Chapter 24

A few weeks after the first formal meeting with the Baron and his lieutenants about rebelling against the Empire, Wolfgang was tearing through castle Bickenstadt to reach the Baron’s study. He had just received a very important report from his intelligence network, and the Baron needed to hear about it immediately.

The Baron was sitting in his study, feet up on his desk, reading the new Hans Brueckner short story ‘Sailor Gets Crabs’. In his opinion, it was one of Hans’s finest works. Each page filled to bursting with gut busters. The Baron took a sip from his glass and sighed, completely satisfied. He had just received a gift from Jean, Poire Lucinde, a distilled fruit brandy bottled with, fittingly, a Poire Lucinde, which translates to ‘light pear’ in Reikers.

The Baron had no idea how Jean got it without even leaving Bickenstadt, most of his brandy was brought to Bickenstadt by his privateers so he should have heard about it beforehand, but he didn’t really mind. It wasn’t like he had any room to judge Jean for doing anything illegal. Suddenly, his door was kicked open, causing him to drop both his glass and book in surprise. He looked to Wolfgang, breathing heavily and quickly crossing the distance to his desk, and then to his spilled drink and dropped book. His new drink was spilled everywhere, soaking into the carpet and the book.

“Father! I have something extremely important to tell you.” The Baron knew that whatever Wolfgang had to say, it was not good. He only called him ‘father’ when something serious was going on. The Baron considered giving him grief over his spilled drink, but quickly decided against it.

“What could possibly be so important that you felt the need to run all the way to my study?”

Wolfgang composed himself for a moment, brushing the hair off his forehead and smoothing his clothes.

“I just received a report from my intelligence network, members of the Landwerte have crossed into Bickenstadt!”

The Baron looked incredulous, picking up his glass and book and setting them back on his desk before speaking.

“I highly doubt that. Secret police forces are to stay in their home provinces, such is the precedent set by the Iron Emperor. The Empress is hardly one to go against her own father’s precedent. And plus, how do they even know they’re Landwerte? Isn’t the point that they just look like farmers. How do you know they're not just farmers?”

Wolfgang looked to the Baron like a god would look at a blasphemer.

“We both know that my network would never report something so important if they were not completely sure of it.”

The Baron put his feet back on his desk.

“I admit, your network is good, but I just find it highly unlikely the Empress would send Landwerte to Bickenstadt.”

Wolfgang rubbed his forehead, exasperated.

“Fine, if you don’t trust my intelligence, take the chance of having Grossenburg goons infiltrating Bickenstadt. If you’re right, then great, but if you’re wrong, then men specialized in crushing dissent will run rampant through your beloved province.”

The Baron thought for a moment, then clicked his tongue and stood up from his seat.

“Fine, you make a good point. Lucky for us, the men are doing drills at the moment, so they’re all here. I’ll take a band of 50 swordsmen and go check it out.”

“My network told me they are most likely headed towards Bickenstadt city, so patrol the northeastern road into Bickenstadt, that is where you are most likely to find them.”

The Baron strapped on his saber and holsters, deciding against putting on his armor, he needed to move out quickly and he didn’t have time to strap it all on.

 

“Oh, I see them. Just a little under half a mile out from us. Swords out men, but do not engage until I say so!”

The Baron and his men drew their swords. The Baron was mounted on a horse, but the rest were on foot. The Baron’s band of 50 were all armed with arming swords and heater shields. As far as the Baron could tell, the group they were intercepting was 30 men, 10 of them looked to be mercenaries, and 20 of them looked to be farmers. As the two parties neared each other, one of the Baron’s men sped up to walk alongside the Baron.

“Uh, Baron. Those farmers don’t look right.”

“Elias? What do you mean by that?”

“Well…they don’t carry themselves right. And I don’t see a single hoe between any of them. Or even a small hand shovel. Farmers don’t go nowhere without a hoe or nothing to sow fields.”

The Baron looked at the farmers and noticed the only thing any of them had was a sickle.

