Read Online 03 - God King by Graham McNeill - (ebook by Undead) - Free Book Online

lament to the
wheezing, skirling music of the pipes. Unberogen warriors joined in, though the
singsong language of the northern tribesmen was all but impenetrable to their
southern ears. The mood in the hall was hearty, for both groups of warriors had
fought side by side for the last year. Many oaths of brotherhood had been sworn
between Udose and Unberogen, the kind that lay at the heart of what made the
Empire strong.
    Sigmar sat upon his throne, stripped of his armour save for the gleaming
breastplate and a thick bearskin cloak. Two of his hounds, Lex and Kai lay
curled at his feet, while Ortulf—ever the opportunist—circulated through the
longhouse in search of scraps. Conn Carsten sat in the place of honour to
Sigmar’s right, while Alfgeir and Eoforth sat to his left. Though both these men
had helped steer the Empire through some of its darkest hours, Sigmar found
himself missing the earthy counsel of Wolfgart and Pendrag.
    This hall had once echoed with Wolfgart’s dreadful singing and off-colour
jokes, but more and more, he was spending time in Three Hills with his family.
Sigmar couldn’t blame him, Maedbh was a hard woman to refuse. As was any Asoborn
woman, thought Sigmar, remembering how he had secured Queen Freya’s Sword Oath.
    Conn Carsten had filled the void of leadership left by the death of Count
Wolfila, binding the argumentative clans of the Udose into a fighting force in
the face of the Norsii invasion. But for Carsten’s merciless hit and run raids,
the north would have fallen long before the armies of the Empire could have
marched to save Middenheim.
    This night was to honour his courage during the war against the Norsii and
confirm his appointment as Count of the Udose. It should have been an occasion
for great celebration, and certainly was amongst Carsten’s warriors. But since
this night had begun, Conn Carsten had said little and responded to any query
with curt answers. He nursed his beer and seemed content to simply watch
proceedings rather than participate.
    Sigmar regarded his newest count’s brooding countenance, his gloom-swept face
having surely seen more than its fair share of hardship. His silver hair was cut
tight to his skull and his beard was similarly trimmed. Where his warriors were
bellicose and roaring, he was quiet and ill-suited to conversation.
    None of the other counts were in attendance, nor had Sigmar expected them to
be. After the mustering of their armies for the relief of Middenheim, the tribal
leaders were attending to matters in their own lands. Since his return, Sigmar
had read missives from Freya and Adelhard of increased greenskin activity in the
Worlds Edge Mountains, of warbands of twisted forest beasts in the southern
reaches and increased coordination between brigands and reavers in the north.
Krugar and Aloysis both begged the Emperor’s help in quelling numerous
incidences of the dead rising from their tombs to attack the living, and Aldred
of the Endals reported increased attacks from unknown seaborne corsairs.
    Eoforth had once said that winning the Empire had been the easy part. Holding
on to it would be the real challenge. Sigmar was now beginning to see what he
meant. Something so precious would always attract enemies, and the true legacy
of Sigmar’s creation would be how long it endured against the encroaching
darkness.
    As much as he found it hard to enjoy Carsten’s company, Sigmar knew this man
was key to keeping his land safe. Better the northern marches were ruled by a
competent, disagreeable man than a gregarious friend who didn’t know one end of
a sword from the other. Yet it sat ill with Sigmar that he could not reach the
dour clansman, as though some unknown gulf existed between them that he could
not cross. He did not expect to be as close to all his counts as he was to his
friends, and as their ruler he knew he ought not to be. Yet to count a man as
his ally and not to know him, that would not