CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Until the previous week, Konrad had paid little attention to whatever sword he carried. It was simply a weapon, and it was of no consequence how it had been made or where it came from. He had possessed many blades, but the only thing that mattered was whether they served their required function.

After what he had seen recently, he would view even the lowliest of daggers with respect. It, too, had once been a piece of shapeless metal, given form by the skills of a village blacksmith. And long before that, the metal had been a lump of ore, dug out of the ground and refined and made into ingots. Konrad had some knowledge of that kind of process, having seen the way that gold was produced at the mine in Kislev.

He thought about the five metals which had gone to make up his new sword, and he wondered where they had been originally mined. Had each come from a different region of the world, brought from distant continents and across vast oceans so they could be welded into one blade?

On the frontier, metals from broken weapons were often melted down and used again. But the blades of defeated Chaos renegades were never used, because they would corrupt any untainted metal, causing it to corrode and rust very swiftly. All kinds of metal were precious, and it seemed likely that some of the materials which Barra had fabricated into the new sword had once formed part of other weapons, weapons used by warriors in far-off lands who had fought in ancient battles. The men who had carried such blades were long gone, nothing but dust, and yet their weapons had been reincarnated in Konrad’s exquisite sword.

And some day, long after Konrad was dead and forgotten, his own blade would have become part of a whole armoury of weapons carried by a legion of tomorrow’s fighting men: spears and axes, lances and swords, knives and arrowheads.

All Konrad could hope was that such a time was very distant, and that his new blade would postpone the final day when he must inevitably fall in battle.

As he gazed up the River Reik, however, he realized that the voyage was bringing that day closer and closer. He was convinced that Skullface and Elyssa were still in Altdorf. As if he still had the gift of premonition, he knew that he would meet up with them both once he reached the Imperial capital. He also knew that he would not survive his confrontation with Skullface. But this encounter was what his whole life had been leading up to, and he could no more prevent himself from completing the voyage than he could have made himself stop breathing.

Konrad spent as much time as possible on deck, because he felt too confined if he remained below. His hand was on the pommel of his blade as he glanced up at the sails of the pirate vessel.

Just as he had never given any thought to how a sword was made, neither until now had he considered how a ship could sail upriver, against the flow of the water and also against the wind.

His first boat ride had been along the River Lynsk, upstream from Erengrad to Praag, and Konrad had paid very little attention to the ship and how it operated. He was too interested in watching the new land through which he was passing. Now, however, he was studying the vessel all the time, because that was preferable to considering what lay ahead once he reached Altdorf.

Wolf had arranged for two corsairs to sail towards the Imperial capital, persuading them that the city was vulnerable to assault because the army had been so depleted by the number of troops who had been sent to defend the Kislev frontier. He had also convinced the pirate chiefs that he was the only person who could unlock the secret of the city’s untold wealth. Each ship was an ordinary merchant vessel, but its cargo was far from ordinary. The lower decks were packed with ruthless desperadoes, men whose whole life was devoted to death and destruction, to attacking helpless ships and looting their cargoes. They normally had two enemies, the craft they attacked and also the ocean. The sea could be a more implacable and dangerous opponent than the pirates themselves, but upon the Reik they had no such enemy with which to contend.

Instead, they were hidden beneath the hatches, kept quiet by uncounted barrels of ale, and whatever amusements they themselves had brought on board. They were not very quiet, however. Only at night were they allowed on deck, when the two vessels had tied up during the hours of darkness.

The ships stayed far apart, as if they were unconnected. Wolf’s plan was that the first vessel should enter Altdorf and tie up at one of the port’s many berths. The second would then show its true colours, reveal the guns which had been disguised as deck cargo, and begin firing upon the capital. The cannon had been transferred on board from the fast ocean-going ships in which the pirates usually set sail; they were huge, cast from solid metal and decorated with dragons and strange hieroglyphics. They had been built in Cathay, and the gunners were also from that fabled continent. Both ships were crewed by men from all over the world.

The cannon attack would be a diversion, during which the pirates on board the first vessel would begin their assault from within the city walls. Or that was what Wolf had told the pirates…

He and Konrad, Litzenreich and Ustnar, were on board the first of the two ships. Marienburg was very lax in its regulations, and the vessel had weighed anchor and sailed upstream without being inspected. There were a number of places on the Reik where it halted under the shadow of a fortress and was made to pay river dues. The fees payable depended upon the cargo being carried, but the majority of customs officials preferred to negotiate without having to board the vessels they should have examined. They were used to dealing with smugglers, and as long as their own personal charges were met they were happy to impose arbitrary official rates.

