Warhammer - [The Ambassador Chronicles 01] - The Ambassador

by Graham McNeill (lit)

  'Well, Leopold Dietz, I hope you're correct. It would be a shame if I had to crack some more skulls today.'

  'That it would, sir.' agreed Leopold with a wry grin. 'Not all of us have got glass jaws like big Loeb.'

  Kaspar laughed and said, 'I'm glad to hear that, son. Because I need tough soldiers doing their best.'

  He turned away from Dietz and pointed towards the soldiers struggling towards the gates with the giant Loeb.

  'That man...' began Kaspar, 'was a cancer. He infected every man here with the desire to do less than he was capable of, less than his duty demanded. That cancer has been cut out and from now on, things will be done in a proper manner, as befits a garrison of the Emperor's soldiers. I am a hard man, but a fair one and if you prove to me that you are worthy of this post, then I shall see you rewarded for that.'

  Kaspar turned back to the scowling Kurt Bremen. He could see the Knight Panther did not approve of his methods, but having come from the ranks himself, he knew there was only one way to earn the respect of the common soldiers. He took the gelding's reins from Bremen and, hooking his foot into the stirrup, swung onto its back.

  Pavel leaned in close and whispered, 'Your first punch was good, but you go too easy on him I think. You forget all Pavel teach you about gutter fighting? Eyes and groin. Go for his, protect your own.'

  Kaspar smiled weakly, clenching and unclenching his fist. Already he could feel his fingers stiffening and knew that the skin would soon be colourfully bruised.

  'Big man almost had you with punch to head.' commented Pavel. 'Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you are too old for soldiering.'

  'Aye, he was a tough one alright.' acknowledged Kaspar. He pulled on his black leather riding gloves as Pavel tapped him on the shoulder and nodded in the direction of the city gates, where a trio of horsemen silently observed them.

  Kaspar shielded his eyes from the sun and watched the small group as it wound its way down the road towards them. Two bronze-armoured knights with bearskin cloaks flanked a thin, ascetic featured man shrouded in a blue cape with a leather colback planted firmly on his head.

  'Who's that?'

  'Trouble.' grunted Pavel.

  Kaspar glanced at Pavel's normally laconic features, apprehensive at the look of hostility that flickered briefly across his face. He indicated to Bremen that he should continue with the soldiers' training and kicked back his spurs.

  'Come on then, Pavel. Let's meet trouble head on.'

  'The Gospodars have saying, my friend: "Do not seek out trouble. It find you quick enough".' muttered the giant Kislevite as he pulled his overburdened horse after Kaspar's.

  The thin man reined in his mount, a bay gelding from the Empire rather than a smaller Kislevite plains pony, which immediately marked him out as a man of means. Unusually for a Kislevite, he was clean-shaven and his lips curled in distaste as his eyes flickered to the unconscious Loeb, telling Kaspar that he had seen the brawl.

  The man gave a perfunctory bow to Kaspar, ignoring Pavel, and inquired, 'Do I have the pleasure of addressing Ambassador von Velten?'

  Kaspar nodded. 'You do indeed, though you have me at a disadvantage. You are...?'

  The man seemed to swell within his voluminous cloak before he answered. He drew himself up and said, 'I am Pjotr Ivanovich Losov, chief advisor to Tzarina Katarin the Great, and I bid you welcome to her land.'

  'Thank you, Herr Losov. Now how may I be of service to you?'

  Losov produced a vellum envelope, wax-sealed with the crest of the Ice Queen herself, from his cloak and handed it to Kaspar.

  'I bring you this,' he said, 'and hope you will be available to attend.'

  Kaspar took the envelope and broke the seal, withdrawing an invitation, sumptuously scripted and printed on heavy paper with the royal cipher as a watermark. In gold embossed lettering, Kaspar read that he was cordially invited to be presented to the Tzarina at the Winter Palace tonight.

  Kaspar replaced the invitation in the envelope and said, 'Please convey my thanks to the Tzarina and inform her that we will, of course, be honoured to attend.'

  Pjotr Losov's brow furrowed in confusion. 'We?' he began, but before he could say any more, Kaspar continued: 'Excellent. My Kislevite liaison and captain of the guards will no doubt enjoy the evening also. I have heard many fabulous tales regarding the splendour of the Winter Palace.'

