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Vorgeheim -22-2493
Upon entering Kislev, the city struck me as stranger than I had expected. Merchants from across the world thronged every street. Workshops and artisans labored without pause, forging weapons and gear for the Tsar's endless wars to reclaim Kislev from Chaos and the plagues that scourge these lands.
The trade was startling for a land considered so backward. Truth was, you could sell a Kislevite a third-rate sword as though it were the finest blade in the world. Desperation has no price.
In the city's heart, the divide between the Gospodar and the Ungols was plain. The former enjoyed greater prosperity; the latter lived rougher lives, clad in furs and heavy hides. Now and again, one of them tried to look the part of the other.
As we moved, every gaze turned to my retinue. The faint gleam of my runic armor drew eyes; most of these people had never seen dawi craft before. To them it must have seemed near sorcery.
We reached the palace—or what remained of it. Much was still in ruin, scaffolds and stone blocks showing the work had only just begun.
"Here stood the Gospodarin Palace, seat of Tsars past," Boris said, gesturing at the half-built walls. "Chaos cast it down in the Great War. Now we raise it anew."
"The Great War was two centuries ago," I said, lifting a brow. "You're only rebuilding it now?"
"There was no gold, nor men enough, son-in-law," the Tsar replied. "My father spent his life taking back Kislev's lands, not raising monuments. He fought beasts and horrors, not broken walls. But before he died, he left us wealth and ground secure. I will use that legacy as it must be used. Boyars heed no Tsar without a palace. If I would have their respect, I must have these walls."
"I see. Let's just hope those boyars don't turn troublesome this year, or we'll be back where we started," I answered as the gates opened.
We entered the great hall, one of the few chambers already finished. Boyars and Ice Witches stood silent, eyes fixed on us.
"First, we speak in private," Boris said, pushing past his guards as he strode to a rear chamber. "No proclamations until deals are sealed."
I nodded, muttering under my breath, "And that's why I hate these halls."
Inside, Boris sat heavily in a high-backed chair. Katarin took another beside him.
"Sit," the Tsar said. "Tell me—how fared your campaign?"
"Good enough. The Reikwald is cleared of beastmen. Villages and roads are safe, except for bandits—Reiksguard work, not mine. We smashed greenskin hordes and took cities in the Border Princes, securing some trade routes."
"That is well," Boris replied. "Then you are free to aid Kislev without excuse."
"Yes. I can stay a couple of months before I have to return to Altdorf. I've matters with the Grand Theogonist and the Supreme Patriarch—licenses of magic use for your daughter, and for myself."
"For yourself?" the Tsar said, his voice sharpening.
"He is a wizard," Katarin said, her tone steady, cold. "And strong."
Boris's eyes widened as he fixed his stare on me.
"A wizard… that will bring trouble. Men here do not practice magic. The Ice Witches forbid it. They will treat you as enemy," he said.
"They can call it what they like," I replied. "If they want conflict, the Cult of Sigmar will answer, and nobody here wants that. My wind is Chamon, the lore of metal—not ice. They've nothing to fear from me." I bent a fragment of iron from the chair in my hand.
"Chamon," Boris said. "I have heard of such—those who rot armor, turn steel to lead?"
"Something like that," I said.
"Then as long as you are useful, it is enough. What matters is this: Chaos was beaten, but their holds remain. I would have struck them this year, but I burned out the goblin tribes in the Forest of Shadows first. Finished what my father left undone."
"And did you burn the woods after?" I asked. "If not, spores will return. Reduce it all to ash, or you'll face it again in a few years."
Boris frowned, then looked to his daughter.
"Albrecht burns what greenskins touch," Katarin said coolly. "He must have his reasons."
"It is dawi knowledge," I explained. "Orcs are born of the earth. To end them, you scour the ground until it's barren. They're weeds—while their seeds remain, they sprout again. Burn the forest, or they will rise anew."
The Tsar leaned back, thoughtful. "We had thought to use that timber, to raise new towns for the displaced. Always we promised to reclaim our lands, yet little came of it… If you say it, I will send men to burn the woods."
"Best course," I said. "Greenskin wood is weak. Burn it. Cut a firebreak, scour the ground. If they see fungus, it marks infestation. Tear it out, fell it, burn it all. That is how you cleanse the taint."
