[Empire Army 01] - Reiksguard Read online

  “You are just proving all I said. Did you not hear through your skull?” Falkenhayn called back, safe behind the other Reikland novices. “You broke my arm! A fair fight that would be.”

  “Then choose your champion,” Gausser snarled, throwing his breastplate off his shoulders. “If you can find an honourable man who will stand in place of a worthless lying slug like you.”

  “That barbarian,” Falkenhayn muttered to his fellow Reiklanders. “He has insulted my honour. I have no choice but to fight him now.”

  “No, Franz, no,” Proktor urged, “your arm. You’ll not stand a chance. Let me fight for you.”

  “You are a good brother and a good cousin, Laurentz, but even with an arm broken I stand a better chance against him than you do.”

  “I will do it,” Delmar said.

  Falkenhayn’s face lit up. “My thanks, and my honour, are with you, Delmar.”

  “Here is my champion!” Falkenhayn shouted to Gausser.

  “No duels!” Weisshuber cried from the middle. “Don’t you remember, no duels.”

  “This is no duel,” Siebrecht jibed back. “This is training!”

  “Novices! Stand apart!” The sergeant yelled. Obediently, they did so, edging back, but eyes still fixed on the other side.

  Master Ott stepped in between them. He turned his head from one side to the other, as though inspecting the two groups of novices with his closed eyes. The sergeant stood by his side to interpret his gestures.

  “Master Ott says,” the sergeant stated, “that it is not the privilege of novices to change his rota. But if two novices wish to train, then let them train. But let them train well, in accordance with what they have been taught. Alone, without aid from any other, with plate and daggers, and with these sergeants in place to ensure the rules are followed.”

  Delmar did not know how it had come to this. This did not feel like the right thing to do, and yet he was defending his comrade’s honour; how could there be wrong in that? Falkenhayn had looked at him so imploringly, what could he do besides offer his aid? And yet he knew that he could not win. He had done well in practice, but Gausser was half a foot taller than he and built like a great cannon. He had trounced all the other novices, and Delmar had been no exception. Gausser would expect the first few moments to be tentative, each testing the other. If Delmar struck fast he might catch him off-guard. If he managed to knock Gausser to the ground in the first few seconds, that might be his only chance.

  The sergeant gave them the signal to begin and Delmar charged, and so did Gausser. As soon as he saw the Nordlander run at him as well, Delmar tried to check his stride, side step and trip him. Gausser merely kicked the tripping leg out of the way and crashed into Delmar. Delmar managed to pivot rather than fall and spun to the other side of the circle, grasping the moment to recover. The two went at each other again, this time more warily. Delmar ran through the techniques that Ott had taught them. He dived in to try to lock Gausser’s arm, but the novice held it in close and then smacked Delmar across the chest, knocking him back over the Nordlander’s hip. Delmar felt his balance go and rolled himself away. Gausser came in for him, grabbing around his torso. Delmar kept low, seized Gausser’s knee and then drove into his gut with all his strength. Surprised, Gausser took a half-step back to regain his footing and Delmar pushed all the harder. It was not enough, Gausser’s leg was like a tree trunk and refused to shift. Delmar was suddenly crashed to the ground as Gausser intentionally collapsed forwards onto Delmar’s back. They both went down on their fronts, but Gausser was on top, and after a brief scramble Delmar felt the wooden dagger push through a gap in his armour. The sergeant called the point and Gausser allowed Delmar back to his feet.

  They began again. From the initial clinch, Delmar desperately tried to wrap his arm around Gausser’s neck, but the Nordlander simply allowed him to get his hold and then heaved Delmar off the ground and knocked his legs out from under him. Again Delmar went down to the groans of the Reiklander novices. Another point against him.

