‘First city of the Empire…’ he breathed reverently as the shadow cast by a white wall passed over them, ‘with a Stirlander sullying your glorious throne.’ Reikland was in his blood in more ways than one.
The walls were high, watch lanterns lit, crossbowmen patrolled Altdorf’s ramparts and a great gate bearing the icon of a griffon barred passage into the aspect of the city that Wilhelm and his entourage now approached.
‘Welcome home, my prince,’ uttered Ledner as the gates parted with a cry from one of the watchmen. The Prince of Reikland’s banner was upraised for all to see, his knights a formidable talisman of his heritage and identity.
‘Aye, let us see what kind of a welcome Dieter has for us.’
Galloping under the great triumphal arch, Wilhelm led the way up the Reikland road, north to the palace where the Emperor had made his court. He didn’t slow, not for the peddlers, or the ranks of soldiers marching three abreast – for Dieter had moved troops as well as trappings to the city – not even for the nobles as they entered the Rich Quarter and closed on the palace. Griffonkorps bellowed for the way to be cleared, a preceptor lifting his face mask to shout through his long, curled moustaches. There was no time to waste, no time at all.
The audience chamber was filled with tension. Wilhelm felt it emanating between the Lord Protector of Stirland and the Count of Talabecland in particular. The antipathy of these two closely bordered states was well known. Their enmity stretched back to the Time of Three Emperors, before Magnus the Pious had united the land and the Empire was engaged in a bitter power struggle that led to bloody civil war. Some wounds went deeper than a blade cut or an arrow gouge; they lingered through time and hereditary, passing on to scions and then their sons in a destructive, feuding circle. Neder von Krieglitz of Stirland and Hans Feuerbach of Talabecland epitomised this.
Strange that the Emperor Dieter, also a son of Stirland, did not regard Feuerbach sourly. Perhaps this was the reason why Krieglitz, Dieter’s cousin, was similarly disaffected towards his provincial lord and Emperor, though he would never voice it in open company. Such were the vagaries and conundrums of Imperial politics.
By contrast, Markus Todbringer, Count of Middenland, remained stoically silent as he stood in the ostentatiously appointed room. It had once been Wilhelm’s audience chamber, but the prince didn’t remember the gilding and ornamentation lavished on it. Portraits of the Emperor bedecked the walls of the long hall, and there were additional tapestries, statues and other artistic luxuries on show. He suspected that Dieter was making himself at home. There were chairs, finely upholstered and opulently decorated, but no one sat. Stately ritual demanded that they wait for their potentate and sit only after he was first seated. The Emperor, though, had kept them standing for longer than was reasonable.
Tempers were beginning to fray.
‘Wissenland hides behind his towers and fortifications. What other explanation is there for his absence?’ said the Lord Protector of Stirland. Though not an elected official, in the same way as the counts, he watched over Stirland in the Emperor’s stead, whose business kept him in the capital and now Altdorf. ‘No surprise, really,’ he continued. ‘It would be just like Pfeifraucher to shut the gate to his province. He has the mountains at his back after all, and need only defend one open border. Not like us at Stirland. We face foes in every direction.’
‘You whine like a maiden, Krieglitz,’ sneered Feuerbach, the Count of Talabecland. ‘Show some stomach like your ancestors.’
Feuerbach referred to Martin von Krieglitz, Neder’s grandfather, who had famously slain the undead fiend Mannfred von Carstein and ended the so-called Vampire Wars that had plagued Stirland in particular for generations.
‘You speak of stomach, yet it was your antecedents that declared Ottilia Empress despite our own claimant’s Imperially sanctioned ascension to the throne. That is the calibre of Talabecland.’
Feuerbach laughed derisorily.
‘Over a thousand years passes and still the backward-looking folk of the Stir cannot let old grievances go. No wonder you’re all mentally-stunted peasants.’
‘We have long memories,’ growled Krieglitz. ‘And I’ll see you on the duelling field for insulting my people.’
