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 wer
e 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.”
“Of course. I didn’t presume—”
“What are your plans for securing the city? There can be no coronation until the traitors have been rooted out.”
Grosslich looked on firmer ground then. Tactics were something he understood. They both did. As the simplest level, the two of them were soldiers and nothing more.
“Those who served closest to Leitdorf have been disarmed. The captains have been surrendered to the witch hunters for examination. The ordinary troops, including those with feudal ties to my rival, have been released. I will have no bloody reprisals here. The city has suffered enough.”
“You’re confident you can maintain order?”
“I have a thousand men-at-arms already in the city. More are on their way. Herr Alptraum has been most generous with his family’s wealth. As long as they’ve not served in Leitdorf’s inner circle, I will turn no willing recruit away. Averland’s army needs rebuilding.”
Schwarzhelm grunted with approval. That was certainly true.
“You will send me documents concerning your revenue and deployment plans. Only when I’m satisfied that the city is secure will I set the investiture in motion. I want regular reports on progress. And while Leitdorf is at large, the eyes of the Emperor will be closely watching you here.”
Grosslich bowed.
“I understand.”
“Have you found Natassja?” interjected Verstohlen. Always Natassja. The man seemed obsessed with her.
“She remains free, I regret to say, but I have as many men searching for her as I do for her husband. We’ve taken your warnings seriously, counsellor.”
“I’m glad of it. She is at the heart of the whole thing. Perhaps even Leitdorf doesn’t know what her full plans are. There’s no doubt she remains dangerous. Do not be complacent. The great enemy is ever stronger and more enduring than it first appears.”
Grosslich couldn’t resist a smile. The man was flush with victory, and such warnings must have seemed pointless.
“So you’ve been telling me ever since this affair began,” he said. He looked amused, but there was no malice in his voice. “Trust me. I’ve been fighting against these people for two years. Their powers have already proved weaker than they hoped for. She will be found.”
Verstohlen didn’t look reassured.
“Make sure of it,” he said. “She may be in the city still.”
Schwarzhelm turned back to Grosslich.
“That is all for now,” he said. “You may return to your men.”
Grosslich made to leave, then hesitated. “My lord,” he said, looking uncertainly at Schwarzhelm. “I haven’t thanked you yet.” Schwarzhelm scowled. This was unnecessary. “Herr Grosslich—”
“Please. Hear me out. Perhaps I didn’t give you the credit you deserved when you first arrived. It’s clear to me now that not all was as it appeared. I wouldn’t have believed that a man like Helborg could turn, not if I hadn’t seen it myself. We couldn’t have stood against him. In my arrogance I thought to challenge him myself. Now that my blood has cooled I realise it would have been my death to do so. Had you not arrived when you did—”
“Enough,” snapped Schwarzhelm. He knew the man meant well, but to even think of it caused him pain. “We will not speak of it. Is there anything else?”
Grosslich hesitated, then shook his head. “I understand,” he said. “Then return to your duties.”
Grosslich and his captains turned and headed from the chamber. As they left, the heavy doors closed behind them with a clang. Schwarzhelm and Verstohlen were alone again. For some moments, neither of them spoke.
“Have we done the right thing here, Pieter?” asked Schwarzhelm. He made no effort to hide the concern in his voice.
“I have no doubt of it. You’re letting your friendship cloud your mind. Do not dwell on it.”
“Friendship? It’s not been that for years.” Schwarzhelm frowned. “He was a great man. It will break the Emperor’s heart.”
“None of us are immune.”
“That is the truth,” said Schwarzhelm. “Though I wish with all my heart it were otherwise.”
The great hall of the Averburg was dark. Even though the sun blazed outside, drapes had been hung over the tall windows. Each of them bore the symbol of the comet embroidered in scarlet thread. Braziers had been set up at intervals along the nave. They gave off an acrid smell and sent plumes of black smoke curling up into the rafters. The place had been turned into something more fitted to the tastes of its temporary occupants.
It had been less than a day since the witch hunters had arrived, and they’d wasted no time in setting up their tribunal. Grosslich’s men worked hard to supply them with a steady stream of suspects, all dragged from the poor quarter, all members of Leitdorf’s inner circle. The investigation had been typically thorough. Where the taint of Chaos was even suspected, the questioning was always rigorous and applied without mercy. The methods were ancient, honed by the master interrogators of the Temple of Sigmar over generations. Some were subtle, preying on the weaknesses of men’s minds. Others were brutal, playing on the frailty of men’s bodies. Both had their place. Both had been employed in Averheim.
Witch hunter Odo Heidegger looked down at his latest subject with a mix of pity and scorn. He knew what other men thought about his profession. That they were sadists, butcher
s who enjoyed their work, fanatics and zealots. No doubt some of his colleagues were. He’d met many others of his kind, particularly in the remoter reaches of the Empire, who had depressed him. There was nothing more saddening than seeing a man charged with the most holy offices of the Imperial hierarchy turn to brutishness. Heidegger prayed to Sigmar nightly that such a fate would not befall him.
He was, after all, a cultured man. He enjoyed lyric poetry, so long as the subject matter was suitably reverent. He had no time for tavern singing, but revelled in the soaring music of the Imperial Chapel in Wittenburg, justly famous for its choral tradition. In another life, perhaps he would have become a musician himself. He’d always wondered what it would be like to play the lute, to dance across the strings with his delicate fingers, producing the kind of gentle, strumming sound that pleased even the hardest of hearts. He had the sensibility for it. He also had the delicacy of touch, honed over years of dedicated practice.
He tried not to think too closely about the screams, of course. They clouded out the images of harmony running through his mind. It was important to concentrate on this kind of work. He didn’t take any pleasure in the pain he caused. That was just a means to an end. But he did take pleasure in the skill. Sigmar would forgive him that sin of pride. It was pursued, after all, for His ends.
Thankfully, Werner Klopfer had stopped screaming. He was now engaged in a kind of frenzied panting. The man was naked, strapped to a table in the centre of the great hall. His right arm had been turned into a cacophony of gore. The muscle was visible in patches, shining in the candlelight. Aside from a diligent scribe and a couple of deaf-mute guards standing watch at the doors, they were alone together. It was a pleasing, intimate scene.
Klopfer’s breathing became more ragged. The poor man was panicking. Heidegger took a damp cloth from the bench beside him and pressed it to his subject’s brow. Klopfer shivered under the touch. His skin glistened with sweat. His whole body stank with it. Like most of the subjects brought before him that day, he had lost control of his bowels with terror. That was certainly unfortunate, but one couldn’t blame the wretches for that. It was an arduous business, this uncovering of the truth.
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