Stefan bowed politely in the man’s direction. The answering look he received
was cold, and far from friendly. Stefan had grown used to the welcome they had
received in Sigmarsgeist. It came of something of a shock when he realised that
the comment had been meant as a warning. Before he could reply, Hans Baecker
spoke up, the emotion apparent in his voice.
“They are here as our guests,” he proclaimed. “And, lest we forget, they have
already proven themselves on the field of battle.” He looked around the room
before fastening his gaze upon the man who had spoken. “I see no mischief in any
one of them, only good.”
“That is why you wear the red of Sigmar,” the other said, coldly. “And I wear
the white.”
Stefan stood up, determined that they should not be the cause of any
ill-blood. “It is right and proper to remain vigilant,” he said, in deference to
the first man. “And in truth you know no more of us, than we do of you. But I
swear by almighty Sigmar, we come in friendship, and wish no harm upon any of
your people.”
“You will do no harm,” the man replied, offering Stefan a brief, humourless
smile. “We will see to that.”
Konstantin brought the exchange to a halt with a single, abrupt gesture.
“Enough,” he commanded. “All of us here speak from the heart.
Doubtless, what we
hold in our hearts for us is true.”
Anaise apologised to Stefan and his companions. “Rilke means you no ill,” she
said. “He was chosen for his diligence, not for his manners.”
There was a moment of tense silence which was broken by a gentle laughter,
begun by Konstantin, then spreading through the circle as others took their cue
from their Guide. Finally, and with some reluctance, Rilke himself joined in.
“No offence was intended,” he said gruffly. “I speak my mind, that’s all.”
“No offence is taken,” Stefan assured him. “Candour is a virtue to be valued
like all others.”
Anaise von Augen clapped her hands. “We have spent too long talking,” she
declared. “Sigmarsgeist must be experienced. Words alone cannot do justice to
its glories.” She stood up. “Now that you are fed and rested, you must look upon
our works at first hand.”
“Gladly,” Stefan affirmed.
Konstantin looked to his sister. “Shall I be their guide, sister?”
“Or I?” Baecker asked. “I would be happy to show our friends the glories of
our citadel.”
“No,” Anaise said, firmly. “I’ll take them myself She turned towards Stefan
and the others and smiled, knowingly. That way, I get to have our friends all to
myself for a while.”
For all that, they were not to be entirely alone with Anaise. Two escorts
were assigned to them, one wearing the white of the elite guard, the other the
red of the regular militia. They went to a courtyard facing the palace, where a
carriage and horses waited. “You will want to see what lies within the palace
itself,” Anaise told them. “We’ll finish our tour with that. First, let me show
you our citadel.” She ushered them inside the cabin. The guards joined the
footman up above, and within moments they were away on their journey.
For the next hour or so the carriage took them through the maze of streets
that was Sigmarsgeist. Close up, what from a distance had appeared as a unified
design looked anything but. Some streets were made wide, and ran straight as an
arrow, whilst others were narrow lanes that would suddenly wind back upon
themselves in twisting curves. Similarly the buildings. Many were plain to the
eye, clean but austere, built surely with only function in mind. But more than a few had been built from stone that had been carved with elaborate, often
beautiful shapes or inscribed with tableaux depicting the gods of the Empire, or
Konstantin himself. Stefan didn’t quite know what to make of it. It was as
though the plans for several cities had come together in one. The results were
fascinating, but confusing as well.
But whatever the purpose that lay behind its design, Sigmarsgeist exuded an
undeniable vitality. Every corner of every street, and every building, was
occupied, busy with activity of a particular and purposeful kind. Stefan had
grown used to viewing city life as at best a happy accident—a muddled
confluence of hundreds, sometimes thousands of individuals, with their own
business to follow, their own battles to be won. Life was untidy, wasteful and
noisy, and conflict was inevitable. Sigmarsgeist had no lack of bustle, but the
populace seemed wedded to a single purpose, their labours orchestrated and
meshed together like a well-drilled army. An army of builders.
