Warhammer - [The Ambassador Chronicles 01] - The Ambassador Page 3

  Years before, Kaspar's wife, Madeline, had made sure he was a regular visitor to the royal court at Nuln. She understood better than he the value of the Countess-Elector Emmanuelle von Liebewitz's patronage and, despite his protestations, dragged him to every one of her legendary masked balls and parties. His tales of battle and life on the campaign trail always thrilled the effete courtiers and made him a popular, if reluctant, guest at the palace.

  After Madeline's death he'd withdrawn from court society, spending more and more time alone in a house that suddenly seemed much bigger and emptier than before. Invites to the palace continued to arrive at his door, but Kaspar attended only those functions he absolutely had to.

  But his reputation had spread further than he knew, and when the summons to the countess's palace had come, and the courtiers from Altdorf had offered him this posting, he knew he could not refuse it.

  Kaspar had left for Kislev within the week.

  He sighed and drew the heavy curtains across the window, moving towards the crackling fire in the hearth.

  The tremendous crash of the door slamming open startled him from his melancholic reverie and he spun, reaching for his sword. A hulking figure with an enormous grey beard filled the doorframe, carrying a bottle of clear liquid in one hand. He stepped into the room and placed the bottle on the table next to the leather chairs.

  'By Tor!' he rumbled, 'I am told that we have new ambassador here, but no one tells me he is so ugly!'

  'Pavel!' laughed Kaspar, as the man strode towards him. The giant pulled him into a crushing bear hug and laughed heartily.

  Kaspar slapped his old friend's back and felt immense relief wash through him. Pavel Korovic, a fellow campaigner from his days in the army, released him from the embrace and cast his gaze over Kaspar. A savage warrior, Pavel had been a great friend to Kaspar during the northern wars and had saved his life more times than he could remember.

  'Perhaps you look less ugly when I am drunk, yes?'

  'You're already drunk, Pavel.'

  'Not true,' protested the giant. 'I only drink two bottles today!'

  'But you'll drink more won't you?' pointed out Kaspar.

  'So? When I rode into battle I had drunk many bottles before we fight!'

  'I remember.' said Kaspar, picking up the bottle. 'Did your lancers ever fight sober?'

  'Fight sober! Don't be foolish, man!' roared Pavel, snatching the bottle back from Kaspar. 'No Dolgan ever went into battle sober! Now we drink kvas together, like old times!'

  He yanked the cork free with his teeth, spitting it into the fire, and took a mighty swig of its contents. He passed the bottle to Kaspar.

  'It is good to see you again, old friend!'

  Kaspar took a more restrained swig and handed the bottle back, coughing.

  'Ha!' laughed Pavel. 'You go soft now you not soldier! You cannot drink like old Pavel, eh?'

  Kaspar nodded between coughs. 'Perhaps, but at least I'll never be as fat as old Pavel. No horse would take your weight now.'

  Pavel patted his round belly and nodded sagely 'That I give you. But Pavel does not mind. Now Pavel carries the horse instead. But enough! We will go now and drink. You and I have much catching up to do.'

  'Very well.' said Kaspar, knowing that he would be in for a night of serious drinking. 'It's not as though there's much I can do here tonight. And anyway, what in Sigmar's name are you doing here? I thought you were going home to the Yemovia stanista to breed horses.'

  'Pah! My people, they say I am lichnostyob, a lout, and do not want me back! Pavel comes to the city and his uncle Drostya gets him job in the embassy as reward for his years of loyal service in army. They call me the Kislevite liaison to Imperial ambassador. Sounds impressive, yes?'

  'Oh yes, very impressive. What does it actually mean?'

  Pavel sneered. 'With that spineless fool Teugenheim, it means I can drink most of the day and get to fall asleep in office rather than smelly tent on steppe. Come! We go and drink at my house. You will be guest until you are rid of Teugenheim!'

  Kaspar could see that his old comrade in arms would not take no for an answer. He smiled; perhaps it would be good to catch up with Pavel and relive the old days. Besides, until Teugenheim was gone he had no wish to stay in the embassy and did not relish the prospect of staying in a tavern. He put his arm across Pavel's shoulder.

  'Let's go then, old friend. I hope you have more of that kvas at home.'

  'Have no fear of that,' Pavel assured him.

