Swords of the Emperor Read online

  Schwarzhelm shook his head.

  “Nothing.”

  “And that doesn’t concern you?”

  “He can look after himself. When things are more stable, I’ll send more men.”

  Verstohlen didn’t look happy. He was a professional spy and could project any demeanour he wanted to. He didn’t bother hiding the way he felt with Schwarzhelm. That, at least, was a minor courtesy.

  “I think things are more complicated here than may be apparent,” Verstohlen ventured, choosing his words carefully. “If this were just a matter of the electors-in-waiting fighting amongst themselves, maybe I’d agree with you. But I no longer think it is.”

  Schwarzhelm found himself getting impatient. If his agent had a flaw, it was a tendency to see hidden schemes in everything. As a soldier, he took the world as it appeared. He listened, though, quelling his bubbling irritation.

  “This joyroot,” continued Verstohlen. “The substance I told you about. I’ve been conducting some experiments. It’s tainted.”

  “Poisonous?”

  “No. Tainted.”

  Schwarzhelm paused. “You’ve seen evidence of this?”

  “As firm as it ever gets. The narcotic is relatively harmless on the surface, but I no longer believe its traffickers are interested in money alone. Its spread has been carefully planned. My estimate is that it’s been distributed here for a year or more. I don’t know its ultimate function, but you cannot have missed the sense of wrongness here. It’s undermining Averheim. No one has a good word to say about the place. The city is sick.”

  Schwarzhelm nodded slowly. He found himself reluctant to follow the implications of Verstohlen’s report. There was no time to get bogged down in an investigation. But corruption was corruption. It couldn’t be ignored.

  “What do you propose?”

  “You know my counsel.”

  “Witch hunters.”

  Verstohlen looked surprised.

  “How long have you known me? I despise them.” There was a shard of vehemence in the quiet man’s voice. “They’d blunder across the trail, destroying everything. No, I can get to the bottom of this.”

  Schwarzhelm looked at him carefully. “Don’t let your past interfere with your judgement, Verstohlen. Sooner or later, they’ll have to be brought in. If you’re right about this, that is.”

  Verstohlen looked back at him defiantly.

  “They will. When I’ve traced this back to the source.” He seemed unwilling even to countenance their employment. Schwarzhelm didn’t feel like pressing the point. He knew why. “In the meantime, we should send for reinforcements from Nuln,” continued Verstohlen. “Recall Grunwald. The city must be secured. I can’t work through this anarchy.”

  Helborg. For the first time, Schwarzhelm felt his will began to waver. There would be a price to pay if he sent for the Reiksguard. He’d never be allowed to forget it. What was worse, the suspicion that Helborg had stationed himself at Nuln for just such an eventuality still hadn’t left him. The man was clever enough. He was also ambitious.

  Schwarzhelm looked at Verstohlen carefully, putting the tankard down beside him. Perhaps the man was right. The situation was becoming hard to contain. Perhaps it was time to summon help.

  Suddenly, there was hammering at the door outside.

  “My lord,” came a voice from the other side. “It was Kraus. Word from the east.”

  Schwarzhelm leapt up from his seat and wrenched the door open. Kraus stood in the corridor beyond, looking even grimmer than usual.

  “A messenger has arrived. He’s half-dead from riding, but we’ve got tidings out of him. Grunwald is dead, my lord. His army is broken. Herr Bloch has assumed command of what remains and is aiming for Heideck. Grenzstadt is cut off. What are your orders?”

  For a moment, Schwarzhelm stood stunned. Grunwald slain. His army destroyed. The news felt like a series of hammer blows. He reached for the doorframe and leaned against it. The stone was cool under his fingers.

  “My lord?” asked Kraus again.

  Schwarzhelm felt his heart begin to race, just as it had been doing in the silent hours of the night. A sweat broke out on his brow. His policies were unravelling. Every decision he made seemed to be foundering. For the first time in his long and distinguished career, he didn’t know what to do. He was surrounded by men who wished to see him fail. He remembered Lassus’ words in Altdorf. There are other ways of harming a man. Subtle ways. They couldn’t best him in battle, so they were striking at those close to him.

