The Empire Omnibus

by Chris Wraight, Nick Kyme, Darius Hinks

  ‘We’ll keep ’em, if it’s all the same to you. Nights on the Averland plain can be cold. You can keep the blood money.’

  If Ledner felt the barb, or even cared, he didn’t show it. He ignored the scattered coins, too.

  It would be just like the man to leave them out of spite or to demonstrate just how much higher in the Imperial hierarchy he was, thought Karlich. We are little more than insects to men like him. He suppressed the urge to punch Ledner in the face. Karlich fancied his dagger-like nose would break fairly easily.

  ‘There’s more?’ asked the spymaster, when Karlich didn’t leave.

  ‘Don’t you want to know about the assassin?’

  The sergeant was genuinely nonplussed.

  ‘You stopped him, that’s all that really concerns me.’

  ‘The assassin was female, a Tilean by her cast and features.’

  Ledner kept silent, inviting more.

  ‘She was a sell-sword hired with freshly-minted Marienburg gold but then I suppose that doesn’t really surprise you, does it?’ Karlich couldn’t keep the sneer from his tone or his face.

  Now Ledner looked up at him. ‘And what makes you say that, sergeant?’

  ‘Only that you know more than you’re telling me.’

  The spymaster laughed wryly. ‘You knew what was needed,’ said Ledner. ‘A little information can be a dangerous thing, especially if it is heard out of context. I’m sure you’re aware of that, sergeant.’

  Karlich felt a sudden chill enter his spine. He swallowed hard. Did Ledner just allude to something in his past?

  Does he know about Vanhans?

  The look of playful humour vanished off Ledner’s face, as if deciding he’d pushed far enough for now.

  ‘You should get back to your regiment,’ he said, returning to the scrolls. ‘If you’re late for mustering, questions might be asked.’

  Recovering his composure, Karlich said, ‘Well then, let me ask you one more thing.’

  Ledner peered up at him from the table. ‘Go on.’

  ‘What was Count Pfeifraucher’s answer?’

  ‘You’d like to know your sacrifice wasn’t in vain, that the prince’s journey wasn’t a needless waste of time and effort?’

  ‘Just tell me.’

  Ledner snorted at some private amusement. ‘Have you looked around the town or at the army gathering outside? What do you see, sergeant?’

  Answering questions with questions, how like a spymaster.

  ‘I see nothing different, except perhaps a few more unhappy faces.’

  Ledner collected the scrolls and charts under his arm. As he walked past Karlich on his way out, he said, ‘Well then, there’s your answer.’

  Karlich really wanted to hit him now. He clenched his fists and it took all of his considerable willpower not to do it. He realised Ledner was trying to goad him. Execution was the punishment for striking a senior officer and Ledner knew it. So instead, Karlich kept his back to him and let the spymaster go.

  ‘I’ll send someone back for those pistols, unless you want to take them?’ Ledner didn’t wait for an answer, the sound of the door closing echoed in the man’s wake.

  ‘I have somewhere you can put them…’ Karlich snarled at the gloom. He waited until he was sure Ledner was gone then left the counting house to go and find his regiment. Any longer away from the gathering army and Stahler might begin to miss him.

  Captain Stahler couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Judging by the reaction of Prince Wilhelm’s other officers, neither could they.

  ‘So we’ll return to Reikland then, fortify our borders,’ said Captain Hornschaft, ‘and consolidate our forces with the Averlanders,’ he added when he caught a petrified look from Baron Blaselocker. The Yellow Baron, as he was now known around the camp, was really just an officer in name only. He had no troops to command, save his own retinue, and his position on the field would be at the rear, near the war machines where he could cause the least amount of trouble.

  Prince Wilhelm had pointed it out on one of the maps before him only a few moments ago. It was a few moments after that when he idly let slip that Wissenland had refused all overtures of alliance with Reikland and Averland. Just as before, they were alone in the liberation of Averheim.

  ‘Why do you think we are going over strategic plans of attack, Hornschaft?’ asked Preceptor Kogswald. The Griffonkorps captain had a way of making even the simplest question sound like an impatient challenge. His mood was sour, and he flushed angrily behind his oiled moustaches – Kogswald had vehemently opposed the prince’s diplomatic mission to Wissenland.

