“No, no,” he insisted. “We do not rule. Here in Sigmarsgeist we have moved
beyond the crude rudiments of rule and servitude.” He looked to his sister. “The
title of Guide is carefully chosen. We provide guidance to the people of this
citadel: spiritual, moral, practical guidance. If the people follow that lead,
then it is through choice.”
“Choice,” Anaise concurred, “and a shared view of the troubled world we walk
upon.”
“I beg your pardon,” Stefan demurred. “I see there is much we have to learn
about your city.”
“There is, and you shall,” Konstantin agreed. “But first, we would learn a
little of you, if you have no objection.”
“Of course.” Stefan’s heart told him to be as open with his hosts as
possible, yet his head told him there were aspects of their recent history that
he should hold back yet a while. He would see; something told him that
Konstantin and his sister had already guessed at much of their tale.
“You have been in Kislev,” Konstantin began. “Perhaps you were at Erengrad?”
“We were,” Stefan confirmed. “We fought with the army of men led by Gastez
Castelguerre.” A ripple of conversation spread across the room in response to
Stefan’s words. Remote the citadel might have been, but it was clear that news
of the battle in the east had reached Sigmarsgeist.
“The army that denied the Dark Ones in their assault upon the city?”
“Yes.”
Konstantin nodded, approvingly. “And now Erengrad is made whole again,” he
said. “A new alliance is forged between the great families that would rule that
mighty city.”
“We had a part in that, too,” Bruno added, before Stefan could consider his
response. “It was Stefan and I—amongst others—who returned the daughter of
one family, safely home from exile.”
“Truly?” Konstantin’s eyebrows arched in surprise, his calm countenance broken
for a moment. “Then you are due honour indeed.” He conferred briefly with his
sister. Stefan heard the word “Altdorf” repeated, together with other cities
within the Empire. “But tell me,” he went on, “if you are now on your way back
to Altdorf, how did your journey bring you here? By my calculation, your road
should have taken you due south from Kislev, along the trading route that runs
to the city of the White Wolf?”
Stefan hesitated. This was the part that instinct would have had him hold
back, the purpose behind their quest since quitting Erengrad. But, then again,
he could think of no good reason why now he should not be candid. They shared a
common cause, he reminded himself. More than that, it was surely not beyond
possibility that the men of Sigmarsgeist would choose to aid them in their
search for Zucharov.
“If we were bound for Altdorf our road would indeed have been for
Middenheim,” he conceded. “But we cannot go home yet. We fear that one of our
closest comrades may have been taken at Erengrad.”
“Taken?” Anaise queried. “You mean killed?”
“We believe he still lives,” Bruno said. “Lives, but only so far as a man can
be said to live when tainted with the poison of Chaos.”
His words sparked further animated conversation around the circle. Konstantin
called for silence, and cupped his head in his hands in contemplation. “Like
you, I would be disquieted at such news,” he said. “But to come this far for one
man? The world is large, and—as I’m sure you need no reminding—there is much
evil to be found. Why this man?”
“This is—or was—no ordinary man,” Stefan told him. “Alexei Zucharov was a
formidable fighter in his mortal life. A man seized with an unquenchable fire
for battle, for struggle. We greatly fear that Chaos will only have added to
that power, and have turned it way from light, towards the darkness.” He paused,
deep in thoughts of his own. “Besides, Alexei was a comrade, a brother of the
sword. I have a debt to discharge, a debt to the man I once knew.”
“So, your search can only end in ultimate resolution, for you or for the man
who was once your friend.” Konstantin observed. His sister peered intently at
Stefan.
“You are a driven man, Stefan Kumansky,” she concluded. “You see what others
often will not see. You have decided you will not rest while there is evil upon
the face of this world.”
Stefan said nothing for a moment. The feeling that Anaise von Augen had so
easily captured the very essence of him was far from comfortable, but he could
not disagree.
“It never seemed like a choice to me.”
Anaise rose to her feet. “A noble tale,” she exclaimed. Her face was flushed,
her voice strident and enthusiastic. “Your cause is just and valiant, and it is
your valour that has brought you here to us.”
