.

  “The what?”

  “Mountain guard. Since the greenskins came through, we’ve been stretched. There aren’t many of us left up here.”

  “You saw them come through? Then you can explain how they got past the defences.”

  Drassler gave him a bleak look. “Aye, that I can. The news can wait, though. We’re not far from shelter. I’ll guide you there and your men can rest. Then I’ll tell you what you need to know. But I warn you, you’re not going to like it.”.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” muttered Bloch.

  “You wish to know everything?”

  Skarr studied
Leitdorfs face carefully. The man’s expression was a mixture of contempt, confusion and fear. He seemed to oscillate between the emotions quite freely, as if he couldn’t quite believe his aspirations had entirely been taken from him.

  “That’s what I asked for.”

  “Give me a reason why I should speak to you, Reiksguard. You deprived me of my moment of triumph.”

  Skarr rolled his eyes. This was going to test his patience.

  “Perhaps I should set out the facts as I see them. We were summoned to Averheim to reinforce the forces of the Steward. He claimed, rightly as it turned out, that the city was descending into civil war. This is the war we rode into. The war you instigated.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “You can give your excuses later. All I know is that I saw you fighting at the head of your troops. It didn’t look much like legal debate to me. The troubling question is this. Why was Schwarzhelm fighting with your enemy? What had you done to provoke his anger?”

  Leitdorf let slip a sly smile.

  “You really expect me to answer for him? The man is mad. You saw that yourself. If he wasn’t, your Marshal would still be walking on his own two feet.”

  “There was madness in the air that night, I’ll grant you. But I’ve fought alongside the Emperor’s Champion before. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Leitdorf snorted derisively.

  “Must I know the contents of every man’s mind?” He leaned forward. A strange, rather frantic light was in his eyes. “If you’d been in Averheim these past few weeks, you’d have seen what your precious Emperor’s Champion was like. He’d become a laughing stock. Averland has always had a weakness for mad governors. Schwarzhelm was no exception. I heard tales of screaming from his chambers. Screaming. Even his own men couldn’t control him. He was like a man possessed.”

  Skarr remembered how Schwarzhelm had looked in the Vormeisterplatz. The image was uncomfortably close.

  “I don’t know what Grosslich did to subvert him,” continued Leitdorf. “Really, I don’t. If I knew, I might have tried it myself. But don’t be taken in by my rival’s good looks and charm. He has no claim to the electorship at all. He’s a front, a screen for the ambitions of the Alptraum family. His blood is as common as a milkmaid’s. In fact, his mother probably was a milkmaid.”

  Skarr began to feel troubled. He was used to receiving the testimony of captives, and Leitdorf didn’t have the look of a man lying to save his skin. The man was arrogant, cowardly and prickly to be sure, but the words had an uncomfortable air of truth about them.

  “Listen to me, preceptor,” Leitdorf went on, moderating his tone somewhat. “I’ll not try to deceive you. I’m no saint of Shallya. My wife and I have been involved in the importation of some slightly illicit substances. Since Leopold died it’s been the only way to raise the funds we needed. And I won’t try to pretend we didn’t hire men of dubious origin to help defend our people. But Grosslich was no different. That’s how politics has always been done here. The fact of the matter is that it was he who started this war, backed up by Schwarzhelm and his entourage.” Leitdorf looked suddenly reflective. “Perhaps I hadn’t appreciated quite how much certain people didn’t want to see a Leitdorf back in power. That might be something to think about.”

  Skarr looked across at the prone body of Helborg, lying between the roots of a great oak. His breathing looked painfully shallow.

  “Grosslich hunts you still,” said Skarr grimly. “Though I can scarcely believe it myself, they want Lord Helborg dead too. We’ve been drawn into this madness. If there’s been deception, then we’re now a party to it. We must return to Nuln before the Marshal’s condition worsens. Wiser heads than mine must decide what to do about Schwarzhelm.”

  Leitdorf looked scornful.

  “Is this Reiksguard tactical thinking? No wonder the war goes badly. Listen, you’re deep into Averland. We’ve been driven east. The routes to the river are crawling with Grosslich’s men. Even fifty Reiksguard can’t take on a whole army. If you try, your man will surely die.”

  “I take it you have an alternative suggestion.”

  “Of course. My estates are closer than Nuln. Far closer. I have men there I can trust. We can remain hidden there until the Marshal has recovered. I can build up my strength. Trust me, this affair is not over yet. Whatever the Estates decide, I am the rightful heir of my father. I intend to claim the runefang for my own.”

  “Grosslich will move against you soon. He’ll know where your loyal subjects are.”