  Kraus said nothing, though Schwarzhelm could see the concern in his face. The captain had never seen indecision from his master before. The look in the man’s eyes struck at his heart.

  “My lord?” This time, the voice was Verstohlen’s. “Are you all right? You look sick.”

  That was it. He was sick. Something had been poisoning him. Eating away at his mind. Ever since Turgitz. What was it? Why couldn’t he fight it?

  “Enough!” he roared, pushing himself away from the doorframe. He strode back into the chamber, looking for his sword. “Enough of this skulking in the shadows!”

  He retrieved the Rechtstahl and buckled the scabbard to his belt. Kraus and Verstohlen looked on worriedly. Let them fuss. The time had passed for intrigue and plotting. Blood had been drawn, and it needed to be matched.

  “Gather the men,” he said to Kraus. “We’ll muster the remainder of the garrison here and ride out tonight. Grunwald will be avenged.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The man bowed and hurried away. Kraus looked reassured. All he wanted was leadership. That was all any of them wanted.

  Except for one.

  “Is this wise?” hissed Verstohlen. He followed Schwarzhelm out into the corridor. “You can’t leave the city like this. With you gone, there’ll be nothing—”

  “Damn the city,” snapped Schwarzhelm, striding down the corridor towards the armoury. “They’ve brought it on themselves. I’ve stayed cooped up here too long.”

  “They want you out of the city,” insisted Verstohlen. “These attacks aren’t random. Why do you think the roads are blocked? Who’s doing that?”

  Schwarzhelm whirled around to face Verstohlen, his face a mask of anger. Grunwald’s death was sinking in. A deep, dark anger had been unleashed within him. Justice would have to wait. Vengeance demanded it.

  “Silence!” Schwarzhelm snarled. Even the agent, used to his temper, shrank back. “Pursue your theories if you want to. Good men have died, and I should have been with them. Tochfel can handle the mobs. Keep an eye on him. And warn those warring fools: when this is over, I will return.”

  For once, Verstohlen was speechless. In the face of Schwarzhelm’s cold ferocity, it was all he could do to nod weakly.

  Schwarzhelm swung round and resumed his march to the armoury. A black mood consumed him. Deep down, part of him knew he was being drawn into this. Part of him knew that his judgement was impaired. He needed sleep. Part of him knew that he might be making a terrible mistake.

  It didn’t matter. His blood pumped vigorously around his body. The Rechtstahl hung reassuringly at his side. Soon the fields of Averheim would feel the thunder of his wrath. If the enemies of the Empire had intended to provoke him, they’d succeeded. Now he would teach them the true meaning of fury.

  Dagobert Tochfel looked from his window gloomily. Even from so high up in the spires of the Averburg, he could see the city burn. A hundred small fires sending their smoke rising into the warm night, lit by the mobs of the electoral candidates. They were running riot.

  Though their energy was aimed at each other, it was the city they were destroying. The city he’d served for three years, ever since Ironjaw had slain the last count.

  He’d put off a contest for as long as he could. He’d always known what it would bring. While Leopold remained alive, there had been the hope that a succession would pass off peacefully. But Rufus was a different proposition. The era of great men was over. Those who remained were like squabblin
g children. The days when the Empire could produce a Karl Franz, a Volkmar, a Todbringer, were gone. When the older generation passed on, there would be nothing left.

  Tochfel watched the fires burn for a little longer. Then he closed the window and turned away. It sickened his soul.

  His chamber was small and modestly proportioned. Pious icons of Sigmar and Verena hung over a simple desk. Candles burned in iron holders. A narrow bed, hard and unyielding, stood against the plain stone wall. Every inch a scholar’s room. Not much to show for a lifetime’s service, perhaps, but it reflected his character well enough. As things had gone, the very plainness seemed like an indictment. Averheim was drifting apart. Perhaps he should have devoted himself to a different cause. The law was no longer the protection the city needed.

  There was a knock at the door. Tochfel sat down at his desk.

  “Come.”

