A WARHAMMER NOVEL

DEATH’S MESSENGER

Blood on the Reik - 01

Sandy Mitchell

(A Flandrel & Undead Scan v1.0)

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This is a dark age, a bloody age, an age of daemons and of sorcery. It is an age of

battle and death, and of the world’s ending. Amidst all of the fire, flame and fury it

is a time, too, of mighty heroes, of bold deeds and great courage.

At the heart of the Old World sprawls the Empire, the largest and most powerful of

the human realms. Known for its engineers, sorcerers, traders and soldiers, it is a

land of great mountains, mighty rivers, dark forests and vast cities. And from his

throne in Altdorf reigns the Emperor Karl-Franz, sacred descendant of the

founder of these lands, Sigmar, and wielder of his magical warhammer.

But these are far from civilised times. Across the length and breadth of the Old

World, from the knightly palaces of Bretonnia to ice-bound Kislev in the far north,

come rumblings of war. In the towering World’s Edge Mountains, the orc tribes

are gathering for another assault. Bandits and renegades harry the wild southern

lands of the Border Princes. There are rumours of rat-things, the skaven, emerging

from the sewers and swamps across the land. And from the northern wildernesses

there is the ever-present threat of Chaos, of daemons and beastmen corrupted by

the foul powers of the Dark Gods. As the time of battle draws ever near, the Empire

needs heroes like never before.

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CHAPTER ONE

Rudi Walder hesitated before stepping out from the deep shadows beneath the

canopy of overlapping branches. There was nothing overtly threatening about the

forest clearing, but something didn’t feel right. Instinctively he took a step

backwards, melting into the contours of a nearby beech tree the way his father had

taught him, standing close enough and still enough that a casual eye would miss his

presence in the general panorama of broken outlines.

Not that the trick always worked: some animals could detect a hidden hunter by

smell alone. Then there were the stories of lurking beastmen, goblins, and worse,

which the young forester had more reason than most to believe. Everyone knew they

were only biding their time before launching another raid on some luckless outpost of

civilisation. Thus far Kohlstadt had been spared their depredations, but everyone in

the Reikland knew better than to relax their vigilance. Complacency was the

handmaiden of destruction according to Father Antrobus, the local priest of Sigmar,

and although Rudi had only the sketchiest idea of what a handmaiden was his very

presence in the village was a constant reminder to everyone of the threat they faced.

He strained his ears, hoping to catch again the faint echo on the wind that had

warned him of something amiss. He couldn’t be sure, but for a moment he thought he

heard the murmuring of voices. His apprehension increased. None of the villagers

would be this far inside the tree line. They confined their forays for firewood to brief,

nervy incursions, preferably in large groups, and they never strayed out of sight of

the perimeter and the comforting open spaces beyond. That narrowed the possibilities

alarmingly.

A high, feminine laugh confirmed his worst fears. His jaw tightened. Goblins or

beastmen might almost have been preferable, he thought irritably. A moment later the

echoes of the laugh were joined by their source, and Rudi froze even more, willing

the girl to pass on without noticing him.

Hanna Reifenstal entered the clearing as though she owned it, plainly

unconcerned by the idea that something inimical might be lurking among the trees. In

this at least the two youngsters had something in common, although Rudi would have

bitterly resented anyone tactless enough to point out the fact. In his case his

confidence came from a lifetime of living on the fringes of the woodland and the

tutelage of his adoptive father, who for as far back as the lad could remember had

passed on the lore of the forest, and who earned a reasonable living collecting the

bounty on the pelts of any wolves incautious enough to stray close to the ramshackle

palisade marking the nominal boundaries of Kohlstadt. Since childhood Rudi had

considered the winding maze of paths between the trees a comfortable home, well-

stocked with edible flora and fauna, so that even in the long intervals between wolf

hunts he and Gunther Walder lived tolerably well. Better, truth to tell, than most of

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their fellow villagers, who broke their backs from dawn to dusk in the unforgiving

fields.

Hanna, on the other hand, was at home in the forest because she seemed to take it

for granted that nothing would dare to accost her, the same way she kept the lads of

the village at arm’s length by the aura of vague contempt she exuded whenever one

would pluck up the courage to try and engage her in conversation. This didn’t stop

them trying, of course. They had done so more frequently of late as she approached

her seventeenth birthday, because there was no doubt about it she was quite good-

looking if you liked that sort of thing, which Rudi told himself with rather too much

emphasis that he most certainly didn’t. True she had shoulder-length hair of a striking

blonde hue, which framed her heart-shaped face quite fetchingly, and a figure her

tightly-laced blouse emphasised in a vaguely distracting manner, but she was

patronising, arrogant, and it was well-known around the village that you didn’t want

to annoy her because if you did something seriously unpleasant was likely to happen

to you. Not that anything actually had, at least to anyone that Rudi had ever heard

about, but no one seemed terribly keen to be the first. So for the most part she got her

own way about everything without having to try too hard.

“Hello, Rudi.” She waved right at him, and he felt his face flush with

embarrassed resentment. She thought she was so clever. “Were you hiding?”

“No,” he responded curtly, stepping forward into the patch of sunlight that filled

the clearing. It felt warm on his skin; a pleasant contrast to the cool shadows beneath

the trees, and the turf was springy underfoot. The faint scent of crushed clover rose

from beneath his boots. “Why would I be doing that?” Even as the words left his

mouth he knew they were a mistake. Hanna’s wide mouth curved into a grin, her

green eyes sparkling with mischief.

“How would I know? I never know why you do anything,” she shrugged, not

needing to articulate. “Or care.”

“I thought witches knew everything.” It was a reflex response, and quite the

wrong one. Her eyes hardened.

“Then you thought wrong, didn’t you? And I’m not… what you said.”

“If you say so,” he said, unsure of what to say next that wouldn’t make things

worse. Hanna’s face flushed.

“I’m an apprentice healer. And I didn’t hear you flinging accusations of

witchcraft around when my mother set your dad’s arm for him!”

“You’re right. We were grateful.” Rudi shuffled his feet, resentment at his own

embarrassment rising within him. It was true they owed the Reifenstals a

considerable debt of gratitude. Gunther had come off worst in a confrontation with a

wild boar, and been badly hurt before he could drive it off. Fortunately the fracture

had been a clean one, and he’d recovered quickly thanks to the treatment he’d

received from Greta Reifenstal, Hanna’s mother. The two of them lived in a small

cottage on the outskirts of the village, conveniently close to the foresters’ hut. They

were the closest neighbours Rudi and his father had. Guiltily aware that he’d hurt her

feelings, and wanting to make amends, Rudi plucked one of the rabbits he’d collected

from the snares that morning from the small cluster of little mammals hanging from

his belt and held it out to her. “Would you like this? For your mother.”

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Hanna stared at it, her face still a mask of resentment. The coney’s head lolled

drunkenly on its broken neck, a trickle of blood matting the fur beneath its nose. She

backed off a step.

“Give it to her yourself,” she said, turning away.

“Fine.” Rudi wasn’t sure what else he might have said then, but he was saved

from having to try to leave the glade with some vestige of his dignity intact by

another cheery greeting.

“Good morning, young man.” Greta appeared around the curve in the forest path,

and smiled at him with what appeared to be genuine warmth. She employed the same

mode of address to everyone, regardless of age; she even called Grandma Ostwald

“young woman” despite having less than half the nonagenarian’s years on her back.

Gunther said it was something to do with her healing arts, a way of putting people at

their ease by seeming more worldly-wise than they were, but his friend Magnus said

she was just bad at remembering names, and Rudi suspected he was right. “How’s

your father?”

“Fine, thank you.” Relieved at having an excuse to turn his attention away from

Hanna, Rudi took a few steps towards the older woman. She resembled her daughter

in many ways, but her build was stockier, and there were patches of grey in her hair,

which belied the vitality she otherwise exuded. “He’s recovered completely now.”

Which wasn’t entirely true, there was a persistent rash around the scar tissue

where the boar’s tusk had torn the flesh, but Gunther claimed it didn’t itch and his

arm was as strong as it had ever been, if not more so, so there wasn’t anything to

worry about. Certainly nothing worth running to the healer with, like one of the effete

villagers who went snivelling to Greta’s cottage every time they so much as got a

blister on their thumb. Rudi wasn’t so sure, the discoloured skin seemed to him to be

spreading slowly up the limb towards the shoulder, but he knew his father too well to

waste his breath trying to change the man’s mind. He’d do something about it if he

saw the necessity, and until he did so he simply wouldn’t listen to anything his son

might have to say on the subject.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Greta smiled, her open friendliness in marked contrast to

Hanna’s sullen demeanour. The girl was on the other side of the clearing now,

carefully plucking some dimly-glimpsed plants from the grass and transferring them

to the pouch hanging from her belt. “We’d all notice the difference without his bow

arm to keep the wolves at bay.”

Rudi flushed again, despite himself. The point was a sore one, although he

couldn’t really blame the healer for bringing it up. Gunther was known as an

exceptional marksman, not just in Kohlstadt but for some distance around, and Rudi

knew that his own ineptitude with a bow was a continual disappointment to his

father. He practised assiduously, but despite Gunther’s patient tutelage he was a poor

shot and he knew it.

“You’re thinking too much,” Gunther would say, as yet another arrow missed the

tree and hung mockingly from a thicket of thorn bushes. “Don’t hold on the aiming

point for too long. Just draw and loose.” But the more he tried to relax the more tense

he became, so the arrows which had been fairly close to the mark to begin with flew

further and further from their target. In the end he’d given up even bothering to carry

the old bow Gunther had handed down to him. He dreaded the next winter’s

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organised wolf hunt, when everyone in the village would set off under the nominal

guidance of the local militia, and his shortcomings would be plain for all to see.

Perhaps if he practised really hard over the coming months…

“Give him my regards, won’t you?” Greta smiled, and tucked a stray lock of hair

back behind the headscarf which failed to restrain most of it. Rudi nodded again,

conscious of having missed part of the conversation while he was lost in his own

thoughts, and hoping he’d managed to cover his inattention; but knowing Greta’s

reputation for astuteness, and aware of the faint smile quirking at the corner of her

mouth, he somehow doubted it.

“I will.” He became aware of the dead rabbit dangling from his hand, and held it

out. “Would you like this? We’ve got plenty.” That much was true; his complete

ineptitude with a bow hadn’t extended to all the skills Gunther had tried to teach him,

and the snares he set generally yielded a good harvest of garrotted coneys. Today

he’d collected half a dozen, and they could easily spare a couple. Greta’s smile

stretched.

“Thank you Rudi.” So she had remembered his name after all. “That’s very kind

of you.” She held the tiny corpse up, and called to her daughter. “Look what Rudi’s

just given us. Wasn’t that nice?”

“I suppose so. Thanks.” Hanna glanced up grudgingly for a moment, then

resumed her hunt for herbs with studied concentration. For some reason her mother

seemed to find this amusing.

After a few more pleasantries Rudi broke away, relieved to re-enter the shelter of

the trees. He strode rapidly down the familiar forest paths as fast as he could,

heedless of any noise he might make which would startle the game. For some reason

he found himself reliving the conversation with Hanna, imagining all the clever and

scathing things he should have said at the time which would surely have put her in

her place and paid her back for her rudeness with interest. Next time, he told himself,

he wouldn’t just stand there gawping, he’d give as good as he got. That’d show her,

stuck-up little madam…

“Dreck!” The swearword escaped his lips unbidden, as his boot-heel sank into

something squishy and foul-smelling. He slipped, all but losing his balance, and

windmilled his arms for a moment before regaining his footing. From habit he

glanced down at his soiled footwear, confident of being able to identify the creature

whose droppings he had unceremoniously trodden in. Then the hairs on the back of

his neck began to rise.

Absorbed in his angry thoughts he’d gone deeper into the woods than he’d

intended. The glade he found himself in was familiar of course, but pretty much on

the limits of the territory through which he and his father habitually foraged. Now it

was littered with fumets like the one fouling his boots, which stank in a fashion far

worse than the droppings of the creatures he was used to. They were larger, too, and

the hunting lore he’d gleaned from his father suggested that they must have come

from creatures the size of a man, if not greater.

Intrigued, he wiped his boot on a nearby tussock of grass and bent down to

examine the befouled ground in greater detail. The droppings were scattered in

sufficient number to indicate that a full pack or herd of whatever beasts had left them

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had passed this way quite recently, and he looked for a patch of bare ground where

their tracks might be easier to read.

There! A patch of mud, churned up by what looked like hooves, and a large area

of leaf mould beneath the overhanging trees where the imprints stood out clearly.

Rudi cocked his head, looking at them from several different angles. They were too

large for deer, that much was certain. If anything they most resembled cattle, but that

was ridiculous; who would be herding livestock this deep into the woodlands?

A deep sense of unease began to grow within him. The obvious answer would be

bandits, driving stolen animals back to some hideout deep within the bowels of the

wood. And outlaws weren’t likely to be too happy if they discovered an interloper

poking into their business.

Assuming they were human at all, of course. His scalp tingling, Rudi began to

look for anything which might resemble goblin tracks. He had no idea what such

things might look like, but assumed they’d be somehow similar to human prints…

A thrill of pure horror stopped his breath for a moment. Now he was thinking in

terms other than human, it was obvious from the weight distribution that the hoof

prints had been left by bipeds, creatures that walked like men, but weren’t.

Beastmen! Less than a league from Kohlstadt! Drawing the knife at his belt with

trembling hands, and aware of how pitifully inadequate it was likely to prove against

the monsters his father had described, Rudi turned and ran until his lungs burned and

his heart threatened to burst out of his chest.

Behind him, as he left, he was sure he could hear rustling in the undergrowth,

although whether that was the creatures he feared or merely the wind in the trees he

had no intention of waiting to find out.

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CHAPTER TWO

“You were right, lad. Well done.” Gunther directed a nod of approval to his adopted

son, then turned his attention from the tracks Rudi had found to Heinrich Littman, the

sergeant of the village militia. They made a strange pair: the forester was dark and

wiry, dressed in drab browns and greens, his ever-present bow and quiver of arrows

slung across his back, making a striking contrast with the old soldier standing next to

him.

Littman was broad in the shoulder and attired in the faded but still lovingly-

tended livery of his old regiment. His white hair and eyebrows stood out starkly from

the frame of the battered sallet helm he still wore whenever he was on duty. His

halberd, the blade still keen despite its age and the many notches inflicted in combat

with enemies of the Empire in the course of his life, rested casually against his

shoulder. He had settled in Kohlstadt many years before almost by accident, just

another rootless old campaigner passing through on his way to nowhere in particular,

taking on the job of licking the local militia into shape for a bit of drinking money

and a few nights’ board and lodging. To everyone’s surprise, including his own, he’d

turned out to be extremely good at it, and Burgomeister Steiner had offered him a

permanent post.

The old soldier nodded his agreement, and Rudi edged a little closer so he could

overhear the conversation. Littman had fought beastmen many times, and he was

eager to know what the old man might make of the tracks he’d found. His father had

seen traces of the creatures before, and had even taken a shot at a solitary mutant

he’d surprised in the forest while Rudi was still a child, but Littman had encountered

whole warbands and lived to tell the tale. He did this frequently in the bar of the

village tavern, until his wife, the erstwhile widow Eichmann who had probably

influenced his decision to stay in Kohlstadt at least as much as Steiner’s purse, came

in to take him home amid much ribald amusement.

“It looks like a whole warband,” the grizzled veteran confirmed. “Couple of

dozen at least.”

“That’s what I’d say.” The forester nodded his agreement. The muted sunlight

dappled his narrow face as he moved his head. “Scouting us out, do you think?”

“Maybe.” Littman took a couple of steps towards the boundary of the clearing,

limping slightly as he favoured his left leg. The right, as everyone knew, had been

laid open to the bone by an orcish blade in a place called Black Fire Pass, and never

mended right. Perhaps the village was luckier than it realised having Greta Reifenstal

living in it. Littman and Gunther’s voices attenuated as they moved, and Rudi shifted

his position again, eager to eavesdrop. Now the conversation was getting really

interesting…

“Mind where you’re going!” someone said, with unmistakably feigned good

humour. Rudi felt a blow against his shoulder that knocked him slightly off balance.

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As he took an automatic step to regain it something hard nudged against his calves

and tripped him. He went down hard, just missing one of the piles of stinking dung

that still littered the grass. Raucous laughter echoed around the clearing.

“What’s going on here?” Littman stomped over to investigate, and the half-dozen

militiamen ranged about its perimeter went quiet at once. The sergeant’s leadership

was based on the trust and affection of the men he led, but they had a healthy respect

for his direct approach to enforcing discipline where necessary. That hadn’t been

much in recent years, but when he first took on the job many of the men had resented

being bossed about by an outsider, especially one who they thought was being paid to

do nothing but sit around all day while they worked at their various trades. That had

all changed the day Big Franz the blacksmith had failed to provide the new spear

blades Littman had ordered on time because he had “real work to do”. The sergeant

had laid him out with a single punch and the weapons had arrived the following

week, and Franz had become so zealous in his part-time militia duties he was rapidly

promoted to corporal, second only to the sergeant in authority.

“Nothing, sarge.” The spotty-faced youth who’d tripped him held out a hand to

help Rudi to his feet. “The kid here fell over my spearshaft, that’s all.”

“Did he indeed?” Littman’s voice was noncommittal, although Rudi felt sure he

knew what had really happened. Ignoring the proffered hand he clambered quickly to

his feet. “Mind on the job, Katzenjammer.”

“Right you are, sarge.” Hans Katzenjammer smirked at Rudi, who felt his face

flushing with anger. The Katzenjammer brothers, Hans and Fritz, were bullies and

troublemakers; everyone in the village knew it. At nineteen, Hans was big and stocky

enough to intimidate pretty much anyone his junior, and his younger brother, just as

big but more running to fat, followed his lead in everything. Fritz was smirking too, a

couple of paces away from Hans as always; a year younger and soft in the head, he

thought his brother was clever, daring, and tough. He was grievously mistaken in

every particular, but longed to emulate him. He’d only joined the militia because his

brother had, and Littman tolerated him because he followed orders and carried heavy

bundles without complaint.

“That’s sergeant or sir to you, Katzenjammer. And if you want to get out of here

without a beastman skinning you alive you’d better pay a bit more attention to what’s

going on around you. Understand?”

“Yes sir.” Hans paled, and looked around at the surrounding undergrowth with

thinly-veiled alarm. As Littman turned away Rudi caught a wink, and understood. Of

course the beastmen would be miles away by now, or his father and the old soldier

would have been far more alert, but the Katzenjammers wouldn’t realise that.

The rest of the militiamen were quiet and nervy, jumping at every rustle in the

bushes. None of them had ever seen a beastman, but they’d all heard the stories, and

knew that in sufficient numbers they were capable of wiping an isolated village from

the map as though it had never been. And even worse than the creatures’ legendary

ferocity was the fact that they were the embodiment of Chaos, the great enemy of

everything rational and civilised.

“Rudi.” Gunther beckoned and he went to join his father, who was staring

intently at a broken twig. “What do you make of this?”

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“Something big,” Rudi replied at once, an easy deduction as the damaged foliage

was well above his head height. “Their leader, do you think?”

“Probably.” Gunther nodded. “I heard they tend to be bigger than the rest.”

“You heard right.” Littman limped across to join them. “The biggest, meanest

one is always in charge. Like orcs.” He spat, as he always did whenever anyone

mentioned the greenskins. “You can usually pick him out by his horns.”

“I thought they all had horns,” Rudi said. Littman shrugged.

“Some do, some don’t. The ones that don’t are scrawny little beggars by

comparison. Even Katzenjammer could take one. Probably.” Out of the corner of his

eye Rudi could see Hans Katzenjammer flushing angrily. He had overheard the

remark, as he was no doubt supposed to. Rudi took a moment to savour the bully’s

discomfiture. “But the bigger the horns the tougher they are, and the more scared the

others are of them. Remember that, it might save your life.”

“So you can pick him out and kill him first?” Rudi asked. Littman and Gunther

both laughed.

“So you can run like a halfling who’s heard there’s free cake before he gets close

to you,” Gunther said. Littman nodded.

“I wouldn’t like to take one on without a few mates to back me up. Preferably a

wizard as well. They can be tough to kill.” Something of the apprehension Rudi felt

at that must have shown on his face, because Gunther smiled and ruffled his hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “They’ll be miles away by now.” Littman

nodded.

“Probably checked out the village, saw how well defended we were, and moved

on in search of easier pickings.”

“Then they won’t be coming back?” Rudi tried to make the question sound

casual, but it came out a little too hesitant for his liking. Almost like wishful thinking.

“With any luck.” Gunther and Littman exchanged glances. “But we’d better take

a few precautions. lust to be on the safe side.”

“Agreed.” Littman nodded. “Double the men on the gates, bring everyone from

the outlying farms inside the village at night, that sort of thing.”

“Including us?” Gunther looked amused at the idea. “Be honest, Heinrich, can

you really see me settling down in some tavern bed instead of out here?”

“It’s not really up to me, is it?” Littman said. “Although if it was I’d rather have

your eyes and ears in the forest. If there were anything in the wind you’d be the one

to spot it.” He shrugged. “I’ll talk to the burgomeister. In the end it’s his decision.”

Rudi listened to the exchange with a strange sense of excitement stirring in his

stomach, mixed with apprehension. Truth to tell he wasn’t sure which he’d prefer,

remaining in the familiar hut on the edge of the forest despite the possibility of a

beastmen incursion, or scuttling into the village for safety like a scared peasant.

Certainly the thought of being cooped up with the Katzenjammers and the rest of the

local folk, being glanced at and whispered about when no one thought he was

looking, was unappealing. But so was the thought of being done to death by

beastmen. And the villagers weren’t all bad, he supposed, there were a few he liked.

Littman and his father had always got on well, for instance, and there was always

Magnus. Staying with him might not be so bad…

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The burgomeister would make a big show of making a decision and announcing

it, along with any other edicts he thought necessary, but despite being a bit of a

windbag the man was no fool and would certainly listen to the counsel of Littman

and Gunther.

Leaving the two adults to debate the matter he moved on, following the trail left

by the leader of the beastmen. It should be safe enough, both Gunther and Littman

seemed convinced the creatures were long gone, and it was certain that no one else

here would have the courage or expertise to do it. He might find some other clue to

their whereabouts; that should make everyone sit up and take him seriously for once.

After a moment he was deep in the underbrush, wriggling through thorns and

snagging twigs with the ease of a lifetime of practice, although the passage of the

monstrous bulk which had passed through ahead of him had left little enough

obstruction. He tried to picture Hans out here alone in the forest, following the trail

of a huge and dangerous beastman, and grinned. The hulking youth would probably

have wet himself by now…

He stopped abruptly. A large thorn bush barred the way, snapped and splintered

barbs showing where the giant beastman had simply ploughed its way through the

obstacle. He could have squirmed or hacked his way in pursuit, he supposed, but that

would cut him off from the militia group, and he wasn’t stupid enough for that.

Besides, something he couldn’t quite put a name to kept him back from the bush, a

sense of unease he was at a loss to explain. It seemed tainted somehow, touched with

an evil presence at odds with the peaceful forest surrounding it.

Rudi looked closer, hoping to find some reason for his presentiment. There was

nothing obvious to be seen, and yet…

There. Duller eyes than his would surely have missed it, but his lifetime of

practice reading the minute traces left by the creatures of the forest served him well.

A patch of coarse hair, ripped from the creature’s hide by the ensnaring thorns,

waved gently in the breeze which rippled the leaves above his head. He leaned a little

closer, fighting the wave of revulsion which rose up within him. A dark patch lay on

the twig and the thorns next to the tuft of hair. Could this be the blood of the creature,

carelessly shed as it pushed its way through the barrier?

Abruptly the subtle sense of dread he felt dropped away as though it had never

been, to be replaced by a rising euphoria. This was surely an important discovery.

Perhaps his father or Littman would be able to recognise the traces he’d found,

identify the enemy they faced, and it was all due to him. Rudi Walder, the forest

child, the shunned object of derision and pity. The villagers would have to respect

him now, even the Katzenjammers and Hanna and all the others who mocked and

despised him. He’d show them all right…

Lost in these pleasant imaginings he suddenly became aware that his hand was

stretched out towards the tuft of hair, on the verge of grasping it, and about to be

impaled by the reaching thorns. With a gasp of fear he snatched it back. There was no

telling what foulness such a thing might carry. Better to leave it intact, where

Gunther would be able to read its secrets more easily.

Heart thudding in his chest, for reasons he couldn’t quite identify, Rudi hurried

back to the clearing, calling for Littman and his father.

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“That’s beastman fur all right,” Littman confirmed. He gazed at it narrowly from

several feet away, clearly reluctant to get anywhere closer to the bush. Behind him

the militiamen clustered nervously, the Katzenjammer boys elbowing their way to the

fore as usual. For once the older men let them get away with it, clearly less than keen

to be anywhere near such tangible evidence of the minions of Chaos. “You’ve got

sharp eyes, lad.”

“Thanks,” Rudi muttered. Now that the time had come he found he wasn’t as

keen to be the centre of attention as he’d thought. Some of the men were looking at

him suspiciously, as though they thought he might have found the cursed thing

because of some affinity he might have with it. He could almost hear their thoughts

echoing in the spaces between the trees. After all, nobody really knows where he

came from…

“It just looks like a bit of cow hide to me,” Hans muttered, loud enough to be

overheard, and his brother snickered dutifully.

“That’s because you’re an idiot,” Littman snapped, and Hans coloured visibly.

Rudi couldn’t help grinning at his enemy’s embarrassment, and felt the youth’s eyes

on him, marking his amusement for some future act of petty vengeance. Well, let him

try, Rudi thought. Littman’s complement far outweighed any fear he might have had

of the bully, at least for now, and Katzenjammer had a short attention span. By the

time they met again he’d no doubt be carrying an equally petty grudge against

someone else.

“Can you tell what that stain is?” the sergeant asked Gunther. The forester

examined the hairs and the faint discolouration of the leaves and thorns, which Rudi

had noticed before. He was stooping closer than anyone else would have felt

comfortable with. At length he leaned back.

“Looks like blood,” he said at last. “But it smells… wrong. Tainted.”

“Well I suppose it would,” Littman said. “They’re none too fresh close up, I can

tell you.” Most of the militiamen exchanged apprehensive glances, anticipating

another long story of past campaigns, but Littman was too professional to be

deflected at this point. “Do you think it’s wounded?”

“No.” Gunther shook his head. “There’s not nearly enough blood for that. It just

scratched itself on the thorns as it pushed through, that’s all. Probably didn’t even

notice.”

“Probably not,” Littman agreed. “Their hides are thick enough.”

Rudi looked again at the stain, and the barbed twig it marked. The discolouration

looked slightly bigger somehow, as though it had spread, but surely that was

impossible. Despite himself he leaned forward a little. The leaves were wilted along

the whole branch, he could see now, as though the blood of the beastman was toxic,

poisoning the bush which had dared to wound it. He’d heard something of the sort in

stories and travellers’ tales, but somehow seeing it with his own eyes made it harder

to believe.

“Why not get a proper look?” someone asked, shoving him hard between the

shoulder blades. With his attention on the puzzle before him he hadn’t noticed the

Katzenjammer brothers moving up next to him until it was almost too late. Warned in

the nick of time Rudi dropped to one knee, absorbing the impact, and swung his right

shoulder down, deflecting the force of his enemy’s blow.

12

Taken completely by surprise Hans yelped, stumbled forwards, and sprawled into

the bush himself. Loud profanity followed, indicating that the thorns were definitely

as sharp as they looked.

“You pushed him!” Fritz Katzenjammer glared down at Rudi, his fists balled. For

a moment the young forester flinched, anticipating a pummelling. But the podgy

blond youth was abruptly jerked backwards by a hand round his collar.

“He did no such thing.” Heinrich Littman glared at the two brothers, while Hans

floundered loudly from the embrace of the thorn bush, his face and arms marred by

livid scratches. He grabbed the older Katzenjammer with the other hand, and jerked

him to his feet. “I’ve had just about enough of your feeble-minded horseplay,

Katzenjammer. If you can’t get it into your head that this is serious, I don’t want you

around. Get back to the village right now. I’ll deal with the pair of you later.”

“On our own?” Hans’ cocky facade crumbled, and for a moment he looked truly

frightened. Not so much at the prospect of the sergeant’s wrath, which was

intimidating enough in itself, but at the sudden realisation that there was almost a

league of forest between here and home. A forest which, like all the villagers, he was

nervous about at the best of times, and which his imagination was now clearly filling

with minions of Chaos lurking behind every bush. “Suppose the beastmen find us?”

“I should be so lucky.” Littman dropped the two brothers. “Don’t worry. We’ll

hear the noise.”

Hans clearly wanted to say a great deal more, but in the end elected to salvage

what dignity he could. Collecting his spear he marched off down the trail without a

backward glance, his brother following in his wake as always. As they disappeared

Fritz turned his head, catching Rudi’s eye just long enough to mouth a word, which

looked like “Later.”

“Nice move, son.” Gunther helped Rudi to his feet with a grin and a wink, and to

his surprise the young forester noticed smiles on the faces of all the men around him.

“Couldn’t have done it better myself.”

Rudi supposed he should have been more worried at the prospect of some future

retaliation from the Katzenjammers, but right now, basking in his father’s approval

and the apparent respect of Littman and his men, he just couldn’t bring himself to

care.

13

CHAPTER THREE

Rudi slipped through the gate in the high wooden wall which marked the boundary of

the village of Kohlstadt. Stoutly constructed of logs from the forest it looked sturdy

enough, and the gate itself, twice as high as a man, seemed reassuringly solid. One

half of the gate was closed already, so that the roadway was half its usual width, part

of Littman’s precautions he supposed. He wasn’t surprised to see Big Franz and a

couple of militiamen standing next to it. Normally the gate would be unattended in

the hours of daylight, with a solitary watchman left to guard them at night, but these

times were far from normal.

“Morning, young Walder.” Franz waved a greeting, raising a ham-like hand to

the pot helm he’d made for himself as a mark of his authority. A genial man, he was

one of the few in the village who habitually treated him with something approaching

respect. Today he smiled at the young forester. “Not been treading in any thorn

bushes today?” The two men with him laughed, glancing at Rudi with unaccustomed

warmth. With a sudden sinking feeling Rudi realised that the tale of his humiliation

of Hans Katzenjammer had spread rapidly throughout the militia, no doubt with

many embellishments the youth was sure to resent. Well, there was no point

worrying about it. He could hardly avoid him more than he’d already intended to, and

besides he had business to deal with.

“I’m not that clumsy,” he responded and trotted away down a familiar street. The

comment raised another laugh from the spear-carrying artisans.

Comfortably situated in the middle of a fertile valley, Kohlstadt had become the

obvious location for the weekly market where the peasant farmers from the

surrounding smallholdings came to buy and sell their surplus produce. And with the

inexorable logic of trade other business had followed. Apart from Franz’s smithy, the

village now boasted a couple of weavers, a brewer who kept the tavern well-supplied,

and a handful of other tradesmen. And if you wanted anything that couldn’t be made

in the vicinity, there was one man who could guarantee to get it for you. So long as

the price was right…

“Rudi. There you are.” Magnus von Blackenburg smiled as he opened his door in

response to the young forester’s hesitant knock. Even if Rudi hadn’t been there many

times before he would have had little trouble picking the right address out from its

neighbours; only the burgomeister’s mansion was able to match it in either size or

opulence. “Please, come in.” Magnus stood aside, gesturing a welcome, which struck

highlights from the gold rings on his hands. “I’m sure you must be thirsty after all

that walking.”

“Yes. Thank you.” The day was warm, and a drink would be welcome; but even

if it were not, he would have accepted. Magnus’ hospitality was legendary

throughout the valley, and the viands he provided to his guests were of a quality

commensurate with his wealth. He ushered Rudi through the main hall of the house,

14

which was panelled in dark, polished wood, towards the parlour where he habitually

conducted their business. As always, when they passed along the passageway, Rudi

found his gaze drawn to the glass mirror on the wall above the settle carved with a

coat of arms so blackened by age as to be almost indecipherable. The looking glass

was a luxury so rare that he doubted there was another in the whole of Kohlstadt,

even in the burgomeister’s house, and the fact that Magnus had chosen to hang it

right next to his front door, where every visitor would notice it, was calculated to

impress everyone with his wealth and sophistication.

Two faces gazed back at him. The older one was familiar enough, as he saw

Magnus frequently in the streets as well as at his home: alert dark eyes in a sallow

face, beneath lank hair of midnight black. The corners of his mouth were set in a wry

smile, which could change in an instant from good humour to sardonic disdain. He

had a fondness for robes of dark green and yellow, like the ones he wore now. The

other reflection was less familiar, and, as always, he regarded it with mild surprise

for a moment. Though he knew intellectually that it was himself, he saw his own face

infrequently enough to be taken aback every time he encountered it. Of course it

didn’t help that at his time of life every glimpse revealed a change in his rapidly

maturing body.

Despite his best intentions, as he did every time he visited the house, he couldn’t

help pausing for a moment to see what new alterations had appeared. The youth who

stared back at him seemed older than he felt, tall, well-muscled and fit, a natural

consequence he supposed of his life in the forest. A mop of straw-blond hair,

unevenly cut, fell across his brow, half-concealing eyes of a misty grey which

seemed to recede to hidden depths, like the forest pools he occasionally swam in on

his rounds of the rabbit snares. His features were regular, although he wasn’t vain

enough to think of himself as handsome. The faint shadow of what would one day

become a beard was beginning to be visible on his cheeks and jaw.

“You have the package?” Magnus pulled the door of the parlour to behind them,

leaving it slightly ajar, and rang a small silver hand bell that stood on an intricately

inlaid occasional table in one corner. Most of the space was taken up by a handful of

high-backed chairs in light polished wood, their seats cushioned by small pillows of

the yellow and green the merchant favoured, clustered for the most part around the

wide empty fireplace. It was a comfortable room, calculated to put guests at their

ease, and judging by the number of books left lying around, it was a place the

merchant used to relax when he was alone as well. His library was impressive: he

owned in excess of a dozen volumes, more than the rest of the village could boast

combined.

“Right here,” Rudi replied, reaching inside his shirt to pull it out. It was small and

light, with something hard and irregular inside, wrapped in oilcloth and sealed with

wax. As usual he had no idea what the contents might be, and he had no inclination

to pry. He liked and admired Magnus, and simply assumed that his business dealings

were so complicated he’d never have understood them anyway.

For his part Magnus seemed to trust Rudi implicitly, which the young forester felt

was flattering. Few of the villagers were comfortable in his presence, and for one of

the most wealthy and powerful to take him even partially into his confidence made

him feel hugely important.

15

“Thank you.” Magnus took it without a second glance and dropped it onto the

table next to the bell, which chimed gently from the vibration. “Was there anything

else?”

“Oh yes. A letter.” Rudi handed that over too, and waited while Magnus scanned

the contents. Unable to read himself he found the idea of being able to communicate

by little marks on paper almost magical. He watched the process with a tingle of

something approaching superstitious awe. “Was there a reply?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.” Magnus smiled, and folded the paper away, gesturing

Rudi to a chair opposite his own. Rudi sat down. Feeling the upholstery sag under his

weight was vaguely alarming, as he was used to plain wooden furniture. “It’s a long

way back to Altman’s farm, and I wouldn’t want to impose on your good nature.”

Rudi felt himself flushing.

“It’s no bother,” he began, but was interrupted by a cough from the doorway.

Magnus raised his eyes to the servant girl who had entered while they were talking.

“Ah. Kirstin. A little light refreshment for our young friend, if you’d be so kind.”

“Very good, sir.” Kirstin stared at Rudi just long enough to make it plain that she

considered waiting on riff-raff from the forest an affront to her dignity. Then she

withdrew from the room. She was a pale girl, a couple of years older than him, with a

sallow complexion and a reedy, unhealthy-sounding cough, which followed her about

like a persistent pet. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, almost febrile, and on his first

few visits to the house Rudi had assumed she was sickening for something. Now, old

enough to be a little more cynical, he suspected it had more to do with a taste for

staying out in the tavern to the small hours of the morning and not being particularly

choosy about which bed she woke up in the following day. Not that he had any

personal experience of either, but her nocturnal habits were a perennial staple of the

village gossip, along with Magnus’ inexplicable failure to rid himself of such an

embarrassing servant.

Though some of the rumours drew the obvious conclusion, most folk were of the

opinion that he was simply too kind-hearted to sack the girl. After all, his charitable

inclinations were widely known. He gave generously to Father Antrobus, to relieve

the suffering of the poor, and had taken an avuncular interest in Rudi ever since the

day Gunther had brought him back to the village after finding the traumatised toddler

wandering the paths of the forest almost sixteen years before. A prolonged search of

the woodlands had found no trace of his parents, and in the end it had been assumed

they were itinerant charcoal burners who had wandered too far into its depths and had

fallen foul of the goblins or beastmen. Magnus had provided the funds for the child’s

upkeep, and he still gave his adoptive father an occasional stipend to assist with

additional clothing and other provisions despite it no longer being strictly necessary.

Moreover he had taken it upon himself to provide Rudi with the only paid work

he’d ever had. His business dealings required the occasional dispatch of notes, letters

and packages to many of the outlying farmsteads, and the almost as frequent

collection of the same, and it was far easier to employ a messenger than to do the job

himself. When Rudi had asked why the merchant had picked him for the task

Magnus had simply laughed, and said he couldn’t think of anyone better qualified for

the job. Rudi had thought it flattering at the time, but thinking about it later he could

see the man’s point. Living outside the village meant that he knew the surrounding

16

area better than most, and his explorations around the valley had added to that

knowledge, so he was certain that no one knew the terrain around Kohlstadt as well

as he did. Except possibly his father. And entrusting his business to an outsider had

been clever in another way too, Rudi supposed. If he had been one of the villagers he

might have been tempted to gossip about the errands he ran, which could have given

one of Magnus’ business rivals valuable information.

Another cough announced Kirstin’s return. She nudged the door open with her

knee to admit a turned wooden platter containing a flagon, a couple of pewter

goblets, and a plate of oatcakes fresh from the bakery together with some cheese and

a quartered apple. Rudi felt his mouth begin to water.

“I hope this will do,” she said, her tone managing to convey that it had better, as

she had more important things to be getting on with than feeding upstart peasants.

Magnus rose to take the tray, his lopsided smile betraying his amusement at her

irritation.

“I’m sure it will do admirably,” he said evenly, before adding, “that will be all,

thank you,” just quickly enough to deny her the satisfaction of flouncing out in a state

of visible dissatisfaction. Despite feeling a little out of his depth, Rudi echoed the

faint smile of complicity Magnus directed at him. His isolated upbringing on the

fringes of the forest had left him at something of a disadvantage when it came to

picking up on the unspoken undercurrents of human interaction. However, he knew

enough to realise that Kirstin had meant to slight him and that Magnus had turned the

tables somehow, and he relished the sense of belonging that conferred. This must be

what it was like to have friends, he thought, or a whole family instead of just a father.

Magnus poured refreshing goblets of small beer for the two of them, and for a

while they simply drank and ate. The merchant chatted easily as if Rudi were a

proper guest and someone of consequence rather than a lowly employee. But then he

was like that with everyone, surprisingly free of airs and graces considering his

exalted position in the community.

“And how are things out there in the wild wood?” he asked. “Remaining quiet, I

trust?” Rudi nodded, swallowing a plug of masticated oatcake in order to reply.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he confirmed. In the week and a half since his

discovery in the forest neither he nor his father had come across any further traces of

the beastmen, and he was beginning to hope that they never would. Burgomeister

Steiner had eventually agreed, after listening to Littman and his father that the

Walders could remain outside the village while the rest of the local inhabitants

retreated behind the stockade at night. Needless to say the farmers and peasants were

only too eager to scuttle behind the palisade as the sun went down, and the valley

looked subtly sinister after dark now without the familiar pattern of lamplight, which

marked the scattering of cottages and hovels.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Magnus smiled warmly. “I think we all owe you both a debt

of gratitude for staying out there every night in case something happens.”

“Well, you know my father,” Rudi shrugged. “He’d hate it in town. And we feel

safe enough.” The truth was that for the first couple of nights he’d lain awake almost

until dawn, starting at every sound and imagining hordes of feral Chaos spawn

creeping up on him with murder in their hearts. Only as the days passed did he come

17

to share his father’s confidence. Now, he suspected, it would only be a matter of time

before the local folk became blasé again and returned to their homes.

“I trust he remains in good health?” Magnus asked, after a moment of awkward

silence. Rudi nodded.

“He’s fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Magnus nodded judiciously. “I never really expected that

arm of his to heal, to be honest.”

“Well, he says it’s better than ever.” Rudi evaded the topic with a subtlety that

surprised him. The rash had spread to Gunther’s shoulder, and looked distinctly

unhealthy to him, but his father showed no sign of discomfort. If anything the

affected limb seemed stronger than ever: while they were gathering firewood that

morning Gunther had thrown tree branches casually onto the pile with one hand.

Rudi would have been hard put to lift them with two.

“Well, that’s excellent news.” Magnus finished his drink, and waited politely for

Rudi to drain his own goblet. The hint was easy to read, even for someone with

Rudi’s rudimentary social skills, and he didn’t want to outstay his welcome. The

young forester stood.

“Thank you for the drink. I’d best be on my way.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of detaining you.” Magnus rose smoothly to his

feet, and reached into the purse at his belt. “Thank you again for your valuable

assistance.” He produced three copper pennies, and handed them to Rudi. “I trust this

will be adequate recompense for your time.”

“That’s far too much,” Rudi protested, fighting the impulse to take the coins.

Magnus was rich, it was true, but accepting them would be taking advantage of the

man. Normally he would expect a single copper for each errand he ran, and he just

couldn’t bring himself to take three times his usual rate. Magnus smiled warmly.

“Spoken like an honest man. But you’re forgetting you brought back a letter as

well. Surely it’s only fair to be paid for that too?”

“Well, I suppose so,” Rudi shrugged dubiously. It was logical, but he still felt as

though he was being overpaid. “But I didn’t have to walk any further with it.”

“Fair enough,” Magnus concurred. “Then let’s compromise. I’ve a note I need to

send to the burgomeister this week. If you’ll wait a moment you can take it round for

me now, and that should square your conscience.”

Rudi nodded. That seemed reasonable. The Steiner house was just at the other

end of the street, a handful of yards away. Normally Magnus wouldn’t have bothered

using his services for such a short trip, but while he was here he might as well run the

errand and feel he was earning the extra penny honestly.

He waited while Magnus sharpened his quill and scratched a few words on a

piece of paper taken from a drawer in the ornamental table. He watched in awe as the

precisely formed letters made their incomprehensible patterns on the blank leaf. He

wondered briefly what it might be like to be able to read them, or make such marks

himself, but dismissed the thought almost at once. He had no need of such esoteric

skills in the woodland, and no ambition for any other life. At length the merchant

folded the paper and handed it to him, evidently seeing no need to seal it. Rudi

wasn’t able to decipher the note himself, and the next person to see it would be its

intended recipient.

18

Magnus ushered him to the door, and this time Rudi almost managed to resist the

temptation to glance at his reflection in the mirror. Three pennies for a morning’s

work! He could hardly believe his luck. So preoccupied was he with his pleasant

mood he barely glanced down the street as he set off towards the Steiner house,

clearly visible on the corner, its elaborately worked gargoyles and pargeting

proclaiming its owner’s status.

He had almost reached his destination when he realised the identity of the two

figures that had just turned the corner, and were now barring his way with

expressions of calculated malevolence. The Katzenjammer brothers, Hans and Fritz.

19

CHAPTER FOUR

“Well look who it is,” Hans Katzenjammer took a step sideways to block Rudi’s

path. His brother moved in to flank him as always. “You’re a bit out of your proper

place, aren’t you Walder?” Fritz giggled like an imbecile, anticipating the pleasure of

victimising someone smaller, weaker, and outnumbered.

“It’s a public street.” Rudi made to push past, determined not to be intimidated by

them. The memory of his latest reflection was still with him, and the new awareness

that he was almost as tall as the two bullies and better muscled than both lent him

confidence.

“Really?” Hans tried to force a sneer onto his face, but the damage left by the

thorn bush got in the way. The scratches were livid and inflamed, and thin yellow pus

was weeping through a bandage tied tightly around his forehead. The effort of the

facial contortion was obviously painful, and he gave it up quickly in favour of

glowering as menacingly as he could. “Then maybe we’d better show a bit of civic

pride and clear the rubbish off it.”

“That’s right. Clear the rubbish,” Fritz added, prodding Rudi in the chest. Out of

the corner of his eye Rudi could see movement, other villagers were stopping to stare

at the confrontation. No one looked inclined to intervene though, worse luck. He

supposed it might be different if he had a family in the village, or friends inclined to

back him up. Oh well, things were as they were, and out in the forest there was no

one else to rely on. He’d just have to show them he didn’t need anyone’s help to deal

with these two.

With that thought, he felt his anger rising. He’d had enough of being pestered by

the pair of them, and if he was going to be forced to fight he wasn’t going to let them

get the best of him. Almost without noticing he felt his fists ball.

“Should be easy enough,” he said evenly. “Even you two should be able to walk

as far as the midden without falling over your own feet.” To his surprise he heard

somebody snigger behind him. That was encouraging, at least one of the onlookers

was on his side.

“What did you say?” Hans’ discoloured face flushed even further, anger and

outrage rushing to the surface. He’d clearly been expecting Rudi to back down and

slink away, enabling him to get in a few spiteful nudges and jabs. The realisation that

the young forester wasn’t going to oblige, and that he might end up having to fight

someone capable of defending himself was obviously rattling him. Even with his

brother to back him up he might get hurt, which wasn’t part of the plan.

“You heard. Now get out of my way. I’ve a message to deliver, and I haven’t got

time to waste on you.” Rudi took a step forward, raising a hand to push Hans out of

the way. That was a mistake. The older Katzenjammer took a step backwards and

swung a lazy punch at his head.

20

It took all the time in the world to connect, and Rudi had what felt like long slow

minutes to duck out of the way. As his head dipped he felt Hans’ fist graze the top of

it, barely making contact. He stood up instantly, bringing his own fist forward

sharply from the waist to connect solidly with the older boy’s midriff. Hans folded

over, the breath driven from his lungs with an audible gasp of astonishment and pain.

Had he been an experienced fighter Rudi would have stepped in at that point and

finished the belligerent youth, but he was so astonished at the success of his initial

sally that he simply stood there watching his opponent wheezing and retching. A

surge of triumphant euphoria gripped him for a moment, to be rapidly replaced by

confusion and disgust. This was the first time he’d ever struck someone in anger, and

he wasn’t sure he liked the sensation.

“Leave him alone!” Fritz bellowed, outraged at his brother’s distress. A vivid

burst of light and pain erupted at the side of Rudi’s head as the half-wit swung his

own fist. Carried away on the tide of complex emotions triggered by his apparent

easy victory Rudi had momentarily forgotten his presence, a lapse for which he

looked like paying dearly. Half stunned he staggered and fell to one knee, which sank

into the mud of the street.

“Who do you think you are?” Hans had recovered enough breath by now to start

hurling insults at least. He staggered towards Rudi, who was still trying to blink his

vision clear. “Some half-savage forest brat with the nerve to attack civilised people?”

He aimed a vicious kick at the fallen forester, catching him in the chest. Rudi felt a

moment of searing pain as the thin flesh over his ribs bruised.

“If you’re civilised then I’m an elf,” a familiar feminine voice cut in, edged with

habitual contempt for the object of its address. In spite of the pain he was in, Rudi

groaned quietly. Of all the people who could have seen him brawling in the street, of

course it had to be her…

“What?” Hans turned, clearly astonished at the intervention. Hanna Reifenstal

gazed at him levelly, as though she’d just found him on the sole of her shoe.

“You’re no more civilised than an orc,” she said dismissively. “I’m sure they

think two against one is about right as well.”

“We can always make it two against two, girly.” Hans’ face had turned truly ugly

by now, animated by a malice far deeper than mere petty bullying. However, if he’d

expected her to quail, or run, he’d seriously underestimated her.

“Don’t do me any favours,” her voice dripped contempt, and lazy confidence.

“You can both try your luck if you’re really desperate to get hurt.” For a moment, as

Rudi staggered to his feet, he thought she’d gone too far, and that Hans might be so

far gone as to attack her. Aching muscles twanging in protest he stumbled forwards,

intending to block the bully’s rush towards the girl, but it wasn’t necessary. As Hans

took a step in her direction his brother grabbed him by the arm to hold him back.

“No, Hans,” he pleaded. “She’ll put a curse on you or something.” Some residue

of common sense evidently remained in Hans’ head, because he hesitated for a

moment before shrugging his brother’s hand away.

“What would be the point?” Hanna asked rhetorically. “He’s cursed enough

already.”

21

“Why should I care what a witch thinks?” Hans snarled, determined to vent his

rage verbally if denied the opportunity to do so with his fists. Hanna flushed

dangerously.

“If that’s what you really think I am you should be a lot more careful about what

you say to me,” she snapped, taking a single step forward. Fritz whimpered like a

frightened puppy, his face paler than ever, and tugged at his brother’s arm with

renewed insistence.

“Quite right.” Rudi pulled himself upright, determined not to let the brothers

think they’d hurt him. He stood as solidly and casually as he could despite the

throbbing pain in his head and the ache in his ribcage. “If you think you’re so

civilised you should know how to be polite to a lady.”

“If I see one I will.” Hans was clearly torn between the impulse to continue the

confrontation and the growing caution his brother’s insistence was beginning to instil

in him. If Fritz had backed him up he might have had the confidence to prolong the

fight, but the half-wit was clearly terrified of the girl’s reputation, so he’d have no

help there.

“You wouldn’t recognise one if she stepped on you crossing the gutter,” Hanna

retorted. She switched her attention to Fritz, who quailed visibly. “Take him home

before he embarrasses himself even more.”

“Come on,” Fritz pulled harder on his brother’s arm, starting him moving at last.

With a final venomous glare the older Katzenjammer allowed himself to be led away,

clearly feeling enough face had been saved by letting his sibling be the one to urge

retreat. Rudi watched them go with a sense of triumph, which even managed to

displace the discomfort of his injuries for a while. He’d done it: he’d bested the

Katzenjammers…

“Are you all right?” Hanna asked, breaking into his thoughts. “You took a couple

of nasty hits by the look of it.”

“I’m fine,” he said, his good mood evaporating almost as rapidly as it had

arrived. “Thank you,” he added belatedly. Around them the regular traffic of the

street had resumed, with upwards of half a dozen villagers bustling about their

business now that the impromptu entertainment was over.

“You’re welcome,” she responded, with a smile, which for once had a trace of

genuine warmth in it. “I could hardly stand by and watch you get beaten to a pulp

now, could I?”

“What?” Rudi felt his face flushing. He’d thought she’d been enquiring about his

injuries, like a conscientious healer should, and now it turned out she had the

arrogance to believe that she’d rescued him from the Katzenjammers. While a part of

him acknowledged that without her intervention he would have had a much harder

fight on his hands, the small voice of reason was brushed aside by a simmering tide

of resentment. As if he needed the protection of some slip of a girl, particularly this

one. “I could have taken them both without your interference, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could.” The trace of unaccustomed warmth vanished from her

smile and voice like the glimmer of sunshine on a midwinter morning, to be replaced

by the familiar sneer. “You were really damaging Fritz’s fist with your face.”

“I didn’t mean…” he trailed off, not quite sure what he did mean, but aware that

he was being churlish again. “I appreciate your help. Really.”

22

“Really?” Her voice dripped with scepticism. “Nice of you to notice. If you want

a poultice for that bruising, I’m sure my mother can sort something out.” Abruptly

she turned and walked away, her shoulders set. Rudi watched her go, confusion

mingling with the fuzziness in his head from the blow it had taken. He couldn’t for

the life of him see what she was so upset about. He shrugged, noticing for the first

time that a faint sweetness still lingered in the air from the satchel of herbs she’d

been carrying.

As Hanna turned the corner of the street and disappeared he thought for a

moment that she was about to turn and look at him. He half-raised his arm in a

farewell wave, but she walked on without a backward glance.

23

CHAPTER FIVE

Burgomeister Steiner was a large, florid man with the beginnings of a double chin

and a taste for overly ornate waistcoats. Unlike Magnus he was a stickler for the

distinctions of social rank, so there was no question of Rudi being treated like a guest

in his house. The young messenger simply knocked at the elaborately carved door of

the Steiner mansion, handed the note to the liveried manservant who answered it, and

loitered outside in response to the peremptory request to wait until it became clear

whether an answer was required. After a few moments the door creaked open again,

and Rudi peeled himself away from the wall he’d been leaning on and tried to look

attentive.

“So you’re young Walder.” To his surprise it was the burgomeister himself

standing there, not the servant. Dumbstruck, Rudi nodded, unsure of the correct way

to address so illustrious a person. He knew Steiner by sight of course, everyone in

Kohlstadt did, but he had never been spoken to by the man before, and had never

expected to be. “Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” A moment for what? Surely he wasn’t supposed to enter the

burgomeister’s house?

Apparently not. Steiner came out to meet him, staying in the shelter of the porch.

His eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun like one of the gargoyles perched on a

finial above his head.

“Is there a reply?” Rudi asked after a moment, taking his best guess at the reason

for the burgomeister’s interest. Steiner shook his head.

“No. The note was simply to inform me that certain items I ordered from Herr

von Blackenburg have now arrived.” Rudi surmised that these were more fancy

waistcoats. “I just wanted to meet the young man who so valiantly warned us of the

peril we face.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” Rudi said, unsure of how to respond. “And I’m not

sure there is much of a peril anymore.” Steiner’s dark eyes glittered with an

intelligence that was at odds with his indolent exterior.

“Your father and Sergeant Littman are of a similar mind. They believe the

beastmen to have gone in search of easier pickings than our stoutly-defended little

community.” He broke off and gazed at Rudi, taking in his dishevelled appearance

for the first time. “What happened to your face?”

“I got kicked by a boar,” Rudi said, hardly inclined to discuss his morning’s

adventures with someone in authority. Steiner looked sceptical, but let it go.

“I see.” He gathered his thoughts with an effort. “I wanted to ask what you

thought.”

“Me?” Rudi felt confused for a moment. “What more could I tell you?”

24

“You’d be surprised.” For a moment the trace of a smile appeared on Steiner’s

face. Rudi remembered that despite appearances the burgomeister had a sharp and

incisive mind. “You’re observant, and you know the forest well.”

Rudi felt his head begin to spin, and for a moment assumed it was the after-

effects of Fritz’s punch. Then it hit him. The most powerful man in the village

wanted his advice. For as long as the current emergency lasted, he would have the

acceptance and status in the community he had always longed for. Perhaps it was that

reflection which shaped his reply.

“My father and Sergeant Littman know far more about these things than me, and

if they say the beastmen are gone then they probably are,” he began. “But I’ve been

thinking. All the stories say they live purely for killing and plunder. If they really

have moved on, why haven’t we heard about raids elsewhere in the valley?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Steiner nodded, a pleased expression on his face. “It

seems to me that they’re biding their time, waiting for us to grow complacent. And

unfortunately we might have to relax our precautions a little earlier than I would

consider prudent.”

“Why’s that?” Rudi asked, before realising what he had done. Appalled at his

own temerity for addressing the burgomeister as an equal he felt the breath constrict

in his throat for a moment. Then he realised that, far from being outraged, Steiner

was smiling again.

“A very astute question. I can see I was right about you.” He hesitated for a

moment. “And let me answer it with a question of my own. You run a great many

errands for Herr von Blackenburg, do you not?”

“Yes, I do.” Rudi nodded hesitantly, reluctant to discuss his work for Magnus

with anyone else. The merchant had always said he valued his discretion. “But his

business affairs…”

“Are no concern of mine,” Steiner reassured him. “But you deliver messages for

him all over the valley, or so he tells me.”

“That’s right.” Rudi nodded again. Steiner continued, pursuing the point.

“So you would see more of what goes on in the district than almost anyone.”

“I suppose so.” Rudi had never considered the matter before, but it seemed a

reasonable assumption. “I get about quite a bit.”