  The captain from Auerswald balked a little before the knight’s ire. He removed his wide-brimmed hat to mop his brow. ‘Without Count Pfeifraucher, we are badly outnumbered.’ He appealed to Wilhelm who was watching his officers keenly. A general could tell a lot about the men of his command when they were under pressure. Who would fight, who would rather flee to die another day. He was still undecided about Hornschaft.

  ‘And yet, here we are,’ said Vogen. The captain from Kemperbad stabbed a gauntleted finger down onto the map, which showed the lay of the land near the outskirts of Averheim, as if to suggest that battle was now a formality in his eyes.

  Wilhelm smiled privately.

  A fighter, that one.

  ‘So, what’s to be done?’ asked Stahler, displaying the earthy pragmatism he was known for. Truth was, though, he agreed with Hornschaft. Marching on Averheim with an under-strength force was near enough suicide. The difference was, Stahler’s pragmatic streak also manifested as a stoic adherence to duty.

  At that moment Ledner entered, throwing a shaft of light into the darkened confines of the tavern. Wilhelm had hastily summoned all of his military officers to his temporary lodgings in Mannsgard. He’d hoped against hope that Wissenland would answer the call to arms and fight beside its brothers. But instead of solidarity in the face of a common enemy, all Pfeifraucher had offered was a provincial mindset that saw him shutting his borders for good. Well, at least until the orcs moved farther south-east and tore them down.

  All of the captains were present, including Engineer Meinstadt who’d remained in pensive silence since the council began. Preceptor Kogswald of the Griffonkorps was seldom far from his prince’s side if he could help it, and represented all of the templar knights in the army. Vanhans and his ‘soldiers of faith’ were, obviously, excluded.

  Of the others, Father Untervash was outside the town leading his fellow priests and novitiates from regiment to regiment, offering blessings and instilling the courage of Sigmar where it was needed. The wizard had removed himself, meditating in solitude to consolidate his magical strength. Apparently, his powers were all but returned since the exhausting battle near the Brigund Bridge.

  The light died quickly as Ledner shut the tavern door, as did the warmth in the room. Fear mongering and disinformation were the man’s stock-in-trade, and rolled off him like a mist wherever he went.

  ‘Apologies, my liege,’ he said to Wilhelm in his familiar rasp, the other officers parting to allow him a place at the strategy table. ‘A matter arose that required my attention. Also, I needed to gather the additional charts and scrolls for our quartermasters.’

  The prince nodded once, in a gesture that all was well, before Kogswald outlined the plan of battle.

  ‘There is an army within Averheim. Trapped behind its gates, there is little it can do but defend the walls,’ he said, taking a nub of charcoal from a clay pot on the table. ‘Our force is not insignificant,’ he added, starting to draw. ‘We bring the greenskins on to us with artillery fire, archers and shot…’ Crosses represented the missile troops. Three arrows, arcing from where Averheim was depicted on the map to the crosses he had just drawn, represented the enemy’s movements. ‘Thus leavened, the wall guard can be thinned, its surplus used to form a large sor
tie in the courtyard.’ Kogswald looked up and smiled. The expression was a grim rictus, framed by his moustache. Steel coloured the emotion in his eyes.

  ‘No less than five knightly orders are holed up within Averheim. By pulling the greenskins towards us and using our cavalry to cut a path through to the gate, we can unleash them. Caught between a massed force of knights and the infantry, the greenskins will soon become disorganised. Rout, after that, is inevitable.’

  Kogswald stood straight after leaning over the table for so long. He looked pleased with himself.

  Prince Wilhelm waited patiently for the reaction.

  The other captains were nodding. Vogen folded his arms to suggest it met with his approval. Even Hornschaft looked mollified by what he’d heard. Stahler had to admit it sounded like a winning strategy, but he also saw the burden it would place on the infantry. When the orcs came at them, goaded by the guns, it would fall to the foot soldiers to hold them off and prevent the line from being overrun. Despite his ardent loyalty to the cause, he was starting to find the role of punching bag a little wearisome.

  ‘And what if the greenskins will not be baited or if they maintain their order?’

