If we reach 25 comments, . You have five hours from the time this chapter is posted. If we reach the goal, the next chapter will be posted in eight hours.(Valid comments must include information about what you like or dislike about the story, what you would like to see about the story, or any questions you may have about the story, as the devil is in the details.)
-----------------------------
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.
-------------------------------
Nachgeheim -28-2493
We had recaptured Fort Straghov and found it almost empty. Nearly all the warbands had vanished, marching north and leaving the area desolate. The Kislevites, though they had lost nearly five thousand men in their clash with the Chaos hordes, were satisfied with the campaign's outcome. I, on the other hand, had lost dozens of my best men to the skullcrushers; many runic armors had been damaged and numerous runic weapons shattered. Everything had to be sent back to our dawi allies so they could inspect the armor, reforge it, and return it to us, to be given to new men who would need training to wield it.
The hardest blow was losing some who had fought by my side for years… among the dead were those who had served both my father and me since long ago, meeting their end at the hands of knights blessed by Khorne. It was a bitter slap in the face. These weren't soldiers you could replace by handing someone a musket and teaching him the basics: they were veterans with years of experience at my side.
Many I had already sent back to Reinsfeld to be buried, and the image of the small temple of Morr in our town came to my mind, imagining it barely keeping up with the swelling population of the dead that would now increase considerably.
Taking advantage of the gold I still had, before returning south with the dawi to seek more gold by freeing karaks, I ordered the construction of a great temple to Morr. One can never have too much of Morr's favor. I sent instructions to my architects to raise something near the mountains: a broad necropolis where the dead of the region could be buried, and I asked the dawi for help to carve images of the god and raise mausoleums, so all would have a worthy tomb.
While moving near the Kislevite camp I noticed a heated dispute. I saw Katarin seated on a throne of ice, surrounded by her ice witches, and the Tsar watching with arms crossed. Many boyars were quarreling with each other; shouts and reproaches filled the air.
I approached Katarin and touched her shoulder. She looked at me startled, wide-eyed.
"Albrecht… god… how is it possible you make no sound moving with all that steel on you?" said Katarin, recovering from the fright, as did one of the witches at her side.
"The ring," I replied.
"The ring… the ring… is there anything that ring doesn't do?" said Katarin, staring at it.
"It helps me sleep at night; a few moments of rest feel like I've slept the whole day," I answered, playing with the finger where the band gleamed. Katarin ran her hand over her face and shook her head.
"An arcane artifact of great power… in the hands of a man," murmured one of the ice witches.
"No one asked your opinion…" I said, ignoring her, sparing her the threat of filling her throat with molten iron.
I focused again on Katarin and on the boyars' conflict. "What's going on?" I asked calmly.
"Fights over who will be the new military commander of the forts —or rather, who will be the superior over all the commanders of the forts," Katarin explained.
"They're fighting over that?" I asked, raising a brow, surprised they disputed something I would immediately avoid for how costly it is to maintain men in a fort.
"Father will pay the salaries, so it's a coveted position for a boyar: his personal troops would be maintained by the Tsar. Besides, there are plans to repopulate the area, and when that happens, who do you think will take control of the villages once thousands return to the fields and steppes?" said Katarin calmly, watching the conflict.
"They're fighting over frozen lands… seriously," I said, leaning against the ice throne beside Katarin.
"In the mountains of the region there are valuable minerals that haven't been exploited for decades due to the obvious problems we have reclaiming the more remote areas of Praag, Erengrad, and Kislev. Moreover, whoever controls the army gains the lucrative troll-hunting trade," added Katarin.
"And why don't you secure it yourselves? Wouldn't that be best?" I asked, still leaning, hearing the ice creak under my weight.
"Many boyars still don't fully support the Tsar; several have secessionist leanings. For example in Praag, where the Ungols and the Roppsmens have tried more than once to slip free of Kislev's yoke. For that reason we can't hoard all the power; we'd face another rebellion. We must concede a little to the boyars: leave a military commander in place —but we need to see who the candidates are and if any are worth it," concluded Katarin.
"Wouldn't it be better to give it to an experienced military commander? I mean, better that than putting a boyar there who may have no idea what it is to command a frontier this important," I said, nearly toppling as I broke part of the throne I leaned on.
"Ha… that would be ideal, but it depends heavily on the candidates. And right now it's being decided who they'll be. Father angered the boyars a great deal by pulling so many out of their military posts, so this isn't something we can press further," said Katarin.
"I see… a complicated fight from the looks of it," I said, folding my arms.
"Yes, many fights, especially now that they feel secure since what bound them to us has vanished. Although it was good you defeated the Chaos champion in single combat, the problem is that now, if someone threatens us, the boyars will hardly obey… By the way, it seems some envoys managed to arrange a meeting with the Dwarf King of Kraka Ravnsvake to negotiate. Apparently his anger against us… or rather against our ancestors, has cooled. But still, I prefer to entrust the negotiations to you, rather than let father attempt it and ruin everything," said Katarin.
"Considering how your father is, he'd probably do fine. If these dawi are like the ones in the south, his personality should be more than enough to calm them," I replied.
"Just make sure to calm them, and we'll see what happens. They shouldn't take long to arrive," Katarin finished.
While I kept watching the boyars continue their verbal brawl over who was most worthy to be the military commander of the area, news arrived that the Dwarf King of Kraka Ravnsvake himself had come in person with his retinue.
I quickly fetched something I always carried to keep the dawi travelling with me in good spirits: a few fine barrels of Bugman's ale, something no sane dawi could resist.
I watched a mobile throne, borne by four sturdy dawi, glide forward without trouble as a large contingent of warriors drew near. There were many Kislevites around me—some hoping to stab me if anything went wrong, others ready to say I had not done enough.