“Good catch, impressive noticing that from so far. Why do we have you on sword and shield instead of rifle?”

“I was a farmer, I’m pretty strong.”

“Fair enough. Go back in formation and spread the word. Tell the men to be ready for trouble, as it seems likely.”

Elias nodded and walked back to the line. The Baron rode ahead to flag down the group. As he approached, the mercenaries formed up in front of the farmers. When the Baron got close enough to make out the details of their faces, he stopped and addressed them.

“Stop! You are suspected of being enemies of Bickenstadt. I humbly request that you turn around and head back where you came.”

One of the mercenaries stepped forward, a confused look on his face.

“Uh, enemies of Bickenstadt? They’re just farmers si…are you the Baron?”

“Yes, I am the Baron von Bickenstadt, and I have come to chase Grossenburg goons out of my province.”

The mercenary’s face further scrunched up in confusion.

“Um, Baron, no disrespect meant, but…these are farmers.”

“Are you questioning my intelligence network?”

The mercenary shook his head and raised his hands placatingly.

“No no! I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s just…well…”

The Baron waved his hand dismissively.

“Yeah yeah, they’re farmers. Have you heard of the Landwerte?”

“Um…no?”

The Baron frowned slightly, but quickly smiled and bowed his head in apology.

“Ah, sorry, I guess a secret police would be pointless if it wasn’t secret. Wait, are you even from Grossenstadt?”

The mercenaries all started to look nervous as the Baron’s troops crept closer and closer. The farmers, however, didn’t look too bothered.

“Eh? Um, no? I’m from Waffenstadt.”

“Ah, there it is. Sorry to talk down to you. But, these farmers are from Grossenstadt, correct?”

One of the farmers walked past the mercenaries, standing next to the probable leader of the mercenaries.

“Yes sir, we are from Grossenstadt. We’re coming down to claim fields in south Bickenstadt, and I think Jurgen is looking to settle in north Leibenstadt.”

“Well, sorry to say, but you all are going to have to head back to Grossenstadt. You are suspected of being agents of the Empress, and, as a sign of good will, I wish to send you home unmolested.”

The Baron’s men finally fully reached them, forming up in a line five men wide five men deep behind the Baron.

“But sir, we are farmers. If we don't settle down quickly, we could lose our livelihoods! We are already taking a huge risk by moving across the country!”

“You don’t speak like a farmer.”

“Well, I grew up in Grossendorf, and I became a farmer just 10 years ago.”

“Hm, a likely story.”

“Sir, I was a lawyer before I became a farmer. I don’t want to, but I will throw the book at you.”

“If you throw the book at me I will run you over.”

“Sorry to do this. According to the Imperial Book of Laws, Book Eight, subsection C, page 38, paragraph four, known colloquially as ‘The Farmers Clause’, if people wish to move across the country to farm land you are legally required to…”

As the Baron’s eyes glazed over and his brain leaked out of his ear, he noticed the other farmers had gotten much closer. Hm, this looks like it could go quite poorly.

“...And, in addition to the Farmer’s Clause, Imperial Bylaw, Subsection Seven, Part C, known as the ‘Squatter’s Clause’, states that-”

As he was starting to feel his conscious recede into the realm of the unknown to avoid listening to more legal jargon, the Baron felt a large flicker of energy come from one of the farmers. He looked over and saw one of their eyes glowing dark blue. He barely had time to react to the icicle flying at his face, dodging to the side, just barely managing to stay in his saddle. The farmers drew their sickles and charged the Baron’s men, closing the distance in a heartbeat.

The farmer’s assault took the Baron’s men by surprise, felling eight of them before they could react. As the eight poor souls collapsed with gaping wounds in their necks, the men behind them quickly stepped forwards to take their place, pushing back the farmers with their shields. As the Baron's men swung and stabbed as a group, it quickly became obvious that each and every one of the farmers was a gifted one. Dodging, blocking, and attacking back with blinding speed and inhuman accuracy, surviving what would have easily killed anyone with less than superhuman strength, speed, and reaction time. The sheer force of the farmers throwing themselves against the shieldwall was beginning to push it apart, though with surprisingly low loss of life on each side. The farmers were gifted ones, and obviously highly trained, but the Baron’s forces were veteran fighters, drilled relentlessly to fight properly as a unit.

