Lang heard himself swallow loudly. The color faded from his vision, with only Mittermeier’s honey-colored hair floating vividly before him.
Mittermeier began to climb the stairs, military boots ringing out with each step. His right hand was on his blaster, but he did not hurry. The spirit that radiated from his body drove unseen iron nails through Lang’s feet, pinning him where he stood.
“Stay where you are until I get there,” Mittermeier said.
Lang’s mind rejected the order, but not his body. He wanted to run, but his impulses were crawling through his nervous system slower than snails. Both eyes and mouth open, the former wide and the latter not, he found it difficult even to struggle in the viscous air. The people nearby were as overwhelmed by Mittermeier’s spirit as Lang, and only stopped and stared.
No—there was one man who could still move, and who climbed the stairs after the Gale Wolf to place a hand on his shoulder just as he reached the top.
“Stop this, Marshal Mittermeier. The junior minister is an imperial official.”
Mittermeier turned, murder in his eyes, to see Senior Admiral Ulrich Kessler, commissioner of military police and commander of capital defense.
“You have accomplished incomparable things on the battlefield, marshal,” Kessler continued, “but you may not bring your personal grudges into the ministry, and I have the authority and the duty to stop you from doing so. Do I make myself clear?”
“Personal grudges?” Mittermeier expression and voice overflowed with bitterness. Fury boiled from his gray eyes. “I disagree with that characterization, commissioner, but if you insist on it I will not object. But if I am to set off on this expedition with confidence, I cannot allow this termite in human skin to ravage the empire any further. You may not realize this, but—”
“Lang’s abuses will be punished according to law. To do otherwise would undermine the very foundations of the Lohengramm Dynasty. You are one of the dynasty’s most important officials, and one of its most respected military commanders. You cannot fail to understand this.”
“A fine position to take, commissioner, but what power has law ever had over that quivering termite there? Punish me if you wish. Just let me give him his just deserts first.”
“Calm yourself, marshal. You are wiser than this. If anything happened to you, who would protect the Goldenlöwe’s glory in your stead? Is the Gale Wolf himself such a slave to private passions that he would abandon his responsibility to the entire empire?”
Kessler’s voice was not loud or impassioned, but it struck a deep chord within Mittermeier. In his violent passion, sweat trickled from his disheveled, honey-colored hair, rolling down from temple to cheek. Watching this with pain and sympathy, Kessler adopted a more conciliatory tone as he continued.
“The kaiser is a wise ruler. If the junior minister has done wrong, he will surely be corrected under imperial authority and national law. Please, marshal, put your faith in me, and fulfill the duties that fall to you.”
After a long silence, Mittermeier said, “Very well. I leave him in your hands.” His voice was low and drained of vitality. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’ll make up for causing this unpleasant scene another time.”
His spirit broken, Mittermeier walked away. Kessler watched in silence, then shifted his gaze to Lang, still transfixed on the stairs. The look that crossed the commissioner’s face was one of visceral disgust.
III
October came, and then November.
The Church of Terra’s conspiracy had succeeded to an artistic degree. However, in a sense this was like a child’s scribbles receiving high critical praise. Among what was later reported by the church’s leadership was the comment “If we had failed with von Reuentahl, we intended to advance our plans with Mittermeier and von Oberstein as target,” which surely proves a tendency to overestimate the perfection of the conspiracy based on the success of its fruits.
“The Reuentahl Revolt,” “the Heinessen Upheaval,” “the Neue Land Conflict,” “the War of the Third Year”: this vast disturbance, which would be known by many names, was disproportionately personal in nature.
Von Reuentahl knew that he would never be Reinhard’s equal. The kaiser’s usurpation of the Goldenbaum Dynasty had been a creative ambition, but for von Reuentahl to usurp the Lohengramm Dynasty would be an imitation. It was the Church of Terra forcing him into a dangerous position that had led him to raise the flag of rebellion regardless, but even at that point the catastrophe might have been averted. Had he taken Bergengrün’s advice and traveled unarmed to the new capital on Phezzan to explain himself to the kaiser, Mittermeier would have taken his side, ending the revolt before it began. He would have been forced to accept final responsibility for the death of Kornelias Lutz, but later historians were agreed that his punishment would likely have been removal from his position as governor-general and temporary reassignment to the reserves.
