The Trials of Empire, page 3
We rode on a little further until the countryside began to open up again. After a while the briar receded, as did the farmland that it hemmed, and we approached a vast expanse of marsh. The clouds had drawn in, and the countryside looked bleak and grey in the late morning light.
Before we left the outermost environs of the village, we came across a sorry sight half lost in a gorse thicket. It was an old shrine to Nema, but the altar was askew, the deer’s skull had fallen to the floor, and little more than a rime of melted wax marked the stones. From the look of the overgrowth which had wrapped itself around the altar’s base, it had clearly been neglected for a long time.
“We should have the villagers repair it,” von Osterlen said.
Vonvalt glanced at the shrine. “Why the hell should I care?” he muttered, and urged his horse on into that desolate, unforgiving country.
II
Considering the Alternatives
“The healthiest thing for any human mind is a willingness to change it.”
FROM CHUN PARSIFAL’S TREATISE, PENITENT EMPIRE
It would be the last time I travelled to Seaguard.
It was a place that had only ever been a symbol of fear, of corruption and treachery, of violence and death. Once the seat of Margrave Waldemar Westenholtz, now months hanged, it had passed into the hands of a caretaker master in anticipation of the arrival of Prince Gordan Kzosic, the Emperor’s third son, and the 16th Legion.
We had run into Prince Gordan briefly on the Baden High-Way, on our way to Sova, and he had struck me as a pleasant man who did not care much for the vicissitudes of Imperial politics. The prince had been tasked with taking up the margraveship of Seaguard ahead of the summer fighting season, a time when the North Sea was calm enough to allow for raids from the northern kingdoms.
Since then, rumours abounded of the destruction of both the prince and the 16th. We had first been told of this by Senator Tymoteusz Jansen, in secret in the Hauner fortress town of Osterlen; but we had heard it spoken of in almost every place we had been since.
The Legions had a certain aura of mystique about them. This had of course been eagerly cultivated and propagated by the Sovans, but quite needlessly. The evidence of their effectiveness as a fighting force was everywhere. Certainly in my life I had never known a Sovan Legion to be bested. And prior to the ill-advised invasion of Kòvosk, and the ascension of blackpowder as a weapon of insurgency and sabotage across the Confederation, one would struggle to find a record of a Legion suffering any meaningful defeat in the preceding half-century.
There were many reasons for this, which I do not need to go into in this account. Training, equipment, strategy and tactics, zealotry, and a lack of coordination and cohesion amongst their many enemies, all played their parts. At that time, therefore, it was unthinkable that a Legion could be defeated, let alone beaten so thoroughly that not a single man had survived. But, as with many things in the Sovan Empire, the supremacy of the Legions was on the wane. Blackpowder and its use was becoming the predominant force on the battlefield, and the Sovans, unlike their enemies, were slow to adopt it – wedded as they were to the short sword and the outmoded heavy cavalry charge.
To hear, then, that not only had the 16th Legion not been destroyed, but that Prince Gordan had in fact arrived safe and unharmed at Seaguard as planned, aroused within us a curious mixture of emotions. It fit with our own view of the natural order of things that the Legions were invincible, and was therefore a strange comfort; and, to the extent that the preservation of the Empire, or at least the lawful peace which it had brought about, remained our goal, the news was a boon.
But at the same time, there was something… odd about it. It was widely accepted – by many people who were not naturally credulous – that it had been destroyed. This apparent reversal, therefore, did not feel like good news, but something inherently wrong, something inauspicious.
And it was, in many ways.
But I shall come on to why shortly.
We approached Seaguard from the south-east. The journey was long and arduous. We could not avail ourselves of the few good roads that cut through this part of Haunersheim, for fear of discovery, and instead had to rely on a succession of ancient paths which led through the forests and marshlands of that desolate country.
Eventually we reached the coast. Here the air smelt of salt water and a frigid wind cut across the sand, rustling the banks of desiccated razorgrass there. The going was quicker thanks to the lack of thick forest to pick through, but without the trees, the squall was unforgiving.
