CHAPTER FOUR

The pale light of midday was broken and tinged where it flowed through the many windows of stained glass. Across the stone hallway it streamed, and at last pooled in patches at the bottom of the opposite wall. Each beam flashed across Helborg's chest as he marched, only then to vanish into the gloom behind him.

At his shoulder walked Reikscaptain Hans Zintler, head held high in respectful silence. Alone of all the Reiksguard commanders, he had remained behind to hold down the fort in Altdorf, with his personal company and the reserve. And alone of all the Reiksguard, his men had not succumbed to the fanatical shame which had seized the rest of the order.

But Helborg was starting to worry at the division that was forming. Reports of insults fired across barracks, contempt breeding with every passing day. Already, Zintler had demanded Helborg condemn the Emperor's Pallbearers, and dismiss them all from the Reiksguard. The rationalisation was there, but now was not the time to sow discord among the men he needed to stand firm for the Empire.

The dim outline of a great set of double doors appeared ahead. They grew in size and sharpened with every step in that direction. Just as Helborg's stomach twisted further and further. He knew what lay beyond those doors.

A shadowy figure stood in the shadows as they neared the end of the hallway. It was young Ekhart, one hand upon the door, the other cupping a satchel from which protruded an alarming number of scrolls. Helborg knew he would have to read each and every one of them today, and each and every one would have to be scrutinised and questioned by the vultures beyond these doors. He sighed long.

"First council of war," he murmured absently, straightening his stuffy tunic, smoothing the Steward's emblem where it hung atop his heart.

"Good luck," Zintler said, in a tone cheerful enough to bring a scowl to Helborg's countenance. The captain was no doubt secretly rejoicing it was not him in this position.

Without dignifying a response to the comment, Helborg drew himself up and nodded to his squire.

The boy gave the door a hefty shove, all the weight of a spindly body behind it. The door slid open with a protesting squeal that turned into a shriek as the wood caught the stonework. Helborg winced at the hair-raising sound; the latter loud enough to silence the conversation that had been brewing before their arrival. Ekhart's face turned red and he quickly scampered into the room, before lifting up a squeaky voice in announcement.

"Reiksmarshal Kurt Helborg, Steward of the Empire."

The extremities of the room were filled with shadows, lurking in each corner under the pillars and the carved statues. Many unfriendly eyes seized upon Helborg as he stepped into the room. They were all already gathered there; nobles, generals, leaders all. Amid the shriek of chairs as they swept to their feet, the first smiles stretched across puffy, manicured faces, and their owners approached with a charge and a gallop.

In that moment, Helborg wished he was wearing his suit of armour. Not these stuffy, tight, formal clothes that gave no protection. That belonged to their world, not his.

"My dear Reiksmarshal." Emanuelle von Liebwitz, Elector Countess of the province Wissenland and the city of Nuln. She was the first to reach him, and inclined her head in the most hollow of bows. "I speak for all of us when I say we thank you for taking up the mantle of leadership in these trying times."

"Hear, hear," agreed Alberich Haupt-Andersson, Elector Count of Stirland, determined to out-flatter his rival. Where the Countess was rapier-thin and made even the slightest twitch look calculated, the Stirlander noble was a man well past his physical prime and with a significant wobble to his walk. "There can be no greater responsibility. There can be no doubt of your true worthiness."

Moot Elder Hisme Stoutheart snored loudly from his chair, his furry feet positioned one over the other upon the table. No doubt sleeping off a hearty breakfast or two.

"Indeed, it is a shame such a sacrifice goes unrewarded."

The voice was hard, solid as steel, and it splashed a cold bucket of water over the atmosphere of the room. The acting Grand Theogonist stood with a ramrod-straight back and a face of iron. He had the shoulders of a warrior and the sneer of a dog. And as the newly appointed leader of the Cult of Sigmar, Kasmir Kaslain had every right to attend this meeting.

Helborg remained silent as he walked over to the table, his squire in his wake, and the nobles racing to overtake him. From where the Count stood, Ludenhorf gave a simple nod, his face neutral. Somehow, seeing that stirred relief and thankfulness in Helborg's chest. He had at least one ally in this world of wolves; an ally that he found himself warming to with every passing day.

