Karlich interrupted, “Was left for others to find in order to discredit the Emperor. Even my thick, soldier’s ears have discerned some of dealings with the burgomeisters. Every sane son of Sigmar in the land knows of it.”
“By finding that wretch in the barn, you became a thorn. When my counter plan also failed, I decided to bring about the same result by killing you and letting slip that Wilhelm was attacked in the same breath. The prince’s reputation will soon be enhanced. I confess, I had not thought of it originally but this is a better outcome. This way Wilhelm lives.”
“And us, my men and I, what is our fate?”
“I am a patriot of the Empire, but the Reikland above all else. Emperor Dieter’s efficacy as ruler of our lands is questionable at best. I would also scrutinise his loyalty, for his Marienburg allies are no friends of the Empire.” Ledner dabbed a trickle of blood that had seeped from the corner of his lip. He’d coughed it up and Karlich wondered what else the man was hiding beneath his crimson scarf. “Understand me, Karlich. Know that when I say I would do anything to protect the Empire and the Reik, I mean anything. Wilhelm is a brave leader but he could not challenge or overthrow the Emperor. Only as a martyr and the catalyst for revolution could he do that… until now.”
“How do you sleep with such plans twisting inside your head?”
Ledner smiled, as if the man before him had seen a measure of his soul.
“I don’t want to kill you, Karlich,” he said.
“What’s a little more blood? We’ll all be drowning in it soon enough.”
“I hadn’t thought of you as a fatalist. You’re not like that shackled wolf in your regiment—the killer of killers.” Ledner raised his eyebrows, as if considering. “Now, he would suit my purposes greatly, if I believed he could be controlled. No, you’re a different animal altogether I think, much more savage.” He showed his teeth. “They don’t see it, your precious Grimblades but I do, Lothar. I know it all too well, Lothar Henniker of Ohslecht. That was the name of your village, wasn’t it? The place where you killed a templar of Sigmar?”
Karlich’s blood ran cold. He thought that part of his old life had ended with the headless witch hunter on the killing fields outside Averheim.
Ledner went on. “I’m sure he and that brutal bastard Vanhans deserved it. Unfortunately for you, though, templars of Sigmar are a persistent, vengeful breed. They’d likely torture you first if they found you. If they found you. Do we have an understanding?”
Karlich was breathing hard through his nose, something between rage and fear. Compromise or death, why did it always come to those two choices with men like Ledner? After a few moments, he spoke.
“Release my men. Never approach or threaten me again.”
Ledner lowered his pistol. “I knew you were wise, much too good to be a sergeant. I don’t need to tell you what would happen if you broke our agreement. If any of you did…” He backed away until the shadows of the alley swallowed him.
Karlich waited until he was sure Ledner was gone then staggered up against the wall, hands bracing him as he retched. By the time he reached the army outside Wurtbad, what was left of his regiment would be waiting for him released from the sergeants-at-arms’ custody. They’d survived Ledner’s machinations, at least for a time. Now they just had to survive the green horde.
One way or another, it would end at Reikland.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A RETURN TO THE RANKS
Stirland border, north-east of Averland,
394 miles from Altdorf
Ledner rejoined the army several miles on the road out of Wurtbad. A long trail of soldiers, ranked in order of march and followed by baggage trains, streamed from the encampment site at the edge of town. A virulent scar was left in their wake, the remains of latrines, cookfires and earth churned by many booted feet. It would be weeks, assuming a cessation to the greenskin invasion, before the land could be restored.
Though the orcs and goblins were moving, bands of raiders still lingered in the province. Hunkering down in the hills and scratches of forest, it might be years before the recalcitrant greenskins were rooted out and expunged.
Krieglitz’s huntsmen took the army south-east, down the Old Dwarf Road at first. They could make good time and try to forge ahead of Grom’s horde pushing westward towards Reikland. Swift riders had already been sent to the province to warn the garrisons still manning Blood Keep, Helmgart and the barracks at Grünburg. Wilhelm doubted his cousin would admit, let alone heed his urgent missives. The Emperor’s concerns were elsewhere, wrapped up in Marienburg gold and the charms of some courtly maidens, no doubt. Such languor while the Empire suffered made the prince sick with anger.
