"Soldiers live. He dies and not you, and you feel guilty, because you're glad he died, and not you. Soldiers live, and wonder why." - Glen Cook, "Soldiers Live", The Black Company series
Altdorf, Reikland
Draga
"I know he told us straight up when we met him", Falk said, lifting the hat Bianca had given him to scratch his head, "but I have to admit, this kind of puts things into perspective."
The stately manor before them was in the heart of Altdorf. Its eaves were graced with stone grotesques of mighty griffons. The manor's many windows were wide, all covered with glass. The cobbled walk leading up to the front steps was flanked by hedgerows that would be adorned with bright flowers come spring. A garden spread out from either side of the front walk, replete with paths and a few fountains.
"You're telling me." Draga said, feeling nervous.
The two warrior-priests stood on the sidewalk before the manor, both of them wrapped in heavy cloaks against the winter cold. There was a warm, inviting feeling about the manor.
"Well, you plan on standing here and growing roots? Rhya will like that, I'm sure." Falk joked.
"Frozen to the spot, more like." Draga sighed.
They approached the wrought iron gate leading into the manor's ground. Two guards in green and violet stood at the ready. They were both bundled up, standing beside lit braziers.
"I am Sister Dragamina Bajra. This is Brother Falkenwulf Daur. We're here at the invitation of Gol-...of Lord Rikter." Draga said, eyes screwing shut at the misspeak. They showed their seals.
"We've been told to expect you." One of them said, pushing the gate open. "Follow me."
The guard led them up the front path, opening the front door when they reached it and ushering them into a richly appointed foyer. It was smaller than Starkschloss's had been, but it was far cozier. There was little in the way of ostentation, but the rugs across the floor were thick and soft. The paintings that adorned the walls were mostly domestic scenes, people from all walks of life going about mundane tasks that were captured with soothing color palettes. Draga particularly liked an image of a washer woman with a basket of clothes on her hip, looking at a trio of young children playing with a shaggy dog in a creek.
There was a liveried servant waiting just inside the door who hung their cloaks for them, then hurried up a nearby set of stairs, and scant minutes later he returned with a woman in tow.
The newcomer wore a thick doublet, breeches, and knee-length boots, wearing a basket-hilted broadsword at her hip. Draga placed her in her early fifties. Lines around her eyes and mouth indicated a face that was given to laughter and smiles. Her mostly iron grey hair still had streaks of platinum blonde in it.
"The Baroness, Lady Karolina von Bauman." The servant said, bowing and stepping aside.
"Thank you, Herschel." Karolina said as she moved past him down the stairs. "Jonas, help yourself to a skin of wine from the kitchens and share it with Hansel."
"Er…Captain Pascal don't like when we drink on duty, Lady." The guard said.
"He can take it up with me. It's colder than a frost troll's bollocks out there." Karolina said dismissively.
"Thank you, my Lady." Jonas said, heading off.
Having never expected to hear a noble lady say the phrase "a frost troll's bollocks", Draga was in a stunned silence as the Baroness descended the remaining stairs.
"Sister Dragamina. I'm so glad to finally meet you. Rikter has gone on and on about you." Karolina said as she reached the ground and approached them.
"Really?" Draga asked.
"His version of going on and on about someone, anyway. You've gotten him to talk about something other than magic and alchemy, which is essentially unheard of." Karolina said with a good-natured grin. "And Brother Falkenwulf. My son spared a few words for you as well. Welcome.."
Falk inclined his head. "Thank you, my lady."
"Rikter should be home anytime now. Will you join me for some tea in the meantime? You must be chilled to the bone. Wouldn't be so bad if not for that wind." Karolina beckoned them to join her.
They all three ended up in a sitting room before a crackling fireplace. Draga's chair was so soft she thought she might sink into it and never emerge. She was far from an expert on tea, but hers was steaming hot, and that was all she cared about at that moment.
The room was silent at first as they all fully settled in. What did Draga have to talk about with a Baroness of the Empire? She dug through her memory for something Rikter might have told her to start with.
"I…understand the Baron von Bauman is the Marshal of a Knightly Order." Draga tried, sipping the piping hot tea.
"Marshal and founder, yes. The Order of the Dawnbringers." Karolina said with a wistful sigh. "That's where he is now, at Rising Sun Keep. He plans to retire within the next couple of years. Our youngest, Helene, just earned her spurs a few months ago. Thank Sigmar that Anette and Rikter still live here. I think I'd go mad with all this space and no family to fill it."
"And Anette. She's still writing novels?" Draga asked. Rikter was the middle child, Anette being his older sister.
"Oh yes. She's gotten a bit of a following among the young burghers here in Altdorf. She still lives here, with her husband and children. The nobles say her work is too 'unrefined' and 'base'", Karolina tossed her head with disdain, drinking her tea. "More like those stunted imbeciles would have an apoplexy and die on the spot if they had a genuine emotion for once in their lives."
Falk choked on his tea. Draga, meanwhile, was deciding that she rather liked this woman.
Draga's next question was cut off by the door to the sitting room opening. Rikter entered, clad in a jerkin and thick trousers of golden wool and silk. His nose and cheek were red from the cold. He hadn't cut his hair since Draga last saw him, and it had gotten quite long. He looked distressed, but when he saw Draga, his expression shifted to joy.
"Dragamina." Rikter said happily. "Shallya's mercy, it's good to see you."
"Goldy." Draga said, standing up. She had been debating on what exactly she would say upon seeing him again. Nothing felt adequate, so instead she threw her arms around Rikter and pulled him into a tight hug. Draga hadn't realized just how much she had been waiting for it until she finally had him in her arms.
Rikter was initially surprised, but hugged her back a moment later
"I missed you." Draga whispered.
"The thought of you was…proving enough to be quite distracting from my work." Rikter replied in kind.
"Shallya's mercy, Rikter…", Karolina bemoaned.
Draga just laughed, letting him go. "You looked upset when you walked in. Is everything alright?"
"The man I normally purchase my alchemical supplies from, Herr Kaulitz. He's apparently been missing for the past few days." Rikter revealed with a grimace. "No note or anything explaining where he went."
Draga furrowed her brow. She looked back at Falk. The Ostlander's shift from "at rest" to "Truthblade" was a visible thing.