  Losov frowned, but said nothing, realising that to deny Kaspar guests would be a breach of protocol.

  'Of course,' replied Losov, casting a look of distaste towards Pavel. 'The Tzarina will be most pleased to receive them also I'm sure.'

  Kaspar smiled at the barely concealed sarcasm and said, 'My thanks for your delivery of this invitation, Herr Losov. I look forward to meeting you again this evening.'

  'As do I.' replied Losov, doffing his colback to Kaspar and hauling on his horse's reins. He and his escort rode back up the hillside, joining a caravan of wagons and fur-wrapped peasants as they made their way to the city.

  Kaspar watched Losov's retreating back and turned to Pavel.

  'I take it you two know each other then?'

  'We have dealings in past, yes,' confirmed Pavel neutrally, but said no more. Kaspar filed that nugget away for later and raised his eyes to the low autumn sun. It was still bright, but he knew it was already several hours past noon.

  'A reception tonight! She might have given us bit more bloody notice. I've been waiting all week for an audience with her!'

  Pavel shrugged, his usual enthusiasm returning as Losov vanished from sight. 'It is the Tzarina's way, my friend. Come, we must return to the embassy and prepare. Pavel must make sure you are presentable for Ice Queen.'

  Kaspar plucked at his plain grey shirt and cloak and mudstained boots, realising what a backward peasant he must have looked to the Tzarina's envoy.

  'I take it that it would have been bad form to decline this?' asked Kaspar, waving the envelope.

  The very idea seemed to horrify Pavel and he nodded vigorously. 'Very bad, yes, very bad. You cannot decline. Etiquette demand that the Ice Queen's invitations take precedence over all other previous engagements. Even duty to the dead must be set aside, for mourning does not release a guest from appearing at a court ceremony.'

  'And the prospect of free food and drink has nothing to do with your steadfast desire that we attend this damned thing...'

  'Not at all!' laughed Pavel. 'Pavel just wishes to make sure you do not offend Ice Queen in some way. Were it not already silver, Pavel could turn your hair white with tale of last man who displeased the Tzarina. All I say is that it was as well he and his wife already had children!'

  'Then let us go, my friend,' grinned Kaspar, walking his horse towards the city gates. 'I have no wish to suffer a similar fate.'

  Kaspar glanced back at the soldiers, who had begun jogging around the city walls once more. He noted that Leopold Dietz led from the front, keeping pace with Kurt Bremen and exhorting the others to push harder. He hoped that the young soldier's optimistic words were not so much hot air. He would need soldiers to be proud of in the coming months if his ambassadorship was to be taken seriously.

  II

  KASPAR PULLED ON his long coat and admired himself in the full-length mirror. He wore black britches tucked into grey leather boots and an embroidered white cotton shirt with a severely cut, black frock-coat. Every inch a servant of the Empire, he considered. Despite his fifty-four years, he had tried to keep himself in shape and his body was wiry and lean.

  Since the departure of Teugenheim earlier in the week, Kaspar had taken the previous ambassador's quarters as his own, refurnishing it at his own expense. He was not living in the manner to which he was accustomed, but it would do for now.

  Returning from the cold outside the city walls two hours ago, he had bathed using a Kislevite herbal soap that had a strange, but not unpleasant aroma, and then shaved, twice nicking the edge of his chin with the knife. It was typical, thought Kaspar, that he could shave most mornings wh
ile half asleep and not cut himself, but the moment an important function came up, it was as though he hacked at his skin with a rusty axe blade.

  A knock came at his door and before he could respond, Stefan entered the room, a colourful bundle of fabric draped over his good arm. His left arm ended at the wrist, a beastman's axe blade having taken his hand a decade ago.

  'What do you think?' asked Kaspar.

  'Oh no, no, no!' retorted Stefan, casting a scornful gaze over Kaspar's apparel and rolling his eyes. 'You're not going to a funeral, you damn fool, you're going to be presented to a queen.'

  'What's wrong with what I'm wearing?' asked Kaspar, raising his arms and turning to face the mirror again.

  'You look like a schoolmaster,' commented Stefan, dropping the bundle of fabric on a chair by the window.