We spent most of the journey in silence. Vonvalt was sullen and melancholic, as was to be expected, whilst Sir Radomir’s drinking frequently rendered him insensible. I was beginning to wonder why he kept with us. He was a simple man, more suited to lawkeeping in small towns than navigating these great machinations of state. The nightmares and arcane visitations frightened him more than he let on, too. But, like Vonvalt, he had been a soldier in the Reichskrieg, and had seen the effects of unfettered warfare first hand. Perhaps he persisted in order to prevent a return of those evil days. He was a tenacious sheriff, after all, his ethical code as black and white as von Osterlen’s surcoat.
As for the Templar herself, I wondered whether she, too, regretted hitching her wagon to Vonvalt. I was glad that she had, for she was level-headed and pragmatic, and a doughty fighter to boot. But she was not immune to the gloom which had infected us. The enormity of our task was overwhelming, and she was pious, and had taken her mission in Südenburg seriously.
But, for all that, I did not think she would leave. She knew the nature of the threat posed by Bartholomew Claver. And whilst the Empire of the Wolf had many flaws, and was built upon a bedrock of blood and bone, having a zealous tyrant on its throne was hardly an improvement.
“What is your plan?” she asked as we made camp for what would be the final time before we reached Seaguard. We sat at the extremity of an ancient and dark forest, itself but a stone’s throw from the landward edge of a wide, windy beach. Our horses cropped the razorgrass tentatively, as unhappy as we were.
“We shall have to approach carefully,” Vonvalt replied, idly poking at the fire with a stick. “I suggest Helena and Sir Radomir scout out the area first. They are the least likely to attract attention.”
“What is it we are looking for?” I asked.
“What do you think? I want to see if the Sixteenth Legion is in residence.”
“How will I know?”
“It is five thousand men!” Vonvalt said. “You would do well to get half that number inside.”
“There is no need to take that tone.”
“Aye. But I have taken it.”
“Nema, you cannot be a surly git as well,” Sir Radomir said. “That’s my job.”
We shared a muted laugh in spite of ourselves, but a lengthy silence followed.
“I am troubled by this,” Vonvalt said eventually. “It vexes me.”
“That old baron could have been wrong. Surely that is the most likely explanation?” von Osterlen said.
Vonvalt shook his head slowly. “No. He was telling the truth, or at the very least he thought he was. Right up until the end.”
“End is the right word for it,” von Osterlen muttered. “His heart gave out, I take it?”
“Hm,” Vonvalt grunted.
“You told him you were still a Justice.”
Now Vonvalt looked up and fixed her in the eye. “I am still a Justice.”
“No, you are not. And I am no lawkeeper, but last I checked ’tis not a crime to contradict you.”
There was another long silence.
“All right. I can tell this is something that has been bothering you for some time. Let us have it out, here and now.”
Von Osterlen sniffed. “We have a mission, aye. An important one. I know that. I have put great faith in you, Sir Konrad, at great cost to my own reputation – and career, I might add. But let us be clear: rightly or wrongly, you are no longer an agent of the Crown. If we are to defeat Claver – and I agree his designs must be thwarted – then we must not adopt his methods. Claver is a wretched, deceitful man, and he twists the Neman Creed to suit his own ends. No one who cleaves to the Creed could act in the way he has. In wielding the Draedist arcana to your own ends – nay, in killing men with it – you are no better than him. You act as a brigand. And I shall not have it.”
Vonvalt listened patiently until she was finished. “Will you think on something for me?” he asked.
Von Osterlen frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I want you to think on something for me. I want you to think about an Empire in which Claver is the Emperor. What is it you think he will do?”
Von Osterlen thought for a moment, but eventually shook her head, unwilling, rather than unable, to engage.
“He would slay his enemies,” Sir Radomir muttered.