The warriors set the throne down and the dawi king sat, fixing his gaze on me."Friends of the Empire," I said in Reikspiel.
The dawi king narrowed his eyes and looked me over. "You speak the tongue of that umgi Magnus… yet I would know more of where you obtained that runic gromril armor… or rather, all your weapons," the king said.
"Yes, Magnus the Pious, former Emperor of the Empire," I answered, stepping a little closer to the throne. "From our mountain allies, honorable king. This ring—given by the dawi people with the leave of High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer of Karaz-a-Karak, for aiding him in reclaiming his holds. Part of my armor was gifted by the Grundkaraz clan of the Grey Mountains, for I am a personal friend of their thane. And my mace is a personal gift from High King Thorgrim," I said, indicating each piece of my runic kit.
"An umgi of honour, it seems… I see why those manlings chose you…" the king observed.
"Indeed… The road must have been long and wearisome. May I first offer you a draught of a fine ale?" I asked, lifting a barrel of Bugman's.
"Ha… no human ale could ever…" The king began to sniff, as did all his men, when I opened the barrel and the strong scent of Bugman's filled the air. "That is…" he said, licking his lips. "Bugman's ale?"
"It is, friends of the Empire. I always carry a few barrels so my dawi followers may relax with the finest ale in the world," I said as one of my men poured a generous mug.
The king was served promptly, as were the throne-bearers who, still supporting the throne with one arm, drank eagerly with the other, savouring every swallow. Even the king himself seemed entranced by the ale.
"Ah… decades since I last tasted this… it takes me back to my youth, when I drank with that umgi Magnus and the king of Karak Kadrim… after our battle," the dawi king said.
"I am glad to hear it… I will make sure to gift you some of the barrels I have, my king. Now, to our business: I would like to know what has transpired with the Kislevites, for I understand you have many wrongs recorded in your Dammaz Kron against them, and I would see whether they may be set right so our peoples can stand together against the ruinous powers," I said as my men brought forward more barrels.
"Yes… I remember well… those manlings. Their offences are many. After our aid in the war, they never answered our call when the hordes of Chaos came; their ataman broke the oaths of our treaties, took our gold yet sent no cattle, no harvests, nor the ore. Those manlings rifled dawi ruins, stealing treasures of our folk after refusing to lift a hand in aid… they handed us gold coins plated in tin as payment," the dawi king said.
I bowed my head and turned to the boyars watching me. "I cannot excuse these wrongs, my king… forgive me for not knowing your name," I said, searching for a way to mend the breach.
"Haarkon Vikramson," the king replied with pride.
"Thank you, King Haarkon Vikramson… Albrecht von Reinsfeld, Elector Count of the Westerland and Prince of Marienburg," I answered.
"I greet you, imperial noble," King Haarkon said.
"As you will. I cannot defend the Kislevites' deeds… especially the plunder… such acts are near unforgivable. I nearly marched on Kislev when they plundered Imperial soil… yet there is one thing that binds us: our common foe grows stronger. I do not ask you to forget, but I ask you, King Haarkon, that if possible we find a way to have these matters settled. I give you my word that if they again wrong the honourable dawi people, I shall personally see them punished," I said, hand over heart as I spoke to the dawi.
"A fair reckoning is what I demand: every runic artifact now in the hands of those deceitful manlings must be returned to the dawi, along with gold for what they cheated us of… and, above all, compensation for failing to answer our call to arms," King Haarkon declared.
I inclined myself at his words and thought coldly about how to heal that wound. Then I took the initiative to build a bridge.
"I will see what can be done, King Haarkon. I ask that you bear in mind that Kislev has suffered greatly, that all the tsar's efforts have been poured into reclaiming their lands, and perhaps for that reason they could not answer the summons or fulfil their obligations… for the moment, accept these barrels of ale as a personal gift from me," I said, stepping back to speak with the tsar.
King Haarkon nodded and his men wasted no time falling upon the barrels. The tension in the hall eased slightly; the warm, bitter scent of Bugman's drifted through the chamber like a temporary balm.
I then went to Tsar Boris. When he learned the cause of the dawi's complaint, his face darkened with anger: theft from the dawi was a grave matter, and the dawi do not forgive lightly. His ire fell upon several boyars who had administered the lands before the fall of the forts. We soon identified the descendants of the guilty: the plunder had taken place generations past.
I demanded the return of the runic relics. Some boyars, under the tsar's stern gaze, handed their pieces over quickly. Those who refused, claiming family heirlooms, received exemplary punishment: we knocked out several of their teeth with fists and then led them to King Haarkon's feet, forcing them to beg forgiveness with their faces buried in the snow. The scene was harsh, but effective: few had the stomach to defy the dawi face to face, and fewer still beneath the tsar's stare.
Haarkon showed magnanimity: he asked only for the return of the cheated gold—the silver coins plated in tin—and that the promised deliveries of resources be made good. After a few more mugs, his fury eased enough to accept an arrangement. He promised to strike the entries from his Dammaz Kron if what was owed was restored.
My intervention likely saved Kislev hundreds of thousands of crowns and, most importantly, smoothed over a rift that might have ended in open war between our allies. We were not negotiating from a lost position; there was room to restore trust.
What drew my attention most were Haarkon's clan smithcraft and runes: they were not the common runes of the southern dawi. I noticed rings and amulets that, the king said, kept corruption at bay—not mere protective tokens, but true talismans against putrescence. That piqued my curiosity: there was runic knowledge here beyond the usual, and its possible application was far too valuable to ignore.
-----------------------------
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.
-------------------------------