C. Werner - Blighted Empire

As he watched the diminutive craftsmen bustling about the half-restored window overlooking the Reik and the sprawl of Altdorf, Boris felt strength course through him. Only he could afford to exert such authority, to take an act of vandalous destruction and turn it into a thing more magnificent than before. The traitors who had smashed the original picture window were to be thanked for their mindless atrocity. The new Kaiseraugen would be even greater, a wonder of human achievement and artistry! The stained glass and silver panes would lend it an unparalleled glamour, like a rainbow bound and imprisoned against the face of the Imperial Palace. When it was complete, this hall would sparkle like a treasure vault.

Watching the dwarfs work, Boris’s gaze strayed to the open, incomplete section of the window. For a moment, he felt his attention drawn to the ugly blemish of the city below, the dilapidated structures and deserted streets, the sprawl of refugee camps beyond the walls and the hideous spectre of funeral pyres. Quickly he turned away. He would be happy when all the stained glass was in place and blotted out the noxious vision.

Composing himself, Boris marched across the hall and into the gallery beyond. It was unseemly to let something disturb his Imperial poise. When he returned from Carroburg, such things would be in the past. The plague would run its course soon and then things could get back to normal. And if not… Well, the dwarfs would certainly be finished with their work by then.

In the gallery, Boris was joined by a bodyguard of picked men from the Kaiserknecht and the menacing figure of Baron Pieter von Kirchof, the Emperor’s Champion. It was von Kirchof who had stood by Boris during the insurrection of Prince Sigdan. More than his unmatched prowess with the sword, it was this unwavering loyalty that had earned him the indulgence of his Emperor. Boris had heaped riches on his champion, allocating several of the confiscated lands to the von Kirchof family. Now, he was prepared to grant his favoured vassal another boon.

But first he wanted to hear von Kirchof beg.

‘The construction goes well, Your Imperial Majesty?’ the baron asked as the monarch and his retinue marched down the hall.

Boris took his time before acknowledging that he’d heard his minion speak. Von Kirchof was too well bred to dare decorum by addressing the Emperor again without some response. It was a useful thing, courtly breeding. It conditioned proud men to submit without question.

The Emperor halted before a long mural depicting one of the expansionist campaigns waged by his long-dead predecessor Frederick in the Ungol-infested oblast of the north. His guards immediately formed a circle around him, hands falling to the hilts of swords. Silently they waited for whatever fancy had made their sovereign pause to pass. Boris smiled at their impatience. They would never give it voice, never admit it even to themselves, but it was there and it was held hostage by nothing save his own authority.

‘Tell Us again of this girl, von Kirchof,’ Boris said at last, his eyes still studying the tapestry. He didn’t need to turn to know the desperate hope that shone in the eyes of his champion.

‘She is my niece, Your Imperial Majesty,’ the baron explained, an explanation he had made many times before. ‘There is plague in my sister’s fief. It has been most rapacious in her lands and I… She fears for the girl’s safety. I would bring her to Altdorf, but the plague is worse here and…’

‘And we are leaving for Carroburg,’ the Emperor finished for him.

Baron von Kirchof stiffened and made an embarrassed bow. ‘I was hoping that you would condescend to allow my niece to join the procession to Carroburg.’

Boris turned away from the tapestry, directing a hard look into his champion’s eyes, holding him in the grip of that stare until the baron was compelled to look away. ‘The plague is getting worse,’ he stated. ‘That is why We are leaving Altdorf and seeking the safety of seclusion in the Schloss Hohenbach in the Drakwald. With us We are taking the most powerful personages in the Empire. Grand dukes, arch-counts and great princes.’

Baron von Kirchof kept his eyes downcast. ‘I know it is…’

‘How old is the child?’ Boris asked suddenly, interrupting the apology.

Von Kirchof brightened at the inquiry. ‘She has just passed her nineteenth winter,’ he said.

‘Hardly a “girl” then,’ Boris scoffed, toying with the ermine fringe of his imperial robes. ‘If she is pretty, you may bring her along,’ he said, making the declaration sound as weighty as any affair of state. ‘The castle is quite gloomy, as We recall. We shall need a few pretty things to brighten it up while We are there.’ He raised a warning finger before the baron could thank him. ‘We warn you, the maiden had best be as fair as you attest her to be.’

Boris left the consequences of his disappointment unsaid. As Emperor, there were a great many things he could do to someone who displeased him. He had always found that it was more effective to leave his subjects wondering which of those things was to be their punishment.

No fear was greater than the terror born in a man’s own imagination.

Blinded by the flickering glow of a rushlight, it was some time before Princess Erna von Thornig realised she was no longer alone in her dingy cell. As the red blur that had flooded across her light-starved eyes gradually faded, she found two men standing beside the iron-banded door. The chill of her dungeon apartment was nothing beside the chill that gripped her heart as she recognised her visitors.

The stocky, overweight one with the frilled shirt and sombre livery was Fuerst. The other man, his sickly pallor and scarred face rendered still more grotesque by the shadows cast by the rushlight, was Fuerst’s master, Adolf Kreyssig, Commander of the Kaiserjaeger and now Protector of the Empire. The villain who had murdered her father and cast her into this prison.

The fiend who was her husband.

An ophidian smile stretched across Kreyssig’s face as he watched Erna cringe away from him, her trembling hands clutching the heavy length of chain that connected her to an iron ring set into the wall. He slapped a leather riding crop against his leg, savouring the fear he saw in his wife’s eyes. It had taken much time and effort to put that fear there, to beat the boldness out of her. Breaking Erna’s spirit had become something of a hobby for him. One that he had enjoyed immensely.

‘Don’t get up,’ Kreyssig hissed at her. ‘I am afraid that I don’t have much time to squander with you today. His Imperial Majesty is going to officially proclaim me Protector of the Empire in the Great Cathedral of Sigmar.’ For just an instant, he saw hate burn its way through the fear in her eyes. He slashed the riding crop at her, being sure to strike low enough that the brand wouldn’t be visible in public. The strip of sackcloth draped about Erna’s body did nothing to retard the blow. Still, his words had awakened some residue of noble pride and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Kreyssig drew his arm back to whip her again.

‘Your lordship!’ Fuerst protested, grabbing Kreyssig’s arm. ‘His Imperial Majesty has ordered the baroness to attend him when he travels. He will be displeased if…’

Kreyssig rounded on his servant, turning the crop against him and slashing it down his back. He turned and glared at Erna, then returned his attention to Fuerst. ‘Get the bitch presentable,’ he snarled before storming from the cell.

Fuerst bowed until the door closed behind Kreyssig, then he turned back to the captive baroness. ‘I am sorry, your ladyship, but you know better than to bait him.’

‘The worst he can do is kill me,’ Erna stated, her awakened pride sinking back beneath a torrent of despair. She looked up at Fuerst, managing a weak smile for his benefit. ‘He would have killed me already if not for you.’