The Empire Omnibus

by Chris Wraight, Nick Kyme, Darius Hinks

  ‘What does it mean?’ asked Volker.

  Karlich looked back down at the body, then at the Reikland dagger plunged into its dead heart. Brand was already heading down again. He knew they were going back.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Karlich lied. He had some ideas. ‘We should return to Mannsgard and report it. We go now.’

  Chapter Twelve

  To save a prince

  Outside Mannsgard, Averland,

  386 miles from Altdorf

  The Grimblades ran the five miles back to camp. The high grass made hard work of it and all except for Brand were gasping for breath by the time they reached Mannsgard’s gates.

  Old Varveiter would have been complaining, the last to come in. Eber missed it. They all did. Or at least, that’s how it appeared. Keller had said nothing since the barn. He was finding it increasingly difficult to lift his eyes off the ground lately. Masbrecht had asked him about it, but Keller just mumbled something and walked away. Masbrecht dropped it after that.

  Karlich had said nothing to those who were down in the barn when the body was being examined. Rechts knew of it, of course, and they knew what he knew, but only Volker, Brand and Masbrecht were privy to the map and the dagger. Karlich had worried at it all the way to Mannsgard, trying not to jump to conclusions. Captain Stahler would know what to do. He was billeted in an old counting house close to the gate. At least they wouldn’t have to slog through the streets to reach him.

  ‘You three, come with me,’ said Karlich, upon entering the town. ‘The rest of you will wait at The One-Eyed Dwarf until I come and get you. Understood?’

  Brand, Masbrecht and Volker stayed with the sergeant. As the others were moving off, Karlich added, ‘And stay out of trouble.’

  Lenkmann saluted, and assured the sergeant that wouldn’t be a problem.

  When they were out of earshot, Masbrecht asked in a low voice, ‘Why meet so close to Mannsgard? The messenger and his would-be killer, I mean.’

  ‘Closeness to his mark,’ said Brand. ‘He can observe and predict, gather information first hand if he needs to. The messenger obviously came from the prince’s camp. He served his purpose and was silenced.’

  ‘Perhaps Templar Vanhans or one of his faithful saw something,’ offered Masbrecht.

  Karlich stiffened at the mention of the witch hunter’s name. He tried not to react and focused on getting to the counting house.

  ‘Scouts and patrols are leaving the town all the time,’ said Brand. ‘A lone rider would be lost with the rest.’

  ‘Shut up, both of you.’ Disturbed also by Brand’s knowledge of contract killing, Karlich had finally listened to all he could take. Bad enough that they’d found the dead messenger at all, they didn’t need someone overhearing them on the street. Things were complicated as it was. When they reached Stahler’s billet, the matter became tangled even further.

  The counting house was a dusty place with grey walls, full of wooden furniture. It had two floors, the upper one had an archive and vault but was boarded over; the lower had a hallway leading to a small office with a writing desk and was full of old ledgers. A side room contained a bed and chair. It was close to the Temple of Shallya, so Stahler was in reach of ministration if he needed it.

  The shutters were drawn and the counting house was dark when the four Grimblades entered. Smoke hung in the air, obscuring the view further.

  Karlich went in first, his men a few paces behind. Their steps sounded loud and echoing as they walked down the hallway. Upon reaching the office, Karlich saw a silhouette sitting at the writing desk. Stahler was smoking a pipe, though it didn’t smell like his usual tobacco. Perhaps the priestesses had provided a curative leaf. Karlich had heard of such things, though didn’t place much stock in them.

  ‘Sir,’ he ventured. ‘We’ve made a disturbing discovery.’ Stahler was little more than a black outline against a dark-grey canvas, but he sat up when Karlich spoke. The sergeant took it as an invitation to speak further.

  ‘There’s an old farmstead about five miles west of Mannsgard. The farmer was dead. There was also another body,’ Karlich paused, choosing his next words carefully. ‘It was hidden in a hay loft and wore the trappings of an Altdorf messenger, one from Prince Wilhelm’s camp.’

  As his sight adjusted, Karlich began to see Stahler’s eyes in the gloom. They narrowed at the mention of the prince and suddenly the sergeant felt that something was wrong.