  Delmar could see that Gausser was growing confident, and he had good reason. Though Gausser did not have the technique of Master Ott, his experience, his weight and reach, were more than enough. Delmar would have to surprise him. Gausser came at him again and Delmar grabbed his arm and spun into him, ready to roll the Nordlander over his shoulder. Gausser was ready for it, had planted his feet and was about to use his strength to pull his arm back and wrap it around Delmar’s throat. Delmar, however, kept spinning, under Gausser’s arm and out the other side. With a twist of his hands, Delmar locked Gausser’s arm and the strength went from it. Delmar went to his belt and drew his dagger, ready to hold it to the back of Gausser’s neck and win the point, when the Nordlander twisted himself around, stepping into Delmar’s body and punching him hard in the stomach. The metal plate protected Delmar from the worst of the blow, but the lock was broken, and Gausser lifted him high and then dropped him on the ground once more.

  “Stay down this time, Reiklander,” Gausser said as he was awarded the point again. With three points against him, the result seemed conclusive. “I win!” Gausser announced. “The gods have found for me, Falkenhayn, they agree you are a slug too.”

  Gausser turned back to be congratulated by his fellows, but they stared past him.

  “My champion still stands,” Falkenhayn crowed back. Gausser turned about and there, indeed, Delmar had got back to his feet and was readying to fight.

  Gausser shook his head in bewilderment. “What are you doing, Reiklander? Have you not had enough?”

  Delmar did not trust himself to be able to speak, to open his mouth and be able to form words. His legs felt like water. His head was ringing and stuffed full of fog. His balance was shaky. But he stood ready to fight and the Reiklanders gave a great cheer.

  Gausser knocked him down again, with ease. Gausser held him down and whispered to him, “I have no anger against you, Reinhardt. Relent. Your honour is not at stake here.”

  “But,” Delmar gasped back, “the honour of my brother is. And I will not relent,” was all he could say.

  The sergeant called the point and Gausser backed away from him warily. He sensed that the tone of the fight had changed. The Provincials were no longer cheering his success. Instead, it was the Reiklanders who cheered, each and every time Delmar rose back to his feet. The more points he scored and the more Delmar clambered back up, the more Gausser grew frustrated. The more Gausser grew frustrated, the more the Reiklanders cheered.

  “Why do you still call points? They mean nothing any longer,” Gausser berated the sergeant and threw his dagger away.

  “Novice Gausser!” the sergeant warned over the hooting crowd.

  “No! No! If this is how he wishes it then this is how it will be.”

  Delmar could no longer speak, he could barely think. All his energy went to staying on his feet. His vision had narrowed and he could only see straight ahead. He saw Gausser come at him again and half-heartedly threw an arm out to grapple. The Nordlander easily blocked it, took his legs out from under him and brought him down to the ground again. Delmar felt himself being flipped over onto his back and then Gausser’s elbow pressing down onto his throat in a strangle.

  “Relent, Reinhardt. Relent!” Gausser demanded, both fearsome and fearful at the same time. Delmar struggled to breathe.

  “That is enough, Novice Gausser,” the sergeant interrupted. Gausser, conscious that all eyes were upon him, broke his hold at once.

  “You see,” he muttered as he got back to his feet, “these Reiklanders, they are stubborn until the end.”

  The sergeant watched Master Ott’s gestures. “Yes,” he said on the fightmaster’s behalf. “You fought well, Novice Gausser. It is a lesson to you all, that when an enemy will not relent then your only safety lies in its destruction. But we are only training today, so I will not require you to demonstrate to the fullest extent.”

  Gausser nodded and then retreated back to the Provincial novices, as t
he Reiklanders tended to Delmar. Neither side said anything to the other, but there were many looks exchanged, and none of them of brotherhood.

  From that day on Falkenhayn refused point-blank to spar with Gausser any more, and Gausser replied by refusing to spar with either Falkenhayn, Proktor or Delmar. The Reiklanders swore as a group that none of them would train with Gausser any further, and the Provincials returned the favour by refusing to train with the Reiklanders.

  Ott ordered Delmar to spend a day in the order sanatorium to recover from Gausser’s rough handling. Delmar spent the morning deep in thought, reflecting on the division between the novices. Falkenhayn had treated him well; he and the other Reiklanders had accepted him like a brother. It was as much as he had hoped. Nevertheless, in keeping his Falcons together, Falkenhayn had driven a wedge between the novices: A wedge, Delmar realised, that he himself had initiated. Siebrecht continued to show nothing but contempt for the Reiksguard and his instruction, but he should not have let that one novice’s attitude poison his to the rest of the Provincials.

