The Trials of Empire, page 50
I nodded, and put a hand on his shoulder. “I hope our paths cross again.”
Sir Radomir looked at me sidelong. A flash of melancholy crossed his features. “You do not mean to stay in Sova?”
I shook my head. “Not for the moment. I have some things I want to do first.”
“I shall miss you.”
“And I you.”
We walked in comfortable silence for a little while.
“Where do you think he has gone?” Sir Radomir asked after a while.
“Sir Konrad?”
“Aye.”
I thought of the book I had seen on Vonvalt’s desk, one that had survived the burning. I thought of the other magickal races in the world, the Kasar, the Stygion, and more besides.
“South, I expect. He mentioned something about exploring the Southern Plains when we were in the Kyarai. So much of the world still to see.”
“Sova did not deserve that man.”
“No. But it did not deserve Claver, either.”
We passed the ruins of a Neman temple. Several city watchmen stood outside it, speaking to a patria with two black eyes.
“Do you think it will last? The calm? The peace?”
“For now, aye. People are sick of it all. Claver should never have been allowed to get as far as he did. That was where Sir Konrad was wrong. Sometimes to do the right thing you have to get your hands dirty. Cutting that priest’s throat in his sleep would have saved all of us a lot of fucking trouble.”
“Even though it would have been murder?”
“Aye. Even then.”
“Sometimes I think the world must be very simple through your eyes.”
“A few months ago I would have taken that as an insult from you.”
I shoved him, and he laughed. Heinrich barked happily, jumping up to join in with the game.
“Come on,” he said. “The day is young and you are wealthy. If you are to leave Sova then you can buy me dinner. And a bottle of something expensive, so I can drink to your health after you have gone.”
Epilogue
The Great Decline
“—But rather this; all deeds are deeds,
To gods we must account, and pay;
Like stones on scales, no good trumps bad,
but good can bad outweigh.”
FROM “THE MERCHANT’S PROLOGUE”, BY DUŠANKA LILJANA
I had not expected Badenburg to be abandoned; but with the Prince Gordan long dead, and his household disbanded, there was no one in residence. It seemed bizarre that an entire castle could simply be left to ruin – but these were strange and uncertain times, as the Royal Haugenate line, and all of those entities parasitic upon it, was dismantled.
I reached the fortress in the middle of the morning. It was a blustery, sunny day, and the air was filled with the susurrus of rustling leaves as the pine forests of the Westmark of Guelich swayed in the wind. The last time I had passed by Badenburg, the 16th Legion had turned the ground outside it into a stinking quagmire. Nature had long since reclaimed the damaged earth. Now there was a carpet of rough grass and flowers. The surrounding farmland, too, had been left uncultivated. The result was a place that felt truly wild.
I dismounted my horse and walked through the open gate, Heinrich by my side. I called out many times, but there was no one, or certainly no one who presented themselves to me, nor could Heinrich smell anybody. We spent perhaps an hour or two walking through the castle’s empty hallways and chambers, and then we took our lunch on the battlements, drinking in the view. Above, clouds scudded through the blue sky.
We finished our food and made to leave, when I stopped by the gate.
“There you are,” I said with a smile.
The Duke of Brondsey, our donkey who we had left here several months before, was standing in the shade underneath the gatehouse. He hee-hawed, and I stroked his face.
“Come on,” I said, as he nestled his head into my chest. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”
I went from one abandoned fortress to another. I took several weeks to travel south down the pilgrim pathway. The Duke of Brondsey could not move quickly, but he moved steadily, and I was in no hurry.
Several times I was met by Templars from the Order of Saxan Knights, once near the holy stones of Balodiskirch, where a team of Imperial architects and masons had encamped and were drawing up plans to rebuild the shrine; and then several miles north of Südenburg itself. There I was pleased to meet Severina von Osterlen, who looked healthy and happy, consumed with the importance of maintaining a holy vigil in this part of the world and of rebuilding Südenburg. Thanks to Vonvalt’s impromptu redesigning of the Imperial device, and his various decrees honouring the exploits of these most loyal Templars, the Order of Saint Saxanhilde and the Order of Saxan Knights were enjoying their newfound standing as the foremost martial orders of the Republic.
“I have a great many plans,” she said as we took some wine in her private chamber in the cathedral keep. She was dressed casually, and looked hale and healthy, unscarred – physically, at least – from the Battle of Sova. Behind her, a pair of doors opened on to a modest balcony, and a warm breeze rustled the curtains. It was a hot day, and the margrave was in a pleasant mood.
“What will you do now?” I asked, after she had regaled me at length with the story of hers and the Kasar’s raid on the Kòvoskan blackpowder stocks.
“I mean to create a brotherhood with the Grasvlaktekraag,” she said. Her enthusiasm was an alien thing even to herself, and she seemed to be slightly embarrassed by it. “Perhaps even the Hyernakryger, as well. I think we share many similarities. My relationship with both Ran-Jirika and Zuberi is a good one. I am hoping to begin an exchange programme. Foster a fraternal compact between us.”