As the battle devolved into various one vs many brawls, the Baron was still struggling to get back in his saddle. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and finally swung himself back up onto his saddle, just in time to dodge a sickle that was coming for his neck. As he sat up he drew his saber and a pistol, immedietly firing at the man who tried to kill him, nailing him square in the chest and leaving a massive entry wound right over his heart. The Baron kicked his horse into action, slashing another farmer as he galloped past. He made a small amount of distance from the battle and spun around, charging his horse at the farmers attacking the line.

The farmers had felled about 16 of the Baron’s men, and only 4 of their own had been felled in turn. One of the farmers, the one who started the whole skirmish in the first place, was engaged with four of the Baron’s men. Two of them thrust at the same time and the farmer stepped past their blades as they moved, his sickle curving around one of their shields and sticking in the man’s neck, severing the carotid artery, as his hand touched the shield of another, his eyes glowing and ice spreading in a thick layer to the shield. He hopped back a the other two stabbed at where he was, making a quick hand signal which caused the ice to detonate out in large chunks and spikes, knocking the swords out of their hands and either impaling or breaking their arms where they hit. As the farmer got ready to finish his fight, he heard galloping behind him and briefly turned to look at the source.

The Baron’s horse crashed into one of the farmers, sending him flying into the air, landing on his neck with a crack loud enough to be heard over the din of combat. As the Baron continued charging he slashed another farmer about to pounce one of the Baron’s men who slipped, his saber opening him up from shoulder to spine. The Baron slowed his horse and spun it around, slapping it’s backside to make it kick another farmer, sending his brains onto one of the shields of some of the Baron’s men. Another farmer raised his arm to fire off magic at the Baron, but before he could he was brought down by three of the Baron’s men, who tackled him to the ground and hacked him to pieces. The Baron nodded his head in thanks and charged off in the other direction, saber held high.

One of the farmers, the one who first spoke with the Baron, stood over the bodies of two of the Baron’s men. As he surveyed the skirmish, he realized that attacking the Baron was a horrible idea. They had killed around 17 of his men, and injured a few more, but the soldiers had killed 12 of theirs, a proportionally much higher number. He turned to parry the strike of a soldier, his eyes glowing bright white as he thrust his open palm forward, shoving the soldier away with a blast of air, and clicking his tongue as the soldier landed in a roll and got back on his feet almost immediately. The farmer tried to think of something he could do to possibly get the rest of them away, when he spotted the Baron, cutting off the arm of another one of the farmers. There! The Baron!

He pulled on his wind magic to amplify his voice, making sure the rest of his men would hear his orders to injure the Baron, when suddenly he felt the ground rumble.

The Baron felt a small impact on the side of his head. He turned to see the source and saw one of the farmers throwing rocks. Not even magically enhanced? What a fucking disgrace. The Baron ground his teeth in frustration at this blatent show of disrespect.

“That’s it! This ends now!”

The Baron reared his horse up, his eyes glowing dark green, and had the horse stomp down, causing the ground to rumble far more than a single horse stomping would cause. After a moment, the Baron felt his arms and legs become noticeably colder, and great spikes of earth rose from the ground, impaling five of the remaining seven farmers. Most of them died instantly, the spikes ripping through their chests with extreme force, and the others were quickly dispatched by the Baron’s men. I knew I could do magic, but I just couldn’t remember how to do it. Guess that means I’m back to full strength? The remaining two farmers, who were standing off to the side, immediately threw down their sickles. One of them was tackled by four of the Baron’s men, who raised their swords to cut him down.

“Stop! I want them alive!”