  ‘You’re not Captain Stahler,’ he said flatly, straightening his back to show his annoyance. Karlich didn’t like being fooled. He liked liars and charlatans even less. ‘Who are you?’

  The silhouette struck a match, lighting up a nearby lamp. Ledner was revealed in its wan glow. Shadows pooled the crevices of his thin face, making him appear gaunter than he actually was. Ledner kept the light behind him, blinding his visitors but enabling him to see them clearly.

  ‘You were saying, sergeant?’

  ‘I thought I was speaking to my captain. I’m sorry, sir. There’s been a mistake.’ Karlich went to go, not sure what Ledner would make of what he had heard so far, when the voice of the prince’s spymaster stopped him.

  ‘The only mistake would be to leave this room,’ Ledner said calmly. ‘Please go on. Captain Stahler is with the sisters of mercy having his wounds redressed.’

  Karlich wished he had had the temerity to ask what then Ledner was doing in his captain’s billet with his aide obviously elsewhere. In the circumstances, he didn’t think it wise. He took the map scroll from where he’d secured it in his belt and unfurled it on the desk.

  ‘And what is this?’ Ledner asked.

  ‘A map of Averland and Wissenland,’ said Volker, nonplussed. Karlich glared at him and the huntsman shut his mouth like a trap.

  Ledner smiled thinly. His eyes were predatory as he regarded Volker.

  ‘What is its meaning?’

  ‘The messenger was carrying it when he died,’ said Karlich.

  Ledner began to study the map. He traced a thin finger down the line describing Wilhelm’s route.

  ‘How was he killed?’

  Karlich cleared his throat, making Ledner look up.

  ‘We think he was assassinated. An Empire dagger had pierced his heart.’

  Ledner sighed, rolling up the parchment. ‘Well, that would do it I suppose.’

  When the spymaster permitted a long silence to descend, Karlich told him, ‘Something must be done.’

  Ledner fixed the sergeant with a cold stare that bled all heat from the lamp. Karlich felt a shiver but suppressed it.

  ‘About what? What is it you think is happening here, sergeant?’ Ledner was enjoying the inquisition and suddenly Karlich could imagine many men who had fallen under the spymaster’s scrutiny. He thought those ‘conversations’ would be markedly less pleasant than this one. That they would end with hot steel and fire, maybe the noose or rack. Ledner was famed for his strong stomach and his sociopathic nature. A keen combination in a torturer and confessor.

  Karlich drew off his courage, speaking aloud what he had believed since finding the body and seeing the map.

  ‘Prince Wilhelm is in danger, my lord. I think someone’s planning to kill him.’

  Ledner smiled again. There was no warmth in it. It was a gesture as far from humour as it was possible to get.

  ‘You were wise to come to me, sergeant. Even if it was by accident,’ said Ledner. ‘You are certain this messenger was slain by an assassin, the same man you think is after the prince?’

  ‘It may already be too late,’ said Karlich. ‘If the prince’s would-be killer attacked him on the way to Pfeildorf… My lord, I must speak to my captain at once. Something must be done.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ Ledner replied, standing.

  ‘I beg your par–’

  ‘You won’t, because the fewer people who know abou
t this the better.’ Ledner opened up the lamp’s shutter, exposing the flame within. ‘Who else was with you?’ he asked. ‘Just these three?’

  ‘No. There were four others, all men of my regiment.’

  ‘Where are these men now?’

  Karlich’s brow furrowed. ‘At a tavern in the town. What does it matter?’

  Ledner opened the oil valve on the lamp so the flame burned at its fiercest. He took the map and poked one corner in through the shutter.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Karlich reached out for the parchment, which was already burning, but Ledner seized his wrist in a grip as strong as a serpent’s jaws.

  ‘You remember the location on the map, the low hills, the mid-point between Prince Wilhelm’s route?’ He sniffed scornfully. ‘Of course you do. A man like you, sergeant, would have seared it into his mind. Am I right?’

  Karlich backed down. He nodded slowly and Ledner released him so he could continue burning the map. The flames seemed to fill his eyes, revealing a dark glint in the pupils. When he was done reducing the parchment to charred fragments, he turned his gaze back on Karlich.

