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Erntezeit-14-2493
POV of Karl Franz Holswig-Schliestein
Albrecht's army had returned in full to the city. For days on end, trains did not cease arriving, bringing back thousands of soldiers who, not long ago, had been but simple citizens of Altdorf. Now they returned hardened by war, seasoned in battles against beastmen, orcs, goblins, border princes, and even warbands sworn to the Ruinous Powers. Many may have known little more than how to wield a musket, yet none could deny them the merit of having survived such trials.
They came back not only with scars, but with their purses heavy with gold and silver. Men recruited as mere townsfolk returned as wealthy individuals. And through the currency exchange in the city, we gathered taxes most efficiently: nearly a quarter of a million golden crowns in only a matter of days, according to the reports. My father was well pleased with such figures, for the taxes of Altdorf's lower classes rarely exceeded two million crowns a year. This influx alone represented a significant increase.
More important still was what they did with their coin. They spent freely, sending money flowing through every corner of the capital. Merchants, enriched by this spending, in turn paid greater dues. Thus, indirectly, Altdorf prospered from Albrecht's campaign. Never before had it been so plain to see how war could feed the city's economy.
For the first time in decades, Altdorf's historic population declined. Tens of thousands were moved beyond the walls to till the new lands cleared after the campaign in the forests of Reikland. My father acted swiftly, and in short order villages arose where once only beastmen had dwelt. Where those corrupted creatures once hid and bred in the thickets, there now spread fertile fields. Thousands of Reiklanders ploughed the soil, raising farmsteads, increasing food production, and lessening Altdorf's dependence upon Averland and Wissenland, which had long supplied the capital with grain.
The only trouble came from the avarice of the Prince of Marienburg's merchants. They bought up all the grain they could find in the Empire's markets, creating scarcity and driving prices skyward. Provinces such as Nordland, Ostland, and Hochland, reliant on trade for their sustenance, suffered greatly. We were forced to intervene at once, securing ties with Tilea, Bretonnia, and Estalia to provide grain at the lowest cost possible. Even so, prices remained high, and tensions rose, especially among the local nobility.
Fortunately, the recent harvest in the reclaimed lands helped steady the local market somewhat. Encouraging news also came from Ostermark: record yields, thanks to the agricultural system Albrecht had set in place there. Confiscated lands had been distributed among the peasants, and under better management they now bore plentiful fruit.
Of course, not all was prosperity. The Elector Count of Talabecland was already demanding the return of his lands, for in his judgment there was no longer any threat of Kislevite incursions. After all, the Empire now had Boris Bokha as a firm ally, strengthened further with his daughter held in Altdorf as a political hostage. He doubted Ostermark would face attack, and this complicated matters: an Imperial army was stationed there, supported by Ostermark's taxes, and the very notion of maintaining it longer risked stirring conflict with Talabecland. Quarrels were inevitable, especially now that Ostermark had the means to resist the Elector's claims.
"A good year, by the look of it," I remarked to my father, who leafed through a thick ledger. He could scarce hide his smile as he studied the reports of the revenue.
"I cannot complain," he answered with satisfaction. "The merchants arriving in Altdorf have nearly tripled their taxes thanks to the new railways. Do you know how many traders use Albrecht's train line to Kislev? Thousands. They stop in Talabheim, in Bechafen, even in Kislev itself, but all pass through Altdorf. They buy, they sell, they leave their coffers open, and we take our share. With this income, I can fund a serious expansion of the Imperial fleet and strengthen our defenses against the Norscans. Moreover, I shall increase orders of armor from our forges and acquire more of those firearms Albrecht produces."
"I see… any further word of the harvests in the provinces? Any sign of famine? We must be prepared to send aid. It is always wise to have granaries ready: we win allies among the local nobility if we place grain in their hands at the right moment," I said, watching him closely.
"For now, nothing alarming," he replied, scanning his papers. "There is speculation that the Westerlands will enjoy extraordinary harvests. Albrecht has poured vast sums into transforming those marshes into farmland: canals, dams, reservoirs, and dozens of new towns to house the hundreds of thousands of Bretonnians he brought back from his last campaign. And the temples, of course… The cult of Shallya opened some forty in just the past year, and that of Sigmar more than a hundred. If they are expanding with such fervor, it is a sure sign the region prospers."
"So I see. With luck, this scarcity shall not come again. It would be disastrous to face a hunger crisis just as the Ruinous Powers chose to descend upon us," I observed, pacing slowly through the hall, watching him sidelong.
"Indeed…" my father sighed, closing the ledger. "By the way, the new bank is complete. A special runic press was needed to mint hundreds of coins at once. I require you to go and see its operation. You know well that many Electors resent losing the right to control their own coinage. I must be certain this bank can uphold the Empire with a stable issue, without delays in the payments owed to all."
"Yes… it was no easy task convincing so many Electors to accept such a measure. Thus, at the very least, the stipulated yearly payments must be met. Only then shall we succeed in bringing the whole Empire to use a single coinage. And one can already see that Albrecht knows well how to choose those he serves," I said with a smile.
"You cannot go wrong with the dawi, my son. Yet we ourselves have not forged with them such a level of alliance. Aye, we can request runic arms, but I doubt they would ever agree to labor under our command were we to demand it," my father replied.
"Albrecht may be a dreadful diplomat in many fields… but with the dawi he seems better than most," I muttered under my breath, suppressing a laugh.