Seats were taken up and down the table. Stoutheart awoke with a snort and a start, quickly pulling his feet off the polished wood. The chair at the head of the table was a grander affair than any other; built for the Emperor, carved with royal sigils and symbols. Helborg paused before it. There was a wrongness in how it sat empty, in how it was no longer his to stand beside, in how it now fell to him to take its owner's place for however long.

Not for the first or the last time, he wondered if it would have been better to fall at the Bastion. Side by side with better men than those who had gathered here.

He took his seat.

Every face looked to his; far fewer than there should have been. Six of the Elector Counts were absent, their chairs and empty places impassive and mournful in the weak daylight from the windows. Dead, missing, predisposed in their own provinces, whatever the reason, the gathering felt decimated.

"What is first on the agenda?" came the question from Countess von Liebwitz, ever impatient and rearing for debate.

Ekhart slid a scroll from his satchel and handed it across to Helborg. "The invasion of Nordland."

To be perfectly honest, few things had been further from Helborg's mind as this. There was now no doubt that the attack had been a feint to draw away strength from the main defences. Had it succeeded? No substantial way to tell. For certain, as evidenced by the paper he had just unrolled, the incursion continued to tie up many state troops from Nordland, and keep the Elector Count from departing his province.

Ludenhorf moved to fill the gap in the conversation. "Shall we send reinforcements?"

"What more could they need?" grunted Kaslain, accompanied by enthusiastic nods from the lapdog Arch Lector sitting beside him. "They already have the late Emperor's personal bannerman, and enough men to conquer Marienburg."

There was a man sorely missed. Helborg saw eye-to-eye with Ludwig Schwartzhelm in most matters. If he had been there at the Bastion–

"If Nordland falls, the enemy could sweep thousands of northern barbarians through those ports."

"The hole in the Bastion is already large enough to migrate their entire repugnant culture through. They have no need of ports."

"Besides." Haupt-Andersson butted into the discussion, ever quick to chose a side. "We are spread thin already. Our cities, our towns, must be defended. Our troops are needed there."

"And the Imperial Army is in no state to send regiments north." Helborg spoke at last, cutting off Ludenhorf's rebuttal. "Not with the main Chaos warhost ready to march south any day now. Nordland will have to make do with what they have."

The chorus of nods from the majority of the council told a story of agreement. Clearly, few had any desire to put the matter to vote. Selfishness did not play the least of factors in such a decision, Helborg knew. In the same way so many of them would do everything to avoid committing troops to rebuild the Imperial Army when he asked it.

As he set the parchment to one side, Helborg noticed the smirk playing on Kaslain's face. It turned his stomach more than any bestial mutant he had ever fought. Compromise was a dirty word; capitulation was enough to make him feel ill. He managed to muster an unfriendly glare at the religious zealot, and felt the tiniest victory when the smirk was wiped away.

He held up his hand to stop another scroll from being handed over. "On the topic of Marienburg. What news from the city?"

"It is still in Marienburger hands, if that is what you mean," spoke up a voice from the far end of the table. General Aldred van Carroburg was another battle-scarred veteran, with the prestige of commanding the elite Carroburg Greatswords regiment. Helborg had dealt with him in the past, and like so many others, the interactions were not pleasant.

"Is it under threat?" he clarified.

"When isn't it?"

Helborg clenched a fist under the table and breathed out his mouth. "How likely is it that Marienburg will fall to the forces of Chaos? Do we need to send them reinforcements?"

"That will depend on the size and strength of the force sent to take the city." Ludenhorf leaned back in his chair with his fingertips pressed together. "Could the city be taken with a determined assault? Yes, I believe so. It will destroy whichever army makes it. But it could be done."

Though independent, Marienburg remained the primary node for all trade travelling into the Empire. If Marienburg fell into enemy hands, it would single-handedly cripple the Imperial economy, hastening the nation's steady downfall into a precipitous plummet.