The Reik was the most important river in the Empire, in all of the Old World. Its headwaters lay far to the south-east, within the World’s Edge Mountains. One of its sources was a spring in Black Fire Pass, which according to legend had originally bubbled to the surface when Sigmar first set down Ghal-maraz after his triumphant victory over the goblins.

This made the Reik the longest of all rivers, and it also carried the greatest number of vessels, craft of every type and dimension. So wide and so deep were its waters that ocean-going ships could navigate as far as the capital. Even the tallest of masts did not need to be lowered to pass beneath bridges, because every bridge on the river had a central section which could either be raised or swung aside to permit passage.

The pirate ship made its way slowly upstream, past the villages and towns which had grown up on the banks of the great river. All of them must have been tempting targets for the raiders, despite the brooding castles which stood high on the outcropping rocks above each centre of habitation. They passed isolated farmsteads, lonely windmills, terraced fields where vines grew, and mile after mile of impenetrable forest. The river was seldom straight for very long, was always twisting between high valleys or meandering across fertile pasture, and all the time it carried the vessel closer to Altdorf.

The days passed, and the nights, and Konrad was glad that his sword seemed so ordinary. Any one of the pirates would have slain him for his blade, even though they were meant to be allies. They must all have killed for far less, and the same was true of their officers. Konrad seldom saw the captain of the ship; it was the first officer who handled all the daily routine.

He came from the Estalian Kingdoms, and he gave his name as Guido. He said he could not reveal his family name, because he was of royal blood and preferred to hide his identity. The best way to have hidden it, thought Konrad, was not to admit that one was trying to do so.

“I ran away to sea,” said Guido, “and now I’m surrounded by land. It makes me ill looking at it, the way it keeps still all the time.”

Guido was about thirty years old, of medium height but slender build, and he was far removed from Konrad’s idea of a pirate. He was cultured and educated, and perhaps really was of high birth. Always dressed in the finest of clothes, which he changed every day, the others on board the ship obeyed his every order with utmost alacrity. His authority came from his position, not his physical strength. The only time there had been any trouble on board was when a topsail was not rigged to Guido’s satisfaction. The two men responsible were immediately flogged, and Guido watched while the cabin boy gave him his regular morning shave. Even Captain de Tevoir treated his first officer with respect, almost as if it were Guido who were the ship’s master.

“My ancestors were bandits and brigands,” said Guido. “They carved out a slice of Estalia hundreds of years ago, and established themselves as rulers. But there was no place for me there. My eldest brother inherited the throne from my father before I was even born. It was lucky he let me survive. Lucky for me, but not for him. One day I’ll return, depose Alphonso and seize my father’s kingdom for myself.” He shrugged. “If I can ever be bothered going back to that dump.”

He watched as a sailing barge passed slowly by, heading downstream. His gaze was predatory, and he must have wished that he could drop his vessel’s masquerade and loot the passing vessel.

At first, Konrad tried to avoid Guido. He did not want to have too many dealings with a man he would have to betray, and perhaps even kill. But it was difficult to stay far away on the deck of such a small ship, and they began to spend more and more time in each other’s company. Guido loaned him books, histories the like of which Konrad had never imagined.

It took a while for him to realize that he had been reading mere fables, invented tales whose resemblance to actual events was very remote. Once he discovered this, and knew that he did not have to study the books as diligently as all the others he had previously read, he enjoyed the improbable adventures considerably. And Guido’s own tales were almost as wildly spectacular as those which Konrad had read.

In the years since he had left his native village, Konrad had travelled from one side of the Empire to the other, and even beyond. But Guido had travelled from one end of the world, completely circumnavigating the globe, before returning to where he had begun.

Konrad had no idea how much was true, or how much of what Guido related had actually happened to the pirate himself, but he was fascinated by the tales of all the different lands and the people and creatures who dwelled there.

“I’ve been everywhere,” Guido said, “seen every kind of person—and killed every kind!” He drew his finger across his throat as he spoke, smiling grimly.

It was only on such occasions that Konrad recalled who he was dealing with: a cold-blooded killer, someone who would murder a helpless baby without hesitation. That was Guido’s life—to kill and to plunder—and that was why he and his ship were heading towards Altdorf. He was after the richest prize in the Old World, the Imperial capital itself. It was of no consequence how many had to suffer or die so long as Guido and his comrades showed a profit from their marauding voyage.

They passed safely beyond Carroburg, where the River Bogen flowed into the Reik, and finally came to a halt some twenty miles upstream from the capital, between the villages of Rottefach and Walfen.