  'This is Kislev,' continued Stefan. 'They're a dour enough race without everyone going about in black all the time. Royal events are an excuse for the Kislevites to dress up like peacocks and strut around in all their finery.'

  As if to underscore Stefan's words, the door slammed open and Pavel strode into Kaspar's chambers, grinning like a fool and dressed in a riotous mix of silks and velvet. He wore a cobalt-blue doublet and hose, stretched across his wobbling belly, patterned with silver stitching and sequined with glittering stones sewn into the lining. An ermine trimmed cape hung to his knees and his boots were fashioned from a ridiculously impractical white velvet. To complete the ensemble, Pavel had waxed his long grey moustache into extravagant spirals that reached below his chin.

  Kaspar's jaw dropped at the sight of his comrade as Stefan nodded in approval.

  'That's more like it,' he commented. 'That's how you dress for court in Kislev.'

  'Please tell me you're joking,' growled Kaspar. 'He looks like a court jester!'

  Pavel's face fell and he folded his arms. 'Better a jester than a priest of Morr, Empire man! I will be most handsome man tonight. Women will weep when they see Pavel!'

  'Of that I have no doubt,' commented Kaspar dryly.

  Pavel smiled, missing Kaspar's ironic tone, and the next twenty minutes were spent in heated debate as Stefan and Pavel attempted to persuade the ambassador to consider a more colourful selection of clothes. Eventually, a compromise was reached and Kaspar changed into an emerald green pair of britches and, as a concession to his Kislevite hosts, a short scarlet dolman, slashed with gold and trimmed with a border of sable. The short cape hung loosely about his shoulders and felt completely impractical to Kaspar. Too small to provide any warmth and just awkward enough to get in the way while walking, it was typical of the Kislevite aristocracy to design a garment with no practical purpose whatsoever.

  At last Kaspar and Pavel descended to the main doors of the embassy to find Kurt Bremen waiting for them, his armour shining like polished silver. The knight was without his sword belt and Kaspar could see how much it chafed him to be unarmed. Bremen looked up at the sound of their approach and Kaspar saw him visibly fight to restrain a smirk at their outlandish attire.

  'Not a word.' warned Kaspar as Bremen opened the thick wooden door.

  The sky was dark as they emerged into the cold of a Kislev night. It was still early evening, but night had fallen with its customary northern swiftness and the chill cut through Kaspar.

  'By Sigmar, these clothes don't hold a scrap of heat.' he growled. He stamped his feet on the cobbles to work in some warmth and set off down the steps to the embassy gates where a lacquered and open-topped carriage awaited them. On the tiny coach-box sat a huge driver with a long beard, wrapped in a vast greatcoat and wearing a square red velvet cap. He clambered down and opened the door and saluted as Kaspar, Pavel and Bremen climbed aboard. He returned to his coachbox and cracked his whip, expertly guiding the carriage back towards Geroyev Square.

  III

  THE DRIVER MANAGED the trotting horses with a practiced ease, the thread-thin reins held tightly in his hands, and Kaspar had to admit that the carriage was a fine method of travel indeed. The harness, made from a few strips of leather, was scarcely visible, and gave a wonderful look of elegance to the steed, which seemed to run without any restraint beneath the great arched piece of wood above the carriage's collar. Had she still lived, Madeline would have loved to travel like this and for a wistful moment he pictured her riding alongside him through this night.

  The carriage streaked across the centre of the square, and their speed slowed as the ground became steeper. The carriage carried them smoothly along the Urskoy Prospekt, the great triumphal road, that took its name from the monastery at its beginning, the Reliquary of St. Alexei Urskoy. This massive stone edifice was a sanctuary consecrated to the heroes of Kislev, and the burial-place of the Ice Queens father, the great Tzar, Radii Bokha himself.

  All the way along, the thoroughfare presented a most animated scene. On either side of the road, more humble vehicles plied for hire, drawn by thick-set cart-ponies and driven by rough-coated peasants who had flocked from the surrounding steppe to escape the advancing armies of the northmen.

  The ground grew less steep and before them, upon the crest of the Gora Geroyev, stood the palace of the Ice Queen. Kaspar had seen the palace several times in the past week and had been overwhelmed by its majesty, but at night, lit from below by vast, Cathayan lanterns, its beauty was spellbinding.