“Aye,” Vonvalt said. “There would be a great purge in Sova. I expect every member of the former Magistratum and every lawkeeper beholden to the Royal Imperial Courts would be killed. Anyone or thing connected to the administration of the common law would be dismantled and destroyed. What else?”
“Senators,” I said.
“Senators. Every Haugenate would be imprisoned, tortured, and murdered. Every member of the Royal Imperial household would be put to the sword, including children. So, thousands of lives extinguished, and that is just in the first couple of days. After that, Claver would reassert the supremacy of the second head of the Two-Headed Wolf: the canon law. The Neman Church would be given its old powers back, as well as – gods forbid – the Draedist arcana. And where Justices have gone before, now Neman Inquisitors go. Do you know what punishment the canon law stipulates for heresy?”
“’Tis death,” von Osterlen said.
“It is burning,” Vonvalt corrected, “the worst death. Do you know what the punishment for adultery is?”
Von Osterlen shook her head.
“That is to be blinded. Theft?”
“I take the point.”
“To lose one’s hands. Blasphemy?”
“I said I have taken the point.”
“To have your tongue pulled out. To insult a Patria?”
Von Osterlen said nothing.
“They will confiscate your home. To miss the sacrament? Confiscation of livestock. To fornicate before marriage? Drowning. And—” he pointed at her “—it will not just be those accused of a transgression. Think on your rights. What can you do now? Under the common law, you may go wherever you please, speak to whomever you will, marry whomever you will. You can eat whatever you want, drink wherever you want, insult whomever you want. The Neman Creed is the official religion of the Empire, true, but what is the punishment for heresy? A fine, aye, and a cheap one at that. Avowed heresy remains burning, but every Justice I know would go to great lengths to avoid it. You may go about your business freely, and knowing that you are entitled to your freedom; that even if you commit a crime, your innocence is presumed until proven otherwise. The worst you can expect for most crimes is imprisonment, which is as it should be.” He snapped his fingers sharply, making von Osterlen start. “All of that would disappear. Overnight. If you think what came before the Autun was bad, wait until you see what comes after it. And that is assuming that Claver will even adhere to the established tenets of the canon law, rather than govern entirely by his own whims. ‘Beware the tyrant – he clothes himself in the armour of ignorance’.”
“Aye,” von Osterlen said, “every man is subject to the same processes and procedures. Even you, Sir Konrad.”
“Indeed. So, I have told you what will happen if Claver succeeds – and believe me, that is the very best case. What then is an acceptable price to avoid it?”
“I am not a jurist. I think you can twist facts and arguments to suit your own ends and make anything seem good and honest.”
“I would not be much of a lawkeeper if I couldn’t.”
“I am being serious.”
“As am I. Come, Severina. This is important.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I am cold, and tired. Finish your lesson so I can go to sleep.”
“Think about the common law. Think about your rights and freedoms. Let us pretend, for a moment, that the Sovans conquered to impose the common law as an end in itself. Would you say the Reichskrieg was an acceptable price for that?”
“Thousands died.”
“Aye, but thousands more lived. And now their lives are better. So, to look at it in the round, more people have benefited from the Reichskrieg than have suffered under it.”
“You can make that argument if you wish. Many would disagree with you. Not least the subjugated.”
“Do not resist me so stubbornly, Severina. Use your mind. Think. The truth of what I am saying is patent.”
“I believe that you believe it to be.”
The first time in the conversation – if it could so be called – I could tell Vonvalt was getting annoyed. “Now think about the alternative. An absolute theocracy, governed by a lunatic. Tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of people will die, and probably more than that. It is a bleak, black future, where millions live in fear for their lives, terrified that the slightest transgression could lead to their mutilation and death. What price should be paid to avoid that? One death? A thousand – ten thousand?”
Von Osterlen shrugged dramatically and with great exasperation. “What is it you want me to say?”