“It’s time for us to go ashore,” Wolf told the captain. “We must go ahead and reconnoitre.”

For almost the first time since leaving Marienburg, all three of Konrad’s companions were on deck together. Many of the crew were aloft in the rigging, furling the sails; others were securing the vessel to the riverbank.

“But of course,” agreed de Tevoir. “You’ll get horses in the next village?”

“Yes.”

“You will only need two.”

“Two?” said Wolf, and a moment later his hand was on the hilt of his black sword.

Konrad reacted simultaneously, as he also realized what the captain meant, and he began to draw his new blade for the first time. But neither of them was fast enough, and in moments they were ensnared by the ropes which had been dropped down onto them by the sailors on the spars above. Litzenreich and Ustnar were also caught, although the dwarf was able to tear his way through the first coils which looped around him. Before he could swing his axe, however, he was clubbed senseless and fell to the deck.

“Two horses,” said Captain de Tevoir. “One for you, one for him.” He gestured towards Litzenreich. “Be back here by dawn, or else these two die.”

It was almost noon, and Konrad turned as he saw another vessel rounding the bend downstream. He recognized the second pirate ship. They were joining up for the first time since leaving port.

“That isn’t enough time,” said Wolf.

“Dawn,” de Tevoir repeated. “Both of you be back here by then, or—”

“We’ll be back,” agreed Wolf, and he looked at Konrad.

“And by then you’ll have fixed it so we can all sail peacefully into Altdorf together.”

“Naturally” said Wolf, as though that had been his intention from the very start.

The captain gave a command, and the mercenary and the magician were released from the ropes which had trapped them.

“If you’re not here,” added de Tevoir, “we’re still sailing upstream—only there won’t be as many of us on board.” He used his cutlass to indicate his captives, in case Wolf was unsure who he meant.

Konrad struggled against his bonds, but to no avail. Instead he was seized and bound more tightly, tied upright against the mainmast. His belt was unbuckled, his new sword taken away. He had never had a chance to draw the blade, never fought in combat, never shed enemy blood.

Guido leaned on the bulwark, watching as Wolf and Litzenreich departed. He turned around as Ustnar was hauled to his feet and securely lashed to the same mast as Konrad. They stood back to back, and the first officer walked slowly across the deck to stand in front of Konrad. He held out his hand, and one of the pirates handed him Konrad’s sword belt.

“If it was me,” he said, “I wouldn’t come back.”

“They aren’t you,” said Konrad.

“No, but you think they’ll come back?”

Konrad said nothing.

“Would you?” asked Guido.

“Yes.”

Guido nodded slowly. “You probably would; Wolf probably would; the sorcerer wouldn’t.”

That was what had been bothering Konrad. Litzenreich thought only of himself. He would not return, not even to help Ustnar. Even if he were not in danger, Litzenreich would do nothing that was not in his own interest. And returning to the pirate vessel could certainly be excluded from that category.

“But they both must return,” said Guido, turning his head towards the south-east, towards Altdorf. He glanced at the weapon he was carrying, took hold of the scabbard in his left hand and the hilt in his right, then began slowly drawing the blade from its oiled sheath.

“Nice,” he said. “Very nice indeed.”

“If it was up to me,” said Guido, that afternoon, “I’d untie you, Konrad. But I have to follow orders. And I suppose you wouldn’t want to be unbound if the dwarf was kept tied. I could trust you, but not him. You see my dilemma—and yours?”

“Just shut up, will you?” said Konrad, angrily.

“It annoys you, does it, my talking? In that case, I’ll keep on talking.”

Konrad felt very weary, and his limbs were stiff. He had been expertly tied; he could hardly move, yet the ropes did not cut excessively into his flesh or impede the circulation of his blood.

“We aren’t stupid,” Guido continued, “or at least some of us aren’t. Did you really think we would let all of you leave? In our business, we often take hostages. Some people are too valuable to kill, and they can be held for ransom.

“How much are you worth, Konrad? Is there anyone who would pay for your freedom? No? It’s the same with me. We are so alike, you and I. We both have only one name, although I doubt somehow that you are of noble blood. And speaking of blood, it seems that you will soon be losing a great deal of yours. As well as your life, of course. Have you ever thought much about blood, Konrad? Why do we have it, I wonder? What is it for?”

Guido paused, as if considering the nature of blood, then said, “Would you like me to read to you, Konrad? Would you like to hear a fabulous tale of distant Lustria?”

“No.”

“A story of what once happened to an unfortunate wastrel in Naggaroth?”

“No.”

“What about one of my own adventures in Araby?”

“No!”