However, in another corner of the galaxy, circumstances were developing in a way that von Reuentahl could not have foreseen.
Grillparzer restored order on Urvashi before October was out. His methods were severely militaristic, and more than two thousand were killed in battle or executed on the spot for not immediately obeying orders to lay down arms and return to their postings. Once he had taken control of the planet, Grillparzer set about piecing together the full picture of what had happened there. This proved no easy task.
The Urvashi base commander, Vice Admiral Winckler, was missing. His body had not been found and no reliable testimony about his whereabouts could be obtained. Observations of symptoms suggesting a drug addiction were discovered in his on-base medical records, but Grillparzer’s investigators could not ascertain why a senior officer whose abilities and achievements had been rewarded with such heavy responsibility should have fallen into addiction.
Testimony from the soldiers who had participated in the unrest was highly confused. Some even claimed that their superiors had ordered them to rescue the kaiser before he could be harmed by Admirals Lutz and Müller, who had been brainwashed by the Church of Terra.
The church did seem to be behind the plot. Its scriptures and emblems were discovered in the possession of more than ten dead soldiers and several living ones. But Grillparzer chose not to reveal this information publicly for the time being.
While Grillparzer was untangling the snarl of barbed wire on Urvashi, or pretending to, the surrounding situation deteriorated. A wall of enmity, great and high, was rising between the imperial government and the Neue Land administration. Accordingly, when Grillparzer returned to Heinessen and pledged his allegiance instead of fleeing to Phezzan, von Reuentahl could not hide his surprise.
“You genuinely intend to ally yourself with me?”
“That is my intention. However…”
“However?”
“I have ambitions of my own. I want a promise that I will be made minister of military affairs and an imperial marshal the morning after Your Excellency’s victory.”
“Agreed.” Particles of derision flecked von Reuentahl’s heterochromatic eyes as he nodded. “I thought you would seek a slightly higher position, but if minister of military affairs will satisfy you, I will grant that wish. As of now, you are fighting for your own hopes too. I expect you to spare no effort.”
Von Reuentahl and Grillparzer were both warriors in a turbulent age. They should have been able to find common cause and values founded on shared ambition. The fact that Grillparzer had revealed particularly unscrupulous ambitions might have strengthened von Reuentahl’s trust in their alliance as one based solely on calculation. Even if he had harbored suspicions, there was no evidence to justify acting on them. Eliminating Grillparzer as a precautionary measure ran the risk of unsettling his other subordinates. Von Reuentahl had no choice but to proceed as he did.
Meanwhile, Admiral Bruno von Knapfstein, all but under house arrest in his official quarters, was soon surprised by a visit from Grillparzer.
“Why did you return to Heinessen?” he demanded indignantly of his colleague. “Are you so eager to go down in the history of the new dynasty as a traitor?”
Grillparzer said nothing.
“In fact, from what I hear, you did more than return. You voluntarily swore fealty to von Reuentahl, and even demanded rank. What are you playing at?”
“Calm yourself, Knapfstein,” the young geographer said, as if ridiculing his colleague’s simple-mindedness. “Surely you don’t think I’m sincere about my allegiance to the marshal’s flag of rebellion?”
Von Knapfstein looked four parts disgruntled and six embarrassed. “You say you aren’t? In that case, I’d love to hear what you do mean by all this. After all, unlike you, I am an uneducated man. Complex theories are beyond me.”
Grillparzer ignored this attempt at sarcasm. “Think, Knapfstein!” he said. “How is it we were able to become admirals in the Imperial Navy while still in our twenties?”
“By the kaiser’s benevolence, and by distinguishing ourselves in battle.”
“And could we have distinguished ourselves without an enemy to battle? The Free Planets Alliance is vanquished, Yang Wen-li is dead. Throughout the galaxy, war will soon be a thing of the past. If we let that happen, we will be stranded in an age of peace, with no way of proving our valor or bettering ourselves. Agreed?”
