C. Werner - Dead Winter

‘I do not think you understand the potential here, Kreyssig,’ the Emperor said at last. He leaned forwards in his seat, pointing a finger heavy with rings at the commander of the Kaiserjaeger. ‘You didn’t find those people in the Niederhafen. They turned up near the Altgarten. The plague isn’t entering Altdorf from the docks, Engel’s rabble have brought it with them.’

Kreyssig’s head dipped in a grim nod. ‘I will have my men attend the peasants we have detained. It will look as though they died of the plague. We will leave the bodies close to Breadburg, conspicuous enough that someone will find them sooner rather than later. A bit of public fear will lend justification to future activities.’ Like Grand Master von Schomberg, Kreyssig was well aware that the Emperor was only biding his time before unleashing his knights against the Marchers.

‘Do not allow the panic to go too far,’ Emperor Boris cautioned. ‘I must be seen to be boldly leading the way, not reacting to the demands of peasants and petty lordlings. A day or so, then we ride against Engel’s rebels.’

‘I will have the Kaiserjaeger ready,’ Kreyssig declared, snapping his heels as he saluted the Emperor.

‘Notify the Reiksknecht as well,’ the Emperor ordered. ‘Get the Schuetzenverein too, if you think they will be needed.’ Boris waved aside the objection forming on the commander’s lips. ‘I don’t want Engel’s protest merely broken. I want an atrocity. I want a massacre. I want the Altgarten painted in blood. I want such a slaughter that it will make the Imperial Council scream in outrage.’ The Emperor chuckled as he settled back against the cushions of his chair. ‘It will be regrettable, but with more troops, such a massacre could have been avoided. Enough soldiers could have controlled the situation without bloodshed. The carnage could have been avoided.’

‘You will ask that Altdorf be granted a dispensation?’ Kreyssig asked.

The Emperor’s laughter swelled to a malignant thunder. ‘After their cries of outrage over the massacre, none of those crowned fools will dare deny my request!’

‘What about the plague, Your Imperial Majesty?’ Ratimir wondered.

All warmth left the Emperor’s eyes. ‘When Commander Kreyssig wipes out Engel’s rabble, there will be no more plague.

‘Is that understood?’

It was late in the evening before Adolf Kreyssig returned to his home, a plaster-walled townhouse in the wealthy Obereik district. Directing a stiff salute to the squad of black-liveried Kaiserjaeger standing guard outside the building, the officer mounted the narrow flight of stone steps and entered his home.

Kreyssig’s mind was awhirl with the conspiracy he’d become involved in. It was a measure of the confidence the Emperor placed in him that the execution of his plan had been entrusted to the commander of the Kaiserjaeger. He took a cruel pleasure from that display of trust. While barons and counts waved their airs and titles in his face, the Emperor himself recognised the capabilities of a mere peasant, choosing Kreyssig, not some pompous duke, to safeguard the city. He had been chosen over the highborn von Schomberg to lead the attack against Breadburg.

He had worked many years to build the Kaiserjaeger up into the force it had become, but now all of his toil was beginning to pay off. The only obstacle to his ambition was his status as a commoner, but Kreyssig had plans to remove that obstruction from his path. Baron Thornig of Middenland was the key to increasing his station. Kreyssig’s spies had uncovered certain indiscretions from the baron’s days in Nuln, indiscretions that would, at the very least, heap infamy upon the Thornig name. Fortunately for the baron, he had a very pretty daughter of marriageable age, Princess Erna. The Middenlander was proving to be stubborn, but eventually he would come to see that the only way he would safeguard his position would be to give Kreyssig his daughter’s hand.

The commander smiled as he imagined himself elevated to the ranks of the nobility. Absently, he noted his valet awaiting him in the vestibule leading off the entryway. The short, fat functionary was visibly agitated, his face flushed with excitement. Kreyssig thought at first that Baron Thornig had finally come around, but there was too much anxiety tugging at the valet’s thick features for whatever was bothering him to be good news.

‘What is it, Fuerst?’ Kreyssig demanded.

‘Commander, I have been waiting for you for hours,’ the valet stammered. He raised nervous eyes to the ceiling, seeming to stare through the timber planks to the floor above. ‘The bell in your sitting room, the one you told me to always listen for, the one you said to wake you no matter the hour should it ring…’

‘Yes, Fuerst,’ Kreyssig growled, losing patience with the peasant.

Fuerst folded his hands across his belly, and stared apologetically at his master. ‘The bell started ringing four hours ago.’ He cringed when he saw the sudden fury that leapt into the commander’s eyes. ‘I sent runners to find you, but nobody knew where you had gone.’ The valet found himself speaking to Kreyssig’s back as his master rushed down the hallway.

‘Someone said they thought you had possibly gone to Mundsen Keep,’ Fuerst explained as he followed after Kreyssig. His master jogged through the hall, crossing through a lavishly appointed dining room and into a stone-walled kitchen.

‘Mundsen Keep is clear across the city,’ the valet said, still talking to his master’s back. ‘And by the time the messenger got there, you had already…’ Fuerst blinked as Kreyssig opened the door to the root cellar, stepped inside and slammed the portal in his face. He could hear the commander lock the door behind him, then his heavy boots tromped down the stairway into the cellar.

Fuerst frowned, mystified by his master’s actions. Timidly, he pressed his ear against the door. After a moment, he thought he could hear voices. One belonged to his master, but the other was a shrill hiss. Although he couldn’t make out any words, the tone of that hissing voice sent the valet’s flesh crawling.

It was some minutes before the voices fell silent and he heard Kreyssig’s boots tramping back up the stairs. Fuerst hurriedly stepped away from the door, snapping to attention as his master emerged from the cellar.

‘Fetch some runners,’ Kreyssig told Fuerst. ‘Ones that know their job better than the buffoons you dispatched earlier. I want to send new orders to the captains of the Kaiserjaeger.’

‘Is something wrong, commander?’ Fuerst asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.

Kreyssig nodded his head. ‘The Emperor has ordered an attack against the Altgarten rebels,’ he said. ‘It appears there are traitors within the Reiksknecht who intend to stand with the rebels.’

Fuerst’s eyes went wide with shock, his mouth gasping in disbelief. ‘What… what will you do?’

There was a cold glint in Adolf Kreyssig’s eyes.

‘Kill them all,’ he said.

Bylorhof

Kaldezeit, 1111

Frederick van Hal paused at the threshold of his brother’s house. His eyes focused a grim gaze upon the red cross daubed across the door. Nearly every house in the street had similar markings as the plague rampaged through Bylorhof, but the priest had clung to the hope that the Black Plague would spare his family. Now that hope was gone.

The priest stretched forth his pale hand and rapped against the marked door. He waited a moment, listening to the snow settle upon the thatch roofs, watching rats creep along the gutters, smelling the charnel stink of sickness rising from the town. He shivered beneath his black robe, feeling the warmth draining out of him. Annoyance flickered across his dour features and he knocked again.