“Good.” Steiner lowered his voice a little, even though a quick glance up and

down the street was enough to show that there was no one else within earshot. “And

have you noticed anything unusual in the last few weeks?”

“Unusual in what way?” Rudi asked. Steiner shook his head.

“I don’t want to put any ideas in your head that aren’t there already.”

“Well then.” Rudi shrugged. “Some of the fields are looking a little sickly. The

livestock too.” Several of the farms had been hit by cabbage blight in the last couple

of weeks, and only yesterday the Heimdahls had been complaining that their milk

cow had dried up for no apparent reason.

“Sickly.” His choice of words evidently had some resonance for the

burgomeister, as he repeated it thoughtfully. “And the people?”

“Tired, I suppose. Some of them, anyway.” Rudi said.

25

“Sickly too, you might say?” Steiner looked intently at Rudi as he considered the

question.

“You might say that,” he conceded. Steiner looked thoughtful, as though his

worst fear had been confirmed. Then he came to a decision. He reached into the

pouch at his belt, and produced a sealed note and a couple of coppers.

“I’d be very much obliged,” he said, “if you could take this note to Greta

Reifenstal. As quickly as possible.” Rudi felt his mouth go dry. Of all the

destinations he might have been dispatched to, the Reifenstal’s cottage was pretty

close to the last place in the Empire he would have chosen. Particularly now. But

maybe Hanna wouldn’t be there, and it did seem important.

“I’ll do it now,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t regret it.

To his thinly disguised dismay, it was indeed Hanna who opened the door of the

Reifenstal’s cottage in answer to his reluctant knock. It wasn’t the first time he had

been there of course, there was the evening he’d run to fetch Greta after his father

had stumbled back to their hut bleeding from the wounds he’d sustained from his

fight with the boar. But most of the time he avoided the place, so walking up to it in

daylight was a strange sensation. The general shape of the building was familiar, it

was not so different from a score of other cottages in the hinterland around the

village despite its proximity to the forest, although some fresh details were revealed

as he approached it.

The most obvious feature was the neatly tended rows of plants around the door,

chosen, he supposed, for their medicinal properties as they were generally far from

ornamental. Occasionally, as he passed by in the distance, he had seen Greta tending

them, her habitual headscarf bright against the vegetation and the dull brown walls of

her home. He had hoped to find her out of doors this time, but the garden around the

house had been empty when he approached it, so with a heavy heart he had steeled

himself to knock. A couple of scrawny chickens pecked hopefully in the dirt around

his feet as he rapped his fist against the worn timber.

“What do you want?” Hanna asked as she opened the door. A half smile of

welcome dropped from her face like a stone down a well. Then she seemed to

recollect something. “Changed your mind about that poultice?”

“No, I’m fine,” Rudi began curtly, before recalling that she had tried to help him

earlier, and deserved some gratitude for that. “Thank you. I have a message for your

mother.” He held up the sealed note like a talisman, hoping to impress her.

“Oh.” Hanna glanced at the crest embossed into the sealing wax. Then she turned

and called into the gloom behind her. “It’s a letter from Steiner.” Before Rudi could

register his shock at hearing her refer to the burgomeister in such a familiar tone the

girl had turned back to him. “I suppose you’d better come in.”

Rudi wasn’t sure what he expected to discover as he followed her across the

threshold, but was vaguely surprised to find himself being conducted into a bright

and cheerful room quite at odds with the vague idea he had of noisome potions and

strange rituals.

There was a large wooden table, freshly scrubbed, which evidently did double

duty for eating and preparing herbal remedies judging by the two bowls containing

the residue of stew at one end, and the collection of dried herbs laid out at the other.

26

Yellow curtains fluttered in the breeze from the unshuttered windows, and a couple

of carved wooden chairs with brightly patterned patchwork cushions stood next to the

fireplace. Despite the summer warmth a blaze was roaring away in it, heating a brass

cauldron suspended from a hook on a chain. Rudi felt the sweat start out on his face

almost at once. Hanna and Greta, who was busily stirring some concoction inside the

vessel, seemed scarcely aware of it.

“Hello, young man,” Greta greeted him cheerfully and stood, handing the spoon

to her daughter as she did so, and wiped her hands on her apron. Hanna took her

place beside the fire and resumed the slow agitation of the bubbling liquid. “What’s

this all about?”

“I don’t know.” Rudi handed her the letter, and watched with barely concealed

curiosity as she broke the seal and unfolded it. Surrounded by the accoutrements of

her profession, Greta made the act of reading seem more magical than ever. Bottles

and jars of substances he couldn’t identify stood on the shelves of an old wooden

dresser, next to an icon of Shallya, the goddess of healing, that had been mounted in

a curious frame of gently curving arcs. There were flowers in vases there too, which

seemed to serve no practical purpose.

“Hmm.” Greta read on, looking thoughtful. Gradually the lines of a frown began

to etch themselves on her forehead. Whatever the note contained, the news was

surely not good.

“Here. Make yourself useful.” Hanna turned from the fire to face Rudi, and

gestured to a large earthenware pot sitting on the table next to the herbs. A square of

muslin lay beside it. “Put the cloth over the bowl for me.”

Baffled, Rudi picked up the piece of material and did as she instructed, covering

the opening of the pot.

“Good. Now hold it in place.” Hanna lifted the bubbling cauldron off the hook

above the fire and carried it over to the table. Wafts of sweet-smelling steam escaped

the surface, pleasantly tickling the back of Rudi’s nose as she approached.

“What do I do now?” he asked, trying to mask the edge of apprehension, which

was doing its best to nudge its way into his voice.

“Nothing. Just stand there and try not to get burned.” She was probably joking, he

told himself, but this was Hanna after all, and it was hard to be sure. She tilted the

cauldron carefully, pouring the liquid it contained into the slight depression in the

middle of the cloth. For a moment Rudi thought it was going to spill. He fought down

the impulse to flinch, but after a moment the fluid found the pores of the material and

began to flow through it, leaving behind a residue of scum and what looked like

fragments of leaf and tree bark.

“Very good,” Greta had approached the table unnoticed, as he remained intent on

the delicate task. “Maybe you’ve missed your vocation.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Rudi hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

“I suppose not,” Greta smiled at him, as though looking deeper than his outer

appearance. “But you won’t be a forester all your life, you can be sure of that.”

“Why not?” The question came to his lips unbidden. Despite her friendliness

Greta had strange powers, everyone knew that, and what in anyone else’s mouth

would have been a simple pleasantry became charged with hidden meaning when she

said it. Perhaps she was a seer as well as a healer. Perhaps he had some strange and

27

magnificent destiny, and only she could see it. The woman smiled again, an everyday

sign of friendliness, completely devoid of any deeper significance.

“You’re a bright lad. The gods have a way of finding a use for qualities like that,

but it’s up to you to take the opportunities as they come. And something tells me

you’re not the kind to let them pass you by.”

“I see.” He didn’t really, but he sensed that somehow she’d paid him a

compliment.

“What did old Steiner want?” Hanna asked, as the last of the liquid left the

cauldron. Greta shrugged.

“He wants to talk to me. About the fever cases.”

“Oh,” Hanna shrugged too, as though the matter was of little importance. “I don’t

know what else he expects. If you start cramming people together behind a wall

every night, then of course you start spreading diseases.”

“Diseases?” Rudi asked. Hanna looked at him disdainfully.

“I don’t suppose you’d notice living out in the forest, but a few of the villagers

are getting sick. It’s the overcrowding.”

Rudi hadn’t, but then he didn’t interact with the majority of the villagers. He cast

his mind back over the events of the day, trying to remember if anyone he’d met

seemed unwell. There was Kirstin, of course, but she always looked like that, and had

done ever since she started working for Magnus, if not before. Then there was Hans

Katzenjammer, whose injuries seemed infected, but that would be due to the thorn

bush he’d stumbled into. No one else seemed particularly afflicted. That is, apart

from his father, of course, but his arm seemed fine except for the rash. Besides he

wouldn’t have felt comfortable betraying Gunther’s confidence by mentioning that to

the healer, so he held his tongue.

“No, I hadn’t,” he said. Then another thought struck him. This must have been

what the burgomeister meant when he said they might have to relax their precautions

against the beastmen earlier than he would have liked. If trying to keep everyone safe

had simply exposed them to another kind of danger, then the burgomeister was faced

with an extremely unenviable choice. No wonder he wanted to talk to the healer as

quickly as possible; after all, he’d had the letter all ready to send, and Rudi’s arrival

with the note from Magnus had been an opportunity too fortuitous to ignore.

This was too much for a simple forest lad to take in all at once, he told himself.

He cast around for a distraction. Hanna was lifting the cauldron away from the bowl

now, and he reached out to take hold of the handle.

“Here,” he said. “Let me help…”

“Look out!” Hanna’s voice took on an unmistakable air of alarm, and for a

moment he failed to understand. Then his hand closed around the metal, and a

searing pain scorched across his palm.

“Sigmar’s hammer!” The heavy brass pot clattered to the floor as his arm jerked

reflexively, tearing it from the girl’s grip. Tears of pain flooded his eyes, and he

clenched his throbbing fist.

“Open your hand,” Greta sounded calm and reassuring, as she always did

attending to an injury. Fighting against instinct he did as she instructed, and waited

while she inspected the damage. She shook her head sympathetically. “It’s just a

28

minor burn. This should help.” She plucked one of the jars from the stockpile Rudi

had noticed before, and spread some of the salve it contained across his agonised

palm. It felt cool and soothing, muting the pain to a faint, barely perceptible

throbbing, like the tingling of his hands on a frosty morning.

“I did try to warn you,” Hanna said, an unaccustomed tinge of defensiveness

edging into her voice. She bent to pick up the cauldron, now slightly dented, and

hung it on the hook over the fireplace without the faintest hint of discomfort. “I’m a

bit more used to handling hot things.”

“So I see.” Rudi watched her with studied nonchalance, determined not to seem

too perturbed by the incident. He felt vaguely embarrassed for making such a fuss

over a simple domestic task the two women evidently thought nothing of, and

brought the conversation back to business as quickly as possible to cover it. “Was

there a reply to the message?”

“Just tell him I’ll come as soon as I can,” Greta said, “and not to worry. I’m sure

the situation isn’t as bad as all that.”

“Right,” Hanna shrugged. “It’s not as though anybody’s died, is it?”

29

CHAPTER SIX

Hanna’s words might almost have been a challenge to the gods, because the first

fatality occurred a couple of days later. Grandma Ostwald had been the oldest

inhabitant of Kohlstadt, so her passing wouldn’t normally have incited much

comment except for the fact that she had remained in robust good health for as long

as anyone could remember. Her decline had been sharp and precipitous, accompanied

by a high fever, sweating, and the eruption of boils across much of her body. By the

time she expired over a dozen similar cases had been reported throughout the village,

and everyone expected the toll to rise.

“It’s a bad business all right,” Magnus nodded sagely, his sombre expression

reflecting that of the burgomeister, sitting opposite him in the parlour of the

merchant’s home. Rudi was in the corner of the room, keeping as quiet as he could.

He was almost unable to believe that he was witnessing such momentous events from

so close at hand. Greta Reifenstal sat beside the two men, apparently at ease despite

the faint traces of lines etched on her features by exhaustion.

“That barely begins to cover it.” Steiner turned to the young forester. “And you

say the blight on the fields is spreading too?”

Rudi nodded. “About one farm in three looks affected now. As far out as the

Altmans’ place, at least.”

“But no more cases of the fever?” Greta asked. Rudi nodded again. As the

emergency had grown, his status as the eyes and ears of the burgomeister had grown

along with it. He was still finding the novelty intoxicating.

“None outside the village that I’ve seen. At least so far.”

“Well that’s something at least.” Magnus inclined his head judiciously, looking

almost like a magistrate apart from the colours he habitually wore. “So long as it’s

contained here…”

“It’ll spread throughout the village,” Greta cut in. This was an old argument. She

had repeatedly urged the burgomeister to rescind the edict requiring the local farmers

to lodge inside the stockade at night. Magnus had just as vociferously argued the

opposite, pointing out that there was still no hard evidence that the beastmen from the

forest had really gone. Now the pair of them looked expectantly at Steiner, who quite

clearly wished the decision could be made by someone else.

“If people are already infected, wouldn’t that simply spread whatever disease this

is over a wider area?” he asked. Greta’s mouth tightened into a thin, unhappy line.

“So long as they remained in their homes, that wouldn’t be a problem,” she said.

“If there were any more cases they’d be too isolated to infect anyone else. Unlike

here.”

“We may be getting unduly alarmed,” Magnus put in smoothly. “So far we

haven’t had any more deaths, and it’s hardly surprising that the one we have had was

an old, frail woman…” Greta snorted.

30

“Grandma Ostwald was about as frail as an orc. She might have been old, but she

was as vigorous as a woman half her age.”

“Be that as it may,” Magnus riposted, “one death hardly constitutes an epidemic.

This pestilence is still a moot threat, whereas the beastmen are a clear and present

one.”

“Except no one’s seen hide nor hair of them since young Rudi found their tracks

in the forest.” Steiner turned to the young forester again. “And if there were traces to

be found, I’m sure your father would have done so by now.”

Rudi nodded, not trusting himself to speak. If the peril was truly past, then his

temporary rise in status would be over, and he would revert to being what he had

always been: the forest child, the outsider. But he couldn’t contradict Gunther, who

had indeed failed to find any further trace of the warband, despite repeated

excursions into the forest.

Rudi had accompanied him on the last expedition, partly out of curiosity, and

partly because his succession of errands for Magnus, Steiner, and now, it seemed,

Greta Reifenstal, had deprived him of his father’s company of late. Despite the

forester’s protestation that he’d never felt better the rash on his arm had spread across

half his chest, and a couple of open sores had appeared that wept thin, watery fluid.

Once or twice Rudi had tried broaching the subject, suggesting he ask Greta for a

remedy while he was delivering one of Steiner’s notes to her cottage, but Gunther

had been adamant that he didn’t want any such thing.

“I know you mean well, lad,” he’d said, “but I don’t want any more help from

that quarter.” What his reasons were for such a statement Rudi couldn’t fathom, as

the more he saw of Greta Reifenstal, the more he liked her. If it hadn’t been for

Hanna’s brooding presence, that was still as icily reserved as ever, he would have

almost looked forward to the errands to the cottage he had once done so much to

avoid.

And so it was, the morning before the meeting in Magnus’ parlour, Rudi had

rolled off his pallet as his father rose, and announced his intention of accompanying

him on his rounds of the forest.

“There’s no need, lad.” Gunther looked surprised for a moment; almost as if he

would rather his son remained at home. “And you’ve a lot to do for far more

important folk than me.”

“There are no more important folk than you. Not as far as I’m concerned.” Rudi

spoke with quiet sincerity. For a moment a flicker of an emotion he couldn’t read

chased itself across the face of his adoptive father. Sensing awkwardness in

Gunther’s demeanour he went on with a cheerfulness that was barely forced.

“Besides, if I spend much more time in the village I’ll turn into a tradesman. You

wouldn’t wish that on me, would you?”

“Taal forbid.” Gunther laughed, the uneasiness vanishing in a moment of simple

bonding. “Besides, it’ll give you a chance to practise your archery. You’ve been

letting it slide a bit.”

That much was true. And unfortunately the training was likely to take the edge

off the pleasure Rudi would otherwise have taken in spending a warm summer day in

the depths of the forest. But if that was the price he’d have to pay to keep an

unobtrusive eye on his father then so be it. So he slipped the worn old quiver across

31

his shoulders. It was filled with shafts that might be fine enough for most bowmen,

but which no longer met his father’s exacting standards. He strung the bow Gunther

had given him the previous summer; the string was new and freshly waxed. Like the

arrows the bow had seen many years of hard use, the wood worn smooth where

innumerable hands had gripped it to nock a shaft. Some archers, Rudi knew,

preferred more elaborate weapons, wrapped with cord for a tighter grip, but Gunther

always maintained that you needed to feel the bare wood in your hands to really

know that it was an extension of your own body. He supposed his father was right,

but so far this was a sensation he would have to take on trust. In his own hands the

weapon felt ungainly and cumbersome.

He strapped the bracer to the inside of his left forearm with as much of an

appearance of enthusiasm as he could manage. The pad of leather was supposed to let

the string slide cleanly if it brushed against the limb when loosed instead of getting

snagged in the sleeve of his jerkin. But truth to tell he felt safer wearing it, because

his action was so uncoordinated it would actually strike his arm half the time, and

would sting like nettle rash without the stout leather for protection.

They penetrated deep into the forest that day, further than Rudi had ever gone.

His father was sure-footed, stepping over the small woodland streams that barred

their way and insinuating himself through the underbrush as though he knew the

route well. With quiet pride, Rudi matched him stride for stride, and kept pace with

the older man with little effort. Occasionally he lagged behind, and Gunther would

turn, grinning encouragement. He was enjoying the game, and clearly pleased with

the level of woodcraft his son was displaying.

Except for one aspect. They paused for refreshment at about noon, judging by the

angle of the shadows through the leaves, taking advantage of a large clearing they

had found. Having lived in the forest all his life Rudi had a rough idea of where they

were, despite the long, circuitous route they’d taken to get there. They’d travelled in

an arc, setting out almost due west from Kohlstadt, gradually turning to the north,

until now they were moving almost due east. Home lay directly to the south of them,

no more than an hour or so away as the crow flew, although Gunther had made it

plain that he intended to complete the circle they’d begun that morning.

“If any of those hellbeasts are moving about the village we’re bound to cross their

trail somewhere,” he explained. Rudi nodded. That seemed reasonable. The signs

they’d found before had been easy enough to spot, and the warband would have

carved a swathe through the forest at least as noticeable as those.

“Unless they’re camped inside the circle we’ve made,” Rudi pointed out, and

Gunther laughed.

“Smell any campfires?” he asked. Rudi shook his head. It was an obvious point,

he supposed, but did the beastmen really need such things? He made a mental note to

ask Sergeant Littman the next time he saw him. In the meantime his father seemed

confident enough, and there was no one else in the Empire who knew these woods as

well as he did, so he relaxed and tried to enjoy the day.

They made a pleasant lunch of bread and cheese; both these foodstuffs were

rising in price now, so much of the local agriculture had been affected by whatever

malaise was gripping the valley ever tighter. Fortunately the importance of Rudi and

Gunther to the defence of the village meant that Steiner was inclined to be generous,

32

so they were kept well supplied. With a faint pang of guilt Rudi found himself

wondering if such bounty would continue if they continued to report no signs of the

enemy.

After their repast, as he’d quietly dreaded, it was time for archery practice. The

clearing was a good hundred-paces across, so there was plenty of room to set up an

improvised butt. Gunther pointed out a bush about thirty paces away.

“See if you can hit that, lad.” The shot should have been an easy one, the range

was close, and the tangle of leaves was at least a full span across. Trying to ignore

the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Rudi reached across his shoulder for an

arrow and nocked it. He drew the bow as he’d been taught, raising it as he anchored

the string below his chin with the index and middle fingers of his right hand either

side of the arrow. Feeling the tension grow in his left arm, he dropped it slightly to

extend the arms of the weapon fully. The belly of the bow snuggled more tightly into

his left hand, between the thumb and his fingers, and for a moment he almost

understood what his father meant about it being an extension of his body.

The arrow loosed as he straightened his fingers. The bow snapped taut with a

faint whick, and the shaft sped straight towards the target, clipping the edge of the

shrub before embedding itself in the grass beyond where the crimson fletchings stood

out like a strange angular flower on a rigid stalk.

“I hit it!” For a moment he couldn’t quite believe it. All right, it had only caught

the edge of the bush, but it hadn’t missed entirely. Gunther smiled at his son’s

exuberance.

“Well done. Now try again.” Flushed with success and buoyed with a fresh

confidence, Rudi nocked another arrow and let fly. The string smacked against the

bracer on his arm, deflecting the arrow to the left, and missing the bush by almost a

yard. He sighed in frustration.

“Don’t let it worry you. The only shot that counts is the next one. Where the last

one went doesn’t matter.” Gunther’s voice was calm and his advice sound, but Rudi

was beyond hearing it. Frustration had him in its grip now, and his muscles tensed as

he nocked the next arrow. “Just try to relax.”

This time his over-tensed muscles jerked as he loosed the shaft. The bow jumped

in his hand and the arrow disappeared altogether, vanishing through the trees with a

derisive swoosh of displaced vegetation. He swore under his breath.

“There’s no need for that sort of language,” Gunther chided gently, as he strolled

over to the other two shafts. “You’ll get it in time.” He plucked them both from the

dirt with the effortless ease of long practice and inspected them for damage, brushing

a few specks of soil from the heads. “Just take a break for a minute and try again.”

“I’ll get the other one.” Rudi put down his bow and went to find it, grateful for

the excuse to avoid his father’s sympathy. It was kindly meant, he knew, but

somehow it made things worse. Ducking his head with movements so practiced they

didn’t even register on his conscious mind he wriggled through the undergrowth

surrounding the clearing. The arrow had left plenty of traces of its flight: a succession

of torn leaves and broken twigs marked every tree and bush that had deflected it. The

going was considerably harder for an almost fully-grown human, but Rudi

persevered. Arrows were precious things, not to be thrown away lightly, and

especially not as a result of his ineptitude…

33

His self-lacerating musings were interrupted by the realisation that the going was

becoming easier, and that the undergrowth was thinning. There must be another

clearing through here. Good. That would make it easier to find the errant arrow.

A faint odour tickled the membranes at the back of his nose, and he coughed. It

wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it was pungent, like the mud that appeared at the

bottom of the forest pools when they dried out in exceptionally hot weather.

“Taal preserve us!” He broke through a brittle tangle of twigs, devoid of

vegetation, into a grove unlike any he had ever seen before. All thoughts of retrieving

his errant arrow disappeared like smoke in the wind.

It was as though the malaise that had gripped the fields around Kohlstadt had

spread to the forest. The grass beneath his feet was blackened and slippery underfoot;

white puffs of mould were beginning to break it down into slime. The bushes were

denuded, only a few die-hard leaves clung grimly to the rotting remains of twig and

branch, themselves succumbing to fungus and decay. The odour was stronger here,

the unmistakable stench of putrefaction.

“Rudi? Rudi!” It was only as he heard his father calling that he realised he must

have been staring in astonishment for some time. Gunther broke through the

undergrowth, and stopped. His jaw dropped.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Rudi asked. His father shook his head,

dazed by the sight of so much devastation.

“Never even dreamed I would.” He seemed to come back to himself then, as he

took Rudi by the arm. “Best we get away from here.”

Rudi nodded. The whole clearing had an unmistakably unhealthy air. For a

moment he felt the faint stirring of some other emotion he couldn’t quite identify,

hope or anticipation perhaps, but it quickly vanished. “Are you all right, lad?”

“I’m fine.” Rudi dismissed the sensation briskly. Gunther looked at him curiously

for a moment. Knowing it was pointless to dissemble with the man who’d raised him,

Rudi added, “I just felt a bit funny for a moment. Must be the smell, I guess.”

“Must be,” Gunther agreed. As they made their way back through the thicket to

the safe familiarity of the green, healthy forest he added, “it’s not like you to be

sickening for something.”

Those words came back to Rudi the following day at the meeting in Magnus’

parlour. If he were to mention the strange glade he’d found, now would be the perfect

time. But something held him back.

Suppose Steiner thought he might have become infected with something while he

stood there, surrounded by all that corruption? Or Magnus or Greta? They’d exclude

him from their meetings for fear of catching whatever it was. They would find

someone else to deliver their notes and report on events around the village, and he’d

go back to being the outcast nonentity that everyone ignored. He should tell them, of

course, but if that was the price…

He hesitated for a moment before telling himself that Steiner had only asked

about traces of the beastmen. So he nodded his agreement.

“I’m sure he would. But we didn’t find a trace of them.” As the half-truth

slithered from his lips he felt again that strange mixture of emotion that had taken

him by surprise the day before. But this time there was another element, a sensation

of gloating over his duplicity.

34

Appalled at what he’d done he resolved to speak up now, and damn the

consequences. But it was too late. Steiner was standing to leave, and the meeting was

at an end.

35

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I’ve a few more packages for you to deliver,” Magnus told Rudi after the door had

closed behind the burgomeister. Greta stood up, brushing an errant strand of hair

back behind her headscarf.

“I have as well,” she added, producing three packets of powder sealed with wax.

Rudi recognised them immediately as he’d distributed several like them over the past

few days to households where the fever had struck. Precisely what they contained he

had no idea, as he had no desire to linger in the vicinity of the pestilence. So he

handed them over to whoever answered the door and beat a hasty retreat. Each one

was labelled with her spidery handwriting, although the marks meant nothing to

Rudi.

“Who are they for?” he asked. Even though she knew he couldn’t read, Greta’s

hand darted towards each one as she recited the names, the habit of expecting them to

be read was too ingrained to override.

“Tomas Lindemann at the shoemaker’s, Marina Hoffstader in Butcher’s Alley,

and Hans Katzenjammer at his mother’s house.”

So Hans was sick too. Hardly surprising, considering how he’d looked the last

time Rudi had seen him, but somehow the name took him by surprise. He’d become

so preoccupied with his activities over the last few days that he hadn’t given the two

brothers a single thought. He felt a faint twinge of guilt at the lack of compassion he

felt at the news. So he poked at it, hoping to stir up a little more feeling.

“He’s the same as the others?” The Lindemann and Hoffstader households he

already knew about, he had visited them before. Twice, in the case of the

Hoffstaders, as Magnus had begun to dispatch food parcels to some of the sick and to

the poorest families in the village as the price of provisions had continued to rise.

Greta shrugged.

“I suppose so. He refused to see me, but I don’t see what else it could be.”

“Refused to see you?” Magnus looked intrigued. He leaned forwards in his chair,

and steepled his fingers. “That seems a little odd.”

The healer shrugged again. “He’s delirious, I’m told. He became quite hysterical

when his mother told him she’d sent for me. It seemed better to wait until he was

calmer before trying again.”

“Maybe the medicine will help,” Rudi suggested. He wanted to feel sorry for the

hulking youth, he really did, but the truth was there were people he liked a great deal

more who were just as ill. The death toll was now up to three out of more than a

score of cases. If he had a choice he’d rather feel sorry for Marina Hoffstader, who

had been so grateful for the bread and ale Magnus had sent her that she’d given him a

flower from her window box in the hope that the scent would keep him safe from the

contagion. Or Big Franz, whose wife and daughter were both unwell, but who stuck

36

doggedly to his responsibilities in the militia by day, and by night stayed up to nurse

them.

“I hope so,” Greta yawned. The strain was beginning to show. She straightened

her shoulders with a visible effort. “If you get the chance to see him, perhaps you

could tell me what the symptoms are.”

“I’ll try,” Rudi promised, although he quailed inwardly at the thought. It would

be bad enough having to see one of the disease’s victims close to, let alone if that

person habitually bore him nothing but malice.

“Good.” Magnus dismissed the topic. “I’ve a couple of business letters for you to

deliver as well. One to Johannes at the tavern, and one to the Altmans.”

“Business? At a time like this?” Greta’s tone was scathing. They had been thrown

together during the current emergency by their positions in the community, but they

had never managed to be anything more than cordial to one another. Rudi found this

surprising, because he liked them both. But there was an undercurrent of animosity

between them, which seemed to run a lot deeper than their differences in opinions as

to how the problem should be tackled. Oh well, he told himself, it was just part of the

social interaction between people that he had been unable to fathom thanks to his life

in the forest. Perhaps they’d had some romantic liaison in the past that hadn’t worked

out. After all, no one seemed to know quite who Hanna’s father was…

No, the thought was absurd. There was no resemblance at all between the

cadaverous merchant and the healer’s daughter. Her face was too round, her features

too soft…

“They’ve got enough to worry about at the moment without trying to scrape

together the interest payments they owe me.” Magnus broke into his thoughts. “I’m

just telling them not to bother until things settle down again.”

“You’re a very generous man,” Greta said. “I sometimes wonder where you get it

from. Your grandfather, perhaps?” There was an edge to the question that Rudi

missed completely, and if it meant anything to the merchant he gave no sign of it. He

just smiled ruefully.

“My grandfather was a moneylender from Nuln. The only selfless act of his entire

life was dying young enough to leave his fortune to my father, who lost most of it

speculating on expeditions to Lustria which either sank on the way there or

succumbed to the perils of the jungle upon their arrival.” He shrugged. “What I have

in life I’ve made for myself, and it only seems fair to share my good fortune with

others. I’ve no heirs, so I might as well do what I can with it while I have the chance.

I can hardly spend it in Morr’s realm, can I?”

“I suppose not.” Something in Greta’s tone indicated that she hadn’t heard what

she’d been expecting, or possibly fearing, in reply. She stood to leave. “I’ll see

myself out.”

“Of course.” Magnus rose anyway, to usher her out of the room. He rang the little

bell on the occasional table as he stood up. After a moment Kirstin appeared, pale as

ever, her eyes a little bloodshot. She was dusting flour from her hands, and looked

irritable. No doubt she had been dragged away from the kitchen in the middle of

preparing a meal.

“You rang, sir?” This time she favoured Rudi with a watery smile, which

disappeared almost immediately as her gaze skipped past him to her employer.

37

Despite himself Rudi felt a small sense of satisfaction at the change in her attitude; it

mirrored his general rise in status among the small community. Now when he picked

up the packages of food she prepared for him to deliver to the poor and sick she

would at least attempt to be cordial. She might make some trivial remarks about the

weather or the spread of the pestilence before sending him on his way to the day’s

destination. An older, worldlier, or more cynical lad might have attributed this at

least in part to the latest changes Magnus’ mirror had shown him. His journeys

around the valley had toned his muscles, making him leaner and stronger, and his

face had lost the last faint traces of the puffiness of youth. Almost without realising

it, he had reached the cusp of adulthood.

“Yes,” Magnus nodded. “Rudi is about to leave. Are the packages ready?”

“Ready and waiting, sir,” she nodded, meeting Rudi’s eyes almost eagerly. “If

you’d follow me to the kitchen?”

He did as he was bid, pausing just long enough to pick up the letters Magnus had

prepared and to slip Greta’s packages of medicine into his pouch. He had memorised

who each was for with the aid of the little mental tricks he used on such occasions.

Greta had pointed out which was which, so he placed them in order of delivery:

Marina Hofstader’s first, then Tomas Lindemann, and Hans Katzenjammer last of all.

He wanted to put off that meeting for as long as possible. The letters were easy to tell

apart, as the one for the Altmans had a crumpled edge and the one for the tavern-

keeper had a blob of wax trailing from the seal which looked a bit like a rabbit’s

head. He sometimes supposed it might make things a little easier if he could simply

read the names on the papers, but reading looked really hard, and was probably

beyond him without years of study.

Kirstin led him into the kitchen, which smelled invitingly of rabbit stew and

baking pastries. Whatever her moral shortcomings, it seemed, she was an

accomplished cook. She handed him a satchel, containing five parcels wrapped in

waxed paper, and recited the names of the intended recipients. The contents were all

identical, so there was no need to memorise anything here.

“It doesn’t seem much,” she said, “but I suppose those poor people will be

pleased to see it.”

“That they will.” Rudi shrugged the strap of the satchel over his shoulder. “They

always ask me to thank you for your kindness.” Something approaching colour flared

briefly in Kirstin’s cheeks.

“They should thank Herr von Blackenburg,” she said. “He provides it.”

“But you prepare it,” Rudi pointed out. “And very well too, judging by the smell

in here.”

“I do what I can, but I’m no halfling. They really know how to cook.” For a

moment she seemed almost animated. It was the first time Rudi had seen her

enthused about anything, and for a moment he could understand why her tavern-

room conquests found her so appealing. “Here. Take this.” She plucked a cooling

pastry from a tray and handed it to him. The crust was still warm against his fingers.

For a moment her hand lingered as their fingertips brushed together, then she

withdrew it abruptly. “You’ve got a lot of walking to do today.”

“Thank you.” Surprised, and a little unsure of how to respond, he tucked it into

the satchel on top of the packages, and turned to the door. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

38

“I hope so.” Kirstin watched him go with a faint smile, and returned to her work.

Despite his best efforts to prolong them, the bulk of his errands passed remarkably

quickly. There was an air of foreboding about the streets now. The few people abroad

were hurrying about their business with lowered heads and quick, nervous footsteps,

almost as if the mouths of the alleys they passed were filled with dark, menacing

shadows instead of bright sunlight. The day was warm, the sun striking back from

walls and fences, baking the mud and ordure which coated the streets to hardness.

The air felt thick and foetid against his face. As he trotted from one address to

another Rudi felt as if the village itself was feverish. The sweet scent of putrefaction

tainted the air without any definite source. It was an all-pervading smell.

He was imagining things, he told himself angrily, the streets always smelled like

that in the summer. But something stirred within him again, almost savouring the

disgust and unease that he felt. He swallowed, his throat dry. He’d been out in the

sun for too long, had sweated too much, and was getting dehydrated. He needed a

drink.

Veering aside from his intended route towards the Lindemann house, he cut down

an alley towards the tavern. He’d deliver Magnus’ letter to Johannes the taverner

now, and spend a couple of his coppers on a drink while he was there. He could

certainly afford to, the number of errands he was running these days was earning him

more money than he’d ever possessed in his life. In this week alone he’d made more

than a shilling. It was the first silver coin he’d ever held, and if the plague would just

continue for another month or so he’d be rich by the time it burned itself out.

What was he thinking? How could he possibly be so callous as to wish disease

and misery on people just to make money? Repulsed by the thoughts he found

festering in his head he increased his pace, as though he could leave them behind if

he moved fast enough.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry, young Walder?” Engrossed in his

thoughts, he had almost passed Big Franz without noticing him. And that took some

doing. The village smith was muscled like an orc, and stood nearly a head taller than

anyone else in Kohlstadt. Now, though, his impressive physique was sagging with

exhaustion, his muscles were slack from fatigue, and the fringe of dark hair which

protruded from under his pot helm was plastered to his forehead with sweat. He

looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. Which was probably close to the truth, Rudi

reminded himself.

“I’ve some messages to deliver,” he replied, not wanting to get sucked into a

prolonged conversation.

“I might have known.” Big Franz stood aside to let him pass unimpeded. He was

leaning slightly on his spear like an old man with a walking stick. Despite himself,

Rudi slowed.

“You look terrible,” he said. The militiaman shrugged.

“I feel it too. But it’s hard for everyone at the moment. We’re having to stand

double watches now, because half the militia is sick, or too scared to leave their

homes.”

Rudi nodded. “I know. I’ve got some medicine to deliver to Hans

Katzenjammer.”

39

“Katzenjammer’s ill?” Big Franz looked vaguely surprised. “I didn’t know that.

Haven’t seen either of them in over a week.” He didn’t sound as though he

considered it much of a loss. He might have been about to say more, but a jaw-

cracking yawn interrupted him. Rudi gazed at the man in consternation, all trace of

his earlier callousness deserting him.

“When did you last get some sleep?” he asked.

Franz yawned again. “Yesterday morning, I think. Got a couple of hours in. Then

Frieda got delirious again.” So his wife was still sick. Rudi didn’t dare ask about his

daughter. If the news was good, Franz would already have told him. Come to that, if

any of the fever victims had shown any signs of recovery the news would have been

all over Kohlstadt within the hour. Another thought occurred to him.

“When did you last eat anything?” Creases appeared in the blacksmith’s forehead

as he tried to remember. That was the only answer Rudi needed. With a faint pang of

regret he fished the pastry Kirstin had given him out of the satchel, savouring the

appetising aroma for the last time. “Here. I think you need this more than I do.” A

faint smile appeared on Franz’s face as he realised what it was.

“Shallya bless you, lad.” Two thirds of the pastry disappeared in a couple of bites

before decorum overcame hunger, and the towering militiaman held out the

remaining scraps of crust in a slightly shamefaced fashion. “Are you sure you don’t

want to split it?”

Rudi shook his head. “Finish it off,” he said. “You need the energy.”

“Aye. That’s right enough.” Franz chewed and swallowed the remains of the

delicacy with evident relish, already looking a little restored by it. He stood straighter

now, and his eye seemed keener, not so blurred with fatigue.

After a few words of farewell Rudi made his way to the tavern, where he

delivered Magnus’ letter and quenched his thirst. A couple of extra coppers bought

him some hardening bread and some watery broth to soften it in. Despite himself he

couldn’t suppress a twinge of regret at his generosity to Big Franz. Still, this was as

good as the food he’d expected to eat when he set out that morning, he reminded

himself, and at least he was still healthy enough to appreciate it. He wished Franz

well, and muttered a brief prayer to Shallya for his family’s recovery.

“Can I get you anything else?” Johannes asked, seeing that his meal was over.

Rudi shook his head. The innkeeper was a short man with a fringe of greying hair

through which his near-naked scalp emerged like a rock from a fast-flowing stream.

His apron was stained with the detritus of his calling, and the sleeve of his shirt was

patched at the elbow. Rudi shook his head.

“No thank you. I’ve still got plenty of stuff to deliver.”

“So I see.” Johannes cast covetous eyes at the satchel that was still bulging

slightly despite the delivery of a couple of the food parcels. Usually at this time of

day the tavern would be filled with artisans flocking in from the neighbouring shops

for their midday meal. But it was deserted. Despite this Johannes leaned in close and

lowered his voice. “You’re carrying quite a lot of food about these days.” Unsure of

what he was getting at, Rudi nodded.

“There are a lot of sick people who appreciate it.”

40

“Quite so.” Johannes nodded too, as if they understood something implicit, which

Rudi couldn’t quite see. “These are hard times all right. Stuff like that is getting

pretty expensive.”

“Magnus is a wealthy man,” Rudi said, stating the obvious. “And generous with

it.”

“Quite so,” Johannes said again. He licked his lips, and glanced round again,

making sure that there was no one else in the bar to overhear them. “And I’m sure he

wouldn’t mind spreading that generosity a little further. After all, no one knows quite

how much there might be in each of those packages, do they?” He licked his lips

again, waiting for Rudi to catch his meaning.

“I know,” Rudi said slowly, comprehension and outrage building almost as one.

“And if you think I’m going to let you take some of it you’ve another thing coming.”

“Not take, no, of course not.” Johannes looked unconvincingly shocked at the

suggestion. “Buy, perhaps? A small contribution to the temple of your choice, a few

coins for you to dispose of as you see fit?”

“I’ve had enough,” Rudi said, standing slowly. The taverner cowered a little. It

was only then that Rudi realised his fists were clenched. The very idea that someone

would try to profit from the misery of others revolted him, and he tried to fight down

the anger which coloured his face and thickened his voice. A faint mocking whisper

at the back of his mind reminded him that he’d been thinking something similar not

too long ago, but he ignored it. That had been idle musing, not a calculated plan to

sell foodstuffs destined for the needy for personal profit.

“No offence meant,” Johannes said, rising too. And more rapidly he went on, “It

was just a thought, nothing in it of course, that would be far too unethical. Purely a

hypothetical conversation.”

“Good,” Rudi said, without the faintest idea of what hypothetical meant. But he

recognised squirming when he saw it. Not trusting himself to speak further he

shouldered the satchel and strode out into the daylight again, squinting as the sun

struck his face.

Forcing his anger aside with difficulty, he tried to concentrate on the matter at

hand. He still had two packets of medicine to deliver for Greta, and three packets of

food. And the letter for the Altmans’ farm. He’d been heading for Tomas

Lindemann’s cobbler’s shop when his thirst had diverted him, he remembered, but

that was now several streets away, and a couple of his other destinations lay closer at

hand.

With a sudden sinking feeling he realised that the closest address he had to visit

was the Katzenjammer house. He took a deep breath. Might as well get it over with,

he supposed. Hans would probably be just as reluctant to see him, as he was to see

Hans, so he doubted he’d have to face the youth in person. All he had to do was

deliver the medicine, and go about his business as usual.

Right then, fine. He squared his shoulders and set out for the house of his enemy,

little suspecting the surprise that awaited him there.

41

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Katzenjammer house was like any other in the street, which meant it looked

subtly different from all of its neighbours, having been thrown up as quickly as

possible with whatever materials had been to hand. A sturdy construction of timber

and brick, its upper storey projected out over the thoroughfare in the manner typical

of houses throughout the Empire to provide a modicum of shelter in inclement

weather and facilitate the emptying of chamber pots.

Rudi took a deep breath and knocked briskly on the door pulling the package of

medicine from his pouch ready to hand it to whoever answered it. He certainly had

no intention of remaining there any longer than he had to, whatever Greta might

want. After a long pause, which probably stretched out in his mind for a great deal

more than it did in actual time, the latch rattled and the weathered timber creaked

open.

“Thank you for coming.” It was Frau Katzenjammer. She was a small, stout

woman, her hair grey, and her eyes were dark with fatigue and worry. Her voice was

so quiet, and slurred with exhaustion, that Rudi had to bend his head to catch her

words. He held up the packet so she could see it.

“I’ve got some medicine for Hans,” he began, but the old woman had already

taken hold of his wrist and was urging him inside. She carried on speaking as she did

so, almost as if his words hadn’t registered.

“He keeps asking for you. No one else. He won’t leave his room, won’t let

anyone else in there.”

“Not even you?” Unwilling to break her grip by force, Rudi let himself be led

into the gloomy passageway. Frau Katzenjammer nodded, stifling something rather

like a sob.

“No. He says he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, or to run the risk of

catching whatever he’s got. He’d keep Fritz out too if he could, but someone has to

take him his food.”

“Of course.” Rudi was surprised and touched, more than he’d have believed

possible. He’d always thought of Hans as nothing more than a contemptible lout, so

this display of concern for the welfare of others was an unexpected facet of his

character. “Why does he want to see me?”

“He won’t say,” a new voice cut in. He turned to see Fritz standing at the bottom

of the narrow stairwell. For a moment he bristled, prepared to defend himself if he

had to, then relaxed. The hulking half-wit’s body language was anything but hostile.

It reminded the young forester of a nervous dog approaching someone for a pat, but

prepared for a kick. “Just keeps asking. How did you know?”

“Frau Reifenstal sent me with some medicine for him,” Rudi said, skating around

the truth. Fritz became uneasier at the mention of the healer’s name, if that were

42

possible. “She said he wouldn’t see her when she called, and hoped I’d have better

luck.”

“I hope so,” Frau Katzenjammer said, clearly distressed by the memory. “The

fuss he made… it wouldn’t have been possible, you see. I tried to calm him, we both

did…” Tears were visible in her eyes now, and Fritz patted his mother on the back, in

an awkward gesture of sympathy.

Well, whatever he felt, Rudi was committed. He couldn’t refuse to see Hans now;

the poor woman would be distraught. And who knew how Fritz would react?

“Where can I find him?” he asked. Might as well get it over with. Then he could

get on and deliver the rest of his messages.

“Up here.” Fritz led the way up the staircase, his bulk filling the narrow

passageway so that Rudi could see little of the landing at the top. As they reached it,

Fritz pointed to a nearby door. “In there,” he said.

“Right.” Rudi took a deep breath, and pushed it open. The shutters were closed,

and the room inside was dark and foetid, the hot air rank with the smell of old sweat

and unemptied chamber pots. Despite himself he coughed.

“Get out!” The voice was a harsh croak, completely unlike the habitual sneering

tone he was used to. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom enshrouding the small

chamber he made out a dark shape lying on the narrow bed, swathed in blankets, the

head wrapped in bandages. “Damn it Fritzie, how many more times…” The voice

trailed off in a spasm of coughing.

“It’s Rudi Walder.” Rudi hesitated, not sure of the reaction he’d get, before

continuing. “Your mother said you wanted to see me. But I can go if you prefer…”

“No!” The rasping voice took on a tone of desperation. “You’re my only hope!”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Rudi said, unsure how to respond to this. “I’ve brought

some medicine…”

“That won’t help.” Hans stirred weakly. He was trying to raise himself in the bed,

and Rudi took an instinctive step forward to help. Hans forestalled him with a

gesture. “No. Don’t come any closer. Believe me, you don’t want to see this.”

“See what?” Rudi felt his confusion growing by the minute. “I don’t understand.

How can I help?”

“Persuade her to lift it. Please.” The words were interrupted by a racking cough.

“I’m sorry, all right? Just tell her. I’ll do anything…”

“Tell who?” Rudi asked, completely baffled.

“The witch. She did this!” The distorted voice rose in desperate appeal. For a

moment Rudi thought he understood. So that was why Hans had refused to let Greta

see him, he thought she was responsible for his condition somehow. He must be

hallucinating from the fever.

“Greta wouldn’t do anything like that,” Rudi said, trying to sound reasonable.

“She helps people…” He was interrupted by a harsh laugh from the bed.

“Not her. The young one. She was with you, you must have heard…”

Finally the pieces fell into place. He remembered the fight in the street, Hanna’s

intervention, and Fritz hauling his brother away babbling about curses. Hans had

fallen ill soon afterwards, and in his delirium he must have become obsessed with his

brother’s words and come to believe that the girl had indeed put a hex on him. The

43

very idea was ludicrous, of course, but while Hans remained convinced of his

delusion he was never going to recover. Rudi squinted at the huddle of blankets,

trying to make out a discernable shape, but failed.

“I’ll talk to her,” he promised. “But I’m sure you’re wrong. You’re not the only

one with the fever, you know. She can’t have cursed everybody.”

“The fever?” Hans laughed again, a harsh sound devoid of any mirth. “If that was

all I had wrong with me I’d sing praises to Sigmar.” Clearly there was no convincing

him, at least until he started to recover. If he ever did. No one had yet, and the best

Greta had been able to manage was to stabilise a handful of cases, the rest just

continued to decline. No point dwelling on that, though, so it would probably be best

just to offer encouragement.

“Can I get you anything?” Rudi asked. A faint motion in the darkness might have

been Hans shaking his head.

“No. Thank you. Just talk to the witch. Please.”

“I will,” Rudi assured him, and finding nothing else to say left the room as

quickly as he could.

“Well?” Frau Katzenjammer was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. Her

face was a mixture of hope and the expectation of disappointment. “What did he

want?”

“He wants me to take a message to someone,” Rudi told her, unwilling to burden

the poor woman with anything more. “Nothing really important, but it’s been preying

on his mind.”

“I see.” The woman nodded, and her shoulders slumped. The disappointment she

obviously felt was palpable, it filled the room. She turned to her son. “Find some

money, Fritzie.”

“There’s no need for that,” Rudi said hastily. “It’s only a verbal message. I’ll be

seeing them anyway. I couldn’t charge you for just helping out, it wouldn’t be right.”

“Nonsense.” Frau Katzenjammer pulled herself erect, and for a moment she

displayed a dignity and a fixity of purpose that surprised him. “We Katzenjammers

always pay our debts. We’ll not cheat anybody.” Realising that it would be futile to

protest any further, and that to do so would only insult her, he acquiesced and took

the smallest denomination from the handful of coins Fritz thrust at him. After a few

more mumbled pleasantries, which no one consciously spoke or listened to, he

regained the street at last.

The door swung closed behind him. On it was the fresh red paint of the crudely

daubed hammer of Sigmar that marked it as a dwelling touched by the pestilence.

Rudi sighed with relief. The experience hadn’t been as traumatic as he’d imagined,

but it had been a great deal more surprising. He shrugged. No doubt Greta would be

able to make something of it.

Now there was a thing. He wasn’t looking forward to telling her about

Katzenjammers bizarre delusion. Such accusations could run out of control, he knew,

and the consequences could be dire. Come to that he wasn’t looking forward to

delivering Hans’ message to her daughter either. Hanna could be trying at the best of

times, but to be openly accused of being the one thing she most loathed, a witch,

would be bound to lead to a spectacular loss of temper. Though he quailed inwardly

44

at the prospect, he knew he’d have to do it. The Katzenjammers had paid him to

deliver the message, and he was obligated to do so.

Oh well, there was plenty to do before that had to be faced. He still had three

more food parcels and the letter for the Altmans to deliver. That at least was a

prospect to look forward to: a long walk out to the farmstead, far away from the

claustrophobic streets of Kohlstadt and the ever-present reeks of contagion and fear.

Perhaps the clean air of the countryside would clear his head a little, and he could

start to make a bit more sense of things. The thought cheered him, and there was

something approaching a spring in his step as he readjusted the shoulder strap of his

satchel and set out for the next destination on his itinerary.

The rest of his deliveries within the precincts of Kohlstadt took little time to

complete, since he was familiar with all three of the houses Magnus had dispatched

food to. One household had been an early victim of the plague, while the other two

had been among the poorest in the village, and would surely have been in dire straits

by now had it not been for the merchant’s generosity.

Dishearteningly one of them now carried the red hammer sigil of the pestilence

on its door, so it seemed to have been in vain, although the fresh supply of provender

was received as gratefully as ever. Reasoning that he’d already been in the presence

of a plague victim today Rudi felt there was no point in timidity. He stood his ground

to hand over the package of food instead of knocking, leaving it, and scurrying away

as he otherwise might have done. He was rewarded with a warm smile from the

housewife who, a few weeks before, would barely have acknowledged him if she’d

tripped over him in the street.

After that, with a profound sense of relief, the young forester approached the

gates in the stockade around the village, which, as before, were half closed.

“Rudi, lad.” Heinrich Littman was on duty. He still seemed strong and in

command, despite the weary set of the shoulders of the two militiamen

accompanying him. “Any news from the forest?”

“No sign of the beastmen,” Rudi told him. “We both went out yesterday. I’m sure

my father must have told you.”

“Aye, that he did,” Littman nodded slowly. “I’m beginning to think they’ve gone

after all.”

“Let’s hope so,” Rudi said fervently. A thought suddenly struck him, something

he’d been meaning to ask the sergeant when he saw him. “Do beastmen make

campfires?”

“Generally,” Littman nodded. “They’ve got that much intelligence at least. Why

do you ask?”

“No reason,” Rudi shrugged, relieved that his father had been right after all. “Just

another sign we didn’t see.”

“Ah. Right,” Littman nodded, as if he understood what Rudi had meant. “Seen

Franz at all on your travels?”

“A few hours ago,” Rudi shook his head sympathetically. “He looked about all in.

Why?”

45

“I sent him home for some sleep. He needs it,” Littman looked grave for a

moment. “But I wasn’t sure he would.”

“He’ll be fine,” Rudi said, without much conviction. Another thought occurred to

him, some extra news that Littman might need to know. “Hans Katzenjammer’s sick,

by the way. His brother’s looking after him. So you won’t be seeing either of them

for a while, I guess.”

“No change there,” Littman shook his head. “Sigmar knows they’re useless

enough at the best of times, but right now I could use even them.” He shrugged.

“Still, it can’t be helped. Take care of yourself, lad.”

“I will,” Rudi said, and slipped out of the village with a sense of profound relief.

As he passed through the gates into the open countryside he felt his spirits begin to

lift. A faint breeze was blowing in across the fields, the scent of ripe growing things

as yet untouched by the spreading corruption came sweetly to his nostrils, ruffling his

hair like an affectionate hand. Out here the sun felt warm and comfortable against his

skin. The rank stifling heat of Kohlstadt dropped away as if he’d stepped out of a

bake house into the street.

It was a long way to the Altmans’ farmstead, he knew, but the prospect of the

walk was a welcome one. He strode out along the highway, his chest swelling with

the fresh clean air, feeling better than he had done all day.

46

CHAPTER NINE

Rudi’s buoyant mood lasted for most of his journey, until he saw the smoke.

At first he paid it no mind; on his errands for Magnus he had become used to

seeing threads of smoke rising from the chimneys of the cottages which stood about

the valley. Some were clustered together in small hamlets of three to a dozen, others

were isolated in the middle of the smallholdings which provided the residents with

their livelihoods. Sometimes the scent of burning wood was accompanied by the

appetising aromas of baking, cooking vegetables, or occasionally roasting meat. With

a sudden shock he realised that these days the chimneys were all denuded of smoke.

The farmers and their families were too busy packing all the necessary jobs into the

small portion of the day they had left. Between leaving Kohlstadt in the morning and

hurrying back to it before the night fell, they had no time to spend cooking. The

Altmans, who had the farthest to travel, least of all.

As he looked back along the length of the valley he could see no sign of other

fires. A few dispirited figures still toiled in the fields, desperately trying to save what

they could before the spreading blight snatched it away from them. It was beginning

to look more and more like a losing battle. From where he stood, halfway up the left-

hand side of the valley on a path he knew well, he could see the dark stains spreading

remorselessly across fields which should be golden with ripe grain, or green with

growing vegetables. Despite himself, he caught his breath. It had been some days

since he had come this far, and seen so much of the countryside laid out before him.

The extent to which the blight had spread in even that short space of time was

shocking.

Rudi shaded his eyes and peered into the distance. The tiny black thread, which

stood out clearly against the blue summer sky like a crack in a bird’s egg, was

definitely rooted in the Altmans’ smallholding. A tingle of unease ran down his

spine. He told himself he was being foolish. No doubt the Altmans were burning

rubbish, in a desperate attempt to keep their fields free of the spreading taint. Nothing

short of burning would prevent an uprooted plant from passing on its corruption.

Reassured by the logic of his reasoning he readjusted his satchel, now comfortably

light and empty, and resumed his walk towards his destination.

But the closer he got to it, the more his sense of foreboding increased. The

column of smoke grew thicker, and he began to realise that this was far too large a

conflagration to be a mere bonfire. The last part of the path took him down the slope

of the valley wall, behind an outcrop; just as he hoped to be able to see more, a

sprawling limb of the surrounding hills obscured his view.

Down here the valley floor was in shadow, and a faint chill made him shiver. The

breeze he’d found so invigorating when he left the stench of Kohlstadt behind was

less pleasant now, developing a keener edge as the narrowing defile compressed and

47

intensified it. He picked up his pace, hoping to pass out into the warmth of the sun

again before too long.

The stronger wind was bringing the scent of burning with it, and for a moment he

relaxed as he identified the familiar odour of combusting wood. It was a bonfire after

all. He began to chide himself for his overactive imaginings. Then he caught wind of

another smell entirely, and his hackles rose. Roasting meat. Surely they hadn’t had to

slaughter the livestock?

He knew some of the animals had fallen ill on the farmsteads as the fields

blighted, their symptoms remarkably similar to the human victims of the plague.

Such a loss was catastrophic: the single sheep or pig many of the smallholders owned

represented a significant proportion of their worldly wealth. Consigning them to the

flames was an act of utter desperation. Clearly the travails that had hit the Altman

family were serious indeed.

A faint flurry of thick grey ash, like filthy snow, began to settle around him,

making him cough as his throat became raw. The wind was bringing something else

too, he realised, a faint, dull roar, interspersed with pops and crackles like a

hearthside on a winter’s night.

At first, as the farmstead came into view, he could barely believe it. The cottage

was on fire. It was burning fiercely, the thatch a dancing crown of vivid orange

flames, the walls scorching and buckling from the heat that beat at his face like a

physical blow. He checked his stride for a moment as he rounded the sheltering

outcrop of rock.

“Herr Altman!” he called, despite the small voice within him, which was telling

him there would be no one to hear. “Rudolph! Elise!” Neither the farmer nor his two

children responded. “Frau Altman! Is anyone there?”

All he could hear in reply was the roar of the flames. Despite the heat he trotted

forwards, hoping to find some sign of life, circling the burning house as closely as he

dared.

Around the back was a field of cabbages, a few of them showing the telltale signs

of blight. Most were still free of contagion, so far as he could tell, but it was hard to

be sure, as the ground and the bulk of the growing crop had been heavily trampled.

As he glanced down at the footprints punched into the soft earth his mouth went dry,

and his heart began to hammer in his chest. There was no doubt about it: these were

the same tracks as the ones he’d first seen in the forest that fateful day. The beastmen

had been here. They had raided one of the isolated farmsteads, as everyone had

feared.

He glanced around with sudden apprehension. The tracks were recent and there

was still enough left of the burning cottage to indicate that the attack had been no

more than an hour or so before. That meant that the creatures could still be in the

vicinity, searching for fresh victims.