The questions began at once, Lady Karolina almost forgotten. When was the last time he saw Kaulitz? Four days ago. Was Kaulitz acting strangely? No. Did the neighbors notice anything? Rikter didn't know. Did Rikter know if Kaulitz was involved with anything proscribed or illegal? Rikter didn't think so but could say for sure. Did Kaulitz have family? A brother in the Reikland State troops, but that was all he knew. Could Rikter take them to Kaulitz's shop? Of course.
"Lady Karolina, please accept my apologies, but it seems the gods have other plans for us today." Falk said.
"Of course. There will be rooms prepared for the both of you whenever you return." Karolina said.
"Sorry, mother." Rikter said with a frown.
"Oh, hush. You seem to forget I've been married to a knight for twenty-five years. I'm well used to duty calling at a moment's notice." Karolina said. She approached and hugged her son. "Be safe. All of you."
"Thank you for doing this. I didn't intend to drag the two of you into it." Rikter said once they were out in the hall.
"You're not dragging us into anything." Draga assured him.
"She's right. This is what we do." Falk said.
"I only hope it's not too late." Rikter said. "Kaulitz has a brilliant mind. I don't know him well enough to call him a friend, but the intellectual community of Altdorf would suffer for his loss."
"We'll find him." Draga said. "And if we don't, we'll make the ones responsible pay."
Falk
In Falk's mind, there was nowhere that better exemplified the sharp contrasts of Imperial society than Altdorf. It was the capital of Reikland and the center of the Empire's bureaucracy. It was the center of the Sigmarite faith, as well as several others, including Falk's own. Altdorf was second only to Nuln in regards to industry and technological progress, yet it eclipsed former Imperial capital in every other respect; population, wealth, prestige.
The disparity between the extremes of society was also at its height. People came from all over the Empire hoping to start a new life in Altdorf. Most of them got lost in the churn of crushing poverty, back breaking labor in foundries and on river docks, and rampant crime. The Order of Truthblades kept a score of its warrior-priests permanently stationed in the city, but like seemingly every other Imperial resource, they were stretched thin. A single man's disappearance was generally a lower scale crime than the Altdorf Truthblades would concern themselves with.
Like many burghers, Herr Kaulitz's residence and business were in the same building. The urban townhouse was a fairly universal construction throughout the Empire, but whether or not the front room was a storefront or mere entryway depended on the resident. Kaulitz's Cauldron, as it was called, held a coveted position at the end of a block of other businesses in the mind bending maze of Altdorf's merchant quarter. The winter cold had few people outside, those that were moving quickly from place to place.
Falk sent Draga and Rikter to question the owners of surrounding businesses. He did his best investigative work when there was no one around to distract him. The first thing Falk noted was the building was locked up with no sign of forced entry on its exterior. He picked the lock on the front door and went inside.
The interior of the Cauldron smelled dreadful to Falk's nose, the ingredients in their bins and open jars smelling at once acrid, cloying, floral, and fetid. A look around the storefront showed no signs of a struggle, no spilled ingredients, no evidence of theft. A strongbox that rattled with coins was under the front counter, untouched.
The back room behind the counter was much the same. There was alchemical equipment for…whatever it was alchemists did with all their ingredients. Some combination of mixing and distilling, Falk was sure. Probably. Falk checked around but there was no stairwell down into a cellar. None of his footsteps gave any impression of open space beneath the floor.
A selfish and morbid part of Falk hoped he'd find Kaulitz's corpse up on the second or third floor and solve the mystery then and there. No such thing occurred. It was mostly orderly and clean, but there were signs of something awry. It was nothing major. The bed covers lay as if suddenly thrown back. Night clothes were draped over the bed's footboard, a dresser still open. So, Kaulitz had awoken suddenly to knocking at the front door, probably, dressed just as quickly, and rushed off to…where?
Falk looked across the alchemist's writing desk. Amid well organized letters in small baskets that read things like "In", "Out", "Finance", and "Receipts", there was a single letter haphazardly laying at an angle to everything else. Falk picked it up. There was only a single sentence on the page.
Final preparations are almost done, be at same place at same time as usual.
That was all it said. It could have been dropped through the mail slot, making the deliverer anonymous. It was, however, marked with the image of a scarlet sword.
Falk suppressed a sigh, tossing the letter down on the desk. As he did, he felt something gritty between one of his fingers and the letter. He looked down at his hand to see white dust on his fingers. Tilting his head to one side, he tapped the finger against his tongue. It was bitter and salty. Falk uncorked and drank from a bottle of wine on Kaulitz's desk to get the taste out.
"Saltpeter." He said to himself, setting the bottle down. It was used for a lot of things, but in Altdorf, its primary function was as an ingredient in black powder. It didn't tell him much, but it was potentially a springboard for more information. In fact…
Falk started going through all of Kaulitz's papers. The formula for Imperial gunpowder was constantly in flux as its makers tried to find the optimal amount of power with the least amount of mass. Alchemists like Kaulitz would often be contracted out to try to achieve some specific result that could then be replicated en masse in a factory. Was this some sort of secret project? Why would Kaulitz be so careless as to leave evidence lying around in the open, then?
Falk found what he was looking for in the "Out" and "In" baskets. There was consistent correspondence with one Herr Johann Schmidt. It was almost certainly a false name. One couldn't swing an arm without hitting a Johann or a Schmidt in the Empire. More importantly, the letters were going to and from an address in the industrial quarter. All of them were full of discussions about alchemical formulas. It could be a code, but Falk wasn't learned enough in alchemy to know for sure. Luckily, he knew someone that was.
There was nothing else to be found. Falk left Kaulitz's Cauldron. He used his picks to lock the building behind him, then went down the street to find Draga and Rikter walking away from the front door of a haberdashery.
"Any luck?" Falk asked as he approached.
Both Draga and Rikter shook their heads, the former saying, "nothing useful. No one has seen anything suspicious."
"Or won't admit to seeing such a thing, at least." Rikter said. "We did discover the regiment Herr Kaulitz's brother, Luitpold, served; the Red Blades."
"I've heard of them. They were wiped out in the Reikwald fighting a warband of Chaos-corrupted mercenaries." Draga recalled. "I had to help hunt the remnants of the warband after the battle."
Falk looked at the anonymous note, pointedly showing the red sword image to his companions. It was too convenient to be a coincidence. Falk offered the wizard all the letters he'd taken from Kaulitz's desk. "Does anything else seem odd about these?"