I took a draw of wine. It was nice to see her in such a good humour. Not once had I witnessed her so calm and relaxed. She was like a different person entirely.
I toyed with my goblet for a moment. I had not meant to ask her about matters spiritual, at least not directly; but my curiosity was incredible, and I was emboldened by the alcohol. “And will you continue to practise Nemanism?” I asked. I knew I ran the risk of offending her and ruining the conversation, but she did not seem troubled by the question.
“I will,” she said. “Perhaps the precise nature of my faith has been blunted. But there is great value in adhering to a code. To maintaining spiritual vigilance. To living a life of service. I still take comfort from the word of Creus, and the parables, and Histories. And prayer… prayer still gives me time to still my spirit. To reflect. Even if there is no one or thing to listen, it is…” She paused, smiling. “Good for the soul.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” I said, and meant it very sincerely.
There was a moment’s silence, as von Osterlen looked briefly uncomfortable.
“Is there something you want to ask me?” I asked, keenly aware that in every respect that mattered, I was to von Osterlen, and all of the Templars, a Neman prophet.
She smiled, but it was a brief, brittle thing. “Sir Konrad told me that during your… experiences, you saw the…” She cleared her throat. “Golden City.”
I nodded, hoping that my expression was one of comfort and reassurance. “I did.”
“Could you—”
“Tell you what it looked like?”
Another uncomfortable smile. “I should like it very much.”
And so I did. And by the end of my account, she wept quietly, and took a lock of my hair – and I was pleased to give it.
I left Südenburg in a good mood.
I had told von Osterlen that Heinrich was the only protection I needed, but simply because Kòvosk and the Republic were at peace did not mean that the Saekas of the Frontier did not still hate everything Sovan. Several times I caught sight of a small company of white-surcoated Templars in the distance, trailing me, ensuring that I was unharmed. In spite of how cavalier I had become about my own life, several times during those long, chilly nights I took some comfort in knowing they were close by.
Eventually, Keraq came into view. Even from a mile away I could tell the place had been ransacked. Emptied as it was of Templars, the Frontier natives had drained the moat, taken the last of their blackpowder, and breached the walls. Evidence of the fortress’s comprehensive looting lay everywhere, scattered amongst the scrubland and wildflowers.
I approached it slowly, cautiously. Above, a low ceiling of grey cloud pressed down like a physical weight, and a warm breeze ruffled my hair. I half expected to see demonic entities stalking the walls; but like Badenburg, there was no one. I felt as though I was standing on the edge of the world. I couldn’t imagine how it must have felt to be a Templar garrisoned even further south in Zetland.
I spent a little while picking through the fortress. I was amazed to see how far the fire had spread from the inner sanctum, and how much damage it had done to the cathedral keep. Even if Claver had won, Keraq would have needed substantial rebuilding.
Everything of value had gone, taken by the Saekas. Every scrap of armour, every short sword, every shield, every tool. The grain stores were empty, the larders were empty. There were dead goats in the wells, which was annoying as I had hoped to refill my water skin there. There were a great many corpses, too. Most were Templars. Some were Saekas. Some were the remains of other, ghastly entities. Keraq was a mausoleum, and I did not want to spend any more time here than I had to.
And yet, it took a very long time to find what I was looking for. Longer than the afternoon I had banked on. I did not want to sleep amongst the old stones of that fortress, but nor did I want to be out on the plain after dark. Hugging Heinrich close to me, I wedged myself into a corner near the gatehouse next to a small fire, and snatched a few hours of sleep whilst I waited to be haunted.
That night I had a strange dream. It was of Bressinger. It was not so much a dream as an old memory, one in which he was teaching me how to peel an onion using his special Grozodan technique. I remember it well because it was one of the first things he did. Vonvalt had picked me up in Muldau, and Bressinger had met us a day later. I had expected him to be horrible to me, but he was kind, in his rough way. Just before I woke, I felt a feeling of great tenderness and comfort; and then as I opened my eyes to the cold grey of dawn, Heinrich was nuzzling me and licking the tears from my cheeks.
I knew then where to go. It was the chapel in which Sir Radomir, Bressinger and I had fought with Claver. Inside it was cool and dry, and much of the ornament had been ripped out. But there in the corner lay the remains of a man. He had one arm, and there were incisions in the bones of his ankles and legs where he had met his end. What remained of him sat within borrowed Templar mail and a white surcoat crossed with black. I wept quietly as I ran my hands over him, angry that he had died here. They had brought him inside this place, from beyond the moat where he had died in my arms. To what end? For what evil purpose?
I did not want Bressinger to rest in Keraq, so Heinrich and I walked quarter of a mile away. With all of the tools stolen I had to dig a grave with my bare hands. Fortunately, one of Heinrich’s favourite pastimes was to dig holes, and between us we were able to excavate a decent plot.
It was past noon by the time I was able to carry Bressinger’s remains to their final resting place. I cried the entire time I did so. I said a few words and then we covered him over with earth. I hoped – hope – with all my heart he found rest, and saw his wife and children again. I’m certain that he did.