“The same valour may take us from here before long,” Stefan observed,
cautiously. “We cannot relinquish our search for more than a day or two.”
“Of course, of course,” Konstantin concurred. “But you must remain with us a
while yet, draw strength and such provisions as we can offer. Then you can ride
on with full belly and good heart. Will you consent to rest with us at least
until the halving of the moons?”
“Enough talk for now, brother!” Anaise chided, resuming her place. “Time to
tell our guests something of the history of our citadel. I assure you,” she
added, turning to Stefan, “it is a history worth hearing.”
Konstantin von Augen smiled, and took his sister’s hand. He laughed, a soft,
gentle sound. “As ever, you guide your errant brother back upon the just course,”
he said. “Apologies, dear friends. I had not meant to cause offence, nor
press you unduly concerning the length of your stay with us.”
“No offence taken,” Stefan assured him. The halving of the moons was little
more than three nights distant. Whilst they had no trail to pursue, nor any lead
remaining that they might follow, it hardly seemed like time wasted to stay that
long in a place such as Sigmarsgeist.
He glanced at Bruno, and read the assent in his comrade’s eyes. “We would be
honoured to accept your hospitality until the halving night,” he said.
Konstantin clapped his hands together, firmly. “Then let us all here break
fast together,” he declared. “For there are few stories told that do not sit
better upon a full stomach.”
They breakfasted on bread, fruit and cheese, and drank from flagons of water.
Whilst they ate, Konstantin and Anaise recounted their history to Stefan and his
two companions.
“We know your lands well enough,” Konstantin informed them. “Though it is—how long?”
“Ten full years,” his sister supplied.
“Ten years,” Konstantin continued, “since we began our pilgrimage from those
lands.”
“Where in the Empire are you from?” Stefan asked them.
“Middenheim, Nuln, Altdorf, we have known most of the great cities,” Anaise
replied. “And many other places in between. But none of them could we call
home.”
“You see,” Konstantin went on, “we became refugees in our own land. My sister
and I, and others like us. There were few enough of us at first, but, over time
we grew steadily in number.”
“We grew in number until we decided the time had come to go in search of a
place where we could build ourselves a home,” Anaise explained. “A place where we
could live in peace, free of persecution.”
“A place where we could devote all our energies to our greater purpose,”
Konstantin added, eyeing the newcomers carefully.
“And what was that purpose?” Bea asked. “What cause could sustain you across
all those hundreds of miles, then make you to build a city like this?”
“Knowledge,” Anaise replied. “Knowledge, and our fears for the dark times to
come.”
“Understand this,” Konstantin interjected. “Sigmarsgeist is a place of
purity, of devotion to the ideals enshrined by our ancestor and emperor. But it
is also a fortress ready to stand against all the dark might of Chaos.”
Stefan sat, absorbing the words. It was not often that he heard the name of
the dark powers spoken so openly. Nor had he known a people whose whole purpose
seemed so defined by the existence of evil. The revelation thrilled and troubled
him in equal measure. In the end it was Bruno who voiced the doubts in Stefan’s
mind.
“But, surely,” he insisted, “the threat from Chaos has been overcome? You
cannot tell me the battle for Erengrad was for nothing.”
“It was not,” Konstantin agreed. “And yet Chaos is far from overcome.” He
picked a piece of fruit from the bowl at his feet and began to eat slowly,
methodically. “Erengrad was an important victory, and your part in that victory
will surely stand amongst the great deeds of history. But the war in Kislev was
a beginning, not an end, and Erengrad but a single piece in the larger design
yet to unfold.”
“The larger design?” Stefan asked. He much feared he would not like the answer
he would hear. The Guide looked up, scrutinising each of their faces in turn.
“The larger design is absolute, all-engulfing war,” he said solemnly. “War
that will sweep like a black tide across the face of the known world. At its
centre will be the Empire, the prize coveted above all prizes by the Dark Gods.
It will be a conflagration set against which the wars in Kislev will seem like
nothing but a minor skirmish. A rehearsal for a tragedy the like of which
mankind has only imagined in its worst nightmares.” He paused, letting the heavy
silence settle upon the chamber. “Unless we art now, it will be the final enactment of our
existence.”