‘With what? Your pitchfork and hoe?’
Krieglitz went for his runefang, one of the twelve dwarf-forged blades given unto Sigmar and his barbarian chieftains.
‘Nobles,’ Wilhelm’s voice broke in, ‘hold your anger for the foe banging on our gates. Old rivalries mean nothing compared to the greenskin horde from the east.’ He scowled at both men. ‘And act like your station, not like tavern brawlers drunk on ale and bravado.’
Chastened, Krieglitz let it go. He muttered something in Feuerbach’s direction but the count either ignored it or didn’t hear.
Feuerbach looked about to send a final parting shot to end the debate on when the huge double doors at the back of the audience hall opened and Emperor Dieter stepped through.
The doors were thick oak, inlaid with silver filigree that depicted a griffon rampant on either smoothly carved face. They were lacquered black and reflected the refulgent gleam of the Emperor’s own finery. Dieter wore a long velvet gown, traced with gold and studded with amber. A thick cloak sat upon the already voluminous gown, again velvet but of a darker, less verdant green. Upon his brow, he carried a crown. This too was encrusted with jewels. The rings on his fingers clacked as he drummed them idly against the hilt of an ornamental dagger at his waist. His boots were deerskin, pale and pristine in the glow of the lamps ensconced on the walls. Dieter walked between the pools of light they cast in a processional fashion, his lackeys and fawners in tow like a clutch of parasitic birds, flapping this way and that, eager for a crumb of the Emperor’s attention.
Salted pork and grain had been all Wilhelm needed to sustain him on the long journey from Kemperbad. It was at risk of being shown again to all present, such was his disgust at Dieter’s brazen opulence. The toadies were artisans and craftsmen; a tailor examined the fit of his latest creation upon his Imperial master. In relation to its provincial brothers, Stirland was a poor state but one of solid men with strong characters and hardy hearts. Dieter, as its elector count and now Emperor, had risen high and yet, at the same time, fallen far.
The four nobles acknowledged the Emperor immediately as he approached, bowing as one.
‘My lord–’ Wilhelm began, stepping forward, before Dieter gestured for him to be silent. He held up his finger, glaring through small, widely spaced eyes that glittered with some private amusement. An inane smile rippled across a face fattened by decadence and largesse. His aquiline nose appeared to point upwards as if he was always sneering down at those beneath him. Clean-shaven to the point of pre-adolescent smoothness and with blond curls spilling down from his head to rest upon his shoulders, Dieter had the look of an overweight child about him. In many ways, he was exactly that.
Dieter shushed his obsequious entourage with an angry hiss, and then sent them scurrying away into numerous anterooms flanking the audience hall with a flick of his other wrist. His finger was still upraised as if he were remonstrating a naughty child, and Wilhelm reddened with anger.
As soon as the doors to the anterooms closed and the toadies were all gone, fresh footsteps filled the brief silence that followed their departure. Looking over Dieter’s shoulder, Wilhelm saw four burly men, strapped in arms and armour bearing the red and blue state colours of Altdorf. Between them they hefted a large, ornate throne, carved from Hochland cedar, lacquered and furnished with gold. It could not have been an easy burden, and the men sweated and heaved as they carried it across the length of the hall. Dieter never even glanced at his retainers as they set the throne down. They merely bowed and left again as the Emperor took his seat.
After a bout of shuffling to get his corpulent behind in just the right position, Dieter let his hand fall and looked up.
‘Be seated,’ he beckoned with a mirthless smile.
All four of the nobles sat down.
‘My lord,’ Wilhelm began again, unable to conceal his frustration. ‘War comes from the east and yet our combined armies remain listless and profligate behind city walls, in barrack houses and bastions. We must act against this threat,’ he implored.
‘I know of no threat, cousin,’ said Dieter. His mood was idle as he rubbed the rings on his fingers with his thumb. ‘I hear… talk. Rumours of a rabble come through Black Fire. A pass, I’d like to note, that is supposedly guarded by the dwarfs, our sworn allies since the time of Sigmar.’
