Erich watched the attack on the Imperial Courthouse, waiting with bated breath for the moment when the violence of the mob would throw the defenders of the fortress into a panic. From long experience, he knew how soldiers reacted to the reduction of their foundation, how any battle assumed monstrous proportions when they were called upon to fight without their accustomed strength. When Meisel tore down the gibbet and the mob used it for a ram against the gates, it was the tipping point for the garrison commander. Horns and trumpets, bells and drums sounded from the fortress, appealing to any and all for assistance.
The closest help at hand was the Imperial Palace itself. Turning his gaze in that direction, he could see the confused agitation of the Palace Guard. Back and forth they rushed, reporting to their officers, then hurrying back to strengthen the defences at the Palace gate. For some twenty minutes, things continued in this manner, then a sharp clarion call echoed over the roofs of Altdorf. The inner gates withdrew into the ceiling of the gatehouse, the outer gates swung wide and a great company of knights came thundering down the marble walkway, the hooves of their mighty steeds striking sparks from the stones. Erich knew that golden tabard, marked with the hammer and laurel heraldry. The Kaiserknecht, Boris Goldgather’s personal retinue of knights, men who had been drawn not from noble families or the ranks of the Dienstleute, but rather foreign mercenaries who were bound to the Emperor by the only loyalty Boris understood: gold.
The captain of the Kaiserknecht shouted an order in his lilting, Bretonnian tongue and the riders behind him, with the precision of a machine, lowered the visors of their great helms. Each knight dipped his lance as he charged through the gate, then his huge destrier wheeled about and galloped through the streets towards the Imperial Courthouse.
Erich frowned as he watched the knights sally forth, wondering how long Meisel would be able to keep his rebels fighting against such awesome odds. Some measure had been made to delay the knights; barricades had been erected across many of the streets and marksmen waited on the roofs to snipe at their enemy. Still, as a knight himself, Erich knew the power of a cavalry charge and the psychological destruction it wrought even against disciplined troops. Many of Meisel’s rioters weren’t even that, simple peasants without any military experience. They would shatter like glass when the Kaiserknecht hit them. All Erich could hope for was that the knights would lose themselves in the thrill of slaughter. That when they realised they had been tricked, it would be too late.
‘Now, or never, your grace,’ Erich told the man beside him. Prince Sigdan nodded, but his expression was doubtful as he lifted his hands, the chains wound about them rattling against his armoured chest.
‘Sigmar preserve us,’ Prince Sigdan said.
‘And let’s not be too proud to ask Ranald for some help too,’ joked Baron Thornig. The shaggy Middenlander looked more comfortable in his chainmail and wolfskin cloak than he ever had in his robes of state. His hairy knuckles closed about the haft of an enormous hammer. ‘I still say you should let me have first crack at them.’
Erich laughed at the Middenlander’s impatience. ‘There will still be plenty to go around,’ he promised.
‘Unfortunately,’ observed Duke Konrad, looking somehow incongruous in his battered scale armour with a bright blue felt hat crunched down around his ears. ‘But at least we’ll get inside if this works. Trying to pass off that unwashed Ulrican beast as a Kaiserjaeger wouldn’t get us even that far.’
Baron Thornig’s eyes glittered menacingly. ‘When this is over, we should talk,’ he growled. ‘As Graf Gunthar’s emissary, I’m authorised to negotiate with other provinces.’
‘Enough talk,’ Prince Sigdan declared. ‘Those peasants won’t keep the Kaiserknecht busy for long.’ The reminder didn’t have to be repeated. Four of Prince Sigdan’s retainers, dressed in the armour and livery of the Kaiserjaeger, took hold of the nobleman’s arms. Erich, wearing similar uniform with the addition of a sergeant’s armband, took position at the head of the little procession.
The phoney Kaiserjaeger marched towards the gates of the Imperial Palace, herding the captive Prince Sigdan with them. Under his breath, Erich continued to whisper prayers to Sigmar. Now would be the most dangerous point in their plan.
The Palace Guard lowered their halberds as the men approached, suspicion on their faces. Summoning every ounce of command his voice could muster, Erich growled orders at the threatening guards.
‘We have arrested the traitor named Sigdan for inciting a revolt against His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Boris,’ Erich said. ‘Make way so that we can conduct this malcontent somewhere he will be safe.’
The guards continued to glare suspiciously at Erich. The knight could see one of them glance at a small bronze alarm bell set into the corner of the little watch post.
‘Why do you think those peasants are attacking the Courthouse!’ Erich snarled. ‘They think we’re keeping Sigdan there and they want to free him! Now let us in before they learn their mistake!’ Erich watched uncertainty grow on the faces of the guards. Before the soldiers could ask any questions, he decided to add a final remark to help decide them. ‘If this traitor gets away, I will see to it you answer to Commander Kreyssig.’
The threat worked. The sergeant in command of the gate waved his arms, motioning for the soldiers behind the walls to open the gate. Erich grinned when he saw the sergeant repeat the gesture for the benefit of the troops in the gatehouse. In his haste to get the prisoner inside, the sergeant was forgetting the most basic security. He was opening both gates at once.
‘I will tell the Emperor of your service,’ Erich promised. Then the knight’s armoured fist came smashing into the guard’s jaw, dropping him like a poleaxed ox. Instantly the other supposed Kaiserjaeger were leaping into action, rushing towards the inner gate before the stunned guards in the gatehouse could close it against them. The rest of the troops watching the outer gate were dragged down by the stealthy figures who stole upon them from behind. Soldiers from Duke Konrad’s retinue, these were men who had grown up stalking beastmen through the Drakwald. Sneaking up on the Palace Guard was child’s play to them.
‘Once we gain the inner courtyard we can use Sigismund’s escape tunnel to get into the Palace itself,’ Prince Sigdan said, casting off the chains that had been looped around his hands. Rulers of Altdorf in the long period when the emperor’s court had moved to Nuln, Sigdan’s ancestors had an intimate knowledge of the Imperial Palace from the days when it was under their stewardship. The old escape tunnel had become obsolete when the Palace was expanded beyond its original dimensions, but for some reason the passage had never been filled, simply bricked over. For a man who knew what he was looking for, it would be a simple task to open it up again.
Now that there was no need for subterfuge, the rebels came streaming towards the Palace. Some of them were Bread Marchers, but most were soldiers from the retinues of the conspirators themselves, Reikland swordsmen and Drakwald hunters, hairy axemen from Middenheim and grim halberdiers from Sylvania, archers from Stirland and flamboyantly attired sea-dogs from Westerland. Even a handful of halfling bowmen, Aldo Broadfoot’s contribution to the fight, came rushing along with the rest.
Erich gave the heterogeneous brigade its orders, pointing them towards the gatehouse where Prince Sigdan’s retainers struggled with the Palace Guard. The fake Kaiserjaeger already had the upper hand, but re-inforcements would quickly decide the fight.
‘Now if we can just get the Palace secure before Kreyssig brings his Kaiserjaeger here,’ Palatine Kretzulescu commented, his voice dour.
Baron Thornig clapped the cadaverous Sylvanian on the shoulder. ‘I shouldn’t worry about him. That problem has already been settled.’