All across the city, they found teams of men and women labouring amongst the
shells and wooden frames of new buildings. A fine dust hung about the air, and
hardly ever seemed to settle. On the streets, carts and wagons loaded with
timber struts, flint and steel rolled past in an endless procession.
“When will all this work be finished?” Bruno asked. Anaise made a
non-committal gesture, as though the question were one without precise answer.
“Each day brings new converts to the True Faith,” she said. “At the moment it may
only be a few pilgrims, a mere trickle. But when the great conflagration comes,
that trickle may become a flood. We must build now for the future.”
Nowhere was the work more intense than upon the city walls. Already
substantial, the walkways and ramparts were being reinforced and strengthened
and, in places, extended, widening the stout belt around the city. It looked,
Stefan reflected, like a place preparing for a long and difficult siege.
As they travelled through the streets, rows of houses alternating with
shining new foundries and workshops, other differences also became apparent.
Bruno, perhaps still mulling over the plain water they had been given to wash down their
breakfast, was the first to comment on an odd deficiency.
“Do you know,” he said after a while. “We’ve been on the move all this time,
past every manner of dwelling and building, but I don’t think I’ve seen a single
inn or tavern. Are they somehow disguised?”
“Not disguised,” Anaise told him. A look of almost playful reproach crossed
her face. “There are no taverns. The drinking of liquor isn’t encouraged in
Sigmarsgeist. It makes man weak, leaves him open to corruption, and opens doors
to the soul that are better left closed.”
Bruno sat back, aghast at the idea of a world without ale. Stefan looked at
his friend and raised an eyebrow. Anaise leaned forward across the seats of the
carriage, her voice lowered to a whisper. “It’s Konstantin’s thing, really,” she
explained. “His heart is so pure, but that purity brings strictness. He believes
that all of us are vulnerable to the dark powers, and he has ruled against
anything that might sow the seeds of weakness.”
“Even a mug of beer?” Bruno asked, incredulous.
“Even a mug of beer.”
“It’s not such a terrible thing,” Bea commented, slightly stiffly. “Remember
what drink did for the kind burghers of Mielstadt.”
“That’s true,” Stefan said. He caught his friend’s eye and shrugged. “Things
are indeed different here.”
He looked out from the carriage window as they rode past yet another work
party, half a dozen loaded wagons being followed by a gang of workers, marching
two abreast, shepherded on each side by a row of soldiers. Stefan found himself
puzzled by the sight.
“Are those men prisoners?” he asked Anaise. “Why are there so many guards?”
“Prisoners?” she responded. “I wouldn’t have thought so. Perhaps they’re
going to work outside the city walls.” The carriage steered left, bringing it
back onto the main highway that led through the centre of the citadel. “We’ll be
back at the palace in just a little while,” Anaise continued. “That’s
where things get interesting.” She leant forward and pointed out of the
carriage window. “Now, look out here,” she exclaimed. “
Those
are
prisoners.”
She rapped upon the compartment wall, bringing the carriage to a sudden halt.
On the opposite side of the road was a group of about half a dozen, tall,
blond-haired men wearing the tattered remnants of dark armour, some bearing the
insignia of a horned beast. The men shuffled forward slowly in a line, each one
shackled to the next. They were being shepherded by a row of soldiers, swords
drawn at the ready. The prisoners hurled curses at their guards and anyone else
within earshot in a coarse, guttural tongue that was uncomfortably familiar to
Stefan.
“Who are they?” Bea asked.
“Wait a moment,” Anaise replied. She opened the carriage window and leant
out, exchanging a few words with the men seated above. The coachman descended
and went to speak with the guard escorting the prisoners. After a brief
conversation he returned to the carriage and reported to Anaise.
“Norscans,” she explained. “A party of marauders found wandering a day or so
ago on the eastern plains. Doubtless they’ve come from Kislev—part of the
Chaos army that you helped destroy. If so,” she concluded, “their days of
mischief are now at an end.”
Bea watched the bruised and bloodied faces of the captives. A look of pity
mixed with disgust passed across her face. “What will happen to them?”
“That depends,” Anaise said. “The strongest will be put to work upon the walls.
