Still, it wouldn’t do to let the plague priest grow too secure in his mind. ‘Maybe steal-take for Moulder-maggots,’ Blight mused. ‘Maybe they spy for Nurglitch. Look-fetch Puskab back to the Pestilent Monastery!’ A sadistic grin split Blight’s face as he saw terror flash along Puskab’s spine. The plague priest wasn’t the only one who could think up disturbing theories.
‘You need my protection,’ Blight reminded Puskab. ‘Nurglitch kill-slay quick-quick if you leave the Hive!’
Puskab bowed his horned head, the antlers brushing across the scummy surface of the pool. He turned and pointed a claw at the floating bodies. ‘Stash-hide plague-dead,’ he cautioned. ‘Other spy-meat must not know-find!’
‘Let them know,’ Blight sneered. ‘Soon Clan Verms will have the ultimate weapon thanks to you.’ He clenched his claw into a fist, shaking it at the dark ceiling. ‘Soon-soon all skaven grovel before Blight Tenscratch!’
‘Or all-all attack-fight,’ Puskab said. ‘Plague-fear great-much. Keep-hide secret until ready-strong.’
Blight’s eyes narrowed with cunning. The loathsome plague priest was right, it might be disastrous to let the other clans know what Verms was doing too soon. If the other clans rose up before Verms had enough of the bacillus and enough fleas to carry it…
‘Fetch-burn!’ Blight snapped at his guards, pointing his claw at the floating bodies. When they hesitated, he leaned out from behind the curtains of his palanquin, his voice a low whisper. ‘Fetch-burn, or I’ll burn you!’
The threat sent his guards splashing into the pool, stumbling over each other in their haste to reach the bodies.
Puskab watched them wade out, a sly glimmer in the depths of his yellow eyes.
Chapter XI
Talabecland
Vorhexen, 1111
Baron Everhardt Johannes Boeckenfoerde, Reiksmarshal of the Imperial Army, tapped his fingers against the scroll of parchment resting on the little wooden camp table. His face was inscrutable, his eyes half-lidded and with a faraway stare. The crackle of the fire burning in his tent’s tin stove was the only sound.
‘This is treason,’ the Reiksmarshal said at length, his voice almost a whisper. His eyes fixed upon Konreid, studying the knight’s face. ‘I have sworn an oath to the Emperor. Every man in my army has done the same.’ His hand rose from the table and pointed the golden head of his marshal’s baton at the knight. ‘The Reiks-knecht took the same vow. We obey our Emperor. It is not for us to decide if his rule is good or bad, it is only enough that we perform our duty. That is all.’
Konreid stood at attention, feeling the winter cold clawing at his back through the canvas tent flap behind him. Except for Boeckenfoerde’s adjutant, he was alone with the Reiksmarshal, a fact that gave him confidence even if the general’s words weren’t reassuring. By rights, he should have been arrested the moment he appeared at the army’s encampment. Konreid knew that Emperor Boris had outlawed the Reiksknecht, a diktat that Boeckenfoerde couldn’t help but be aware of. It would have been well within the general’s authority to have him seized and executed on the spot. That he hadn’t, that he had agreed to this conference, was all the proof Konreid needed to give him hope.
In his heart, the Reiksmarshal knew Boris Goldgather was a dictator and tyrant. If his conscience, if his sense of duty and honour could be overcome, if he could be made to see that his ultimate loyalty was to the Empire itself, not the man wearing the emperor’s crown, then his support would be won.
‘If we do not decide, Reiksmarshal,’ Konreid said, ‘then who will? Grand Master von Schomberg was every bit as loyal a man as yourself, yet he saw at the last that he had given that loyalty to a man unworthy of it.’
The Reiksmarshal shook his head. ‘He swore an oath and he betrayed it.’
‘For that, he was humiliated and murdered in the most obscene spectacle,’ Konreid said, his voice becoming as cold as the wind at his back.