"Yes… well, let us hope I do not one day awake to death threats of his making. We both know how impulsive he can be when he seeks quarrel. I only hope he has no reason to march south too soon," my father said, letting slip a shadow of unease. "Though we must discuss that new territory he has conquered. For now, it lies empty, yet if he continues to expand there, it shall prove troublesome."
"We might move first," I suggested, fixing him with a steady look. "Organise the campaign and justify the creation of a new Elector in that region. The dilemma, of course, is whom to appoint. We cannot keep granting offices to the Margrave's house—it would become far too obvious."
"Quite so," my father agreed after a pause. "But that we shall settle later. For now, go to the bank and see that all is in order. I shall attend to the matter of the Cult of Sigmar: a new templar order is to guard the Black Fire Pass, and it will require funding, as well as recruits for its fortress."
I said little more, moving out accompanied by a strong detachment of the Reiksguard. We did not travel far from the Imperial Palace: the new building rose upon a plot that had once belonged to a Tilean cook named Mezzo, owner of a restaurant frequented by lawyers and even the odd wizard. With a measure of Imperial pressure—and a generous sum of gold—the sale had been forced. The old business was demolished along with several surrounding structures, and in its place now stood what looked more like a dwarfen fortress raised upon the surface.
All had been built in the solid style of the dawi. The walls bore runic inscriptions that gleamed faintly beneath the sun, proof that the place was more than secure.
"Prince Karl Franz?" asked one of the guards at the gate. He wore full armor of rune-wrought dwarfen steel.
"Indeed," I answered, halting before him.
"We had been expecting the Imperial family," he said respectfully, turning to the massive doors. They did not swing open in full; instead, a smaller access was revealed, through which we were led.
Within, light did not come from without but from glowing stones that cast a soft radiance across every corner. Behind barred windows set with crystal panes, I glimpsed workers cleaning and preparing the halls; there were small slots cut for speaking between compartments.
"This way, Prince. I understand you wish to see the coinage in progress. The process has already begun," said the guard as he guided me into the depths of the bank.
We descended by stair to a lower level. The ring of hammers echoed faintly ahead. At each step, the corridors revealed scores of dawi attending to security checks: they touched runes carved into the walls, which flared briefly at their touch. There were vaults both vast and small, prepared to hold Imperial treasures as well as private deposits.
At last we reached the source of the sound. The metallic thunder of a monumental press striking iron filled the air. Crossing the threshold, I saw dozens of dwarfs laboring around the machine. The press lifted again, revealing a set of freshly minted coins. They shone with the marks of the Imperial crown: on one face, the clear likeness of my father; on the other, the shields of all the Electors. There was no doubt—those dies were the work of master dawi, for even at a glance I could recognize the faithful rendering of my father's visage and the minute detail of every Elector's blazon.
"As you can see, all is in order. For Reikland, three million crowns must be struck, as the Emperor commanded," explained the guard, summoning one of the dwarfen masters.
A thick-bearded dwarf pulled a lever. The press fell with a thunderous crash upon the gold blanks, then rose again to reveal new coins, each perfectly struck. Others hastened to remove them, setting in place fresh discs of pure gold for the next blow.
"Master dwarf," the guard called.
"What is it, umgi?" the dwarf replied, scratching his beard with patient air.
"The Imperial Prince," the guard clarified, pointing toward me with due respect.
"Ah, of course…" the dwarf said, bowing his head just slightly, while his companions continued their unbroken toil. "Tell me, umgi, what concerns the Emperor?"
"I see you handle great stores of gold. From whence is it drawn? Of good quality, I presume?" I asked, studying the master dwarf.
"Gold of the Grey Mountains," he answered firmly. "Within our Thane's hold were found several veins, of the highest grade. It is refined under the strictest dawi standards to ensure that the dawongi of our Thane Duran delivers only the best to the Empire. Each coin weighs precisely two and a half grams, as the dawongi himself decreed. The weight is measured with a flawless balance system, impossible to tamper with, and the runic press you see here strikes every piece to perfection, with marks crafted to reveal any attempt at filing."
He paused as another blow of the press sent a metallic roar through the chamber."According to our calculations, we can produce two million crowns each week, working in continuous shifts."
"That is far beyond what we requested," I replied, astonished at the figure.
"Therefore, the surplus shall be stored in the bank's vaults," explained the master dwarf calmly. "Only the necessary amount will be released each year. One never knows when a vein may run dry. We are exploiting this one to the fullest, and it would not surprise me if it is exhausted before long. Better to produce now, in abundance, than trust to fortune later." The dwarf scratched his beard, pride gleaming in his eyes.
"I see… and what of the silver and copper coinage?" I asked, since it seemed the gold was well assured.
"In the lower levels," said the dawi, pointing downward with his finger.
The guards led me to inspect the place, and I noted how many sublevels it held… so many that it seemed as though an entire dwarfen fortress had been raised beneath the city.
We descended some five levels to reach the minting of silver, and three more for the copper. Each floor was the same: circular ingots of ore, mined from the Grey Mountains, refined by the dawi and pressed with rune-forged machinery that struck every coin flawlessly.
Quickly the vaults began to fill with currency bearing my father's visage and the blazons of all the Imperial Electors upon the reverse.
"One may say many things of Albrecht… but that he neglects his duty? Never," I murmured to myself, climbing back toward the surface, ready to report all this to my father.
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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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