Rikter took the papers, then drew his pince-nez spectacles from a chest pocket of his jerkin. His green eyes rapidly flicked through them.
"Huh. Hm." The wizard hummed. "These make no sense."
"What about them doesn't?" Draga asked.
"Everything." Rikter said. "These component combinations don't produce anything, to say nothing of the amounts. I mean, fifty grams of pyrite for a soporific? The madness of it." Rikter scoffed, handing the papers back. "Herr Kaulitz is a competent alchemist, Falkenwulf. He would never make such foolish calculations."
"So we're looking at coded messages. Even if we don't know what they're saying, that tells us something. Do you know the address?" Falk asked.
"It's in the industrial quarter, but I don't know specifically where. And if it's large factory, we could be looking through dozens of people." Rikter said.
"Whoever it is, it's someone who can read and write, and has regular contact with saltpeter. I found it on this note", Falk held up the first message he had found. "It matches the handwriting on the coded messages."
"Saltpeter. Huh." Rikter said quietly. "We should head in that direction. I'll call a carriage."
"Two warrior-priests and a wizard showing up might just be asking for a swift kick to a hornet's nest." Draga pointed out.
"Which, as you've probably learned by now, is sometimes exactly what you need to do when you're hunting for hornets." Falk said with a grin.
"I've hunted a lot of things. Hornets will never be one of them." Draga sighed. She slipped her arm through Rikter's and leaned against him.
Falk's grin remained, but now it was at the sight of his friend with Rikter. Draga deserved some happiness. It did, however, serve to make him miss Bianca. Falk was actually grateful for the fact he had a case to work on and divert his attention to. It felt like his every waking moment had been dedicated to how much he wished he was with Bianca, otherwise.
"First time for everything, Sister." Falk said happily.
Every city in the Empire had a constant pall of smog hanging over it. This was especially true in the winter as every fought back the cold with constantly burning fireplaces and wood burning stoves. The industrial quarter of Altdorf was the centerpoint of the city's haze as foundries belched a constant stream of blackened smoke into the air. The Imperial war machine could be sustained by no less.
The address of the letters led to a powder mill that was on the outskirts of the industrial quarter. The structure wasn't as tall or looming as its surrounding counterparts that produced armor or cannons. A one-story structure covered a solid acre of ground, surrounded by silos and storehouses where the ingredients for black powder were stored. An eye-wateringly acrid stench hung over the entire complex. As it was a critical part of war production, State Troops served as on-site security rather than hired guards. One flash of their seals of office was enough to get Falk, Draga, and Rikter past the guards that kept passersby from wandering in from the street.
"Reikland State Powder Mill No. 3" read a sign above the entrance to the two-story office structure that clung to the side of the mill. Falk knew that the "No. 1" powder mill was located in the fortress-city of Helmgart. He had seen barrels marked with that mill's seal supplying cannons for the artillery that had supported his own regiment in Ostland.
Through the front door of the offices was a waiting room that expected so little waiting that it didn't even have anywhere to sit. There was a long desk where a young woman in Altdorf red, white, and blue was glancing at one piece of paper and writing on another. Though it was in Reikland, Altdorf was large enough that it warranted its own State Regiments, just as cities like Marienburg and Nuln did. As for the scribe herself, the State Troops of the Empire didn't let women serve on the frontlines. Allowing them in such supporting roles was a relatively recent development.
The scribe looked up at the newly arrived trio, her expression uneasy.
"Can I help you?" The scribe asked.
"Yes." Falk said, showing his seal. "Brother Falkenwulf, Truthblade. I need to speak to the individual in charge of this facility."
"That would be Major Wruck. I'm afraid he doesn't see visitors without an appointment." The scribe informed him.
"And I'm afraid that doesn't mean anything to me. We need to speak to him as part of an ongoing investigation. Either you can show us to his office, or we can blunder around this operation looking for him on our own." Falk countered.
The scribe weighed her options. Sighing, she set her writing utensil in a quill stand and stood from her chair.
"Follow me." She said, leading Falk and his companions up a nearby set of stairs.
The trio were led up a plain stairway and through a short hall to a wooden door, which the scribe knocked on and opened without waiting for a reply within. Her expression as she gestured those she was escorting inside said "you brought this on yourselves."
Falk, Draga, and Rikter entered Major Wruck's office. The only decor was an old banner depicting the head of a griffon that had a patch over its right eye. Falk recognized it. It was the standard of a handgunner regiment of minor fame; the Altdorf Deadeyes. They had earned their name in battle against an orc Warboss, Urgrok Stone-Toof, by managing to catch Urgrok out of position. Stories said that one-hundred and eleven handgun bullets were found in Urgrok's hide after the battle. Falk wondered who bothered to count.
Wruck was neither broad nor slim of build. He was bald, but his blonde beard and mustache were prodigiously large. He also wore the uniform of the Altdorf State Troops. His left sleeve was rolled up to the elbow, where his flesh-and-blood limb ended and a prosthetic ending in a hook began.
"Klara? Who're they? What is this?" Wruck asked in a grumpy tone.
"Warrior-priests and a wizard of the Colleges, sir." The scribe answered, leaving before she could be grilled further.
Wruck glowered at the three individuals that were invading his bureaucratic sanctum. He steepled his fingers as Falk approached his desk.
"Major Wruck, sir, I'm Brother Falkenwulf of the Truthblades, by Verena's blessing, formerly a Sergeant of the Brazen Bulls. I have questions for you in regards to a disappearance." Falk said, getting right to the point. He hoped his own history with the State Troops might establish a rapport.
"Hmph. The Brazen Bulls. Out of Wolfenburg, aye?" Wruck asked.
"Yes, sir." Falk confirmed. Wruck wasn't his superior, but the Truthblade got the sense that deference would get him further than obstinance in this case.
"How's a Greatsword end up a Truthblade?" Wruck challenged him.
"Luck. Whether it was good or bad depends on who you're asking, I wager." Falk replied.
"Hmph." Wruck said again. He wrinkled his nose, cleared his throat, then rested his elbows on his desk. "Fine. Ask your questions. Be quick about it."
Falk had considered how he was going to approach this during the entire walk over. Normally he would have strategized with Draga, but he hadn't wanted to interrupt the quiet back and forth the two were having as they walked arm in arm. In the end, he'd decided strategy wasn't really necessary. A frontal assault was sometimes the best option.
