Despite this, Rufus carried himself with all the natural-born arrogance of the Empire’s coterie of noble families. His swagger told Schwarzhelm all he needed to know about the man. He regarded the Averburg as his personal possession, and all those who stood between him and his rightful prize were his enemies.
As he approached, their eyes met. Leitdorf stared at Schwarzhelm with disdain. The Emperor’s Champion was baseborn. All knew that. Schwarzhelm met the gaze and held it. For a few moments, Leitdorf managed to keep his head up. Then he looked away. Disappointing. Most could manage just a few moments longer.
“My lord Schwarzhelm,” Leitdorf said, extending a hand limply. His father’s ring was on the fourth finger of his glove. What did he want him to do? Kiss it?
Schwarzhelm grasped the man’s hand and gave it a shake that would have crushed wrought iron. It was important this dandy knew what he was dealing with. Schwarzhelm had made his father learn the fear of the law. His pup would be no different.
Leitdorf grimaced.
“Herr Leitdorf,” said Schwarzhelm coldly, letting the hand go. “I’m glad you could make it at last. We may speak freely here. My counsellor, Herr Verstohlen, is in my confidence.”
Verstohlen bowed. Leitdorf ignored him.
“As is my wife,” he said.
Schwarzhelm nodded his head towards her. So this was the famous Natassja. Reports of her beauty hadn’t been even close to the mark. She had the kind of cold, superior physical presence that he’d seen men go mad for. Linlike her husband, she was dressed impeccably in a nightshade blue gown. Her dark hair had been gathered up by a silver lattice and an elegant ithilmar pendant graced her neck. She moved with the simple economy that was taught in the best finishing schools of the Empire. A native of Altdorf, by her look and manner. Far too good to be languishing out here in the provinces.
Natassja inclined her head in response and they all took their seats.
“I won’t waste your precious time, Herr Leitdorf,” said Schwarzhelm. “But there are a few things you need to know. I have no view on the merit of your claim, nor that of your rival. But the arguments have gone on long enough. The Emperor has run out of patience. One way or another, before I leave here, the matter will be determined.”
Leitdorf was transparent. He couldn’t conceal the depth of his contempt for Schwarzhelm, or the legal process, or anyone but himself.
“The Emperor’s concern for the health of Averland is touching,” he said artlessly. “If he’d come himself, I might have been impressed. Sending his lackey will do nothing to advance this cause.” He gave Schwarzhelm a look of pure loathing. “Very soon I shall be elector of this province. You’d do well to remember that. In my current position I cannot punish insolence. That will not be the case forever.”
Schwarzhelm felt a deep sense of weariness sink into his bones. For his whole long, honourable career he’d had to deal with the sons of nobles. They were all the same. If they’d had any sort of upbringing at all, they’d have been horsewhipped to learn some respect for their betters. This fool had no idea of the power at his command, nor quite how far Karl Franz trusted him. If Schwarzhelm chose to crush the insolent dog’s skull then and there, the Emperor would find a way to forgive him. The image was a tempting one. He curled his fist up under the table, enjoying the sense of strength coiled within it. One day, maybe. But not now.
“That’s your prerogative,” Schwarzhelm said, keeping his voice low. Forceful, not outright threatening. “But for now, I am the fudge of the Succession. Under Imperial law, you are bound to answer my summons. You will come when I call you. You will leave when I dismiss you. You will abide by any ruling I arrive at. Failure to do so will render your claim void. You may not like that. But such is the law.”
Rufus’ cheeks filled with blood. He was used to lording it over terrified servants. He’d probably never been spoken to in such a manner in his life. Schwarzhelm was amused to see his podgy fingers open and close. He was angry. But also intimidated. Good. That was as it should be.
“You… dare talk to me like that,” he started. “By what authority—”
Schwarzhelm stood from the table, pushing his chair back. In a single fluid move, he drew the Rechtstahl. The blade was dull. It knew it would not be drinking blood, and it resented being used for show.