I bade him farewell, gathered up my various animals, and left Keraq forever.
Unencumbered by the “exigencies of state” as Vonvalt might have put it, and with my heart a few shades lighter with Bressinger in a proper grave, I took several months to travel a circuitous route back north. It was a long journey, and one marred by a profound feeling of listlessness. Even at the very lowest ebb of our relationship, Vonvalt had been a constant in my life. I had long defined myself by his patronage, long measured my intrinsic value in my utility to him. By rights we should have returned to Sova after Galen’s Vale, put the matter of Claver to bed, and I should have been studying to become a Justice in the Magistratum. Instead, the world had been turned on its head, and I was alone.
This time following the end of the Empire was a difficult one in my life. It sounds absurd, given what I had endured in the previous months. But whilst my existence hitherto had been freighted with earthly and spiritual horror, there had always been a purpose to it, a goal. It was impossible not to feel like the most important thing I would ever achieve had already happened. How was I supposed to find some meaning to my life in the decades to come? I had a whole life to live, and yet it felt as though I had already lived a whole life.
I arrived in Galen’s Vale as the summer faded to autumn. But whereas the months of Cervenkar and Galenkar would have been filled with warmth and long days of sun in Sova, here, even in the Southmark of Haunersheim, it was already getting cooler. Bressinger could have told me something about the weather patterns, for he had always been Vonvalt’s cloudreader. Nonetheless, the damp chill suited the place. Certainly I had never known it any other way.
I avoided everyone who might have remembered me, especially Lord Sauter, though I did not see him. In any event, I was only in the town for one reason, and passed through it quickly on my way up to the kloster.
“Yes, she is in here, miss,” one of the nuns said, leading me into the hospice. It was a quiet place, and smelt of incense. Somewhere in the kloster I heard the choir practising ahead of luncheon.
I was led to a chamber which I recognised. The last time I had been within it, I had been attacked by the Decapitator. My hand and arm pulsed painfully at the memory in a way that it had not for many weeks.
“Are you all right?” the nun asked me.
I grimaced, nodding. “Just a pain in my arm. It’s nothing. An old injury.”
“Everyone has an injury these days. Have you come up by Sova? All manner of trouble there. We heard there was a battle a few months ago, near Midsummer. And now the north is gone, returned to the pagans.” She tutted.
“Yes, I heard about it,” I said.
“Here she is.” The nun showed me to where Resi lay. It was clear that she was being well taken care of; her hair had been braided, and she was clean and wearing fresh bedclothes. But she was as vacant as when I had last seen her in person, all those months before when Galen’s Vale had been attacked by Westenholtz.
“Hello, Resi,” the nun said in a sing-song voice. “Let’s get some fresh air in here, shall we?” She opened the window above August’s bed, and a fresh, mild breeze filled the chamber.
“Has she said or done anything?” I asked.
The nun offered me a pained smile. She shook her head gently. “A few months ago she was tossing and turning. We thought she might be about to regain her wits. But she settled down a little while later.” The nun gently stroked August’s forehead. “Two visitors in as many months. Who are these friends of yours, eh?”
I looked sharply at the nun. “Who was the other visitor?”
“Oh, a very handsome gentleman. Came and spent half a day with her. He was so tender, he must have been an old beau – though we didn’t pry,” she added conspiratorially.
I could not help myself. “Did he say where he was going?” I blurted.
The nun thought a moment, then shrugged. “No. Only that he would not be back. He made a very generous donation so that we could continue her care indefinitely, though we would have done that anyway. Still, he insisted we take the money. He was a very kind man.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Would you like me to leave you two together?”
I nodded again, and the nun left.
We sat in silence for a while. August did not seem to know I was there. Instead, she lay still, her eyes open and staring up at the ceiling.
“It seems strange to be talking to you like this after everything we have been through,” I said quietly to her, taking her hand in mine. “I do not know where you ended up, or even if you can hear me, but I just wanted to say…” I let out a long trembling sigh. “Thank you. For helping me. For protecting me. For… Nema, sacrificing yourself for me. I wish there was something I could do. I wish I could bring you back,” I whispered quietly, gripping her hands, holding them against my forehead.
I looked up. A rook had fluttered down and was perched on the windowsill. It cawed once, and I smiled, my cheeks wet with tears.
Then the rook flew away, and I gently put August’s hand down and left.
It is a strange thing to think that the end of the Empire of the Wolf, and all the death and devastation that came with it, traced its long roots back to the tiny and insignificant village of Rill.
It was the last place I wanted to see before I left the Republic for a while, though of course I was no longer in the Republic. This part of Tolsburg had reverted to being “Tolland”, bordered to the east by “Draedaland” and to the south by “Manaeisland”. Still, there was no appreciable difference between one country and the other, and I was not stopped by anybody, for all the wayforts were empty.
I rode past the watchtower on Gabler’s Mount, and then on to the village proper. It was strange seeing the place without a carpet of white snow, but it was still cold this far north, and the sky was grey, and the leaves were turning every shade of orange and brown. Snow would not be long in coming.