The soldiers stopped their swings just before cutting into the man. Quickly sheathing their swords and tying him up with a length of rope the men insisted they take with them. The other farmer willingly allowed himself to be tied up and they were both marched in front of the Baron.

“So. I believe you can drop the pretense of being farmers now. You two are Landwerte, as were the rest of your dead comrades. Now, answer my questions, and I’ll allow you to go back to the Empress to deliver a message for me. So, why did the Empress send you to infiltrate Bickenstadt, doesn’t she have her spymaster to watch my movements?”

The Landwerte both looked down at their feet, unwilling to answer. The Baron put his saber near one of their hands, touching the tip to their pinky finger.

“Ordinarily, I am a very patient man. But when I look into the soulless eyes of my men, killed for no reason just outside their home, on their day off no less, I tend to get a bit temperamental.”

He stabbed down on the farmer’s finger, severing at the first knuckle of his pinky. The man bowed down in pain, barely managing to not scream.

“I can take more if you’re unwilling to talk.”

The farmer who’s pinky wasn’t cut spoke up as soon as his comrade’s muffled moans slowed down.

“She…she wanted us to confirm what Brusilov has told her. She doesn’t trust him anymore, or at the very least her trust in him is waning.”

The Baron looked over to him, smiling and patting the other farmer’s shoulder.

“See? Your pain was completely avoidable. As was the rest of this fucking mess.”

The Baron stood up, letting his saber drag across the chest of the farmer, leaving a small trail of gore on his chest.

“Oh, sorry. Sword’s enchanted. Supernaturally sharp. I am becoming quite forgetful in my old age, I really ought to be more careful with this thing.”

The Baron scruffed his chin in thought.

“Or not. Hmm, well, you kind of answered the only question I had. I suppose…I should keep my word? Eh, might as well. Stand 'em up.”

The Baron’s men stood them up, and the Baron addressed one of them, the one who he didn’t cut up, who happened to be the one who first spoke.

“Tell the Empress I am willing to forget this little kerfuffle if she fulfills two conditions. One: Cover the costs of compensating the families of 21 men, which would total to about, say, 2,150 Reiksgeld in all, and Two: Issue a formal apology to me, and to the families of the 21 dead. If she refuses to fulfill those two conditions, I will martial the men, and rightfully so. Make sure to tell her my terms. Now, go. Get the hell out of my province.”

The Baron’s men reluctantly release the two Landwerte, roughly pushing them in the direction they came from. One of his men came over to the Baron, a very unpleasant look on his face.

“Baron, he killed my brother, Elias. The one who’s pinky you cut.”

The Baron’s face scrunched up, like he had just taken a bite out of something sour. He had just spoken to Elias, he seemed to be a nice, straightforward young man. The Baron rubbed his eyes with his hand, thinking about what to do.

“Hmm...they only need one man to report to the Empress, right?”

The Baron drew a pistol and cocked the hammer, handing it to the young man.

“Your brother had good eyes, let's hope that's a familial trait.”

The young man nodded his head solemnly and took the gun, pointing it at the man who killed his brother.

“Hey, Baron, are we free to go?”

BANG! The farmer fell, the bullet ripping through his back. A cheer rose through the Baron’s remaining men. The Baron turned to address whoever spoke to him, the mercenaries protecting the farmers.

“Ah, apologies, I thought you already did. You may leave if you want. Or, you could join us. We just lost 21 men, we need to replace them. You would be the first men not from Bickenstadt to join, and you would need to move any family you have to Bickenstadt, as well as yourself, but you would get to join the prestigious Klarwasser Mercenary Company.”

One of the Baron’s men spoke up.

“Don’t forget to tell him about the drilling!”

The Baron smiled and rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Oh yeah, and we conduct drills five times a week for eight months out of the year when we’re not on campaign. That is the reason we are some of the most disciplined mercenaries in the world, as well as why I generally hire from within Bickenstadt.”

The mercenaries looked to each other, slightly bewildered, and then turned back to the Baron. The man who was most likely their leader spoke up.