“By this,” hissed Schwarzhelm. “As long as I carry it, you’re under its shadow. You, and the man you’re competing with. Never forget it.”
Rufus shrank back into shock. He pushed his own chair backwards, the rush of blood fading from his cheeks.
“You wouldn’t dare!” he stammered.
Schwarzhelm felt like giving him a grim smile. But he didn’t. He never smiled. He looked at Natassja. She’d remained calm and was watching him from under her dark lashes.
“You’re under edict too, Frau.”
“You needn’t worry about me, my lord,” she said. Her voice was languid, poised, untroubled. Unlike her husband, she knew what she was doing. So this was the one to watch. Intriguing.
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Schwarzhelm, sheathing the blade and taking his seat. “Now we’ve established the rules, there are some more things to discuss.”
Verstohlen brought a sheaf of parchment from his bag and began to hand copies out. For the moment at least, Rums had been cowed. He took the documents meekly. Verstohlen began to explain what they were and where he needed to sign. As he did so, he let a significant glance slip towards Schwarzhelm. The purpose of the meeting had been achieved. One candidate had been tamed. Now they needed to do the same to Grosslich.
The thunder rolled in the distance. There was a heavy storm somewhere over the Worlds Edge Mountains. Even from many miles away, its force was evident.
Grunwald wiped his brow. The air was thick and heavy. He’d welcome a downpour. Though it was close to evening, the heat was still uncomfortable. It made the army fractious. On the march from Averheim he’d had to discipline three of the company captains for brawls in their commands. He felt the sweat running down the inside of his jerkin. It took some doing, keeping four thousand men marching in something like formation. When he’d first been made commander, over ten years ago, he’d taken a positive enjoyment from goading his forces into action. Now, after so much campaigning, it had become a chore. He wondered if he’d passed his prime. Perhaps Turgitz had been a sign. It was a commonplace, but still true enough: command was a lonely business.
Grunwald placed the spyglass to one eye and trained it on the distant peaks to the east. The land marched up towards them in a steadily rising patchwork of craggy rises. His gaze swept across broken foothills, twisting for miles, before the first of the huge granite cliffs soared into the air. Tough country. No movement. Perhaps the reports had been mistaken. They’d been trudging for miles with no sign of orcs. No sign of people, even. The land was empty. A wasteland.
He pondered his options. The last of the errand riders had gone. Despite sending regular reports to Averheim of his progress, nothing had been heard back. Grunwald could only assume that Schwarzhelm knew where he was and how the assignment was going. Until he received fresh orders and fresh horses, there was nothing for it but to keep heading east in the hope of engaging the enemy. Assuming, of course, that one even existed. He was beginning to wonder whether the stories they’d been told in Heideck had any truth to them at all.
Bloch came up beside him.
“See anything, sir?” he asked.
Grunwald shook his head and stowed the spyglass away.
“Nothing. Not a damn thing.”
Bloch looked up at the heavens uneasily.
“It’ll be dark soon. What do you want to do?”
Grunwald looked back over the army. The bulk of the detachments had been stood down. They were arranged across a long, shallow hillside in their regimental groups. Some were sitting on the grass, cradling their weapons. Others stood, leaning on the shafts of halberds or spears. The columns had lost their pristine shape since lea
ving Heideck. The men were tired, bored and frustrated. If there was one thing worse than stumbling across the enemy, it was not stumbling across them. Marching up into the foothills would be dangerous. If the quest continued to be fruitless, it would have to be done sooner or later.
“We’ll withdraw,” he said. “At dawn we’ll strike out for Grenzstadt and the passes. We’ve been sold stories. Something’s very strange here, and I want some answers.”
Bloch nodded.
“Aye, sir.”
Grunwald looked at him carefully. Bloch always spoke carefully around him, but he couldn’t shake the sense that the man didn’t give him the respect the subordinate officers did. It was a difficult situation. Bloch had saved his life at Turgitz. He might feel that gave him some kind of special licence. If he did, he’d have to disabuse himself of that quickly.