The thought terrified him. He looked around desperately for some kind of

weapon, vowing he’d never leave the safety of the village without his bow again,

however inept he might be with it. Short of throwing cabbage stalks at a charging

assailant, which he suspected wouldn’t inconvenience a beastman much, there was

nothing visible that promised anything in the way of defence.

48

He had to get out of here and report what he’d found to Sergeant Littman and the

burgomeister. They’d know what to do. He’d seen no sign of the beastmen on the

path he’d taken, so that would be the safest route back to Kohlstadt, as well as the

quickest. He turned to go, skirting the crackling flames as closely as he dared.

As he moved he couldn’t resist gazing at the fire. It drew his eyes towards it

despite his efforts to keep scanning the middle distance for any sign of a bestial

marauder. Caught between distractions he neglected the placing of his feet, an

oversight he was forcibly reminded of as they tangled in something. He went

sprawling forwards onto an uncomfortable carpet of cabbage and soil.

Muttering imprecations at his clumsiness he rose, spitting out mud. Then he

turned to look at what he’d tripped on.

“Sigmar’s hammer!” He retched, bringing up the soup Johannes had sold him a

few hours before. He’d found Herr Altman, or most of him at least. The farmer’s left

arm was missing, torn out at the root, and he’d been gutted by a blade that had been

very large and cruelly serrated judging by the wound it had left. Other, lesser injuries,

which would have seemed hideous enough under most circumstances, had battered

and slashed the body into a state almost beyond recognition.

Almost, but not quite. The bushy moustache, for which the farmer had been

famous throughout the valley, was clearly visible on the face of the corpse, battered

and bloody though it was. Rudi forced himself to look closely, to be sure, but there

was really little doubt. He was no stranger to death: infirmity, disease and accident

reaped a rich harvest even in so quiet a backwater as Kohlstadt used to be. And he

had butchered enough animals not to be squeamish at the mere sight of blood and

entrails. But this was harsh, bloody and violent. It was something different,

something new to him, and he felt a profound sense of shock.

As he willed himself to tear his eyes away, he noticed something else. Though the

sheer amount of spilled blood had obscured them at first, he could make out a cluster

of pustules on the skin of Altman’s chest, where his shirt had been ripped open. So

he’d had the fever too, and had tried to conceal it, no doubt desperate to keep his

farm running for as long as possible. For a moment he found himself concerned for

the man’s family, who were undoubtedly at risk from infection, before then the

realisation hit home that sickness would be the least of their worries in the unlikely

event that they were still alive. In any case Greta would want to know about this. If

he was right the pestilence had spread even farther than they’d suspected.

Despite his reluctance he squatted and forced himself to turn back the flap of

crimson-sodden material. It felt thick and stiff from the congealing blood. He

dropped it as soon as he could, and scrubbed his fingers in the soil until they felt

clean. There could be no doubt: the man’s chest was covered with pustules. There

was something else under his shirt too, on a thin chain around his neck. Rudi felt an

irrational impulse to reach out and pick it up. So strong was the feeling that his hand

moved almost before he was aware of it, and he had to force himself to check the

motion with a conscious effort.

It was a charm or amulet of some kind he supposed, composed of three discs

linked somehow at the points of a triangle. Each was covered in intricate designs,

which the spilled blood obscured. He’d never seen anything like it before, just the

hammer of Sigmar which many people wore for luck or protection, and occasionally

49

the signs of other gods: Heinrich Littman, like many soldiers, wore the wolfs head of

Ulric, and Hanna occasionally sported the dove of Shallya. Despite his curiosity, he

realised that plucking it from the middle of a cluster of buboes might be a quick way

to catch the pestilence, so he resolved to leave it where it was. Maybe Father

Antrobus would recognise it. As he pulled his hand away he was surprised to feel a

stab of disappointment, which was out of all proportion to the thwarted satisfaction of

a mild curiosity.

He rose slowly, scanning his surroundings for signs of the beastmen who had

caused all this. There was no sign of them, and the cottage continued to burn with

undiminished vigour. As he turned away the roof collapsed with an ear-splitting

crash and a flurry of sparks flew upwards like vengeful daemons.

Once he was moving he started to pick up the pace, breaking into a trot, and then

a run, until he exerted a little reason and forced himself to slow down. The Altmans

were beyond help now, and there was no point in exhausting himself. He might need

the energy later if he had to run from the beastmen. True he hadn’t actually seen one

yet, but…

A new sound scratched at his attention, a low moan, like a cow in distress. He

hesitated, trying to pinpoint it. Probably just the wind, he told himself, or his

imagination working overtime, but he couldn’t ignore it. Perhaps one of the family

was still alive and terribly injured, trying to attract his attention. He listened intently,

trying to filter other sounds from the pop and crackle of the burning cottage.

There it was again. He moved towards the source, slowly and cautiously, with

every muscle tensed to bolt if danger threatened. A rustle came from a neighbouring

field still waist-high with sagging grain, the stalks beginning to bow from the

corruption eating away at them from within. If it hadn’t been upwind of the

conflagration it would have caught fire from drifting sparks by now. Rudi clambered

over the low stone wall separating it from the cabbage field.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” There was another low moan, and the stalks a few

yards away rustled. Rudi moved towards the sound, parting the stalks as he went, like

a man fording a waist-deep river. Up ahead he could see a patch of clear ground, and

some freshly turned earth. For a moment he wondered why anyone would have been

digging in the middle of a ripening crop, then realised that Altman had probably

hoped to separate the diseased grain from the rest in the vain hope of stopping the

blight from spreading. Many other farmers had tried the same thing, with a

conspicuous lack of success.

Without warning, and with a roar that seemed to echo in his bones, something

surged up out of the grass, bearing down on him with a speed and ferocity that froze

the blood in his veins. A beastman! It was larger and fouler than anything his

imagination could have conjured up, covered in matted fur, its eyes blazing with

bestial fury, and thick skeins of drool running from the corners of its mouth. It had

horns like a goat’s, and its face was elongated like one, but it walked upright like a

man and smelled like a midden.

Abruptly its legs buckled, and it fell to the ground, sprawling close to his feet.

Rudi leapt back, his throat constricted with terror, unsure of how the thing meant to

attack him. Then he saw the blood matting the fur at its back, and the mattock

50

embedded deep in the thing’s spine. It choked, and a spatter of dark ichor sprayed

from its mouth.

Rudi began to understand what must have happened. Altman had been attacked

as he was uprooting the plants, and had defended himself with the heavy agricultural

tool. After losing his makeshift weapon he had fled towards the cottage, hoping to

barricade it perhaps. But he had been overtaken and cut down. The other beastmen

had either thought their comrade dead, or had forgotten him entirely in the ensuing

orgy of slaughter, so they’d left him behind when they went.

The creature scrabbled towards him, malevolent fury in its eyes. It was clearly

intent on taking at least one more victim to hell with it. No human could possibly

have lived for so long with a wound like that, but it was obviously weakening.

Nevertheless its insatiable desire to kill was burning as strongly as ever.

“Stay back! I’m warning you!” The words burst from his lips involuntarily, and

he marvelled at his audacity. He was standing his ground and threatening a

formidable killing machine. But he dared not turn his back on it. Who knew what

such things were capable of? If he tried to flee it might still have the strength to catch

him. He glanced desperately around for a large rock he could use to smash its skull,

or some other improvised weapon, but the wheat field was as devoid of such things

as the cabbage patch had been.

His back scraped against the stone wall around the field. He scrambled up on it,

hoping he could pry part of it loose. But the beastman had stopped moving, and was

regarding him with something resembling curiosity in its eyes. For a moment it

seemed almost intelligent.

“Rashagharr kragharr rhuarrdhee?” It looked up at him with an expression

which, had it been human, might have denoted astonishment. Rudi felt his jaw drop

in equal amazement. The thing was obviously trying to speak to him in whatever

language the creatures used, although what it meant he had no idea. The last word

had sounded almost like his name, if the abhuman larynx had been able to pronounce

it, but that just had to be a coincidence.

“I don’t understand,” he said, still not quite able to believe that the creature

possessed enough intelligence to use language at all, however debased. His hands

still scrabbled for a loose rock, but Altman had made his walls well, so nothing came

loose. But he had no use for it. The beastman raised its head, looked him in the eyes,

and expired, with a death rattle, which resonated in the pit of his stomach.

Rudi sat where he was for a while, shivering. The encounter had been unnerving

enough, but there was one thing that stuck in his mind and haunted him, even more

so than the word that had sounded like his name. When it looked into his eyes, just

before it died, the thing had unmistakably smiled.

51

CHAPTER TEN

The sun was perceptibly lower on the horizon by the time Rudi returned to the

burned-out farmstead, the first taint of orange in the upper air uncannily resembling

the embers glowing in what remained of the cottage. Littman and the handful of

militiamen he’d been able to round up stood beside the young messenger at what had

once been the gate in the wall around the smallholding, shocked into silence. As

they’d hurried up the road from Kohlstadt, Rudi had tried to prepare them for the

scene of devastation awaiting them, but his descriptive powers had proven hopelessly

inadequate to the task.

The outline of the building remained, sketched in tumbled walls and charred

timber, and faint pops and spits could still be heard coming from the heap of ashes.

At the sergeant’s urging a couple of men began to probe the edge of the ruins,

advancing cautiously, so as not to suffer severe burns. The heat emanating from the

glowing embers was ferocious enough to steal the breath away.

“It’s a bad business all right.” The old soldier shook his head, looking weary for

the first time that Rudi could recall. “But these things always are.”

“You’ve seen attacks like this before?” Rudi asked.

Littman sighed. “More often than I can remember. But you never get used to it.”

Rudi could well believe it. When he spoke of his life before he came to

Kohlstadt, Littman tended to speak of campaigns and old comrades, of battles he’d

been in and desperate fights against particular foes, with special emphasis on the

greenskin who had almost cost him his leg. He’d never mentioned burned houses and

slaughtered farmers, although in his campaigns against the abhuman enemies of the

Empire he had undoubtedly come across scenes like this many times before. Now he

roused himself from his bitter reflections, and donned the mantle of duty and

authority once again. “You found a dead beastman in the wheat field, you say?”

“Yes. Over here.” Rudi led the way in silence. He had been sparing with the truth

when he’d gasped out his story back at Kohlstadt, skipping over the part where the

creature had tried to speak to him. He didn’t know what that had meant, and didn’t

want to. Littman stared at the hideous corpse, and spat on it.

“One of the puny ones. Altman must have got lucky.”

“He didn’t look so lucky when I found him,” Rudi said, more sharply than he’d

intended. The sergeant didn’t take offence at the remark, he just nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s the thing about luck, lad,” he said. “Sooner or later it always runs out.”

He sighed. “Where is he?”

“Over here.” Rudi clambered over the wall, not far from where he’d crossed it

before, and waited while the old soldier swung his stiff leg over the obstacle. He

pretended to scan the cabbage field to get his bearings, so as to spare the man’s

feelings. “I should warn you, he looks…” he searched for a suitable phrase, and gave

up. Littman nodded grimly.

52

“I’ll have seen as bad before,” he said.

“Where do you think the others are?” Rudi asked, unable to stop himself.

“Dead if they’re lucky. If not…” Littman shook his head. “Just better not to think

about it.” Something about the flatness of his tone warned Rudi not to pursue the

subject. He was just steeling himself for the sight of Altman’s body again when one

of the militiamen probing the ruins of the cottage with the tips of their spears called

out urgently.

“Sergeant! Over here!” Without a word Littman veered off to join him. Rudi

followed, anxious not to be left alone with only a mutilated corpse for company.

The militiaman, a thin-faced fellow who normally worked at the bakery and

seemed less put out by the searing temperatures than anyone else, pointed at

something round and greyish in the carpet of ash. He leaned forward to probe at it

with the tip of his spear. Littman watched impassively.

“Careful, Schuller. Don’t want you toasted like one of your figgins.” The warning

was more than a mere pleasantry. The waves of heat rising from the embers were

enough to stir the hairs on Rudi’s arms. Schuller seemed unconcerned, however; he

hoisted the object he’d found from the glowing embers on the point of his weapon as

casually as if he were removing a tray of loaves from his oven.

“Thought so.” The baker didn’t seem terribly happy at having guessed correctly,

and Rudi could see why. The object was a human skull, charred and made brittle by

the furnace heat. As Schuller dropped the grisly find onto the scorched earth, baked

to the hardness of brick by the inferno above it, it shattered like a cheap pot. “Any

idea who it was?”

“One of the kids, judging by the size,” Littman spat into the embers. The gobbet

of spittle sizzled into steam in an instant. “Chances are we’ll find the others in there

too when it cools down enough to look.”

“It’ll be a long wait for that.” Schuller cast a professional eye over the glowing

embers that were still peppered with little tongues of flame. “All that ash will retain

the heat. Like banking a hearth fire up at night.” He shrugged. “You’re looking at

three days minimum. More likely four or five.”

“It’s all academic now anyway,” Littman shook his head. “We might as well bury

Altman and go home.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Father Antrobus?” Rudi asked, shocked at the suggestion.

The farmer should be taken back to the garden of Morr at least, and have the priest

commend his soul to the realm of Morr. True the reverend was a Sigmarite, but the

clerics of the god of death couldn’t be everywhere and a blessing from him was

generally considered sufficient until one of the Morrite mendicants who passed

through the village every few years could intercede with the lord of the afterlife for

those who’d died in the intervening period.

“If he’s got the pestilence we should get him in the ground straight away,”

Littman said, shaking his head. “It’s all one to him now anyway.” Schuller nodded in

sombre agreement.

“Maybe we should chuck him in there,” he indicated the smouldering ruins of the

cottage with a tilt of his head. “There’ll be enough heat trapped under the ash to burn

him to cinders if we stir them up a bit.”

53

“Might be safer at that,” the old soldier conceded. Rudi could barely contain his

disgust. The farmer was a human being, for Sigmar’s sake, he deserved better than to

be incinerated like some diseased piece of livestock. “We can send the god botherers

to say their piece over the ashes.”

Schuller shrugged, trying to match his sergeant’s air of world-weary pragmatism.

“It’s probably all we can do for the others in any case,” he offered. Littman

nodded soberly.

“They’re beyond aught else, that’s for sure.” He was on the verge of adding some

further comment that would delay the order a little longer, when his glance struck the

middle distance. “Who the hell’s that?”

“Sergeant!” One of the militiamen who had been left in the road to secure the

narrow gateway called a moment later, waving an arm to attract Littman’s attention.

“Someone’s coming!”

Rudi trotted after the sergeant as he hurried to the gate, with surprising speed for

a man of his years and with a damaged leg. There was nothing wrong with his eyes,

though, the young messenger thought. Even by squinting Rudi could barely make out

the distant figure advancing towards them along the highway from the distant town

of Dreibruken. The sun shone almost directly into his face, and he wondered for a

moment how Littman had been able to pick out the solitary rider in the surrounding

glare. His respect for the old soldier rose another notch, and he resolved to listen a bit

more attentively the next time he launched into one of his interminable stories.

The small knot of militiamen had reformed long before Rudi was able to make

out any more detail, by which time the horseman had drawn close enough to take on

a definite silhouette. By now he must surely have noticed the smoke rising from the

devastated farmstead, as well as the group of spear-armed men spreading out across

the road in front of him, but he neither varied his pace nor showed any inclination to

change direction to avoid them. The horse came on at a steady trot, which ate the

miles without unduly fatiguing it.

“Is it one of them?” a militiaman asked. It was a youth barely older than Rudi

whom he recognised vaguely, but couldn’t put a name to. Littman shook his head.

“Beastmen eat horses, Stug, not ride them.” Stug seemed unconvinced.

“I heard some of them are like horses themselves, with four legs, and…”

“Maybe.” Littman’s tone was dismissive. “But I’ve never seen one. And I doubt

he’d be offering rides.” The men laughed, a little nervously, glad to be able to relieve

the tension.

“Good afternoon.” The rider had come within conversational distance by now,

and he spoke without raising his voice. It was only later, that Rudi realised the power

with which he must have projected it in order to have spoken so casually from some

threescore paces away. “Have I reached a toll already?”

“No tolls this side of Kohlstadt,” Littman told him, stepping forward.

“I see.” The horseman kept moving to meet them. He had a friendly smile on his

face, which wasn’t reflected in his ice-blue eyes. “Then may I ask why you’re

obstructing the Emperor’s highway?” His hand hovered casually near the hilt of the

sword at his belt, and it was clear to Rudi from the way Littman tensed that the two

men understood one another.

54

He had never seen anyone like this stranger before. His clothes were dark, black

or grey, and of good quality. Despite their plainness he was reminded of the garments

he’d seen Magnus and Steiner wear. Unlike the dignitaries of Kohlstadt, however,

they showed signs of hard wear. The only touch of colour on the man’s costume was

the dark blue feather tucked into the brim of his hat. What little Rudi could make out

of his features seemed ordinary enough, save for the scar across his right cheek,

which seemed to take on a life of its own, becoming more prominent as his jaw

tensed.

“Heinrich Littman, sergeant-at-arms of the Kohlstadt militia.” Littman waved at

the smouldering cottage, which the stranger couldn’t help but have noticed already.

“Here to investigate that.”

“I can assure you I’m not responsible,” the stranger said, reining in his steed. It

was jet black, like the night made manifest, its coat glossy with the slight sweat it had

worked up on the journey from Dreibruken. Rudi knew nothing of horses, there was

precious little use for them in the forest, but it seemed like a different species entirely

from the farmers’ nags he was used to seeing in the streets of the village and the

fields surrounding it.

“I know.” Littman turned away, as if already dismissing the man from his mind,

although his shoulders remained set. “Best get to where you’re going before the sun

goes down.”

“I will.” The stranger swung himself down from the saddle. “I see the stories I

heard about beastmen in the area were hardly exaggerated.”

“There’s a dead one in the field over there,” Rudi told him, irritated by the

stranger’s manner. Littman shot him a warning glance that Rudi hardly noticed. “And

a dead family too.”

“A dead beastman?” The chill blue eyes locked with his, and despite himself

Rudi shivered. “Show me.” The man’s voice was still conversational in tone, but it

carried the unmistakable weight of authority. Rudi felt a flicker of resentment.

“This way.” Littman pointed to the wheat field. “Rudi knows where.” To his

intense surprise Rudi thought he could detect an edge of nervousness in the old

soldier’s tone. The stranger smiled.

“Rudi, is it? You found the thing?”

“Yes. And Herr Altman’s body too.” There was no point in trying to hide

anything the man might get just as easily from any of the militiamen. The man in

black looked intrigued for a moment.

“You can show me that afterwards. Why were you here?”

“I had a letter to deliver to Herr Altman.” Rudi felt his antipathy to the stranger

grow. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Everything’s my business, if I choose to make it so.” For a moment there was a

hard edge to the man’s voice, but it resumed its conversational tone. “Show me the

letter.”

“No.” Rudi glared at the stranger. “It’s a private matter.”

“Show the man, lad.” Littman took hold of his arm. “Altman’s dead now anyway.

What’s the difference?”

55

“The difference is I get paid to deliver letters. If I let just anyone read them,

who’s going to trust me with their messages anymore?” Rudi snapped, but was

astonished at the sergeant’s reaction. Littman’s face became pale with apprehension.

Someone started to laugh, and with an even greater shock of surprise he realised

that it was the man in black.

“Well said, youngster. It’s a long time since anyone’s stood up to me over a

matter of principle.” He thrust out a hand for Rudi to shake. “Luther Gerhard,

chaplain militant of the temple of Sigmar.”

“You’re a priest?” Rudi asked, not quite sure he could believe his ears. The only

cleric of Sigmar he’d ever met before was Father Antrobus, who was elderly and

diligent in caring for his flock, and about as far removed from this self-assured man

as he could imagine. Gerhard smiled again, with a hint of amusement in his eyes for

the first time.

“In a manner of speaking.” Littman looked even more forlorn now, as if

something he’d hoped wasn’t true had just been confirmed. But Rudi felt

immediately reassured. If you couldn’t trust a priest, who could you trust? He took

the proffered hand and shook it.

Abruptly he found himself swung violently around, with a dagger at his throat,

and an excruciating pain running up his right arm.

“There. We’ve been properly introduced.” Gerhard’s voice was as warm and

conversational as ever. “Now show me the letter, or I’ll cut your throat and take it

from your corpse. Either way, I’ll read it.”

“Show him, lad. He means it.” Littman’s voice was tight with tension. “I’ve met

witch hunters before. You don’t mess about with them.”

“Not twice, anyway,” Gerhard said.

“It’s in my pouch!” Rudi cried. He was not sure he believed the threats, but was

not willing to find out. Besides, his arm felt as though it were being plunged into

boiling water. Abruptly the pain ebbed as Gerhard released his grip, and used the

now empty hand to pluck the message from the pouch on Rudi’s belt.

“Hm.” He broke the seal with the point of the dagger, which vanished up his

sleeve again. He scanned the letter. “It seems the late Herr Altman had a very

generous creditor.”

“Magnus is well known for his kindness,” Rudi said. “He’s told a lot of people

who owe him money not to bother paying him back until they can.”

“Has he indeed?” Gerhard nodded, as if filing the information away for later, and

let the letter drop to the ground. A stray gust of wind took it up and skittered it

towards the smouldering ruins of the cottage, where it dropped, combusted in the

heat, and rose like a brief, flaring comet. “Show me the beastman.”

Reluctantly Rudi led him over to the wheat field. The militiamen remained where

they were. Only Littman followed, showing every sign of wishing he could stay

behind, but not quite daring to let the man in black out of his sight.

“Are you really a witch hunter?” he asked. The reason for the sergeant’s

nervousness was now all too clear. Gerhard nodded again.

“That’s what they call me. I prefer to think of myself as ‘a seeker after truth’.”

His voice was as conversational as ever, as though the brief burst of violence he’d

56

displayed and the threat to Rudi’s life had been no more than a polite exchange of

pleasantries. The young forester felt a chill running up his spine. There wasn’t a

citizen of the Empire who hadn’t heard of these ruthless seekers after heresy and

mutation, and who wasn’t terrified at the thought of coming to their attention. They

were fanatics, people said, who thought nothing of condemning whole villages to the

flames on a mere word of suspicion. On the evidence of their short acquaintance so

far he could well believe it.

“It’s over here.” Rudi pointed out the hideous corpse as he scrambled over the

wall, in almost exactly the same place as he had before. The witch hunter vaulted

lightly over the stone barrier, and Rudi began to realise that despite his relaxed

demeanour he was as fit and strong as anyone he’d ever met. Littman didn’t follow.

He was content this time to lean on the wall and crane over it. No doubt he wanted to

keep as much distance between himself and Gerhard as possible.

“Hm.” The witch hunter bent to examine the corpse, pulling on a pair of thin

leather gloves as he did so. Rudi couldn’t blame him, he wouldn’t have wanted to

touch the thing either. “Now that’s unusual.” He looked up and caught Littman’s eye.

“You’re an old campaigner, by the look of you. Have you fought these creatures

before?”

“Many times,” the sergeant nodded warily, unsure of the significance of the

question.

“Ever seen anything like this before?” Gerhard raised the beastman’s right hand.

Rudi peered at it too, uncertain what he was supposed to be looking at. It was ugly

enough all right, ending in curved fingers with long, talon-like nails. There was

something tattooed in the palm which he couldn’t quite make out, a pattern of

curving lines which looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t see why that would be

of such interest to the man in black. Then Gerhard pulled back what Rudi had taken

for a simple fold of skin, and his stomach lurched. If he hadn’t already been sick he

certainly would have been now. The creature had an extra mouth in the palm of its

hand, edged with sharp, curving teeth.

“Sigmar preserve us!” Littman blenched, and made the sign of the hammer.

Gerhard smiled sardonically.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said.

“You’d be right.” Littman recovered his composure with a visible effort. “I’ve

seen foul enough things in the Drakwald, but never that twisted.”

“I’m not surprised.” Gerhard nodded. “Most beastmen follow the path of Chaos

indiscriminately. This one carries the mark of a specific one of the Dark Gods, no

doubt it thought itself blessed by the attention of its deity.”

“I don’t care what they believe. They all die if you hit them hard enough.”

Littman spat at the thing, landing a gobbet of phlegm in its eye with remarkable

accuracy. Gerhard smiled.

“Spoken like a true soldier.” He turned to Rudi. “And what do you think, young

man? You found the creature.”

“I think I’m glad Herr Altman finished it off before I got here,” Rudi said, hoping

to evade too much close questioning about the circumstances in which he’d made the

discovery. He had no doubt that the witch hunter was skilled at detecting lies and

half-truths, and the thought of being discovered trying to deceive him made his blood

57

run cold. Better to evade the topic entirely. “I’ve never seen anything so hideous in

my life.”

“Count yourself lucky,” Gerhard said. Then he stood up, much to Rudi’s relief.

“And speaking of Herr Altman, where is our deceased soil-tiller?”

“In the next field,” Rudi replied, pointing out the direction. “The creatures must

have found him over there, where he was digging, and chased him this far before

they caught him. But he managed to wound this one first.”

“Wound? I thought it was dead when you found it,” Gerhard said softly. Rudi

swallowed nervously.

“It obviously dragged itself to the edge of the field before it died. You can see

where the grain stalks are bent.”

“Ah. I see.” The witch hunter glanced around, and nodded to himself. “You’re

very observant.”

“My father’s a forester. I’ve been tracking all my life,” Rudi explained.

To his relief Littman intervened to back him up.

“And he’s very skilled at it too. He’s the one who found the first traces of the

beastmen in the woods.”

“I see,” Gerhard said again. He smiled at the young woodsman, with every

appearance of good humour. “I’ll talk to you about that later. Lucky I didn’t kill you

back there.”

Rudi wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so just nodded in reply as though

the remark had been a reasonable one.

“Whenever you’ve got the time,” he said, as levelly as he could. For a moment he

thought he could see a flash of genuine amusement in the witch hunter’s eyes.

“Good.” Gerhard began walking away from the body, towards the patch of turned

earth that Rudi had noticed before. “Now what do you suppose our dead friend was

doing out here digging up an almost ripe crop?”

“Trying to stop the blight from spreading.” Rudi indicated the sickly plants

surrounding them. “A lot of the farmers around here are doing the same, hoping to

preserve at least part of the harvest.”

“I see.” Gerhard stepped out into the cleared patch of ground. “Then don’t you

think he’d be clearing a strip across the whole field?”

Rudi nodded. That much was obvious, but the gist of the witch hunter’s remark

escaped him for a moment. Then he realised that the patch of cleared ground was

completely circular. He paced across the diameter, finding it about nine yards across.

Altman had clearly been very industrious. He shrugged.

“Maybe he was planning to burn the blighted stalks,” he suggested. “Clearing

space for a bonfire.” It sounded ridiculous to him even as he said it, no one in their

right mind would set a fire in the middle of a field they were hoping to preserve, the

risk of it spreading was far too great.

Gerhard shook his head.

“It’s nothing so innocent, I’m afraid.” His eyes were on the ground, as though

searching for something. “You’re the tracker, apparently. Where’s the soil been most

disturbed?” Flattered at being consulted by a man so versed in mysteries beyond his

comprehension, Rudi stared at the patch of cleared soil. The mattock had turned over

58

all of the topsoil in the process of clearing it, but some areas had apparently been

worked on more recently than others.

“It’s hard to be sure,” he said carefully. “It’s been badly trampled.” He indicated

where the marks of shod and cloven feet marked the site of Altman’s last desperate

battle. “But the last place he was working seems to be here.” He pointed then

frowned with confusion. “The strange thing is he wasn’t digging in one place.”

“How do you mean?” the witch hunter asked, looking at the ground as though the

traces Rudi could see clearly enough were completely invisible. Rudi shrugged.

“He seems to have been digging furrows. And don’t ask me why, but they’re

going off in all directions.”

“Show me.” Alert interest was on Gerhard’s face now, as though something he’d

only suspected so far was beginning to make sense. At a loss for any other method of

demonstration, Rudi began to trace the pattern he’d discerned with his feet. At first

he moved hesitantly, unsure of the best way to proceed, but as he took one step after

another a strange sense of confidence grew in him. The twisting path he followed

seemed to become more obvious, almost as if he knew it already, and all he had to do

was relax and trust in some inner voice…

“Snap out of it!” A stinging slap smashed across his face, and he found himself

looking into Gerhard’s eyes. Where had the man come from? From the ache in his

jaw it seemed the blow hadn’t been the first, and he raised a feeble hand to ward off

the next strike just as the witch hunter drew his hand back to hit him again.

“Sigmar’s hammer!” Rudi ducked his head to avoid the incipient blow. “What are

you doing?”

“Saving your soul, probably.” Gerhard spoke with a matter-of-fact tone, which

implied he was telling no more than the truth. “I was beginning to think we’d lost

you entirely.”

“He’s right, lad.” Littman was standing at his shoulder, making the sign of the

hammer. “You looked possessed.” A chill of dread shot through his heart.

“What by?” he asked. For a moment Gerhard looked surprised at the speed of his

recovery.

“I don’t know,” he admitted at last. “But the pattern you were walking is

obviously a sigil of great power. This whole field will have to be burned.”

“Will that stop it?” Littman asked, his voice trembling a little. Beastmen he could

handle, but naked sorcery was another matter entirely. Gerhard shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “But it’s worth a try.” He turned back to Rudi.

“Show me the farmer.”

“This way.” To his surprise Rudi found his voice almost steady. The thought that

he had been touched, possibly even tainted, by the powers of Chaos was a terrifying

one, but there was nothing he could do about it now. And at least the witch hunter

seemed to think he was free of whatever malevolent forces he’d disturbed. He was

certain of that because Gerhard hadn’t killed him, he would undoubtedly have done

so without hesitation had he seen the need. That thought was hardly comforting

either, so he forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand.

“Intriguing.” Gerhard stooped to examine the mutilated corpse of the farmer as

though it were nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe for him it was. “And what have we

59

here?” He reached out a black-gloved hand to pick up the medallion Rudi had noticed

earlier.

“Be careful,” Rudi said. The words slipped out unbidden. “I think he’s infected.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Gerhard snapped the narrow chain, lifting the curious tri-

circular object clear of Altman’s chest. It came free with a curious sucking sound,

and a stench of putrefaction that Rudi wouldn’t have expected from a body that fresh.

“I’d be astonished if he wasn’t infected, wearing this.”

“What is it?” Rudi asked, curiosity overcoming his apprehension. The scar on

Gerhard’s face flared red.

“The mark of his heresy,” he said shortly, making the sign of the hammer. “And

proof, if I needed it, that the pestilence gripping your village is far from natural.” As

he raised the object the setting sun caught it, bringing the engraving on the circles

into sharp relief.

Rudi gasped, the breath freezing in his lungs. Without the faintest idea as to how

he knew, he was absolutely certain that the design on one of the circles was the one

he’d walked a few moments before in the wheat field. An air of palpable

malevolence hung about the artefact, and he felt both repelled and drawn towards it.

“Best destroy it,” Littman counselled.

Gerhard nodded.

“I intend to,” he said. He gestured at the corpse. “And burn that.”

As Schuller had predicted there was more than enough residual heat under the

ashes to incinerate the corpse, and greasy flames were soon running over it as the fat

beneath the skin started to melt. Gerhard flung the medallion after it, as well as the

gloves he’d used to handle the thing. He stared at the corpse as it burned with an

expression of loathing.

“What’s the matter?” Rudi ventured after a while, hoping to distract himself from

his own inner turmoil. The witch hunter shook his head.

“There’s no satisfaction in burning a heretic after he’s dead,” he said. “This one’s

escaped retribution.” He smiled grimly, but still spoke in a conversational tone. “But

I promise you, his confederates won’t get away so lightly.”

Despite the furnace heat, Rudi shivered.

60

CHAPTER ELEVEN

News of the witch hunter’s arrival spread through Kohlstadt like flame through a

wheat field; it even eclipsed the news of the massacre at the Altmans’ farm. An

undercurrent of alarm rippled through the village now that everyone’s worst fears had

been realised, but Gerhard’s presence seemed to reassure most of the local folk. The

pious spoke smugly of the retribution shortly to be visited on whoever was

responsible for bringing down the wrath of the gods on the little community, while

the pragmatic kept their heads down and tried not to bring themselves to the witch

hunter’s attention.

This, Rudi knew, was likely to be extremely difficult, since Gerhard was

interested in everyone and everything. Rudi’s privileged position as the

burgomeister’s messenger kept him close to the centre of events, so he saw more of

the witch hunter’s investigation than he felt altogether comfortable with.

“I must apologise for my tardiness,” Gerhard said, taking a seat at the head of the

burgomeister’s dining table. Rudi looked around the room, awed at the opulence of

the furnishings, although the man in black seemed indifferent to them. Rich tapestries

hung on the walls, and china of a fineness and lustre he’d never dreamed could exist

was displayed on a dresser of ornately carved wood. Most of the decorations were

hunting scenes, although to his practical eye the youths and maidens pursuing a

slightly bored-looking stag seemed to be wearing rather too little for protection

against the forest underbrush. Steiner, determined to play the good host, inclined his

head slightly and refilled his guest’s goblet from an exquisitely engraved silver

flagon.

“To be honest I wasn’t sure you’d got any of my messages,” he said. The phrase

seemed to remind him of Rudi’s presence, and he glanced briefly in his direction

before ignoring him again as strongly as possible. Since Rudi had become a vital

conduit between the burgomeister, Greta and Magnus he had been admitted to the

Steiner mansion on a number of occasions, but only by the rear entrance. And he was

never allowed further than the plain parlour where Steiner conducted business with

his social inferiors. His personal living quarters were jealously guarded, and it

obviously galled him to have a peasant sitting in them. But Gerhard had demanded

that Rudi accompany him that evening, and had strolled into the mansion by the front

door, leaving the burgomeister with no option but to acquiesce to his presence. The

witch hunter smiled sardonically.

“You were lucky,” he observed, with a tilt of the head. “I happened to be

concluding some business in Dreibruken when a merchant who’d been to your

village came by. You showed commendable resourcefulness.”

Steiner took the compliment uneasily. Few knew he’d taken to asking passing

travellers to carry letters for him, no matter which direction they’d been going in.

They were to be delivered to the first witch hunter they came across. Many of the

61

villagers would no doubt think the cure worse than the disease, but the creeping air of

decay and corruption had left him no alternative. In his own way Steiner was a pious

man, but knew he was out of his depth; if the village he led had offended the gods,

or, worse still, attracted the attention of the malign ones of whom no one spoke, then

he needed a crusader to root out the cause and set matters right again. He shrugged.

“I knew if I sent out enough letters one of your order would respond eventually.”

“Eventually being the operative word.” Gerhard sipped at his wine, and nodded

appreciatively. “We’re few and far between, and all too often heresy and malice take

root beyond our notice. Fortunately, as I said, I had business nearby.”

“Successfully concluded, I trust?” Steiner asked.

Gerhard shrugged. “In a manner of speaking. The guilty were punished as they

deserved, by the grace of Sigmar.”

“You burned the witches?” Steiner asked, hesitantly. Gerhard smiled grimly.

“No. Their accusers. It only seemed fair.” He looked from Rudi to Steiner,

evidently enjoying their expressions of shock. The mirthless smile spread across his

face again. “The accusations were lies, intended to secure an inheritance by removing

the legitimate heir. Anyone who would wantonly condemn another to so agonising a

death simply to satisfy their own greed deserved nothing less themselves.”

“I see.” The burgomeister nodded, clearly not sure how to respond. The witch

hunters of popular gossip wouldn’t have been so careful, or slow to judgement, but

were certainly as grimly efficient when it came to burning whoever they thought was

guilty. “Sigmar has surely sent us the right man to get to the bottom of whatever

afflicts our community.”

“I’m gratified by your confidence, Herr Steiner. Now tell me about the others

you’ve been working with. This merchant, Von Blackenburg. How does he fit in?”

“Magnus?” Steiner was clearly taken aback. “He’s been one of our most

prominent citizens for twenty years or more. Made a fortune here, and ploughed most

of it straight back into the village.”

“A fortune?” Gerhard sounded sceptical. “Ah well, I suppose these things are

relative. He’s a native of Kohlstadt?”

Steiner looked at something of a loss.

“I don’t think so. He’s been around for so long, though, he might as well be.”

“His grandfather came from Nuln,” Rudi volunteered. “And I think his father

must have moved to Marienburg.”

“Marienburg?” The witch hunter looked at him speculatively. “Why do you say

that?” Rudi coloured.

“It’s more of a guess, really. He just mentioned once that his father invested in

voyages to Lustria. And Marienburg’s the biggest port in the world, so it would make

sense, wouldn’t it?”

“A reasonable deduction,” Gerhard said, looking at Rudi with something akin to

respect. “You’ve a head on your shoulders, boy. I wouldn’t waste it chasing rabbits

in the woods all your life if I were you.” Rudi was reminded of Greta’s words in her

cottage a couple of weeks before, and wondered again if they had been simple

pleasantries or something more akin to a prophecy. Then another chill hit him; if she

really did have mystical powers she would be in deadly danger from the man in

62

black. For a moment he dreaded the apprehension showing on his face, but to his

relief Steiner was nodding thoughtfully, and had deflected the witch hunter’s

attention.

“He does have property in Marienburg, I believe. He travels there on business a

couple of times a year, and usually stays at least a month.”

“I see.” Gerhard nodded. “And you say he’s been using his fortune to help

alleviate the suffering of the sick?”

“And the poor,” Steiner said. “He’s been sending food to several families who

aren’t yet afflicted.”

“Has he?” This seemed to interest the witch hunter greatly, and he turned to Rudi.

“I’ll need a list of everyone you’ve taken food to. I’m sure Herr Steiner can find me a

quill and ink so you can dictate them before we leave.” He looked sharply at the

young forester. “Unless you’re about to surprise me again and tell me you’re

literate.”

“No. I’m not,” Rudi said, surprised by the defensive embarrassment he felt.

“Am I to infer that you suspect Magnus of dabbling in dark sorceries?” Steiner

was clearly flabbergasted. Gerhard shrugged.

“Why not? He sent letters to a known member of a Chaos cult. Or have you

forgotten what I told you of the Altman farm?”

“He’s sent letters to practically everyone in the village!” The burgomeister was

incensed. But an undercurrent of fear was evident in his bluster now. “Including me.

Are you accusing me of complicity in witchcraft too?”

“Not yet.” The smile returned to Gerhard’s face. “But in all good conscience you

can’t expect me to ignore the possibility.”

“But I summoned you here!” Steiner could hardly believe his own ears. “Why

would I do that if I was part of some unholy cult?”

“What better way to deflect suspicion?” Gerhard asked. Steiner swallowed,

outrage clogging his throat. The witch hunter tilted his head a little to convey his

amusement. “Not a very strong possibility though, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Steiner said, rearranging his dignity as best he could.

“Good.” Gerhard leaned across the table and helped himself to more wine. “I’ll

speak to him as soon as I can. Now…” He took a deep draught of the vintage. “What

can you tell me about this healer?”

“You certainly won’t find any heresy there,” Steiner assured him. “Greta

Reifenstal has been helping people all her life.”

“Nevertheless,” Gerhard said, “it’s not unheard of for country healers to meddle

with powers best left alone.”

“I’ve never seen anything of the like,” Steiner assured him. “She uses herbs and

plants a good deal, and can set a bone as well as a city chirurgeon, but there’s nothing

mystical about her. Or her daughter.” Abruptly Rudi remembered Hanna’s apparent

indifference to the heated cauldron that had seared his palm. He felt his mouth go

dry. He had little enough time for her, that was true, but he wouldn’t want to see her

killed. Even if she truly was a witch. Which of course she wasn’t. The idea was

ridiculous…

63

“Well, time will tell.” Gerhard’s tone was even. “The innocent have nothing to

fear.” He might truly have believed his own words, but Rudi wasn’t so sure. He was

beginning to suspect that in the real world no one was truly innocent, and no one had

nothing to fear. “Odd, though, wouldn’t you say, that with all her expertise she could

do nothing to alleviate this contagion?” Steiner shrugged.

“How would I know? I’m no doctor. But she hasn’t stopped trying, I can tell you

that.”

“Some of the people she’s treated have stopped getting worse,” Rudi put in,

desperate to deflect the witch hunter’s suspicions. “Even if no one’s recovered, she’s

been helping them at least.”

“Perhaps.” Gerhard spoke as though the matter was of little importance. “I’ll

know more when I’ve spoken to her.” He turned back to Rudi. “Now, those names I

asked you for…”

When the meeting had concluded Rudi found himself out in the street again. Steiner

had conducted him to the kitchen door with almost indecent haste, a couple of new

letters to be delivered tucked into his pouch. Gerhard had scrawled a few lines on

each scrap of paper, and he hadn’t needed to be able to read them to deduce their tone

or contents. Peremptory summonses to Magnus and Greta, to discuss what they knew

of the crisis with him.

He trotted the handful of yards to Magnus’ house, hoping to speak to the

merchant. His head was bursting with the events of the day, and he needed a

sympathetic ear to discuss them with. His father would be waiting at home, true, but

he doubted that Gunther’s earthy pragmatism would be able to cope with such

momentous news. Magnus, on the other hand, was a man of the world, and he was

sure he’d be able to offer some sound advice.

To his great disappointment, however, the merchant was not at home. The only

person around was Kirstin, who took the letter. Again she let her hand linger against

his for a fraction of a second before withdrawing it. Her fingers curled around the

folded paper. She looked into his eyes for a moment, slightly disappointed then

turned away, closing the door with an automatic exchange of pleasantries.

Feeling slightly let down, Rudi turned to go. He still had Greta’s letter to deliver,

and for a moment the thought cheered him. He didn’t doubt that her robust good

sense would be almost as good as asking Magnus’ advice. Then, with a sudden

sinking feeling, he remembered he had another message to deliver to the cottage too.

Hans Katzenjammer’s ridiculous plea to Hanna to lift the curse he’d imagined in his

delirium. That wouldn’t exactly go down well at the best of times, and with a

summons from a witch hunter for her mother in his pouch the prospect had suddenly

become ten times worse. Nevertheless he’d been paid to deliver the message, and felt

honour-bound to do so.

For a moment he was tempted to bypass the Reifenstal’s cottage and go straight

home, but that would be a very bad idea. Gerhard would be expecting his message to

be delivered as soon as possible, and everything he’d seen of the man convinced him

that he would be a bad enemy to make.

64

There was nothing else for it, he’d just have to get it over with as quickly as he

could. He turned to retrace his steps, intending to cut through the square, which the

Steiner mansion overlooked. From there he would make his way to the main gate.

As he approached the square, a confused babble of sound came to his ears.

Voices were raised, and the clatter of footsteps echoed on the dried mud of the street,

hurrying towards the source of the disturbance. Rudi picked up his pace, curious to

see what was going on.

“Let me through! I need to talk to the witch hunter!” Something about the voice

was familiar, although the speaker was hidden among the knot of onlookers that was

flooding into the square in response to the commotion. Rudi had noticed a few of the

villagers hanging about outside Steiner’s house when he’d visited that evening, their

numbers swelled by the small gaggle of the curious who followed Gerhard wherever

he went at a respectful distance. Having left by the rear entrance he hadn’t paid them

any further mind, but it was clear from the level of the noise that no one had got

bored and gone home yet. Quite the contrary, there was a considerable crowd by

now. Night was beginning to fall in earnest, and their faces took on a sinister hue, lit

by the flickering flames of torches and the few sconces attached to the walls of the

nearby houses.

“No one’s seeing the witch hunter tonight.” Big Franz loomed above the crowd, a

couple of nervous-looking militiamen at his shoulders, barring the way to the Steiner

house. He looked even more gaunt than he had that afternoon, his face slick with

perspiration, and Rudi found himself wondering if the plague had claimed him at last.

Whether it had or not, though, his strength was clearly undiminished, as he was

holding off a struggling figure who was trying with relentless determination to force

his way past. “He’s got business with the burgomeister.”

“You don’t understand,” the figure shouted. “I’ve got proof of witchcraft! My

brother’s been cursed!” Rudi felt his stomach drop. Fritz Katzenjammer, it had to be.

A moment later his guess was confirmed as the hulking youth’s face fell into a pool

of torchlight. The crowd began to grow restive, fresh voices rising over the

commotion.

“Let him speak! Let him through!” The mood was turning ugly and it wouldn’t

take much to spark a riot. People were frightened and angry, and now Katzenjammer

had given them a focus for it. He glanced round, once, then forced his way into the

crowd, hoping to get across the square and out of the village before things got out of

control.

“Your brother’s just sick. Like everyone else.” Franz pushed the youth back with

a surge of strength, clearing a little space between the militiamen and the crowd. Fritz

staggered and regained his feet, raising his voice in answer. Rudi ignored the fracas

as best he could, his eyes fixed on the entrance to an alleyway across the open space.

Elbows buffeted him, and he was almost knocked off his feet a couple of times, but a

lifetime of slipping through dense forest undergrowth allowed him to make steady

progress. Just a few more yards…

“Hey! Mind where you’re going!” someone said. He cannoned into something

soft and yielding, and glanced down into the face of Hanna Reifenstal. “Oh, it’s you.

What’s going on?” By way of a reply he seized her arm and dragged her towards the

alley mouth.

65

“Come with me,” he said, already sure it would be too late. Explanations would

have to wait…

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hanna planted her heels and glared at him,

her face furious. “If you think I’m going anywhere with you…” Rudi glanced round

desperately. Fortunately they were on the fringes of the crowd by now, and

everyone’s attention was on the drama being enacted outside the burgomeister’s

house.

“You’ve been accused of witchcraft,” he whispered in an urgent undertone. “If

you don’t get out of here right now these idiots will lynch you!”

“I don’t believe it!” Hanna’s face turned pale in the flickering torchlight. “How

could anyone be so…”

“My brother was cursed by Hanna Reifenstal!” Fritz bellowed. “She’s a witch! I

heard her!”

“This is ridiculous.” Hanna put her hands on her hips, an expression of cold anger

on her face now. “I’m going to give that idiot a piece of my mind…”

“Now would be a bad time,” Rudi said, dragging her into the shadows of the

alleyway while her attention was distracted. She rounded on him and slapped his

face. Surprised, he let go of her arm.

“If you think I’m going to let him get away with that…” Hanna began, but Rudi

cut her off.

“Run now, talk later,” he said. “No one’s listening.” For the first time the full

extent of the danger she was in seemed to sink in. She turned towards the square. A

low murmur of anger crackled across the crowd like thunder in the distant hills.

Gradually a chant began.

“Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”

“Come on.” Rudi took hold of her arm again, gently this time, and urged her into

motion. This time she acquiesced, seemingly stunned by the turn of events. “We’ve

got to get out of here.” They trotted down the alleyway at a fast clip, the sound

growing behind them like the roar of an approaching flash flood.

“How could they believe him?” Hanna asked. She had discarded her habitual air

of disdainful self-confidence like an old cloak. All of a sudden she seemed like a

different person, frightened and vulnerable, and altogether more likeable. Rudi

shrugged.

“They’re frightened and desperate,” he said. “In the morning they’ll come to their

senses.” The gate was becoming visible now, the glow of a watch fire next to the

guard post.

“Will they?” Hanna asked, looking dubious. Rudi nodded, with all the confidence

he could summon up.

“I’m sure of it,” he said, wishing he could believe his own words. From what

he’d seen of Gerhard it seemed likely that the witch hunter would investigate such

claims thoroughly before acting on them. But he was a dangerous man without a

doubt, and it was hard to know how he would react.

To his relief there was only one militiaman guarding the gate. It was Stug the

youth he’d met that afternoon, so he was able to distract him for a couple of minutes

66

while Hanna scurried through unnoticed. The sound of raised voices could be heard

even here, and Stug kept his ear cocked while they were talking.

“What’s that?” he asked. Rudi shrugged.

“Some sort of welcoming party for our witch hunter.”

“Oh,” Stug said, while the hunted witch slipped out of the gate almost in front of

his nose. “Well, good luck to him, I say.” After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Rudi

followed her.

Outside the stockade the night was darker, with more concealing shadows. The

only light came from the stars and the sickly green glow of Morrslieb, the lesser

moon. With his forester’s instincts Rudi found Hanna quickly enough. She was

lurking in a patch of darkness, and he felt vaguely surprised that she’d waited for

him.

“Thank you.” Her voice was low, her face a patch of paleness in the enveloping

gloom. “If it hadn’t been for you…” Her voice trailed off.

“We’d better get going,” Rudi said, feeling awkward and embarrassed now that

the immediate danger was past.

“Yes. Right.” Hanna pulled herself together, sounding almost like her old self for

a moment. Then she paused. “Go where, exactly?”

67

CHAPTER TWELVE

The journey to the Walders’ hut on the fringes of the forest passed in silence for the

most part, to Rudi’s unspoken relief. He wasn’t sure quite what to say to the girl in

any case. Instead he listened for any sounds of pursuit, but the gates of Kohlstadt

appeared to have been sealed for the night and no villagers were abroad. Apart from

the lights of the village itself the only glow that didn’t emanate from the sky was the

faint yellow beacon leaking between the shutters of the Reifenstal’s cottage. Rudi

couldn’t be sure because of the darkness, but he felt certain that Hanna glanced back

at it many times on that long walk through the dark.

Concerned that the witch hunter might take Fritz’s accusations seriously he’d

tried to persuade the girl to wait outside while he made sure the coast was clear and

hurried inside to warn Greta. But Hanna refused outright, and rather than waste time

arguing he’d let her have her own way. To their surprise, the cottage had been

deserted.

“We can’t wait,” he urged, while Hanna threw a few possessions into her satchel.

“They could be right behind us.”

“Then we’d hear them,” Hanna pointed out, white-faced. She seized a stick of

charcoal from the fireplace and scribbled something on the outside of Gerhard’s note,

which Rudi had left propped up on the table where Greta would be sure to see it

when she returned. “And we can’t just run off and leave mother to face them alone.”

“She’ll be all right,” Rudi assured her, with as much conviction as he could

manage. “People around here respect her. A lot of them owe their lives to her.”

“You really think that’ll make a difference when some idiot starts crying

‘witch’?” Hanna asked bleakly. Rudi shrugged.

“I don’t think Gerhard would be swayed too much by that,” he said. “He strikes

me as the kind who makes up his own mind about things.”

“Let’s hope so,” Hanna said, allowing herself to be led outside again.

Rudi knew the way well enough, but his companion stumbled often, her eyes

unused to the faint illumination of the stars. At length the faint sliver of Mannslieb,

the larger moon, rose low on the horizon, but at this time of the month it had waned

almost to the point of invisibility. Tomorrow it would be gone entirely, leaving only

its ill-favoured sibling to light the night sky. Morrslieb was almost full, it was true,

and would be so completely on the morrow, but the light it cast was pale and sickly.

It imparted a greenish, necrotic tinge to everything it fell on, and if anything it made

the darkness worse.

“Ow!” Hanna had stumbled over something in the gloom. She added a couple of

words Rudi was mildly shocked to find that she knew, he slowed his own surefooted

stride to a pace more comfortable for her. “How do you manage to find your way

around out here at night?”

68

“I don’t know. I just do.” Rudi shrugged, before remembering that she couldn’t

see the gesture. “How do you know where to find the herbs you need for medicines?”

“The same way, I guess.” She tripped again, almost falling this time. Then she

stopped. “This is hopeless!” Frustration and anger raised her voice another octave,

and Rudi heard a loud sniff in the darkness. A sudden spasm of panic seized him.

Girls under stress tended to start crying, he remembered, and he couldn’t imagine

how to deal with it if she burst into tears or something.

“We’re nearly there,” he said, trying to sound encouraging. “Just stick as close to

me as you can.”

“You wish.” For a moment he bristled at the familiar edge of sarcasm in her

voice, then he picked up how fragile it was. Well if that was how she coped with

things, at least she’d be quiet about it. Then he jumped, as a small, warm hand closed

itself around his palm. “Close enough?”

“Reckon it’ll do,” he said, determined to match her casual attitude. He’d never

held hands with a girl before, and had never felt the urge to with this one, but it felt

strangely pleasant. Hesitantly he curled his fingers around hers, keeping the pressure

light. He wondered vaguely why his heartbeat had suddenly grown so loud.

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” she said. But this time he had an inkling of how

the game was played and didn’t take offence. He swallowed hard to clear his throat

before speaking.

“We’d better get going,” he said, leading the way along a familiar path towards

the forest. They moved a little slower than he might normally have done, but he told

himself that was only prudent. Hanna found the trail less treacherous with his

support, and now that he was getting used to the sensation of her skin against his he

was mildly surprised to find that he had no objection to prolonging the experience.

The hut he shared with his father came into view at last, a faint glow of

candlelight leaking from the shutters. Though it had always seemed comfortable

enough to him, he found himself comparing it to the cosy cottage Hanna was used to,

and it suddenly seemed very small and spartan.

“Well,” he said as they stepped into the clearing, “here it is.” He had been half

expecting a withering comment, but Hanna said nothing. She simply relinquished his

hand as she stepped out onto the greensward surrounding the hut. Suppressing a pang

of disappointment Rudi led the way past the vegetable patch to the door.

“There you are, lad.” Gunther glanced up from his fletching jig, a half-completed

arrow on the rough-hewn wooden table absorbing most of his attention. “There’s

stew in the pot.” An expression of wary disquiet came across his face as he noticed

Hanna standing behind his son. “I’d have made more if I’d known you had

company.” He stood up to vacate one of the only two chairs in the hut, then fetched a

couple of bowls.

“I’m not hungry, thank you,” Hanna said. If Gunther took offence at her refusal

he didn’t show it.

“Please yourself,” he said, as though her reluctance to eat was perfectly natural.

Rudi shook his head.

“Me neither.” Even though he hadn’t eaten for a long time the tension in the pit

of his stomach was robbing him of his appetite.

69

“It’ll keep.” Gunther returned the bowls to their shelf, and glanced at Hanna.

“You’d better sit down. You’ll have had a long walk.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Rudi waited until his guest had taken one of the

chairs before speaking. He was surprised by Hanna’s reticence. He’d expected her to

be talking her head off by now, and launching into another diatribe against the

villagers who had so unexpectedly turned on her, but instead she just sat and stared at

the simple furnishings. “There’s a witch hunter in the village…”

“I know.” Gunther returned to the arrow he’d been working on, leaving Rudi to

lean against the table between him and Hanna. “That sort of news travels fast.” He

cast a curious glance at his son. “And you’ve been taking letters around for him too, I

hear.”

“Just a couple.” Rudi hesitated before broaching the subject, unsure of how

Hanna would take it. “That’s why Hanna’s with me. People are saying things about

her, and she’s safer out here.”

“Then people are idiots.” Gunther lifted the newly fletched arrow from the table.

He inspected it before spinning it like an elongated child’s top on the palm of his

hand. It moved smoothly, without a trace of the minute wobble which would have

indicated a small imperfection in its balance. He set it aside, sure it would fly true.

“She’s no more touched by Chaos than I am.”

“Thank you.” Hanna smiled hesitantly, for the first time since entering the hut.

“It’s good to know some people still believe in me.”

“Belief doesn’t come into it.” Gunther shrugged. Looking a little embarrassed, he

reached for another shaft. “Some things you just know.”

The rest of the evening passed in desultory conversation. Neither Rudi nor his

father were particularly garrulous by nature, and Hanna was too distracted to play

cards, which was how the Walders normally passed the time when there was nothing

else too pressing to be done. It came as something of a relief when the candle on the

table had burned down to a stub and Gunther suggested turning in rather than lighting

a fresh one.

Of course that threw up a new set of problems. There were only two pallets in the

hut, and the single room was singularly ill equipped to afford Hanna the privacy her

hosts felt she required. In the end Gunther hung a clothesline across one corner and

draped a spare blanket from it. When Rudi had dragged his own mattress across

there, Hanna disappeared behind it with muttered thanks. After a few moments of

rustling, which both men did their best to ignore, everything went quiet. Gunther

fetched another spare blanket from the chest.

“You’d best have mine,” he said, indicating his own pallet. Rudi shook his head.

“That wouldn’t be fair. I’ll manage.”

“Suit yourself.” Gunther handed him the blanket and settled on his mattress with

ill-concealed relief. As his father unfastened his shirt Rudi could see that the rash on

his chest had spread even further. He bent close, keeping his voice low in case Hanna

overheard.