Boeckenfoerde’s face became troubled. He rose from his chair, pacing across the tent’s small interior. ‘I have heard what happened,’ he said regretfully. ‘But it is not the Emperor’s doing. It is those animals around him, that peasant Kreyssig and that usurer Ratimir.’
‘They are the Emperor’s men,’ Konreid reminded. ‘If he was so disgusted with them, they would not be there.’
‘You are just a dienstmann,’ Boeckenfoerde said. ‘You don’t understand politics, how the old families can wield their influence to force their way into positions of importance. I tell you, the Emperor doesn’t believe in these sorts of things!’
‘What sort of influence does the family of a peasant wield?’ Konreid asked. ‘Boris keeps Kreyssig because he finds the man useful. How many of the great families have resented the power and reach of the Kaiserjaeger, and the fact that a mere commoner acts as their commander?’
The Reiksmarshal silently returned to his chair, turmoil written across his face. ‘I have taken an oath,’ he repeated.
‘And your loyalty has been betrayed,’ Konreid insisted. The knight waved his hand, indicating the trembling walls of the tent, the snow drifting under the tent flap. ‘This campaign against Talabheim is nothing more than greed and an abuse of authority. This army is nothing more than a gang of excise men dispatched to fill Goldgather’s coffers!’
Boeckenfoerde lifted his gaze, staring into Konreid’s eyes. ‘You go too far. I will not listen to any more treasonous talk.’
Konreid kept his face impassive, but inwardly he felt a sense of exultation. The general’s growing agitation was a sign that the doubts already inside his mind were rallying to the cause.
‘He sends an entire army out in the dead of winter to force Talabheim to keep its markets open, to countermand the grand count’s efforts to control the spread of the plague,’ Konreid declared. His voice lowered to a contemptuous hiss, each word twisting like a knife in the Reiksmarshal’s heart. ‘Yet when he might have kept your forces in the field to preserve what was left of the Drakwald, what was his command? He demanded the army be disbanded, the soldiers sent home so that they might help bring in the harvest! More taxes to line his own pockets!’
‘Enough!’ the Reiksmarshal growled. His fist closed about the parchment, crushing it between his fingers. Slowly he rose once more, marching to the stove. He stared into the fire, then thrust the crumpled message into the flames.
‘I was schooled in the teachings of Verena and Myrmidia,’ the general sighed. He turned and smiled grimly. ‘I was taught to value reason above everything. To understand why things are what they are and how to use the mind to change them.’ He began to pace once more, the marshal’s baton slapping against his leg with each step. ‘I was also raised to hold every oath as sacred and inviolate. Reason demands I support your coup, honour dictates that I cannot.’
Konreid felt his stomach sicken at the general’s decision. ‘That is your final word?’
Boeckenfoerde looked from the knight to his adjutant waiting beside the doorway. For a moment, his eyes took on the faraway gaze of an augur. Finally, he turned and approached the table. Removing a quill from its inkpot, he began to scribe a letter. ‘You may take this back to those who sent you,’ a flicker of a grin crept onto the general’s face, ‘and whose names I do not wish to know. I can suspect who they are, and that is bad enough.’
The knight stepped forwards and took the letter from the Reiksmarshal. A look of embarrassment came upon him. ‘I fear I cannot read,’ Konreid confessed.
The Reiksmarshal stepped away, approaching a large map of the Empire stretched across the wall of the tent. ‘I have agreed to meet your conspiracy halfway,’ he said. ‘I will not take up arms against my Emperor, but if he is deposed I will stand by the new Imperial Majesty you install.’ He tapped the map with his finger. ‘Further, your fears that you will inherit a war from Emperor Boris… on that front I can be of more direct assistance. Right now, we are marching along the River Talabec. Our supplies come to us by ship. This offers the most direct route to Talabheim, but the risk of discovery is great. I shall decide that the risk is too great, and so I will reroute our march around the Great Forest and along the River Delb until we near the Howling Hills. Much of that territory has been depopulated by Khaagor Deathhoof, but the terrain is familiar to many of my officers. It is the more prudent course to follow, and some of my more cautious commanders have already advised me to take it.