03 - Sword of Vengeance Read Online Free Page B

dwellings were close to the Palace, but they were
simple. He had a single manservant to keep an eye on the place when he was on
campaign and employed the services of an aged charwoman, the mother of one of
the many men who’d died serving under his command. They were both devoted to
him, but since coming back from Averland he’d found he could hardly look them in
the eye. He was diminished, and felt the shame of it keenly.
    Night air gusted through the shutters. The fire had burned
low in the grate. The rain continued to plague the city, and he could hear the
constant drum of it outside. He’d been working for hours, and was not an
eloquent scribe. Composing the letter to the Emperor had taken him the best part
of the day and all of the evening. Even now he wasn’t sure everything was
ordered correctly. He found himself wishing Verstohlen was around. He’d have
been able to advise. He’d always been able to advise.
    Schwarzhelm brushed sand over the parchment and folded it up.
He slipped it into an envelope, reached for the candle of sealing wax and tipped
a gobbet of it on the join. As the wax hardened he pulled his personal seal from
the drawer at his side. That too was hard to look at. The Sword of Justice
entwined with the Imperial seal atop the initials L.S. Once it had been a source
of pride to him. Now, like everything else, it had been sullied.
    He pressed the seal onto the wax, watching as the red fluid
solidified, then placed the letter on the desk in front of him. Beside it was
the key he’d taken from Heinrich Lassus’ house. It had taken a while for him to
discover which lock it opened, but he still had friends in the city. The old
traitor had been careful, but not careful enough. He’d trusted in his
reputation, and that alone had been sufficient to fool everyone. Even now, only
Schwarzhelm himself knew of the man’s treachery. The fire had concealed evidence
of his transformation, and men assumed that the old general had suffered from a
terrible accident. For the time being, that was how Schwarzhelm wanted it. The
truth would emerge in good time.
    He took up the key and ran it over his fingers. Iron glinted
in the candlelight. Even after much time had passed, he still had no idea why
Lassus had done it. As far as he knew, the old swordmaster had no connections in
Averland and no interest in the succession. He’d never had any concern with
matters of rank or promotion. That was precisely why he’d been so admired. I’ve been granted the grace to retire from the field and see out the rest of my
days in peace. That’s what he’d told Schwarzhelm, back before he’d ridden to
Averheim. Such an effortless, professional lie, so smoothly delivered.
    With an effort of will, Schwarzhelm turned his mind back to
the present. The longer he lingered on his many failures, the less useful he
could be. Deep down, the tidings of Verstohlen nagged away at him. The spy had
seen the mark of Chaos in the city, and his reports had been vindicated by the
horrific manner of Lassus’ death. Schwarzhelm had to assume that Natassja was
still alive. Perhaps Rufus Leitdorf was too. In any event, for as long as
Verstohlen remained in Averheim, the counsellor was in terrible danger.
Schwarzhelm had sent coded messages by secret courier, but had little hope of
them getting through. The only course left to him was to return there himself.
Amends had to be made, debts settled, secrets uncovered.
    He’d tried to seek an audience with the Emperor to explain
his worries, but that had proved impossible. Never before had any request of his
to meet Karl Franz been turned down. That hurt him more than anything else that
had happened. Perhaps the Emperor was still angry. Perhaps he was trying to
protect Schwarzhelm from any further involvement, thinking it best that he
recovered from his trials. Or perhaps there was corruption even in the heart of
the Palace, blocking his missives from reaching their