“That doesn’t look any better,” he said. “Maybe while Hanna’s here she could

make you a poultice or something.”

“It’s fine,” Gunther said, in the tone that meant the subject was not open to

discussion. “I’m fine. She doesn’t need to be bothered right now.”

70

“If you say so,” Rudi replied. He took the blanket, and tried to make himself as

comfortable as he could, but the floor felt hard and unyielding. And every time he

closed his eyes he saw the face of the beastman, or Altman’s mutilated corpse. And if

it wasn’t either of those it was Gerhard, talking in perfectly reasonable tones of

killing him in order to read a worthless scrap of paper, and somehow that was the

worst of all.

Despite his exhaustion, sleep was a long time coming that night. And when it did

his dreams were troubled by visions of nameless horrors that woke him, cold and

sweating, and unable to recall what they were.

71

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The following morning was heralded by bright sunlight streaming in through the gaps

in the shutters. It picked out random patches of wall or floor with beams of silver

radiance made visible by the dancing of the dust motes trapped within them. One fell

on Rudi’s face as he turned fitfully on the hard wooden floor. He squinted reflexively

as the light hit his eyelids and stirred, roused from uneasy slumber by the involuntary

movement of his facial muscles.

Once conscious he was unable to drift off to sleep again. Even if the floor had

been comfortable, which it most decidedly wasn’t, the faint residue of his dreams

made dozing an option he’d rather avoid. After a moment he sat up, his back and

shoulder muscles creaking in protest. He groaned aloud.

“Sleep well?” Hanna asked, regarding him quizzically through the steam rising

from a mug in her hand. He tried to frame a reply, but it turned into a jaw-cracking

yawn. After a moment he tried again.

“All right. You?” He scrambled to his feet, blessing the foresight that had

impelled him to leave his britches on under the blanket. He fumbled for his shirt. The

girl nodded.

“Fine, thank you.” Her face belied her words: the dark patches under her eyes

stood out starkly against the unfamiliar pallor of her skin. She held out another mug

of hot liquid, and Rudi took it without thinking.

“What’s this?” As he sipped it his head cleared a little. He couldn’t determine

whether it was the liquid itself or the fragrant steam that did it.

Hanna shrugged.

“It’s a herbal infusion. Gives you energy. I brought it with me last night.” She

smiled bleakly. “I thought it might come in handy.”

“You thought right.” He ambled over to the cooking fire, and ladled out some of

the stew left over from the previous evening. “This isn’t much, but it’ll help.”

“Thanks.” Hanna took it without much enthusiasm, and began to eat. Rudi wolfed

down his own portion, his sense of wellbeing improving with every bite. By the time

his bowl was empty he was sure he would be able to make Gerhard see sense with a

few well-chosen words. After all, everyone knew Fritz Katzenjammer was feeble-

minded. He said as much, hoping to raise Hanna’s spirits, and she smiled wanly.

“If only it was as easy as that,” she said.

With breakfast over, Rudi completed his toilet by washing in the bowl of cold

water Gunther had brought in before going off to make his rounds of the woods. He’d

left early, before either youngster was awake, but Rudi wasn’t too concerned about

that. His father generally up with the dawn, and after the attack on the Altmans’ farm

he’d want to check the area for any sign of the beastmen as quickly as possible.

72

“You’re going back to the village now,” Hanna said. Rudi nodded warily. He

knew Hanna would want to go with him and face her accusers. He watched her pick

up her satchel and sling it across her shoulder, her face set.

“I think you should stay here,” he said cautiously. “At least until I’ve spoken to

Gerhard.”

“You’re probably right.” She sat down at the table again, a weary gesture which

took him completely by surprise. “The mob last night didn’t seem too willing to

listen to reason.” The memory still shocked her, the sight of people she’d known all

her life baying for her blood like… well, Rudi couldn’t think of anything to compare

it to. The villagers had seemed more like beastmen than civilised people. After a

moment she lifted her head and looked directly at him. “How can people behave like

that?”

“They’re frightened. They’re confused. They’re just looking for someone to

blame it all on.” Rudi shrugged. “If it hadn’t been you it would have been somebody

else.”

“Like my mother.” Her face seemed to pale still further. “I don’t like the thought

of her facing that man alone.”

“She won’t,” Rudi promised her. “Magnus and the burgomeister will tell him

how important she is, and how hard she’s been working to help people. And if they

won’t, I will.”

“You’d better get going then.” For a moment the old peremptory tone was back

in her voice, and Rudi felt a surge of relief mixed in with the reflexive resentment it

usually roused. Then he saw her shoulders slump, and knew it for the act that it was.

Moved by an impulse he couldn’t quite quantify he patted her awkwardly on the

back, feeling the hard protuberances of her spine beneath his palm. He broke contact

before she could react.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, with more bravado than conviction. “You’ll see.”

The streets of Kohlstadt were fuller and more agitated than Rudi had anticipated. It

took him a moment to realise that most of the farmers who took refuge there

overnight were still within the stockade. He couldn’t blame them after what he’d

found at the Altmans’ farm. Many of them were congregated in the square in front of

the Steiner house, no doubt eager for a glimpse of the witch hunter who had so

suddenly arrived in their midst.

Rudi glanced surreptitiously around as he approached the burgomeister’s

mansion, but to his relief there were no visible signs of the previous night’s

disturbance. Presumably Big Franz and his militiamen had been able to keep a lid on

things after all.

He presented himself at the kitchen entrance and was hurried along to the parlour.

Voices were raised as he reached the room and he slipped inside hoping to avoid

being noticed.

“Missing, you say?” Gerhard clearly didn’t believe a word of what he’d just been

told, but he nodded astutely, as though it were perfectly reasonable. Greta smiled

sweetly and insincerely.

73

“As Shallya’s my witness, I haven’t seen her at all since yesterday.” Which was

perfectly true, Rudi reflected. “I’d say the same thing under a truth spell if you knew

anyone able to cast it.”

“No doubt you would.” Gerhard matched the smile with a mirthless one of his

own. “But that won’t be necessary. Under the circumstances it’s probably better for

your daughter if she remains… lost. At least for the time being.”

“The accusation’s patently absurd,” Steiner put in. “The Katzenjammer boy’s

weak in the head. Everyone in the village will tell you.”

“Except for his brother, presumably.” Rudi suppressed a shudder as Gerhard’s

cold eye fell on him. He was anticipating some question about his visit to the

Katzenjammer house the previous day, but the witch hunter merely nodded a barely

perceptible acknowledgement of his presence.

“He’s almost as bad,” Magnus added. “A little brighter, but a troublemaker

nevertheless.”

“That I will judge for myself,” Gerhard retorted.

Magnus nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. The sooner you speak to him the sooner we

can forget all about this nonsense and get on with the business at hand.” A flicker of

some unreadable emotion appeared in the witch hunter’s eyes.

“You seem very eager to direct the course of my investigation, Herr von

Blackenburg.”

Magnus inclined his head.

“Forgive me. Your undoubted expertise in this area far outweighs any opinions I

might have on the matter I’m sure.”

“But Magnus does have a point,” Steiner said, more to assert his own authority

than because he agreed with it, Rudi thought. “While this accusation hangs over the

poor girl her life is in peril from every passing ruffian who might stumble across

her.”

“And I’m hardly going to be able to keep my mind on the job while I’m so

worried about her, am I?” Greta smiled sweetly again, and the witch hunter scowled.

“Very well. If you’re so determined to waste my time, then by all means let’s

deal with this trifling matter instead of trying to get to the heart of the evil that

threatens you all.” He stood up, gesturing to Rudi to follow him. “I’ll send the boy

back with word of what I uncover.”

Rudi hurried over to join him, but he had to stop suddenly to avoid running into

him as Gerhard paused in the doorway to rake his pitiless gaze across the trio of

village notables facing him.

“But be advised,” he added, with an emphasis made stronger by its normal

conversational tone, “that if this turns out to be a trick to divert me from the truth, I

won’t be at all forgiving.”

Steiner blenched, Magnus frowned, and Greta smiled at him again.

“The truth is what it is,” she said. Gerhard nodded soberly.

“That is indeed the case,” he said. “And all too often that’s not what we’d like it

to be.” For the first time since he entered the room, Rudi saw Greta’s expression of

confidence begin to slip.

“Meaning what, exactly?” she asked.

74

“It’s not unknown for children to dabble in the dark arts unbeknownst to their

parents,” Gerhard said slowly. Now both the healer and burgomeister looked

stricken, only Magnus’ expression remained neutral, masking his feelings with skills

no doubt learned during his business negotiations. Satisfied that he’d made his point,

Gerhard strode out of the room.

“Katzenjammer’s lying,” Rudi said, hurrying to catch up with him. “Hanna’s no

witch, whatever he says.”

“She’s a friend of yours?” The witch hunter paused on the threshold of the front

door. His cold eyes fixed on Rudi with an expression of patient interest. Rudi

swallowed.

“Not really,” he answered, as truthfully as he could. Gerhard nodded.

“That’s good,” he said. “Then you won’t miss her if you turn out to be wrong.”

Stunned into silence, Rudi hurried along in the witch hunter’s wake, rousing himself

only for as long as it took to answer terse questions about their route. A large

segment of the crowd from the square followed at a discreet distance, muttering

curiously among themselves. After a brief contemptuous glance Gerhard ignored

them. A small group of militiamen, among them Littman and Stug, had been

guarding the front door of the burgomeister’s house, no doubt to stop any further

displays of zealotry like the one Fritz had indulged in the previous night. At a gesture

from Gerhard they had fallen in behind him, and they now trotted a few paces to the

rear, screening Rudi and the witch hunter from the crowd.

“Just down here,” Rudi said, indicating the mouth of the alley that led to the

Katzenjammer’s house. It was just as unprepossessing as he remembered it from the

previous day. Gerhard walked up to the ramshackle building, picking it out from its

neighbours by the livid mark of pestilence on its door, and pounded on the weathered

timber with his fist.

“Keep the fleas off our backs,” he said, glancing at Littman. The sergeant

dispersed his men into a cordon around the front door. The crowd hovered nervously,

choking the narrow street, voices raised in speculation and query. Rudi caught a

glimpse of unease in the old soldier’s eyes, but he deployed his men in good order,

and they at least looked intimidating enough to deter any casual interference.

After a moment Frau Katzenjammer opened the door, starting nervously from the

clamour and the crowd. An expression almost like relief entered her features as she

recognised Rudi.

“You’re back,” she said. “You have an answer for him?”

“Answer?” Gerhard shot a sidelong look at the young messenger. Rudi shrugged,

trying his best to look casual.

“Hans had a message to deliver yesterday. I picked it up when I delivered the

food.”

“I see. We’ll talk about this later.” Gerhard returned his attention to the old

woman. “I’m here to see your son.”

“He’s too sick to see anyone.” The woman stood her ground, barring the way into

the house. She indicated Rudi. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

75

“I’m referring to your other son.” Gerhard fixed her with an expression of mild

enquiry. “Or has he fallen ill too?”

“I’m fine.” Fritz had appeared in the hallway behind his mother. “Who wants to

know?” Gerhard aimed a wintery smile in his direction.

“Luther Gerhard. You made quite an effort to attract my attention last night.”

Comprehension dawned slowly across the simpleton’s face.

“You’re the witch hunter!” He drew his mother aside with a ham-like fist, and

waved them inside. Gerhard stepped across the threshold with a barely-concealed

expression of distaste. Rudi followed quickly, fearful of being told to wait outside.

“You’ve been making serious allegations, Herr Katzenjammer.” Gerhard spoke

as quietly as he always did, but Rudi could tell that Littman was listening intently

from his post just outside the open door. Frau Katzenjammer made no move to close

it. She stood next to her son with an expression of frozen shock that reminded Rudi

of a rabbit faced with a predator. She clutched his arm, staring up at the simpleton in

horror.

“Fritzie,” she said. “What have you done?”

“He’s accused one of the village girls of witchcraft. Are you familiar with the

name of Hanna Reifenstal?” Gerhard said, turning to address the woman with a tone

of mild courtesy. This seemed to reassure her a little, and she responded directly.

“The healer’s daughter?” She looked incredulous. “She’s a little strange, I

suppose, but… witchcraft? There must be some mistake…”

“She put a curse on Hans,” Fritz insisted, with the dogged persistence of the truly

stupid. “I heard it.” He pointed at Rudi. “He was there too.”

“Indeed.” Gerhard turned to look at the young forester. “And you didn’t see fit to

mention this to me?”

“Because it’s nonsense,” Rudi said. “She did no such thing.”

Fritz’s face turned even uglier than usual. “I might have known you’d be in it

together.”

Rudi felt a chill of horror run down his spine as Gerhard looked at him

speculatively for a moment, and spoke up hastily.

“Hans and I had an argument in the street. Hanna… spoke up for me. It was just

words, that’s all.”

“You’re sure?” Gerhard asked. “She didn’t make any hand gestures, or take hold

of an object of some kind?” Rudi shook his head. “You saw nothing unusual at all?”

“Nothing,” Rudi said firmly.

“Sometimes words alone are enough,” Gerhard said mildly. He turned back to

Fritz. “Did you recognise the language she used?”

“The language?” The hulking simpleton blinked in confusion. “Reikspiel of

course.”

“Reikspiel. The common tongue.” Gerhard nodded with evident satisfaction, his

voice positively dripping with sarcasm. “Clearly weighted with tremendous occult

significance.” He turned back to Rudi. “Come. We’ve wasted enough time here.” He

turned back to the door, and paused to bow to Frau Katzenjammer. “Your son is

clearly suffering from nothing more than the pestilence afflicting so many

76

unfortunates in this village. My apologies for any additional distress our visit may

have caused you.”

“But he’s not!” Fritz bellowed, desperately. “He’s changing! She said he was

already cursed and he started changing!”

“Changing?” Gerhard snapped round to face the hulking youth. “You mean

physically?”

“But he can’t…” Frau Katzenjammer looked more stunned than ever, clearly

unable to comprehend the magnitude of the accusation. “He’s just sick! That’s why

he won’t let anyone near him!” She turned to Rudi in desperate appeal. “You saw

him yesterday! You saw!”

“Did you?” Gerhard’s eyes bored into him, and Rudi swallowed uncomfortably.

“I don’t know,” he said at last, ransacking his mind for every memory of that

foetid room. “It was dark. He wouldn’t let me near the bed. I thought he was worried

about passing on the infection. He sounded delirious. I thought he was raving.”

“Raving? About what?” Gerhard asked softly. Rudi tried desperately to think of

some way of hedging the truth, and failed to find it.

“Hanna,” he admitted reluctantly. “That’s what the message was. He asked her to

lift the curse he thought she’d put on him.” Then he rallied. “It was just the fever

talking. You said yourself there was nothing in it.”

“Quite probably.” Gerhard turned to the foot of the stairs. “Nevertheless I’d like

to see him.” He glanced at Fritz. “Show me.”

“Up here,” Fritz replied, bounding eagerly up the staircase. Gerhard followed,

and Rudi trailed miserably in his wake. Much as he disliked Hanna in general he was

beginning to feel some sympathy for her. He felt he’d let her down by admitting the

contents of Hans’ message. Maybe if he stayed close enough to the witch hunter he’d

be able to repair some of the damage.

“Wait!” Frau Katzenjammer held out ineffectual hands to stop them. “He’s not

well, he shouldn’t be disturbed…” Her voice continued to echo up the stairwell after

them.

“Who is it?” The harsh croak Rudi remembered from yesterday issued from the

bedroom door as Fritz pushed it open and went inside. The smell was just as bad as

Rudi remembered; Gerhard followed the simpleton inside without hesitation, and

after a moment Rudi trailed after them.

“It’s me,” Fritz said. “I’ve brought someone who can help.” To Rudi’s

astonishment he actually sounded pleased with himself.

“I don’t want to see anyone! I’ve told you…” The harsh voice rose in anger, the

mound of bedclothes stirring agitatedly in the gloom. “Get out!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” In a moment Gerhard had crossed the room and flung

the shutters open. Bright sunlight flooded the room, illuminating a scene of squalor

that made Rudi gag. A howl of anguish rose from the stained blankets on the bed.

“I brought the witch hunter,” Fritz was vainly attempting to sooth his brother.

“He’ll know how to break the spell, catch the witch who did this…”

“You idiot! You’ve killed us all!” Powerful hands tipped with talons threw aside

the blankets, and red-rimmed eyes glared at the intruders from a face which still

resembled Hans Katzenjammer. All three orbits blinked. A third eye had appeared in

77

the centre of his forehead, where the bandage had been, and bony ridges were

beginning to form a crest along his skull. What other changes had been wrought in

him Rudi had insufficient time to notice, as the thing which had once been Hans leapt

from the bed with inhuman speed, and made for the window.

“Hold, mutant!” Gerhard’s voice took on an edge of pure loathing as he began to

draw his sword, but he was too late. The changeling swatted him aside with the back

of its hand and dived through the gap, provoking a chorus of shock and profanity

from the street below, which redoubled as the Hans creature grabbed the sill and

swung itself up and out of sight.

Rudi hurried across to the window and stuck his head out. Hans was on the roof

of the house opposite, bounding across the gap that separated it from the next

building in the row with the nonchalant ease of a peasant farmer hopping over a

drainage ditch. A second later Gerhard pulled him aside.

“Sergeant! Find that thing and kill it!”

In truth the order was entirely superfluous, as Littman was experienced enough to

have reacted the moment the creature appeared. He was already limping down the

street as fast as he could, the rest of his militia squad keeping up with difficulty

despite the sergeant’s age and old injury. The milling crowd fell into their wake with

alacrity: finally they had a real agent of Chaos to vent their anger and hatred on, and

few of them were willing to miss the chance. A roar went up, which reminded Rudi

uncomfortably of the mob the evening before, and within seconds it seemed the street

in front of the house was deserted.

“What happened?” Fritz was gazing at the window, the expression of stupefaction

on his face almost comical to behold.

“What happened?” Gerhard echoed, his voice tight with anger, the scar on his

cheek flaring lividly. “What happened is that you’ve been sheltering a mutant!” He

took a step towards the heavy-set youth, who flinched and shuffled involuntarily

backwards. “By the powers invested in me by the Holy Church of Sigmar, I charge

you with heresy and consorting with the powers of Chaos!”

“But… but…” Fritz blinked rapidly for a moment, his eyes filling with tears, then

turned and fled down the stairs. Gerhard picked up his hat, which had fallen off when

Hans knocked him over, and straightened the feather. Rudi hovered diffidently.

“Shouldn’t we go after him?” he asked after a moment. Gerhard shrugged.

“The militia will pick him up soon enough. He’s not worth getting out of breath

over.”

“And when they do?”

Gerhard looked mildly surprised. “I’ll ask him some pertinent questions. His guilt

seems pretty obvious, though.” Rudi considered this. He had no reason to like Fritz

Katzenjammer, quite the opposite, but he had no wish to see him suffer an agonising

death.

“He’s a simpleton, don’t forget. All he wanted to do was help his brother.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Gerhard said, in a tone, which indicated that it wouldn’t

make an awful lot of difference. They descended the stairs slowly, to be met by a

bewildered Frau Katzenjammer and an out-of-breath Stug, who was nursing a bruised

and swelling eye. The witch hunter glanced at the dishevelled militiaman. “What are

you doing here?”

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“The sergeant told me to stay, in case you needed any help.” He looked a little

embarrassed. “I’m afraid he got past me.”

“Not for the want of trying, evidently.” Gerhard nodded affably at the liveried

youth, and turned his attention to the widow, who was by now sobbing hysterically.

“Please try to calm yourself, madam.”

“What happened?” she asked, blinking in bewilderment. “Where’s Hans? Why

did Fritz run off like that?” Gerhard put a sympathetic arm around her shoulders.

“I’m afraid your son has indeed been touched by the Chaos powers. His brother

was concealing his condition, which by strict interpretation of the law was in itself an

act of heresy.”

“But… how? I had no idea…”

“Of course you didn’t. They took great pains to conceal the truth from you,

knowing how much it would have hurt.” His arm jerked suddenly, and the woman

spasmed, a fountain of crimson blood gushing from her throat. She gurgled, pain and

surprise mingling in her eyes for a moment, and slumped to the floor. Gerhard wiped

the thin dagger Rudi remembered from their encounter at the Altmans’ farm

fastidiously on a fold of her dress before returning it to his sleeve. “But heresy

spreads like disease, and we have to be sure.” He glanced up at Rudi as though

nothing untoward had taken place. “As I’ve said before, we’ve wasted enough time

here.”

Rudi fell into step behind him, not trusting himself to speak. As he passed the

white-faced militiaman they exchanged shocked glances. Both regarded the man in

black with fresh dread. On the threshold Gerhard paused, and looked back at Stug.

“Burn this place to the ground,” he said.

79

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

By the time they returned to the burgomeister’s mansion a thick pall of smoke was

visible over the rooftops of Kohlstadt, Stug having evidently lost no time in obeying

the witch hunter’s instructions and Rudi couldn’t blame him for that. After the casual

execution of Frau Katzenjammer his own fear of the man in black, which familiarity

had begun to dull, had returned with renewed force. Littman and a couple of his

militiamen were back on duty outside the house, keeping back a crowd that seemed

larger and more agitated than ever, and Gerhard raised a quizzical eyebrow as he

drew level with the veteran sergeant.

“Back so soon?” he enquired. Littman looked him in the eye, with the expression

of a man determined to deliver the bad news as quickly as possible.

“It got away,” he admitted.

“Evidently.” Gerhard’s tone was non-committal and stung the old soldier far

more than an overt rebuke would have done. The face behind the white moustache

grew ruddy.

“It jumped over the wall.” Despite his defensiveness a tone of awe began to creep

in. “Three times the height of a man, from a standing start. There was no way we

could have kept up with it. By the time we got to the gate it had vanished.”

“I see. And the brother?”

“Fritz?” Littman looked confused for a moment. “What about him?”

Gerhard sighed.

“I take it no one’s seen him either, then.”

“No one’s told us to look.” He shrugged. “Isn’t he still at home?”

“No.” Gerhard looked mildly annoyed. “Pass the word. I want him arrested on

sight for harbouring a mutant.”

“A mutant?” Greta joined them on the threshold, concern and triumph mingled on

her face. “Are you sure?”

“Unless he’s always had three eyes, yes.” Sarcasm didn’t sit well with the witch

hunter, Rudi thought. It betrayed his frustration, and undermined his air of confident

authority. It was the first sign of weakness the man had shown, and he found it

vaguely reassuring.

“Then there’s no question of my daughter being responsible for his condition,”

Greta stated flatly, daring him to contradict her.

“Perhaps.” Gerhard wasn’t about to concede anything without a fight. “But

something must have triggered the change. Perhaps her words were enough.”

“But he was changing before then!” Rudi cut in, forgetting his own nervousness

for a moment. “He had a bandage over that eye thing when Hanna and I saw him!

Ask Franz the smith.” He appealed to Littman. “Hans was in his militia troop. He’ll

tell you.”

80

“Big Franz is dead,” Littman said dully. “Took sick last night. Went just like

that.”

“He can’t be!” Rudi refused to believe it. Greta shook her head in sombre

confirmation.

“I’m afraid it’s true. I’ve never seen a case come on so quickly or so severely.”

She shrugged. “But then his family had it, and he was strong. Maybe he’d been

fighting it off for days, and it overwhelmed him all at once.”

“Tragic, but of little help now.” Gerhard turned to Littman. “If the boy was

mutating before this alleged curse was cast, you might have noticed something. The

militia is your responsibility, after all.”

“He hadn’t been around much,” Littman agreed, after a moment’s thought. “I

wasn’t too bothered to be honest, he wasn’t much of an asset at the best of times. I

thought he was just getting over his injuries.”

“Injuries?” Gerhard seized on the word. “How did he come to be injured?”

“He fell into a thorn bush,” Littman said shortly. “When we were out chasing

beastman tracks in the forest.”

“That seems remarkably careless. Why would he be so close to it?”

“We all were,” Rudi said hastily, not wanting his own part in their tussle to be

drawn to the witch hunter’s attention. “There was blood on it, from one of the

beastmen, and we were trying to see if…” He trailed off as an expression of sudden

understanding crossed the witch hunter’s face.

“Ah,” he said. “Blood. I see.”

“See what?” Magnus had appeared in the doorway behind Greta, an expression of

mild interest on his face. The healer shifted a pace or two away from him, making

room for Steiner to interpose himself between them.

“Blood will carry the taint,” she said. “If he got the ichor of a beastman in an

open wound…” she made the sign of the dove with great ostentation. “Even the

blessing of Shallya might not be enough.”

“Well,” Magnus said with a degree of cheerfulness that was calculated to get

under the witch hunter’s skin, “it seems you won’t have to execute us for wasting

your time after all.”

“Not in this instance, no.” Gerhard turned back to Littman. “Get your best people

together, and meet me at the main gate.”

“Yes, sir.” Littman saluted and hurried off, elbowing his way through the crowd.

The man in black turned back to Rudi.

“Where’s your father?”

“Still in the forest I suppose.” Rudi shrugged. “He was already out scouting when

I woke up this morning.”

“Very well.” Gerhard shrugged. “It seems we’ll have to rely on your tracking

skills, at least for the time being.”

“Tracking what?” Steiner asked, blinking bewilderedly.

To Rudi’s relief the tracks left by the thing which had once been Hans Katzenjammer

were easy to spot. There were deep impressions of abhuman feet driven into the soil

81

where its weight had descended so precipitously on the far side of the wall. He bent

to examine them, and the small group around him shifted nervously.

“They seem clear enough,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

Littman spat. Rudi was beginning to notice he did so at any sign or mention of

the Empire’s inhuman enemies. He leaned on the haft of his halberd. Rudi was

shocked to see that the man was beginning to look his age now, worn down over the

last few days by the pressures of duty and the immanence of the beastmen threat, but

the old soldier still looked formidable enough. He took comfort in that, as the idea of

facing the altered Hans was far from appealing, the memory of the talons on his

hands was far too fresh for that. But Gerhard was determined to track it down, and

the witch hunter was impossible to refuse. If he’d even contemplated trying, the

dying gurgle of Frau Katzenjammer was still loud enough in his ears to stop any

protest before it could reach his tongue. Stug was clearly of a similar mind; he

hovered on the fringes of the group, as far from the man in black as he could contrive

to be. Every now and again his eyes met Rudi’s and they shared a brief moment of

terrified complicity.

Gerhard was as cool as ever, merely watching as Rudi considered every detail of

the footprints. They were large for human feet, and small indentations in front of the

toes implied that these nails too had elongated into claws. He shuddered at the picture

they conjured up, and returned his mind to the business at hand.

“Which way?” Gerhard’s voice was as conversational as ever, and a casual

observer might have been forgiven for thinking he was merely asking directions for a

pleasant summer stroll.

Rudi pointed.

“Over there.” The prints disappeared almost at once on the hard ground, but the

stalks of the grass on the common grazing land that stretched out before them were

clearly bent to his practiced eye. He led the small group of armed men off with

growing confidence. “Towards the forest.”

“Of course,” the witch hunter said. “Seek the unholy in the darkest of places…” It

sounded like a quotation to Rudi, although he couldn’t imagine where from. His

guess was confirmed a moment later as Littman completed it.

“But be not surprised to find them by the light of day.” He spat for emphasis.

“Sound advice.”

“You’ve read Mossbauer?” Gerhard sounded surprised. Littman shrugged.

“I knew one of your order a few years back, when we were cleansing the

Drakwald. He had a copy. I still have it at home somewhere.”

“Ah.” Gerhard nodded. “You picked it up after he was killed in battle, I suppose.”

Littman shook his head.

“Won it off him at dice,” he said. “But he was good in a scrap, I’ll give him that.

And it’s done me well over the years.”

“What has?” Rudi asked. He’d never have thought of the old soldier as the

literary type, and the news that he had a book at home was surprising indeed.

“Mossbauer’s Lieber Ferox,” Gerhard said. “A tract on the need for constant

vigilance against the enemies of humanity.”

82

“He knew what he was on about,” Littman confirmed. “I remember one time me

and the lads were passing through this village, and there was something about it just

didn’t seem right. Couldn’t put my finger on it, though. So there I was, tucked up in

my bedroll and leafing through the book, trying to settle myself before sleeping, and I

come across this passage…”

Whatever else he might have been about to say Rudi never knew, because Stug

suddenly pointed and yelled.

“Over there! By the tree line!” Rudi’s eyes snapped up from the trail he’d been

following, failing to spot the distant figure of the mutant for a moment. Then he

realised that Hans had doubled back for some reason, and was now a considerable

distance to the right of the path he’d left.

That didn’t make sense. The trail of flattened grasses he was following was

running directly towards the forest, and continued in a straight line for as far as he

could see. Why would Hans have turned aside before reaching the refuge of the

trees? If he’d kept going he would have been well inside the woodland by now, and

safe from pursuit.

“Come on!” Gerhard broke into a run. “We’ve got it now!” Rudi doubted that.

The Hans creature was close to the tree line, in a spot he knew well, where the path to

the village entered the woods. It was the one he usually took, and it ran past the

Reifenstal’s cottage.

Of course, he told himself as he ran. The creature’s path had intersected the trail

as it fled, and it had turned off onto the easier route. But why had it lingered for so

long?

A vivid mental image of the beastman in Altman’s field sniffing the air rose in

his mind and a shiver of apprehension ran down his spine. There was no telling what

abhuman senses Katzenjammer might have developed as his body altered, and it was

perfectly possible that he was able to track by scent now. And he still blamed Hanna

for his condition…

But that was absurd, surely. Even if his feverish imaginings were true the creature

would have followed the girl’s scent the other way, back to her home, where it was

strongest…

He was jolted out of his reverie by yells and the sounds of combat. In a moment

he had reached the edge of the forest and plunged into the cool shadows beneath the

trees, where the familiar odours of damp earth and growing vegetation were befouled

by the stench of blood. One of the militiamen was down, blocking the trail, blood

spreading slowly across the front of his tunic and he had an expression of surprise on

his face as he tried to rise from his knees. The rest were scattered among the trees,

their spears levelled. They were far from keen on the idea of closing with their

abhuman enemy.

Far from fleeing in terror from the righteous as a spawn of Chaos was supposed

to do, according to Father Antrobus’ sermons, the Hans thing turned to face them.

The malicious grin Rudi remembered from the times the village bully would torment

a weaker child was vivid on its features, and the sense of familiarity made the sight

all the more unsettling. Now that Hans had stopped cowering in the dark and been

forced to come to terms with his altered body, he had clearly realised the power it

contained and the opportunities that it afforded to hurt and terrorise.

83

“Rudi.” It stared at him in vengeful anticipation. “You haven’t got your little

witch to save you now.”

“Hanna’s no witch!” For the second time in as many days Rudi felt the lack of a

weapon. Once again he vowed he’d not be caught without one again if he lived

through this encounter. Impelled by anger he leapt forwards without thinking, and

aimed an unskilled punch at his enemy. Hans reacted too slowly, and Rudi’s fist

connected solidly with the mutant’s jaw. Agonising pain lanced through his knuckles

and deadened his arm, making him stumble. He’d never realised punching somebody

would hurt himself too.

“Out of the way, lad!” Littman swung his halberd at the creature, which evaded it

with abhuman dexterity. Rudi ducked, as much to avoid the weapon as Hans’

counterblow, and felt something snag in his shirt with the sound of ripping cloth. If

he’d been an instant slower the fearsome talons would have gutted him, he had no

doubt.

Hans made a harsh sound deep in his throat, which after a horrified moment Rudi

recognised as laughter. He stumbled away, his eyes watering from the pain in his

arm. He tripped over something warm, yielding, and foul-smelling. As he rolled to

his feet he realised it was the body of another of the militiamen, his throat torn out,

still spasming as the last of his life ebbed away.

“In the name of Sigmar I condemn you for heresy!” Gerhard thrust his sword at

the creature as it turned to face Littman and block the swing of his halberd with its

forearm. A thick bony ridge grew along here too, which impacted against the

hardened wood of the weapon’s shaft with a crack like the collision of the staves the

Morris dancers swung at village festivals. Overbalanced, the old soldier stumbled, his

weapon turning in his hands.

“Rut Sigmar,” Hans riposted, as the witch hunter’s heavy blade slashed a red

gash in his leather-like hide. The wound would have crippled a normal man, but the

mutant shrugged it off, and slashed back with its talons. Gerhard leapt backwards

with the grace of a dancer, rapping the rough knuckles of the mutant’s hand with the

flat of his blade, and swinging it back for another strike. Next to his fluid movements

the rest of the men in the clearing seemed dull and slow. Rudi couldn’t help

marvelling at his skill.

“Gotcha!” Littman swung his heavy cutting blade at the mutant’s ankle. It bit

deep and released a gush of foul-smelling ichor. Hans howled with rage and struck

back at him, scoring deep gashes in the sergeant’s armour with his claws, and

sending the old man flying across the glade. He crashed to the ground winded.

I have to help, Rudi thought, trying desperately to get to his own feet. His hand

fell against something round and hard, and by reflex he picked it up, levering himself

upright with it. It was only as he regained his feet that he realised it wasn’t a stick he

held, but the dead militiaman’s spear. With it came a rush of confidence, and he ran

forward, aiming the point at his enemy and yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Leave him alone!” Stug planted himself firmly between Hans and the fallen

Littman, who was beginning to stir feebly and raise himself on his arms. His voice

trembled slightly, as did the point of the spear he held out towards Hans, but his body

was rigid with determination. Hans laughed again.

84

“He’ll keep ’til I’ve gutted you.” He tried to charge forward, but stumbled, and

looked down at his damaged ankle for a moment. As he did so Rudi thrust his own

spear directly at the mutant’s face. The strike was a clumsy one and would have

missed if Hans hadn’t dropped his head at that instant. The sharp iron point scored

across his brow, clipped the orbit of his third eye, and broke against the bony crest

that topped his skull. Hans roared again, and turned on Rudi like an avenging

daemon.

“I’ll kill you, Walder! I’ll kill you all!”

“Not today.” Gerhard’s sword thrust went clean through the mutant’s body. Rudi

expected it to drop, no one could survive such a wound, but Hans simply turned on

the witch hunter. He backhanded him across the clearing as he had in the bedroom.

Hans seized the hilt of the sword and pulled it out. His blood hissed as it met the air,

like water on a hot stove, and Rudi felt his eyes stinging. Hans flung the weapon

vengefully, spitting Stug like a hare for the roasting.

“This isn’t over, Walder.” Unbelievably the mutant was still standing, hate

glaring from his three eyes. He was swaying a little from the loss of blood. It seemed

to be flowing more slowly than it should, and hardening like amber as it met the air.

For an instant Rudi was paralysed; he had expected the creature to charge him. He

gripped the shaft of his spear tightly, but some semblance of sense seemed to take

hold of Hans at last.

“Don’t just stand there!” Littman was on his feet again too, bawling at the rest of

his militiamen, who were still hovering indecisively on the fringes of the battle. “Get

stuck in! Or if he doesn’t get you, by Ulric’s beard I swear I will!” That did it. A

small knot of nervous spearmen began to advance, hemming the mutant in. Before

they could close he turned, and vanished into the undergrowth. Silence descended,

broken only by harsh breathing.

“Where is it?” Gerhard rolled to his feet. Littman spat.

“Gone,” he said. The witch hunter nodded.

“And your men?”

Rudi looked at the militiaman sprawled at his feet. He vaguely recognised his

face. He thought he sold vegetables in the market.

“This one’s dead,” he said. The militiaman with the blood-soaked tunic regained

his feet at last, a colleague stepping in to help stem the bleeding. He looked all right,

at least, and aimed a wan smile at the sergeant.

“Good as,” Littman said quietly, indicating Stug. The youth was breathing

heavily, his face white. Without another word Gerhard walked over to him and knelt.

“You did well,” he said, making the sign of the hammer. “Sigmar will be proud to

welcome you.”

Stug coughed, and tried to say something. After a moment he hawked up a plug

of blood and expired, his face relaxing into an expression that struck Rudi as one of

almost childish bewilderment.

85

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Then what happened?” Hanna asked, leaning across the rough wooden table towards

him. Rudi shrugged. Normally he would have relished the fact that she was

fascinated with his story instead of dismissing him out of hand as an uncouth lout,

but there was still too much about the day’s events that he wanted to forget. Though

he hadn’t known Stug or the vegetable merchant, whose name he still couldn’t recall,

their deaths had shaken him. And Hans was still out there somewhere in the forest.

“Not much. We tried to follow his trail, but we lost it.” Gerhard had been icily

polite about that, which had chilled him almost as much as the mutant’s threats of

revenge. But the surviving militiamen had been all too grateful for the excuse to turn

back. “We’ll try again in the morning. I’m sure my father will be able to track him.”

He hoped so. It was that promise which had turned the witch hunter’s ire so they

could return home. The trip back had been an unnerving one, as approaching night

had begun to seep through the trees, deepening the shadows. He’d started at every

sound, fearing that Hans was sneaking up on him. But such fancies were ridiculous,

he knew. Even before he had changed Katzenjammer wasn’t capable of subtlety, and

now he certainly wouldn’t bother sneaking around.

“Do you know where my father is?”

“No.” Hanna shook her head. “He still isn’t back.” She stood and wandered over

to the cooking fire, where the stew pot still hung. Something was bubbling inside

which made Rudi’s mouth flood with saliva every time he caught a sniff of it, but

Hanna had looked very hard at him when he tried to investigate and he’d felt it best

to sit down and leave her to her cooking without interruption. He watched as she

stirred the contents, and smiled.

“Well if that smell doesn’t bring him back, nothing will.” Hanna accepted the

compliment with a slight dip of her head.

“If he isn’t quick, he’ll miss out. It’s almost done.” The odour of cooking had

been the first thing he noticed when he arrived home, and he still hadn’t quite got

over the surprise. He might have known that she wasn’t the type to just sit around the

place, but the transformation she’d managed to wreak on the tiny hut in the space of a

day was little short of miraculous. Things were neatly arranged on shelves, the floor

had been swept, and the cooking pot and a couple of items of furniture seemed to be

a slightly different colour. It was only while he was looking at the surface of the table

with some perplexity that he realised she’d cleaned it. Another couple of days and he

supposed she’d have had it as neat as the Reifenstals’ cottage. It was a shame that

once the accusations against her had comprehensively been disproved she’d be off

home again. A faint pang of regret surfaced at the thought, and he forced it away. It

wasn’t as though they had much in common, after all.

86

“I should be getting back after we’ve eaten,” the girl said, almost as if she’d been

able to read his mind. Or perhaps his musings had shown on his face somehow. He

nodded reluctantly.

“I suppose,” he agreed. Then another thought occurred to him. “Perhaps you

should wait until the morning, though.” He hoped he hadn’t sounded too eager,

although the faint moue of amusement on her face made him suspect that he had.

“Hans is still out there. You’ll be safer in daylight.”

“Maybe.” She conceded the point with a slight smile, and began to collect a

couple of bowls from the dresser. “I should wait until your father gets back, anyway.

I haven’t really had a chance to thank him.”

The meal passed in companionable silence for the most part. It was a new

experience for the young forester, but an agreeable one. He had virtually no

experience of socialising, especially not with young women, so he wouldn’t have

known what to say in any case. The food tasted wonderful, and he said as much.

Hanna seemed pleased, but amused at his enthusiasm.

“I just put a couple of herbs in it,” she said. “It’s nothing special.”

While they ate, and talked of nothing much, the night grew dark around them.

Gunther had still not returned. Though he tried to remain calm, Rudi found himself

growing increasingly anxious. His father was out at night often enough, it was true,

but he always let him know beforehand. And he had not been out late since the

beastmen had entered the woods.

“I should go and look for him,” Rudi said at last. Hanna shook her head

dubiously.

“Where will you start?” Her words were mild, and reasonable enough, but he

found them irksome all the same. They contained an echo of the antagonistic manner

he still associated with her. He shrugged, not wanting to admit that he hadn’t a clue.

“I’ll think of something. Maybe he’s checking the snares.” That would be highly

unlikely tonight, with only the sickly glow of Morrslieb to see by, but it sounded as

though he had a plan. She nodded.

“Well you’d know. Unless he’s gone to the Blessed Grove, wherever that is.”

“The what?” Rudi thought he knew every landmark in the forest, at least for as

far as anyone from the village had penetrated it, but he’d never heard of such a place.

Hanna shrugged, and produced a piece of paper from a drawer in the dresser.

“Here,” she said, unfolding it. It was a crudely-sketched map, with words on it

Rudi couldn’t read, but after a moment’s thought he recognised the peculiar shape

towards one side as Kohlstadt, and the lines emanating from it as the roads which

linked it to the rest of the world. A mark and some words were in the middle of the

village, and two similar marks were also visible elsewhere on the plan. One close to

the Dreibruken road, and the other in the forest. Hanna pointed to it. “There. ‘The

Blessed Grove.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

A sense of foreboding seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach, displacing the

pleasant afterglow of the fine meal he’d so recently enjoyed.

“Where did you get this?” he asked. Hanna indicated the dresser.

“The drawer was sticking. I found that jammed behind it when I pulled it out.

Have you ever seen it before?”

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“No.” He tried not to think about the conclusion he’d drawn, that the spot on the

map was where he’d stumbled across the clearing full of rotting plants. But why

would his father have a map locating it? He pointed to the other two marks. “What do

they say?” The flash of embarrassment at having to ask her was fleeting at best. This

was too important to let his pride get in the way. Hanna pointed to the mark in the

middle of Kohlstadt.

“This one says ‘The Magister’.” Her finger moved to the other one. “This one just

says ‘The Farm’. Not very helpful, I’m afraid. There must be dozens along the

Dreibruken road.”

“It’s the Altmans’,” Rudi said, cold certainty beginning to settle in his stomach.

The image of the strange patch of earth in the dead farmer’s field, so charged with

Chaotic forces that he’d almost lost his mind simply by stepping onto it, rose vividly

to the surface of his thoughts. Which sparked another memory. The strange,

triangular amulet the farmer had worn…

His finger traced a line between the three points on the map, finding them

equidistant from one another. He didn’t know why, but somehow that seemed

significant too.

“What are you doing?” Hanna asked. He explained briefly, and shrugged.

“I don’t know what it means, though.”

“It must be sorcery,” Hanna said slowly. She seemed reluctant to speak, as

though admitting to knowledge she shouldn’t have. “I’ve heard stories about rituals

and things, collecting energy…”

“Making the people ill, and the crops fail, and the trees die.” Rudi nodded. “But

what for?”

“How should I know?” Hanna asked. A trace of her old defensive truculence was

beginning to emerge again. “Ask your witch hunter friend. He seems to have all the

answers.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Rudi said. He indicated the map. “He’d

probably burn the pair of us just for looking at this.” He’d meant the remark as a

joke, but the expression on Hanna’s face made him consider the possibility seriously.

He hurried on, hoping to distract her. “What I want to know is how this got into our

house in the first place.”

“We’ll have to ask your father.” Hanna looked at him with a peculiar expression

on her face. After a moment he recognised it as barely concealed unease. The easy

trust that had grown between them since he saved her from the mob seemed to waver,

as they both reflected that neither really knew the other all that well. “Perhaps he

knows.”

“Perhaps.” Rudi tried to sound as though it didn’t matter. “It’s just a scrap of

paper after all. It could have been there for years.”

“That’s probably it.” Hanna nodded, trying to convince herself. “It must have

been there when he bought the dresser.” That seemed plausible, Rudi thought. The

heavy item of furniture had been standing in the corner for as long as he could

remember. But why would an old scrap of paper be so closely linked to events that

were happening now? Had they been planned long ago? He dismissed the thought as

fruitless. His father would explain, he was sure. If he could only find him. If

something hadn’t already happened to the forester…

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He forced the thought away, unable to contemplate the possibility. Gunther

would be fine, he told himself fiercely, and everything would be all right again soon.

He paced the tiny hut, the urge for action building within him. He couldn’t just wait

here while his father might be in danger, however perilous the forest might be

tonight. He picked up his bow and the quiver of arrows. As he strapped the bracer to

his forearm, his fingers trembled slightly.

“Be careful out there.” To her credit Hanna didn’t try to dissuade him, despite the

apprehension she must surely have felt at the thought of being left alone again. He

nodded grimly.

“I won’t be long,” he said.

Night had fallen in earnest now, the darkness between the trees all but absolute. As

he moved deeper into the forest Rudi began to question the wisdom of what he was

doing. The trees and bushes were solid chunks of blackness, practically

indistinguishable from the shadows that surrounded them, and the faint necrotic

glimmer of Morrslieb barely penetrated the canopy of branches. The only way he

would find his father under these conditions would be if he tripped over him. But

something drove him on, an impulse he could barely explain, somehow taking him

through the myriad of obstacles and entanglements in his path as though they weren’t

even there. It was as if he could feel the branches and the scrub ahead of him so he

would twist to evade them even though the darkness was too absolute to reveal

anything to his sight.

As a result he made good time, moving as swiftly through the woodlands as

though it were broad daylight. A small portion of his mind marvelled at this, even

began to question it, but the growing sense of urgency crowded it out. It was as

though he already knew where he was going, and the purpose of his journey was

almost clear, if he could just manage to recall it somehow…

A new sound broke his reverie: the unmistakable sound of something big

smashing its way through the undergrowth. He froze. A moment later his nostrils

were assailed by a stench he remembered all too well, and as if in confirmation the

harsh syllables of the language he’d heard in Altman’s field echoed through the trees.

Beastmen! His scalp crawled, anticipating cries of discovery, but a nearby thicket

offered concealment, and the group passed him by unheeding. There seemed to be

three or four of them, moving rapidly, and as the sound of their passage receded he

let out a small sigh of relief. The sense of urgency returned, stronger than ever, and

he began to move again, following his original path.

Then another thought occurred to him. Perhaps the creatures were after his father!

He hesitated, torn between conflicting impulses. Some deep, primal conviction told

him that he had to keep moving, that somewhere ahead of him were the answers he

sought, but for the first time logic began to crowd it out. He should follow the

beastmen and find out what they were doing. It might be important.

He turned aside, feeling a sudden pang of frustration and anger, which surprised

him with its intensity. It almost persuaded him to change his mind, but he exerted his

willpower and forced it down. Whatever lay ahead could wait. The beastmen were a

real and tangible foe, and he owed it to everyone in the village to find out what they

were up to.

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He set off slowly, following the path the creatures had taken. Now he’d turned

aside he found the going more difficult. His newly acquired instinct for avoiding

obstacles had apparently deserted him, as he had to stop frequently to disentangle

himself from the bushes that snagged his clothing or the quiver every few yards.

Nevertheless the beastmen had ploughed a clear enough trail through the underbrush

to make the going relatively simple, and he made good enough time to keep them in

earshot.

So good, in fact, that he almost stumbled into the clearing before realising it was

there. Fortunately the sickly green light of the Chaos moon was striking down

through the gap in the foliage, illuminating the whole scene brightly enough for his

dark-adapted eyes to see everything in more detail than he would have believed

possible.

At first his eyes were drawn to the beastmen ranged about it: There were a dozen

at least, maybe more. Many were like the one he’d encountered the previous day, but

lithe and uninjured. They moved with a swiftness and grace he would never have

believed possible for such lumpen-looking creatures. Others were taller and more

muscular, their heads crowned with imposing horns which were clearly far larger

than those of the others. And in the centre of the group…

His breath stilled. Then he gasped, and for a panic-stricken moment he was sure

the bestial host before him must have heard it. But their attention was fixed on the

drama being enacted at the centre of the clearing.

Three figures were visible there, although one drew the eye as it was at least a

couple of heads taller than the other two. A moment later Rudi realised it was

considerably taller than any of the beastmen surrounding it, and its horns were by far

the largest and most elaborately curved. It stalked forward, growling something in the

creatures’ own barbarous tongue, a sword the length of Rudi’s leg casually held in its

right hand.

“Any time.” The response came in Reikspiel, although the voice was almost as

harsh as the beastman’s. “If you think you’re hard enough.” A chill ran down Rudi’s

spine. Hans Katzenjammer? Here? He slunk even deeper into the shadows.

Hans took a step towards the shaggy giant, the wounds he’d sustained at the

hands of the militia a few hours before apparently already healed. Sickly green

moonlight glinted from the talons on his hands as he flexed his fingers. Lazy

confidence radiated from his stance.

“Peace.” The third figure placed a hand on his chest to forestall him, and stepped

between the two putative combatants. The voice was soft and feminine, in startling

contrast to the guttural sounds of the others. From where Rudi was standing her face

remained in shadow, although she too seemed to have a pair of horns. They were

smaller than the others’ and struck highlights from her forehead. She addressed the

hulking beastman directly. “He’s no bray. He’s been blessed by the changer himself.”

The beastman responded in its own tongue, harsh gutturals echoing through the trees,

and the beastwoman responded in the same language.

After another brief exchange she turned back to Hans.

“Graghgor will take you in, if he judges you worthy.” Hans grinned, and flexed

his talons again.

“I’ll show him worthy,” he said. The woman nodded.

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“Try not to kill him,” she said. Hans looked almost sulky for a moment, and she

patted him on the arm. “The changer has chosen you for a reason. You may have to

turn against his other servants one day, for such is the nature of change, but for now

you need allies.”

“Yeah, right, fine.” Hans pushed the beastwoman aside, and sprang at the

towering beastman with a roar. The creature responded, shaking the trees with the

volume of its challenge. It charged forwards, swinging its sword. Hans deflected it

easily with the bony ridge along his forearm, and raked his talons across the

beastman’s face.

A howl of rage and pain echoed through the forest, and the combat began in

deadly earnest. For a moment Rudi remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear his

eyes from the brutal spectacle, which held the surrounding beastmen in thrall. There

was no subtlety to this duel, just animal ferocity, inhuman strength, and a lust for

pain and blood that made him shudder to contemplate. He began to back away

slowly, aware that this was no place to be caught.

Luck was with him, he thought, as the instinct he’d felt earlier which had guided

him so unerringly seemed to have returned, and despite the darkness surrounding him

he was able to move swiftly and silently away. Absently a small portion of his mind

registered that he’d resumed his former course through the forest, towards whatever

destination awaited him, and as the sound of that inhuman combat faded slowly into

the distance he began to wonder what he would find there.

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The first indication that he was approaching his destination was the sound of music

echoing through the trees, and the welcoming orange glow of firelight. A bonfire had

been built in the centre of a clearing up ahead, and sounds of laughter and revelry

followed the light from the flickering flames as they diffused through the surrounding

undergrowth. A small part of his mind urged caution. The memory of the beastmen

was still strong, but the voices were unmistakably human, and he picked up his pace,

eager to join them. Quite why he couldn’t have said, but the impulse which had

guided him here was stronger than ever.

Now that he had light to see the going was easier, and he was unsurprised to

recognise his new surroundings. The trees here were drooping, their leaves turning

brown, and their trunks infested with fungus and other growths. The sweet stench of

rot and decay were everywhere, although somehow the odour seemed pleasant and

invigorating, like the incense Father Antrobus burned in the village temple.

He reached the edge of the clearing and blinked in amazement, his eyes dazzled

for a moment by the roaring flames. Masked figures capered and danced a few feet

away from him, drinking wine and devouring foodstuffs which ought by rights to

have turned their stomachs as though they were the finest of delicacies. The

sweetmeats crawled with maggots, the fruits were putrefying, and there were other,

fouler things he was grateful not to be able to identify. Curiously he felt no nausea at

the sight.

Despite the masks they wore, he had little difficulty recognising many of the

revellers. Kirstin danced by, almost devoid of clothing, clearly living up to her

reputation with enthusiasm. Her torso was speckled with the rash of the pestilence,

although it didn’t seem to have weakened her. Quite the reverse, she danced and

capered with preternatural energy. As he tore his eyes away from her he realised that

many of the others were similarly unclad, and displayed rashes, pustules, and other

signs of infection like badges of honour.

“Rudi! You found us!” His father shouldered his way through the throng,

bellowing a welcome, a flagon of what looked like ale in his hand. His shirt was off,

displaying the vivid discolouration of his arm and chest which had so worried Rudi.

Many of the revellers were staring at it with what looked like naked envy. “I knew

you would!”

“What’s going on?” Rudi was babbling, he knew that, but his bewilderment was

almost overpowering. “I got worried and came looking for you…”

“Drawn to this sacred spot.” Magnus was there too, shrouded in a bile green

cloak embroidered with patterns that echoed strongly in Rudi’s mind. As he gazed at

them he felt the slipping away of his sense of self that he’d experienced walking the

furrows in Altman’s field. The merchant laid a reassuring hand on Rudi’s forearm.

“All part of the destiny which was foretold. Hail the vessel!”

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This last phrase was delivered in a bellow, which echoed around the clearing, to

be picked up and reechoed by the dancing revellers.

“Hail the vessel! Hail the vessel!” Rudi felt his head begin to spin with the

strangeness of it all. Deep down in the core of his being a tiny voice screamed at him

to flee, that this was wrong, very wrong. But confusion, and the instinct which had

drawn him here, held him irresolute. After all, he knew most of these people and he

trusted his father and Magnus more than anyone else in the world. Surely this would

all make sense soon enough.

“I don’t understand,” he said, looking from one to the other. Gunther smiled, and

patted him on the shoulder.

“You will,” he promised, “and it will be more glorious than you can possibly

imagine.” He took a deep draught of his ale, in which something seemed to be

floating. Magnus nodded.

“Even now your grandfather’s blessing is working through your veins. Can’t you

feel it?” Rudi shook his head numbly. Magnus went on, enraptured. “The heat in

your blood, the ripeness in your skin…”

“I feel fine,” Rudi said. “Just confused.” Kirstin capered past again, catching his

arm, and swinging him playfully around. Before he could react she kissed him full on

the mouth, her tongue entangling with his. Startled, Rudi jumped and pulled away.

The girl stared at him in bemused disappointment.

“He’s unblessed!” she said, in tones of complete disbelief. “His body’s not

prepared!”

“What?” Magnus turned to glare at her, an expression of barely-contained anger

curdling his features. “You told me he’d eaten it!”

“Well he took it!” She glared back, arguing as though they were equals rather

than master and servant. “I gave it to him myself!”

“Gave me what?” Rudi asked, his confusion growing ever stronger.

“We’ll have to wait,” Gunther suggested, as though he wasn’t even there. “If we

go ahead now it’ll be free!”

“We can’t wait!” Magnus retorted. “We’ve spent too much time preparing. The

stars are in the right alignment. It’s tonight or never!”

“It’s too dangerous,” Gunther insisted, all trace of his previous good humour

gone. “It’ll slaughter us all!”

“What will?” Rudi asked, feeling that he almost understood.

“Not if the wards hold,” Kirstin said firmly. Magnus nodded in agreement.

“They must do. The omens are right. Grandfather told us that when he blessed

your arm.” He indicated Gunther’s swollen, discoloured limb. “That’s when we

began to prepare the way, and it’s all gone perfectly. Even the beastmen arriving

served our cause, and deflected attention away from us.”

“I suppose so.” Gunther nodded reluctantly. “What else can we do?”

“Precisely.” Magnus nodded again. “That idiot witch hunter won’t waste his time

chasing mutants forever. When he’s finished with the healer he’ll turn on us, unless

we finish it tonight.”

“Greta?” Rudi grabbed Magnus by the arm. “What’s this got to do with her?”

Magnus shrugged.

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“She suspects something, I’m sure. But I doubt she’ll be able to convince the

witch hunter of anything. She’s got secrets of her own to hide.”

“Gerhard’s after her?” For all his confusion this was one thing that Rudi could

understand. He took a step towards the edge of the clearing. “We have to warn her!”

“I don’t think so, lad.” Gunther took a step to bar his way. “Let the witch take

care of herself, if she can. We’ve more important business here tonight.”