All except Todbringer muttered a small prayer at the mention of the Man-God’s name.
‘It is worse than that, Emperor,’ Wilhelm persisted. Despite the fact they were related, the Prince of Reikland observed due deference. ‘I’ve sent numerous letters and petitions to your court here in Altdorf, and all were either ignored or rebutted. You’ve forced me to ride over three hundred miles from Kemperbad–’
‘Well you needn’t have come so far, dear Wilhelm,’ Dieter interjected, his tone innocent and benevolent. ‘I told you a place was set for you here. Simply because I have moved west, does not mean you need move east. Altdorf is large enough to accommodate both its Emperor and its prince.’
‘I moved to Kemperbad to better watch the border, but that isn’t the point. Why did you ignore my petitions?’
‘We are constantly at war, cousin. If the Emperor were to leap up and rally his armies at every drawn sword, every razed village, his armies would be quickly exhausted and his elector counts as dependent as a newborn calf. I saw no need to reply.’
Exasperated, Wilhelm got to his feet. As he did, he noticed one of the statues shift at the side of the room. It was then he realised that the penumbral shadows between the lamps held more than carved effigies. Armoured knights were poised in the half dark too. And was that movement he heard from the balconied gallery above them, and the suggestion of a crossbow cradled by a marksmen’s silhouette? Dieter was as paranoid as he was decadent it seemed.
‘If you won’t acknowledge the severity of the threat facing us, then at least commit some troops,’ he said, easing down again. ‘The few state levies and Griffonkorps at my disposal aren’t enough. Altdorf and Nuln have the largest and best-trained standing armies in the Empire – they must march east to the aid of their beleaguered brothers.’
Dieter looked unimpressed. ‘Have you seen this greenskin horde for yourself? Do you know first hand what threat they truly possess, Wilhelm?’
The prince had to bite his tongue for a moment before he replied. ‘No, I have not. But there are reports–’
‘Not worth the tongues that gabbled them or the muddy parchment on which they are writ.’ Dieter flapped his hand in a lazy, dismissive gesture. ‘The orcs and goblins will turn to squabbling soon enough and this whole crisis will blow itself out.’
‘When? At the point where our villages and towns are ash and ruins? The Empire is burning, my lord! If you don’t believe me, then listen to the testimony of your other nobles.’ He gestured to Krieglitz, who cleared his throat before speaking.
‘It’s true, my liege. The river patrols have seen orc and goblin warbands marching uncontested. Averland is under almost perpetual siege, Wissenland cannot be reached and has shut all lines of communication behind border walls and watchtowers, and more greenskins pass through my borders daily. Only Sylvania is untouched, but then no sane creature would ever wander there without good reason,’ he added gravely.
‘Refugees dog the edges of Talabecland,’ Feuerbach said. ‘I have no wish to see Stir folk flooding my hinterlands, poaching and begging. I have enough peasants.’ He glanced daggers in Krieglitz’s direction. The Lord Protector of Stirland clenched his fists and looked about to draw his weapon again. Were it not for the crossbowmen above, he might have.
Instead he stood.
‘My lord,’ he said to the Emperor. ‘I apologise, but there is urgent business that requires my attention in Stirland. It cannot wait and I beg your leave.’ A hot vein of fury laced Krieglitz’s forehead, directed at the slightly smirking Feuerbach.
Dieter waved a hand impassively, acceding to the lord protector’s request.
‘I’m sorry, Wilhelm,’ said Krieglitz in an angry whisper as he turned to leave the chamber, ‘but there can be no alliance with Talabecland. None at all.’
Krieglitz left and Wilhelm sighed in his wake. His case was growing thinner with each passing moment. Even if he could convince Dieter to act, there was nothing to say his provincial brothers would take up arms together. Right now it seemed just as likely they would kill one another before marching under the same standard. In spite of it, he went on.