  ‘A plot against the prince that comes from within his very camp,’ said Ledner. ‘No one is to be trusted, sergeant. You shouldn’t even have trusted me but then you had little choice in the matter since you had to do something. No one else can know of this – no one. If word slipped out of an assassination plot against the prince, by his own court no less, two things would certainly happen. Our killer would realise his plan was compromised and change it, thus denying us the opportunity to stop him. Furthermore, this campaign, the Empire itself, would be thrown into even greater turmoil. We are divided enough as it is without talk of assassination within our own ranks.

  ‘What do you think would happen next? Electors, barons, earls, they’d be even more paranoid than they are now. Instead of one assassin, you would have hundreds.’ Ledner breathed deeply, as if making up his mind. ‘Stahler cannot know,’ he said. ‘But here is what you’ll do. Fetch your men, the other four who saw the body, and bring them here to me.’

  ‘Why? What do you plan to do?’ asked Karlich, forgetting his place for a moment.

  ‘Other than finding out who ordered the contract on the prince, I am not going to do anything. You however will be responsible for stopping this assassin.’

  Karlich was already shaking his head when Ledner interrupted him.

  ‘This must not get out. Be very clear on this. So far, the only ones who know of it are you, your men and I. Keep it that way or risk far more than the death of a beloved prince.’ Ledner waved a finger at him. The glint in his eye returned. ‘Civil war, sergeant, just like in the old days.’

  Karlich still wasn’t convinced.

  ‘There must be those better equipped than us to deal with this matter.’

  ‘Yes, of course there are,’ said Ledner, ‘but we’ve been over this. The fewer people who know, remember?’

  ‘Sigmar be damned,’ muttered Karlich, and knew they had no choice. A trained killer against him and seven of his men. Were it not for Brand, he wouldn’t have liked the odds.

  ‘Halberds are hardly made for stealth,’ Karlich added.

  ‘Get your men, bring them here. I will have weapons waiting,’ Ledner told him. ‘You can use a pistol?’ he asked.

  Karlich nodded.

  ‘Anyone else?’

  Volker raised a hand, as Masbrecht shook his head.

  Ledner’s eyes went to Brand, who had watched the whole affair intently from the darkness.

  ‘Oh, I bet you can use one. I bet you’re no stranger to having blood on your hands, are you?’ The spymaster’s smile was almost venomous.

  Brand never moved.

  Ledner looked as if he was about to say something else to him, but he turned his attention back on Karlich.

  ‘The prince will make his return in just over a day. You need to be in those hills and root out the killer before the prince reaches them.’ He doused the lantern, plunging the room back into darkness. ‘Go,’ he added, sitting down again. ‘Weapons will be waiting for you.’

  Karlich didn’t know what else to say. He turned on his heel, glad to be leaving the counting house and Ledner behind.

  Eight Grimblades left the town of Mannsgard just before dusk, armed with short swords and bucklers. Three men also carried pistols. Ledner had met them at the counting house and told them to wait until night was approaching to make their way out. Patrols were not that uncommon at the end of the day and their presence would barely raise an eyebrow amongst the watchmen and gate guards. By way of a parting gift, Ledner provided fur-lined cloaks for them all. Without the sun to warm them and few trees and valleys to shield against the wind, the plains would be bitterly cold after dark.

  They were to travel on foot, a journey that would take the entire night and most of the next morning. Ledner reasoned that the prince and his Griffonkorps would likely ride from Pfeildorf at dawn, bringing them to the assassination site – the hilly valley denoted at the map – no earlier than late morning. The Grimblades had to find the assassin and kill him before then. They’d be cutting it fine.

  Without the crackle of a fire for company, it felt eerie on the grassy heath. Some of the Grimblades huddled together against a harsh wind, as it tossed their cloaks about, trying to work them free with its chill fingers. The fur lining might as well be soaked through for all the protection it offered; blowing from the east, the wind was like daggers shearing through their clothes. It brought the smell of burning meat with it from the huge ritual pyres erected by the orcs. It wasn’t animal in origin; the stench was human.