Barring its beleaguered capital, Averland was overrun so the southern border of Stirland was to be avoided. Nor did they wish to be slowed by the larger tributaries of the River Aver that bled into the province. In all likelihood, the crossings would be watched or even impassable. It was only a short way south-east before the army left the Old Dwarf Road and went west with the hills to the south instead. They would hug the northern border, close to Talabecland, make first for Kemperbad and any troops the prince still had there and then on to Nuln, hopefully ahead of the horde. The journey would take several days, possibly longer.
“Am I on a fool’s errand, Ledner?” asked the prince as the spymaster rode up alongside him.
“Even if you were, I would keep such truths to yourself, lord. Our army is ragged enough.”
They were mainly an infantry force now with a predominance of citizen soldiers. Meinstadt’s war machines were few and largely inconsequential. The knights were almost vanquished to a man. Those that remained stayed by the prince’s side always, especially since the news of the assassination attempt had broken. From behind their visored helms they regarded every man who came into their liege-lord’s presence as sternly as an enemy to be slain on the battlefield.
Some more Mootlanders had joined them, so too did the dwarf exiles march to Nuln, but half-breeds would hardly swing the balance of the war for Wilhelm or the Empire.
Krieglitz relented to an extent, impassioned by Wilhelm’s stalwartness in the face of what he believed was Dieter’s treachery. He made a cohort of his household guard available to the prince. The Hornhelms wore battered plate armour and their steeds could hardly be considered magnificent, but the knights-at-arms would accompany Wilhelm all the way to Nuln and fight for him as if he were their own lord. The huntsmen too, their guides along the northern border, would stay and fight. They were all Krieglitz’s representatives while he and his army ventured forth to tackle the larger greenskin bands shed by Grom’s immense horde still in his province. To the goblin king, they were just dregs. His army was formidable without them. To Krieglitz they were a pest threatening his subjects.
“Where have you been, Ledner?” Wilhelm asked after he’d allowed a brief silence to fall between them.
“With the quartermasters, dragging the walking wounded into the line of march. We’ll need every spear and blade we have. Arrangements also had to be made for the dead and dying. Several of Morr’s own raven-keepers had remained behind at Wurtbad.”
Wilhelm rode ahead but instructed his lead infantry officer to maintain the same pace. He also urged Ledner to follow. The Griffonkorps remnants came too, Wilhelm’s armoured shadow. They would fight and die only. Ears and eyes closed to the prince’s private dealings, the knights were as disciplined as statues in this conviction.
“Did you know?” he asked when they were out of earshot. Ledner pursed his lips.
“Of course you did,” said the prince, “you know everything concerning my business, even when I do not.” The remonstration in his tone bordered on outright anger.
“Had I acted sooner, the perpetrator would have escaped, slipped its noose,” Ledner replied. Utterly calm, it was hard to tell he’d incurred the ire of an Imperial prince, one that could have him executed with but a command to his knights. “You’d be suppin
g poison in your evening tonic or finding a viper in your bathwater, my lord. Perhaps a keg of blackpowder, fused and lit, rolled into your tent or a dagger in the back as you consulted your officers. Murder needn’t be subtle or clean. But this I know: if you have an assassin within your grasp, you let him come…” Ledner made a fist, “…and crush him when he’s close enough to touch.”
“You’ve made your point, Adolphus,” Wilhelm conceded, “but if I find out you’ve used me as bait again, we will have words, you and I. Don’t think me one of your tools to be manipulated.”
Ledner nodded contritely. “Understood, my prince.”
“Good.” Wilhelm slowed his steed to allow the line of march to catch up. “Now, tell me what faces us at Nuln.”
Ledner looked westward, his gaze unwavering. “Blood, my prince. Rivers of blood are what await us there.”