“What business?” Rudi asked, relieved to be finally getting some kind of

explanation. Abruptly he became aware that the crowd of revellers was getting

closer, hemming him in. He tried to take another step, but Kirstin draped herself

around him, and someone else took hold of his upper arm. Irritated he tried to tug it

free, and the grip tightened, to be joined by another, then a couple more. In a moment

he would be completely immobilised…

Someone screamed, and the crush of bodies around him abruptly lessened. For a

moment he struggled to identify the hissing sound which permeated the air. Then

recognition hit. Arrows in flight, dozens of them, their trajectories abruptly

terminated in the dull wet thwack! of impact against flesh. As the revellers scattered,

leaving several of their number screaming on the ground, a chorus of bleats, barks

and howls echoed from the surrounding woods.

“Beastmen!” Gunther screamed, hurling his ale pot at a charging mass of horns

and matted hair. Heavy pewter met thick skull with an audible thud, checking the

creature in its tracks, and Gunther charged forward, his diseased arm outstretched. It

met the beastman’s descending cudgel and wrested it from the creature’s grasp.

Gunther’s other hand punched it hard in the gut.

How he fared after that Rudi couldn’t tell, as the confused tide of combat swept

them apart.

“Quickly!” Magnus bellowed, drawing a couple of daggers from under his robe

and throwing one to Kirstin. “Before it’s too late!” A charging beastman grabbed the

cowl of his robe and yanked him backwards; Magnus twisted, and stabbed the

creature in the stomach. Kirstin turned to face Rudi, a smile on her face, and before

he had time to realise what she was doing aimed a thrust at his heart.

Time seemed to slow. The sharp point of the weapon travelled towards him while

his muscles refused to respond. They started working again far too sluggishly to

preserve his life.

“Why…?” he began, at a complete loss to understand, then something large and

agile sprang into the gap between them. A huge, talon-tipped hand enveloped the

girl’s, twisting it back with a snap of bone. Kirstin screamed, more from frustration

than pain.

“Little girls shouldn’t play with knives.” Hans Katzenjammer looked down at

her, malicious glee sparking in his trio of eyes. Kirstin spat at him, and tried to kick

him between the legs. Before she could complete the motion Hans slashed the talons

of his other hand across her throat, releasing a fountain of blood. He watched her fall,

spasming, and laughed. He turned to Rudi, who was rooted to the spot, his head

spinning. “Still here?” he asked, conversationally. “You’re even stupider than I

thought you were.”

“Stay back. I’m warning you…” Rudi fumbled for an arrow, nocking it with

trembling fingers.

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Hans laughed again; the firelight glinted from the razor-edged fangs that now

filled his mouth. His chest was decorated with a crudely daubed sigil, drawn in

something that looked suspiciously like blood. Rudi recognised it as the mark worn

by the dead beastman in Altman’s field. And once again he had the sense of having

seen it somewhere else before, but couldn’t put his finger on where.

“I just saved your life. If you want to keep it, run.” Hans turned away, as though

his old enemy was of no interest at all, and lunged after a fleeing cultist. The man’s

scream was loud, and abruptly terminated.

Rudi needed no further urging, and made for the safety of the surrounding trees.

Around him all was confusion and slaughter, a cacophony of screams, bestial

braying, and the stench of blood. Bodies cannoned into him, in flight or pursuit he

couldn’t tell which, and several times he stumbled over corpses. Once his foot caught

in something that crunched under his weight; hardly daring to look down, he found

his boot entangled in the wreckage of a lute.

After what seemed an eternity he made it to the refuge of the trees unmolested,

and collapsed in the lee of a scraggly bush which had managed to retain enough of its

foliage to afford him a measure of concealment. He gasped for breath, sucking in the

rancid air, and trying to still the kettledrum beating of his heart.

His father! The thought struck him like a blow to the head. Gunther was still in

the clearing, fighting for his life. He had to go back, had to help him… He turned,

finding his bow still clenched in his left hand, and to his immense surprise the arrow

he’d tried to nock still grasped in his right. He fitted it to the string, trying to still the

trembling in his hands, and slunk towards the firelight again. The sounds of combat

had diminished in volume now, most of the revellers surely dead or put to flight.

Concealing himself behind the crumbling trunk of a dead tree, he peered

cautiously into the clearing. A few struggling figures were still on their feet though

most of them had been run through or were battered to the ground as he watched. The

churned-up ground was littered with corpses, most of them human, but there were a

handful of the beastmen down too. With a mounting sense of dread Rudi scanned the

bloodied revenants, searching for a face he hoped not to find…

A roar louder than the others drew his attention, and his head snapped round. The

giant beastman he’d seen in the clearing was battling furiously with a man who

barely reached its chest, but who was driving it back with swings of a cudgel. As

Rudi watched the man raised the crude weapon to block a downward stroke of the

creature’s sword. Just then his face came into view, and Rudi felt a violent spasm of

relief shake his body. Gunther! His father was still alive!

Trembling he drew back the bow, and stilled his breath. He tried not to think

about his ineptitude with the weapon. His aim had to be true. There was no margin

for error here. The muscles of his back and arms fluttered with the strain of keeping

the weapon at full draw as he waited for a clear shot. But the two figures were

moving so fast, their intricate dance of death so close, that there seemed no

separation between them. Rudi’s palms felt clammy, his breath was coming in short

gasps and he fought to remain still. But the harder he tried the more the point of his

arrow wavered.

“Damn!” The string slipped from his fingers, his arm jerked, and the arrow flew

wide, disappearing somewhere in the dazzle of the flames. Almost at the same

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moment the giant beastman howled in triumph as it hacked down at Gunther. A

bright spray of arterial gore spattered the creature’s matted hide.

“Sigmar, no!” Rudi might have shouted out his horror and grief, he never knew,

but the bellowing of the beastmen drowned any noise he could have made. Hot tears

stung his eyes for a moment, and as he wiped them clear he saw the creature stop

where it was and sniff the air. Then it bawled something in the bestial tongue he’d

heard the creatures employ before.

To Rudi’s amazement the entire herd fell silent, and turned to look at the giant. It

bellowed something else, and gestured with its vast, deformed hand. Gradually the

beastmen began to slip away into the forest. Within moments all were gone, except

for the giant, and the mutated form of Hans Katzenjammer. They seemed to confer

for a moment, then to his horror their heads turned, and both appeared to be looking

right at him.

His heart seemed to stop briefly, but then it resumed, beating in a harsh, staccato

rhythm. He began to reach for another arrow, already certain that it would be futile.

He hadn’t been able to shoot well enough to save his father’s life, and he doubted

that he’d be any better at preserving his own. Then he sagged with relief. The two

figures turned away, to follow the rest of the herd.

Just as he reached the tree line Hans turned back for a moment. He gazed in

Rudi’s direction again, and raised a hand in an ironic farewell.

So they had seen him! Then why hadn’t they come after him? Come to that, why

had Hans saved his life after threatening to kill him the last time they met, and why

had Kirstin tried to stab him? His head buzzed with questions, as loudly and

insistently as the swarm of flies which had settled eagerly on the blanket of corpses

covering the rotting grass, feasting on the fluids that leaked from their burst-open

flesh.

Hesitantly he took a step into the charnel house, still vividly illuminated by the

roaring bonfire. Though he’d seen his father cut down with his own eyes, he couldn’t

just turn and leave. A faint flicker of hope remained that he had only been wounded,

and might yet recover. A few faint moans echoed his thoughts, although he hardly

dared turn aside from his goal to track them to their sources for fear of what he might

find. After he’d found his father, he told himself, he’d look for other wounded and try

to help them too.

“Father?” He knelt next to the body of the man who’d raised him, and held out a

trembling hand to feel for signs of a pulse. This was the only family he’d ever

known. But he knew it would be futile. Gunther was drenched in his own blood, his

face a mask of it, and the torrent flowing from the gash in his neck and chest had

already slowed to a trickle. The wound was terrible; it cleaved down into his torso

like an axe blow through a tree stump. Rudi’s breath caught in his throat, a hard knot

of emptiness lodging deep beneath his breastbone. “Father!” His vision was blurring,

his eyes hot.

“Rudi…” Impossibly, an eye forced itself open in the thick veneer of gore

obscuring the forester’s features. Hope flared for a moment before withering in the

face of inescapable logic. By rights Gunther should be dead already, his soul clinging

to his body only by an act of superhuman will, and it was impossible to believe he

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could last any longer than a handful of heartbeats. “Listen…” Gunther’s voice trailed

away.

“What?” Rudi couldn’t contain the questions. Now they were bubbling up inside

him, forcing their way out. “What was happening here? Why were you…”

“Magnus. Find Magnus…”

“Everyone’s dead!” The words burst out of him like stones from a cannon. But as

he turned his head, the distinctive green cape was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the

merchant had survived after all… Another question slipped from his lips almost

before he was aware that he was asking it. “He mentioned my grandfather. Did he

know my family?” The idea was stunning, the concept so strange it was all he could

do to articulate it. “Did he know where I came from?”

“Magnus knows…” Gunther spasmed, his breath escaping in a long, rattling gasp,

and went limp. The single exposed eye went glassy and unfocussed. The last faint

vestiges of hope in Rudi’s chest evaporated, leaving only a howling void of loss. Too

numb to mourn, he stood up slowly, and scanned the scene of desolation for some

sign of Magnus. The leaping flames illuminated everything vividly. Scenes of

butchery were seared into his retina from wherever he looked. He stumbled through

the carnage almost without volition, trying to make sense of his adoptive father’s last

words. If the merchant had known who his real family was then why hadn’t he said

anything before now? Perhaps it was already too late to find out, and Magnus had

taken the secret to his grave.

A flash of green caught his eye, and he turned, his heart seeming to stop for a

moment. Magnus’ distinctive cape lay on the ground, ripped and bloodied. For an

instant he thought the body next to it was that of the merchant himself, but as he took

a step or two closer he realised that it was one of the villagers whose name he didn’t

know.

Before he could investigate further, his attention was caught by the unmistakable

sound of movement through the underbrush. Galvanised, and dreading the return of

the beastmen, he ran for the edge of the forest. As before he found the cover of a

convenient bush and went to ground, sure that the bright illumination of the fire

would prevent anyone seeing him in the surrounding darkness. He could just have

kept going, and part of him urged him to do so, but he wanted to see who or what

else was abroad in the forest tonight.

Raised voices echoed around the clearing. It was the welcome sound of Reikspiel

instead of the harsh gutturals he’d half expected, a surge of relief almost sent him out

into the light to greet whoever it was. But a growing sense of caution held him back.

“Ulric’s beard!” That voice at least was unmistakable, and a moment later

Littman’s identity was confirmed as he emerged into the circle of firelight. Red and

gold highlights glittered on the blade of his halberd, and made glowing fireflies of the

spear tips of the militiamen behind him. Rudi was stunned by the sheer number of

them. Every able-bodied man in the muster must have been there, leaving the village

virtually defenceless. For a moment he wondered why the old soldier would have

been so uncharacteristically reckless, before realising he hadn’t had a choice in the

matter. “How did you know?”

“There are usually three foci in these cases.” Gerhard stepped out of the darkness,

into which his sombre attire had so effortlessly blended him, and glanced about him

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with disgust. “Arranged in a triangular pattern. The farm we knew about, and the

outbreak of pestilence makes it almost certain that the second is somewhere in the

village itself. The third had to be around here somewhere.”

“I see.” Littman clearly didn’t. He spat on the disease-ridden ground in any case.

“And here are your witches.”

“They’re not witches.” Gerhard was moving from body to body, as though

searching for something. He paused briefly by one of the dead beastmen, and nodded

as though something had been confirmed by it. “They’re something far worse.”

“What could be worse than witches?” Schuller the baker asked, prodding the

dead creature cautiously with the tip of his spear.

“Heretics,” Littman said, spitting again for emphasis. Gerhard nodded.

“These were the members of a Chaos cult, you can depend on it. Their foul

sorceries blighted your village, as they prepared for some act of monstrous evil.

Precisely what we may never know.”

Rudi couldn’t believe it. Like all Reiklanders he’d been shuddering at tales of

Chaos for as long as he could remember. He had heard Father Antrobus warn of the

insidious evil, which lurked even in the heartlands of civilisation. His father and

Magnus would never be involved in such things. They were good people, both of

them. Gerhard must be mistaken. Schiller shrugged.

“Lucky the beastmen found them first. Saved us a job.”

“Possibly.” Gerhard clearly knew more than he was saying. “Can you identify

anyone?”

“More’s the pity.” Littman spat again. “That’s Reinhold Jungfrau, one of my

night watch, may his soul rot in hell.”

“And young Perrin.” Schuller prodded a nearby body. “And his girlfriend, what’s

her name…?”

“Clothilde Meyer,” someone chipped in helpfully. Schuller nodded.

“Yes, that was it. Sold apples or something.” The militiamen spread out among

the bodies, calling out names in growing tones of shock and outrage. Littman was the

first to find Gunther’s corpse, and beckoned the witch hunter over, his face a mask of

astonishment.

“Who is it?” Gerhard was clearly good enough at reading body language to

realise the sergeant had made a significant find.

“Gunther Walder.” Littman was so taken aback he forgot to spit. “Young Rudi’s

father.”

“Really?” Gerhard’s tone conveyed only mild interest, but Rudi knew him better

than that by now. He’d sounded just like that only moments before cutting Frau

Katzenjammer’s throat. “Now that is interesting.”

“Is it?” Littman clearly wasn’t following his chain of reasoning. “I’m not sure I

see…”

“If the father was involved, the son was most likely an initiate too.” Gerhard

nodded thoughtfully. “And who has been at the centre of events for days, weeks

even, running messages for those attempting to combat the pestilence?”

“You think he was a spy for the cultists?” Littman sounded incredulous for a

moment. Then, to Rudi’s horror, he began nodding too. “It does make sense, now

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you point it out. I mean, I’ve known the lad for years, but that goes for half the

people here too, and they were clearly in whatever they were doing up to their

armpits.”

“Find his body. If he’s not here arrest him, and bring him to me.” Gerhard

sounded as though he were doing no more than ordering ale in the village tavern. “I’ll

get the truth out of him, you can be sure of it.” Rudi felt his blood run cold. He had

no doubt about the methods the witch hunter was prepared to employ. “We still need

to know who the magister was before we can be sure this is over.”

Something about the word sounded vaguely familiar and after a moment Rudi

remembered that it had been on the map Hanna had found.

“The what?” Littman asked.

“The leader, the organiser, the head of the coven.” Gerhard sounded impatient. “It

would almost certainly be someone of influence in the district.”

“I know her.” Schuller paused by Kirstin’s body.

“Half the men in the village did.” The militiaman with him laughed coarsely.

“Young Kirstin put herself about a bit.”

“Von Blackenburg’s servant?” Gerhard strode over to join them, an expression of

mild interest on his face. The militiaman quailed, unsure of why he’d attracted the

witch hunter’s attention, and left it to Schuller to answer. The baker nodded.

“That’s right, sir.”

“Any sign of von Blackenburg himself?”

“None that we’ve seen,” Schuller told him. “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t here, of

course.”

“Quite.” Gunther turned to Littman. “I’ll be wanting a word with him too,

sergeant.” Littman nodded, but if he made any reply Rudi was too carried away with

relief to hear it. Magnus was alive! He just had to find him. Surely a man as clever as

that would have escaped the beastmen somehow, and made his way home. If he set

out now he’d be able to catch up with him before word of Gerhard’s arrest warrant

made its way back to Kohlstadt. Come to that, the witch hunter was after both of

them now, and Magnus had to be warned. He began to worm his way cautiously

through the underbrush, deeper into the safety of the surrounding darkness.

“What should we do with the bodies?” Littman asked. Gerhard indicated the

blazing bonfire with a tilt of his head.

“Burn them.” With evident reluctance the militiamen began to lift the corpses,

and heave them one by one into the flames. The air became foul with the stench of

burning meat, and the flames flared with the fat from the bodies, sizzling eagerly.

“Sir,” one of the militiamen called. Gerhard turned his head. “A couple of them

aren’t dead.”

“Your point being?” Gerhard asked mildly.

The man flinched. “I thought you might want to question them first.” The witch

hunter strolled over, and gazed down at the feebly twitching body. After a moment he

shook his head.

“Too far gone. We won’t get anything useful.” He shouldered the body himself

and threw it into the flames with every sign of satisfaction.

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Once he was far enough away for any noises he made to be masked by the

crackling of the flames and the feeble, short-lived screaming, Rudi rose to his feet

and began hurrying through the trees as fast as he could. If he headed straight for

Kohlstadt he should be able to reach Magnus’ house at least an hour before Gerhard.

That would give them enough time to formulate a plan and flee. He might even have

longer than that, because the chances were the witch hunter would look for him back

at the hut first, and that would delay him still further…

Hanna! The thought struck him like a thunderbolt. She was still there waiting for

him, and if Gerhard found her in the home of a heretic she would be as good as dead

herself. Especially as she’d already been accused of witchcraft.

He changed direction and headed towards home. He wondered what on earth he

could say to her that would make any sense. As he ran, he prayed to any deity who

might be listening that he’d get to her in time.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The girl was waiting when he got back to the hut, her satchel packed. She raised her

head as Rudi burst through the door.

“Did you find him?” she asked. Her expression changed from curiosity to alarm

as she read the look on his face. “Shallya’s mercy, what happened?”

“Gerhard. Coming here.” It wasn’t the most comprehensive explanation, but it

was the most important point to get across. The rest could wait until he was able to

come to some understanding about it himself, if he ever did. Hanna’s face paled.

“You have to get out!”

“He’s still after me?” Her voice was tainted with disbelief, and barely-suppressed

anger. “I thought he knew…”

“No. Me.” Rudi gasped for breath, and began to collect bits and pieces from the

single-roomed house. A knife, his other shirt and breeches that were still damp and

strung up in front of the fireplace, and a tinderbox and a couple of spare flints. That

was it. Not much to show for sixteen years of life, but mercifully portable. He stuffed

them into a bag, on top of his snares, and slung it across his shoulder. Hanna gaped at

him.

“You? Why?”

“I don’t really know.” That much was true. “I found that site in the forest. My

father was there…” A hard knot of emotion he lacked the insight to analyse

threatened to choke him for a moment, and his voice faltered.

“You found him?” Hanna asked. Her tone suggested that she already had an

inkling of the answers to her questions. “Is he with you?”

“He’s dead.” The words burst from him as though he was coughing them up.

Articulating them brought out the feeling of the gaping void in the centre of his life

all over again. It made no sense. Gunther had always been there: how could the world

exist without him? “There were beastmen…” His words choked off, and became

racking sobs as grief overwhelmed him at last. Perhaps it was the shock wearing off.

“I’m sorry.” Hanna made the sign of the dove and walked towards him, hovering

with the embarrassed lack of purpose near strangers have when confronted with

strong emotions. After a moment of indecision she hugged him awkwardly and

patted him on the back as though his misery was an attack of the hiccoughs. “Let it

out. You’ll feel better.”

“I’m fine.” Rudi pulled free after a moment and sniffed glutinously. He felt oddly

embarrassed. Men didn’t do that sort of thing. “It just suddenly hit me, that’s all.”

“It’s bound to,” Hanna said, squeezing his hand, before letting go a little too

quickly. She picked up her bundle of belongings and slung them over her shoulder.

“But I don’t see where Gerhard comes in. Why’s he after you?”

“He was there too,” Rudi said, lifting a loose hearthstone to reveal his hoard of

pennies. He tipped them into his belt pouch, and tested the weight of them: a

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satisfying amount. There were more coins than he remembered. It was a testament to

how busy he’d been since the pestilence started.

“Fighting the beastmen?” Hanna asked with confusion stamped on her features.

Rudi scooped what food he could find into his bag on top of his other possessions,

and followed Hanna to the door.

“No, afterwards.” He left the door open. There was no point latching it, he never

expected to return. He fought down the surge of emotion the thought provoked, and

spoke rapidly, trying to take refuge in calm deliberation. “They’d already killed

everyone. Hans was with them. What he’s become, I mean.”

“Wait a minute.” Hanna took his arm again as they entered the darkness of the

forest, and began following the path to Kohlstadt. “There were other people there

too?”

“Yes.” Rudi took a deep breath. “There was a party or something going on.

Magnus and my father were there, and lots of other people. The beastmen attacked

them, and left. Then Gerhard and the militia arrived.”

“I see.” Hanna’s voice in the darkness beside him belied her words; it was still

imbued with confusion. Her light grip on his upper arm tightened for a moment as

she briefly lost her balance. “And while this was going on you were…”

“Hiding. In the forest.” He’d become so adept at dissembling in the last few days

that the half-truth slipped out without a second thought. “Just as well I was, too, or

he’d have killed me on the spot.”

“Why? What was he doing there?” Her voice was becoming anxious now.

“Looking for heretics. He thought he’d found them, and when he saw my father’s

body he ordered my arrest. If he catches me…” His voice trailed away. Hanna’s grip

tightened again, though it was a gesture of sympathy and understanding this time.

“I know how you feel,” she said.

The woods were beginning to thin out now. Thin slivers of sickly green

moonlight seeped through the trees, making the going a good deal easier for their

dark-adapted eyes and they began to pick up the pace. As they cleared the tree line

the whole valley spread out before them, limned in diseased-looking shadows. From

habit Rudi scanned the horizon, looking for the yellow sparks of the cottages which

formed a constellation of familiar landmarks, but of course there were none to be

seen. Most of the people in the area were still huddled inside the village, waiting for

Gerhard to tell them what to do. The only lights he could discern were the ones inside

the stockade, and a single orange glow between them and it.

Greta’s cottage, he thought, with a surge of relief. At least she was home. The

light seemed unusually bright, though. At first he attributed this to the unusual

darkness of the night.

As they drew closer to the cottage the light became brighter still, more intense

than could be made by even the most efficient oil lamp. A sense of foreboding began

to overwhelm him.

“Dear Shallya, no…” Hanna’s voice beside him was soft, and tinged with horror.

Heedless of the darkness surrounding them, and the dangers presented by the uneven

ground, she broke into a run.

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Rudi followed, whether from concern for her safety or simply to relieve the

torrent of emotion still coursing through him, he couldn’t have said. They ran in eerie

silence, their footfalls thudding on the close-cropped turf, occasionally slipping in

patches of sheep droppings. Despite his best efforts the girl forged ahead, and he

didn’t catch up with her for several minutes.

When he did so she was standing by the gate around the small herb garden. Tears

were streaming down her face, illuminated by the roaring flames leaping from the

thatch of the burning cottage. This was worse than the Altmans’ farmstead had been.

At least there the flames had begun to die down when he found it, but here the fire

was still fresh, so more of the cosy home he remembered was still discernable. Not

only that, the Altmans had simply been people he ran messages to, whereas Greta

was someone he’d known and liked. Knew and liked, he corrected himself fiercely.

There was no reason to believe she was still in there…

“Mother!” Hanna was screaming, her voice raw. “Mother, where are you?” She

seemed to be performing a strange little dance, approaching the blazing cottage step

by faltering step until the heat drove her back. Then she tried all over again. Rudi had

no idea how she managed it. Even this far away the heat was fierce enough to

evaporate the tears on her face, leaving dry, salty tracks. He had to exert all his

willpower not to fall back even further. But then he remembered the incident with the

cauldron, and suspected she was less sensitive to high temperatures than he was.

Hanna had an expression of grim determination on her face now. She walked

forwards, muttering something under her breath. For a moment the flickering yellow

flames seemed to surround her too, but that must have been a trick of the perspective

as his eyes became dazzled by the blaze. She got closer to the building than she’d

managed before, and stopped, apparently willing herself to go on. The fine hairs on

her arms began to crisp and wither and her blonde mane shrivelled in the heat.

“Hanna, come back!” Rudi called, alarmed for her safety. Distracted she glanced

back at him, then screamed, her face red. Without a thought Rudi dashed forwards,

ignoring the pain, which seemed to wrap itself tighter around him with every step

closer to the flames. He grabbed her arm.

“You have to get back!” He dragged her away, towards the welcome coolness of

the night air. Hanna struggled against his grip.

“Let go, you half-witted ox! I can save her!”

“If she’s inside she’s past help.” Not the most tactful thing he might have said

under the circumstances, but he had to get through to her somehow. “And if she isn’t,

incinerating yourself isn’t going to make her very happy!”

“Do you think she might be somewhere else?” Hanna asked, hope flaring in her

face. Rudi nodded slowly, knowing how she must feel believing that she’d just lost

her only parent. The hope might be a false one, but it was better than none.

“The last time I saw her was in Kohlstadt.” Hours ago it was true, but

nevertheless… “At the burgomeister’s house.” Hanna nodded, numbly.

“Then we’ll have to find her there,” she said matter-of-factly. “She needs to know

what’s happened.” Her face twisted with anger and misery. “Those vile beastmen…”

“It may not have been them,” Rudi said slowly. The light from the flames was

bright enough to show tracks, which he could read as easily as the girl could read

letters. He squatted to examine them. “Whoever was here wore boots.”

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“Gerhard.” She spat the name with loathing. Rudi nodded slowly.

“That would be my guess.” He stood up and was surprised by the red stain of

dawn beginning to spread above the horizon in an uncanny echo of the firelight

behind him. Hanna’s shoulders drooped.

“But why?” she asked plaintively. “What have we ever done to him?”

“You needn’t have done anything,” Rudi answered, as gently as he could. “A

man like that finds his own reasons to hate and fear people. She was a healer. That

was probably enough.” He hoped she hadn’t noticed his slip of the tongue, his

inadvertent use of the past tense. For some reason he remembered the phrase Magnus

had used, that the healer had secrets of her own, wondered what they might be.

Maybe he’d tell them, when he answered the rest of his questions.

“You’re probably right.” Hanna pulled a pot of ointment out of her bag, and

rubbed some on the reddened skin of her face and arms. “You’d better have some of

this too.” It felt soothing, cool, and seemed to suck the discomfort out of his tingling

face and hands. Despite her more intense exposure to the heat she was still less

affected than he was.

“We’d better get going.” Somehow he felt he needed to distract her, to get her

away from here as soon as possible. She nodded, and turned her back on the

wreckage of her home with the air of someone determined not to be bowed by the

weight of misfortune.

“We won’t find her by hanging around here.”

“Exactly.” Rudi fell into step beside her. Just then his boot crunched on

something in the grass. He looked down.

It was the small icon of Shallya that he’d noticed on his first visit to the cottage,

but something seemed different about it. After a moment’s thought he realised that

the frame was missing.

A prickle of apprehension ran up his spine. Now he could picture it in his mind,

he realised where he’d seen the sigil Hans Katzenjammer and the beastmen wore

before. The frame had been the same shape.

He opened his mouth to ask Hanna about it, but closed it again. She had enough

to deal with at the moment, and this was no time to bother her with trivia.

Despite his apprehension they were able to enter Kohlstadt without any trouble. The

gates were open, a few farmers staggering out with the dawn to wrest as much as

they could from their ravaged fields. Most looked drawn and haggard, too tired for

conversation, and the few remarks Rudi overheard were about the momentous events

of the previous day. Hans Katzenjammer’s metamorphosis, the disappearance of his

brother, and the witch hunter’s burning of the family home figured largely in their

talk. No one so much as glanced in the direction of the two youngsters as they

slipped inside the stockade. Rudi shot a nervous glance at the watch post beside the

gate, but it was deserted, and the brazier burned low.

An eerie quiet hung over the streets as they moved towards the burgomeister’s

mansion, keeping to the narrowest of alleyways, and starting at every sound. But the

voices they heard were all behind shutters, the everyday utterances of rising villagers.

The only thing they disturbed along the way was the occasional rat.

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“How do we get in?” Hanna asked, once they were outside the familiar kitchen

door of the Steiner mansion. By way of reply Rudi shrugged. He knocked on it as

loudly as he could. Hanna jumped. “Are you mad?”

“I don’t think so.” For some reason the question intrigued him. “But if I was, do

you think I’d know?” Hanna gaped at him, unsure how to respond, but she was saved

from doing so by the rattling of bolts.

“Who is it?” The servant who had greeted him on his first visit to the mansion

glared resentfully through the opening gap, his livery rumpled. Recognition sparked

in his eyes after a moment. “Oh. It’s you.”

“I’ve a message for the burgomeister,” Rudi lied. He was vaguely surprised by

his recent aptitude for deceit. The servant yawned widely, and stood aside to admit

them.

“He’s in the parlour. You know the way.” He glanced at Hanna. “Who’s this?”

“She’s with me,” Rudi said. The servant looked from one to the other, clearly

drawing his own conclusions. He nodded to the girl.

“Wait here.” He slammed the door behind Rudi, cutting off Hanna’s indignant

protest, then motioned him along the familiar passage. Rudi fought down a flutter of

apprehension. Somehow the idea that Hanna would be with him when he faced

Gerhard’s most loyal ally had made the prospect less intimidating. Well, he’d just

have to do it as best he could alone. He squared his shoulders and marched into the

parlour.

It was empty. He glanced round, feeling deflated. The servant shrugged.

“He’ll be back soon.” He might have said more, but a thunderous knocking on the

front door made him turn his head with a sigh of exasperation. “Stay here. And if

that’s your girlfriend, Sigmar help the pair of you.”

“She’s not my…” Rudi began, but the man had already gone. Rudi hovered by

the parlour door. He eased it open a crack, and put his ear to it. Bolts rattled, and a

lock clicked, followed by a creak of hinges.

“Steiner. Where is he?” Rudi shuddered at the familiar voice. Gerhard was back

already! They must have wasted more time than they’d realised packing their

belongings and contemplating the burning cottage. When the servant replied his

voice was far more subdued and deferential than it had been.

“I’ll summon him at once, sir. If you’d care to wait in the parlour…” Rudi’s heart

blocked his throat for a moment.

“I would not.” Gerhard raised his voice for the first time Rudi could recall.

“Steiner! Get down here!”

“What? Who is that?” After a moment footsteps descended the main staircase,

echoing in the hallway. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Later than you think.” Gerhard’s voice resumed its normal volume. “Last night

we found evidence of a heretic cult in the forest, preparing for some hideous

blasphemy.”

“Dear Sigmar!” The burgomeister sounded as though someone had just told him

his waistcoat looked cheap. “They must be arrested, brought to justice…”

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“They’re beyond the reach of mortal justice now,” Gerhard said with grim

satisfaction. “But there may have been survivors. Anyone connected with those we

identified must be brought in for questioning. I have a list.”

“Of course.” Rudi heard a rustling of paper, as the burgomeister took the

document. His voice took on a tone of incredulity. “The Walder boy? Von

Blackenburg? Are you serious?”

“Completely,” Gerhard assured him. “The boy’s father and Von Blackenburg’s

servant were both there. The other names merit some investigation too, but the pair at

the top is our most pressing concern. They’ve been involved in this affair from the

beginning, and if their loyally is questionable they could have done untold harm.”

“You could say the same about me,” Steiner said, with rather more courage than

Rudi would have given him credit for. “Or Greta Reifenstal.”

“I have no evidence against you. For the moment that is sufficient. And the witch

is dead.”

“Dead?” Steiner practically gasped the word. “But I thought the accusations

against her daughter had been disproved.”

“They had been,” Gerhard conceded. “But when I visited her home last night I

found clear evidence of sorcery.” Once again Rudi found the image of the sigil

floating into his mind, accompanied by a vague feeling of revulsion. “There were

signs, and certain books. If you doubt me, your own militia will bear witness.”

“Of course I don’t doubt you.” Steiner’s voice had the level tone of a man

entering a state of shock. “You cut her down yourself?”

“She forced us from the house, and barred the door. We burned it down. She

couldn’t have survived.” Gerhard was as matter of fact about it as if he had been

commenting on the weather. “Her daughter’s name is also on the list.”

Rudi could wait no longer. He hurried to the window and sprung the latch,

thankful that Steiner was vain enough to display his wealth by putting glass in the

windows, and that the shutters had already been taken down for the day. He wriggled

through the narrow opening, and dropped to the ground outside.

“Rudi!” Hanna beckoned to him from the corner of the house. There was an

expression of relief on her face. “What happened?”

“Gerhard’s there.” This was not the time to tell her about Greta, he knew that. “I

had to sneak away before he saw me.”

“Something’s going on. Look.” Following her lead he peered cautiously round

the edge of the wall. The square was full of militiamen, Littman at their head. They

looked tired, but full of grim determination.

“We have to leave. Now.” He took her by the hand, and tried to pull her back

down the alley they’d come by.

“Why?” She looked at him challengingly, a trace of her former arrogance

returning. “What did you find out?”

“He has a list of people he wants arrested. We’re both on it, and so’s Magnus.”

“What about my mother?” The question took him by surprise, his expression was

all the answer she needed. Something seemed to crumple inside her. “Oh,” she said,

almost inaudibly.

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“We have to warn Magnus,” Rudi insisted. No matter what the danger might be

in doing so, he had to see him. The questions he desperately wanted answers to

crowded his mind for a moment, buzzing like flies, blotting out everything else.

“Yes. Of course.” Hanna nodded numbly. Her face had turned pure white. She

seemed to be responding purely by instinct, but at least that was something. Rudi

wondered for a moment how she’d be when the full truth of her mother’s death had

sunk in, but he shied away from the thought. He took her by the hand, and she

returned the grip, her knuckles white.

“Come on.” Ignoring the pain in his fingers, Rudi got her moving at last. If he

could just keep her distracted until they found safety, he felt they’d be all right. To

his relief she matched his pace, and they hurried down the street towards the

merchant’s house. “This way.”

He ducked into the side passage that led to the kitchen door Kirstin had shown

him out by a couple of days ago with a sensation of profound relief. They had only

been in the main street for a few score paces, but his shoulder blades had itched the

whole time. It would only have taken one of the assembled militiamen to glance in

their direction for their lives to be over, but luck or one of the gods had been with

them. Once he was sure they had remained unobserved, Rudi pounded on the back

door.

“The windows are still shuttered,” Hanna said. It was true. Rudi knocked again.

No sound came back to them but echoes. “He isn’t here.”

“He must be!” Rage and frustration seized him. He looked round frantically for

something to force the lock with. Maybe his knife…

“Listen!” Hanna grabbed his arm before he could do anything, her eyes panicky.

Running footsteps were approaching from down the street, lots of them. Someone

began pounding on the front door.

“Von Blackenburg! Open in the name of Sigmar!” Gerhard’s familiar voice

carried easily over the tumult even though it was no louder than usual. “Littman, take

some men and cover the back.”

“We have to get out of here!” Hanna insisted, her voice rising in pitch. She

tugged at his arm again. “Come on!”

For a moment Rudi resisted, the need for answers overriding every other impulse,

then his sense of self-preservation kicked in. He turned and pointed out a narrow gap

between a pair of adjacent buildings.

“Through here,” he said. Hanna shook her head.

“We’ll get stuck!”

“No we won’t.” He hoped they wouldn’t. But if they tried to run the approaching

militiamen would see them for sure. He took a deep breath and squeezed through, the

rough plaster and brickwork scraping his exposed flesh and catching at his clothing.

For a panic-stricken moment he thought Hanna had been right, that they’d be

immobilised, but he breathed in deeply and somehow got through; one arm stretched

out before him holding his bundle of possessions, and the other behind him clutching

his bow and the quiver of arrows. He breathed deeply again, weak-kneed from relief.

“Nothing to it.”

“So you say.” Hanna followed, her slighter frame squeezing through a little more

easily. They found themselves in the yard of a tanner’s shop, the smell of uncured

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hides rising around them in a reek they could cut with a knife. No one came out to

challenge them, so Rudi leant as close to the crack as he could, hoping to hear

something.

“No one here, sergeant,” someone called. Rudi’s mouth went dry as he realised

the narrowness of their escape. Littman had sent two groups of militiamen round the

back of Magnus’ house, one from each direction, so if he hadn’t remembered this

short cut from his childhood they would have been caught between them.

“Course not.” Though the old soldier was out of sight, Rudi could picture him

punctuating his conversation with a gobbet of saliva. Sure enough he continued after

a fractional pause. “He’s either dead or long gone.” A loud crash indicated that

someone had obtained entry. Hanna tugged at his arm.

“We have to go,” she insisted.

“Yes. I know.” Too numb to refuse, and not knowing what else to do, he started

running towards the village gates. Hanna kept pace with him easily, and they passed

through the gap in the stockade without being challenged. The rising babble of voices

behind them was attracting the interest of most of the citizens of Kohlstadt, so no one

had a thought to spare for the youth and girl that scuttled along in the shadows at the

edges of the streets.

After they made the open countryside they kept going, angling away from the

roads and any possible pursuit, slogging across fields and grazing land until the

village was no more than a tiny smudge on the horizon. Eventually their breath gave

out and they stopped on the banks of a small stream, gasping. They looked back to

see a thin trail of smoke rising behind them. Gerhard was consistent in his habits.

“What do we do now?” Hanna asked, cupping her hands to gulp at the cool, clear

water. Rudi tried to reply, but his labouring lungs could do nothing but pant. Even if

he could have formed words he was at a loss. The truth was he didn’t have the

faintest idea.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

By noon the last traces of Kohlstadt were well out of sight, and the fugitives settled

in the shade of a grove of trees to escape the heat of the sun. For want of any better

idea they’d followed the stream, so at least they’d have water to drink, but their

supply of food was still far from adequate. Rudi had spread out what food he’d

brought on his spare shirt the first time they stopped and been appalled at how little

there was: a chunk of bread, too hard to chew without being moistened with stream

water first, some cheese, which was beginning to smell a little too strong for comfort

in the summer heat, some dried meat, and a couple of apples. Barely a meal for one.

Hanna had sniffed suspiciously at the dried rabbit flesh to begin with, but

eventually hunger overcame her reluctance and she chewed at it with an air of grim

determination.

“Where are we going?” she asked at length. Rudi shrugged. He’d never been this

far from the village in his life, and he didn’t have a clue what lay ahead of them.

“Marienburg,” he said at last, the name of the city falling into his head as if from

nowhere. Hanna stared at him as though he’d gone mad.

“How on earth do you expect to survive in Marienburg? It’s full of thieves and

cut-throats, everyone knows that!” Everyone in Kohlstadt believed that anyway, and

perhaps they were right, but Rudi seized on the idea like a terrier with a rat.

“They can’t be any worse than Gerhard,” he pointed out. “And there are hundreds

of people there, maybe even a thousand.” For a lad whose idea of a bustling

metropolis was Kohlstadt, even this woefully inadequate estimate sounded

unimaginably huge. “We could hide there for weeks. Years even.”

“Assuming we’d want to.” Hanna wasn’t about to concede the point without

considering it carefully. “City people never wash, you know. The smell must be

appalling.”

“We’d get used to it.” Rudi thought for a moment. “Maybe we could pick some

flowers on the way in, to mask it a bit.”

“I suppose so.” Hanna regarded the cheese dubiously, then selected another piece

of dried rabbit as the lesser of two evils. Feeling he’d won the debate, Rudi nodded

sagely. Magnus had a house in Marienburg, he remembered. Maybe he had gone

there after fleeing from the beastmen in the forest. If so, he might be able to help

them and answer some of the questions which had tormented him since his father had

uttered those last enigmatic words. Hanna chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “So

where is Marienburg anyway?”

The question hit him like a face full of cold porridge. Somewhere to the east of

Kohlstadt he supposed, as that was the direction the carts and pack mules of the

merchants came from, but beyond that he didn’t have the faintest idea. Despite the

growling in his stomach he rewrapped the remaining food, wondering how long it

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would last, and took a deep draught of the stream water to help fill him up a little.

Water, at least, was limitless.

“We just have to keep following the stream,” he said, the realisation coming to

him on wings of welcome relief. “It must flow into the Reik eventually.” Hanna

nodded.

“Then we can follow the river downstream,” she agreed. “Maybe even hail a

boat. There must be trading vessels going up and down all the time.”

Hail the vessel. The words came back to him unbidden, and he shivered. Was that

what Magnus had meant? Find a boat to take him to Marienburg? He nodded, to

cover his confusion.

“It’s a plan, anyway,” he said.

With nothing more to detain them they set out again, deeper into the wilderness.

The constant chuckling of the water beside them was a pleasing note of comfort. The

land was sparse here, the clumps of trees few and far between, and the sun felt hot

and oppressive. Rudi felt exposed and uneasy, used as he was to the dim shade of the

forest.

The grass had grown to shin height, as there was no cattle to keep it down. This

made walking awkward, as it hid the small undulations in the ground so the pair

stumbled every few steps. After a while Hanna stopped to hitch up her skirt and tuck

the hem into her belt, exposing surprisingly thin calves. Rudi kept his eyes fixed on

the surrounding landscape, not quite sure if it was polite to have noticed or not.

“We’ll need to find somewhere to sleep soon,” Hanna said, as the sun began

sinking, lengthening their shadows before them. Rudi nodded, exhaustion fogging the

inside of his head. He hadn’t slept at all the previous night, and he doubted that

Hanna had either. So far they’d kept going on the energy of fear, but that would leave

them soon enough. He suspected that without rest and adequate food he would

collapse before very long.

“You’re right.” He narrowed his eyes, and held up a hand to shade them. A grove

of trees larger than the rest was visible some way ahead, and the stream disappeared

into it. “We’ll just go as far as that copse over there. Then we can make camp.”

“With what, exactly?” Hanna asked acidly, her eyes flickering between their two

tiny packs. Rudi shrugged.

“With whatever we’ve got,” he replied, determined not to let fatigue and emotion

drive a wedge between them. They might not have got on too well in the past, but

that was changing, and they needed each other now. Hanna snorted, but said nothing

more. She strode out determinedly, taking the lead.

They reached the patch of woodland as dusk was beginning to fall. Rudi was

pleased to note that it was more extensive than he’d realised. As they made their way

between the sheltering tree trunks he felt his spirits lift a little, and he took comfort

from the familiarity of the environment.

“This’ll do,” he said, breaking through into a small clearing. Hanna looked about

her with undisguised horror.

“Here?” She stared at the ground. “Where will we sleep?”

“Over there,” Rudi pointed. “That patch of moss. It’s springy. Surprisingly

comfortable.” Hanna peered through the gloom, clearly unconvinced.

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“It’s cold, too. I don’t suppose you picked up any blankets, did you?”

“No.” He couldn’t believe he’d left them behind. His shoulders sagged. “I’m

sorry, I…”

“Had other things on your mind. I know.” Hanna dropped her satchel and

collapsed on the patch of moss. “I didn’t think of it either,” she sniffed, wiping the

back of her hand across her eyes. “How did this happen to us? It’s not fair!”

“I know.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. “But we’ll get through this, I

promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Hanna looked up at him, her face a pale

blur in the darkness. Her eyes were deep pits of shadow, and for some reason Rudi

found himself shuddering. “But you’re right. We’ll survive and grow strong. We’ve

got something to live for.”

“We do?” Rudi had meant to sound affirming and supportive, but a treacherous

tone of confusion had entered his voice. Hanna nodded.

“Gerhard,” she said flatly.

“I never want to see him again,” Rudi replied. He had no doubt that the witch

hunter would be an implacable enemy, but the Empire was a big place, and if they

just kept moving they should be able to stay ahead of him. If they made it to

Marienburg they might even take a ship to another land entirely.

“I do,” Hanna said. Her voice took on a quality Rudi had never heard before. “I

don’t care how long it takes, but one day, when I’m ready, I’m going to find him and

kill him for what he did to my mother.”

Rudi didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Hanna lapsed into silence too.

After a long pause, during which the light faded even further, he cleared his throat.

“I’ve seen some rabbit droppings. I’m going to set a few snares before the light

goes.” Hanna didn’t respond. He persisted. “If you could find some firewood that

would be good.” She didn’t move or speak, so after a moment he added, “Fine then. I

won’t be long,” and left the clearing.

In truth he was longer than he expected. Finding the game paths in the unfamiliar

woodland took a little longer than he was used to, and his fingers, usually so

dextrous, fumbled with the snares. Hardly surprising, he supposed, under the

circumstances.

It was with a profound sense of relief that he returned to the clearing to find a fire

crackling cheerfully in a circle of stones. Hanna was toasting the remaining bread on

the point of a stick. She smiled wanly at him when he reappeared, and crouched

down beside the flickering flames.

“You’ve been busy,” he said. She nodded.

“Better than brooding, don’t you think?” The hunk of bread was turning crisp

now, filling the clearing with an appetising aroma. She spiked the cheese onto the

stick too, and it began to bubble and melt. He nodded, his mouth flooding with

saliva. “We need to split this up.”

“No problem.” Rudi reached into his pack for the knife, pushing aside his

tinderbox and the unused snares to reach it. “That smells good.”

“Better make the most of it.” She divided the food as evenly as she could, and

handed the weapon back to him. “There’s just dried meat and apples left now.”

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The heat had softened the bread, and warmed it beneath the toasted crust, and the

cheese, though strong, tasted better that way too. Even the faint taste of woodsmoke

made it more appetising. Rudi supposed pretty much anything would have tasted

good that night, given how empty his stomach was. The morsels disappeared in a

couple of bites, taking the edge off his hunger, reducing it to a dull, nagging

discomfort. After some consideration he cut one of the apples in half, and shared it

with Hanna. They even devoured the core and the pips.

By this time night had fallen completely, and the clearing was in darkness. The

light from the fire enclosed them in a little bubble of warm illumination. By

unspoken agreement they moved closer together until their shoulders touched, to

conserve their body heat. As the warmth of the food and the cosy pressure of Hanna’s

arm against him began to mingle with the drowsiness that comes from complete

exhaustion, Rudi felt a sense of unexpected well-being suffuse his body. Abruptly

Hanna yawned, and a moment later his own jaw gaped in response.

“We need to sleep,” she said.

“You’re right.” Rudi banked up the fire to a roaring blaze, which pushed the

circle of firelight out to the limits of the clearing. He looked at the remaining stock of

brushwood Hanna had collected. “Do you think this will last until the morning?”

“Easily,” she replied, rolling over onto the pad of moss, and pillowing her head

on her satchel. Rudi wasn’t so sure, but the thought of going to look for more seemed

an insuperable effort. He lay down beside her, their backs touching. He had made

sure his bow was next to his hand, with an arrow already nocked.

The night was long and uneasy. Unused to sleeping out of doors Hanna stirred

fretfully at every sound, which would jolt Rudi awake. Then she would lapse into

another light doze. Because he could identify most of the rustlings and scurryings

Rudi felt no sense of threat, but the makeshift mattress grew more uncomfortable as

the night wore on, so he tossed and turned uneasily for a while before drifting back

into slumber. On each occasion he opened his eyes to make sure the fire was still

burning, then he tried to settle again.

Once he woke at the sound of something unfamiliar; he was unable to place it.

Hanna, surprisingly, was still asleep. After straining his ears to pick up the elusive

sound over her snoring, he gave up. As he rested his head back on his arm it came

again, a faint ululation in the distance. His skin prickled. Wolves. But they were a

long way away, and surely no threat. Nevertheless he rose, and added more fuel to

the fire, before he dared settle again.

They woke at dawn, stiff, and more tired if anything than they were before they

slept. Rudi staggered to the stream and dunked his head in the cold water. The shock

of it jerked him back to full consciousness.

“Did you sleep well?” Hanna yawned, her eyes puffy with fatigue. She sat up.

“I’ve had better nights,” he admitted. She got to her feet, and began walking

towards the edge of the clearing. “Where are you going?”

“Where do you think?” she responded tartly, disappearing behind a large bush.

“Oh. Right.” Come to think of it, that seemed like a pretty good idea. He was just

glancing round for a bush of his own when he caught a flash of movement in the

corner of his eye. Slowly he turned, bringing whatever it was to the middle of his

field of vision.

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His blood turned the temperature of the stream water. Padding through the bushes

was the largest wolf he’d ever seen. Come to that it was the only one he’d seen that

wasn’t already dead. Feeling his eyes on it, the wolf raised its head, pulling back its

lips to reveal sharp white teeth. A low growl rumbled in its chest.

“Hanna!” His voice strangled in his throat. “Whatever you do, don’t move!”

“What?” she called, and the wolf’s head turned, its nostrils flaring. Rudi began to

inch back towards the patch of moss, and the bow he’d left there. The animal turned

back towards him, and he froze. Their eyes locked.

“What did you say?” Hanna called again, a tone of impatience entering her voice.

She began to emerge from the undergrowth. The wolf’s head snapped round again,

and it began to move forward.

“For the love of Sigmar!” Rudi began to run, hoping to distract it, but the wolf

had made up its mind and began loping towards Hanna. She ducked, picking up a

stone, and threw it. The makeshift missile flew wide, but the brief distraction it

afforded was all Rudi needed to pick up the bow. He drew it in a single fluid motion

and let fly in the general direction of the charging predator. With no time to even

consider aiming, and a moving target to shoot at to boot, he didn’t expect to come

close to it, but hoped vaguely that it might be intimidated into abandoning its attack.

To his astonishment the wolf yelped and pitched forward, tumbling like an

inelegant furry acrobat to land close to Hanna’s feet. She gazed at the spasming

animal with horror, relief, and revulsion. His arrow had transfixed its neck and

punched through the major artery. A bright spray of blood dappled the green leaves

of the bushes and trees.

“Thank you.” She hurried away from it, her face white with shock. “I had no idea

you could shoot like that.”

“Neither did I.” He nocked another shaft and advanced cautiously. So that’s what

Gunther had tried so hard to teach him. The shot had seemed so fluid and natural, in

total contrast to the ones he’d taken when he concentrated. The wolf was barely

breathing now, its lifeblood all but drained, so he returned the second arrow to its

quiver.

“What are you going to do?” Hanna asked, as he put the weapon down and took

his knife out of his pack.

“I’m going to skin it.” The animal had stopped moving altogether now and its

eyes had become filmy. As he watched a final breath ripped from its body, and after

one final shudder it was still. “There’s a bounty on wolf pelts, remember?”

“And you’re going to march up to a magistrate and say, ‘I’m a fugitive wanted

for heresy. By the way here’s a wolf pelt can I have my five coppers please?’”

Despite her tone she had a point, he supposed. He shrugged.

“Maybe we can trade it for something.”

“Maybe,” Hanna conceded. Her tone became a little more conciliatory. “Sorry,

I’m always a bit cranky before breakfast. Even more so when an overgrown

hearthrug tries to bite my face off.”

“That’s all right,” Rudi replied, approaching the corpse. Something caught his

eye, and he motioned the girl forward. “What do you make of this?”

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“I don’t know.” She craned her neck to look, without getting any closer than she

needed to. “It looks like something’s been tied to it.”

“That’s what I thought.” Rudi turned the creature over, finding it larger and

heavier than he’d expected. It was almost as long as he was tall, so he had to exert all

of his strength to move it. Something had been tied to the wolfs back with stout

cords, a long thin tubular package. “It looks like a bedroll…” He cut the cords, and

unrolled a couple of blankets of no discernable colour which smelled rank and sour.

“That’s ridiculous.” Hanna stared at them incredulously. “Who on earth would tie

a bedroll to a wolf?”

“Its rider,” Rudi said, vividly remembering some of Littman’s tavern tales. “A

goblin.”

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

Skinning the dead wolf took a lot longer than Rudi had anticipated. He knew what to

do, but the carcass was far larger than anything he’d ever handled before. By the time

he was finished he was sweating from the exertion, and his arms were caked in blood

up to the elbows. He rolled the heavy pelt into the stream to get it as clean as

possible, and jumped in after it.

“Hey!” Hanna flinched away from the splash, and wiped the sprinkling of water

from her face. “Watch what you’re doing!” She was teasing rather than reproving

though, and she watched him scrub the gore from his skin with an expression of

tolerant amusement. “Do you always take a bath with your clothes on?”

“Saves time with the laundry,” Rudi replied, ducking his head under the fast-

flowing water. He shook his head, which forced her to retreat from the shower with

another squeal of exasperation. “Besides, there’s your reputation to consider.”

“How very gallant.” The light tone left her voice. “Although there’s precious

little of that left now.”

“Only in Kohlstadt.” Rudi gestured expansively at the landscape surrounding

them. “And it’s a big world. Gerhard and his lies won’t travel far.”

“I hope so.” Hanna went back to scrubbing the blankets they’d taken from the

wolf. They looked no cleaner than before, but at least the smell was less noticeable.

Rudi waded out of the water, and retrieved his pack.

“I won’t be a moment,” he said, finding a bush to hide behind. He stripped off the

sodden shirt and breeches, and exchanged them for the clean ones from his pack. He

felt invigorated for the first time in days.

“That’s as good as they’re going to get.” Hanna eyed the blankets critically, and

hung them over a branch next to the fire. It had burned low during the night, but the

core of embers still glowed, throwing out a fair amount of heat. Rudi hung his wet

clothes next to them, and retrieved the pelt.

“You should take a swim,” he suggested. “Freshen up a bit…”

“So you can get a good eyeful?” Hanna asked scornfully. “I don’t think so. I saw

you staring at my legs yesterday.”

“I wasn’t!” The unfairness of the accusation threw him completely. “I just

meant…” He shrugged, at a loss for words. “Do what you like. I’m going to check

the snares.”

He strode off, seething, his momentary flash of contentment now a distant

memory. The girl was impossible! Perhaps when they reached Marienburg they

should go their separate ways. It wasn’t as if they had anything in common, really,

beyond their immediate predicament.

His mood improved a little when he discovered that three of the snares held

rabbits; the second was still twitching. He snapped its neck before retrieving the

simple trap and returning it to the pouch on his belt. The familiarity of the routine

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was comforting, and by the time he returned to the makeshift campsite with the

coneys hanging from their accustomed place at his side he was almost cheerful again.

“How did you do?” Hanna asked. Her hair was damp, but he refrained from any

pointed comments about her bathing in his absence, mainly because he couldn’t think

of any. He held out the furry corpses.

“Well enough. These will last a couple of days if we cook them first.” He began

skinning them, and spilled their little cargo of entrails into the fire where they hissed

and popped.

“Good.” Hanna indicated a small cloth-wrapped bundle. “I found a few edible

plants too. Not exactly a banquet, but at least we won’t starve.”

The odour of cooking meat was almost a torture to Rudi’s empty stomach, but

after what seemed like a lifetime the rabbits were done, and the two companions tore

into them with an enthusiasm which would have drawn a sharp intake of breath

around most of the dinner tables of Kohlstadt. Rudi gave up the idea of rationing for

the time being; there were plenty more rabbits where these had come from and they

had a lot of hard walking ahead of them. It was best to replenish as much energy as

they could.

Soon their stomachs were comfortably full for the first time since fleeing the

village and they still had the third rabbit left for later. They gathered their possessions

together and set out along the stream again. By this time the morning was well

advanced, but there seemed no point in hurrying. Rudi was acutely aware that for the

first time in his life he was travelling through terrain he didn’t know, so he was

determined to be cautious. After all, the wolf came from somewhere, so it was a

reasonable guess that its rider would be somewhere in the vicinity too.

They reached the far border of the patch of woodland without further incident,

shortly after the sun had passed its zenith and was casting shadows behind and to the

left of them rather than ahead.

Rudi hesitated, looking out over what seemed like miles of open moor. The

stream still hurried on beside them, disappearing into the distance, a thread of silver

among the greens, browns, and occasional patches of vivid purple, white, or yellow

wildflowers. Though he knew they had to go on, he felt uneasy with the unfamiliar

terrain.

“It’s beautiful,” Hanna said beside him. Rudi glanced at her, surprised, and then

back at the scene of desolation before them. It had a kind of grandeur, he supposed,

but the open sky, speckled with a few wisps of cloud, seemed huge and threatening.

“We’d better take some firewood with us,” he said. “No telling what’s out there

to burn.”

“Looks like plenty of brush and scrub,” Hanna said, but not forcefully enough to

constitute a serious difference of opinion. “Might be a good idea to take a few logs

with us if we can find some.”

They turned aside from the bank and moved off a little deeper into the wood,

paralleling the boundary of the copse. Out here on the fringes the going was easy,

and Rudi was surprised at how little brushwood was left lying on the ground.

“You’d think we’d have found more than this,” Hanna said after some time,

staring at the meagre collection of sticks they’d managed to amass.

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“Someone’s been here ahead of us,” Rudi said. He pointed to a booted footprint.

“Picked the area clean.”

“There must have been quite a few of them,” Hanna said quietly. Rudi nodded.