Falk tossed the saltpeter stained note onto the desk. Even before Wruck reacted to it, he saw the handwriting on the note matched that in the ledger that Wruck was currently going through. His direct gamble paid off.
"I found this in the home of one Kai Kaulitz, an alchemist here in Altdorf." Falk said. "Have anything to say about that?"
To Wruck's credit, he gave nothing away through his expression or mannerisms. His eyes dropped to the note, then rose back up to look at Falk.
"He's my primary contractor when I want experiments done with our black powder formulas. I'm in regular contact with him." Wruck said, telling a truth, just not the correct truth.
"I know you wrote that unsigned message, Major. What is it referencing? Where is Herr Kaulitz?" Falk pressed.
"Why do you want to know?" Wruck countered.
"He's missing. People are concerned about him. This is my job. If he was, say, held captive and forced to produce dangerous compounds, it could be a problem for the wider public." Falk said. "I'm not here to haul you off or look for a scapegoat, sir. I'm just trying to find Herr Kaulitz. If you help me, you'll give me even less of a reason to add your name to a list of people who need to be punished when I get to the bottom of whatever is going on here. Are you following me?"
Wruck's frown was impressively deep. Had it been a piece of terrain, Falk would have wagered a regiment or two could have gotten lost in it. There were many different varieties of hesitance when it came to confessing one's crimes, and Falk had Wruck's figured out before he spoke a word.
"You were a soldier, Brother Falkenwulf." Wruck said.
"In many ways, I still am." Falk said.
"Right." Wruck said, shrugging. "You know how much we have to sacrifice for the Empire. Not just in effort and blood."
"All too well." Falk assured him.
"So what if I told you that, by pursuing this investigation, you were going to invalidate the sacrifices of true patriots of the Empire?" Wruck asked.
Falk folded his arms. "I would say that some of the most heinous crimes I've ever witnessed have been done in the name of patriotism."
Wruck didn't look surprised, but he was stymied for about ten seconds. Falk didn't prompt him to speak. The Truthblade could see that his subject was essentially broken open. There was no need to rush him. It was a very specific, very strange sort of veteran soldier, existing only in the realm of a certain and fragile cognitive dissonance. This particular type of individual's idealism had been ground down to nothing, leaving behind a cynicism that led them to believe anything that struck against the established order was actually a heroic act. The dissonance lay in the fact that these people didn't think such strikes would actually change anything in the end, so what was the point of actually defending them?
"They just want to be heard, Brother Falkenwulf. They haven't hurt anybody. Herr Kaulitz isn't a captive. He's willingly part of all this." Wruck admitted.
"Part of all what? I need specifics." Falk said. He put his hands flat on Wruck's desk, leaning forward.
"I don't have them. I'm just a middle man." Wruck said. He took up his quill, dipped it in an inkwell, and hurriedly wrote something down. "Go to this address at this time. Knock on the door three times, pause, then twice, pause, then four times. I can't guarantee that you won't get attacked on sight, but I'm not going to be a part of this any longer. I'm too old to think they'll be making a difference."
Falk accepted the note from Wruck, reading it, then looking at the Major.
"In light of your cooperation, I'm going to leave you be for the moment. But if I discover you've been more involved…", Falk began.
"I'll come quietly. Have no fear. No point in anything else." Wruck grunted. "In the meantime, I have an order three Nordlander shore forts that needs to be filled, unless you want the Norscans coming setting foot on Imperial soil instead of being reduced to paste by roundshot."
Falk frowned at Wruck's attitude, but let it go. They had what they came for. It was time to leave.
Falk, Draga, and Rikter walked back out into the street, drawing cloaks around themselves, their breath fogging in the air.
"I don't like this." Draga said as they left the powder mill behind. "Real 'patriots' of the Empire are only ever beaten in the race to grab the torches and pitchforks by religious zealots when my people are around."
"What we speak of is not patriotism, but nationalism, and what is nationalism but a sort of secular faith?" Rikter suggested.
"Secular…faith." Falk repeated. That was a contradiction, but he was sure Rikter would explain.
The wizard elaborated. "This is simply my own personal view of things. There is a fine line between patriotism and nationalism. It lies in whether or not an individual is willing to open their eyes and see when their nation is in the wrong, flawed, lacking in something. The nationalist upholds that their homeland is without flaw. If not that, the flaws are caused by this secular faith's version of unbelievers; foreigners, outsiders, those who don't 'fall in line.' It cannot be 'true citizens' of the Empire."
"That certainly does sound familiar." Draga said, her tone dark.
Rikter took her hand. "I know. And perhaps that's not what we're dealing with right now. But it would behoove us to be prepared for the possibility of highly motivated and unbendingly stubborn individuals."
"We'll be ready." Falk said. "We still have a few hours before we need to be where Wruck said. Why don't we break for food and meet up at House von Bauman an hour beforehand?"
"Good idea." Draga said. Rikter didn't notice the grateful smile the Blackbow gave her partner.
"I'll see you both then." Falk said, smiling back.
They parted ways, Draga once again taking Rikter by the arm and leaning against him. It warmed Falk's heart to see it. Draga had given Falk and Bianca the opportunity to enjoy their fleeting time together to the fullest. Falk could do no less for his dearest friend in return.
Sadly, Falk had business to take care of before he could indulge his hunger for a steaming bowl of stew and perhaps a mug of mulled wine. He went his own way.
The Great Temple of Verena was one of several satellite structures orbiting around the massive structure that was the center of the Sigmarite faith. There was a proper sanctuary where priests would deliver sermons to the faithful of Verena, but it was relatively small when compared to the rest of the sprawling structure. The Great Temple was home to the faith's primary archives, as well as a small army of highly learned lawyers, judges, and interrogators that could be called upon by any Imperial citizen, from the poorest beggar to the Emperor himself.
Falk had never been within the stacks of the archives. That was the domain of the Order of Lorekeepers. There were thousands upon thousands of tomes in the stacks, to say nothing of the forbidden texts that were held in warded chambers beneath the temple. There were members of the Lorekeepers whose entire jobs were acting as living indexes to certain sections of the archives. If a piece of information couldn't be found in the Great Temple of Verena, there was a good chance it either didn't exist, or was lost forever.
