C. Werner - Blighted Empire

The mighty castle dominated the landscape, looming over the sprawl of Carroburg, commanding the approaches along the Reik. It was the situation of the Otwinsstein that had dictated the construction of the original timber tower and the first mud-hut village to shelter in its shadow. It was the existence of the castle that allowed Carroburg its command of the river trade and had many times earned its burghers the epithet of ‘pirate barons’.

Now, the Schloss Hohenbach opened its monstrous iron gates to admit a plunderer who made the grasping dealings of Carroburg’s worst burgher seem petty. Emperor Boris breathed deeply as he watched the imposing gatehouse with its bronze gargoyles and megalithic statuary draw close.

‘The ancestral seat,’ the Emperor commented with a smile. ‘It is good to be home again.’

‘I understood you had never visited this place before,’ Erna said. It was the first time she had spoken since the incident with the beggars.

Emperor Boris frowned at the woman’s insolence, but after a moment of consideration decided to overlook it. ‘One is never a stranger to one’s legacy,’ he pronounced. A moment of reflection and he motioned for his scribe to record the statement for posterity.

The carriage was soon within the walled courtyard. Emperor Boris waited until von Kirchof left the carriage before making any move to leave his seat. The attempt to usurp his throne had taught him to be cautious. To always let one of his subjects precede him. After a moment, von Kirchof appeared at the door. Bowing low, he waited while his sovereign disembarked. The rest of the occupants followed close behind.

The towers of the Schloss Hohenbach glowered down at them like primordial titans. They were cold and severe, devoid of the artistry and elegance that characterised the Imperial Palace. The castle had been built as a fortress, and ten generations of Hohenbachs had been unable to endow it with warmth or cheer.

Emperor Boris paced across the courtyard, shaking his head as he gazed up at the hoary battlements and ancient towers. Forcing a smile onto his face, he looked back at Princess Erna and Sasha, von Kirchof’s young niece. ‘Now, perhaps you ladies understand why it was necessary to bring some pretty things to this place.’ He turned away as the rest of the Imperial procession started to enter the gates. Twenty carriages conveying the highest echelons of Imperial society, the most affluent potentates in the whole Empire. The men and women hand-picked by Emperor Boris to be preserved from the plague, to share this refuge from the blight ravaging the land.

‘We may be here quite some time,’ the Emperor continued. ‘Long enough, I think, for all of us to become well acquainted.’

Altdorf

Sigmarzeit, 1114

‘A peasant appointed Protector of the Empire!’ The outburst was punctuated by the slamming of a mailed fist against the polished mahogany desk. The pink-faced man seated behind the desk winced as he saw the wood scarred by the blow. Almost immediately there was a cloth in his hand and he was rubbing at the injured surface.

‘You must curb your temper, Vidor,’ the man cautioned his guest. ‘There is no arguing with an Imperial decree.’ He leaned back and swallowed uneasily, darting a glance at the shelf-lined walls of his office. ‘It is also unwise to speak in anger. Your “peasant” has ears everywhere.’

Vidor von Tolkesdorf, Duke of Weissbruck and Margrave of the Helmwald, shifted the steel helm he held under his arm, brandishing it like a cudgel at the man seated behind the desk, provoking an uneasy squirm from the pink-faced noble. Duke Vidor sneered. Lord Ratimir was typical of the men who made up the Imperial court, decadent blue-bloods who had grown soft from the ease of luxury. The least display of force, the smallest threat of danger, and they capitulated to any outrage. Even that of taking orders from a low-born peasant.

‘I don’t care how many serfs that dung-scraping low-born has in his vaunted Kaiserjaeger,’ Duke Vidor growled. ‘The Emperor knows my loyalty. He knows there is no more staunch a supporter of his crown than myself!’

Lord Ratimir shook his head, making soft tutting sounds. ‘Things are quite different than when you left Altdorf to hunt the errant Reiksmarshal,’ he warned. ‘His Imperial Majesty has had two years to reflect upon the conspiracy that nearly took that crown away from him. Need I say that it has been Adolf Kreyssig and his Kaiserjaeger who have been investigating that conspiracy and dragging more traitors into the light? It would be unwise… and unhealthy… to make an enemy of the man. Whatever the quality of his blood.’

Duke Vidor turned away from the desk, pacing across the office of the Imperial Minister of Finance. ‘He knows my loyalty,’ he stated, conviction in his tone. ‘I chased that scoundrel Boeckenfoerde across the eastern provinces for eighteen months. Drove that rabble of Dienstleute clear into the Ungol wastes!’

Ratimir’s sickly countenance was made more grotesque by the smug expression he wore. ‘All true, Vidor, but what have you done lately for His Imperial Majesty?’ He leaned back in his chair, savouring the look of dawning awareness in his visitor’s eyes. ‘Yes, you’ve eliminated the threat of Boeckenfoerde marching his scum on Altdorf. That very accomplishment makes you dangerous. It means you are a strong strategist and a capable leader of men — both qualities that have proven treacherous towards the Emperor in the recent past.’

Frowning, the duke leaned across the desk. ‘What will the Emperor do?’ he scoffed. ‘Surround himself with incompetents simply because they are too stupid to be dangerous to him?’

‘No,’ Ratimir conceded. ‘He will surround himself with men who he himself has created. Creatures like Kreyssig who owe their status and position solely to the beneficence of His Imperial Majesty. Blood and breeding are becoming questionable assets, Vidor. The Emperor doesn’t trust men who feel they are entitled to wealth and station.’

Duke Vidor stood back, aghast at the implication. It was already well known that Emperor Boris had ordered the confiscation of all property owned by Prince Sigdan and his fellow conspirators, their titles abolished and their possessions forfeit to the crown. What Ratimir was suggesting went even further: outright suppression of the nobility!

‘He knows my loyalty,’ Vidor protested, rejecting the fears Ratimir had stirred up.

Ratimir laughed softly, the effort almost choking him. With a trembling hand, he removed a pomander from his frilled sleeve and drew deeply upon its fragrant vapours. ‘It is not the Emperor you must convince of your loyalty,’ he said when the fit had passed. ‘It is the Protector he leaves behind in his stead.’

‘I bow to no peasant,’ Vidor snarled. ‘No noble-born man will!’

Again, Ratimir shook his head. ‘After the example of Prince Sigdan, I think you will find that the nobles will put up with a great deal if it keeps them from the wrong side of an axe.’

The light streaming through the Kaiseraugen was like the glimmer of a thousand jewels, a dazzling display that caught the breath and captivated the soul. The stained glass was the handiwork of the finest glaziers in Karak Norn, produced and transported at enormous expense. A lesser monarch might have shuddered at the cost, but Emperor Boris wasn’t some petty border baron or country count. He was supreme leader of the mightiest realm of man in the known world and such insignificance was beneath his concern. If there were anything troublesome, it was the added expenditure to hurry the project along. It was never cheap to hurry a dwarf.