“Well—I suppose so. But—”
“Which means that we must perform feats of arms, even if some wiliness is required to arrange them. Do you understand yet?”
Grillparzer was smiling. When von Knapfstein saw through that painted-on grin to the skeleton of ambition beneath, he recoiled with an unconscious shudder.
“So…you mean to feign allegiance to von Reuentahl for now, and then betray him in the end?”
“Betray? I wish you’d take more care when you speak, Knapfstein. We are still subjects of His Majesty Kaiser Reinhard—we simply happen to be posted under Marshal von Reuentahl. Isn’t it self-evident where our ultimate loyalty should lie?
Von Knapfstein groaned. There was no error in Grillparzer’s logic. But didn’t that mean that they should state their allegiance clearly from the beginning, denounce von Reuentahl, and go to join to the kaiser? By turning his back on the kaiser now and von Reuentahl later, Grillparzer would only achieve a double betrayal. He seemed confident that he could use von Reuentahl’s revolt to further his own interests. Would things truly go as smoothly as he expected? Still, despite these misgivings, in the end Grillparzer had his colleague’s sympathy. No other options seemed immediately available to him.
By contrast, Julius Elsheimer, director general of civil affairs for the Neue Land governorate, flatly refused to swear fealty to the governor-general. Voice shaking, face white with fear, collar soaked with cold sweat, he told von Reuentahl that he could not take part in any rebellion against the kaiser, not backing down even before the marshal’s intimidating presence and glittering mismatched eyes.
“Furthermore,” he added, “if I may speak in a personal capacity, Your Excellency bears responsibility for the death of my brother-in-law, Kornelias Lutz. I cannot ally myself with you with this matter still legally and morally unresolved.”
Von Reuentahl frowned very slightly. After a prolonged silence, he spoke, grave composure in his voice.
“Your opinions as a public figure are trite and undistinguished, but your position as a private individual is both brave and fair. If you refuse to join me, fine. Remain in your residence and do not actively oppose me, and you and your family will be safe.”
Von Reuentahl wrote out a short document on the spot and gave it to Elsheimer to take home with him. The document was addressed to Marshal Wolfgang Mittermeier, commander in chief of the Imperial Space Armada. It declared that Elsheimer had refused to support the rebellion, vouched for his unwavering loyalty to the kaiser, and asked that he be spared any rebuke or reprisal.
Von Reuentahl’s magnanimity toward Elsheimer showed the noble element fixed in his character. At the same time, however, he had to do what was necessary to survive—and prosper.
I may be defeated by mein Kaiser, may be utterly vanquished, but not until I have done all I can to win.
Thus was the resolve in von Reuentahl’s black right eye—but his blue left eye raised an objection.
If you choose to fight, you must desire victory. What good does it do to think of defeat before you begin? Or is that what you truly want? Your downfall—your destruction?
There was no answer. The possessor of these two eyes gazed at himself in the mirror on the wall.
“Beyond redemption, if I say so myself.”
As he muttered the words aloud, he was grateful at least that no one was around to hear.
IV
There was, of course, no formal declaration of war. With no clear point of departure, the hostility and tension between the worlds of the old empire and the Neue Land continued to rise. Von Oberstein in the Ministry of Military Affairs and Mittermeier in the space armada command center, though differing in demeanor and frame of mind, were both preparing for mobilization.
Meanwhile, in Imperial Headquarters, a reunion took place. Returning to Phezzan from the sectors around Schattenberg, Reinhard entered his office to discover a familiar figure standing beside his massive walnut desk. Her name came unbidden to his lips.
“Fräulein von Mariendorf…”
“Welcome home, Your Majesty. I’m so happy to see you safe.”
Hilda’s tone was even, but her voice was rich with tender feeling. That Reinhard realized this was perhaps a sign of his growing sensitivity, but his reply of “Yes, my apologies for the concern” indicated that his expressive powers remained at a standstill.
“Lutz is dead,” he said flatly, after a pause. He indicated that Hilda should sit on the sofa, and took a seat beside her. “How many have died for me in all? Three years ago, I thought there was no one left whose absence I would mourn. But this year alone, I have lost Fahrenheit, Steinmetz, Lutz…Even as punishment for my own foolishness, it strikes me as excessive.”