“I think we’d better go.” The more he looked the more footprints he could see,

milling around in confusion, until it was impossible to tell which direction they’d

approached or left from. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. That meant

whichever path they chose to take ran an equal risk of running into whoever had left

them. Or whatever… There was something about the size and spacing of the prints

that wasn’t quite right. A few moments later his suspicions were confirmed by the

impression of a large canine footpad. “I think these are goblin tracks.”

“You think?” Hanna asked, a little nervously. “Don’t you know?”

“I’ve never seen any before,” Rudi replied, trying to keep his voice low. His

father had spoken about goblins and their habits a few times, and Littman had been

full of stories about the ones he’d battled, but try as he might he couldn’t recall much

useful information. They were slightly smaller than humans on average, he

remembered, but vicious and cunning. They preferred to rely on ambush or vastly

superior numbers when facing a foe.

He turned to scan the undergrowth. He could see countless places to conceal

himself without much difficulty. Then he calculated that the number of tracks

indicated a fair-sized warband, a dozen of the creatures at least.

A stronger patch of sunlight indicated the direction of the forest’s edge, and he

began to move towards it. Hanna followed. The main thing, he thought, is to get out

of the trees. Goblins didn’t like direct sunlight, they preferred to lurk in the dark

places, so they ought to be safe from pursuit if they got onto the open moor. They

could pick up the stream once they were beyond the tree line…

“What’s that?” Hanna pointed at a strange lump lying ahead of them, dappled by

the shadows of the leaves overhead. It looked like a diseased plant growth of some

kind, or a rotting log, but as they moved closer Rudi got a clearer look at it and froze.

“Wait.” He held out an arm to bar her way, momentarily distracted by the

sensation of something soft and yielding as she walked into it. Ignoring her faint

annoyed sigh he focussed on the thing on the pathway ahead of them. The colours

had fooled him for a moment but now his sight had adjusted, and he could clearly

make out the shape of a head and arm sprawled out on the dirt, the dark green of the

flesh blending into the mud-brown tunic and trews the thing wore. “It’s a goblin!”

“Is it dead?” Hanna asked, craning her neck to see. Rudi shrugged, and fitted an

arrow into his bow. Killing the wolf had boosted his confidence with the weapon. He

really ought to be able to hit a stationary target from this close.

He drew and loosed in one fluid motion, and almost against his expectation the

shaft thudded home in the goblin’s torso. The body shuddered briefly from the

impact then lay still, instead of spasming and shrieking like a live target would. It

hadn’t been shamming then, hoping to lure them closer before launching an attack.

“I think so,” he said laconically, amused at the girl’s expression. He nocked

another shaft before advancing. Even though it had genuinely been dead there could

be others lurking in ambush, using the corpse as bait in a trap. With his ears straining

for any tell-tale rustling in the undergrowth he crept forward until he was standing

above the cadaver.

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Up close it was even more hideous than he’d imagined. A large head with a

flattened nose and a wide drooling mouth was attached to a scrawny body. Had it

been standing, the skull would have appeared too large for the torso supporting it.

Sharp teeth, more like fangs or tusks, were revealed by the drooping lips, slack now

in death. With a grimace of disgust he bent to retrieve his arrow.

“And I thought its blanket smelled bad.”

“What killed it?” Hanna asked, walking up to him, and looking down at it

curiously. “Some kind of animal?”

“I can’t see any tracks,” Rudi said, his sense of foreboding returning stronger

than ever. The only footprints he could see in the carpet of loam were their own, and

the goblin’s. Judging by the spacing, and the length of the creature’s legs, it had been

running when it died. He looked at the body again. There was a dark discolouration

on its back and its tunic was charred. As he bent closer there was the unmistakable

smell of burned flesh.

“Sorcery,” Hanna said, making the sign of the dove. Rudi looked hard at her, and

she flushed. “What else could it be?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He was going to regret asking this, he knew, but…

“Does anything seem familiar about it?”

“What’s that supposed to imply?” Hanna snapped, and he took an instinctive step

backwards.

“Nothing! I just thought… Well, you can read.” The thought came from nowhere,

the perfect way to mollify her. “You must know a lot of things. Stuff I’ve never even

heard about.” A faint part of his mind remembered Gerhard’s words about Greta.

There were certain books. He wondered if Hanna had read them too, or had even

been aware of their existence.

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Her tone was still waspish, but less defensive. “There are

some colleges of magic which use fire as a weapon. I imagine the effects would be

something like this.”

“So we might be dealing with a wizard.” The thought was hardly comforting. He

remembered a band of roving adventurers who had wandered through Kohlstadt a

year or so before, and spent the night at the tavern. One of them had been a wizard, a

thin, pale-faced young man who’d said very little, but somehow seemed more

dangerous than all his heavily armed companions put together. The largest and most

belligerent of the group, who’d been trying to pick a fight with Big Franz, had sat

down and shut up after the young man had said a few quiet words and had seemed

positively nervous for the rest of the evening.

“Maybe.” The thought seemed to interest Hanna. “At least we wouldn’t have

much to worry about then.”

“Why not?” Rudi asked, not caring how naive the question made him look.

Hanna gave him a pitying glance.

“Because the only sort of wizard likely to be wandering around the back end of

nowhere killing goblins would be part of a mercenary group. We’d be safe enough

with them.”

“Unless they heard we were wanted for heresy,” Rudi pointed out mildly. Hanna

flushed, turning the body over with her foot, and unnecessary vigour. “What are you

doing?”

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“Just seeing if there’s anything we’re missing,” Hanna said, but the dead goblin

looked even more repulsive lying on its back. For the life of him Rudi couldn’t

understand what she was getting at. After a moment she turned away and headed for

the light at the edge of the woodland.

Rudi watched her go, nonplussed for a second. Then he hurried after her, trotting

to keep up. He’d almost reached her elbow when she stopped suddenly.

“Shallya’s mercy!” There was no need to ask what had shocked her so

profoundly. Ahead of them was a clearing littered with corpses like the one they’d

just seen, but this time there was no doubt as to what had killed the greenskins. Raw,

bloody wounds marked their corpses, where they’d been hacked, slashed, or

bludgeoned to death. Some bore the unmistakable stigmata of claw or fang, others

seemed to have simply been ripped apart. “What could have done something like

this?”

Rudi had a terrible suspicion he knew. Sure enough, as they picked their way

across that churned and bloody ground, he began to pick out the prints of cloven

hooves.

“Beastmen,” he said. He glanced around, looking for some sign to confirm it, like

the shaggy corpses in the glade where his father had died, but if the goblins had

managed to kill any of their assailants the marauders had taken the bodies with them.

So they’d probably got away with no casualties, he thought, as beastmen didn’t seem

to be sentimental.

“Do you think they followed us?” Hanna asked, her face ashen. Rudi shook his

head.

“Why would they?” he asked reasonably. “They’ve obviously passed through

here ahead of us anyway.” Another thought occurred to him. “That’s assuming

they’re the same warband.”

“Oh come on!” Hanna was scornful. “We haven’t had a beastman incursion

around here in decades, and now two warbands turn up at the same time?”

“It’s possible,” Rudi said. Then he shrugged. “So long as they stay out of our way

I don’t really care.”

“Come to that, neither do I.” Hanna squared her shoulders and started walking

again. She picked her way fastidiously through the corpses. Rudi followed, keeping a

little tension in the bowstring, ready to draw and shoot at the first sign of movement,

but none came.

As they left the shelter of the trees and he felt the warmth of the sun on his face a

faint sigh escaped him. It struck him how tightly his body had been wound. Hanna

glanced back into the shade behind them with undisguised relief.

“I think we should get as far away from here as possible before night comes,” she

said. Rudi nodded, and returned the arrow to his quiver.

“I think the stream’s that way.” They angled away from the stand of trees rather

than following it back to the water, so it was some time before they had the

comforting torrent of water at their side again. It was only then, as he watched a twig

whirling past on the current, that Rudi realised they hadn’t remembered to pick up

any firewood after all.

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CHAPTER TWENTY

As the hours wore on Rudi grew accustomed to the new landscape, so that the sense

of impending danger he’d felt at first had diminished. There seemed little danger of

enemies approaching unobserved across the bleak and open moor. Hanna, on the

other hand, seemed enchanted with the place. It was so different to any environment

she’d ever seen before. She kept stopping to look at some plant or other with

comments he didn’t understand about their potential medicinal properties. A few she

picked, and tucked away in her satchel for later.

One plant they could both have done without was the ubiquitous bracken, which

snagged at their clothes, a constant irritation. Rudi at least had the protection of his

breeches, their stout fabric chosen for its resistance to the similar hazards of the

forest, but Hanna’s skirt was a light summer weave and hardly any use at all in this

regard. Before long her calves were covered in small scratches, which she ignored

stoically. Time and again she had to pause to shake some small piece of detritus from

her shoe.

Despite the discomfort she was determined to remain cheerful. She made bright

remarks about the warmth of the sun and the pleasantness of the sweet-smelling

breeze as though they were simply out for a summer stroll. She even picked a sprig

of vivid purple heather, a colour Rudi had never imagined a plant could be, and

tucked it behind her ear, where it somehow seemed to accentuate the colour of her

hair.

Gradually the stream picked up its pace and widened a little, but there was still no

sign of the river Rudi hoped it would lead them to. He had only the vaguest idea of

what the Reik would look like. He was unable to imagine a stretch of open water so

wide you could barely see the other bank, but he was pretty sure it would be hard to

miss.

“Isn’t east that way?” Hanna asked, shortly after noon. They’d paused to eat

some of the cold rabbit, with their backs against a large moss-covered rock which

had absorbed the pleasant summer heat. She gestured to their left, where the shadows

had begun to lengthen.

Rudi nodded, trying to seem blasé. He’d been beginning to wonder that himself,

but it had been hard to be sure with the sun almost directly overhead.

“I think so,” he said, taking another bite of rabbit to try and seem calm. “The

stream seems to be flowing south now.”

“Perhaps we should strike across country, then,” Hanna suggested. Rudi shook

his head.

“We’ve nothing to carry any water in,” he pointed out. “And the stream’s bound

to reach the river eventually.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Hanna said, seeming relieved at this observation. Rudi

suspected she was as reluctant to leave the security of the watercourse as he was.

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Over the last couple of days it had become a familiar presence in their lives, almost

the only thing they had left which gave them any sense of stability.

By nightfall it remained pointing resolutely to the south, and Rudi was beginning

to think it had even turned westward a little. He pushed the thought from his mind as

best he could, and began looking for a place to make camp.

In the end they’d had to settle for a hollow in the ground, which at least sheltered

them from the worst of the increasingly chill wind. They managed to find enough

stones before the light went to fashion a functional fire pit. Rudi collected as much of

the dry scrub as he could find, piled it up carefully, and took the precious tinderbox

from his pack.

He was unable to coax a spark from the flint and steel sufficient to start a flame,

and his mood darkened with the lowering sky. It was dusk already, and without a fire

they faced a bleak night at best. At worst they would be left at the mercy of whatever

predators roamed this strange wilderness.

“Let me try,” Hanna said, stretching out a hand for it. “If you’re going to set

some snares you’d better do it while there’s still some daylight left.” Rudi acquiesced

grudgingly, his hurt pride eventually displaced by logic. He moved away from the

makeshift camp. There was no point setting traps where the rabbits could get wind of

them. At least the rabbits seemed to be abundant in this wilderness, there were plenty

of signs of their presence, and so they should be able to replenish their meagre store

of food.

Not that it would do them much good without a fire to cook the carcasses with, of

course…

Despite his forebodings, however, he was greeted by a cheerful blaze when he

returned to the makeshift camp.

“You’ve obviously got a knack for this sort of thing,” he said, trying not to sound

grudging. Hanna smiled; the first spontaneous expression of happiness he’d seen on

her face since they’d fled from Kohlstadt.

“It wouldn’t make any difference without your foraging skills,” she said,

returning the compliment.

The night passed uneventfully, despite his wariness, and the following day was

almost a repeat of the previous one. The stream continued to grow in strength and

volume, drawing them onwards despite its increased deviation from the direction

they assumed both the river and the city they sought lay in.

“It’s no bad thing,” Rudi said, as they made their way through a narrow defile

along the banks of a sudden display of rapids. “If anyone was trying to follow us

they’d be leagues away by now.”

“Good thing too,” Hanna added, hopping over a small cleft in the underlying

rock.

That night they found a section of broken stone wall and slept in its lee, grateful

for the shelter it afforded against the wind. This time Rudi didn’t even try to make a

fire, he just left Hanna to it and went off to set his snares again, completely confident

that she would have kindled a flame before he got back.

Morrslieb was waning now and Mannslieb growing fuller, so the night, if

anything, was a little darker than it had been, but what light there was seemed purer,

less corrupt. Rudi sat with his back to the wall, wondering who had shaped these

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stones and what had happened to them. Something akin to the Altmans’ fate, he

supposed, but whatever it was, it had happened a long time ago. There were no signs

that anything bigger than a fox had been here in decades. But the presence of the wall

meant they were getting nearer to civilisation.

The thought was both encouraging and alarming. They might be approaching

Marienburg, or some way of getting there, but civilisation meant people. And that

could mean enemies.

He listened to Hanna’s regular breathing, and watched the faint rise and fall of

her malodorous blanket in the moonlight. He yawned. Time enough to worry about

Gerhard and whoever else he might have sent after them in the morning.

The dawn woke them as it always did, and Rudi went off to check his traps. Two of

them were full. He hung the little bodies on his belt as usual, conscious that he was

getting into the swing of a routine. True, their diet was getting a little monotonous,

but at least they were in no danger of starving and he was sure the mounting

collection of rabbit pelts would be worth a copper or two when they found

somewhere to trade with them.

As the sun rose he was able to see more of their immediate surroundings finding

his guess about the wall they’d sheltered behind was more or less accurate. It had

once marked the boundary of a field, the shape of which could still be discerned

sketched in clumps of tumbled rubble. Curious he walked on, towards the far

boundary, wondering if any other signs of habitation remained. Clearly this had once

been a well-tended smallholding, carefully sited to take advantage of the water

supply afforded by the stream.

His guess was confirmed as he reached the far edge of the old field. A few

scattered carrot tops waved defiantly above the encroaching bracken, which had all

but reclaimed them. He stooped to pull a few as he passed. They were stunted,

misshapen things, but they were edible, and he was sure Hanna would welcome the

change in their diet.

“Hanna!” he called, waving to attract her attention as a flash of blonde hair

popped up above the now-distant wall. “Look at this!” He waited until she’d

scrambled over it, and had started trotting towards him, before returning his attention

to the ruins of the cottage he’d found.

Despite his gloomy impressions of the previous night, it was clear that it was

neglect rather than violence that had killed this place. The remains of the roof thatch

lay tumbled across the floor, but most of the walls were still intact. The wood of the

window frames had succumbed to rot for the most part, and the door hung crooked

from a single hinge, which gave way as he pushed gently at it. The slab of boards fell

to the ground with a crack like a falling tree branch as it split into several sections,

the wood dry and powdery within.

“Is it safe?” Hanna asked, materialising at his elbow. Her cheeks were flushed

from running, and she smelled pleasantly of light perspiration and the plants she’d

crushed on her journey.

“I don’t know,” Rudi replied, edging inside. The stonework was slick with

mildew, and a couple of roof timbers lay on the ground inside. Where the floor had

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been the ubiquitous bracken had seeded itself, so everything felt faintly springy

underfoot.

“Is there anything here we can use?” Hanna wondered, venturing in after him.

Rudi glanced around.

“I doubt it.” Other scavengers had obviously been here before them, and taken

anything worth having. A few broken boards, half buried in the encroaching scrub,

hinted at long-decayed shelves or furnishings, but anything they’d held was long

gone. Hanna nodded, reluctantly.

“Best eat and get going, then.”

“I suppose so.” Rudi followed her outside, and took a last look around. “Do you

see that?”

“See what?” She followed his pointing finger with her gaze, and shrugged. Rudi

walked a few paces to confirm his guess, and nodded.

“There’s a track here. Or was, at least.” The bracken here was different; it was

shorter and patchier, marking a line across the moorland he could follow quite easily.

“It must lead somewhere.”

“You said that about the stream,” Hanna reminded him. Rudi nodded.

“I suppose so. But there might be a village or something that way.” He pointed.

“We could trade the pelts, and ask for directions.”

“Or get arrested as heretics…” Hanna finished.

“I suppose you’re right,” Rudi conceded. “But we have to risk it some time.”

They continued debating the point over breakfast. The carrots, once washed free

of soil in the stream, were sweet and crunchy, a delightful change in their diet which

both companions relished. Living almost entirely on meat wasn’t the best of ideas,

Hanna said, going into some detail about the various imbalances of the humours

which were likely to result. Rudi wasn’t exactly sure what humours were, but he

didn’t like the sound of them at all.

At length they gathered up their packs and, after pulling up all the carrots they

could readily find, they set off along the stream bank again. The trail from the

abandoned farm, though tempting, was too much of an unknown quantity to risk. It

was better, they agreed, to stick to the watercourse, and hope that when it finally

brought them close to an inhabited area it would be far enough from Kohlstadt for no

one to have heard of Gerhard’s arrest warrant.

“After all,” Hanna pointed out, “this can’t be the only farmstead to have used the

stream for irrigation.”

At first, as they plodded along, Rudi wondered if it was just his imagination, but

after a while he was sure of it; the water was flowing faster than before.

“We must be going downhill,” Hanna said, evidently noticing the phenomenon

too. Rudi nodded.

“Perhaps we’re getting nearer the river.” A thin mist of white vapour became

visible over the next undulation in the moor, around which the stream curved ahead

of them. Rudi broke into a trot, eager to see if he was right. Hanna watched him go

with an expression of amused tolerance for a moment then hurried up too. As they

began to round the hillock, Rudi became aware of a low, bass rumbling, like distant

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thunder. He looked up expectantly, but the sky was the same rich blue it had been all

summer, the only clouds visible faint skeins of white, like floating feathers.

“Look out!” Hanna grabbed his arm just as his foot slipped on a spray-slick rock.

He fell back hard against unyielding stone, the breath driven painfully from his body.

“What did you do that for?” he snapped, rising onto a throbbing knee, and glaring

at her. Hanna simply gestured behind him.

Rudi turned, and gasped, his ill temper falling away like the waters below him.

The stream had vanished into a gaping hole in the ground, a dark mouth that

swallowed it as though it had never been. If Hanna hadn’t been so quick he would

have tumbled into it, and been lost forever.

“What on earth is that?” he asked, stunned. He’d never dreamed that water could

do anything like this. It soaked into the ground of course, but that was in a slow and

orderly fashion. Hanna looked equally mystified.

“I’ve no idea,” she said. “Maybe there’s a cave down there or something.”

For a moment Rudi found himself contemplating ways of climbing down the rock

walls confining the torrent, and continuing to follow it. But there was no point in

even thinking about it. It would be suicide to try, and even if they survived the

descent there was no guarantee that the watercourse would ever surface again.

“What do we do now?” Hanna said, evidently coming to the same conclusion.

Rudi shrugged.

“We’ll have to go back, and try the path.” Briefly he considered the possibility of

continuing across the moor in the same direction and hoping to find where the stream

emerged, if it ever did. But he dismissed the idea at once. They’d get lost for certain,

and there was no guarantee that they’d ever find their way back to civilisation. And

Marienburg would be getting further away than ever.

“I think you’re right,” Hanna agreed, but her tone was enough to tell him how

little she liked the idea.

They made it back to the abandoned farmstead shortly after noon, and sat by the

ashes of their campfire to eat with a curious sense of futility. Afterwards they set out

along the overgrown track with a renewed sense of trepidation. Rudi knew it was

foolish to feel disappointed, as though the stream had betrayed them somehow, but

he resolved to heed the lesson nevertheless. From now on nothing could be relied on.

His tracking skills picked out the old path easily, and they followed it for some

time without incident. It meandered across the moor, taking the line of least effort.

He began to realise that it must once have been wide enough for a horse-drawn cart

to negotiate. That implied that wherever they were going had a market, or access to

one.

The longer they walked, the more desultory became their conversation. Their

apprehension increased with every step. When they did speak it was to express some

fear about where they were going, or to suggest some plan to cope with that

contingency. Both of them became convinced that the track would lead to the heart of

a bustling village, and that the population would instantly recognise them.

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So when it came to an end at last, and the two fugitives found themselves

standing on a wide road of hard-packed earth without a soul in sight, it was hard not

to feel a sense of anti-climax.

“Which way do you think?” Rudi asked, glancing up and down it. It seemed to be

running roughly northeast to southwest, and there was no clue as to what lay in either

direction.

“That way.” Hanna looked up from a curiously shaped stone a few yards away,

and gestured southwest. Rudi pointed in the other direction.

“Marienburg should be that way.”

“Well Kohlstadt definitely is.” Now he was closer to her, he could see that Hanna

was pointing to letters chiselled into the stone. “See?” She indicated a line of them,

which presumably spelled out the name of the village, next to an arrow pointing in

the direction he’d indicated. Rudi nodded, silently appalled at his naivety. Unable to

read the warning, he would have set off directly into the arms of their enemy.

“What does the other one say?” he asked, once again forcibly reminded of the

advantages of literacy.

“Kallcaat,” Hanna said instantly. “No indication of how far that is, though.”

“I think I’ve heard of it.” The name sounded vaguely familiar, and after a

moment he remembered Magnus mentioning it once. Something to do with a barge

he was chartering. “I think there’s a wharf there.”

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Hanna said, starting to walk in the

direction of the arrow. After a moment Rudi fell into step beside her. Things were

definitely looking up, he thought. If Kallcaat had a wharf then they could get passage

on a riverboat there, and be in Marienburg in no time. To his vague surprise he found

himself smiling.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

After the rigours of trekking through the wilderness the sheer ease of walking along

the open road left Rudi pleasantly surprised. Conscious of their status as fugitives he

kept a wary eye out for other travellers, but they were to be few and far between. In

the remaining hours of daylight they encountered a small party of peasants who

gazed at them with wary suspicion and a taciturn nod of greeting, a cart full of dung

driven by an old man who looked and smelled as though he’d been sleeping in the

stuff, and a distant cloud of dust which resolved itself into a fast-moving coach

drawn by a team of horses.

The coach bore down on them with frightening speed, and Rudi watched it

approach almost transfixed. He’d never seen anything like it before, and the

pounding of the hooves and the rattling of the wheels seemed to fill the air like

thunder.

“Get out of the way!” Hanna grabbed his arm and yanked him aside, seeking

refuge on the springy grass of the verge. The equipage whirled past in a blur of

equine limbs, varnished wood, and brightly-liveried coachmen, leaving them choking

in the cloud of displaced dust which settled slowly back to the road in its wake. Rudi

watched it disappear in the direction of Kallcaat, his mouth agape.

“That must have been a nobleman,” he said at last. “Maybe even the Emperor

himself!” Hanna laughed.

“It was the overland coach from Marienburg to Altdorf,” she said. “It said so on

the side.”

They walked until the sun began to drop below the horizon, staining the sky the

colour of blood. Then Rudi began to look for a suitable place to camp alongside the

road. They would have stood more chance of finding a refuge away from the

carriageway, but by now the light was fading so fast that it was barely possible to see.

He cursed himself for not thinking about it earlier. That was the trouble with roads,

he supposed, they made the going so easy you lost touch with the natural world

around you.

“Can you hear that?” Hanna asked, cocking her head. Rudi strained his own ears,

conscious now of a vague murmur in the distance that was barely audible above the

faint wind and the sound of his own blood circulating.

“I think so.” He nodded, and resumed walking. No doubt they’d find out what it

was soon enough.

Shortly afterwards they spotted a light ahead, the welcoming yellow glow of

candles and hearth fires, and the sound had swelled to the hum of human activity.

More than that, the wind was now carrying the mouth-flooding odour of roasting

meat, mixed with a hint of horse dung and leather.

“We’re coming to a village,” Rudi said, his steps slowing. Hanna shook her head,

the gesture nothing but a faint blur of pale face and blonde hair in the darkness.

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“I don’t think so. There’s not enough light for that.”

“What then?” Rudi asked. The girl shrugged.

“Who cares? So long as they don’t know who we are.”

Despite their trepidation the two travellers began walking towards the glow.

There was nowhere else to go in any case. Rudi found his palms beginning to sweat,

and spoke a little too loudly to mask his nervousness.

“If they don’t, we might be able to trade the pelts. Make a bit of money.”

“Maybe.” Hanna’s attention was on a board fastened to a wooden pole driven into

the ground at the side of the road. Just beyond it was a large building, at least as big

as Steiner’s mansion. Two wings jutted from it to enclose a courtyard. Rudi found his

heart hammering more loudly than ever. Whoever lived here must be rich and

powerful. Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to come to their attention at all. “There must

be all sorts passing through a place like this.”

Rudi looked at the sign, which depicted a severe looking cleric of Sigmar hoisting

a tankard of ale with what the artist had evidently intended to be either an expression

of hearty good cheer or acute indigestion. The penny dropped.

“It’s a tavern!” Far larger than Johannes’ establishment in Kohlstadt, but he was

beginning to realise that the world was a bigger place than he’d imagined, and so it

was not surprising that much in it was on a correspondingly vast scale. Hanna

nodded, and read the lettering under the picture out loud for him, tactful enough to

pretend to be merely confirming the remark.

“The folly Friar. It must be a coaching inn.” Before he could reveal his ignorance

by asking what the distinction was, she went on. “There’s a chain of them all along

the main highways, where travellers can rest for the night.”

“Then that’ll do us,” Rudi said decisively. He fingered the small pouch of coins

in his pack. “I’ve got money.”

“If you’re sure.” Hanna was clearly torn between caution, and the aroma of good

food and the promise of a warm bed. “It’s all we’ve got remember. We shouldn’t

squander it.”

“There’s plenty,” Rudi reassured her, hoping he was right. “And we’ve got the

skins to sell.”

“All right.” Hanna agreed. “Let’s go in.”

They passed almost unnoticed through the courtyard. The hard-packed earth of

the road gave way to cobblestones which felt hard underfoot, and sparked against the

iron shoes of the horses being led about by ostlers. The coach that had passed them

earlier was standing to one side, its traces empty. Flaring sconces lit the enclosed

space, pushing back the darkness and intensifying it at the same time.

The main bulk of the inn lay ahead of them, the wings enclosing the courtyard

turning out to be stables and storage blocks. Rudi felt his heart sinking with every

step they took towards it. It was even bigger than he’d thought at first, and the babble

of dozens of voices was filtering through the windows. They held the unmistakable

sheen of glass, which meant that this was a prosperous establishment, so his limited

supply of pennies might not go as far as he’d hoped. For a moment he was on the

verge of turning away, but that would mean disappointing Hanna, and he was

surprised to find that the thought of doing that was far more painful than any

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alternative. Besides, he’d fought wolves and beastmen; how intimidating could a

tavern full of humans be by comparison?

The answer turned out to be more than he could possibly have anticipated. As he

pushed the heavy wooden door open the light and noise burst out like a physical

force. He checked his progress for a moment on the threshold. Hanna nudged him in

the back and he stepped forward into the tumult.

The room seemed vast, larger than any enclosed space he’d ever been in before; it

was divided up by tables and booths. The place reeked of old ale and sweat. The

faces of most of the customers were shadowed by the oil lamps that hung from

ceiling beams and brackets in the walls, they were men for the most part, although

there were some women in the room too. The majority of these appeared to be

employees, bustling about with flagons of ale or platters of food, although the

exceptions were a mystery to Rudi. Some were clearly customers and were part of

larger groups. They were dressed like the men they accompanied, in worn breeches

or travel-stained leathers, and at least two of them were carrying swords. A handful

of others were dressed in a more feminine manner. They circulated around the room

chatting and laughing, joining the customers for a while and then leaving with one.

After a moment’s thought he realised they must be there to meet friends; with the

room so crowded it was no wonder they had to look around awhile before they found

one.

“Can I help you?” Almost without realising it, Rudi had made his way to the bar

in the corner. It was an imposing structure of polished wood, where a man in late

middle age with thinning white hair and a florid expression leaned forward

expectantly. Clearing his throat, Rudi nodded.

“We’d like some food. And a bed for the night.”

“I bet you would.” The man glanced at the two fugitives and laughed. So did

several of the customers in earshot, and Rudi found himself blushing furiously.

“Each, I mean.” Hanna’s face hardened in a manner he remembered all too well

from their infrequent encounters in Kohlstadt before fate had thrown them together,

and he hurried on to forestall the incipient explosion. So far, at least, they’d managed

not to draw any attention to themselves, and he desperately wanted to keep it that

way. “My sister and I have travelled a long way today.”

“Ah. My mistake.” The landlord’s tone was clearly disbelieving. “So you’ll be

wanting a room together then? With two beds.”

“Yes.” Hanna nailed the man with her eyes, and smiled sweetly. “If that’s not too

much trouble.” Somehow her tone managed to convey that the inconvenience would

be a trifle in comparison to the consequences of a refusal. He nodded, curtly.

“Dare say we can fit you in. Assuming you’ve got ten shillings between you.”

Rudi’s dismayed expression was all the answer he needed. He jerked a thumb

towards a door in the far corner. “You can have a mattress in the common room for

five pence.”

“We’ll take two,” Rudi said, determined not to lose any more face, and he was

acutely conscious of Hanna’s sensibilities. Another thought occurred to him, and he

added, “we’ve got some pelts to sell if you know anyone who might be interested.”

The landlord shrugged.

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“Depends what they are. Hubert might be in later on, he deals in that sort of

thing. I’ll send him over to your table.”

“Thank you.” Rudi turned and spotted a vacant booth on the far side of the room.

“We’ll be over there when the food’s ready.”

“Fine.” The landlord scratched his nose. “What do you want me to tell him

you’ve got?”

“Rabbits mostly. And a wolf.” The landlord and his cronies laughed again, loud

and raucous.

“Wolf. Yeah, right, I’ll tell him.”

“You do that.” Hanna’s lips were a thin line now. Before Rudi could stop her she

hefted the bundle of pelts onto the top of the bar, and unrolled it. “And don’t forget to

tell him it was a big one.”

Conversation around the bar came to an abrupt halt, although the babble of voices

at the tables continued in the background. All eyes were fixed on the wolf pelt. The

landlord cleared his throat.

“Yes miss. I’ll do that.” He glanced at Rudi with renewed respect. “I’ve never

seen one that size before.”

“By Grungni’s beard! A greenskin mount!” A short, squat man, wider and more

muscular than Rudi had ever seen peered over the bar at the skin. His face was

almost hidden by luxuriant facial hair. He wore a metal helm and a chainmail shirt,

and he barely came up to Hanna’s shoulder. “What became of the rider?”

“Dead.” Hanna didn’t elaborate. Rudi shrugged.

“He’d hardly have let us skin it otherwise, would he?” The dwarf bellowed with

laughter and clapped Rudi on the back, making him stagger.

“By the iron of the earth, manling, you do your race credit.” He turned to the

landlord. “Three more pots of that vile fluid you have the gall to call ale, and the

choicest viands your miserable excuse for a kitchen can provide for my young friends

here. This is a tale I must hear!” He seized the handles of the tankards in one ham-

like hand, and ploughed his way back through the crowd towards a table in the

middle of the room. There were other folk there, all human so far as Rudi could tell.

He turned to face Hanna as he rolled the pelts up.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” To his surprise she nodded.

“Yes. If anyone’s looking out for us they’ll be expecting to see two people. If

we’re part of a group we won’t be noticed.”

“Good point.” He laced the bundle together. “But we don’t know this… person.”

“Dwarf,” Hanna corrected. “I’ve read about them.”

Rudi considered this. He’d heard of the race before, of course, they’d been allies

of Sigmar, but he’d never expected to meet one in the flesh. From everything Father

Antrobus had said they were trustworthy enough. And they could hardly refuse so

kind an invitation without drawing more attention to themselves. He shrugged, and

followed their new friend back to his table.

“Sit down, sit down!” The dwarf heaved a couple of packs from the bench along

one side of the table, heedless of the hard stares of his companions, and motioned

them forward again. Rudi slid into it, leaving Hanna perched on the end, to find

himself sitting next to a slender woman in britches and a travelling cloak. Her hair

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was red, and her eyes green; she looked at him for a moment with an air of mild

interest, before leaning around him to smile warmly at Hanna.

“Alwyn,” she said. “And how may I call you?”

“Hanna.” The girl looked mildly flustered for a moment, and Rudi felt he was

missing something. There was no time to think about it, though, because the man

opposite was looking him over with a sardonic expression, which reminded him of

Magnus. His hair was black, but flecked with grey almost the same shade as his eyes.

Like most of his companions he wore a well-used cloak over travelling clothes,

which bore plenty of evidence of hard wear. He had a sword scabbarded at his hip,

and the hilt was worn with much use.

“So,” he said at last. “Bodun says you’ve a tale to tell.” There were a couple of

others at the table too, hard-eyed men who under other circumstances would have

made him distinctly nervous, but somehow Rudi could tell that they would take their

lead from this fellow and the dwarf. He nodded.

“So he tells me,” he said, relieved to hear friendly laughter rippling round the

table.

“You can’t tell a story with empty hands,” Bodun said, handing one of the

tankards he’d collected from the bar to him, and another to Hanna. Mindful of the

dwarf’s scathing opinion of the brew on offer Rudi sipped cautiously at it, but found

it palatable enough. Something of his confusion must have shown on his face, as the

man opposite smiled.

“He’s always rude about the beer. It’s a dwarf thing.”

“I suppose it’s passable enough for a manling brew.” Bodun emptied his tankard

in a couple of swallows, and belched loudly. “But once you’ve had Bugman’s…”

“You can’t stop talking about it,” one of the other men said, to the general

amusement of the group. He seemed to be the youngest, being barely older than

Rudi, although his eyes seemed to hold a wealth of experience. A thin straggle of

hopeful beard, the same blonde hue as his hair, clung to his face, not quite hiding a

ragged scar across his right cheek. Bodun snorted.

“Unlike the endless fascination of your monologues on the charms of certain

young ladies…” He broke off, laughing, as the young man kicked him under the

table.

“You have to admit they’re imaginative,” the other man broke in. His hair was

brown, like his eyes, and his clothing was as nondescript as his features.

“Uncontaminated as they are by any actual experience…” He dodged aside as the

young man tried to elbow him in the ribs, and patted him condescendingly on the

head. “Nice try, Bruno. Nearly got me that time.”

“Leave him alone,” Alwyn said, leaning across to ruffle the young man’s hair.

“You were young once, remember?”

“Never that young,” the older man replied. Alwyn grinned, her face lit up with

mirth.

“I don’t know. I seem to remember an incident with a barmaid in Nuln…”

“That was before I even met you! How could you possibly know about that?”

“Dwarfs have long memories.” She grinned at Bodun. “And a talent for tale-

telling…”

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“Whatever he told you, he was making it up.” Rudi couldn’t fathom what was

going on. These people seemed to be quarrelling, but without any heat. It was almost

as if they enjoyed needling each other.

“You’ll have to excuse my companions,” the leader said. “They were all brought

up in a barn somewhere.” Bodun hurrumphed loudly. “Except for the dwarf, who we

found down a hole.”

“And a very comfortable hole it was too,” Bodun put in. “Apart from the

greenskins infesting it.”

“Who would have been dancing on your corpse if Conrad and I hadn’t happened

to be passing,” the leader added.

“Happened to be looting the damn place you mean.” Bodun smiled widely.

“Luckily there was enough to go round, so I didn’t have to kill you too.”

“Quite.” The leader grinned at Rudi, and indicated the brown-haired man. “That’s

Conrad. He and I go way back. I’m Krieger, by the way, but you can call me Theo.”

“Rudi.” He stuck out a hand, which Theo shook. “That’s Hanna, my sister.” They

might as well stick to the same story, he supposed. Theo nodded, as though filing the

information away somewhere. His expression remained neutral.

“Alwyn’s introduced herself already, and that’s Bruno.” The young man smiled

at Hanna, and nodded.

“Pleased to meet you, miss.”

“Likewise.” Hanna smiled in return. Theo continued.

“Allie tags along because for some reason she thinks Conrad’s worth looking

after, and Bruno we sort of adopted.” Rudi glanced at the three of them, noting the

way Alwyn and Conrad’s eyes met, and the matching rings on the third fingers of

their left hands.

“Adopted?” he asked, unsure quite why the word held so much resonance for

him. Perhaps Bruno was another foundling like himself. Bruno nodded.

“My family had a smallholding in the Drakwald. Beastmen attacked it, and I was

the only survivor.” Darkness had entered his wide blue eyes now, like a thunderhead

on a bright summer day. “I was twelve. Luckily Captain Krieger happened along, and

saw them off before they finished…” He picked up his tankard and drained it. “Who

wants another?” He stood abruptly.

“Everyone, lad,” Bodun said. “I’ll help you get them in.” He stood up, and

accompanied the young man back to the bar.

“They were going to sacrifice him,” Alwyn said. Her voice took on an edge of

loathing. “To some Chaos thing. We’ve been looking after him ever since.”

“He can look after himself well enough,” Conrad added. He leaned closer across

the table. “Not a good person to get on the wrong side of. He’d kill you in a

heartbeat.”

“That’s enough, Conrad,” Theo said. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

“More like family,” Conrad said. He looked at Rudi and Hanna, the ruse of

amiable idiocy slipping for a moment. “I remember when I was like you, just starting

out in the world. I was sure I’d never need anyone else. Take my word for it, you do.

And choose them carefully.”

“I’ll remember that,” Rudi said.

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“Now lad,” Bodun said, dropping another tankard of ale in front of Rudi, “tell us

all about how you took down the wolfboy.”

“There wasn’t much to it really,” Rudi began, sipping at the ale again. To his

vague surprise he found most of it had gone already, so he accepted the refill Bruno

passed him with gratitude. “We’d camped for the night in a copse on the moorland,

and…”

“You came across country?” Theo looked curious. “Why not use the road?”

“It seemed more direct,” Hanna said, a little too casually. “And Rudi thought

we’d have better hunting that way.”

“You’d meet fewer people too,” Conrad added thoughtfully. “Not a good idea if

you ran into trouble.”

“These two look as though they can take care of themselves,” the dwarf put in.

“If they saw off a greenskin scout…”

“He was dead when we found him,” Rudi explained, eager to change the subject.

“Slain by sorcery, we thought.” Something told him it was best not to mention the

rest of the warband. “The wolf just wandered into our camp, so I shot it.”

“He took it down with a single arrow,” Hanna put in, sensing a slight air of

disappointment around the table. “While it was charging at me.”

“It charged you?” Alwyn stared at Hanna in astonishment. Hanna nodded.

“Jaws open, slobber foaming around its mouth, I swear I could see right down its

throat…” The whole party around the table leaned imperceptibly forward. Rudi

picked up his cue. If they wanted a dramatic story then by Sigmar he’d give them

one.

“I’d been washing in the stream nearby, so I didn’t have the bow with me. I

thought I wasn’t going to make it back in time, but Hanna threw a stone at it, which

made it flinch. It was only a split second, but that was enough.”

“Aye.” Theo nodded. “In combat it makes all the difference.”

“I snatched up the bow, and grabbed an arrow. I knew I’d only get time for a

single shot. I didn’t even have time to aim, but somehow when I drew the bow I

knew just when to loose.”

“I know that feeling.” Conrad nodded and Rudi noticed a bow propped up against

the table next to him. “As though the gods are telling you the shot can’t miss.”

“Exactly.” Rudi nodded. “My father was a forester, so I’ve been shooting for as

long as I can remember, but I’ve never been surer of a shot in my life.”

“It took the wolf right in the throat,” Hanna said. “And it dropped like a stone.

But it was moving so fast it kept rolling towards me. I thought it was going to knock

me over anyway, but it stopped just in front of me. I was petrified!”

“I’m not surprised.” Bruno leaned across the table and patted her hand

sympathetically. Hanna pulled it away, to his barely-concealed chagrin. Rudi was

surprised to feel a surge of satisfaction at that.

“Your father’s dead then?” Theo asked. Rudi swallowed, unsure how to answer,

but Hanna stepped in first.

“Mother too.” Her voice quavered a little, and Alwyn squeezed her other hand for

a moment. This time Hanna seemed willing to accept the gesture. “So we thought it

was time we made a fresh start.”

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“I see.” Theo nodded again, evidently satisfied by this. “At least you have each

other.”

“Are you going anywhere in particular?” Bruno asked, seemingly addressing

Hanna directly. The girl nodded.

“Kallcaat. Then maybe Marienburg, if we can find a boat willing to take us.”

“Marienburg?” Conrad exchanged a glance with Alwyn. “You might want to

think twice about that. The city can be a rough place if you don’t know it.” His wife

nodded.

“Stick to the small towns for a while, that’s my advice.” She glanced at Hanna

again. “If you’re determined to go to the city, head upstream instead. You’ll get a

better reception in Altdorf if I’m any judge.”

“Why Altdorf?” Rudi asked, once again feeling that he was missing something.

Alwyn looked as though she was about to say something else, but then she glanced

around at the crowded taproom and appeared to change her mind.

“No reason,” she said. Any further questions Rudi might have had were swiftly

deflected by the arrival of a young woman whose lavish décolletage seemed to

capture Bruno’s attention almost as fully as the platters of food in her hands captured

the rest of the party. Rudi’s stomach was growling loudly. Absently he noticed his ale

tankard was empty again.

“Eat hearty, manling!” Bodun grabbed a haunch of meat from the nearest plate,

and began to demonstrate. “And drink! More ale, my lovely!” The tavern girl winked

at Bruno, who seemed to inflate. She slipped away to comply with the request.

“A toast!” The dwarf hoisted his tankard. “To Rudi Wolfbane!” The others

laughed, but went along with it, echoing the call.

“Young Wolfbane!”

Rudi grinned widely. Whether it was from the closeness of the taproom, the

unaccustomed quantity of ale he was drinking, or the richness of the food piled up in

front of him he couldn’t say, but he became suffused by a sense of wellbeing stronger

than any he could recall. Even Hanna was smiling at him. He hoisted the tankard

Bodun had refilled from a fresh flagon delivered by the tavern girl.

“And to Krieger’s company,” he replied. “Good friends well met.” A gratifying

chorus of approbation rose in response. He settled back on the bench, turning his

attention to the food, and felt that a night as good as this should go on forever.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Rudi woke slowly. His head was pounding, and every muscle in his body creaked in

protest. Something hard lay under his head, and as he lifted it, fighting the sudden

surge of nausea that accompanied the motion, the skin of his cheek peeled stickily

away from whatever it was.

As his eyes became focussed the rippling brown mass in front of him resolved

itself into the woodgrain of the tabletop, still puddled with congealing patches of

spilled ale. He blinked, yawned, and levered himself upright, surprised to find that he

was still perched on the bench.

Gradually the memory of the evening began to seep its way into his forebrain,

apparently carving a path through his skull with the aid of a pickaxe. His temples

pounded with every beat of his heart, sending a sharp, stabbing pain through the

space behind his eyes. He swallowed convulsively, just in time to quell an incipient

rebellion in his stomach.

“Oh. You’re awake.” The landlord glanced up from a table nearby, a stack of

plates in his hands. “I was beginning to wonder if I should just get a priest of Morr in

for you. I would have done if it wasn’t for the snoring.”

“What…?” Rudi blinked gummy eyes at the man. “Where…?”

“You passed out. Not surprised the way you were sinking them last night. Your

friends left at dawn, along with everyone else.”

“Passed out?” A surge of panic galvanised Rudi, and he glanced around for his

belongings. How could he have been so stupid? But his pack was where he’d left it,

under the table, along with his bundle of furs, the bow, and Hanna’s satchel.

After the initial rush of relief he felt vaguely ashamed of himself. The group of

adventurers they’d met the previous night had been a little odd, no doubt, but they’d

shown him and Hanna nothing but kindness. That reminded him, Hanna should be…

He glanced down, the barely-perceived weight in his lap turning out to be a

blonde head pillowed on his thigh. She was stretched out along the bench, snoring

faintly, somehow contriving to look comfortable despite the narrowness of the plank.

She looked very trusting and vulnerable, completely different from the self-assured

virago he was used to. A sudden rush of protectiveness left him momentarily

breathless. He was also abruptly aware of a sharp and insistent pressure in his

bladder, which the weight of her skull was doing nothing to alleviate. He reached

down a tentative hand to brush the hair away from her face. She stirred.

“Hanna. Hanna, wake up.” For a moment he feared she was going to fall off the

bench as she stretched and sat upright, but she retained her balance with an easy

grace he quite envied.

“Shallya’s mercy, my head hurts.” She screwed her eyes up against the bright

sunlight lancing in through the windows, and bent down to rummage in her pack.

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After a moment she emerged with some dried leaves, and focussed bleary eyes on the

landlord. “Can we have some boiling water please?”

“If you like.” The man shrugged, and called to one of the tavern girls. “Trudi. Hot

water for the big spenders.” After a moment the girl ambled over with two mugs of

hot water in her hands. She watched curiously as Hanna stirred the herbs into them.

“That’s not weirdroot or anything, is it? Only the road wardens come by here.”

She shrugged. “Just so you know.”

“It’s for headaches,” Hanna said shortly, her temper not helped by a raging

hangover. The girl nodded.

“That’s all right then.” She ambled away, while Rudi tried to remember if she

was the one Bruno had spent most of the evening making calf eyes at.

Fortunately Hanna’s knowledge of herbalism proved as reliable as ever, and as he

sipped the aromatic infusion Rudi felt his stomach begin to settle and the pounding

behind his eyes recede to a dull ache.

“We should eat something,” Hanna said. Though the notion of food in the

abstract made his stomach heave again, like the stream as it dropped through the

sinkhole on the moors, logic told him she was right.

“We’ve got bread and cold bacon,” the landlord told them. Rudi soon found

himself staring at a slab of pink meat and a couple of chunks of loaf. Fighting the

renewed surge of nausea he chewed a hunk of bread and swallowed hastily, half

expecting it to come straight back up again, but to his relief it remained where it was.

Now he had something back in his stomach he was surprised to find how quickly his

appetite returned, and he wolfed down the impromptu breakfast more quickly than

he’d expected.

“Feeling better?” he asked Hanna, returning to the table a little slower than he’d

left it after a successful search for the privy. The fresh air outside had revived him a

little, and he barely staggered at all as he walked now. His stomach still seemed to

roll over if he made any sudden movements, but for the most part the nausea had

receded to a nagging ache, like the time he’d eaten some apples which hadn’t been

quite ripe. She glanced up, her face white, and nodded.

“A little.” She gestured at a pitcher of well water which had appeared on the table

in his absence. “You should drink. You’re probably dehydrated from all that ale.”

Rudi didn’t have a clue what she meant, but he did have a raging thirst, so he

complied eagerly; the water tasted cool and refreshing, and after a second tankard he

found his headache was fading a bit.

“We should get going,” he said at last. Hanna lifted her head from the pillow of

her arms and glared at him before nodding reluctantly.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She yawned widely, and picked up her

satchel. Seeing his last remaining customers getting to their feet the landlord

wandered over.

“On your way, then?” he asked, flicking a beer-stained towel over the surface of

the table. Rudi nodded, and hefted his pack.

“We’ve wasted enough of the morning, I think.” He dug out his pouch of coins

and loosened the drawstring, to the landlord’s evident satisfaction. “How much do we

owe you?”

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“Seventeen shillings and elevenpence.” The innkeeper grinned conspiratorially.

“Those dwarfs can’t half put it away, eh? However much they complain, I’ve never

known one who didn’t try to drink the place dry.”

“Eighteen shillings?” Rudi couldn’t believe it. That was a fortune, more than his

father earned in a year. “There must be some mistake!”

“There’s no mistake.” The friendly tone had left the landlord’s voice as abruptly

as a candle flame being snuffed. “Forty-eight tankards of ale, seven platters of

venison, bread, cabbage, turnips and carrots…”

“You can’t expect us to pay for the people we were with!” Hanna exploded. “We

only met them last night!”

“And now they’re gone,” the landlord pointed out. “You’re still here, and the

bill’s not paid. Who else is going to cover it?”

“But we can’t!” Rudi protested. “I don’t have anything like that kind of money!”

He spilled his pathetic collection of coppers across the tabletop. “That’s all we’ve

got, I swear!”

“If you think I’m going to settle for that, you’ve got another thing coming lad.”

The innkeeper squared up to him, and Rudi became abruptly aware that despite his

white hair he was compact and well muscled, probably from a lifetime of carrying

beer kegs around. But he was no pushover either, he reminded himself. He’d faced

foes more dangerous than most people had ever seen in their lives. He wasn’t going

to be intimidated by some puffed-up tavern-keeper…

“Trouble, dad?” The voice came from near the door. Rudi turned, and his heart

sank. A trio of young men stood there, the largest bearing a striking resemblance to

the landlord, all of them were carrying makeshift weapons in an elaborately casual

manner. The one who had spoken had a large pewter candlestick in his hand, the man

behind him carried a kitchen knife, and the fellow bringing up the rear had apparently

come straight from the stables judging by the pitchfork in his hands and the dung on

his boots. For a moment Rudi wondered what had attracted their attention, until the

serving girl slipped in through the door behind them. She must have gone for the

others the moment he queried the bill. Seeing his eyes on her she smiled, and picked

up a crossbow from behind the bar, cocking it with practiced precision.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” The landlord turned his attention to Rudi. “Now, about

this money you owe…”

“I’m not responsible for anything more than we used,” Rudi insisted. “If the

others didn’t pay what they owed you, take it up with them.”

“Right.” Hanna backed him up, her voice as hard as Rudi had ever heard it.

“That’s not our problem.” She took Rudi by the arm, and urged him gently towards

the door. He almost followed her, before he remembered that his bow and arrows

were still under the bench. He couldn’t leave them, they were all he had left of his

father.

“I’m afraid it is your problem, girly.” There was no trace of bonhomie left in the

innkeeper’s voice now. “We’ve got laws around here against refusing to pay your

debts.”

“Take the furs,” Rudi offered, trying hard to keep an edge of desperation from his

voice. The last thing they needed was to come to the attention of the local authorities.

“That’s all we’ve got of any value.”

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“That won’t put much of a dent in what you owe,” the serving girl chipped in.

She sighted the crossbow as though she was eager to use it. The knot of young men

moved forwards to hem them in. For a moment Rudi was tempted to fight them all,

an insane flush of bravado bursting into his mind from some hidden corner he

couldn’t identify, but common sense overrode the impulse. Even if he could take

them all on, Hanna might be injured in the scuffle.

“We can’t pay what we haven’t got!” Hanna insisted, her voice thickening with a

combination of anger and frustration. “Can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

“Come on.” The landlord and his son grabbed Rudi by his upper arms, one on

each side. He tried to shrug them off, but the ostler jabbed him in the stomach with

the butt of his pitchfork, none too gently. Rudi doubled over, gasping for breath.

“You’re not the first deadbeats we’ve had in here, and you won’t be the last. We

know how to deal with the likes of you.”

“Leave him alone!” Hanna jumped on the landlord’s back, trying to wrap an arm

around his neck. She gasped as the serving girl rapped her sharply on the forehead

with the stock of the crossbow. Hanna fell backwards, tears in her eyes, and her face

white with fury.

“Get up.” The serving girl reached down, holding the crossbow casually in one

hand. Hanna squirmed away before rising on her own.

“You lay a hand on me, you overly made-up slut, and I’ll snap it off at the wrist

and feed it to you!”

The men laughed.

“Got quite a mouth, that sister of yours,” the landlord said. The kitchen hand

leaned down to open a trap door in the floor, behind the bar. Before he could fathom

what was going on, Rudi was pitched forwards and down.

He landed none too gently on some sacks of what felt like vegetables. He

staggered to his feet as an outraged squeal and a thump announced Hanna’s arrival in

a similarly precipitate fashion. As she continued to swear, with a volume and

proficiency which astonished him, he assumed she’d been unscathed by the fall. He

looked up at the faces framing the gap in the ceiling above.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” he yelled. The landlord fixed him

with a steely glare.

“Road wardens’ll be coming by this afternoon. They’ll sort you out, you can bet

on that.” The slab of timber dropped into its frame with a resonant thud, scattering a

thin film of dust on them. It was followed a moment later by the rattle of a bolt.

Hanna sneezed, and sat up.

“Are you all right?” Rudi helped her to her feet, aided by the faint shafts of light

which fell through the gaps in the floorboards. The cellar was gloomy, but there was

just enough illumination for him to be able to make out her silhouette in the darkness.

“What do you think?” Her tone was as waspish as ever, but he knew her well

enough by now not to be fooled by it. He ventured a tentative hug before pulling

away.

“That you’ve probably felt better.” He took a cautious step forward, and bumped

into something. “Blast!”

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“Hang on. I’ve got a bit of candle in my bag.” Hanna rummaged around in the

darkness, while he tried to identify the object by touch. “Better shield your eyes.” A

sudden flare of illumination made him blink. He was glad of her advice. As his vision

steadied he found he was looking at a couple of old barrels. They were clearly no

longer fit for storing beverages, as the wood had warped with age, but they seemed

solid enough to sit on. That was something at least.

“Not very homely, is it?” He tried the experiment carefully, watching as Hanna

placed the candle stub in a niche in the wall. It was lined with brick, so they could

forget about digging their way out, he thought. The old wood creaked, but held his

weight.

“I’ve seen better.” A livid bruise was forming on her forehead, where she’d been

struck. A surge of anger coursed through his body. She must have noticed his

expression, because she looked at him curiously. “What?”

“Your head. Where that girl hit you…” Hanna raised a tentative hand, touched

the spot, and winced.

“Spiteful little bitch.” She took a pot of salve from her bag and rubbed it in,

evidently feeling some relief. “What on earth is the matter with these people?”

“We have to get out of here,” Rudi said. The more he considered their plight, the

worse it seemed. Road wardens travelled widely, patrolling the main highways.

Chances were whoever the landlord turned them over to would have been close

enough to Kohlstadt recently to have heard of Gerhard’s arrest warrants. They may

even have spoken to the witch hunter himself. Hanna nodded.

“And fast. We’ve got to think of a plan.” She sat on the barrel beside him and

lapsed into a silence of profound concentration. Rudi paced the floor, with a

furrowed brow, hoping to find something among the detritus that could help them.

Unfortunately this particular cellar seemed largely disused. Apart from the vegetables

and the decrepit barrels, the only thing he could find was a pile of old sacks.

“Thought of anything?” he ventured after some time. Hanna nodded.

“Yes. Unfortunately it doesn’t help much.”

Rudi smiled encouragingly. “Tell me anyway.”

“I’m thinking,” Hanna said slowly, “that I should have gone to the privy while I

had the chance.”

For want of anything else to do they made a thorough inventory of the contents of

Hanna’s satchel, finding little there of any immediate help. Most of it was herbs or

remedies of some kind, although there were a few personal items: a bright blue hair

ribbon, a small sewing kit, a ceramic dove the size of Rudi’s thumbnail which she

claimed to carry for luck, and something knotted up in a square of muslin which she

grabbed hastily and refused to discuss beyond blushing furiously and mumbling

something about it being “a woman’s thing.” Rudi didn’t have much that looked

promising either, his belt pouch contained his snare lines and tinderbox, and that was

about it.

“There must be something here we can use,” he said for about the thirtieth time.

As the hours dragged by, they had discussed and dismissed a number of plans, all of

them verging on the suicidal. They had even briefly considered setting fire to the

sacks, in the hope that the staff would open the trapdoor to fight the blaze, but

138

concluded they’d probably suffocate from the smoke before anyone came to

investigate.

“The only chance we’ve got is to slip the bolt somehow,” Rudi said, examining

the underside of the trapdoor for the umpteenth time. It was too stout to force, he’d

proven that the hard way, balancing precariously on the barrels and bending his back

against it until his muscles cracked.

“Let me see.” Hanna scrambled up beside him, cocking her head to examine the

obstacle. The shafts of light through the gaps in the planks had moved perceptibly

since their incarceration, and Rudi estimated that noon had been and gone by now.

From time to time footsteps echoed on the floor above their heads and the breath

would catch in their throats at the thought the road wardens had arrived, but it was

only ever the tavern staff going about their business. Each reprieve had only served

to remind them of the urgent necessity of escape. Even if the road wardens were

delayed, once the inn was full of customers and the space behind the bar was

occupied they would have no chance of escaping unhindered. “Ah. That’s

interesting.”