"I doubt that," Elder Stoutheart puffed. "Marienburg has thousands of soldiers, and hundreds of ships–"

"Marienburg relies too heavily on its navy for defence." Ludenhorf interrupted. "And that of the High Elves as well. Reports from Nordland have numbered the enemy fleets in the thousands. Besides, if the rumours from the west are to believed, then the Elven homeland may be under threat from Chaos as well. Do you think they will sacrifice a single ship to defend a human city if their own land is in danger?"

The halfling leader opened his heavy jowls, and then shut them with a click.

"As for their army, it has been neglected for years. It will melt away against the horrors of the north. So, yes, I do believe Marienburg will need help if it is to survive."

Countess von Liebwitz piped up with scepticism. "Will they even accept an offer of reinforcements from us?"

"The Directorate may be commoners, but they are not stupid," Ludenhorf said, eliciting a reluctant nod from Stoutheart, and a disgusted look from General van Carroburg. "And they will not hold to an old grudge over their own survival."

"Are we in agreement then?" Helborg asked, gazing down the table and seeing no open opposition.

"What forces will be sent?" Kaslain accompanied the query with a raised eyebrow and a sideways glare.

Helborg gazed down the table again, until his eyes fell on the general sitting at the far end.

"A small but elite force," suggested Countess von Liebwitz, following the Reiksmarshal's gaze. "Something we can spare, but renowned enough to make Marienburg think we are committed to their defence."

General van Carroburg's face grew ashen and irritated.

"The Carroburg Greatswords should be sent. General, how many of your men will be available if you leave us one company?"

"Seven hundred," the officer muttered darkly.

"Excellent." The countess turned to Helborg. "Will that suffice, Lord Steward?"

"It will. Take this down." He paused for the scribe seated on the low stool and desk nearby to ready an official article. "General van Carroburg's force is to be bolstered by one company each of pistoliers, crossbows, and spearmen. Requisition them from whichever units are in reserve."

The scribe scratched through the missive with a shocking speed, before handing it and a pen up for signature. Helborg did so carefully, sealing it, and then handing it to Ekhart, who carried it around the table.

"Depart as soon as you can, General. Carry our prayers with you."

Van Carroburg stood to his feet, a sourness in his face. He snatched the missive from the boy's fingers.

"I take my leave, lords and ladies. I must return to Carroburg to ready my men."

He bowed stiffly, and then marched from the room.

"Well handled," praised Stoutheart, a compliment echoed by many at the table. Helborg felt a twinge at the honeyed words, each so bitter.

"Sylvania and the Undead question." Ekhart's voice held a waver as he handed over the article.

Both Haupt-Andersson and Stoutheart perked up at the announcement. Kaslain also looked interested, although he was trying to hide it behind the stony veneer.

"Is there still no news on Volkmar?" Helborg directed the question at the current Grand Theogonist.

Kaslain snorted. "If there was, do you think he would not be here?"

"The Undead were there at the Bastion. Blood Knights, too."

No open surprise showed at the table, but Countess von Liebwitz sat forward with beetled brows that looked wrong on her pristine face.

"I thought Gelt had sealed the vampires in Sylvania."

An awkward silence crashed over the council. Finally, Haupt-Andersson spoke.

"Undead incursions have begun across the eastern borders of my province. Also into Mootland. Whatever he did to keep them in there clearly is no longer up to the task."

"His successor has confirmed as much," Ludenhorf added with distain in his voice and the memory of a wound in his face. "The 'Wall of Faith' he set up has not been maintained since his . . . departure."

"And why was it not?"

"Take a guess, Alberich. After what that gold bastard did, would anyone want to associate with his work?"

Haupt-Andersson's face turned the colour of grapefruit."Taal's great beard, my province is now under threat because of those wizards covering their asses!"

Helborg moved to restore order to the council. "Where is the Supreme Patriarch?"

"Yes! He should answer for the actions of his order!"

Ludenhorf knitted his fingers and leaned his elbows on the table. "He is . . . an unconventional mage, to say the least. He was quite firm in his refusal to attend the council."

"Well then, the man is unfit for his office!" There was no calming the Stirlander noble's tirade, so Helborg attempted to ease the debate away from the issue of insubordinate wizards.

"Grand Theogonist. Have your witch hunters discovered anything from Sylvania?"