Falk had sent his request ahead to the Great Temple the day after the skaven attack in Salzenmund. He waited in a small room that bore a striking similarity to the man interrogation rooms he had been in over the years. It was sparse, just a wooden table with two chairs and a single lantern hanging from the ceiling by a hook. He had been provided with a pot of tea, which he sipped at patiently as he waited.
The door to the small room opened. A spindly man in his late mid to late forties entered, pushing a flat-topped handcart into the room. He wore the indigo robes of the Order of Lorekeepers, which were embroidered with the symbol of an eagle clutching an unfurled scroll upon the breast.
"Brother Falkenwulf." Said Brother-Archivist Reimund said in greeting as he entered the room.
"Brother Reimund. Good to see you again." Falk replied. It was a platitude. He had no strong feelings about Reimund for good or ill.
"I wish I could say the same, Brother." Reimund said as he started laying books and yellowed parchment on the table. "This is not a topic to be lightly broached. Men have gone to the pyre for less."
"We're Verenans, Brother. It's our burden to know the things no one else can." Falk said.
"A weight I carry willingly in the name of the Lady of Lore, may she grant us knowledge." Reimund said. He lowered himself into the chair across from Falk. "Always willingly. Not always gladly."
Falk shrugged. "Willing's all I need. Now, what do you have for me?"
With a soft sigh, Reimund opened a personal notebook. "As you well know, information on the ratmen is very deliberately obfuscated. Finding anything definitive is difficult, to say nothing of specific information. In regards to what you asked me, we managed a stroke of luck in the form of a journal written by one Hektor Schultz, a Sigmarite Witch Hunter who dedicated his life to combatting the skaven." Reimund pushed a book across the table with a cracked leather cover.
Falk accepted the journal but didn't open it. He knew he wouldn't need to open any of the materials Reimund brought in. The Lorekeeper would have everything relevant in his mind.
"Schultz was captured by Clan Felkretch thirty years ago, you see. And during his captivity, he made a series of interesting observations." Reimund said, opening his notebook.
"How did he escape?" Falk asked.
"By instigating a slave revolt. He didn't participate in it, mind. Simply used it as cover to escape." Reimund said absently as he flipped through his notebook. "He was executed shortly after his return for overtly breaking the Conspiracy of Silence. We are doubly blessed that the Sigmarites had the foresight to hand Schultz's writings to us instead of destroying them."
Falk nodded, waiting for Reimund to go on. The bitter irony of Scultz's fate wasn't lost on him.
"Yes. Here we are." Reimund said, then began a recitation of a passage he had copied. "'I saw in this skaven clan, which I have gathered is called Felkretch, a potentially existential threat. They are the new martial traditions of Clan Mors brought to their inevitable and dreadful conclusion. The ratmen of Felkretch express not only loyalty uncharacteristic of these vile creatures, but something approaching respect to their leaders. Messengers bearing bad news aren't killed. Competence is rewarded instead of feared. Of course, there is still scheming and backstabbing, this is the skaven we're talking about. But if the ways of Clan Felkretch were to catch on with the wider Under-Empire, I fear to think of the consequences."
Reimund flipped a few pages. Falk poured him some tea and pushed the cup across the table, which the Lorekeeper sipped from before reading a new passage.
"'I can think primarily of one weakness that his 'new model skaven' has. It is a variation of a flaw present within the entire species. The respect engendered by their leaders must be maintained, or someone seemingly more competent will challenge for and take the place of the warlord. For this reason, a leader of Clan Felkretch cannot let a slight pass, or will be seen as weak. It is this I plan to use to entrap and destroy them. Once their Warlord learns I am the instigator of the slave rebellion, I will be able to draw them out…'"
Reimund closed the journal. He then presented Falk with a map of the Empire.
"According to Schultz's reckoning, Fort Fang is located under the Grey Mountains, within striking distance of Reikland and the Wasteland, as well as Montfort, Parravon, and Gisoreux in Bretonnia, and, of course, Karak Azgaraz." The Lorekeeper pointed at the region. "Other reports of skaven sightings in the archives corroborate this fact."
Falk rubbed his chin, looking down at the map.
"I have my doubts that my presence alone is going to get Warlord Harrox to come out of its hidey hole." The Truthblade reasoned.
"You are almost certainly correct. But if I may offer a suggestion", Reimund said, holding up a finger. When Falk didn't naysay, he went on, "warpstone. It is the foundation of skaven society. It is their currency, it enables their technology, it empowers their magic. Make it known you are aiding in escorting a large shipment of warpstone for disposal in Altdorf…"
"...and Harrox won't be able to help itself." Falk breathed. He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. Harrox Razortail had to be dealt with. If it could put together an operation like the one outside of Marienburg once, it could do so again, if not something worse. This was going to take a careful balancing act. It was something to plan and think about. "Thank you, Brother Reimund. You do Our Lady of Wisdom credit."
"Her will, my hands." Reimund intoned offering Falk a bundle of papers. "Here. This is everything relevant."
Falk took the papers and stood. "I'm grateful. Now, I'd best get going. Speak truth, Brother Reimund."
"Be truth, Brother Falkenwulf." The Lorekeeper replied.
It was dusk when Falk met up with Draga and Rikter at House von Bauman. The wizard had something of a harried look about him.
"Everything alright, Rikter? You're looking a peaked." Falk had noted.
"Oh, yes, of course. I am, ah…well. I am…quite…well." Rikter had said in a tight voice, his face suddenly flushed.
"We had a good lunch. Didn't we, Goldy?" Draga had asked rhetorically.
"An…exceptional lunch, yes." Rikter had concurred.
Falk looked at Draga. The satisfied and triumphant smile on the Blackbow's face told Falk everything he needed to know.
"Glad to hear it." Falk had said with a chuckle. "Now, we best get ready."
The location that Major Wruck had given to them to Altdorf's infamous East End. It was a hardscrabble slum that was constantly shifting in shape thanks to the cycle of fires and reconstruction running rampant among the densely packed hovels and leaning tenements. The muddy streets hadn't so much as received a longing glance from a cobblestone since approximately the time of Sigmar himself. There was a constant din of voices around them, with no shortage of shouting and laughter. The sounds of scuffles and even the occasional clashing of steel or discharge of black powder wasn't hard to pick out.
The East End was widely seen as little more than a den of thugs and thieves by the rest of the city. While this wasn't an entirely unfair assessment, such sweeping generalizations papered over the primary truth; it was a place full of desperate, impoverished souls simply trying to survive another day without many means to do so.