“I believe most of us will have to pass on your offer, but some of us without families might be willing to come.”

Four of the 10 men stepped forward and kneeled in front of the Baron.

“I assume that means you four are willing to join us. If you would like, you may go home first and settle any business you have there before you move to Bickenstadt city.”

Three of the men thanked the Baron and moved back to their comrades. One remained kneeled.

“I take that to mean you will be coming with us immediately. Come on then, I have paperwork to do, and I trust my men to teach you properly.”

 

The Empress was livid. As she listened to her Landwerte give the Baron’s terms, her foot tapped faster and faster.

“...and he says if you refuse to fulfill those terms, he will wage war against you.”

The Empress slammed her fist into her throne, causing the Landwerte to cower in fear. She turned to a servant, barely containing her rage.

“Fetch me the chest that arrived yesterday. Now.”

The servant bowed and quickly left the room, returning with a small chest soon after.

“Give it to my Landwerte.”

He did was he was asked and quickly backed away, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“Open it. Now.”

The Landwerte did as was asked and quickly recoiled away from it. Everyone in the room, with the exception of the Empress and Brusilov, covered their noses as a horrible stench permeated through the room.

“State the contents of the box. Now.”

“It, uh, it…it’s a box full of…hands.”

The Empress balled her fist in rage. She tried to keep her voice as flat as possible, but her rage seeped into every syllable.

“It is not just a box of hands. It is a box full of the severed hands of 19 of my Landwerte. It came with a note, as well. Would you be interested in learning the contents of said letter?”

The Landwerte bowed deeper, head reaching the floor as the Empress unfolded the letter.

“With love, from Bickenstadt.”

She crumpled the letter in her hands, throwing it at the Landwerte. She ground her teeth in frustration, literally shaking with rage. After building up her rage for a moment, she exploded at the Landwerte.

“Why would you engage the Baron in combat?! Your orders were to lay low! You had no armor, and you were armed only with a sickle!"

The Empress stole a glance at her hand, held in a claw, quaking with rage.

"Justify your actions to me before I rip you apart with my bare hands!”

The Landwerte spoke without raising his head.

“We thought we could take them. We had an ice mage as well as me, a wind mage. We were all gifted ones, and they were not, with the exception of the Baron. We thought our odds were good.”

The Empress ground her teeth in frustration, angrily rubbing her forehead in exasperation.

“What made you think that a band of 20 unarmored men could defeat a band of 50 armored men from the most prolific mercenary company in the Empire, who just so happened to be led by the gods damned Baron von Bickenstadt, the most prolific warrior from the Empire in THREE! CENTURIES!”

The Landwerte groveled harder, if such a think could even be accomplished.

“We…we…we wanted to complete ou-”

The Empress cut him off, and he silently prayed that the gods would turn him into a pile of goo before the Empress did.

“Because of your little miscalculation, I now owe the Baron 2,150 Reiksgeld, and have to publicly apologize to not just the Baron, but the families of 27 PEASANTS!”

The Empress slammed her fist to punctuate her point, breaking off a part of the armrest of her throne. She looked to the piece of her broken throne and quickly composed herself, burying her head in her hands.

“I should have you killed, fed to dogs or something horrible like that, I really should…but, gifted ones are hard to find and expensive to train.” She raised her head out of her hands and gave the Landwerte a cold, hard stare, which scared him far more than any of her angry outbursts.

“You’re dismissed. If I ever see you again, I will split your head like a melon.”

The Landwerte quickly left the throne room. The Empress stood up from her throne and addressed her finance minister.

“Send 2,500 Reiksgeld to Bickenstadt, hopefully the overpayment will make him shut his smarmy mouth.”

She waved to Brusilov dismissively and left for her personal study.

“Give the Baron something that sounds like me, and make it sound genuine. Gods above, I need a drink. Someone give me something strong! And domestic! None of the shit from the Orkney those idiot aristocrats are fond of!”