"Very well… I shall do that. I will send men to burn the forest, and afterwards we shall see how much can be salvaged for building," the Tsar agreed. Then he added, "I have gathered twenty-three thousand warriors for my campaigns. Winter makes it easier to recruit, when folk are less busy. For now, that is the strength I can field."
"As I said, I need a few weeks for my men to adjust to the climate. After that, we march north to retake the fortresses you named. With the railways ready, we can move supplies between my lands and Kislev—powder and shot will not be lacking," I replied.
Boris studied me with interest. "Yes… about that. At what price will you sell me the twenty thousand muskets you brought?"
"Fifty gold crowns each. The same price I charge the Imperial army," I answered.
"That… is one million crowns. Far too much, truth be told," the Tsar muttered, scratching at his beard.
Katarin's cold eyes fixed on me. "We need the aid. Kislev cannot spend near half its yearly revenues on this shipment. We did not charge you for the land taken by your rail, and we will sell you timber and ore at fair rates. I think you can do the same for us," she said calmly.
"I certainly enjoy a generous margin selling to the Empire… very generous," I warned.
"Could you let them go at cost, and give us a discount on powder?" Katarin suggested.
"Cost is too much to ask. Dropping to twelve crowns per musket cuts my profit to the bone," I replied.
"Twelve…" Boris murmured, thoughtful. "And you sell them at fifty. A fine bargain, no doubt… but we need the weapons, and funds are tight. So much must go to fortresses, to levies, to wages. We need that discount."
"I recall someone telling me such expenses were wasteful," I said, glancing at Katarin. "But fine—consider the muskets a gift, for now, Tsar. A gesture, as we are kin, and because I am committed to the defense of the Motherland. Her safety serves the Empire as well."
Both Boris and his daughter exchanged a look, their sternness easing.
"Thank you, Albrecht… it will aid us greatly against the Ruinous Powers. We sorely needed arms; our smiths cannot keep pace with demand, and pulling them from armor-work left us short-handed," Boris said.
"Indeed… and those weapons would have sold well anywhere. I only hope not to see them in the hands of a boyar raiding Imperial soil, as happened before. Now then, tell me where we strike. I need to know what we prepare for," I asked, expecting the maps to be brought forth.
"I had thought to reclaim Fort Ostrosk. Once it was part of Kislev's defense lines. Now it is in the hands of Chaos' servants. They raid constantly, striking the lands around Praag. Many of the displaced come from that region, for their attacks make life impossible there," Boris said.
"I see," I replied, recognizing at once they must be Khorne cultists—brutes who fought only for blood.
"With luck, we might also retake Fort Zenilev, Fort Kaminski, and Fort Straghov. That would seal one of the routes used by raiders to steal captives and scour our lands," the Tsar continued.
"Then the situation is worse than I thought. Four forts lost. That is a great deal of fighting ahead. Fortunately, I have many cannons for that problem," I said, nodding.
"If it can be avoided, spare the cannon. We need the forts intact, else we only win rubble. Volksgrad still stands, but it is often under raid by slavers, and to the west it fares no better—the whole region lies lost. So first the northern forts, then westward. If we are swift, all may be secured before winter's onset," Boris said firmly.
"Yes. I can work with that. I only hope to be supplied with raw materials in great quantity and at low cost. My men will train in this climate, and in two weeks we march north," I answered.
"Excellent. I will see it done, and ready all for the march. I will bring as much powder as I can… Tell me, do you think the Kislevites themselves would answer to recruitment?" I asked.
"There are recruits aplenty. What we lack are arms and armor for them, and coin for their wages. My budget is already stretched to the utmost. But there are thousands of young Gospodar eager to fight for Kislev," Boris replied.
"No greater honor exists for a son of Kislev than to fight for the Motherland," Katarin said with quiet pride.
"I see it the same," I agreed. "Then we have an accord."
I rose from my chair. The Tsar returned swiftly to his great hall, where yet more nobles watched. Even members of the Orthodoxy had come, their suspicion plain, adding to the ranks of boyars who stared with venom in their eyes.
Boris seated himself on his throne, his daughter at his side, and proclaimed that forty thousand men of the Empire had come to aid in reclaiming Kislev's lost lands, along with many weapons to strengthen its defense.
The words stirred some cheer among the elder boyars, though the younger held themselves cautious and silent.
"Politics never change," I muttered, "only the tongue they're spoken in."
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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