Falk had donned his armor. The proliferation of sellswords and street toughs in the East End made an individual in half-plate far from an unusual sight. Draga's studded leathers were even more fitting. It was Rikter that would have stood out if not for the dull cloak about his shoulders, but even so, his magic staff and general bearing marked him as not belonging. The way Falk saw it, the wizard could pass as a rich man slumming it with a pair of bodyguards.
"What are we going to do when we find them?" Rikter asked.
"I don't know." Falk said. "Depends on them. Imperial law isn't exactly forgiving of seditious activity."
"I don't suppose it would be too much to ask for you to spare Herr Kaulitz?" Rikter put in.
"I don't know." Falk repeated.
"Fair enough." Rikter muttered. "One does not become a wizard of the Colleges by blinding oneself to the realities of the Empire."
More than one group of rough looking sorts loomed from alleys and doorways. The East End's inhabitants didn't seem to want a fight, but that said, any of them could be lookouts for those the trio were after.
They were nearing the address. As the three passed down a narrow byway between two tenements, Draga stopped them.
"We've picked up a tail." Draga informed them. She reached out and physically put a gloved hand on Rikter's cheek to keep him from looking back over his shoulder.
"What sort?" Falk asked as they continued to walk.
"Two of them. Walk like soldiers." Draga said. "Seems the Major may have been a little more committed to the cause than he let on."
"Maybe. Or maybe our snooping around and asking questions drew their attention. Same result either way." Falk said.
"This seems like it's simply telling us that we're on the right track. Would it not have been less suspicious of them to not put a tail on us?" Rikter asked, visibly resisting the urge to turn around.
Falk thought of the Josette case back in Reinesburg and chuckled. "Exactly correct, Rikter. But don't tell them that. It'll make my job harder."
"As you say." Rikter said, uncertain, but trusting his companions.
"How do we want to play it?" Draga asked.
"Hm. Leave them for now." Falk said. "I'm hoping we can solve whatever we're about to interrupt without bloodshed. Rikter, if it goes south, I want the two assholes behind us pissing gold the moment I give the go ahead."
"My magic cannot…oh, you were joking. I hope. A dreadful vision, that." Rikter said quietly. "Rest assured they will be quite incapacitated, should it come to that."
"Good." Falk said.
The address Major Wruck had given them led to one of the countless old warehouses that lingered among the East End like tumors. It was firmly night by then. A clear sky above showed Mannslieb's silver face far more bright and proud than its viridian sister moon. Joined by the stars, this gave the trio fairly good visibility. There was nothing to suggest the warehouse was suspicious on its face. Falk pondered whether or not Major Wruck had managed to deceive him. It was not an easy thing to do, even when Falk wasn't calling upon divine aid to catch out lies. He'd have to reserve judgement.
"What're our tails doing?" Falk asked.
"Hiding around a corner about a block away. Much as anything could be called a block in this mess." Draga said.
Falk looked at the only man-sized door in the front of the building, then approached it. He knocked in the pattern suggested by the Major.
Then he waited.
The door opened a crack.
A pistol barrel was the first thing to emerge.
Falk reacted at once. He grabbed the door and slammed it against the wrist of the hand holding the gun. With the hand pinned, Falk then threw all his weight against the door, thudding into it. Bones broke, someone cried out, and the pistol fell to the ground. Falk grabbed the now unarmed hand before taking his weight off the door. The hand's owner bellowed in pain again as Falk dragged them out of the door. A somewhat tall and burly man with a scruffy beard came stumbling out. Falk got the man in chokehold with his right arm and put the barrel of his grudge-raker to the man's temple with his left.
"Easy now, easy." Falk warned, jamming the gun against the man's temple. "Draga, the pistol."
Draga picked up the fallen pistol and aimed it at the pair that had been tailing them. The two men had run up the street, both carrying swords, but were slowing down now.
"Who…the fuck…?" Falk's hostage started to growl.
"Falkenwulf Daur. Warrior-priest of Verena. Now, you're going to tell me what's going on here and why you just greeted me with a loaded gun." Falk said.
The prisoner didn't react immediately. Then, to Falk surprise, he began thrashing in earnest.
"I won't tell you anything! Red Blades unto death!" The man roared.
"Don't make me pull this trigger!" Falk warned him.
Falk's captive raised his leg, using his good hand to go for a boot knife.
Falk clubbed the man on the back of the head with the butt of his pistol. The man dropped, but tried to rise on jellied limbs, only for Falk to boot him across the face. Draga shot one through the meat of the thigh with the pistol. The other dropped his sword as it suddenly turned to much heavier lead. Rikter advanced with a long stride, then bashed the thug across the face with the back end of his staff.
Dogs barked. A child cried.
"The man was ready to die." Falk noted, looking down at the man he'd clubbed.
"All us Red Blades are!" The one that had been shot through the thigh snarled.
Falk turned his attention to that man. He approached the thug.
"Red Blades? Really?" Falk asked, incredulous.
"Go fuck yourself. I'm not talking. I won't betray the cause or the Empire." The Red Blade snapped.
Falk pistol whipped the man across the face. He wasn't quite knocked out, but he was dazed. Between that and his leg wound, he wouldn't be going anywhere.
"Starting to think we should have brought a company of troops or two with us." Draga said. She pitched the spent pistol away into the darkness, then drew her messers. Falk was so used to seeing them on her that he hadn't realized they were new blades, replacements for those Draga lost against the servants of Nurgle in Stromdorf. In the moonlight, Falk saw silvery, arcane inlay in both eighteen-inch blades. Gift from Rikter, Falk assumed.
"Would've scared them off, I have a feeling." Falk reasoned. He raised his pistol and drew out his falchion. "Let's get in there before someone realizes something's up, if they haven't already."
"One moment." Rikter said.
He raised his staff and cast a spell. The clothes of the three men turned into lead. With the awkward positions they all were lying in, it would be near impossible to extricate themselves from the now heavy, rigid garments.
"There. As good as we can do without manacles." The wizard said.
"Good thinking, Goldy." Draga complimented, kissing his cheek as she passed him by.
"I do my best." Rikter said.