  As he turned these grim thoughts over in his mind, he was happily surprised to be visited by Griesmeyer. The knight had returned from the main army with correspondence from the Reiksmarshal. He still had the dust of the road on him.

  “My apologies that I was not able to see you all the way here that first day,” Griesmeyer said, taking a seat on the bed beside Delmar’s.

  “All was well, my lord, I was able to find my way.” Delmar winced a little at speaking, as his throat was still sore. “How goes the war? The foe has invaded?”

  “Yes, Kislev has fallen. Their armies are in the Empire, into Ostland. There are attacks from the east as well, into Ostermark. And everywhere throughout the forests there are reports of beastkin or marauder warbands on the march.”

  “To where?”

  “Hochland, without doubt. From there, perhaps Talabheim, perhaps Middenheim, though they would be fools to besiege either of those. Perhaps they even intend to strike here.”

  “Will you be able to stop them?”

  “The Emperor is pulling in our allies. We are gathering a mighty host. We will stop them.” Griesmeyer seemed confident. “But let us not talk of it for a few moments. Instead, tell me how you have found your time with the order.”

  “It has been… an honour.”

  Griesmeyer looked at Delmar with a sceptical eye. “A restrained answer for one I’d have thought would be so full of excitement.”

  “I am sorry, my lord.”

  “I am not interested in your apologies, I will have an answer from you,” Griesmeyer insisted.

  Delmar hesitated, but could think of no other avenue than the truth. “It is all… not quite as I expected.”

  “What all is this? Come, novice, clarity of thought is what we strive for here. What did you expect?”

  “Just… more! When I think of how I pictured the Reiksguard barracks before I came here…”

  “Yes? How did you picture it?”

  “Fuller. Full of people: knights training, hurrying back and forth to the Imperial Palace to be at the Emperor’s side. Stories of old campaigns, talk of new ones, the Reiksmarshal in the chapter house convening meetings of the order where matters of the Empire’s defence would be discussed and decided. To be full of life, instead of quiet like the grave. There’s just us, the sergeants who keep to themselves, and the tutors…”

  Delmar was embarrassed by his outburst.

  “And none of those are the image you had of a Reiksguard knight, correct?”

  “I apologise, my lord. I do not mean to disrespect them. I know, I have been told, that they were all formidable warriors before…”

  “Before they were crippled, yes. Oh, I did not think you meant them any disrespect. I know you well enough for that.” Griesmeyer got to his feet and strode over to the sanatorium’s window looking out onto the practice field. “I understand you better than you realise. When I have visited here when the banners are away the place resembles a Shallyan infirmary more than a knightly order. But we must find a role for them all.”

  Griesmeyer turned back to him. “You must understand, Delmar, that these men have dedicated their lives to the order, many of them have nowhere else to go. Their lands have been lost, or are managed by others, relatives who they barely know perhaps, and who would have little use for a warrior who cannot fight. As they have given for the order, so must the order provide for them. Your tutors are the lucky ones in that respect; they can remain active in the martial way, others can only contribute by different means.”

  “I understand, of course, my lord,” Delmar replied, his shame deepening. Griesmeyer saw the novice’s contrition and changed the topic.

  “What do you think of them? Your tutors?”

  “Master Lehrer is a good teacher. I like him, though I sometimes find it difficult to understand how some of the matters he speaks of relate to a knight’s duty. Master Talhoffer can be… hard on us at times, but there is great value in what he teaches. Master Ott…”

  “Yes?”

  “I do not know. It is hard to know what to make of him.”

  “Hmmm… If you know Master Lehrer well, I should talk to him about Ott. You may find you understand him better. And what of Master Verrakker?”

  “Master? He said he was merely a brother.”

  “Did he?” Griesmeyer pondered. “Well, who should know better than he. How have you found him?”

  “I believe he has a thankless task.”