"Few are still willing to enter that accursed land. Even fewer manage a return." There was the hint of melancholy in the priest's voice. "A deeper shadow lies over Sylvania than anything they have encountered. Evil is stirring there."

Helborg turned back to the indignant Count. "How many men will you require to secure Stirland?"

The swelling in Haupt-Andersson's cheeks relaxed slowly. "None for the moment. Perhaps a cohort of warrior priests to stiffen the regulars and local militia. But I will need more if the Undead make a major move against us."

"Very well. Theogonist, can you spare some from your order for the Count?"

Any answer upon the man's lips would not come, as the door opened and Reikscaptain Zintler marched in.

"My lords and lady, apologies for the interruption," he said gruffly, as several among the gathering rose to their feet. "I have just received word from the Middenheim Road. Count Todbringer draws near to the city."

"About time, too," grunted Stoutheart. "He should have responded to the war summons more promptly."

"A Middenlander host marches at his back."

Helborg shot a concerned glance at Ludenhorf as he stood up in turn. "How many?"

"Several thousand at least."

"Perhaps he is offering fresh troops for the Imperial Army," Countess von Leibwitz offered halfheartedly. No one in the room truly believed the suggestion.

"When will he arrive?"

"Days, most likely," Zintler admitted. "Hours, if he pushes them."

And there was no doubt that he would.

Countess von Leibwitz clasped her hands behind her back. "I propose we adjourn for now. There are matters for us all to attend to; especially for our noble Steward."

Helborg bit back a sigh, but nodded in any case. Quickly, those gathered there moved to depart, scattering to whichever activity they felt was most pressing at that time. Stoutheart mumbled something about chicken and cinnamon pie as he waddled away. Von Leibwitz and Haupt-Andersson left in each other's company; a whispered jest from the former generating a belly laugh from the latter. Kaslain, for his part, moved up and around to the head of the table.

Helborg found the Theogonist's approach distasteful, but he tried to keep the displeasure hidden.

"Apologies for arresting you further, Lord Steward, but I have an urgent matter to discuss."

"Please," Helborg said, sinking back into his chair.

"There are rumours, running throughout the provinces, of a man claiming to be Sigmar reborn."

"And how is this a concern?" asked Ludenhorf, simultaneously joining the conversation and speaking Helborg's mind. "With every foreign invasion, mundane or otherwise, there are always pretenders and attention seekers. Each one proved themselves to be either mad, an imposter, or tainted by Chaos. Taal's sake, we've even had women claiming to be Sigmar."

"It is different this time." Kaslain's voice was serious, but there was something wild-eyed to his demeanour, like a man who had seen his god in the flesh. "Interrogation has not broken those of his followers we encountered. And anyone we send to tail him have either returned convinced of his divinity, or else joined his cause."

"What is this cause?"

"It seems to be only to defend the Empire from Chaos. We haven't discovered any sinister motives so far."

"Prophecies say that the gods will walk among us in the End Times."

The three leaders of men turned toward the origin of the outburst. Ekhart stood there with a burning red face.

Zintler suddenly spoke up from across the room where he had been listening, his voice laced with anger. "These are not the End Times. We have faced northern invasions before. This is not the end of the world. Do you understand, boy?"

The crimson spread up to the squire's ears and down his neck. Water glistened in his eyes as he looked down at his boots. He nodded.

"Now, you have duties to attend to. Snap to it!"

Ekhart jumped and fled from the room. Helborg rose to his full height.

"The boy is my squire," he growled, feeling some of the old bulldog coming to the surface.

"The boy is the squire of the leader of the Reiksguard." Zintler had a smirk on his face as he stepped closer. "Or are the pressures of office getting to you already?"

Helborg could have struck him right there and then. But, despite the fiery anger burning in his soul, he held his temper close. It would not be strategically sound to cause a duel between him and his best knight. Instead, he gritted his teeth.

"I will go and speak with the Supreme Patriach. Maybe I can knock some sense into him."

Without waiting for a response, he marched for the open door, leaving it all behind. Beyond the stone arch ahead, beams of light continued to shimmer in the dark.