“There’s no pleasing some people.” Guido sighed, but he was becoming more amused at Konrad’s irritation. “One day, you realize, I will be telling of how I took part in the sack of Altdorf. It will go down in history. Such a pity you won’t see the great event. You will be there, let me assure you, tied to one of the yardarms. Captain de Tevoir thinks that the bodies of his most recent victims bring the ship good luck. I wonder how he will have you killed?”

Konrad bit his lower lip, forcing himself not to respond.

“I think it should be with your own sword. Quite appropriate, and poetic, don’t you think? I’d consider it an honour to execute you, Konrad. And, believe me, it would be done swiftly and as painlessly as possible.”

Konrad bit even harder, tasting blood. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes. Would he be the first human victim of the magnificent blade which had been made especially for him?

“But what about the dwarf? What should I do with him? Cut off his head with his axe?”

“Why don’t you shove your own head up your arse?” grunted Ustnar, speaking for the first time since his capture. “That’s where your mouth already is.”

“We could do that with your ugly head,” said Guido. “Would that be your dying wish?”

“Go mutate!” growled Ustnar.

“Perhaps we could hold a contest between the two of you,” Guido suggested. “You fight each other. That would produce one of your deaths. The crew love to watch such duels, it saves them having to fight each other. Human against dwarf, sword against axe. You could use each other’s weapon. Perhaps I should suggest that to de Tevoir.”

“You seem very certain that Wolf and Litzenreich won’t return,” said Konrad—although he felt almost certain himself.

“I know they won’t return,” said Guido. “Ah well, I can’t stand around talking all day. Unlike you two, I have work to do.”

The rest of the day passed by slowly. It seemed to Konrad that there were fewer boats on the river than usual, but he could have been imagining it. He kept imagining all kinds of things—that a war fleet from Altdorf was about to attack the pirate ships, while an army battalion did the same from the shore; that Wolf and Litzenreich would return to rescue him and Ustnar.

But nothing happened. The ships lay quietly against the side of the river, their timbers creaking as they rocked gently back and forth.

On board, the crew sharpened their swords and their knives, making ready for their impending assault on the greatest city of the Old World.

Night fell, and with the darkness came the cold. Mannslieb rose to the east, but never climbed far above the horizon, setting a few hours later.

Morrslieb made no appearance. Konrad would have welcomed the lesser moon, despite its spectral light. No lanterns had been lit on deck, the two ships blending in with the night. He gazed up at the stars, unable to sleep, not wishing to sleep, and wondered if he would live to see another dawn.

He woke to the sound of soft footsteps on the deck, at first angry that he had fallen asleep, then on edge because of what he had heard. The sky was still black, without any hint of impending sunrise. They could not be coming for him yet, he realized, and he had detected only one pair of footsteps.

There were two guards positioned nearby, and it was not they who were moving. The sound was so faint that it seemed neither of them had heard it. Perhaps they had also fallen asleep. Konrad listened as the first sailor was killed. It was done so expertly that the second crewman knew nothing about it. Then once again came the sound of a blade slicing through a throat, and another body crumpled onto the deck.

Konrad felt the ropes which held him being cut, and he turned, trying to see Wolf’s face.

“Let’s get out of here,” a familiar voice whispered to him and Ustnar.

It was familiar, but it was not Wolf—it was Guido.

This was not a time for questions, and he and the dwarf followed the dim shape of the first officer as he led them to one side of the ship, down a rope ladder and into the small boat waiting for them. Guido took the oars and began rowing upstream. They made their way slowly against the current, away from the two corsairs, and towards Altdorf. Guido rowed for an hour, by which time the sky had begun to redden above the hills in the east. He turned the boat towards the south bank of the river, running it onto the mud.

“Here,” he said, shipping the oars and then reaching behind him. He produced Konrad’s sword and Ustnar’s axe.

Konrad stood up and buckled on his sword belt; Ustnar gazed at Guido, then slung the axe across his back; and the three of them climbed from the boat and dragged it ashore, hiding the frail craft in the thick foliage a few yards from the river bank.

“What’s going on?” asked Konrad.

“Wolf recruited me in Marienburg,” said Guido. “He knew that de Tevoir would never allow you all to leave. It was my job to get anyone who was left off the ship.”

“What’s in it for you?” asked Ustnar, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I think it may be healthier to be on land than on board ship today, and also far more profitable.”

It seemed Guido still believed that it was Wolf’s intention to raid the Imperial treasury—and maybe, thought Konrad, it was…

“Wolf and Litzenreich are waiting for us in Altdorf,” said Guido, “but the two ships will reach the city first. By the time we get there, it should be quite lively.”