  A man entered. Achendorfer. He looked tired too. He’d borne the brunt of organising the legal procedure for the tribunal. Neither Schwarzhelm nor the opposing counsels had given him much room to manoeuvre. His normally pallid skin looked as white as death.

  “The papers you asked for, Steward.”

  Achendorfer placed a sheaf of parchment documents on the desk. When he spoke, his voice wheezed slightly. This thing was taking its toll on all of them.

  “Good,” Tochfel said. “The tribunal will start on time tomorrow?”

  Achendorfer shrugged. “I’ve been told it will. We’ve much to do before then.”

  Tochfel smiled, but there was little warmth in it.

  “Try to get some rest. In the end, it will come down to Schwarzhelm’s word. Precedent will not decide anything.”

  “In that case, there’s little point going through the motions.” His voice betrayed his irritation. He ran his hands through his thinning hair. “But that’s not why I’m here, Herr Tochfel. I’ve been approached by men from both camps. There’s more money floating around this than I’ve ever seen. I’ll not lie to you. I’ve been tempted. Others may have given in.”

  Why was the man telling him this? Could he really believe Tochfel didn’t know it all? Was it to vouch for his own probity?

  “I’m doing all I can, Uriens. I have my hands full with the riots. We need more militia. Even the Lord Schwarzhelm can’t quell it by himself.”

  Achendorfer looked sidelong at him. “The mighty Lord Schwarzhelm,” he mused. “You’ve spoken to him much?”

  Schwarzhelm spoke to no one much. When not locked away in the tribunals, he kept to his chambers in the tower. His movements were unannounced, his decisions arbitrary. Only the captain, Kraus and that enigmatic counsellor seemed included in his deliberations. It was like having an oddly powerful ghost controlling events in the city.

  “He consults me on everything. Why?”

  “There are whispers in the Averburg. There have been noises heard from his chamber at night. The man’s not well. You can see it yourself. We may have reached the point where—”

  He broke off.

  “Say what’s on your mind, Uriens.”

  Achendorfer still hesitated. He was an official, not used to rocking the boat.

  “Has he the confidence of the Grand County still, Steward? Can we trust the decision he comes to? I do not say this lightly, but…”

  He trailed off again. That was as far as he dared go. Tochfel didn’t reprimand him. All who were close to the process were thinking the same thing.

  “They do things differently in Altdorf,” was all he said. “He has the trust of the Emperor. That’s enough for me.”

  Achendorfer was about to say something else, but there was a second knock at the door. As if the noise reminded him of his timid nature, the loremaster retreated into his robes.

  “Very well, Steward,” he said. “Perhaps we’ll talk about this again soon.”

  Tochfel stood and showed him to the door. Standing outside was Verstohlen, Schwarzhelm’s counsellor. Achendorfer bowed, and slipped away into the gloom of the corridor. Verstohlen barely seemed to notice him.

  “Do you have a moment?” he asked. He looked distracted.

  “It seems to be my night for visitors. Will you come in?”

  “No. I can’t stay. But there are things you should know right away. The Lord Schwarzhelm has been called east on urgent business. The cavalry forces in the city garrison have been requisitioned. You’ll have to maintain security without them.”

  Tochfel felt as if someone had knocked the floor from under his feet. Things were already bad. Now they would become impossible.

  “How… could he?” he exclaimed, incredulous. He now regretted his even-handedness with Achendorfer. The appointment process was descending into a farce. “How will we keep the mobs apart?”

  Verstohlen gave him a look that indicated he sympathised, but his hands were tied. “You have the rest of the militia, the city watch. They’ll have to suffice. I have my own business to attend to. The tribunal will have to be suspended. If you want my advice, you’ll try to persuade the two parties to withdraw from Averheim until it can be reconvened.”

  Tochfel felt light-headed. Matters were spiralling beyond his ability to deal with them. Neither Leitdorf nor Grosslich were in a mood to respond to persuasion. Their blood was up, and he wasn’t sure whether they could rein in their supporters even if they wanted to. With Schwarzhelm gone, the two men might easily resort to more direct means of gaining power.

  “This is madness, counsellor,” he said. There was an edge of bitterness in his voice. “We were promised Imperial aid to ensure a smooth transition. Is this the best you can do?”