  ‘If I imagine a fire, will that warm me?’ said Rechts. He was shivering more than the others, a grey pallor affecting his face.

  ‘Aye, and draw fewer greenskins and other beasts to our camp than a real fire,’ Karlich replied with a scowl. He nursed a pipe in his hands, taking care to shelter the small flame.

  ‘Wish I was still drunk,’ Rechts muttered.

  ‘Perhaps if you’d stayed sober you wouldn’t feel the cold so much,’ snapped the sergeant. He was starting to lose his patience. They all were.

  Since leaving Mannsgard that evening, the men had said little to one another. Each had his mind on his thoughts and the awful truth that someone within the Empire, within their camp, was plotting to kill Prince Wilhelm. Worse still, they were the ones supposed to prevent it. Karlich, for one, didn’t appreciate the burden. He’d noticed something cruel in Ledner’s eyes when he’d sent them off. The spymaster didn’t expect them all to return.

  What are men like us to men like him, he thought bitterly? Just fodder for his schemes and lies.

  A low howl from the distant hills to the south startled them. Volker turned quickly, soothing Dog who had been lying beside him but was now on his feet and growling. He made out a silhouette on the far away hills, of a beast prowling the moors near the Wissenland border. All men of the Aver had heard tales of the balewolf. It was a legend spun by housewives and bored soldiers. The Grimblades had listened to a veteran piker tell it in Mannsgard. Now it came back to haunt them with the shadows, real or imagined, on the wind-tossed grasslands of the wild.

  ‘Easy boy,’ he murmured, using the tone of his voice to quieten the mastiff. Volker blinked and the silhouette was gone, like a wisp of smoke carried off by the breeze.

  ‘Good dog…’ said Lenkmann, reaching over to pat the mutt’s head. He snatched his hand away when Dog snapped at him, fangs bared.

  ‘Not really,’ Volker replied with a smile. The moon was high overhead, revealed through scudding cloud, and it cast his face in a sinister light. ‘It means no offence. Just knows its master.’

  Lenkmann mumbled something before planting his hands firmly back inside his cloak.

  Volker tickled Dog under the chin and the savage beast growled appreciatively before licking
the salt off his fingers.

  ‘It scents evil,’ said Brand. He was sitting a little way back from the circle of men, who turned suddenly at the sound of his voice. ‘Can’t you smell it, too?’

  Masbrecht made the sign of Sigmar and watched the darkness where the beast had been with fearful eyes.

  ‘Smell what?’ asked Eber. Of all the Grimblades, the big Reiklander appeared least troubled by the cold. The layers of muscle obviously made for good insulation.

  ‘Orc spore. It’s thick.’

  Now they all smelled it, coming from the east on the same breeze that brought the reek of burning meat. Orange smudges blighted that part of the horizon from the villages and towns still ablaze. Men and women would be burning. Some might have fled if they were lucky. Perhaps the fell beasts of the wild had easier prey that night than the Grimblades.

  Overhead, there came the flapping of wings and a shadow passed over them like a curse. Every man, even Brand, flattened to the ground and didn’t look up again until the shadow was gone.

  ‘We all saw that, right?’ asked Volker, wanting to be convinced he wasn’t just hallucinating.

  Keller nodded meekly. Like in the barn, he’d kept his eyes on the ground for most of the journey, using whoever was in front of him as a guide. No one questioned him about it. They all knew something had happened to him since Blösstadt. Only he and Brand knew the truth.

  ‘It was the shaman and his wyvern,’ said Karlich, trying to slow his racing heartbeat.

  Keller’s teeth were chattering, and not from the cold. Masbrecht was muttering a prayer of warding under his breath. The others just huddled,

  trying to look as small as possible. Even Brand was shaken. If this was the effect that the creature caused hundreds of feet away, up in the air, then how could men face it on the battlefield? It only made Wilhelm’s victory at the Brigund Bridge, when he had driven the beast and its master off, all the more impressive. It also convinced Karlich that they had to save this man, that without him they would surely fail. He’d been right in the tent all those days ago: men like Wilhelm were greater than he, capable of doing great things.