Bruno reached for his cup, then set it to the ground without drinking. “Then
victory in Erengrad-”
“Bought us time, no more, no less. But the powers of Chaos will have learned
lessons from their grievous wounds. When they return, they will be stronger,
more cunning, and more cruel than ever before.”
Stefan reflected upon the Guides’ words. The vision that they conjured
appalled him. But in truth, it only accorded with what in his heart he knew to
be true. That all life would become struggle; that the battle between light and
dark would only intensify, not diminish. He had been born to sustain that
struggle, to ensure that there would be another dawn to fight for, and another
after that.
Even this did not fully explain the existence of Sigmarsgeist. He looked from
Konstantin to his sister Anaise.
“I share your fears for the world. But would not your cause—and the cause
of all mankind—be better served by bringing the swords of your men to bear in
the service of Middenheim, or Talabheim, or any of the great cities you have
named? If what you say is true, then they will have grave need before long.”
“We would do so gladly,” Anaise replied, “were the rulers of those cities not
blind to all reason.”
“The Empire has seen clear warning of the dark flood to come,” Konstantin
said, gravely. “Seen the warning, and chosen to ignore it. When I look upon my
former homeland, I see a land that has become lazy and corrupt. Too busy with
its own conceits to see the mortal danger now facing it. We here are pledged to
defend the inheritance of our mighty Sigmar. To defend it, if necessary, by
building the world anew after the dark tide has finally ebbed.”
“But surely,” Bruno protested, “all true men are loyal to the memory of our
great Emperor?”
“No!” Konstantin thundered. “Not all, not by any means. Look anywhere, and
you will see decadence, indifference and self-obsession. Mark my words, the
Empire will not waken to the threat until it is too late.” He paused, his face reddened with
anger. “I take no pleasure in this,” he declared, “but I must speak what I know
to be true. You are honest men. Can you say otherwise?”
Stefan hesitated. Dearly as he might want to contradict this bleak vision, in
all honesty, he could not. He himself had grown used to being branded a madman
or a fool, a zealot who saw evil lurking where others saw none. He understood
exactly what the Guides meant, and he feared for the peril that the world might
face.
“Do not misunderstand,” Anaise continued, her soft tone a contrast to her
brother’s. “When the time comes, we will help our brothers and sisters in the
Empire in any way we can. But we will not trust our survival to complacent,
bloated leaders who might choose to look the other way. In building
Sigmarsgeist, we have taken our destiny into our own hands.”
“Not completely, surely,” Stefan interjected, thinking of a comment Bea had
made. “Don’t you still trade with the world outside?”
“True, for the moment,” Konstantin conceded. “Sigmarsgeist is growing faster
than we have capacity to feed ourselves. So, yes, we trade with the nearer
villages.”
“We take whatever we cannot produce ourselves,” Anaise added. “Water,
particularly, is scarce here.”
“But take against what?” Bruno asked. “What do you offer in return?”
“Our strength,” Anaise replied, matter-of-factly. “
We
can protect them
from the dark hordes that prey upon them. At least,” she added, “as far as they
will allow us to protect them.”
“Remember, not all see the struggle between dark and light as starkly as we,”
Konstantin reminded them. “I regret we are not welcome everywhere, however good
our intentions.”
His voice trailed away, lost in contemplation. Anaise continued the story.
“In time Sigmarsgeist will become our fortress,” she told them. “Our great ship,
upon which we shall ride out the turbulent seas of change soon to afflict us
all. We are the True Faith of Sigmar.” She spread her arms wide, towards the
sentries standing guard upon the chamber.
“These are his soldiers. Their tunics are the red of Sigmar’s blood.”
Anaise indicated the smaller group of men sitting with them in the circle.
“Those gathered around you are from our elite inner guard,” she explained. “The
white that they wear signifies the purity of their faith.”
The dozen or so white-clad men had so far sat silent, but one now turned
towards Stefan and addressed him directly “Our purpose is to protect the
Guides,” he said. “Protect them from all danger.”