  “Feel free to take it up with Lord Schwarzhelm when he returns. In the meantime, you have some decisions to make.” He gave Tochfel a significant look. “There are options. Not all the Empire’s armies are away in the north. When trouble looms, a wise commander looks for help close to hand.”

  Tochfel wasn’t reassured. Gnomic utterances were the last thing he needed.

  “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  Verstohlen bowed. “I’ll be in contact when I can.” Then he was gone, following Achendorfer into the cool depths of the Averburg.

  Tochfel left the door open. He stayed standing where he was for a moment. The tidings were the worst he could imagine. The prospect of the city tearing itself apart suddenly looked real. He ran over the possibilities. None looked good.

  He was not a proud man. The stewardship had always been an unwelcome burden. He wilted under the demands of power. Always had. That made him an uninspiring leader, but it prevented some of the worst vices of command. He knew when he was overmatched. This was one of those times.

  Tochfel stirred and reached for a small bell hanging over his desk. Almost as soon as the echoes of its ringing had died away, a functionary appeared. The man looked nervous. The unrest in the city had threatened to spread even to the Averburg, and everyone was looking over their shoulder.

  “Tell the stables to make an errand rider ready. Then return here to collect a message. I’ll inscribe it myself.”

  The functionary hesitated. “Where will the message be sent, Steward? Some will refuse to ride east. They say the greenskins are roaming free.”

  Tochfel barely noticed the rank insurrection implied in that. His mind was already working on the contents of the missive. It would have to be worded carefully.

  “Tell them Nuln,” he said. “The Reiksguard garrison and Lord Helborg.”

  Schwarzhelm kicked his horse into a gallop. It responded immediately. In the night sky, Mannslieb remained low on the eastern horizon. It was waxing to the full, but its light was uncertain. Clouds drifted across the sky, the first he’d seen for days. The harbingers of storms, perhaps, driven from the Worlds Edge Mountains.

  Around him, the cavalry responded. Five hundred head of horse. The best that Averheim had to offer. Kraus and the honour guard were at the forefront. They’d accepted their orders without question. They always did. It had taken them mere moments t
o check their equipment and mount up. Even in the night shadow they looked magnificent, the moonlight glinting from their armour. They were as fine as Reiksguard. Maybe finer. Every man in the company had been picked by him. Their loyalty was unquestionable.

  The Averlanders had been slower to organise. He’d had to storm into the stables himself to get them in a suitable shape to ride. There was no excuse for such slovenly behaviour. It was true that some of them had previously been pressed into controlling the mobs in Averheim, but such work was nothing compared to the rigours of campaign. The whole province seemed to have gone soft. This was what happened when scholars took over. The Empire had always been ruled by military men, men who knew how it felt to lead a cavalry charge into the heart of an enemy. When that order was subverted, it was no wonder that sickness took hold. Sigmar had been a chieftain, not a loremaster.

  As the hooves hammered on the hard ground, the mounted troops left the Averburg stables behind. They tore through the streets of Averheim. Any men still out quickly ducked into the alleys as the company of knights thundered along the thoroughfares. As he went, Schwarzhelm saw how many fires still burned in the squares and crossroads. The elector candidates had eschewed the last of their restraint. That was too bad. Tochfel would have to deal with it until he got back.

  For some reason, that made him think of Grunwald again. A shard of pure pain entered him. Andreas had been a good man. A brave commander. The last time the two of them had spoken, he’d given him nothing but harsh words. If the tidings were true, he hoped he’d died honourably. That would be at least some consolation.

  Schwarzhelm shook his head, trying to clear it. His mind was forever dwelling on failures. That wasn’t like him. Why was his mind so troubled?

  The gates were approaching rapidly. The horses didn’t slow. A trumpet blared from further back in the column. Frantically, the drawbridge was lowered and the mighty doors swung open. They were out, past the walls and into the Averland countryside. Kraus’ honour guard fanned out on either side of him. The men rode in unison, hooves beating on the road in a thudding rhythm. Further back, the Averlanders struggled to keep up.