  “He can’t do everything at once. Averheim will take time to pacify. He’ll expect us to flee for Nuln. That’s what I’d do, in his place.”

  Skarr paused. The man was probably right. There was no way they could fight against Grosslich’s men with Helborg in such a condition. If they tried to force their way north, he would surely die.

  “Do you have healers?”

  “Petrus Clock is the finest physician east of Altdorf. He’ll be there. If he can’t restore your Marshal to health, then no one will.”

  “How far?”

  Leitdorf shrugged.

  “With a fast horse, two days. But more if we need to stay hidden and keep the Marshal alive. That’s still half the distance to Nuln though, and it’s my family’s country. We’ll be amongst friends.”

  Skarr looked down at his hands. The choice was unappealing. Leitdorf was flighty and erratic, but he could hardly deny that the situation was desperate. For all he knew, Schwarzhelm himself led the search for them. If that was true, then trying to fight their way west would be worse than folly.

  “I’ll make my decision in the morning,” he said, standing once more. “This requires thought. In the meantime, keep your head down. I’ve been given the order to protect you, but if you give away our position or try to escape, don’t expect any mercy from me.”

  Leitdorf nodded. He looked chastened.

  “Of course. And I’ll remember this when I come to be elector. I never forget a kindness, preceptor.”

  Skarr looked at him in disbelief.

  “You still think, after all of this, you’ll end up with the runefang?”

  Leitdorf smiled broadly. There was a pale gleam in his eyes.

  “Fear not,” he said. “There are forces at work the likes of Schwarzhelm have no idea about. One in particular. She’s still in Averheim. They haven’t found her yet. They won’t catch her. I’d know if they had.”

  Skarr almost asked him what he was talking about, but then decided against it. Night was falling fast, and there were things to organise. Leitdorf had the look of an obsessed man, drifting into raving. He’d listened to enough of those in his time.

  “So you say, Herr Leitdorf,” he said, walking back to his men. “So you say.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Schwarzhelm stood in one of the Averburg’s many audience chambers. The walls were panelled with an austere dark wood and candles burned in ornate brass fittings. Tapestries marking the province’s military history had been hung from the hammerbeam roof. There were imaginative renderings of past orc incursions among them.

  Schwarzhelm suppressed a wry snort of disdain when he saw those. Perhaps in ages past the Averlanders had been more capable of defending their own soil.

  Verstohlen leaned over towards him. There were just the two of them in the chamber.

  “He’s coming.”

  Schwarzhelm nodded. A moment later, the twin doors at the far end of the chamber swung apart. Grosslich walked in. He was flanked by four of his commanders. They were dressed in full battle armour, some of it scarred from use. They were all wearing colours Schwarzhelm hadn’t seen before. Red lined with gold. An ostentatious choice for the new dynasty.

  “I asked Herr Alptraum to join us,” said Schwarzhelm.

  “He is indisposed at present,” said Grosslich, coming to stand squarely in front of the Emperor’s Champion.

  “That may be. He’s still been summoned.”

  �
��I’ll remind him of the importance of following orders when I next see him,” said Grosslich. He placed a particular emphasis on following orders. Schwarzhelm saw Verstohlen raise an eyebrow.

  “Do that. Have your men discovered Leitdorf?”

  “His forces in the city have been utterly destroyed. We uncovered six safe houses in the poor quarter from where the joyroot trade was administered. They have all been burned and their contents destroyed. The supply lines—”

  “That’s all very interesting, Herr Grosslich. It’s not what I asked you.”

  Grosslich appeared to flush. He had a straightforward manner about him. That was good for a soldier, less good for an elector.

  “Not yet. The Reiksguard took him with them. All the roads to the north-west are watched. I have horsemen sweeping the countryside.”

  “He has estates to the east, is that not so?”

  “He does, my lord, but—”

  “He will head there. You’re wasting your time guarding the river.”

  “Your pardon, but there are at least two dozen Reiksguard with him. We can’t watch every possible route. It seemed best to me to prevent his flight from the province.”

  “You’ve given him time to regroup. Send your men east at once. If you don’t destroy the nest, the viper will return.”

  Grosslich looked chastened. Schwarzhelm gave him no respite. The man had assumed that taking on the mantle of elector would be straightforward. He had to be disabused of that.

  “Are the witch hunters in the city yet?”

  “They are, my lord. The courts of enquiry have been placed in session.”

  Schwarzhelm felt a tremor of distaste. He knew what that meant. The instruments of agony. Still, such were their methods. The great enemy could not be defeated with pleasant words and gentle persuasion.

  “You will instruct them to meet me this evening. You’re not elector yet, Herr Grosslich. Until you have my word on it, I still carry the Imperial authority here.”