“Your Majesty’s marshals are not tools used by fate to punish you. Nor do I think they set out for Valhalla with resentment in their hearts. You must not torment yourself.”
“I know. Still…” As if suddenly realizing his own thoughtlessness, the kaiser changed the subject. “And you, fräulein, have you been well?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, by your leave.”
The response was slightly curious, but Reinhard nodded in apparent relief.
Hilda was one year younger than Reinhard, but sometimes she had to take on the older, wiser role. There was no discontinuity in Reinhard’s psyche in terms of the noble and the base, but he did contain both a perfected, unsentimental man of action and a dreamy, pure, and vulnerable boy who could only see what lay directly before him, and these two coexisted in an endless cycle of fusion and separation. Particularly when the latter was ascendant, Hilda had to treat him with care.
If Reinhard’s birth and life were historical miracles, the same was surely true of Hilda’s. Where Reinhard had been born to a poor family, noble in name only, she had been born the daughter of a count, albeit not in the family’s main line. In this sense, Hilda may have deserved more credit for remaining a unique presence in her sealed, hothouse milieu.
Hilda had originally aligned her family with Reinhard’s camp during the Lippstadt War to ensure that the Mariendorf County would not get caught up in the battle between the Coalition of Lords and the Lichtenlade–Lohengramm axis. It was a political decision, but the diplomatic and strategic sense behind it was so remarkable that Reinhard had been moved to offer her a position as his chief secretary.
Hilda had not seduced the young conqueror with her feminine wiles. She was beautiful, but beauty was not seduction. In any case, Reinhard was frostily indifferent to sensual allure; had seduction been her strategy, it would have failed her. The truth was that such an approach had not even occurred to her, meaning that the
synchronization of their mental wavelengths was not solely her achievement. Had Reinhard seen only the surface manifestations of her intellect and character, he would have judged her an impertinent know-it-all and banished her from his thoughts. Which would have cost him his future at the Vermillion War, and altered the history of all humanity.
“Von Reuentahl sent a communication—addressed to the imperial government. Were you aware of this, fräulein?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The message had been delivered to Phezzan at around the time of Reinhard’s arrival. Von Reuentahl’s choice to address it not to the kaiser but to the government itself revealed certain complexities in his thinking. This alone would have displeased Reinhard, but the message’s content was more unpleasant yet:
Minister of Military Affairs Paul von Oberstein and Junior Minister of the Interior Heidrich Lang have seized control of the state. They ride roughshod over His Majesty’s wishes with the freedom to eradicate those who oppose them. I, Marshal Oskar von Reuentahl, will not sit by and permit this to happen. I hereby declare my intention to end their tyranny—if necessary, by force of arms…
Particularly aggravating to Reinhard, Hilda suspected, was a reference elsewhere in von Reuentahl’s message to the two alleged villains “taking advantage of His Majesty’s debilitating illness and weakened state.” It was as if von Reuentahl were intentionally provoking the kaiser.
“Tell me, when did I allow von Oberstein or Lang to seize control of the state? If von Reuentahl is correct, how is it he became governor-general of the Neue Land in the first place? Did he have to denigrate me so viciously to justify his betrayal?”
To submit to another, to be ruled by another: these were what Reinhard hated most. His anger over this insult to his pride was fierce, deep, and entirely natural. His Majesty’s weakened state! The words were like a hot wind fanning the flames of his fury.
Von Reuentahl had reasons for making the claims he did. Since Kaiser Reinhard himself was not guilty of misrule, a rebellion against him had no choice but to denounce “disloyal subjects” instead. The antipathy for von Oberstein among Reinhard’s courtiers might be mingled with awe, but Lang was simply despised. Vowing to eliminate both could be expected to elicit a certain amount of sympathy at court, which made it only natural, on both diplomatic and strategic grounds, for von Reuentahl to do so. Further, diplomacy aside, von Reuentahl’s own antipathy against von Oberstein and Lang was genuine.
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