Eber was saddened to learn of the death of his comrades. He rejoined the regiment outside Wurtbad, one of the many “walking wounded” pressed back into service for what was being called the “Preservation of Reikland”. He had liked Rechts most of all, despite his bad temper, and Masbrecht had always struck him as a gentle soul. These men were more than his comrades; they were his family, in lieu of the one that had cast him out so cruelly when he was a boy.
He ached when he moved. His gait felt awkward and his breath came laboured after walking long distances. After the horrific knife attack, Eber was not the man he once was, the ox no longer. That saddened him too, but he vowed to stand and fight anyway, to ensure no more of his brothers in the Grimblades died if he could help it.
Something was going on. Two days of silence with Nuln growing closer all the while told him that. It was more than just grief affecting the other halberdiers. Eber had wondered if Ledner was the cause, that there was more to the deaths of his fellows than first appeared. Allegedly, the Middenlander Torveld had killed them. He’d also learned from Karlich that it was now a matter of military record that the soldier had done it out of revenge for what he saw as the Grimblades’ culpability in the destruction of his regiment. A head wound supposedly afflicted the poor man, “affected his humours” so the scrivened words of the physician went.
“Madness took him and it ended in blood,” Karlich had said, though it was clear he did not believe this fully and that to utter the half lie rankled with the sergeant. Later, when he was sure prying eyes weren’t watching, he’d spoken differently, “Torveld was a bastard,” he’d said, whispering, “but not a murderer, not like that.”
Eber had then learned of some of Ledner’s role, at least that he was involved somehow, but nothing more.
It was another reason for Karlich to hate the spymaster. Rumours abound that witnesses had been paid off or silenced in order to foster Ledner’s lie. The soldiers in the Grimblades’ regiment were painted as victims of circumstance, which they were, only not in the way the spymaster had portrayed.
Eber was not gifted with the quickest wit; he knew that and accepted his limitations. Some people regarded him as credulous and gullible, but even he knew the story was a falsehood before Karlich had confided in him. He didn’t dig for further answers, assuming they were best left unearthed, but it laid an uncomfortable pall over his brothers in arms that he didn’t like.
He decided to do something about it and broke into bellowing song.
“The Burgher of Bogen had such girth, ’tis a wonder his mother did give birth…”
He’d learned the ditty years ago. Though his voice was not as strong as Rechts’ had been, Eber gave it his all.
“…to a brute of a son without much grace, feet from the Moot and a round, red face!”
At the end of the front rank, he glanced sideways at Karlich who joined him in the second verse that added further scorn on to the Burgher of Bogen’s “legend”. Pretty soon, all of the Grimblades were singing. Volker, who became drummer in Rechts’ absence, beat out the marching rhythm. It spread down the column. The Averlanders and Stirlanders in the army took up the song, too. They didn’t know the words but it was unimportant. The halflings brought out pipes and spoons by way of instrumental accompaniment. Even the dwarfs hrummed and broomed to the tune. It was a strange, discordant sound, likened to the filling and exhaling of bellows or the slow movement of earth. No man could repeat it.
Eber came to the end of the song, a rousing crescendo supplied by the enthusiastic Mootlanders and the mood lightened.
Volker laughed loudly, there was relief in the gesture, and slapped Eber on the back. It drew a wince from the burly Reiklander that he hid well behind a broad smile.
“It’s been many years since I heard that marching song.” It was Vogen, touring the line on his steed, seeing to the courage and morale of the men. His task was almost done for him and he smiled, twisting his large moustaches upwards. He trotted over to Karlich, maintaining pace with that part of the column.
“Captain,” said the sergeant, and the others in the front ranks followed suit.
“Your voice would benefit from some melody, though,” Vogen said to Eber with a subtle wink at Karlich.
Eber nodded then flushed a little.
“No need to stand on ceremony,” the portly captain from Kemperbad told them, whilst adjusting the belt at his waist. “I am not Stahler, but he told me much of the men in his command,” he added, smoothing his beard with a gauntleted hand. Vogen was so bulky and broad he had more in common with the dwarf exiles than his own kith and kin.