  'It's magnificent,' whispered Kaspar as the driver expertly guided the carriage through the wrought iron gates of the palace grounds, passing between rows of armoured knights with helms crafted in the shape of snarling bears. The sheer scale of the royal palace became even more apparent as they neared, its defences every bit as formidable as the city walls themselves.

  Scores of sleds and carriages filed along before them, discharging their fur-wrapped charges at the black wooden gates of the palace and swiftly moving on to make room for others following them. Knights on white horses stood motionless at the entrance, watching as the empty carriages slipped back through the gates and formed a line on the square, their coachmen gathering about huge fires burning in braziers provided for the occasion.

  Their driver once again climbed down from his coach-box and silently opened the carriage door. Kaspar and Bremen stepped down, lost in admiration at the palace architect's skill. Pavel pressed a few brass kopecks into the driver's outstretched palm and stood alongside the two men from the Empire, following their gaze around the intricately carved columns and pediment that formed the entrance to the Winter Palace.

  'You both look like you have never seen palace before. Let us get inside before we are mistaken for ignorant peasants.' said Pavel, striding towards the palace.

  Kaspar and Bremen hurriedly caught up with Pavel, the wooden doors swinging open as they approached, and they stepped through into the palace of the Tzarina of Kislev. No sooner were they inside the marble-floored vestibule than the doors closed behind them.

  The vast hall was packed with people, brightly chatting young women and bawdily laughing men.

  The great majority of the men were soldiers, young moustachioed officers of every corps, haggard faces grim testimony to the fierce battles being fought in the northern oblast against the hordes of Kurgan warriors. They wore bright surcoats and furedged dolmans, their armour obviously hastily repaired, and all carried feathered helmets surmounted by a silver bear with spread paws. Scattered here and there were the commanders of regiments of lancers and horse archers with red breastplates and green tunics, as well as hand gunners wrapped in their long tunics and bristling with silver cartridge cases.

  Passing quietly to and fro among the crowd were the Tzarina's liveried pages and maids of honour, dressed in long, ice-blue coats, divesting the guests of their heavy pelisses and carrying silver trays laden with flutes of sparkling Bretonnian wine. Pavel reached out and stopped one of the tray carrying servants, procuring a trio of glasses.

  Kaspar accepted one from Pavel and sipped the wine, enjoying the refreshing crispness of the beverage.

  'It's like some
thing from a child's fairy tale.' said Kaspar in wonderment.

  'This?' scoffed Pavel, with a grin. 'This nothing. Wait until you see Gallery of Heroes, my friend.'

  Kaspar smiled, and despite his reservations, found himself caught up in the ebullient mood that appeared to infuse the assembled guests of the Tzarina as they made their way slowly towards a gracefully curved marble staircase.

  The procession ascended the long, flower garlanded staircase, lace trains sweeping past the porphyry pillars, gems and diamonds gleaming in the light of gently spinning lanterns wreathed in silk. Many-coloured uniforms passed through the vestibule, the click of sabres and spurs loud on the floor. Slowly the guests ascended between ranks of Kislevite knights chosen from among the most handsome men of the Palace Guard, grand-looking giants, who stood expressionless in their burnished armour of bronze.

  A mammoth painting of the Tzarina's father on the back of a monstrous white-furred bear dominated the wall at the head of the stairs and beneath it, Kaspar saw the elegantly dressed form of Pjotr Losov. He wore a long, crimson robe, decorated with swirls of yellow leather and hung with silver tassels.

  The Tzarina's advisor spotted him and raised his hand in welcome.

  'Be wary of that one,' warned Pavel as they reached the top of the stairs. 'He is snake and not to be trusted.'

  Before Kaspar could question Pavel further, Losov swept towards them and shook Kaspar's hand. He smiled and said, 'Welcome to the Winter Palace, Ambassador von Velten. It is good to see you once again.'

  'I am honoured to be invited, Herr Losov. The palace is magnificent, I have never seen its like before. Truly it is a marvel.'

  Losov nodded, accepting the compliment gracefully as Kaspar said, 'Allow me to present my companions to you, sir. This is my captain of the guard, Kurt Bremen of the Knights Panther.'

  'Honoured, sir knight,' answered Losov as Bremen bowed curtly and clicked his heels together.