“Order the captains to break for the march. We’re being fed false information. When we’re in Grenzstadt, that’ll need to be addressed.”
Bloch hesitated before replying. “Yes, sir.”
“Was there something else?”
The lieutenant was looking up to the broken country stretching away to the east, dotted with twisted trees, scrub and gorse.
“If they’re anywhere, they’ll be in there.”
Grunwald gave a wintry smirk.
“Itching for a fight, Herr Bloch?”
Bloch glowered. The man disliked being talked down to.
“When it’s warranted, aye.”
“Good instincts. But be careful what you wish for. This is not the place.” Grunwald looked back over the way they’d come. “The light’s failing and we’re too close to that cover. We’ll fall back west to the last open ridge and make camp. The morning may bring new counsel.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bloch, but he looked distracted. He was still looking east.
Grunwald followed his gaze. For a moment, he saw nothing but gradually rising grassland, punctuated by dark conifers and rows of low gorse bushes. Beyond them the first of the low hills rose, jagged with tumbled rock. The dying sun threw golden light across the stone. It was a peaceful scene.
“You see something?”
Bloch narrowed his eyes. Absently, he took up his halberd.
“You’re right, sir,” he said. “We need to fall back. Now.”
Then Grunwald saw them too. Far off, creeping close to the ground, dark shapes. They were half-lost in the wasteland, but moving quickly. Just a few bodies visible, hunched low, before dropping behind cover. More emerged, then slipped away again. They didn’t move like humans. Only one breed of warrior moved that way.
Grunwald’s heart lurched.
“Get them moving,” he hissed.
Bloch ran back to the massed ranks behind them. Soon shouts rose into the air as the sergeants began to knock the regiments into defensive formations.
Grunwald stayed where he was for a moment longer, screwing his eyes up against the weak light. The shapes were still distant. It was hard to make out numbers. Maybe just a scattered band.
Or maybe not.
He turned and hurried back to the army, drawing his sword as he went. He wasn’t taking any chances. They’d fall back to the ridge. Only a madman would attack in the dark across such treacherous country.
As he made his way back to the heart of the army, Captain Schlosser, one of his more experienced commanders, approached him. His heavily moustachioed face was grim.
“More sightings to the north, sir,” he reported.
Grunwald stopped. “How many?”
“Not sure, sir. Lots.”
Grunwald felt a cold sensation enter his stomach. Had they been drawn on? Had the orcs kept to cover long enough to pull them between two arms of a greater army? It wasn’t like them. A greenskin would normally attack at the first opportunity. To use such stealth was strange. Very strange.
“Keep the companies together,” he snapped, not wanting to think he’d made another mistake. “We’ll make the ridge. Then we’ll see what we’re dealing with.”
Schlosser saluted and headed back to his regiment. All around him, the army was pulling itself back into some sort of order. Men were beginning to set off, locked in their company formations. Massed spear-tips glowed gold against the setting sun. Any expressions of boredom had been banished. They had the tight, expectant faces of men about enter battle.
Grunwald looked along the ranks, watching for any laggards. One figure stood out. Bloch. His voice was louder than the rest of the captains put together. His company had moved to the rear of the army. The position of greatest danger. Even as the other captains hastened their men to march, Bloch kept his in a defensive unit, waiting for the rest to leave before following on.
Grunwald smiled coldly. The man would get his fight. At least that was certain. After so long hunting shadows, the wait was over. They’d found the greenskins at last.
The countryside immediately north of Averheim was particularly beautiful. The river ran in wide curves, sparkling under the sun. On either bank, the turf was lush and verdant. In the distance, scattered herds of long-horn cattle grazed. The summer was hotter than anyone could remember. It made everyone languid.
Verstohlen pulled his hat down to shade his eyes. His steed shifted irritably under him. The beast was too hot. That went for all of them.