  V

  KASPAR SIPPED HIS kvas as Pavel threw back another glass of the powerful spirit. The lancer's fondness for kvas was legendary and it appeared that the years had not lessened his capacity for the drink. Kaspar could feel the effects of the alcohol already and had been nursing the glass in his hand for the past hour. Two bottles had been emptied and his companion was now roaringly drunk. They sat before the fireplace in Pavel's kitchen, barely five hundred yards from the embassy, the wagons and carriage safely tethered within the courtyard of the townhouse. Stefan had declined Pavel's offer of lodgings, preferring to stay at the embassy where he could begin assessing what needed to be done to make it more presentable. With the exception of Valdhaas, who stood guard outside, the Knights Panther had taken quarters at the embassy. Kaspar did not envy the slovenly soldiers billeted there the wrath of Kurt Bremen.

  Pavel grinned as he poured another drink and belched. Despite all outward appearances, Kaspar knew that Pavel was a shrewd man indeed. The limited correspondence they had traded in the last few years had indicated that a number of highly lucrative contracts to provide mounts for the Kislevite army had made Pavel Korovic a very wealthy man.

  'So, who is this Chekatilo?' asked Kaspar.

  Pavel hiccupped and scowled at Kaspar. 'Very bad man,' he said finally. 'Is nekulturny, no honour. Is killer and thief, run everything illegal in Kislev. Has many fingers in many things. All must pay his "taxes" or suffer. Fires, beatings. Killed his own brother they say.'

  'So what was he doing with Teugenheim then? Were the two of them in league together?'

  'With Chekatilo, nothing surprise me. Teugenheim was probably selling off embassy to him to pay off debts. Perhaps ambassador has expensive taste in whores,' suggested Pavel. 'Who knows, maybe Kislev get lucky and the Butcherman will take Chekatilo?'

  Kaspar's interest was suddenly piqued. He'd heard the name already. 'Butcherman? Who is he anyway? I had some mad priest raving about him earlier.'

  'Another bad one. A madman,' said Pavel darkly. He lit a pipe with a taper from the fire and passed it to Kaspar. 'No one know who the Butcherman is or even if he is man at all. He kills men, women and children then vanishes into shadows. He cuts out victim's heart and eats their flesh. Some say he is an altered, that bodies have flesh melted from bone. He kill many and Chekist cannot catch him. A bad one indeed. People are afraid.'

  Kaspar nodded, remembering a similar spate of killings in Altdorf some years ago, the so-called 'Beast' murders. But that murderer had eventually been caught and killed by the watchman Kleindeinst.

  'How many people have been killed?'

  Pavel shrugged. 'Hard to say. Dozens probably, maybe more. But people die all the time in Kislev. Who can say if all are the work of the Butcherman? You should forget about him. He is crazy and will be caught and hanged soon.'

  Kaspar drained his glass and slid it across the table towards Pavel. He stood and stretched, saying, 'I don't doubt you're right. Anyway, I'm exhausted and the days ahead are sure to be busy. I have to meet the rest of the embassy staff tomorrow and I would prefer to do that without a hangover. I think I'll call it a night.'

  'You do not want to stay up till dawn and sing songs of war! You are soft now, Kaspar von Velten!' laughed Pavel, gulping down his kvas.

  'Maybe, Pavel, but we're not the young men we were,' said Kaspar.

  'Speak for yourself, Empire man. Pavel will drink the rest of bottle and sleep beside the fire.' 'Goodnight Pavel,' said Kaspar.

 
CHAPTER TWO

  I

  KASPAR SHOOK HIS head in exasperation at the sight before him. Thirty soldiers dressed in the blue and red livery of Altdorf stumbled, staggered and lurched towards him, their breath ragged and uneven.

  Despite the chill air, their faces were streaked with sweat, red and burning as they completed their fifth circuit of the walls of Kislev. The Knights Panther had finished almost a full hour earlier and stood to attention beside Kaspar and Pavel's horses, barely having even broken a sweat.

  'Not an impressive sight,' commented Pavel needlessly.

  'No,' agreed Kaspar, his voice low and threatening. 'These soldiers wouldn't last half a day in the ranks. One skirmish and they would be food for the crows.'

  Pavel nodded and took a huge draw on an evil-smelling cheroot, blowing a filthy blue cloud of smoke skyward. 'Not like before, eh?'