‘So far, the greenskins are at large in most of the east and north-east provinces,’ he said. ‘If we unite our armies now and march to the orcs, they will get no further westward. They cannot simply go unchallenged. I beseech you, Emperor, unleash your armies and ally this nation under a banner of war.’
Dieter appeared not to notice the prince’s urgency and instead gazed around the room. ‘Do you like what I’ve done with your audience chamber, cousin? I thought it too stark and utilitarian before, not fit for royal habitation.’
Wilhelm shook his head incredulously. Even Todbringer exchanged a curious glance with Feuerbach.
‘What possible bearing does my opinion of your decorations have on the war that will soon be at our borders?’
The mood changed abruptly. Dieter exchanged languor for anger. ‘It will endure,’ he said darkly. ‘When the war is done and all the dead are accounted for, all of this,’ he spread his arms to encompass the room, ‘will still be here. I will still be here. There are deeper matters of state for me to consider. This greenskin rabble does not warrant Imperial attention. What’s more, I tire of this conversation.’ He glared at Wilhelm intently. ‘Your request for troops is denied. The provinces must look to their own borders. I cannot rescue them at every calamity.’ He turned and showed his cheek. ‘Now go.’
Exhaling his anger, Wilhelm rose without another word. His jaw was gritted so hard he thought he might snap a tooth. Feuerbach was the next to leave, bowing swiftly and getting on his way. Perhaps he hoped to catch Krieglitz and continue their feud on the duelling field after all. Todbringer followed, utterly unmoved and unconcerned.
As Wilhelm turned to go, he was stopped by a final few words from his Emperor.
‘This matter is concluded,’ he said. ‘Don’t return to Altdorf, Prince Wilhelm. Her gates will be barred to you.’
‘As you wish,’ Wilhelm said through clenched teeth. Just as he was passing back through the entrance way, he heard the double doors at the back of the audience hall open again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw three men enter, nobles by the look of their lavish attire. There were enough gemstones and gilding upon their vestments alone to buy a small town, lock, stock and barrel.
‘My lords…’ He heard Dieter declare with false bonhomie, before the door was closed and the rest of the meeting left a mystery.
He met Todbringer on the other side, talking quietly with one of his aides.
‘Markus…’
The Count of Middenland turned at the sound of Wilhelm’s voice. They shook hands, favouring the warrior’s grip.
‘I had hoped for more support from you,’ said Wilhelm honestly.
Todbringer released his grasp.
‘I’ve already committed all the troops I can afford to your army, Wilhelm,’ he answered. His voice was cold and gravelly, as if it had been hewn from the rocky steppes of the Fauschlag itself. ‘Averland and those other peasant provinces are far from Middenland. When the City of the White Wolf is in danger, then I’ll act and bring the fury of Ulric down on the greenskins’ heads.’
‘You sound no better than Feuerbach,
full of provincial rivalry and bad blood,’ Wilhelm accused.
‘Had the Emperor agreed to go to war, I would have backed you brother, but the fact is we are divided and noble as your spirit is, you cannot bring us together. If the greenskins rampage through the east and north-west, so be it. By the time they reach Middenland, my army will be ready and they will be worn down from fighting the other states.’
‘So you’ll wait in Middenheim until the enemy is at your gates and crush them after they’ve spent their wrath killing your Imperial kin.’ Wilhelm shook his head in disappointment. ‘I had thought better of you, Markus.’
‘I’m a pragmatist, just like you, Wilhelm,’ said Todbringer, starting to turn away. ‘You do what you feel you must to protect the Reikland, it is no different for me and Middenland.’
‘I assume your troops will be feeding your generals regular reports of the greenskins’ martial strength and advance.’
‘You know they will.’
With that, Markus Todbringer showed his back and walked away with his aide in tow. ‘Good luck, Wilhelm,’ he called.
Wilhelm sagged, feeling the weight of his armour and his runefang as never before. He couldn’t let the Empire burn, nor his brothers struggle. The campaign would go ahead as planned.
The Empire Omnibus Page 36