Or the quarries or the mines beyond the walls, if we think they’re capable of
it. Others—well…”
As Stefan looked from the window, one of the prisoners turned towards the
carriage, and their eyes briefly met. The Norscan stared at Stefan with a
disdainful loathing. The man’s lips moved in an inaudible curse, and he hawked a
gobbet of blood-flecked phlegm upon the ground.
“There were certainly Norscans at Erengrad,” Stefan confirmed, turning away
“Kin to the same marauders who plundered my village when I was a boy. I know
only too well what they’re capable of.”
“Don’t worry,” Anaise assured him. These will make full atonement for their
sins before we’re done with them. Now-' She rapped again upon the pane behind
her. “Let’s away. There’s plenty yet that you must see.”
The carriage swung back into the square where their tour had begun, passing
through the guarded outer wall that led to the palace. Without waiting for their
escorts, Anaise climbed out and began walking towards a set of double doors set
to one side of the main gate into the palace. Bruno helped Bea down, and with
Stefan they followed their host across the courtyard, the two escorts a discreet
distance behind. Anaise flung wide the door on one side to reveal a set of
gates, locked and barred. The guard in white now stepped forward, bearing a set
of keys, one of which he inserted in the lock. The other guard approached with a
second key, and repeated the procedure. The heavy gate swung open and a gust of
air wafted out, bearing with it a smell of antiquity reminiscent of an ancient
place of worship.
“We’re about to enter the oldest part of the city,” Anaise told them. The
only part which remains from the time-' She broke off, a look of concern
clouding her features. She strode forward and caught hold of Bea just as the
girl was about to topple.
“What’s the matter?” she asked Bea. “Are you sick?” she motioned to a guard.
“Fetch her some water.”
“No, there’s no need,” Bea assured her. She steadied herself for a moment,
leaning into Anaise for support. “Give me a moment. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Stefan asked. Bruno placed a protective arm upon Bea’s
shoulder. “We’ve done too much travelling. You need more rest.”
“No, really,” Bea insisted. She took a deep breath, and wiped her brow.
Anaise was studying her intently.
“What could have brought on such a thing?”
“It’s nothing, really,” Bea replied at last. “Or, rather, it’s not nothing.
Just—”
“Go on.”
“I felt it even as we were standing on the hillside, looking down upon the
citadel,” Bea explained. “An energy—a great, powerful energy.” She looked around at Stefan and the others. “More than
that,” she went on, sounding faintly embarrassed now. “It felt like it was
calling to me, as though I was meant to be here. I thought at first it was my
imagination. But I felt it again here just now. Only this time it was much
stronger—almost overwhelming.”
Anaise turned Bea gently, and led her towards the open gates. “I’m sure this
was no imagining on your part,” she said, quietly. “I’m sure that you are, truly
meant to be with us here. Come,” she said, ushering them on. “Come, all of you.
See what lies at the very heart of Sigmarsgeist.”
Bruno helped Bea through the portal into the darkened interior of a small
antechamber. There they waited whilst one of the guards brought a lamp, then
followed in single file behind Anaise, down a spiral stairway that corkscrewed
deep below ground. Something was different here: in the faint, musty odour that
hung upon the air, in the very fabric of the building that they were inside.
From the condition of the walls, and the stairway under their feet, it was clear
that part of the building was newly made, and some of it was quite old. New
brick and mortar were fused with older, mould-encrusted stone, in such a way
that it was impossible to say where one became the other. Much of the walls was
decorated with runes carved into the stone. Most were so worn away with age,
they were impossible to read.
“It was important we kept some link with the age gone by,” Anaise commented.
“Down here our bright future meets with the shadows of our past.”
“Then these are the remains of the city that was here before,” Bea said.
“Before Sigmarsgeist?”
“A city, or perhaps cities,” Anaise replied. “There may have been many.”
“What was its name?” Stefan asked. “The place that stood here before.”
“No one knows—there have been settlements here since before the time of
men.” She turned and smiled at Stefan. “There were only dead ruins here when we
came to lay the foundations for Sigmarsgeist.”
“And when was that?” Stefan asked her. “When did that labour begin?”