“What is?” Rudi craned his neck, trying to see what she had. She pointed to a thin

line of shadow bisecting one of the shafts of light.

“The handle of the bolt’s been left lying to one side. It must be over this crack in

the planking.”

“I don’t see how that helps us.”

“I’m not surprised.” The old Hanna seemed to be making a comeback. She was

being decisive and self-confident. She fished the hair ribbon out of her satchel, and

poked the end through the gap between the planks. “If I can just get this over the

end…”

“We can pull it back,” Rudi said, realising what she was up to. Hanna nodded

grimly.

“Except the ribbon’s too flexible. I can’t get it threaded back down the gap on the

other side.” She pulled it back with an irritated sigh, and rubbed absently at the

grubby marks that had appeared on it.

“Try this.” Rudi handed her one of his snare lines, and she nodded approvingly.

“That might do it. But just to make sure…” She took a bodkin from her sewing

kit and threaded the thin cord through it, securing it in place with a small, neat knot.

“Let’s weight the end a little.” She poked the needle through the hole until it had

disappeared, and carried on paying out the snareline.

Rudi watched for some time, stilling his breath as best he could, trying not to

distract her. The job was exacting and frustrating, he could tell. The needle landed

repeatedly on either side of the crack without slipping back down it again. Finally,

after what seemed like hours but was probably no more than a handful of minutes,

Hanna gave a faint grunt of satisfaction.

“Got it!” A feeble glint of metal was visible in the candlelight, hanging freely

from the end of the string. Hanna played out a little more, until she’d got enough on

both sides for a comfortable handful. “Here goes nothing…”

She pulled gently on the doubled line, wobbling slightly on her precarious perch.

Rudi stepped forwards in case she fell. The snare tautened then began to move.

Hanna grinned in triumph.

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“Got it!”

“Great!” Rudi watched the slow progress of the line of shadow, straining his ears.

The bolt moved with a faint grating sound. He expected one of the tavern staff to

come and investigate, but to his relief nobody seemed to be moving around above

them. No doubt the everyday bustle of the inn was drowning out the noise of their

escape.

“Damn!” Hanna said, emphatically. The line had reached the rim of the trapdoor,

and could move no further. “I can’t move it any more than that.”

“It might be enough,” Rudi said encouragingly. If the hasp had been placed far

enough along the shaft, most of it might be withdrawn by now. He held out a hand to

help Hanna down from the barrels. “Let me try.”

“All right.” She jumped down to make room for him. Rudi clambered up in her

place, bracing his back against the rough wood. He took a deep breath and pushed as

hard as he could. Ominous creaking sounds came from the barrels beneath his feet,

but he ignored them, concentrating only on the trapdoor above his head. Was that a

faint tremor of movement?

“I think it’s giving.” He tried again, straining every muscle. Abruptly he found he

was standing. He flailed his arms to regain his balance, as the stout wooden frame

crashed into the floor behind him. He swarmed out, and reached down to grab

Hanna’s hand. “Quickly!” Someone was bound to have heard a noise that loud…

“I’m right behind you!” Hanna clambered up, and they rounded the corner of the

bar at a run. His bow and arrows were lying on the counter top, along with his pack,

the contents of which had been strewn across the bar, evidently in a futile search for

anything of value. He stuffed back what he could, and shouldered it hastily. Then he

picked up the weapon. There was no sign of his purse, or the bundle of furs.

“Hey!” The serving girl poked her head around the door to the kitchen, her eyes

wide with shock. “They’re getting away!” Her voice was loud and piercing. Rudi

cringed. A commotion began in the courtyard outside.

“This way!” Hanna called, turning aside from the main door as the innkeeper and

ostler appeared with several other men at their shoulders to block their escape. Rudi

debated loosing an arrow at them to keep their heads down, but dismissed the thought

at once. Knowing his luck he’d hit someone by accident, and they looked irritated

enough as it was. He’d just have to hope they could outrun them all…

Abruptly one of the oil lamps exploded, sending a shower of liquid flame across

the table and bench beneath it. Before he could work out what was happening a

second loud report echoed around the taproom, and another lamp followed suit. The

emergency saw the tavern staff begin to beat out the spreading flames. Their prey

was forgotten.

“Fire!” The landlord yelled, and the room became full of shouts, smoke, and

running feet, as everyone in the vicinity responded to the call.

“What’s happening?” Rudi asked, as Hanna grabbed his arm.

“Run now, talk later,” she said. Her advice was sound. He followed her as she

made a beeline for the door to the kitchen.

“You can’t come in here!” The serving girl made a halfhearted attempt to block

them, but she fell back squealing as Hanna punched her hard in the face with every

sign of satisfaction. Rudi hurdled the supine obstacle and followed his friend round

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the heavy wooden table in the centre of the room. It was covered with vegetables in

the process of preparation. Some of the carrots looked very like the ones they’d

found at the old farmstead, so he grabbed a handful on the way past.

“Out here!” Hanna had found a doorway, and shouldered it open. Rudi followed

her outside, into bright afternoon sunshine, and stopped for a moment to get his

bearings.

They were in a small courtyard to the rear of the inn, unpaved and rutted with cart

tracks. This, no doubt, was where the local carters delivered food and other

necessities. The commotion of their escape, and the sudden fortuitous accident with

the oil lamps, had evidently interrupted a delivery of some kind. A cart was drawn up

outside, and a nervous-looking horse was still in the traces, whickering faintly as it

flared its nostrils. Hanna glanced at the pile of barrels beside it, and the few on the

bed of the cart. She stopped running.

“Look at this.” She indicated some lettering on the casks. Rudi shrugged, and she

looked apologetic for a moment before continuing in an urgent undertone. “It’s a

delivery of fish oil for the lamps.”

“Which helps us how, exactly?” Rudi asked. Surely she couldn’t be intending to

burn the entire building down… Hanna sighed.

“They’re taking the empties away. How far do you think we’re going to get on

foot?”

Rudi considered this. They could try striking out across country again, but they

had no landmarks to follow this time, and they could be lost for days. Worse still, by

the time they got anywhere the road wardens would have spread their descriptions up

and down the entire highway. What Hanna was proposing was a desperate gamble,

but it seemed the best chance they had.

“Let’s do it,” he agreed, as he clambered up onto the back of the cart. He half

expected the horse to object, but one of his carrots was enough to convince it of his

good intentions, and after that it stood perfectly calmly as he hefted the lids off a

couple of the barrels. Luck seemed to be on their side at last. “These are empty.”

“Good.” Hanna climbed up beside him, and wrinkled her nose at the smell, but

she scrambled inside the cask, and crouched down. She didn’t seem terribly

comfortable, but there was enough room for her to tuck her knees up under her chin.

She smiled wanly as Rudi put the lid back. “Not quite the way of getting us to

Marienburg I’d envisaged, but I suppose it’ll do.”

Marienburg! Rudi hadn’t considered it before, but now she mentioned it, it

seemed quite obvious. Where else in the Old World would fish oil come from? It had

to be landed at a seaport, after all, and the one at the mouth of the Reik was the

greatest ever known.

Despite the smell he found he was smiling too, as he hunkered down in a barrel

of his own and carefully pulled the lid into place above his head.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

For a long time, it seemed, nothing happened. Then Rudi heard voices approaching,

muffled by the wood around him. He stilled his breath, which thanks to the stench

permeating the barrel had been shallow enough already, anticipating a shout of

discovery, but no one seemed to notice anything untoward. He strained his ears,

managing to make out the occasional phrase through the walls of his refuge and the

rhythmic thumping of other barrels being heaved aboard the cart.

“…be miles away by now…”

“…road wardens’ll catch up with ’em soon enough…”

“…lucky the whole place didn’t go up…”

Rudi smiled, despite the cramp knotting his left calf muscle and the choking

stench of old oil. It seemed their ruse had worked, and the hunt had been called off.

He shifted cautiously, easing the quiver away from his kidneys, and sighed with

relief. Despite Hanna’s remark, he didn’t think they could remain where they were

until the barrels were returned to Marienburg; the journey could take days.

Nevertheless, wherever they were going there had to be some way of taking passage

there…

His speculations were abruptly cut short by a sudden jerk of movement and a call

of farewell as the cart, loaded at last, lurched into motion. Any discomfort he’d felt

before was only a trifle compared to what he endured now. The barrel rattled and

shook, echoing loudly with every collision against its fellows. His head reeled from

the noise and the smell.

How long it lasted he couldn’t have said. Time ceased to have any meaning,

passing in a blur of dimly perceived discomfort. Maybe he even dozed a little. All he

knew was that the cessation of noise and motion came as abruptly as it had begun.

Groggily he tried to concentrate on what was going on around him. There were

more voices, he could hear those, and the tell-tale rattle and thump of the barrels

being unloaded. Thanks to the ringing in his ears, though, he couldn’t distinguish any

words.

Suddenly he felt the barrel he was in being moved, and heard an angry grunt just

the other side of the wood.

“Sigmar’s guts, this one’s still full!” His heart lurched. In their hurry to get away

he hadn’t thought this far ahead, although it was obvious in retrospect that someone

would take the casks off the cart at their destination. Discovery must surely be

imminent.

“Keep your voice down!” Someone else had joined the complainer, their tone

hushed. “Just get it aboard before anyone notices. We can sell it the next time we

dock.”

The barrel moved again, it was dropped precipitously, and began to roll. Rudi

tumbled with it, trying to ignore the nausea which threatened to convulse his abused

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stomach. He hoped it would stop soon. Despite the discomfort he couldn’t help

feeling another surge of optimism as he mulled over the words he’d overheard. They

could mean only one thing: the barrels were being loaded aboard a riverboat.

Marienburg and safety seemed closer than ever now.

With a final thump the barrel came to rest and tipped, to his immense relief,

upright. Rudi listened intently, but no one seemed too concerned to investigate their

prize at the moment. No doubt they hoped to cast off and be well away before the

carter or the innkeeper noticed their mistake. He hoped Hanna had been brought on

board with similar discretion.

Footsteps came and went, echoing on wooden planking, and voices shouted

incomprehensible things. For a moment Rudi thought the sensation of unsteadiness

he felt was a result of the rough handling he’d endured, but it didn’t seem to pass.

After a while he realised what it meant. The boat was under way! Despite all the odds

they’d managed to escape their pursuers again.

He kept listening, hoping that things would go quiet so he could lift the lid of the

barrel and see what was going on. The thought of fresh air was tormenting him after

so long inside the cramped, foetid cask. But it seemed the task of sailing a riverboat

required the constant attention of its crew.

Footsteps approached again, and the barrel echoed to the impact of a sharp kick.

“Herr Busch!” The voice was crisp and bore the easy authority of someone who

expects to be listened to without the necessity of raising its volume. “Why are these

barrels cluttering up my deck?”

“They’re still full, skipper.” Despite the use of the title, the second speaker

obviously considered himself a close enough friend of the first not to be constrained

by too much formality. “There must have been some kind of mix-up at the Jolly

Friar, because of all the fuss there.” The voice left off speaking to insert a throaty

chuckle. “I got the lads to load ’em as quickly as possible in case somebody noticed

and wanted ’em back.”

“Good idea.” The wood of the barrel creaked as the skipper evidently leaned

against it. “So why aren’t they in the hold with the others?”

“I thought you’d be wanting to sell ’em quick, the next time we put in,” his

companion explained. “Better to keep ’em separated.”

“Well, I would.” The skipper appeared satisfied with his subordinate’s

explanation. “Except that whatever’s in this, it’s definitely not fish oil.” Before Rudi

could react the lid was ripped away, and two strong hands darted down to seize him

under the arms. He tried to struggle, but the hours confined in such a cramped space

took their immediate toll, and his arms and legs refused to obey him. Agonising

cramps made his limbs tremble, and it was all he could do not to cry out as he was

hauled unceremoniously upright. The barrel tipped over as his legs flailed, his bow,

quiver and pack rolling out onto the deck.

“There’s another one in here, cap’n.” A few feet away a brawny deckhand was

restraining Hanna, clearly making the most of the job. He cried out suddenly as she

ducked her head and bit his forearm. He was about to strike her, when the captain

raised a hand to forestall him.

“Put her down, Ansbach. She’s hardly going to run away, is she? You too, Kurt.”

Rudi felt the grip around his arms disengage. He took a deep breath. The smell of

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fresh air was intoxicating, and he wanted to savour it. He glanced round, taking in his

surroundings for the first time, and his jaw dropped.

His first impression was that the world had turned blue. Late afternoon sunshine

was striking the wooden deck of what he assumed must be a riverboat, but the solid

planking surrounding him seemed tiny, no more than thirty or forty paces in length

and less than half that wide. Overhead the sails snapped in a stiff breeze, like solid

clouds, blotting out half the sky, and beyond the rail was nothing but blue water, in

almost every direction he could see. Off to the left was a line of brown and green,

dotted with thumb-sized trees and the occasional cottage seemingly built for folk the

size of shrews. In the opposite direction was a faint smudge, which resembled a

distant thunderhead, but ahead and behind was nothing but silver-tinted azure.

Despite the situation, he thought he’d never seen anything so awe-inspiring in his

life.

“I’m Captain Jothan Shenk, master of the Reikmaiden.” The man in front of him

waved an expansive hand, that took in the deck, a couple of hatch covers, and a large

wooden structure like a small house perched in the middle of the boat. “The vessel on

which you’ve taken passage.” He was short, wiry, and dressed in a faded blue coat,

which seemed to mark his authority in some way. His hair was lank and thinning, the

colour of autumn moss, and his eyes darted left and right while he was speaking. At

no point did they settle on Rudi’s face. “Would you care to explain why, and how

you intend to pay for the journey?”

“We’re here by accident,” Rudi said. The fresh air was reviving him even faster

than one of Hanna’s herbal preparations. He felt his habitual optimism returning. The

man seemed reasonable enough. “We didn’t know the barrels were being taken

aboard a boat.”

“That’s right.” Hanna nodded vigorously. “We didn’t even know we were

anywhere near a port.” To her barely-concealed irritation the men around them

laughed. This attracted the attention of a couple more deckhands, who stared at them

curiously for a moment before resuming their duties.

“That’s ’cause you’re not.” The man who’d hauled him out of the barrel, whose

name was Kurt Busch if he’d overhead correctly, shook his head. “There’s quays and

landing stages all along the banks for the local traffic.” That made sense, Rudi

supposed. Carrying bulky items, like the lamp oil, would be ruinously expensive by

road. It was far more sensible to take it upriver as close as possible to its final

destination and transport it overland from where it could be unloaded most easily.

“I see.” Captain Shenk nodded. “And you were in the barrels because…?” He

sounded genuinely curious rather than suspicious. Rudi shrugged.

“We had a bit of trouble at the inn. We lost all our money, and they turned nasty.”

Shenk nodded sympathetically.

“It happens. Threatened to have you arrested, did they?”

“Yes.” Hanna nodded, turning wide and guileless eyes on the captain. “We were

terrified. We’ve never been away from our village before, and we didn’t know what

to do. So when the fire broke out we just ran, and hid in the first place we could

find.”

“Hoping to slip away after dark, no doubt.” Shenk nodded. Whether he believed

them or not Rudi had no idea. “So where’s this village of yours then?”

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“Dreibruken,” Rudi said quickly. Shenk shrugged.

“Never heard of it.”

“If we could just get to Marienburg we’ll be fine from there,” Hanna put in.

Shenk and Busch laughed again.

“You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.” The mate scratched his close-

cropped scalp. “Passage that far doesn’t come cheap.”

“Like I said, we’ve lost all our money.” Rudi shrugged. “We did have some pelts

to sell, but they were stolen too.”

“Maybe we could help you out somehow?” Hanna suggested. “There must be

something we can do for you in return.”

“I know what you could do for me,” the deckhand put in. Hanna glared at him,

and Shenk waved a dismissive hand.

“Still here, Ansbach? Go and find something useful to do before I get Kurt to find

you a job.” The deckhand scowled, but trotted away with a final lascivious glance at

the girl. Shenk smiled at her.

“I’m sorry about that. I’m afraid I don’t hire my crew for their social graces.”

“We’ve met worse,” Hanna assured him. Shenk shrugged.

“Working a riverboat’s a skilled business. If you don’t learn fast, I can’t

guarantee to let you work your passage all the way to Marienburg.” He smiled then,

and stuck out a hand for Rudi to shake. “But I’ll give you a day or two, and see how

you get on. Even if it doesn’t work out, you’ll be halfway there at least.”

“Thank you.” Stunned at the man’s generosity, Rudi shook his hand gratefully.

“We won’t let you down, I promise.”

“I’m sure you won’t. I’m generally a good judge of character.” Shenk gestured to

Busch. “Herr Busch will show you the ropes, and find somewhere for you to sleep.”

He turned to Hanna. “I’m afraid we don’t have much accommodation suitable for a

lady, but I’m sure we can sort something out. In the meantime, perhaps you could

help the cook with the evening meal?”

“I’d be happy to.” Hanna smiled too, and went off with the skipper. Rudi took a

deep breath, and turned to Busch, who was regarding him a little more sardonically

than his captain had.

“Where do I start?” he asked.

Despite Rudi’s forebodings the work Busch found for him seemed easy enough. It

consisted mainly of carrying things, pulling on ropes when he was told to, and

hauling buckets of river water up onto the deck to be emptied piecemeal with the aid

of a mop. He supposed Captain Shenk must be very proud of his vessel to keep the

planking so clean, and said as much to one of the crewmen who was sharing the task

with him. The man laughed.

“Don’t know much about boats, do you?” His amusement seemed friendly rather

than patronising, so Rudi found it hard to resent.

“Never even saw one before today,” he admitted, and the deckhand nodded

slowly as though that was the most natural thing in the world.

“Well, thing about boats is they’re made of timber.”

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“I’d noticed that,” Rudi said, sluicing another mopful of water across the

planking. His new friend chuckled again.

“And when timber dries out unevenly, it splits. The hull can’t get dry, so when

the weather’s warm…”

“You need to keep the deck wet,” Rudi finished. The man nodded.

“You catch on quick. Probably a good thing.” He leaned on the handle of his

mop, and brushed a fringe of brown hair out of his eyes. He darted furtive eyes one

way and the other to make sure Busch hadn’t noticed he was slacking. “It’s not a bad

life if you get a taste for it. Pay’s all right, the food’s free, and you get to see a bit of

the world.”

Rudi found himself considering the prospect. Keeping on the move all the time

would be one way of eluding the witch hunter, and he was surprised to find how

attractive the idea of seeing more of the Empire seemed. Since leaving Kohlstadt his

eyes had been opened to just how big the world really was, and the more he saw of it

the more eager he was to explore it properly. Then he remembered the main reason

he’d resolved to head for Marienburg in the first place. All the questions he’d pushed

to the back of his mind rushed forwards to fill it again, leaving him just as desperate

for answers as he’d ever been. If Magnus was still alive, and could answer them,

that’s where he would be. Quite how he’d manage to track the man down in such a

seething metropolis was another problem entirely, but he was sure he’d work it out

when they got there. After all, he’d hailed a vessel just as his friend had advised,

even though it had been inadvertent…

“Getting tired already?” Busch asked, having approached quietly while he’d been

lost in his own thoughts. He started guiltily, then realised the remark had been

addressed to the man he was working with. “Getting our young friend here into bad

habits on his first day, Pieter?”

“Not at all, Herr Busch,” Pieter lied at once. “I was explaining why it’s so

important to do a proper job.”

“Course you were.” Busch nodded, not fooled for a minute, and glanced across at

Rudi. “Getting the hang of it?”

“I think so.” Rudi nodded, and made a great show of swabbing the deck until the

mate had gone to loom over some other crewman. Pieter shrugged.

“Don’t let him get to you. His bark’s worse than his bite.” He returned to the task

with an economy of motion that came with years of practice. “Firm but fair, you

might say. A lot better than some I’ve sailed with, let me tell you.”

“What about the captain?” Rudi asked. “He seems all right.”

“Yes, he does,” Pieter agreed. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before going

on. “But don’t let that open-handed attitude fool you. He’ll do you a good turn right

enough, but he’ll expect something back by and by.” He shrugged. “No reason why

he shouldn’t, either. This boat’s all he’s got, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep

her sailing, if you get my drift.”

“I think so,” Rudi said.

By the time they’d finished the job the sun was beginning to set, turning the water

around them to the colour of blood, flecked with gold. Pieter leaned on the rail as

they stowed their tools, and nodded slowly.

146

“Now there’s a sight you can never get tired of.”

“I can see why,” Rudi agreed. He’d never seen anything so spectacular in his life.

It was as though the Reikmaiden was floating on liquid gold. After a moment the sun

dipped a little further and the waters darkened, taking on the purple hue of a fresh

bruise, and the first few stars began to appear in the sky overhead.

“There you are.” Busch had come up behind them as they spoke. He clapped

Rudi on the shoulder. “We’ve found a bit of space for a hammock in the forward

hold. Your gear’s stowed under it.”

“Thank you.” Rudi wasn’t quite sure what a hammock was, and his first sight of

the hanging strip of canvas didn’t provide much of a clue. But his bow, quiver, and

pack were reassuringly close at hand, perched on a couple of the barrels. Another

piece of canvas stretched across the narrow space a short distance away, with

Hanna’s satchel resting in the middle of it.

“You sleep in it,” Busch explained, amused at his obvious perplexity. He

demonstrated by slipping in and out of it with an ease, which could only have come

from years of practice. Under his encouraging, and somewhat amused, eye, Rudi

squirmed his way into the thing, finding it surprisingly comfortable, albeit prone to

quivering alarmingly every time he moved. He was on the verge of verifying for

himself just how easy it was to fall asleep when a metallic clanging reverberated

throughout the boat.

“What’s that?” He sat up abruptly, almost falling out of the unstable contraption,

and Busch laughed.

“That’s supper, lad. Time to see if your girlfriend can earn her keep as well as

you.”

“She’s not my…” Rudi began, but Busch wasn’t listening, and he thought better

of it anyway. Pretending to he siblings hadn’t helped at all at the coaching inn, and

given Ansbach’s attitude towards Hanna perhaps it was no bad thing if the crew

assumed she was spoken for. Besides, a sneaking little voice whispered from some

where inside him, the idea that they might be more than just friends wasn’t that

unpleasant, was it?

Supper was served in the main cabin, part of the structure on the upper deck, which

appeared to accommodate the entire crew. As befitted their status Busch and Shenk

had private quarters partitioned off from it, the captain’s was noticeably the larger,

although given the size of the boat the actual difference in dimensions couldn’t have

been more than a foot or two. The other end had also been partitioned off to form the

galley, from where Hanna was dispensing plates of fish stew. Everyone ate at a long

table, with benches along each side. Rudi wondered where everyone slept, until he

saw the row of hooks along one wall and recognised the bundles of cloth hanging

from the opposite one as rolled-up hammocks.

As he took his own plate Hanna smiled at him, and asked how he’d been getting

on.

“Fine,” he said. “How about you?”

“It’s been interesting,” she said guardedly. “Cooking on a boat’s a bit of a

challenge.”

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“You’ve done all right.” A short, florid man he assumed was the cook nodded an

acknowledgement as she spoke. Then he returned his attention to a bubbling pot

behind him. “Go and sit down with the others.” Despite his attempt at politeness he

seemed positively relieved when Hanna picked up her plate and went to sit next to

Rudi.

“This smells great.” Rudi’s mouth watered as the steam rose in front of him, and

he suddenly remembered he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He picked up his

spoon and was about to dig in when the captain tapped the table and the cabin fell

silent. Everyone except Rudi and Hanna bowed their heads while Shenk recited a few

words of grace in the name of Mannan, the patron deity of mariners.

Caught out by this Rudi hesitated for a moment. But as soon as he realised that

everyone else was now devouring the food with every sign of appreciation, he took

up his spoon again.

“This is excellent, my dear.” Captain Shenk smiled at Hanna from across the

table. “I don’t know what you’ve done to improve things, but you’ll be welcome

aboard for as long as you want to stay.”

“You can say that again, skip.” Ansbach grinned at her over an empty plate.

“Good looking and a great cook. Where have you been all my life?”

“Socialising with humans,” Hanna said, raising a general laugh at his expense.

Ansbach flushed crimson then joined in the laughter, with something of an effort.

“Good sense of humour too. I like that in a girl.”

“I’m sure you do,” Hanna said sweetly. “It must help enormously in getting a

date.” Ansbach looked faintly baffled, sure she’d scored some kind of point but

wasn’t quite clear how.

“All I did was put a few herbs in,” Hanna explained later as she and Rudi leaned

on the rail together, watching the faint turbulence in the water which marked the

wake of their passage. “You’d think none of them had ever tasted seasoning before.”

“Not like that, I’ll wager.” Rudi yawned, enjoying the moment of tranquillity, and

the pleasure of her company. “You’re too modest about your own talents

sometimes.”

“Look who’s talking,” she responded, without heat. The breeze across the water

was cool and refreshing. It rippled her hair, which glimmered faintly in the darkness.

Mannslieb was a thick crescent in the sky now, casting a faint silver sheen, which all

but obliterated the diseased glow of its sister moon and complemented the faint blue

radiance of the stars. Though far from strong the moonlight was bright enough to

reveal the outline of her face, and a faint smile at the compliment she would never

have allowed to surface in daylight. Rudi felt a sudden surge of affection, which took

him completely by surprise. Feeling awkward and embarrassed he cleared his throat,

unsure what to say next.

“I’d better get back to the galley,” Hanna said, before he could speak. She

stepped away from the rail. “We need to get everything stowed away ready for the

morning.”

“I could help,” Rudi offered, but she shook her head.

“Have you seen how small it is? There’s barely room for me and the cook as it

is.” She hesitated on the threshold, and turned back for a moment before

disappearing. “But thanks anyway.”

148

Left alone, Rudi paced the deck. Somehow he felt physically exhausted and wide-

awake at the same time. He yawned widely, and turned back towards the hatch

leading down to the hold and his hammock, then hesitated. Hanna would be turning

in too, as soon as she’d finished her duties in the galley, and if he waited a little while

longer he could meet her as she came out and they might continue their

conversation…

And say what? he asked himself, circling the cabin. This was ridiculous. He

should just go to bed and get some sleep. It looked as though he was going to have a

hard day’s work ahead of him tomorrow as well.

“So what do you make of our stowaways?” a voice asked out of the darkness

ahead of him. About to round the corner of the cabin, Rudi froze. The speaker was

Shenk, and he wasn’t at all surprised to hear Busch reply.

“They’re definitely hiding something,” the mate said. “If their money was stolen

like they say, why did they run away? Why not wait for the road wardens to sort it

out? If you ask me that’s who they were afraid of, not old Krause and his pot boys.”

“You could be right.” Shenk paused thoughtfully. “And if you are, there might be

a reward out for them.”

“I’ll ask around tomorrow when we put in to Hauptmann’s Landing,” Busch said.

“Good idea. They get all the news from along the road.” Shenk paused again.

“I’ll find something for the kids to do, to keep them distracted. If they’re worth

anything, bring a couple of the local watch back with you and we’ll turn them in

before they even know what’s happening.”

Rudi felt the words strike him like a bucket of ice water, sending a shiver of panic

down his spine. The captain’s treachery had taken him completely by surprise, and

there was nothing he could see that they could do about it. Far from being a refuge,

the Reikmaiden had turned out to be an even bigger trap than the cellar of the Jolly

Friar.

His heart thudded in his chest as he backed away as quietly as he could. He had to

find Hanna and warn her. Maybe between them they could work something out…

He hurried back to the galley, where the clash of pots and pans told him the job of

tidying up was not yet complete. He hesitated outside the narrow door for a moment,

breathing deeply, and trying to make himself seem calm. He peered round the door.

Hanna was stacking dishes in a small cupboard, watched anxiously by the cook. She

didn’t see him at first, but the cook did. He glanced up as Rudi appeared in the

doorway.

“Can I help you?” he asked. Taken by surprise, Rudi floundered for a moment.

“No thanks. Er, that is, I just wanted a quick word with Hanna.”

“Can’t it wait?” Hanna asked, looking up at the sound of his voice. “I’m a bit

busy at the moment.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The cook seemed positively pleased at the interruption.

“You go ahead. I’ll finish up. It’s practically done now anyway.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Hanna stepped out on to the deck with Rudi. She took in

his alarmed expression in an instant. “Rudi, what’s wrong?”

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“We’re in trouble,” Rudi explained, and he filled her in on the conversation he’d

overheard in a few crisp words. The faint frown on Hanna’s face deepened as he

spoke. “We have to get out of here!”

“Easier said than done.” She looked around, taking in the shadowy deck around

her. “It’s a long way to the bank. Can you swim?”

“A bit,” Rudi admitted, a little dubiously. The forest pools hadn’t been all that

deep, or all that wide. Hanna nodded. “Me too. That’s something, I suppose.”

“Maybe we won’t have to.” He led her towards the stern, where the faint shape of

the tillerman could be seen keeping his vigil in the darkness. A line was hitched to

the rail there that trailed off into the night, terminating on a small rowing boat which

followed the Reikmaiden like a cygnet after a swan. Pieter had pointed it out to him

earlier in the day, explaining that it was used to run errands when it wasn’t worth the

effort or risk of taking the vessel inshore. “If we could haul that little boat in…”

“There’s only one problem,” Hanna pointed out. “Him.” The tiller creaked, and

the man leaning on it pulled it over. As he did so, his face came into the full light of

the moons. It was Ansbach; he glanced in their direction and nodded a greeting.

“He’d see you the minute you started pulling on the line.”

“Not if you distract him,” Rudi said. Hanna glared at him.

“What are you suggesting?”

“He likes you. Get into conversation with him or something.”

“It’s the ‘or something’ that worries me.” She paused for a moment, and then

sighed. “But it’s not like we have much of a choice, is it?”

“I suppose not.” Rudi yawned, and stretched theatrically. He raised his voice a

little so Ansbach could hear it. “I’m going to turn in. Coming?”

“In a while,” Hanna said, with elaborate casualness. “It’s such a nice night I’d

like to make the most of it.” She waited until Rudi had moved towards the hold

where they were quartered, before walking towards Ansbach. “Hello.”

“Hello there,” Ansbach grinned. She leaned on the rail. “Enjoying the

moonlight?”

Rudi watched for a moment longer, until he was sure Ansbach’s attention was

fully diverted. Then he hurried back to the hold for their possessions. He scooped up

their packs, and the bow and the quiver, and clambered back on deck.

“Hello, young Rudi.” Shenk was standing close to the hatch cover, a pipe in his

hand, the bowl glowing cherry red in the darkness. “Leaving us so soon?” He seemed

vaguely surprised, but with all their worldly goods in his hands Rudi supposed there

was no other conclusion he could come to.

“Hauptmann’s Landing might be a little too exciting for a couple of country

kids,” he replied. Shenk nodded.

“Ah. You heard our conversation.” He shrugged. “Believe it or not, I’m sorry I

turned out to be right about you.” A faint flicker of his eyes past Rudi’s shoulder

gave the young messenger a fraction of a second’s warning, and he ducked just in

time to avoid a blow to the back of his head. He turned, dropping the bundle of

possessions as a heavy belaying pin rapped against the top of his shoulder.

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Searing pain lanced down his left arm and he punched out with his right. A jolt

indicated that the blow had connected. Busch staggered back, his nose spurting, the

blood looking black in the moonlight.

“You little snotling-fondler!” He charged forwards again, his head lowered. Rudi

felt a starburst of pain erupt between his eyes as the mate’s skull smashed into his

own. He staggered back, feeling the rail behind him hemming him in.

“Find the girl!” Shenk shouted. He was answered almost immediately by

Ansbach’s “Over here, skip!” Rudi blinked his eyes clear, just in time to feel a hard

punch against his jaw as Busch swung his fist with clinical precision. This wasn’t

like the fight he’d had with the Katzenjammers, he realised, this was real and earnest,

and his opponent wouldn’t back off until one of them was incapacitated.

A surge of energy rose within him, and he blocked the next punch with his

injured arm. Ignoring the sudden burst of pain, his right fist drove low into Busch’s

midriff, and the mate doubled over. For a moment Rudi thought the fight was

finished, but some instinct told him the man was rallying, so he kicked out, bracing

himself against the rail, hoping to take his opponent in the throat. A small part of him

was appalled that he was capable of such brutality, but the feeling was drowned out

by a raging bloodlust that had somehow taken him over.

“Oh no you don’t!” Shenk stepped in to defend his friend. He grabbed Rudi’s

foot in mid air, and twisted it. Caught off-balance Rudi staggered back towards the

rail again, and found himself toppling over. He flailed his arms, trying to recover his

balance.

“Hanna!” he yelled. Whether it was an appeal for aid, or to reassure himself that

she was all right, he couldn’t tell. As his head turned he could see she was grappling

with Ansbach, who had abandoned his station at the tiller to restrain her. For a

moment he feared she’d be overwhelmed, but she brought her knee up in a sharp,

short motion, and the deckhand staggered back howling in agony. As he fell he

crashed against the tiller bar, knocking it hard over, and the Reikmaiden lurched,

wallowing in the water as she abruptly lost way.

The sudden movement was enough to ruin any chance Rudi might have had of

recovering his balance. The rail rolled out from beneath his back and he found

himself falling, plunging into darkness. Then he hit the water, and the cold embrace

of the Reik closed itself over his head.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Rudi surfaced, panting for air. The water was cold, bone-numbingly so, far more than

the forest pools he was used to bathing in on summer afternoons. The sudden shock

of it seemed to have frozen his lungs. He snatched at the air in brief, painful gasps,

relieved to find that each breath seemed a little larger than the previous one, until

after a moment or two he was taking in as much oxygen as usual.

“Get off me!” Hanna’s voice echoed across the water and he turned his head,

picking out the dark bulk of the Reikmaiden drifting a few yards away. Her sails were

flapping, empty of wind, and she seemed to be turning slowly under the influence of

the unattended tiller, which was still hard over. Lamps shone through the gaps around

the cabin doors, sketching eerie golden lines on her silhouette. Only this and her

running lights marked her out from the darkness.

Hanna was clearly visible on the aft deck, where he’d left her, backed against the

rail as a group of crewmen closed in. Quite how many there were he couldn’t tell, as

their outlines blurred together in the surrounding gloom, but there were clearly too

many for her to fight off alone. She’d evidently come to the same conclusion,

because she swung a leg over the rail and jumped before he even had time to scream

out a warning.

The splash of her landing echoed across the water. Rudi struck out for it, guided

by the sound. A confused babble of voices provided a background to the splashing of

his progress and the flailing of the girl ahead of him.

“Yullis! Get on the tiller. The rest of you get the sails sorted out!” Shenk was

barking orders, apparently more concerned for the welfare of his vessel than the fate

of the fugitives who’d gone overboard. The boat was drifting sluggishly now, moving

further away with every second that passed. Rudi dismissed it from his mind. Even if

the Reikmaiden’s master could be bothered turning back to look for them, by the time

the boat was back under control they would have vanished completely in the gloom.

That, come to think of it, was something of a mixed blessing. Disorientated, he

had only the vaguest idea of where the shore was. A loud splash off to his right

grabbed his attention. One problem at a time was enough to deal with.

“Hanna?” he called.

“Rudi!” Her voice held an unmistakable tone of relief. “Over here!” Guided by

intermittent shouts and the splashing of the other’s progress they came together at

last. Together they trod water and glanced round for some clue as to the location of

the shore.

“Over there,” Hanna insisted, pointing. “I saw a light, I’m sure of it.”

“It could just have been a reflection in the water,” Rudi said. Hanna made the

familiar sound of exasperation in the back of her throat.

“Or it could have been a campfire. Look.” Rudi turned his head in the direction

she indicated catching a glimpse of flickering orange for a moment. Then it vanished.

152

“Why would it disappear like that?”

“We’re still moving with the current. Maybe a tree or something got in the way.”

Hanna was becoming quite waspish. “Do you want to keep discussing it until we

drown, or head for the shore?”

“If that is the shore,” Rudi murmured. But he had no better suggestion to offer, so

they struck out again in the direction she indicated.

The swim was a long and exhausting one. Several times he thought she’d been

mistaken and that they were heading for the far bank, or that they were swimming

along with the river itself. He kept such anxieties to himself, and concentrated on the

steady rhythm of swimming. No doubt the same thoughts had occurred to Hanna too,

but verbalising them would only sap both their confidences.

Time stretched agonisingly, the freezing water leeching the strength from his

muscles and bones. He’d never swum so far, never dreamed it was even possible, far

less that he’d ever need to do so. His clothes were sodden, a heavy burden which

encumbered every kick, and threatened to drag him down. The gods alone knew how

Hanna was able to manage wrapped in a skirt.

Eventually he felt something yielding under his hands as he reached down to

plough through the water. Then a weed clung briefly to his fingers as they made

another stroke. With a sense of exquisite relief he let his feet drift down until they

touched bottom, sinking into the mud of the river bed. Cautiously he allowed them to

take his weight and found he was standing upright, water cascading down his torso.

The mighty Reik, largest body of water in the Empire, came no higher than his waist.

“Hanna. Hanna, we’ve made it.” Bemused by exhaustion, she ploughed on for

another couple of strokes, then the meaning of his words finally penetrated. She

stopped moving and forced herself upright. “You were right.”

“I’m always right,” she said, an unmistakable tone of relief in her voice robbing

the remark of the arrogance he would once have been able to detect there. She

swayed on her feet, exhausted, and Rudi put an arm around her waist to support her.

He expected some protest or rebuke, but she accepted his help without complaint,

and draped her own arm across his shoulders.

They waded ashore a few moments later, scrambling up a grassy bank with the

last of their strength. Exhausted, they collapsed on an area of greensward.

Rudi lay on his stomach, shivering, every muscle in his body screaming in

protest. He shuddered as though he had the ague, his wet clothes sucking the warmth

from his body, but he was past caring. He drifted on the verge of sleep, more utterly

exhausted than he’d ever been in his life.

“Wake up!” Hanna shook him, rolling him over onto his back. He stared up at

her, his vision bleary. “If you lie here you’ll freeze to death. We have to get a fire

going!”

“Fire. Right.” Rudi staggered to his feet, trying to focus on their surroundings.

There was a small thicket of trees a few score paces away. He walked towards it,

reeling like a drunkard. There would be wood there, and shelter from the wind.

Hanna stumbled beside him, keeping an eye out for suitable sticks. Mercifully

their eyes had adjusted to the night by now, and the moonlight was sufficient to pick

out what they needed, so they soon accumulated a decent sized bundle.

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“Here will do.” Rudi crouched down in a small hollow surrounded by trees. It

was reasonably sheltered, and would keep out most of the breeze drifting in from the

direction of the river. Hanna arranged their collection of sticks, and he reached into

his belt pouch for the tinderbox.

“It’s gone!” The pouch was open, no doubt as a result of his fall from the

riverboat. He scrabbled through it, frantically, but it was almost completely empty.

The only thing remaining was one of his snare lines, which had somehow become

entangled around his belt on its way out of the pouch. “The tinderbox! It’s gone!” He

stared at Hanna in horror. Without a fire they’d both be dead by morning.

“Damn,” Hanna said flatly. She stared at the little pile of sticks, which seemed to

be mocking them. Rudi’s mind spun. They had to do something…

A memory stirred. He’d still had the box when she lit the candle in the cellar of

the Jolly Friar. She must have one too, unless she’d been equally unlucky with the

river…

“We’ll have to use yours,” he said. Hanna looked deeply unhappy.

“I haven’t got one,” she said at last. Rudi looked at her sharply. Something in her

tone of voice disturbed him. She sounded wary, frightened almost. This was

completely at odds with the self-confident young woman he’d thought he was getting

to know.

“But you must have,” he said. “How else did you light that candle?” Something

else occurred to him. “And those fires on the moor? I know I had the box at least

once when you did that…”

“It’s… it’s hard to explain…” she began, then stopped. After a moment she came

to a decision. She leaned towards the bundle of firewood, and stretched out a hand.

Rudi felt a strange, premonitionary tingle in the base of his spine, and shuddered with

something other than the cold.

A spark appeared suddenly in the middle of the twigs, spreading out with a soft

whump! of combustion. Flames grew, taking hold of the sticks, and a warm orange

crackle of firelight began to suffuse the hollow. Rudi stared at her, shock and horror

pounding through his body. He was trying to keep his face impassive, but it was a

losing battle. Hanna looked up, her face illuminated by the flickering flames, her

expression somehow both hopeful and defiant. Reading his face, her own hardened.

“You really are a witch!” The words burst out of him before he could stop them.

He had to fight the impulse to back away. Hanna glared contemptuously at him.

“If you want to believe that, go right ahead. You’re no better than Gerhard.”

“At least I haven’t murdered anybody!” To his surprise, anger and hurt seemed to

be edging out the shock and fear he’d felt at first.

“Meaning what?” Hanna snapped. “You think I’m a killer too?”

“No. I meant Gerhard…” Rudi almost choked, finding the right words almost

impossible to articulate.

“Fine.” Hanna was in no mood to argue. “You think I’m a witch then you can just

go. See how far you get before you freeze, see if I care!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rudi demanded. “All this time… I thought we were

friends!”

154

“Because I thought you’d react like this,” Hanna snapped. “And don’t tell me

you’ve been entirely honest about what happened in the forest that night either.” The

accusation took him completely by surprise, not least because it was true. His silence

was all the confirmation she needed, and she turned away with a snort of disgust,

tugging at the laces of her bodice. The water had hardened the knots, so it took her a

moment or two of effort to get them undone. Rudi watched her step out of her skirt in

dumbfounded silence.

“We have to get our clothes dry,” Hanna said, looking back at him through the

flickering firelight. “You’ll do the same if you’ve got any sense; I’m not nursing you

through a fever if you insist on catching cold.”

She stripped off her petticoat, the firelight flickering warmly against the curves of

her body Rudi knew he was staring, but he just couldn’t help it. Hanna stared levelly

back at him through the flames, as self-possessed and intimidating as she’d ever

been.

“Don’t get any ideas, or I’ll toast your nads like chestnuts.” She turned away,

hanging her steaming garments on a convenient bush.

With his head reeling, Rudi followed suit. He did indeed feel warmer once his

sodden clothes were discarded. He huddled down close to the fire, staying on the

opposite side of it to Hanna, who wrapped her arms around her shins and rested her

chin on her knees. With an effort he kept his gaze focussed mostly on her face,

although the temptation to let his eyes wander was almost irresistible, and what he’d

already seen would be enough to keep his imagination feverishly occupied for some

time to come. He wasn’t sure how serious her threat had been, but after what she’d

evidently done to the oil lamps in the Jolly Friar he wasn’t keen to put her to the test.

Some time passed in awkward silence. The moisture dried on his skin, and the

warmth of the flames made him feel drowsy.

“You were right,” he said at last. “I should have told you the truth about what

happened in the forest. But I didn’t understand it. And I was afraid you’d… that

something like this would come between us.” He looked up, hoping for a response,

but her eyes were closed. Slowly she toppled sideways onto the grass, still curled into

the foetal position, and began to snore quietly.

Rudi sighed, and lay down too. But sleep was a long time coming, despite his

exhaustion.

When he woke squinting his eyes against the sunlight striking down out of a clear

blue sky, Hanna was already awake and dressed, to his mingled relief and

disappointment. She was sitting in almost exactly the same spot, on the opposite side

of the fire, which by now had burned down to a small pile of gently glowing embers.

He yawned and sat up, turning his back as he did so in a futile attempt to preserve his

modesty, and reached for his britches. To his relief they were almost dry, just faintly

damp to the touch. He scrambled into his clothes as rapidly as he could.

“Well at least we don’t smell of fish oil anymore,” he said, trying to make casual

conversation, but Hanna refused to respond. She pointed to a small heap of berries on

a leaf.

“I found those while you were asleep. They’re not much, but they’ll have to do.”

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“Thanks.” Rudi took his share gratefully, abruptly aware that he was ravenously

hungry. The handful of fruit took the edge off it, but he still felt painfully empty. To

take his mind off the discomfort he worked his stiff muscles, wincing as he moved

his left arm. His shoulder was marked by a livid bruise where Busch had struck him

the previous night.

“This might help.” Hanna approached him, a little warily, and tucked a handful of

moss in the top of his shirt. “Not as much as a proper preparation, but it’ll have to

do.”

“Thank you,” Rudi replied, chafing at the stilted nature of the conversation.

Something had come between them and it had eroded the casual intimacy they’d

begun to share. He missed it.

“Well then.” Hanna shrugged. “What do we do now?”

“Start walking, I suppose,” Rudi said. He looked around the clearing, hoping to

find some clue as to the best direction. A flash of silver caught his attention beyond

the trees, marking the position of the river. He turned, so it was on his right, and

pointed straight ahead. “Marienburg should be that way.”

“Good a direction as any, I guess,” Hanna conceded, and began to walk away

without another word. Rudi broke into a trot to catch up with her.

“Hanna. Hanna, wait!” He took hold of her arm and she stopped, whirling to face

him.

“Let go of me.” Her voice was menacing, and tight with anger. Rudi opened his

hand.

“We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.” She started walking again, and Rudi fell into step

beside her.

“There’s everything to discuss. Look, I’m sorry I called you a… said what I did

last night. I was shocked.”

“Evidently.” Her tone was as hard as ever, and she didn’t turn her head to look at

him.

“I know you, Hanna. I know you wouldn’t do anything bad. Couldn’t. You help

people. You’re kind and thoughtful, even if you try to hide it sometimes, which is

why I like you so much. I believe in you, whatever idiots like Gerhard and the

Katzenjammers say.” An edge of desperation was entering his voice now, he knew

that, but didn’t care. “I just want to understand. So I know what… who I’m fighting

to protect.”

“I can protect myself.” Despite the words, her voice had softened a little. She

turned her head to look at him, and the beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of

her mouth. “Thank you for wanting to, though.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He ventured a faint smile of his own. “You’re a very special

person.”

“You’re not exactly ten a penny yourself,” she admitted grudgingly. They walked

on in silence for some time. Rudi kept thinking he ought to say something else, to

ease the tension that still hung between them, but every time he opened his mouth he

thought better of it. Perhaps it was better to say nothing than risk offending her again.

156

They’d left the trees some way behind them, and were striding across a knee-high

plain of grass, before Hanna spoke again.

“What do you know about magic?” she asked abruptly. Taken by surprise, Rudi

shrugged.

“Nothing, really. I’ve never met a… a mage before.” Hanna smiled at his choice

of words.

“I’m not a mage either. I just know a couple of simple spells my mother taught

me.”

“I see,” Rudi said. Another thought occurred to him. “So what else can you do?”

“I can make light.” Hanna waved a hand at the bright, sunlit landscape around

them. “Not much point showing you that at the moment. And I can make myself

cooler sometimes, when it’s too hot.”

“And that’s it?” Rudi asked. Hanna nodded.

“Mostly, yes. Except, sometimes, I can feel the power getting stronger, as though

it’s trying to get out of me. That’s scary.”

“I suppose it must be.” Rudi nodded slowly. “Or maybe it just means you’re

getting better at controlling it.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Hanna looked at him, a thoughtful expression on her

face. “It’s really good being able to talk to someone about this you know.”

“What else are friends for?” Rudi said, shrugging.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really had one before.” She looked a little crestfallen at

the thought. Rudi squeezed her hand briefly, sympathetically, and was pleasantly

surprised when she tightened her own grip in response.

“Neither have I. Not like you, anyway.” The silence between them now was more

eloquent than words could ever have been.

157

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

They walked for most of the day through a landscape of unvarying monotony. Rudi

was reminded of the moor they’d crossed before, but here, on the fertile floodplain of

the Reik, the grass was lusher and the patches of tree and scrub more verdant. The

ground was more waterlogged too. The grassland gave way to patches of marsh

without warning, forcing them further and further away from the banks of the river.

Before long it was out of sight completely, except in occasional glimpses. But there

was no fear of losing their way, the sky in that direction was the paler blue of

reflected water, a constant reminder of the river’s presence.

Although both he and Hanna chafed impatiently every time they were forced to

make another detour, Rudi felt that this might be a good thing after all. If Shenk had

spread the news about them at his next port of call, any searchers would be looking

for them in the wrong direction. How far downstream Hauptmann’s Landing might

be he had no idea, but he was pretty sure they’d come far enough inland to slip past it

unobserved by now.

Another difference to the wasteland they’d traversed before was that this was an

area teaming with life. He was pleased to see plenty of evidence of rabbits, but there

was a plethora of other game too. The marshes were thronged with waterfowl, none

of them species he recognised. On several occasions he saw the distinctive tracks of

deer too. Each time this happened he felt a renewed pang of regret for his lost bow.

As it was they subsisted on the few nuts and berries Hanna recognised as edible,

plucking them from bushes as they passed. But each hastily snatched mouthful only

emphasised their growing hunger. Even worse was the thirst, which was becoming a

permanent torment to them both, but all the water surrounding them was brackish,

and to drink it was to risk delirium or worse. As the day wore on, and the sun grew

steadily warmer, Rudi grew more and more tempted to risk it. A dark, insistent voice

at the back of his mind urged him to quench his thirst at every stinking mud pool they

passed. If it hadn’t been for Hanna he might even have succumbed, but the thought of

her disgust at such a display was enough to restrain him.

“It’s no good.” She sank to the ground, which squelched beneath her knees. “I

have to rest.”

“Not here.” Rudi glanced around them. “It isn’t safe.” They were traversing an

area of marshland, which at first he’d thought they’d managed to avoid altogether,

only after some time had passed had he realised that it was closing in on their left as

well, and the day was too far advanced to retrace their steps. Now they were forced to

stick to whatever areas of firm ground they could find; they were surrounded on all

sides by treacherous patches of almost liquid mud. He pointed to a low grey mound

in the distance. “There’s dry land over there. It’s not far.”

158

“All right.” Hanna struggled to her feet, as aware as he was of the dangers of

being caught out here after dark. She took Rudi’s proffered hand as she rose, but let

go of it once she was back on her feet. “I can manage.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Rudi said, earning a strained grin in reply.

They stumbled on in the gathering twilight and the mound in the distance

growing ever closer. Soon, to his relieved surprise, the going became firmer

underfoot.

“I think we’re through the worst of it,” he said, and Hanna nodded.

“Just in time, too.”

The sun was beginning to set, the sky to the left of them a vivid red, as though the

clouds were on fire. The world around them was beginning to fade into shades of

grey. There was still enough light to make out the large patch of bushes and scrub

ahead of them, and as Rudi stared at it he could make out regular lines among the

tangle of undergrowth.

“It’s a ruin of some kind,” he said, surprised. At first he assumed it was another

old farmstead, like the one they’d found before, but the closer they got the larger it

seemed, until it loomed over them like a temple. “Why would anyone build

something that size out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Because when they did, it wasn’t.” Hanna ran a hand over the old stonework,

which was still remarkably smooth to the touch. The tumbled blocks around it were

finely wrought, showing no tool marks at all. “This is old, really old. It must have

been here for thousands of years.” Her voice was tinged with awe.

“Thousands of years?” Rudi couldn’t even imagine a period of time that long.

“How can you tell?” Hanna indicated something incised into the surface, strange

flowing lines, which he supposed formed words.

“I think this is elvish. They lived here long before humans, even before Sigmar’s

time.”

“What does it say?” he asked, and Hanna laughed, a sound somewhere between

amusement and exasperation.

“I haven’t a clue. I can only read Reikspiel, not every language under the sun.”

“Oh.” Rudi tried to hide his disappointment. He’d assumed that being able to read

meant that you could read everything, but this clearly wasn’t the case. “How do you

know it’s elvish then?”

“I’m making an educated guess,” Hanna said, clearly irritated by the question. “I

know the elves were here in antiquity, and this place is very old. It’s not that hard to

make the connection.”

“But how do you know the elves were here in the first place?” Rudi persisted.

Hanna gave him one of her best withering looks.

“I read it. In a book. In Reikspiel.” She reined in her irritation with a visible

effort. “I’m sorry. I’m tired and hungry, that’s all.”

“Me too,” Rudi admitted. He pulled his solitary snare line out of his pouch. “I’d

better find somewhere to set this before the light goes.”

“Good idea. I’ll get some brushwood together.” Hanna wandered off to get some

firewood, and Rudi went looking for a rabbit run. It took longer than he expected,

and he offered up a quick prayer to Taal to provide a coney to fill the trap as he

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completed the task. His stomach was beginning to knot painfully by this time, and he

could only imagine how Hanna was feeling.

She was waiting for him back at the ruin, her arms full of sticks, and despite the

pain in his belly Rudi forced a smile. “You’ve been busy.”

“It passed the time,” she said, with studied nonchalance. “Where do you think we

should camp?” Her face looked strained in the twilight. The moons were not yet high

enough to provide much illumination, but the sun was still sufficiently close beyond

the horizon to cast a feeble reflected glow against the sky. Despite her best efforts,

Hanna’s voice was becoming slurred with fatigue.

“Perhaps we should try inside,” Rudi suggested, and Hanna nodded.

“It should be safe. The walls seem pretty solid.” A few moments of exploration

along the stonework were enough to reveal a rectangle of solid darkness, which stood

out in vivid contrast from the masonry surrounding it. Only then did Rudi realise the

stones themselves were glowing softly, reflecting the feeble moonlight.

“Definitely elvish,” Hanna confirmed when he pointed it out. She regarded the

shadowed entrance with thinly disguised apprehension. “We won’t be able to see a

thing in there.”

“I thought you knew a spell for that?” Rudi asked. Hanna looked worried.

“I do. But casting one makes me tired, even at the best of times. I’m not sure I’ve

got the energy after today.”

“Maybe if I go first,” Rudi suggested, edging closer to the pitch-black entrance.

Hanna shook her head impatiently.

“You don’t know what’s in there. You could fall and break your neck.” She

sighed, then screwed up her eyes in an expression of pained concentration. At first

Rudi was afraid she’d failed, and stepped forward to support her as she swayed on

her feet. But then a pale glow began to form in the air ahead of them, a flickering

tongue of yellow fire like the flame of a candle, floating at about head height.

“You did it.” He hugged her briefly and led her forward, both of them stumbling

with fatigue so much it was hard to tell which was supporting the other. “I knew you

would.” He barely noticed their surroundings at first, preoccupied as he was with

guiding her faltering footsteps.

When he did, he simply stopped in amazement and stared. They were in a vast

chamber, seemingly a perfect circle. Overhead the ceiling rose to a dome, decorated

with paintings all but obscured by time and filth, and still more murals covered the

walls. Eight passageways led into the room, equidistant from each other. With a thrill

of panic he realised that he couldn’t remember which one they’d entered by. No

matter, his reason reassured him, when the morning came they’d be able to see

daylight through it, and even if they didn’t the floor was covered in enough detritus

for their tracks to be clearly visible. The floor appeared to be tiled, though many were

cracked and broken; they had obviously once formed a mosaic of tremendous

intricacy and exquisite workmanship.

“Hanna! Look!” He nudged her, and directed her lolling head to the centre of the

room. She took a moment to respond, and when she did it was with a burst of

wakefulness that surprised him. Dropping the bundle of firewood she staggered to the

ornamental fountain right beneath the centre of the dome, and leaned against the cool

marble lip of it. A channel wider than Rudi could reach ran all the way round the

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structure at about waist height, collecting water that ran down the sides of the stone

column in the centre. Warily she cupped her hand and sipped at it, then drank deep.

“It’s clean! Shallya be praised!” Rudi needed no further urging. He plunged his

head into the cool, clear fluid, slaking his thirst and driving back his fatigue at the

same time.

They both drank until they could hold no more then splashed water at each other

like children, laughing hysterically with relief at their deliverance. Even the ache in

their stomachs subsided a little, bloated as they were with the precious liquid. After a

while they sobered up, and began to make preparations for the night.

“It looks as though someone’s been here before us,” Rudi said. Now he was

feeling a little more refreshed he was exploring the chamber more methodically. He

had found the remains of a campfire on the other side of the fountain. Hanna squatted

down to examine it more carefully.