  Kogswald swung his gaze over to Ledner. He shook his head. ‘They are orcs,’ he said, confused at what his fellow captain was implying. ‘Ignorant beasts that are easily distracted and dissuaded. It is their nature. They can no more fight it than you or I could renounce our duty to the prince. It is what they are.’

  Ledner’s eyes never wavered. He met Kogswald’s indignant steel with silken guile. ‘And yet, the question remains…’

  Kogswald laughed again, not bothering to hide his scorn and incredulity. He looked about to reply when he went to the prince, instead.

  ‘My lord–’ he said, half as a question, half exasperation. Kogswald opened his palms as if to say, Are you going to listen to this snake’s drivel?

  Wilhelm breathed deeply, his eyes blind with thought. Wrong-footing them all, he turned to Meinstadt.

  ‘Master of the Guns, how much artillery do we have?’

  The engineer adjusted his monocle, by way of nervous affectation. He loudly cleared his throat.

  ‘Six great cannon, one volley gun, three mortar and ninety-six harquebus, my lord.’

  Stahler was taken aback at Meinstadt’s rapid inventory. He’d heard little and seen less of the war engines in the army’s arsenal. True, there were wagons driving out of Mannsgard with machineries aboard but he had not known of the volley gun, nor had he appreciated the sheer numbers. Engineers were secretive bastards, and evidently Meinstadt believed in that clandestine code, but they were also notoriously eager for ‘trialling’ their weapons of mass destruction. Stahler assumed Prince Wilhelm had instructed most of the artillery be held back and saved for breaking the siege at Averheim.

  ‘Keep a portion of the guns in reserve,’ said the prince. ‘I’ll leave it up to you, Meinstadt, to decide what is appropriate.’ Now he addressed the entire council. ‘If our attack falters, or the orcs surprise us all and hold their ground, we’ll cover our retreat with artillery. Nature or not, no mortal creature would gladly walk into a fusillade of shot if there are easier pickings elsewhere.’

  The engineer was nodding at this wisdom when Wilhelm glanced at him. ‘Do it now. Make your preparations.’

  Meinstadt was already leaving when the prince spoke again.

  ‘We are done, my captains. We march to Averheim, to glory or death.’ He nodded with a knowing sort of fatalism. ‘To blood, certainly. Fight for me,’ he added. ‘Fight for the Reikland and the Empire. Turn the tide.’

  The gathered captains stood a little straighter, a little taller and saluted together. Hornschaft was nodding again. With all the feathers on his hat, it put Stahler in mind of a bird pecking at its feed. Vogen puffed up his chest with war-like pride. Kogswald was imperious as ever. Ledner gave away nothing.

  These were the men that would deliver Averheim or see it fall, of this Stahler felt sure. The air felt cold. It was the touch of death closing, of Morr’s heavy sword above all their heads. It only made Stahler more determined.

  ‘Faith in Sigmar,’ said the prince.

  His captains answered as one.

  ‘Faith in Sigmar!’

  It would need to account for much in the hours to come.

  As the officers departed to their regiments, Stahler made an excuse to linger behind. Ledner and the prince were still inside. With the others gone, he went around the side of the tavern. When Stahler was sure no one was watching he bent double, hands on his knees to hold himself up. Sweat cascaded off his forehead as he removed his hat and helm. It felt as if an anvil were lying on his chest.

  ‘Gods…’ Stahler was surprised at the breathless rasp that came out of him. At Blösstadt the orc’s wound had gone deep – deeper than he’d realised. He clutched at his breastplate, it was like a vice seizing his body. When he drew away his hand it was dappled with blood.

  When Karlich returned to the regiment, a surprise awaited him.

  ‘Refugees from Averland,’ Lenkmann explained after a crisp salute. Karlich eyed the new recruit in his ranks wearily.

  ‘Just one? Doesn’t seem worth it,’ he chuntered to himself.

  ‘Welcome back, sergeant,’ Lenkmann added facilely. He stood forward of his comrades, as if distancing himself in the relative pecking order.

  ‘I’ve hardly been away,’ Karlich muttered and approached the fresh blood. He was young, that much was obvious, with the slight tan of a life lived on the Averland plains. The uniform was mismatched with yellow, black hose and a red tunic. The leather jerkin he wore over it had a crimson and white ribbon tied to one of its straps. He had one around his arm too. A metal gorget protected his neck and he had a peaked helmet.