  “That is true indeed. I spoke to Brother Verrakker earlier this morning. Is the peace and quiet all that is concerning you? He mentioned that there were some disputes between the novices. Are you involved in those?”

  Delmar did not speak at once. Griesmeyer had been very kind to him, but if Delmar confided in him would he then take formal action? That would only deepen the divide between the two groups.

  “If I am,” Delmar replied, “then those disputes would be mine alone to resolve.”

  “Ah!” Griesmeyer replied, laughing. “The old Reinhardt pride, I remember it well from your father. Do not think, though, that the masters are blind. It was the same in my day. Even more so, for I was a novice before Karl Franz was elected. The old Emperor was failing, showing his age, and all my fellow novices could talk of was the succession.”

  “I was with novices from every single province,” Griesmeyer continued, “each of whom thought that their ruler was the only conceivable candidate. Sigmar alone knows what would have happened to the Reiksguard if another Emperor had decided to move his capital to a different city, to Middenheim or Talabheim. Can you imagine the White Wolves, the Panthers and ourselves all barracked together? You would not be able to move in the streets for knights on their warhorses.”

  Delmar smiled at the image.

  “As it resulted, the throne stayed in Reikland and went to Karl Franz, and he has made a good job of it, though he has faced hard enough times. The arguments though, that even we novices had at the time…”

  Griesmeyer cut off the thought with a curt gesture.

  “I remember when, in learning our history, I first heard of the civil wars in the Time of the Three Emperors. I remember that I could not believe that there were so many people then who honestly considered it best to tear our nation to pieces. However, as the years have passed, and I have travelled, and met hundreds of my fellow subjects… I become more and more surprised to meet those who wish to hold it together.”

  Griesmeyer shook away the memory. “I will leave your disputes to yourself, Delmar, but I will say this. Do not forget that you do not have to follow the same path as others do. It is you who are responsible for your conduct, no one else. And know this, Delmar, it is politicians who conquer through division. And you know what little the Reiksguard thinks of politics. No, it is leaders who unite and rule.”

  Delmar thought on it. “Is the same true of the Emperor?”

  Griesmeyer gave his half-smile of amusement. “It is not the
Reiksguard’s place to judge their Emperor. The elector counts are more than willing to take up that duty.”

  “You have seen him?”

  “The Emperor? Often. I could not call myself one of his guard if I had not.”

  “What is he like?”

  Griesmeyer was about to reply, but then paused. “You will find out soon enough once he returns.”

  “If he returns,” Delmar whispered. “Not all return from the north.”

  Griesmeyer’s tone softened. “I will not deceive you, Delmar. There have been times in our history when our realm has been in greater peril, but never in my lifetime. But I am only one man, and our nation has ever had its spirit tested by those who hate us. They spill our blood and we spill theirs. For centuries, for tens of centuries now. Do I like it? No. Would I give my life to banish them for ever? Without a moment’s doubt. But do I fear their coming? Never. Never again.”

  “I am due back to the north,” Griesmeyer said, rising from his seat upon the bed, “and it is true, I may not return. But the Empire cannot be killed as can a single man. It will live still.”

  “We should go with you,” Delmar suddenly declared. “When you leave, we novices should ride with you. We can do no good here. Let us come and fight for the Emperor.”

  Griesmeyer looked archly. “You think your dozen swords would make the difference?”

  “Perhaps,” Delmar ventured.

  “Well, I do not. And neither does the Marshal. You will stay here until you are ready, though you may believe me that your tutors are pushing you as fast as you are able.”

  Griesmeyer looked down upon his friend’s only son. “Do not concern yourself, Delmar, that all may be done before you may serve. There is a war being fought far greater than this single campaign, and it holds the entire Empire within its grip. Take my word, we shall not be free of it for many years.”

  Delmar, once recovered, returned to the novices. The two groups were keeping their distance on the practice field: the Reiklanders were training at the pell whilst the Provincials rehearsed the close-order drills under a sergeant’s supervision. Falkenhayn was attacking the wooden pell with a fury, and Harver and Breigh had looks of thunder upon their faces; Hardenburg just lay on the grass, covering his face.