They entered into the abandoned warehouse. The sulfurous stench of black powder filled the air. The warehouse had been converted into some kind of workshop, with scattered alchemist's equipment on workbenches and tables. There were barrels of gunpowder everywhere, both open and sealed. A large, freestanding shelving unit in the middle of the room was loaded down with jars full of various ingredients that Falk did not recognize.
Falk knew at once that something was awry. The space was well lit. A few of the tables off to one side had half-full bottles of spirits or partially eaten food. Falk holstered his pistol, not willing to risk a stray shot sending the whole place up. He slid into a crouch behind a pile of sacks full of saltpeter. Draga and Rikter followed his lead, taking cover nearby. They were wise to do so. A crossbow bolt whipped from across the warehouse and embedded in the wall where Rikter's head had just been moments ago.
"Hold your godsdamned fire!" Falk called out. "All three of your people outside are still alive and we want to keep things that way with the rest of you. Where is Kai Kaulitz? What is going on here?"
"You're interfering where you aren't welcome, Truthblade." A man replied. "Begone. Let us do our work."
"Herr Kaulitz. It's me, Rikter von Bauman. I brought these warrior-priests here because I was concerned you were in danger. Are you saying this is not the case?" Rikter spoke up.
"Lord von Bauman?" Kaulitz sounded surprised. "I am here by my own free will, my lord, and while I have always appreciated your custom in my shop, don't think your money or your station gives you any sort of sway here."
Falk heard people shifting. Draga had an arrow on the string of her bow, occasionally scanning the room from behind some barrels with her hunter's eyes. Falk entrusted that side of this encounter to her so he could focus on the discussion at hand.
"What are you trying to accomplish here? Why is a dead State Troop regiment commissioning an alchemist to tinker with black powder in secret?" Falk queried. Interrogations were much easier when face to face, but he suspected that wouldn't happen without violence at the moment.
"Dead?" Kaulitz scoffed. "The Red Blades aren't dead. High Command just wishes they were. I don't expect you to understand."
"I was a soldier before I was a Truthblade. Brazen Bulls, out of Ostland. Whatever these men are going through, I'll understand it better than you think." Falk informed the alchemist. How had he become their spokesman?
"But before you talk", Draga cut in, "tell your friend trying to flank us that I've got an arrow with his name on it if he comes any closer."
"Hold there, Gehrmen." Kaulitz said. "So, Truthblade, you fought for years only to have High Command declare you to have been exposed to too much corruption? You were sent into a trap in the hopes your unit would be wiped out?"
Falk grit his teeth. No. He had never gone through that.
"I know that the armchair generals at the top couldn't care less about us footsloggers on the ground…" Falk began.
"The corruption lies with them! Not the Red Blades. My brother should be a decorated hero, not food for the scavengers of the Reikwald." Kaulitz snapped.
Falk put things together in his mind. "So. Let me guess. You're trying to build a bomb; one that's small enough to move, but powerful enough to kill Reikland's High Command. Do I have it so far?"
"Corruption has to be burned out at the source, Truthblade. Reikland is ill. I can't mix a remedy to cure it. All I can do is cauterize. We will free Reikland from those who use its soldiers like toys to be broken and discarded." Kaulitz said, confirming Falk's question.
"This is madness, Kai!" Rikter said. "You will all be arrested and executed for this. And how many innocents will die in this plot of yours?"
"I would have expected a wizard of the Colleges to understand that sacrifices must sometimes be made for the greater good." Kaulitz sighed.
Falk shook his head. "This won't change anything, Kaulitz. Come out now and surrender. Don't take your anger out on the very Empire your brother fought and died to protect. There doesn't need to be any bloodshed over this."
Silence. All Falk could hear was his own breathing.
The innocuous twang of Draga's bow was followed by a sharp gasp. A body hit the floor, followed by a crossbow that struck the ground and went off, firing uselessly into the wall.
Something soared through the air, landing between Falk and his companions. It was a cloth sachet the size of an apple that was producing greenish smoke.
"Choking gas. Move!" Rikter warned them. He turned the earth under the sachet to mud, drawing the smoking hazard into the morass.
Falk and Draga split. Multiple crossbow bolts tracked them both, but those that struck home deflected off of armor that was suddenly glittering with magic. Draga caught another Red Blade in the forehead as he stood to try to reload his crossbow.
Falk skirted around the edge of the warehouse, using the powder barrels as cover.
"Drop your weapons and you'll be taken alive!" Falk demanded, but all he received was another volley of bolts. He stopped behind cover, hearing the quarrels splinter wood.
A man with a sword and shield charged Falk from around the barrels. The Truthblade deflected the man's sword, grabbing the shield and pulling. The Red Blade stumbled forward. Falk's falchion carved a ruddy line deep into the man's back. The Red Blade went down. Falk picked up the man's shield and turned just in time to face down two more of the seditionists.
Anger and despair drove Falk forward. He had never really used a shield and its weight was awkward, so he pitched it at the first opponent. The Red Blade lifted his own shield to block the flying object, only for Falk's sword to come in low and open his belly. Falk shoved the dying Red Blade into the gunpowder barrels, causing a few to topple and break open. They didn't fall in a way that would obstruct the second Red Blade, who attacked Falk with a textbook series of moves with sword and shield that was straight out of the practice yard. This one was younger than the other Red Blades Falk had seen. The Truthblade managed to slip his falchion down the blade of his enemy's broadsword. It deflected off the broadsword's basket hilt, but Falk drove it into his opponent's chest. The young Red Blade's eyes went wide with panic as he was transfixed. It wasn't an immediately lethal blow, but his recovery was unlikely.
Falk emerged past all the obstructions where he had heard Kaulitz's voice, coming face to face with a Red Blade who had his sword apparently raised and ready to strike. Falk's panic was short lived. The seditionist had been transmuted into a golden statue. A Red Blade fell into view from the opposite side of the warehouse, Draga ripping her enchanted messers from the man's torso.
Against expectation, Kaulitz was still there. He was alone, the Red Blades protecting him cut down, one and all. This was not a thing to be happy about.
The alchemist was a gaunt, haggard man at this point. He wore a leather apron over his clothes, all of which were stained from his work. He couldn't have been much older than Falk himself, but stress and sleepless nights had taken their toll on the man. Kaulitz held a lit torch above an open barrel of gunpowder.
"Taal's sure shot." Draga cursed.
"Herr Kaulitz. You don't want to do this." Falk said, sheathing his falchion and holding up his hands.