  Kaspar allowed himself a tight smile. 'No, Pavel, not like before. The men we fought alongside were ten feet tall and could smite an army with one blow of a halberd! These sorry specimens would have a hard job lifting a halberd, let alone swinging one.'

  'Aye.' laughed Pavel, taking a swig from a leather canteen. 'Often I wonder what became of those men. Do you see anyone from the old days?'

  'I exchanged a few letters with Tannhaus for a time, but I heard later that he got himself killed when he joined a mercenary company that set off for Araby.'

  Pavel took another drink. 'That is shame. I liked Tannhaus, he could fight like a devil and knew how to take drink.'

  'The damn fool was in his fifties.' snapped Kaspar. 'He should have bloody well known better than to go off glory hunting at his age. War is a young man's game, Pavel. It's not for the likes of us now.'

  'By Olric, you are in a sour mood today, Empire man!' muttered Pavel, offering the canteen to Kaspar. 'Here, take a drink.'

  Without taking his eyes from the exhausted soldiers, Kaspar took the proffered canteen and took a swig. He'd swallowed a huge mouthful before he realised the canteen contained kvas and was bent almost double by the powerful spirit. His gullet burned with liquid fire and he coughed, his eyes watering.

  'Damn it, Pavel!' swore Kaspar. 'What the hell are you doing? It's not even midday!'

  'So? In Kislev is good to drink early. It make rest of day not seem so bad.'

  Scowling, Kaspar wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and said, 'As a favour to me, try and keep sober, yes?'

  Pavel shrugged and took back the canteen, but said nothing as the embassy soldiers finally reached them, collapsing in utter exhaustion. Kaspar could feel his already foul mood darkening even more. That his predecessor could have allowed his soldiery to lapse into such a disgraceful state was unbelievable and, given the choice, Kaspar would have sent every one of them back to the Empire.

  However, under the circumstances that was not an option. Kurt Bremen had assured him that he could whip them into shape and had spent the week since they had arrived in Kislev doing just that. Resplendent in his shining plate armour, panther pelt draped impressively around his shoulders, Bremen strode through the panting guards, his face like thunder.

  'Call yourselves soldiers!' he roared. 'I've known serving wenches with more stamina than you lot! An hour in the battleline and you'd be begging the enemy to gut you!'

  At least the soldiers had the decency to look ashamed, noted Kaspar. Perhaps there were still some amongst them who might yet be worthy of the Emperor's uniform.

  'My knights completed this jaunt in full armour and not one of them has a face as red as a Tilean's arse.'

  'We ain't done any training in nigh on a year,' complained a reedy voice from amongst the soldiers.

  'That's plain to see,' snapped Bremen. 'Well, that laziness stops now. I'm in charge of you and I swear that you men are going to hate me more than you've ever hated anyone before.'

  'We're already there,' came another voice.

  Bremen smiled, but there was nothing reassuring in his expression.

  'Good,' he snarled. 'Then we've begun. I will break you down to nothing, cause you pain until you plead with me to kill you just to put you out of your misery. But I won't. I'll break you and then build you back up into the best damn soldiers under the Emperor's command.'

  Kaspar turned his attention to the city walls as he heard laughter drift down from the ramparts looking out over the hillside. Groups of Kislevite soldiers lounged on the wall head and clustered around smoking braziers, laughing and pointing at the Empire soldiers' exertions.

  Kaspar was damned if he would allow this mockery to go unanswered. He raked his spurs back, startling the gelding, and cantered forward past Bremen then pointed towards the walled city of Kislev.

  He unwound the scarf from around his neck, his breath feathering in the air as he spoke. 'You see those men on the walls?' Kaspar began. He did not raise his voice, but every one of the soldiers recognised the years of authority it contained. He swept his hand in a gesture along the length of the wall saying, 'These Kislevites are warriors! They live in a land constantly threatened by creatures from your worst nightmares. They must be ready at a moment's notice to fight and win. And right now they are laughing at you!'

  Kaspar wheeled his horse, walking the beast through the mob of soldiers. 'And they are right to laugh, because you are all pathetic, worthless pieces of shit that I wouldn't piss on even if you were on fire! You are the worst soldiers that I have ever commanded and as Sigmar is my witness, I will not be shown up by your shortcomings.'