He looked across at Schwarzhelm. The big man looked tired. He’d complained of not sleeping. Verstohlen knew what he meant. The air was close and humid, even at night. There wasn’t much anyone could do about it. He found himself missing the cooler climes of Altdorf. Then again, it could get unpleasantly steamy there too. There was no escape from the elements.
Aside from the two of them, the hunting party was small. Just Kraus and half a dozen of the honour guard. They hadn’t caught anything yet. Then again, that wasn’t really the point of the exercise. The invitation to hunt had come from one of Grosslich’s supporters in the Alptraum family. These were Ferenc’s estates. Their real quarry was human.
Schwarzhelm’s steed looked restive. He calmed it with a word. Despite his bulk, there was no finer horseman in the Empire. He seemed to understand beasts more easily than he understood scholars.
“He’s late,” Schwarzhelm growled. Verstohlen could see the lines of sweat on his temples. “Is this an Averlander habit?”
Before he could reply, Verstohlen finally caught sight of the other party riding towards them. Six horses, all arrayed in magnificent gear. Even as they approached it was clear who the leader was. Heinz-Mark Grosslich was taller than those around him by several inches. Just as Schwarzhelm was. In fact, they looked somewhat similar. Though Grosslich was clean-shaven he was a bear of a man. His cheeks were ruddy and wind-bitten and his blond hair was been clipped short, just as a warrior’s should be. He handled his horse well.
At his side rode a shorter man with dark hair and a weasel face. That would be Ferenc. The others were retainers and guards. As the party drew near, the escorts fell back.
“My lord Schwarzhelm!” cried Grosslich, pulling his horse up. “You have my apologies. Had I know you were in Averheim so early, I’d have ridden sooner myself. We were told you were not due for another week.”
“Leitdorf’s doing,” muttered Ferenc.
Schwarzhelm was unmoved by the greeting. He was as impervious to friendliness as he was to intimidation.
“You should cultivate more reliable sources,” he said.
Grosslich nodded in agreement.
“Indeed. My adviser has been dismissed. I regret the delay extremely.”
Verstohlen watched the man carefully as he spoke. He had an easy manner and a commanding presence. There was none of Leitdorf’s evident arrogance, but still that palpable impression of self-belief. Grosslich looked like a man who could command an army. That wouldn’t sway the loremasters too much, but it would stand him in good stead with Schwarzhelm.
“We’ll say no more about it,” said Schwarzhelm. “You know why I wished to see you?”
&nb
sp; Grosslich laughed.
“You wish to lay down the law,” he said, looking unconcerned by the prospect. “We’ve been taking too long making up our minds, and now the Emperor wants to see results.”
“You think the matter is something to smile about?”
Grosslich looked into Schwarzhelm’s unmoving face and his laughter quickly died.
“Forgive me. Though you must understand, the lengthy process has nothing to do with me.”
Ferenc nodded enthusiastically.
“That’s true, my lord,” he began. “It’s that Leit—”
Schwarzhelm fixed the noble with an acid stare.
“When I wish for your opinion, Herr Alptraum, I will most certainly ask for it.”
“The problem does lie with Leitdorf,” continued Grosslich, letting an irritated glance slip towards his companion. “I have the support of the province by dint of my deeds, not my heritage. And yet that is still not enough. Leitdorf has the scholars in his debt, and they perpetuate his arguments. Give me an honest judge, or a sword, and I will settle it for them.”
Schwarzhelm continued to look darkly at Grosslich, but Verstohlen could tell he had some sympathy. All those who battled against the rigid hierarchy of the Empire had at least one thing in common.
“You have an honest judge now,” Schwarzhelm said. “And I warn you as I warned Leitdorf, any attempt to sway my verdict will result in your claim becoming void. I care nothing for your history with him, nor his with you. All that matters is the law.”
“That is what I wish for too,” said Grosslich. “But you must know how far he has perverted this place. His wife, that bitch Natassja, controls his every move. She is as corrupt as she is deceitful. I don’t doubt that you’ve met her. Be careful. She is the power behind his campaign.”
[Heroes 01] - Sword of Justice Page 13