"You're correct, Truthblade. I don't. But I also don't see that I have much of a choice." Kaulitz replied with a mirthless smile. "I know the fate that awaits men like me. Those of us who choose to confront the flaws of the Empire are not destined to live long and healthy lives."
"With the amount of powder in this warehouse, it will not just be us you kill, Her Kaulitz." Rikter said, coming to stand at about the midpoint between Falk and Draga. "The blast alone with kill or injure several dozen in the immediate vicinity, to say nothing of the fires it will start. Targeting High Command is one thing. Taking your own life because you see no other option, I can understand, on a certain level. But this? What will it gain you, to make your last act the instigation of a massacre."
"This is the East End, Lord Rikter. It's a place of criminals, whores, and degenerates; the people that care nothing for the sacrifices of men like my brother. They spit in the face of the Empire with every ungrateful breath they take. I set this base up here because nothing of value would be lost if one of my concoctions went awry." Kaulitz shook his head. "A man must know when he's beaten. We tried. We failed. I can take solace in the fact that I will take those responsible for ruining my plan with me."
Falk looked to his left. He met Rikter's gaze. The look in the wizard's eyes told Falk all he needed to know. Rikter was going to try something. Exactly what, there was no way to know. Falk simply prepared himself.
"Herr Kaulitz. It does not have to be this way." Rikter insisted. "None of us have any wish to perish here. Your plot is foiled, your accomplices dead. Come with us. The word of two warrior-priests will go far to ensure your treatment by the courts. You have done no great wrong yet."
"You must think I'm a damned f-..." Kaulitz began with a sneer.
The Red Blade that had been turned into gold suddenly became flesh and blood once again. The transmutation did not return life to his body, however, and the once rigid body now fell to the ground. Kaulitz's attention shifted to this change, but it was all Falk needed. He sprang forward, seeing Draga do the same out of the corner of his his eye. Kaulitz's fingers released the torch.
Falk dove. His armor clanked and his entire body was jarred as he slammed, shoulder first, into the powder barrel, knocking it over, but more importantly, tipping the open top away from the falling torch, which bounced off the side of the barrel and landed harmlessly on the dirt floor. A few stray grains of black powder went up in a heart-stopping PHUT, but when Falk hadn't been reduced to ash and memory a moment later, he released a held breath.
Beside Falk, Draga was on top of Kaulitz. She pulled one of her messers from the man's stomach. The other, she had driven under his chin, up into his brain.
"I know you wanted him alive, Goldy. Sorry about that." Draga said between deep breaths.
"That was before I believed he was at the center of this dastardly plot." Rikter replied, approaching the two of them. For good measure, he put the torch out by pulling his dirt-to-mud trick once again. "We must inform the nearest garrison and have them secure this building post haste. The living prisoners we left outside, as well."
"You two go. I'll stay here and make sure no one wanders in to try to help themselves to some free gunpowder." Falk suggested.
Draga and Rikter did as he said, leaving Falk behind. The Truthblade flipped the fallen powder barrel onto its top, sitting on the now raised bottom, and looked down at Kaulitz's corpse. He tried to muster up some kind of sympathy for the man, but Falk couldn't. His sympathies lay with the Red Blades, who had been betrayed by their commanders, then the survivors manipulated and used by this one hateful man driven mad by grief.
The Empire was far from perfect. Falk knew that. He wasn't blind. But this was not a world for peaceful consideration. When enemies closed in from every side, and others rotted the foundations from within, hard choices had to be made. There would always be those that took advantage or made wrong decisions, whether through mistakes, malevolence, or incompetence. Falk could control none of that. All he could do was his own duty. In the end, it was knowing that in spite of his efforts, so much would always be beyond his ability to change.
Falk was still sitting there when his companions arrived with the guards.
Draga
In spite of the cold, Draga stood out on a balcony on the second floor of House von Bauman, looking out over a snow-dusted Altdorf. An overhanging eave kept the snow off her hooded head. It was three days since they had thwarted Herr Kaulitz's plot.
Draga had no strong opinion on the Red Blades. Falk and she had dealt death to potentially corrupted but still nominally loyal Imperial citizens more than once in the past. The fate of the Red Blades was little different. Draga suspected it affected Falk more because it spoke to his past as a soldier. There was a bit of hypocrisy to it, but, well…everyone was entitled to a little of that every now and again. Draga wasn't going to come down on Falk for it when he'd done his duty in the end.
Since then, Draga had seen little of Falk. The Truthblade was busy preparing his slowly forming plan to draw out and kill Warlord Harrox. Draga had been spending her days at leisure, mostly with Rikter. She had expected to start to feel stifled, but that wasn't the case. It was going well.
Maybe too well.
The door to the balcony opened behind her.
"Mina?" Rikter said.
"Hey, Goldy." Draga greeted.
"I just wanted to make sure you're alright. If you wanted some space…", the wizard began.
"Nah. Don't worry about it." Draga assured him, gesturing that he should approach. "Just thinking, is all."
Rikter came to stand beside her. He was wrapped in a heavy woolen cloak, like Draga herself.
"Boggles the mind how different Altdorf becomes after a little snow." Rikter noted.
"Quieter and cleaner. If only it could snow in summer." Draga sighed.
A full minute of silence passed between them.
"Goldy…?" Draga began.
"Yes?" The wizard asked with noticeable haste.
"I'm always going to live the life that I choose." Draga said. Her eyes turned down.
"...I would expect no less." Rikter said after a moment.
"I'm not exactly 'big fancy noble ball' material."
"Nor am I."
"A day might come when what I choose is to go my own way from you."
"Then I shall thank Rhya for the time you chose to give me."
Rikter placed his hand over hers on the balcony railing. Draga felt her heart clench, both at his touch and his replies.
"I'll never ask you to be anything other than what you wish to be, Mina." Rikter promised her. "You were right, back in Stark. People are not fixed entities. We change. We will both be different people tomorrow than we were today. I shall hope our changes keep the pair of us running parallel. But if a day comes when we must diverge, then so be it. I shall not dread that day. I shall treasure this one instead. But you?" He raised her knuckles to his lips, "I shall treasure you always."
"Rikter…", Draga's gasp was unsteady. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
Draga threw her arms around him, pulling Rikter close. He was ready for her this time and held her tight. In defiance of the winter chill, Draga felt a sublime warmth.