  Karlich beckoned the lad forwards. He came to stand beside Lenkmann.

  ‘You a halberdier, son?’

  ‘As sure as Siggurd!’ the lad answered forcefully.

  The perplexed look on Karlich’s face made him go further.

  ‘I mean, yes sir, I am. Gerrant Greiss, formerly of the Grenzstadt Fifth,’ he added.

  Karlich sized him up. He scowled as if unimpressed. Behind them, Rechts and Volker were trying to keep a straight face.

  ‘You’ve fought “the Paunch” many men are speaking of?’

  ‘Not face-to-face, but our lord general did. At the Averland border, our army watched the western end of Black Fire Pass. We were amongst the first to resist the greenskins.’

  ‘Your lord, where is he now?’

  ‘His head is mounted on the goblin king’s banner, sir.’

  Averlanders were a straightforward, earthy people. Perhaps it was why they enjoyed such good relations with the dwarfs. Even still, Greiss’s forthrightness caught Karlich unawares.

  ‘I see,’ he said, recovering. ‘Rejoin your comrades. Welcome to the Grimblades, Greiss.’

  Karlich looked around at the growing army. Blocks of troops were discernible now. An order of march, come through from the returning officers, was slowly being established. The Grimblades had yet to learn of their position in it. Stahler, much to Karlich’s relief, still hadn’t shown up.

  He did see that other regiments, besides his own, had been swelled by refugee recruits too. Some, like Greiss, wore spare uniforms or elements thereof. Many looked incongruous amongst their new postings, however, wearing only a regimental ribbon on their arms to identify them.

  ‘Reappropriated after Captain Ledner’s instructions to the quartermasters,’ Lenkmann said when he saw his sergeant surveying the army.

  Karlich remembered the charts and scrolls in the counting house. He vaguely recalled a number of the so-called ‘death-books’ amongst them.

  As his gaze continued uninterrupted, Karlich noticed further additions. He saw a large regiment of dwarfs, probably expatriates from t
he Grey Mountains given their obvious penchant for Imperial trappings such as feathered helms and slitted tunics. Karlich had met Worlds Edge Mountain dwarfs before, and they did not dress like that. He also saw halflings, likely travelled from the Moot. More diminutive than dwarfs, but not as stocky and without beards, halflings were regarded as something of a nuisance in the Empire. Still, they were braver than they looked and fairly stout on account of their well-fed bellies.

  These halflings were an odd band, well-armed despite the shortness of their weapons and stature. They carried short bows and a variety of small daggers and dirks. One wore a kettle for a helmet, another a pot with a ladle tucked in his belt. Karlich spotted forks and spoons too, even a frying pan. Satchels slung over the halflings’ backs were stuffed with vittels. A chicken’s foot poked from one, the stopper from a jug of mead from another.

  ‘At least they’ve brought their own food,’ said a familiar voice. Von Rauken blew a plume of smoke as he chewed on his pipe. He smiled when Karlich saw him.

  ‘Are you jesting, greatsworder? That’s just a morsel to those gluttons!’

  Von Rauken laughed with a sound like grinding iron and the two men shook hands warmly. ‘Aye, you’re probably right,’ he said.

  ‘Once done with the supply wagons, they’ll be on to the horses,’ Karlich replied.

  Von Rauken laughed louder. His humour was infectious and as far removed from the grim champion as Karlich had ever seen.

  ‘Levity is good before battle,’ he said, the dourness returning. Something unspoken passed between the two men, a shared desire that both should survive what was to come at Averheim.

  Von Rauken clapped Karlich on the shoulder and nodded.

  ‘We’ll drink to it after.’ With that, he turned away and went back to where his greatswords were waiting.

  Karlich replied in a quiet voice, ‘Aye, after.’

  ‘The army grows, but why does it feel like the end of times, like our last battle?’ Lenkmann asked after a moment of silence.

  Around them the infantry was almost ready. Heavy horse could be heard above the muttered voices of the throng. The cavalry was leaving Mannsgard. They were about to begin marching to Averheim.