  Angry scowls met Kaspar's words, but the new ambassador was not finished yet. 'You are all this and more,' continued Kaspar, 'but that is what you are now. What you will become is something much more than that. You are soldiers of the Emperor Karl-Franz and you are my men, and together we will become something to be proud of. Ambassador Teugenheim allowed you to forget that you are soldiers of the Emperor. But he is gone now, and I am in charge. I will not let you forget!'

  Kaspar turned his horse again as a coarse, heavily accented voice sneered, 'Things was just fine 'till you showed your face.'

  He looked down to see a man whose muscle had long since been replaced by flab and whose features bore all the hallmarks of a lifetime's abuse of alcohol. His bearded face was twisted in an ugly mask of contempt, hands planted confrontationally on his hips. Kaspar knew his type; he'd met countless variations of the same personality in his life as a soldier.

  He swung smoothly from the saddle and landed lightly on the muddy ground, handing the reins to Kurt Bremen and walking coolly towards the man. More of the soldiers rose to their feet, some placing themselves close to the bearded man, others deliberately keeping their distance. Kaspar recognised the criticality of this moment; he could win or lose the men here in an instant. Kurt Bremen also realised this and moved to stand behind Kaspar, but the ambassador waved him back. He must do this alone.

  'What's your name?' hissed Kaspar, taking the measure of the man before him.

  He was a big man, but out of shape, with great, meaty hands that Kaspar knew would hit like anvils.

  'Marius Loeb,' replied the man, breath sour with last night's rotgut.

  Loeb folded his arms across his chest. Kaspar could see that the man was confident in the support of the soldiers at his back. They had it easy here at the embassy and he'd be damned if this old man was going to get in the way of that.

  'Loeb....' mused Kaspar, casting his gaze across the rest of the soldiers. 'Yes, Herr Korovic has told me of you.'

  Pavel smiled and raised his canteen in a friendly gesture as his name was mentioned and Kaspar continued, 'You are a drunk, a thief, a bully and a lazy, good-for-nothing piece of horse dung. You will be gone from here by morning.'

  Loeb's face flushed and his eyes blazed in self-righteous fury. Kaspar saw the punch coming before it was halfway. He stepped forward and pistoned his fist into Loeb's face, a short, hard, economical boxer's punch, and Loeb's nose cracked audibly under the impact. The big man reeled, blood pouring from the centre o
f his face, but to Kaspar's astonishment, he remained on his feet. Snarling, he launched himself forwards, his massive rock-like fists swinging. Kaspar sidestepped and launched a jab into Loeb's gut before delivering a thunderous right cross to his jaw.

  The big man staggered, but kept coming, aiming a wild punch at Kaspar's head. The blow was poorly aimed, but caught Kaspar across the temple. Lights exploded before his eyes. He rolled with the punch and moved in close, thundering a vicious series of jabs to Loeb's mashed features. Blood and teeth flew from the man's jaw as soldiers gathered round the combatants, shouting encouragement to both fighters equally.

  Kaspar was tiring and he knew that this was getting out of hand. He had hoped to put Loeb down with one well-aimed punch, but the man just wouldn't give up. Under other circumstances that would have been an admirable trait in a soldier, but now...

  Loeb's eye was swollen and blood poured down his face. He was practically blind now, but that didn't seem to impair him much. He roared and aimed a kick between Kaspar's legs. The ambassador stepped aside and hammered his elbow into the mans cheek, feeling bone break under the impact. Loeb's eyes glazed over and he collapsed to his knees before falling face first to the mud.

  Kaspar stepped back and massaged his knuckles where the skin had broken.

  He stared directly at the few men who had stood behind Loeb and said, 'Get that fat piece of filth back to the embassy and stitch his wounds. He goes back to the Empire tomorrow.' As his compatriots bent to pick up the unconscious Loeb, a young soldier stepped forward and said, 'Sir?'

  Kaspar placed his hands behind his back and marched to stand before the young man who had spoken. He was perhaps twenty, slim with an unruly shock of dark hair and finely chiselled features.

  'Who are you then? Another troublemaker?' asked Kaspar. 'Leopold Dietz, sir, from Talabecland.' replied the young soldier, staring at a point over Kaspar's shoulder. 'And no, sir, I ain't no troublemaker. I just wanted you to know that we ain't all like Loeb. There's some good lads here, and we can be better than we's been so far. A lot better.'