“I do not give a jot what you say. It is what you understand.” Vonvalt held out his hand like he was holding something between his thumb and forefinger. “It does not matter if I wield the Draedist arcana. It does not matter if one provincial baron dies. It does not matter if five lads are slain in a great hall. I could have burned that village to the ground and everybody in it and it would still be acceptable collateral. Do you see? We have not even begun to approach the lowest foothills of the threshold of what is acceptable in order to prevent Claver from attaining the throne.” Vonvalt took a deep breath, and a deeper draw of ale from his skin. He stared at the fire as he spoke. “Sometimes we must act outside the bounds of the law to safeguard it. You are right that Claver is a deceitful and wretched man, but you are wrong to say that I am no better than him. I am better than him. I will always be better than him. Claver breaks the law to see that it remains broken; I break it only so that it may be saved. The time for high-minded ideals is gone. We have dark deeds ahead of us. If you have not the stomach for it, leave now.”
“’Tis better to die in service of the law than serve a regime that does not uphold it,” I whispered.
“Blix,” Vonvalt muttered, catching my eye.
Von Osterlen looked at me askance. “I liked you better when you sat there in silence.”
“I could say the same of you,” I shot back. Sir Radomir snorted, and the snort turned into a chuckle. The chuckle turned into a laugh, and then soon we were all laughing again, pleased for the break in tension.
Vonvalt sighed. “Sleep, all of you. I shall keep the first watch. Tomorrow, we shall see if we can find out what happened to the Sixteenth Legion.”
Sir Radomir and I made the approach to Seaguard. We posed as commonfolk, which at that time I suppose we were.
Seaguard, that gigantic, obsidian-black castle built in and amongst the rocky cliffs of the North Sea, reared into the grey morning sky. At its roots was an illegal township, a bustling fishing and trading outpost which had long stood in defiance of Imperial ordinances. But, like a tenacious wart, it could not be budged, and a succession of margraves had long abandoned any attempts to shift it.
The place was cold and damp, and smelt strongly of brine and fish. Seabirds trilled above constantly. Normally a forest of masts could be seen in the harbour, too, where the huge Imperial fleet of war carracks lay at berth. But on that day, there was no sign of them.
We tried to approach with the nonchalance of people who had nothing to hide, but nonetheless I found myself gripped with nervousness as the township came into view. We had agreed that we would knock about the place for a little while, asking about salted brittlecut and how we might source an ongoing supply for an unnamed Sovan merchant. But there was no one on the outskirts of the township, and we had to delve much further into the settlement than we had wanted to.
The trouble was, there was no one there either.
“Where the hell is everyone?” Sir Radomir muttered, looking about.
I had been to Seaguard twice before in my life, and both times this settlement, small though it was, had bustled with life. But now, like much of the rest of the Northmark, it was desolate. There was no sign of an army encampment either, where the excess numbers of men from the 16th Legion should have overspilled the walls of Seaguard and into the surrounding countryside.
“I do not know,” I muttered back. We looked at the buildings of the settlement, haphazard structures that had undergone a slow shift from temporary to permanent. Some were brick and timber, more were wattle and daub. All were empty.
I looked up at the tall, black walls of Seaguard. There was no one there either, no soldiers on patrol backlit by the morning’s weak grey light. It was as though the place had been ravaged by some pox, cut off from the rest of the Empire and left to rot.
“This place is dead. Whatever happened here, I think we missed it,” Sir Radomir said, idly kicking at the debris which littered the pathway. There was no sign of struggle, no burn marks or sword cuts or blood spatter. A raid I might have understood, though it would take a huge force many months – years, even – to defeat Seaguard, more than I had ever heard make it across the North Sea. “I don’t like it. We should head back. It is as we thought; the Sixteenth was destroyed. The old baron was mistaken.”
I shared his unease. It was not just that the place was deserted; there was something else at work here. The same creeping feeling, of being watched, of wrongness, of malevolent, arcane forces at work, filled the air around us. Only part of it could be put down to our highly strung nerves.