“Then he would’ve said the Grimblades respect their officers,” answered Karlich. It was the first time he’d really spoken to Captain Vogen. With Nuln looming like a black cloud on the horizon, he wondered if it would be the last.
Further down the line another marching song began.
“We’ll need our spirits up for what’s to come,” said Vogen. It was like he’d reached in and grasped at Karlich’s thoughts. He found he liked the man at once. The captain looked down at the sergeant’s hip.
“That was his sword, wasn’t it?” There was sorrow in his voice.
Karlich nodded humbly.
“It’s good that you keep it,” Vogen told him. “Stahler would’ve wanted that, to fight with us at the end.”
“And is it ‘the end’?” asked Karlich, the old scars on his face starting to itch.
Vogen looked to the west, as if trying to scry their destinies. “Of the campaign? Yes, I believe it will end in the Reik. We’ll give our blood for that land, more than any other. No son of Reikland will abandon it. Our bodies would litter the fields before that ever happened.” The grim mood returned for a spell. Sensing it, Vogen changed the subject.
“We’ll be joining up with reinforcements from inside the province,” he said. “Garrisons from Blood Keep and Grünburg are assembling to the north of the city. It’s mainly a citizen militia force but these are Reikland men with Reikland blood—I’d take that over hirelings any day of Mitterfruhl. The barrack houses will arm them and we must be ready to meet them near the border. Together, we’ll turn back the green tide. We need only bloody their nose. Survival of the Reik, and by extension the Empire, is all that matters now.”
“Sir…” Volker interrupted.
Karlich shot him a stern glance before following the scout’s pointing finger towards the horizon. They’d just crested a rise and the lay of the Reikland had unfolded before them in the distance. It was not all they saw.
A thin haze of smoke drifted languidly above another range of hills.
The spate of singing stopped as the other regiments saw it too.
Lenkmann narrowed his eyes. “What is that?”
A solitary horn rang out. Captain Vogen was needed at the head of the column. He rode off without a word.
“It’s Nuln,” said Brand, voicing aloud what everyone was thinking.
The capital of the Empire was already burning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
BURNING IN BLACK
Outside Nuln, capital of the Empire,
&nb
sp; 289 miles from Altdorf
A day later they reached Nuln. There was little of the city left. A flickering shell of a city danced with shadows created by the fires within. Nuln’s once proud walls were ransacked and gaping, like a festering wound. A killing field littered the land outside it. Men in the black tunics of the capital lay dead in their droves, broken remains of war machines were scattered around like chaff and fat flies droned about the carcasses of steeds in noisome clouds.
Before coming to the capital, Wilhelm had almost emptied Kemperbad on the way. There was just a skeleton garrison left behind. The reinforcements were mainly citizen levies again, the prince’s legend having spread to all men of the Reik, who pledged to his cause as their worthy and noble saviour. The army’s stay was brief but as Wilhelm and his warriors rode through the square, children placed garlands around their necks, women gave prayers and men their strength of arms. Young and old, strong and infirm, all swore to fight for Wilhelm and the Reikland.
At Nuln, they barely reached the city’s outer milestone. At Kemperbad, Wilhelm not only gained troops and goodwill, he also discovered that Nuln’s army had been defeated, the city sacked. The forces due to meet them from Grünburg and Blood Keep had apparently joined up with the defenders. How many now survived was unknown. It might be none.
Grom had moved on but some of his warbands remained. They’d come to a nervous halt and the Empire column broke ranks as the men, unable to comprehend the horror of their glorious capital as a blackened ruin, wandered loose and suddenly bereft of hope.
A ragged-looking scout approached Prince Wilhelm, who rode a little way out to meet him with three of his Griffonkorps in close attendance. The boy was almost battered to the ground by a knight’s armoured steed before the prince ordered them to stand back and let the poor wretch through.
“Nothing left, my liege,” he said, breathlessly. A runner from the baggage train brought him water and he drank deeply before continuing. “The army was defeated. All except Lord Grundel, who holds the west quarter of the city…” At that the distant echo of cannon fire rang out.
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