“Not recently,” she concluded, rubbing powdery ash between her fingers.

Nevertheless it saved them the bother of constructing their own firepit from pieces of

rubble, and they soon had a cheerful blaze crackling away. Rudi had been worried

that Hanna was too exhausted to kindle the fire, but she’d repeated the trick he’d seen

the previous night without much visible effort. The most unnerving thing was that the

floating lamp had gone out before she began, so they’d been plunged into pitch

darkness, but the bundle of sticks had flashed into flame almost immediately,

providing light again as well as warmth.

“I can’t maintain two spells at once,” Hanna explained, illuminated now by the

cosy glow of the campfire. Rudi nodded, as if he understood.

“Lucky you weren’t too tired to get the fire going, then.”

“Yes,” Hanna agreed. “I was a little worried about that.” She smiled as she said

it, so Rudi wasn’t sure how seriously to take the remark. Being entirely in the dark

here for the rest of the night would have been no laughing matter. It was obvious

from the number of tracks in the litter on the floor that the fountain attracted a fair

number of animals, and some of them could easily be dangerous.

To distract himself he wandered back to the fountain again. Now he came to look

at it closely it had been sculpted to resemble a building of some kind, tall and slender.

After a while he realised there was something familiar about the larger structure at its

base.

“I think this is what this place used to look like,” he said. Hanna joined him.

“You’re right. We’re in the main building here.” She pointed. “The watchtower

must have been right over our heads.”

“Is that what it was?” Rudi looked puzzled. “Watching for what?”

“Those, presumably.” Hanna squatted again, brushing the encrusted detritus of

millennia away from the reliefs that decorated the pillar of the fountain below the

rim. They depicted battle scenes, in which slender warriors with pointed ears fought

hunched monstrosities. They seemed vaguely familiar to Rudi for some reason.

“They look like goblins,” he said at last. “But they’re huge.”

“Orcs,” Hanna said decisively. Rudi nodded, and stared at the grotesque creatures

with vague apprehension.

“I don’t suppose there are any still around here, are there?”

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“Of course not,” Hanna said, a little too vehemently. “Sigmar killed them all. The

only ones left nowadays are leagues away, right on the fringes of the Empire.”

“Good,” Rudi said, somewhat reassured. He returned to the fire and settled again,

trying to make himself comfortable on the stone floor. Without a bedroll, or a pack to

use as a pillow, he didn’t expect to sleep much that night, but he might as well close

his eyes at least…

“Rudi!” He woke with a start. Hanna’s urgent whisper was loud in his ear. She

was shaking his shoulder gently. “I think something’s coming!”

“What kind of thing?” he asked, adrenaline coursing through his body. The fire

had burned low, reducing the light it gave off to a feeble glow and he could barely

see a thing.

“I don’t know. Listen!”

He strained his ears, hearing a skittering sound in the darkness, as though

something was moving. Several things, he corrected himself, fast and stealthy. A

faint squeaking was overlaid with it, modulated almost like speech, but he couldn’t

imagine what sort of creature would make a sound like that.

“I think we should go,” Hanna said, an uncharacteristic edge of nervousness

entering her voice.

“I think you’re right.” He glanced around the chamber, trying to remember which

of the corridors they’d come in by, but he was now completely disorientated. The

glow of the fire was too feeble to make out the tracks they’d left coming, so that was

no help. He was pretty sure that it was one of the three facing them, on the other side

of the fountain. “Can you remember which entrance we came in by?”

“No.” Hanna shook her head. “And we can’t stay here to debate it.”

“This way.” Rudi made a snap decision. By moving towards the leftmost of the

three doorways he’d narrowed the choice down. It was as good a direction as any,

and seemed to be directly away from the sound of the approaching creatures.

To his relief they made it to the sheltering shadows before anything arrived in the

chamber.

They hesitated on the brink of the deeper darkness. Hanna took hold of Rudi’s

arm, and urged him onwards, but he resisted.

“Wait a moment,” he whispered. “I want to see what they are.” A moment later

shadows began creeping across the chamber behind them, and a small knot of

hunched figures emerged from the opposite tunnel mouth. Rudi tried to count them,

but they were huddled so close together that their silhouettes blurred and merged.

They were roughly man-sized, he could tell that, but hunched and misshapen,

concealed beneath hooded cloaks.

“Beastmen!” Hanna breathed. Rudi nodded, although the ones he’d seen before

seemed very different. These looked more like rodents, with tails protruding from

their enveloping garments that trailed behind them like fat, diseased worms. He

suppressed a shudder of revulsion, and turned to leave.

Just in time too, it seemed. The creatures’ chittering speech rose in volume and

intensity as they approached the fire, and a couple of them seemed to be sniffing the

air. To Rudi’s horror they began to fan out, clearly looking for whoever had been

camping there.

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“Come on!” he whispered, taking Hanna by the arm. They hurried into the depths

of the tunnel. Impenetrable darkness wrapped itself around them, leaving Rudi

feeling suffocated, as though the air itself was solidifying.

“This is insane,” Hanna panted at his side. “We could be running into anything!”

“If you conjure up a light they’ll know where we are!” Rudi countered. Behind

them the squeaking and chittering had increased in volume, and the sound he most

dreaded, the scuttling of rodent feet, echoed in the tunnel behind them. A few of the

creatures had picked the right exit from the chamber, whether by luck or some

abhuman sense he couldn’t say.

Abruptly the pressure of darkness against his face eased, and he found he could

see a little; the cool silvery light of Mannslieb was filtering through a crack in the

ceiling. It illuminated the tumbled blocks of stone that choked the corridor ahead of

them. For a moment he thought they were trapped, and he cast around desperately for

a shard of rock small enough to use as a weapon.

“Thank Sigmar for that!” Hanna clambered up onto the nearest block of stone.

“We can get out this way.”

She was right, Rudi realised, with a sudden flare of relief. He scrambled up

beside her, then onto another block balanced precariously atop it. He reached down

to help her up, then leaped for the gap in the ceiling. For a moment he thought he

wasn’t going to make it, but his scrabbling fingers found purchase at last, and he

swung himself up with a sudden surge of energy he hadn’t thought himself capable

of.

Outside the moonlight was brighter than ever. It lit up a roof pitted with rubble,

over which the remains of the dome they’d sheltered in still loomed. The watchtower

must have fallen this way, and caved in the roof on this side of the building. Huge

blocks of stone lay scattered beyond, some of them larger than a hayrick. They

receded as far as the eye could see into the distance. There was no time to stare at the

spectacle now. Gasping, he rolled over onto his stomach, and reached down into the

hole.

“Grab my hands!” Hanna leaped as high as she could and snatched at his wrists.

For a heart-stopping moment he thought she hadn’t been quick enough to close her

grip, so he grabbed at her forearms, but she clung on grimly. His arms were dragged

painfully down as he took her weight, and he felt himself tugged forwards towards

the abyss. Pulling back with all his strength, and ignoring the flares of pain along his

arms and back, Rudi swung her up to where she could grasp solid stone and haul

herself out onto the rooftop.

They were just in time, as their chittering, skittering pursuers had reached the

tumbled stone beneath them, and began to swarm up it without even seeming to slow

down.

“Run!” Rudi picked up a chunk of debris and threw it at the leading creature. It

squealed, and tumbled back. “I’ll hold them off!”

“Hold them off?” Hanna grabbed his arm, dragging him after her. “Who do you

think you are, Konrad from the ballads?” They pelted across the rubble-strewn roof,

hardly daring to look behind. But Rudi’s lucky hit with the piece of stone seemed to

have bought them a little time. However dangerous these creatures might be, they

were clearly more cautious than the average beastman.

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“There’s no way down!” Rudi looked left and right. There was nothing but

smooth, unbroken stonework below them.

Hanna shook her head. “We’ll just have to jump.”

“We’ll break our necks!” The ground below was pitted with rubble, and dappled

with patches of shadow, which could have concealed anything. The drop was at least

three times their height, and Rudi would have been reluctant to chance it even in

broad daylight. In the dark severe injury or worse seemed inevitable.

“Not necessarily. Look.” Hanna pointed to one of the larger pieces of the tumbled

watchtower. It was only a couple of yards away, and only half the height of the

building they stood on. “If we can make it over there we should be able to get down

to the ground.”

It was risky, but less so than waiting for their pursuers to catch up with them. A

renewed cacophony of squeaking behind them made his mind up. A quick glance

back was enough to confirm that the creatures were emerging from the hole in the

roof, and were scuttling towards them from one patch of shadow to the next.

“Come on!” Before he could change his mind he clambered up onto the parapet

and launched himself into the night. For an instant he thought he wasn’t going to

make it, then hard, cracked stone slammed into his body, driving the wind from his

lungs. Gasping for breath he staggered to his feet, looking around for his companion.

Hanna was still balanced on the lip of the drop, her face white in the moonlight.

He waved, urging her on.

“Hurry!”

“I can’t!” Her voice was strained. “It’s too far! You’re much stronger than me,

and you barely made it!”

“You’ll be fine! I’ll catch you!” Scuttling silhouettes appeared behind her,

squealing excitedly. They were closing in on their prey. “For Sigmar’s sake, jump!”

For a moment he thought she’d left it too late, but just as the creatures seemed on

the point of seizing her she closed her eyes and leapt convulsively. Shrill howls of

disappointment rose from the warband stranded on the roof, but Rudi ignored them,

his attention was riveted on the girl. She seemed to be falling more slowly than

normal. The world seeming sluggish to his adrenaline-enhanced senses, as it had the

morning he shot the wolf. She landed on the very lip of the block of stone, her knees

flexing to absorb the impact, pushing her centre of gravity back. Her arms flailed and

she began to topple backwards towards the ground below.

“It’s all right! I’ve got you!” Rudi grabbed her around the waist, and yanked her

back onto solid stone. Her arms shot forward, wrapping his torso in a tight embrace.

“Everything’s fine.” She clung to him for a moment, trembling with reaction, and

Rudi took a couple of steps back from the edge. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Hanna took a deep breath, and let go. Despite the danger Rudi couldn’t

help feeling a vague sense of disappointment.

“Better get moving,” he said. The creatures showed no inclination to follow them,

but it seemed they didn’t have to. The one he assumed to be the leader lifted a narrow

snout to the sky and squealed something loud and undulating. Answering squeaks

echoed from elsewhere in the ruins.

“I think you’re right.”

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They scrambled down the edge of the stone block without difficulty, releasing

their hands and dropping the remaining yard or so to the ground. “Where to now?”

asked Hanna.

“This way, I suppose.” Rudi picked a direction he estimated led directly away

from the loudest cries, although the maze of tumbled stone they now found

themselves in echoed so much it was hard to be sure. They ran as hard as they could,

heedless of the danger of tripping or turning an ankle on the rough ground beneath

their feet. The labyrinth seemed to go on forever, and Rudi could not imagine how

vast the structure had been before it fell.

“Rudi! Look out!” Hanna spotted the lurking ambushers an instant before they

attacked, swarming out of the darkness between several blocks of stone ahead. They

ran forwards, chittering excitedly, the moonlight glittering from blades in their hands.

Rudi tried to estimate their numbers, but had no time before they were on him. There

were a dozen at least, he thought. Then he was borne to the ground by a rush of foul-

smelling fur.

As the leading creature closed with him he got his first real glimpse of it, and

shuddered in instinctive revulsion. It resembled nothing so much as a gigantic rat, its

sharp incisors catching the moonlight as it charged. He aimed a punch at it, but it

dodged the blow easily, ducking its head to take him in the chest. Other rat-things

seized his arms and legs, throwing him down and immobilising him. He thrashed

around, trying to throw them off, and turned his head desperately looking for Hanna.

If he could just buy her enough time to get away…

That hope evaporated in a shrill scream of fear and revulsion, which could only

have been her. Frantic to help her he redoubled his efforts, but the rodents restrained

him easily. He struggled desperately, expecting to feel those wicked teeth in his

throat at any moment.

Then his eardrums rattled with a whump of combustion, similar to that which

accompanied the magical lighting of a campfire. But it was louder than he’d ever

heard it, and was accompanied by shrill squeals of panic and pain. The pressure

against his body eased, and with a surge of strength he hadn’t known he possessed,

he managed to throw off a couple of his assailants. The rest of them abruptly let go,

and started to retreat, scuttling for the shadows like regular-sized rats.

“Oh no you don’t!” Carried away by the rage that had welled up inside him as he

struggled for his life, he seized the creature that had first attacked him by the tail, and

yanked it back. Squealing, it tumbled to the ground, where it scrabbled frantically for

a moment in a futile effort to escape. Realising that its efforts were in vain it turned

abruptly, mouth agape, and tried to bite him.

Rudi rolled aside, punching it hard in the face. It squealed again, slashing at him

with its claws, which caught in the fabric of his shirt. Rudi fended it off and rolled

again, gaining the upper hand and pinning it to the ground. He punched it on the

snout, which cracked loudly under the impact, and the rat-thing bucked madly, its

incisors clicking together inches from his face.

Realising he had to keep it from biting at all costs Rudi gripped it around the

throat with both hands and raised himself up, keeping his face as far away from it as

possible. The creature thrashed frantically as his whole weight bore down on its

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windpipe, and a mottling of foam began to appear around its jaws. Then, with a

sudden rattling gasp and a shudder, it went limp.

Panting from the exertion Rudi let it go and staggered to his feet, looking around

for Hanna. She was standing a few yards away, stunned, and as he approached her

she didn’t look up.

“Hanna. Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” she said flatly. “I did something…” Rudi became aware of the

smell of charred flesh, and belatedly identified the trio of indistinct lumps on the

ground in front of her as rat-thing corpses, burned almost beyond recognition by the

red-tinged flames, which still flickered feebly around them.

“I didn’t know your fire spell was that powerful,” Rudi said.

“That’s just the thing,” Hanna said, her voice trembling. “It isn’t. That was a

different spell, one I never learned.”

“You must have done,” Rudi replied, looking around for more of the rat-things.

He couldn’t see any, but ominous scuttling noises in the ruins around them left him

sure that they were still there, biding their time, waiting for others to join them. “You

probably just forgot it.”

“No.” Hanna shook her head decisively. “It just appeared in my head, and I knew

I could do it. Those creatures were all over me, and I panicked. I was sure they were

going to kill me. Then suddenly I knew the… the things you need to do.”

“Lucky you did,” Rudi said.

“Is it?” Hanna looked on the verge of tears. “I feel like there’s something inside

me I can’t control. I thought magic was simple, something you do just to make life a

bit easier, and people like Gerhard were ignorant brutes. But now I don’t even know

what I am!”

“You’re a pyromancer,” a voice said out of the darkness.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Rudi snapped his head round, searching for the speaker. Something about the voice,

cool and feminine, sounded familiar, but it was only when he caught sight of her that

he recognised Alwyn. A mixture of surprise and anger flooded through him.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Not much,” the woman replied, shrugging casually. “We heard screaming from

our campsite, so I came to see what was going on. The others will be here in a few

minutes.” She was sitting comfortably on top of one of the largest pieces of

stonework. Her grey cape rendered her almost invisible among the shadows. How

she’d got up there Rudi had no idea. “But you seem to be managing quite well on

your own.”

“What do you mean I’m a pyromancer?” Hanna asked. Alwyn smiled.

“A pyromancer is a sorcerer with an affinity for fire magic…”

“I know what the word means!” Hanna snapped. Alwyn nodded.

“I’m sure you do. You seem quite powerful for a hedge wizard, by the way.”

“A what?” Rudi asked. Alwyn smiled again.

“It’s a slang term for a sorcerer who hasn’t been formally trained. A bit

disparaging, but I always preferred it to witch.” She turned her head, as though

listening to something. “This isn’t really the time or place to discuss it, though.”

She was right about that. Distracted by his astonishment at seeing her again and

the bizarre conversation which had ensued, Rudi had almost forgotten the rat-things,

but the creatures had clearly not forgotten them. Renewed scuttling and chittering in

the shadows presaged another attack, and he glanced around, looking for a way out.

Perhaps Alwyn could see a line of retreat from her elevated position, he thought, but

when he turned back to ask her she’d vanished as abruptly as she’d appeared in the

first place.

“Come on.” He took Hanna by the arm, urging her to move. “We can’t stay here.

Even if you can do that fire trick now.”

“I’m not sure I can.” Her voice was soft in the darkness. “I don’t remember how I

did it the first time. It just happened.”

“Then let’s hope it happens again,” Rudi said. A flash of motion in a nearby

patch of shadow caught his eye. He stooped for a chunk of rubble, and was about to

throw it, when Alwyn took a pace out into the moonlight and beckoned to them. Rudi

and Hanna moved towards her, but by the time they reached the block of stone she’d

appeared from, the woman had gone again.

“How does she do that?” Rudi asked in frustration. Hanna looked at him

pityingly.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Before she could explain further a shrill squeal erupted from

the ruins behind them, redoubling and echoing from the stone blocks all around. It

was answered by a chorus of squeaking and chittering, which made the hairs on

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Rudi’s scalp bristle. Then it was all but drowned out by the pattering of dozens of

rodent feet, as a grey tide of humaniform vermin scuttled towards them.

“Now would be a good time to remember how you did the fire thing,” Rudi said,

flinging his improvised missile. It impacted on a rodent in the front rank, who

faltered and fell, but the rest of the creatures just kept coming, trampling their

unfortunate comrade in the process. Rudi took a step forward, placing himself

protectively in front of Hanna, knowing even as he did so that it was a futile gesture.

“Out of the way!” Hanna’s voice had changed, it was resonant with strength and

power. Glancing back at her Rudi shuddered involuntarily. Her eyes were blank, and

an uncharacteristic expression of malevolence suffused her face. A ball of fire, like

the one she’d conjured to light their way earlier that evening, appeared in front of

them, hissing and crackling, but this was no friendly beacon. Rudi could feel the

furnace heat of it, and the flames it was composed of were a dull, hellish red.

Abruptly it shot forwards, fast as an arrow, and struck home in the centre of the

onrushing horde. It exploded as it hit, enveloping one unfortunate rodent, which

thrashed about squealing as it burned alive, injuring several of its fellows in the

process. The charge faltered, panic began to spread from the vicinity of the burning

rat like ripples from a stone tossed into a pond.

“Neat trick,” Alwyn said, suddenly standing next to Rudi. She drew a sword from

under her cloak, taking guard with it with fluid precision. “Ever seen this one?”

Rudi flinched, expecting some equally spectacular display of destructive power,

but nothing seemed to be happening. Then his attention was drawn to a low rumbling

sound somewhere in the vicinity of the main body of the rat-things. Before he could

fully comprehend what was going on the ground gave way beneath them, pitching

most of the creatures down a deep hole, which had appeared from nowhere. Frantic

squealing followed them into the depths, although quite how deep the pit was Rudi

couldn’t tell. The ground solidified again before their cries were cut off by their

impact with the bottom.

“That should even the odds a bit,” Alwyn said, with satisfaction. She glanced at

Rudi as though vaguely surprised to see him still there. “I’d take care of your sister if

I were you.” For a moment Rudi wondered what she was talking about, before he

remembered the lie they’d told at the Jolly Friar. He looked across at Hanna, who

was swaying on her feet, totally exhausted. The effort of casting the fire spell had

evidently drained all the reserves she had. He hesitated, torn between concern for her

and fear of the remaining rodents.

“What about the beastmen?” he asked.

“Beastmen?” Alwyn looked confused for a moment, then realised what he was

talking about and grinned. “I think you can leave the rest of them to us.”

There was no mistaking who she meant by that. Almost as she spoke the

unmistakable thwip of an arrow in flight terminated abruptly in a thud and a squeal. It

ended its trajectory in the throat of a rat-thing larger than most of its fellows, which

seemed to be urging the panic-stricken survivors of the warband to stand and fight.

That was enough: with shrill cries of terror the remaining ratmen scattered and ran,

heedless now of where their flight would take them.

In most cases that wasn’t far. The rest of Krieger’s warband were waiting for

them. They stepped out of the shadows to engage and cut them down. It seemed that

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these creatures, whatever they were, relied on the weight of numbers to overwhelm

an enemy, and once scattered into smaller groups they were easy prey for a

competent warrior.

And competent the sell-swords certainly were. Rudi saw Bruno taking on three at

once. He laughed as he skipped and danced out of the way of their clumsy sword

blows, parrying and slashing until the trio of creatures all lay dead at his feet. Theo,

by contrast, plied his sword with grim efficiency, all deadly precision. Rudi watched

him in awe, almost unable to tell where the man ended and the weapon began. A low

rumble of laughter drew his attention to Bodun the dwarf, whose battleaxe cleaved

through his opponents as though chopping wood. And throughout it all Conrad stood

on a block of masonry that commanded the battlefield, picking off individual rat

creatures with a precision that Rudi, a bowman himself, could well appreciate.

Confident that they were safe he approached Hanna, and took her weight as she

collapsed with exhaustion. She looked up at him, her face and voice normal again.

Fear and wonder mingled in her eyes.

“I felt it,” she whispered. “So much power…” Then she swooned. Staggering

slightly under her increased weight, Rudi lowered her gently to the ground and stood

over her, determined to defend her if he had to. But it seemed there was no need. One

of the creatures ran in their direction, impelled it seemed by nothing more aggressive

than blind panic, but it tried to change direction abruptly as Alwyn stepped out to

meet it. The effort was futile. She ran it through with an economy of motion which

showed Rudi she was as experienced a fighter as the rest of them.

“How is she?” the woman asked, trotting over to check on Hanna. Rudi shrugged.

“You’re the sorcerer. You tell me.”

“Hm.” Alwyn squatted, and examined the prostrate girl for a moment. “She’ll be

all right. She just needs a few hours sleep and a good meal.”

“Young Wolfsbane!” A hand like granite pounded Rudi on the back, making him

stagger. “By Grungni’s beard, I never expected to see you again so soon!”

“You can add skavenslayer to that, Bodun,” Alwyn said. “I saw him throttle one

with his bare hands.”

“Really?” Bruno looked at Rudi with an expression of surprised respect. “That’s

pretty impressive for a tenderfoot.”

“It’s impressive for anyone,” Conrad added, exchanging a kiss with his wife.

They stood together, arms around one another’s waists, exuding an easy intimacy.

“Couldn’t resist doing the hole trick again, could you?”

“What can I say?” Alwyn shrugged. “It’s an old spell, but it gets the job done.”

“And buries any loot along with the victims,” Conrad added, with transparently

feigned irritation. “Still, I suppose it’s flashy enough to impress a couple of

youngsters…” He broke off as she elbowed him gently in the ribs.

“Heading for Marienburg the hard way, I see.” Theo joined them last of all,

sheathing his sword. Rudi glared at the group of adventurers, who all seemed so full

of themselves. His anger rose. In spite of his best efforts he felt his fists clench.

“You didn’t leave us a whole lot of choice about that, did you?” he snapped.

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“What?” Theo glanced at the ruins surrounding them. “This is hardly the spot for

a long conversation. Let’s collect your gear and get back to our camp. You can fill us

in on what you’re doing here then.”

“We don’t have any gear,” Rudi said tightly. He didn’t even have a clue where

his last remaining snare line was. “We’ve lost everything, thanks to you.”

“Thanks to us?” Bruno looked on the verge of accepting his challenge even if he

didn’t understand it. “All you’ve got to thank us for is saving your lives.”

“At the very least,” Conrad agreed, placing a gently restraining hand on the

young man’s shoulder. Alwyn nodded soberly.

“Those creatures take slaves. At least so the stories go—”

“What are they, anyway?” Rudi asked, unable to contain his curiosity despite the

anger he still felt towards the group. “Beastmen of some kind?”

“No one really knows,” Theo said. “Most people don’t even believe they exist.

But there’s enough who do to spread the word.”

“They’re creatures of Chaos, that’s clear enough,” Alwyn said. She indicated

Hanna’s prostrate form. “I need some help to carry her.”

“I can manage,” Rudi said sharply, but Conrad laid a hand on his arm, the way he

had with Bruno a moment before. Rudi began to shrug it off, but the touch was light,

and somehow hard to resent.

“You’re all in, lad. Let us help her.”

“All right.” Rudi nodded reluctantly, and allowed Bruno to step in and support

Hanna’s other shoulder. She roused just enough to stumble forwards on her own,

clinging to the young adventurer and the sorcerer, who held her up on either side.

“Good lad.” Theo turned to Bodun and Conrad. “Can you two take care of things

here?”

“Do you doubt it?” The dwarf glanced contemptuously at the body of the rat

thing Alwyn had stabbed. “Though there’ll be precious little worth taking from this

vermin, I’ll be bound.”

“But what there is you can always trust a dwarf to find,” Conrad added, to the

general amusement of the company.

“That’s true,” Bodun agreed happily, and began to search the creature’s body.

The adventurers’ camp wasn’t far away. Nevertheless Rudi was so tired that it

seemed a to take a long time to reach it. He was too exhausted to even ask questions,

and it wasn’t until he was sitting in front of a cosy fire with a bowl of stew in his

hands that he found his voice again.

“What were those things, anyway? You started to explain, but…”

“They’re called skaven,” Theo said as Rudi devoured the thick mixture of

vegetables. “Like Alwyn says, they’re creatures of Chaos.” He shrugged. “And that’s

about all anybody knows. They live underground, like the rats they resemble, and

most folk will tell you they don’t exist.”

“Which doesn’t stop the councils of most cities paying a good price to anyone

who’ll keep the vermin out of their sewers,” Bruno added. “So long as you know

who to ask, and keep your mouth shut afterwards.”

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“Which is rather beside the point at the moment,” Theo pointed out. He turned to

Rudi. “So what are you doing out here on your own, and why do you think it was our

fault?”

“You sneaked out of the inn and left us to pay the bill!” Rudi almost choked on

his stew. Theo laughed.

“Think of it as a learning experience.”

“Is that all you can say?” Rudi snapped. “Thanks to you we were nearly arrested,

lost all our possessions, and got thrown off a riverboat!”

“What were you doing on a riverboat?” Theo asked, then shrugged. “Never mind.

It sounds like a long story, and I’m sure it’ll keep.” He glanced up as Conrad and the

dwarf strolled into the camp, chatting happily. “Well? How did we do?”

“About as well as you’d expect.” Conrad was carrying a bundle, wrapped in

cloth, which he dropped on the ground next to the campfire. It clanked metallically.

“Most of their weapons were pretty crude, but there were a few pieces worth having.”

He unwrapped the cloth as he spoke, revealing it to be the bloodstained remnants of

one of the dead skaven’s garments.

“Hmm.” Theo turned over the collection of artefacts he’d revealed. There were a

couple of swords and a handful of knives. The others clustered around to have a look.

“Empire workmanship. They must have come from other travellers who weren’t as

fortunate as our young friend here.”

“Throwing knives!” Bruno pounced on a couple of daggers, which looked pretty

much the same as all the others to Rudi’s untutored eye. He hefted them approvingly.

“Magnin’s work by the feel of them.” He tossed them in the air, spun them like a

juggler, and caught them alternately by the hilt and the tip of the blade until Rudi

began to fear for his fingers.

“That, and his maker’s mark there,” Conrad pointed out. Alwyn smiled.

“He’s in love. Isn’t that sweet?”

“No one’s taking anything yet,” Theo said. Everyone looked surprised, and Bruno

returned the knives to the pile with a faintly sulky air. Theo gestured at Rudi and

Hanna. “They’ve got nothing left. They should get the first pick of everything.”

“Fair enough,” Conrad agreed, and Alwyn nodded.

“Fine with me. They fought the skaven too, don’t forget.”

“And that’s a story worth hearing, I’ll be bound!” Bodun nodded vigorously.

“Well worth a bauble or two.”

“You’re the boss.” Bruno shrugged. “What else did we get?”

“Just odds and ends.” The dwarf opened a leather pouch, spilling a mixture of

coins and other small objects across the cloth. “They don’t carry much.”

“Why would they have money?” Rudi asked. Theo shrugged.

“Because it’s shiny. They’ll scavenge pretty much anything.” He indicated the

scattered collection. “We’ll sort that out when it’s light, and we can see what we’re

doing.” He turned back to Bodun. “You’ve got the real earners?”

“Right here.” The dwarf grinned, and produced another cloth-wrapped bundle.

This was stained with blood, and Rudi found himself shrinking away from it before

he knew what was in it. “There’s a couple of crowns’ worth if I’m any judge.” He

171

pulled it open, revealing what, for a horrified instant, Rudy supposed to be the bloody

remains of a nest of giant serpents.

“You cut off their tails!” he gasped. Bodun nodded with relish.

“Of course. How else could we prove we’d killed them?”

“Like I said,” Theo explained, “there are a few officials who know about these

creatures, and pay a reward for every skaven slain.”

“That’s what we do,” Bruno put in. “We’re bounty hunters.” A douche of icy

water seemed to run down Rudi’s spine.

“Some of the time, anyway,” Alwyn said.

“Is that what you’re doing out here?” Rudi asked. Theo nodded.

“That’s right. We’ve got an arrest warrant with a big reward on it.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Despite his apprehension Rudi slept soundly until well after dawn, wrapped in a

borrowed blanket. He didn’t stir until somebody shook him gently awake. To his

great relief it was Hanna, who looked well-fed and refreshed. She smiled as he sat up,

and handed him a bowl of oatmeal porridge, which he devoured gratefully.

“Feeling better?” he asked, and she laughed.

“I was about to ask you that,” Rudi nodded.

“Much,” he said, with his mouth full. He swallowed, and lowered his voice

slightly. “Have they told you what they’re doing out here?”

“Yes,” Hanna nodded. “They’re after a deserter from the Imperial Army.” She

looked up and smiled at Bruno, who caught her eye and smiled back. “He sounds like

a nasty piece of work, but Bruno says they should catch him without too much

trouble.”

“You’ve been talking to Bruno a lot then,” Rudi said, not quite sure why the idea

should bother him so much. “Did he tell you why we got into trouble at the inn?” To

his astonishment Hanna laughed.

“Yes. But you have to admit it is pretty funny.”

“Hilarious,” Rudi said flatly. But he felt relieved as well. Last night he hadn’t had

the nerve to ask who the adventurers were after, he was too afraid that it would be a

pair of heretics from Kohlstadt. But if it was someone else entirely they should be

safe enough in their company for a while. At least until they made it back to

civilisation, and the others had a chance to find out about the arrest warrant with their

names on it. After Shenk’s double-dealing he had no doubt that they’d seize on the

chance to claim the reward for them too. He lowered his voice. “I think we should

carry on pretending to be brother and sister for a while. Just in case they hear the

news about us from somewhere.”

“All right.” Hanna nodded. She collected his empty bowl and wandered over to

join Bruno. After a moment or two they were laughing over some shared jest.

“Don’t worry.” Conrad came over to join him as he struggled to his feet. “I know

what you’re thinking, she’ll be fine.”

“Will she?” Rudi wasn’t quite sure what he meant. Conrad nodded.

“He likes to pretend he’s a great heartbreaker, but the closest he ever gets is a bit

of flirting. Your sister’s virtue’s as safe as if she was still at home.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Rudi said, rather more vehemently than he’d intended.

“I’m sure you are.” Conrad looked at him a little strangely before going on.

“Theo says its time to divide the spoils from last night. There isn’t much, but you’re

both entitled to shares.”

“Oh. Right.” Relived at the change of subject, Rudi rolled up his blanket and

followed the archer.

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“There you are. Good.” The mercenary captain looked up as Rudi and Conrad

joined the others around the campfire. Hanna was already there, sitting between

Bruno and Alwyn, and Bodun was leaning on the haft of his axe, looking down at the

small pile of loot. “I was just explaining how this works to Hanna. If you fight, you

get an equal share of the spoils. That’s how we’ve always done things.”

“Saves a lot of arguments,” Bodun said. “And a good thing too. I’ve seen parties

like this slitting one other’s throats over claims to trinkets a tavern whore would turn

her nose up at.”

“Quite,” Theo said, fixing the dwarf with a steely glare. Bodun cleared his throat

and went quiet. “So, to return to business, the coinage is easy. It comes to three

shillings and sevenpence ha’penny apiece.” He handed small piles of chinking silver

and copper to each of them in turn, including Rudi and Hanna.

Rudi closed his hand around his share with a quiet sense of satisfaction. This

more than made up for the purse full of coppers he’d lost at the Jolly Friar. He

glanced across at Hanna as she accepted her due, and smiled. With over seven

shillings between them, life would be a lot easier once they resumed their travels.

“The bounty on the rats’ tails will have to wait until we get somewhere we can

claim it,” Theo went on.

“Assuming they last that long,” Bruno put in.

“If they start to go off we can always make stew with them,” Bodun suggested,

and glanced at the faces of his companions. “What? Oh for Grungni’s sake, don’t any

of you manlings have a sense of humour?”

“Not where money’s concerned,” Theo said. “Which brings us to the rest of the

stuff. Normally we draw lots and take it in turns to pick something until it’s all gone.

But since you two have so little to start with, we’ll kit you out first. Any objections?”

There weren’t, or if there were they went unvoiced. Theo nodded, and motioned

Rudi and Hanna forwards. They glanced at the pile of weapons and other equipment.

“A tinderbox!” Rudi pounced on it. “I’ll have this.”

“Shouldn’t think you’d need one with a pyromancer in the family,” Alwyn said,

and everyone laughed.

“It’s not a trick I like to demonstrate too much,” Hanna said, and the red-headed

sorcerer nodded.

“I take your point.”

“You’ll need weapons,” Conrad pointed out. “This isn’t exactly a safe place to be

wandering around unarmed.”

“How about this one?” Theo selected one of the swords, and handed it to Rudi.

He took it awkwardly, unsure how to hold it.

“No. Like this.” Bruno corrected his grip with swift precision, and Rudi fought

down a brief spasm of resentment at the youth’s interference. Somehow the blade felt

right in his hand now, the way the bow had after he’d learned the trick of not trying

too hard to hit the mark. “How does that feel?”

“Good,” Rudi admitted, surprised. He tried a couple of cuts with it, prompting a

general shuffling backwards among the bystanders. Theo smiled.

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“Don’t worry. We’ll show you how to use it before you take your own thumb

off.” He handed Rudi the sheath, and after a bit of fumbling Rudi managed to put it

away. “And what about you?” He turned to Hanna.

“I wouldn’t have a clue how to fight,” Hanna said.

“After what I saw last night, you shouldn’t have to.” Alwyn bent down, and

selected a dagger. As she drew it from its sheath the blade caught the early morning

light, shining bright, its edge and tip razor sharp. “But you can’t always rely on

magic to solve your problems.”

“Rather the reverse, it seems,” Hanna said grimly.

“Quite.” Alwyn handed her the weapon. “And in my experience, no matter how

subtle the wizard, six inches of steel in the kidneys does tend to cramp his style.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Hanna said, tucking the blade inside her bodice.

“I can show you some tricks with that,” Bruno offered, ignoring the good-natured

chaffing of his friends. Hanna smiled.

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

“You’ll need a knife too,” Theo said, handing one to Rudi. It was a simple,

utilitarian one, like the blade he’d lost on the boat, and he took it without comment.

“Anything else you need?”

“Nothing I can see here,” Rudi said.

“Good.” Theo concealed a bundle of five straws in his hand, all different lengths,

and turned to his companions. “You know how this works. Pick in order of size,

longest straw first.” Everyone pulled one out of his fist, compared them, and cracked

jokes about Alwyn getting the first turn, which was something they all pretended

seemed to happen more often than pure chance would account for.

“What do you expect with a shadowmancer in the party?” Bruno asked, and

Alwyn raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“I don’t hear you complaining about having second pick,” she said, and made a

great show of considering the throwing knives he coveted before settling on a short

sword. “This looks like it’s worth a shilling or two.”

“Or a couple of coppers for scrap.” Bruno fell on the magnins with a whoop of

delight, rolling up his shirtsleeves to strap the sheaths to his forearms. He already had

a knife concealed up his right sleeve, Rudi noted with some surprise. He relocated it

to the top of his boot to make room for his new acquisition. Conrad noticed the

direction of his gaze, and smiled.

“You don’t always want everything you’ve got to be visible,” he said quietly.

“Although Bruno does tend to take it to extremes.” Intrigued, Rudi eyed the others in

the party, wondering if they too carried concealed weapons. Following Bruno’s

example he took another dagger himself when his next turn to pick came along. He

tucked it into his own boot though it felt surprisingly uncomfortable at first, until

Conrad showed him how to position it. After a short while he almost forgot it was

there.

“What’s this?” Hanna asked, rooting through a jumble of small items and coming

out with a leather pouch. Bodun shrugged.

“Dunno. The big ugly one had it.”

175

“I think you should leave it,” Rudi said, a tingle of foreboding rising in the back

of his mind. His perceptions seemed subtly distorted as he looked at the thing. It

reminded him of the time he’d found the thorn bush in the forest which had so

changed Hans Katzenjammer, and when he walked the unseen paths in Altman’s

field. Hanna looked up at him in surprise.

“I thought it was my choice.”

“It is.” Theo looked at Rudi. “That’s how we do things. With no interference

from anyone else.”

“Then I’ll take it,” Hanna said, scooping up the small object. She glared at Rudi

as though daring him to contradict her.

“You don’t even know what it is,” Conrad pointed out mildly. “You might want

to look inside before you commit yourself.”

“No. It’s fine.” Hanna moved away from the diminished pile of loot, her prize

cupped in her hand, and turned to Alwyn. “Your turn again.”

“Aren’t you going to show us what you’ve got?” Bruno asked. Hanna shrugged.

She tugged open the drawstring, and a small chip of stone fell out into her hand. It

was glossy and black; it seemed to suck in the sunlight that fell on it.

“Oh.” Bruno looked a little crestfallen on her behalf. “It’s just a bit of rock.

Chuck it away and try again.”

“It’s fine,” Hanna said. “I think it looks pretty.”

“Well, if you’re happy,” the youth shrugged, and returned his attention to the pile

of loot.

With the division of the spoils complete, the band began a second round of haggling,

which Rudi gathered was equally traditional. By the time it finished he had traded a

couple of trinkets he didn’t want for a desperately needed change of clothes. Bruno

was about the same size and claimed to have a spare set he didn’t need. He purchased

the bedroll he’d been using from Conrad for a couple of coppers. His new tinderbox

fitted snugly into his pouch, and he tucked the bedroll into the shoulder straps of a

pack Theo had asked him to carry.

“You’re eating our food, so you might as well carry some of it,” he’d pointed out.

That only seemed fair, so he’d nodded and picked up the burden, which turned out to

be light enough. He was reminded of his lost snare lines, so he scrounged a few thin

cords and passed the time on the day’s march knotting some replacements. The

ground seemed firmer on this side of the ruins, and they made good time. The sword

he was wearing hung awkwardly from his belt and banged into his legs from time to

time.

At noon they stopped for a rest and some refreshment, and Hanna wandered over

to see what he was doing.

“You’ve been busy,” she said. Rudi laid the line he’d been working on to one

side, and smiled at her.

“So have you.” She’d spent the morning walking beside Alwyn, conversing

intently in undertones. She nodded, but to his vague disappointment didn’t sit next to

him.

“We’ve had a lot to discuss.”

176

“About magic and stuff,” he suggested.

“Mostly stuff.” She didn’t seem inclined to talk about it, but just when he thought

she was about to wander off again, she appeared to change her mind. “She’s been

trying to show me how to focus the power, so I can do that fireball trick again.” A

faint, troubled frown flickered across her face. “And I think I could now.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Rudi said, puzzled by her reluctance. Hanna

shrugged.

“I suppose so.” But her eyes said otherwise. “The thing is, I never learned that

spell in the first place. I still don’t know how I know it.” She might have said more,

but she turned away in response to a shout from Bruno, who was waiting for her. Just

then Rudi caught sight of a necklace she was wearing. It seemed vaguely familiar,

and after a moment he recognised it as one of the items he’d traded for his new

clothes. Hanna noticed the direction of his gaze, and, to his astonishment, blushed.

“Nice, isn’t it? Bruno gave it to me.”

“It suits you,” he said, wondering why the idea hadn’t occurred to him first.

“That’s what he said.” Her flush deepened. “He said he thought of me the

moment he saw it. Wasn’t that sweet?”

“Very,” Rudi said. Hanna looked at him oddly.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not,” Rudi said, a little too hastily. “Why should I?”

“No reason I can see,” Hanna said, sounding curiously irritated and went off to

join Bruno. Rudi concentrated on knotting snares; he was determined not to look up

every time a burst of laughter drifted across the meadow towards him.

“That’s tidy work,” Theo said, the instant a shadow fell across Rudi. Grateful for

the distraction Rudi glanced up.

“They’re rabbit snares. My father was a forester, so I’ve been making these

practically since I could walk.”

“Really?” Theo sounded genuinely interested. “So you’re a bit of a tracker then?”

“I’ve usually managed,” Rudi said, and the mercenary nodded.

“That might come in useful. When we move out, come up front with me.”

“All right.” Rudi tucked the completed snares back in his pouch. “Was there

something you wanted?”

“We’ve a few minutes more before we leave,” Theo said. In a sudden blur of

motion he drew his sword, and stabbed down at where Rudi sat. Without time to

react consciously, Rudi rolled away, scrabbling for the hilt of his new sword as he

rose to his feet. The treachery he’d been anticipating had come early, but by Taal

they wouldn’t take him without a fight…

To his surprise he was greeted by a good-natured chorus of approbation, and,

looking round, found Hanna and the rest of the warband watching him with polite

interest.

“Not bad,” Theo said, the tip of his blade a couple of inches from where Rudi’s

throat would have been if he hadn’t moved. “But if I hadn’t slowed it down I’d have

had you.”

“So you say,” Rudi responded, and Theo laughed.

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“You’ve got a good opinion of yourself too. Good. Never go into a fight you

don’t know from the outset you’re going to win.” He shrugged. “Of course once in

your life you’ll be wrong, but you’ll never get the chance to feel stupid about it

afterwards, so it doesn’t really count.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Rudi said.

“Good.” Theo nodded at the hand Rudi had on the hilt of his new sword.

“Another thing to remember. If you take hold of the hilt, draw. Your opponent won’t

wait, so neither should you.”

“That’s right,” Bruno nodded agreement. “Nine times out of ten, the man who

gets his blade out first will win.”

“And the tenth?” Rudi asked. By way of an answer the blond youth flicked his

wrist, in a subtle blur of motion Rudi wasn’t able to analyse. One of his new toys

appeared quivering in the trunk of a nearby tree.

“He wasn’t paying attention to where the real threat was.”

“Very graphic,” Theo said dryly. “But hardly helpful at the moment.” He turned

back to Rudi. “You remember how to hold it?”

Rudi nodded, and drew the blade. It felt surprisingly light in his hand, a testament

to the skill of the swordsmith who’d crafted it. He half expected one of the others to

correct his grip again, but Theo seemed satisfied, and nodded an acknowledgement.

“Stand like this, with the weight on the balls of your feet.” He moved into a guard

position, his own blade held up in front of him. He moved with a fluid grace Rudi

thought he would never be able to emulate. He did his best to comply, and Conrad

tapped his legs and feet to adjust his position slightly. “You should be able to move

in any direction from there, to attack or defend as necessary.” He moved through

several cuts and parries with the grace of a dancer. Something of the awe he felt must

have appeared on Rudi’s face at that point; because the mercenary smiled. “Don’t

worry, I don’t expect you to learn all that today.”

“I see.” Rudi didn’t really, but he felt he ought to seem confident. He wasn’t sure

how well he succeeded, though, as the others still seemed to be watching with some

amusement.

“Glad to hear it,” Theo said, resuming the posture he’d started out in. “Now this

is a basic defence.” He moved the sword laterally across his body, and stepped

sideways at the same time. He nodded to Rudi. “Now you try.”

Rudi did his best to replicate the movement. It felt awkward, the sword clumsy in

his hand, and he couldn’t for the life of him see how waving it about like that would

help in a fight. Theo nodded, and told him to continue, so he kept at it until the party

moved off again. To his vague surprise the movement became easier as he worked at

it, and the sword felt a little less clumsy by the time he’d finished.

“That was pretty amazing,” Hanna said, falling into step beside him. “You really

looked as if you knew what you were doing.”

“Really?” Rudi felt a warm glow of satisfaction rise up to soothe his aching

muscles.

“Actually you were moving like a ruptured duck,” Bruno chipped in, “but it’s a

start.” Rudi felt his jaw clench. Hanna’s easy laughter at the remark twisted in his

stomach like a dagger. He lengthened his pace, beginning to leave them behind.

178

“Excuse me,” he said. “Theo wants me at the front.” Behind him he heard the

murmur of further conversation and a burst of feminine laughter, which blackened

his mood even further.

The two of them deserved each other, he thought. Hanna had always been an

arrogant little madam, and now she’d met someone as egotistical as she was. Serve

them both right.

“There you are.” Theo nodded a greeting as he joined him at the front of the

group. Rudi returned it, hoping his irritation didn’t show. “Anything here strike you

as unusual?” Rudi scanned the ground, and the surrounding bushes, looking for some

sign that anyone had passed this way before, but the only things he could see were

animal tracks.

“Not really,” he said. “There’s a small herd of deer around here somewhere,

maybe seven or eight of them. And I think a wild boar’s been through here, but not in

the last day or so.” He pointed at the barely-visible footprints. “Looks like it’s lame

in one leg.”

“So I did hit it.” Conrad nodded. “I took a shot at one the day before yesterday,

but it ran off.”

“No sign of your deserter, though,” Rudi added, enjoying the expressions of

surprise on the faces of the adventurers. Most of them anyway: Bruno was still

chatting to Hanna, oblivious of anything else. Theo nodded.

“Keep an eye out. He was heading this way the last we heard, so he must have

left some trace. Especially one someone like you can read.” He smiled, and Rudi felt

his irritation easing. “Running across you last night was a real stroke of luck.”

179

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Rudi continued to practise the sword drill Theo had shown him, along with a few

others that the mercenary captain had added to his repertoire. His movements became

more confident and fluid, but he couldn’t see much point in the exercise. He made a

few half-hearted attempts to talk to Hanna, but she remained aloof, and spent most of

her time either studying with Alwyn or chatting away to Bruno. What he heard of

these conversations was either far too abstruse for anyone unversed in the magical to

understand, or mind-numbingly inconsequential.

As a result he threw himself into his role as the company’s tracker with single-

minded dedication. He was cheered by the fact that this at least was a skill no one

else possessed, and which most of the band appeared to value. It also kept him

slightly apart from most of the group.

He ranged ahead so the subtle clues as to what had passed before them weren’t

disturbed by their boot prints. This, he felt, was no bad thing. His upbringing in the

forest had left him solitary by nature, and being surrounded by so many people so

much of the time left him a little on edge.

On the second day he picked up the trail of the boar Conrad had shot again, and

pointed out the traces it had left to Theo. Kreiger considered it a moment, then

motioned Conrad and Bodun over to join them.

“The lad says it’s not far ahead of us,” he explained, and Rudi nodded

confirmation. “Go with him and see if you can finish it off.”

“Lead on then, young skavenslayer.” The dwarf hefted his heavy axe. “It’s been

some while since we had pork for dinner.” Rudi tried to hide his apprehension. Wild

boars were dangerous enough at the best of times, and this one was already wounded.

But Bodun looked strong enough to deal with it. Besides, with any luck Conrad

would be able to take it down with his bow before it got close enough for that to

become necessary. He suppressed the thought of his own bow, now lost forever, with

a sigh of regret. The archer nodded.

“We’re right behind you.” It was only as they moved off that Rudi realised both

warriors were deferring to his expertise without thought or comment. He felt a flush

of pride. He couldn’t resist glancing round to see if Hanna had noticed and was duly

impressed, but she was watching Bruno do tricks with his new knives and didn’t

spare him a glance. She seemed to have developed an irritating giggle, like some

persistent chest infection, and this floated across to him on the breeze every time

Bruno said something.

“Best get to it, then,” he said, trying to sound businesslike. He led the others

away from the rest stop they’d established. The trail led deep into a stand of trees,

one of many dotting the landscape between the patches of marshland which still

seeped out from the edge of the Reik. Boars preferred woodland environments, and

he’d been half-expecting to find traces of them every time their journey had taken

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them through one of the copses. As always, being surrounded by trees calmed and

soothed him, the comforting sense of familiarity settled around him like a cloak.

“Any sign of it?” Bodun asked. Rudi glanced at the dwarf, convinced he was

joking, until he realised that neither of his companions could see the evidence of the

animal’s passage, which was so clear to him. It was rather like the way Hanna could

extract meaning from the strange squiggles on a piece of paper, he supposed, so long

as they were in Reikspiel.

“It went into that thicket,” he replied, and pointed. “See where the grass has been

flattened there?” The dwarf stared for a long time, and shook his head.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I’m better with rocks.”

“And beer steins,” Conrad added, to Bodun’s evident amusement. He turned to

Rudi. “Is it still in there?”

“It hasn’t come out the same way.” Rudi bent down, examining the ground, and

found a footprint with little difficulty. The sides were still crisp and well defined,

despite the softness of the loam, which meant it was fresh. “These tracks are only a

few hours old.”

They moved off to the left, where the surrounding undergrowth seemed thinner

and more permeable. Rudi found a way through with little difficulty. He hid his

amusement at his companions’ struggles to keep up with him. As a consequence he

was some way ahead when he stopped abruptly.

“Great Taal!”

“What is it?” Conrad was at his shoulder in a heartbeat, his bow drawn, looking

for a target. By way of an answer Rudi indicated the butchered pig lying on the forest

floor ahead of them.

“It was our boar. Someone else got to it first.” He approached the carcass warily,

careful not to disturb any tracks which might surround it. But the ground was so

churned up and so slick with blood there wasn’t much in the immediate vicinity he

could read. After a few moments searching he came across a booted footprint,

leading away, and nodded with satisfaction.

“What have you found?” Bodun called.

“We’re getting close,” Rudi said. “Assuming it was your deserter who did this, of

course.” He returned to the remains of the pig. “We might have frightened him off.

Most of the meat’s still on the carcass.”

“Best news I’ve had all week!” The dwarf started forward eagerly, and Rudi

waved him back.

“Hold on a minute. I want to examine this first.” Despite Bodun’s grumbling, he

squatted down and looked more closely at the body. “Thought so.”

“What is it?” Conrad asked, returning the arrow he’d drawn to his quiver.

“A townsman did this. Look.” Rudi beckoned his companions forward. “He

hasn’t butchered it properly. Probably doesn’t know how. He’s just cut a few chunks

off the haunches.”

“Not a mistake I’ll make, you can be sure,” Bodun said, drawing a knife and

stepping forward eagerly.

“How was it killed?” Conrad asked. Rudi indicated a deep wound in the

creature’s chest.

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“With a spear, by the look of it. He must have spitted it while it was charging.”

“Military pattern,” Conrad said after a quick glance at the damage. “It’s our

deserter all right.” He shook his head. “He must have some nerve to stand his ground

like that.”

“Or he’s very stupid,” Bodun added, beginning to flense the carcass with a degree

of enthusiasm which almost made up for his lack of expertise. Rudi sighed.

“I’ll go on a bit,” he said. “See if I can find some more tracks.” It looked as

though his companions would be some time, and he found himself relishing the

chance to be alone in the forest again. True there was the deserter to consider, but

after facing skaven and beastmen it was hard to think of a mere human adversary as

intimidating.

“I’ll come with you,” Conrad offered, and Rudi shook his head.

“No offence, but I’ll move faster and more quietly alone.”

“Fair enough.” The archer nodded, and went to help Bodun with the boar.

Leaving them to it Rudi slipped away, following the tracks he’d found before. As

he’d expected they were easy to follow. Whoever had left them showed no signs of

woodcraft, and he had only been out of sight of his companions for a few minutes

before a faint, familiar odour tickled his nostrils. Woodsmoke. He slowed down,

wondering for a moment if he should return and fetch the others, but he dismissed the

thought. Better to get closer, and see the lie of the land first.

Confident in the skills of a lifetime he eased his way through the undergrowth,

stepping carefully around anything that might snap or rustle to betray his presence.

The smell grew stronger: it was overlaid with the odour of charring meat. Clearly the

man he was stalking was no better a cook than he was a butcher. A small clearing lay

ahead, and Rudi eased himself into the shadow of a tree.

His quarry was sitting next to a smoking fire, which, to Rudi’s practiced eye, had

far too much green wood on it to make a satisfactory blaze. He was hunched

miserably over a haunch of meat sizzling on a stick. What wasn’t burnt was almost

raw.

The fellow was large and muscular, and his face was partly obscured by the rag

he’d tied around his nose and mouth in an attempt to avoid the worst effects of the

smoke. He was dressed in stained and muddy clothes. Every now and again he

coughed, whether from the smoke which seeped inside his improvised protection or

some other cause Rudi couldn’t tell.

A pack lay on the ground beside him, and a spear like the ones the militia back in

Kohlstadt used to carry was stuck into the ground next to it point first. The shaft was

stained with drying blood almost to the butt, and Rudi shuddered at the picture that

conjured up; the maddened boar must have spitted itself on the point and just kept

going, almost to the end. He glanced across at the deserter again, and sure enough a

crude and bloodstained bandage had been inexpertly tied around his forearm.

He’d seen enough, Rudi told himself. He took a step back into the shelter of the

trees. The fellow was clearly going to be there for some time, certainly long enough

to return to Conrad and Bodun and lead them back to the clearing. He was on the

point of turning away when the deserter pulled off his makeshift mask to take a

cautious bite at the lump of meat. Rudi froze, his heart hammering in shock. He was

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so distracted that he missed his footing, and stepped on a dried twig with a loud and

echoing Crack!

“Who’s there?” Fritz Katzenjammer surged to his feet and grabbed the spear. He

whirled round to face him.

“It’s me. Rudi.” The young forester stepped cautiously into the clearing. He

moved slowly, in contrast to the whirlwind of his thoughts. Meeting his old enemy

here, like this, was so unexpected he could hardly take it in. “What in the name of

Sigmar are you doing here?”

“Trying to eat.” Fritz was clearly no less truculent than he had been in Kohlstadt.

“Were you following me?”

“I’m not sure,” Rudi admitted, beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake. “I’m

with a group of people looking for someone, and we came across your tracks. Have

you seen anyone else around here?”

“No.” Fritz held the spear at the ready, the point aimed squarely at Rudi’s heart.

“And I don’t want to.”

“I can understand that.” Rudi nodded, wondering what he should do. If Fritz

really was the deserter Theo and his companions were after, he couldn’t let them take

him. The hulking simpleton was bound to say something to cast suspicion on Hanna

and himself. “It’s no fun on the run, is it?”

“You’re a long way from Kohlstadt yourself,” Fritz said, refusing to rise to the

bait. “What happened?”

“We’re in the same boat,” Rudi told him. There was no point in lying now.

“Hanna and I were accused of heresy, just like you. We’re trying to keep ahead of the

witch hunters too.”

“Except she is a witch,” Fritz said. “And she cursed my brother!” He made a

clumsy lunge at Rudi with the point of the spear. “I might have known you’d be

helping her!”

“Don’t be so stupid!” Rudi dodged the attack and drew his new sword in the

vague hope that the sight of it might bring Fritz back to his senses. “She had nothing

to do with what happened to Hans! It was the beastman’s blood on the thorns he fell

into!”

“Then it’s your fault!” Fritz rushed at him again. “You pushed him into that bush!

I’ll kill you!”

“Hans is fine!” Rudi found himself slipping easily into one of the sword drills

Theo had taught him. The flat of the blade deflected the sharp head of the spear as it

thrust at his guts. “I saw him in the woods a couple of days later!”

“Left him to die, did you?” Fritz brought the butt of the spear round in a strike to

the side of Rudi’s head. Rudi ducked it, and stepped inside the taller lad’s reach. He

kicked out at the back of his knee. Fritz howled, and dropped to the ground, slashing

the weapon he held towards Rudi’s shins.

“He was fine. He was with some people who could help him.” That was a bit of a

stretch, but now was hardly the time for long explanations. Rudi jumped easily over

the hurtling spearshaft, marvelling at his own expertise. He’d practised diligently, it

was true, but he could hardly have expected to gain this much proficiency. Once

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again he found himself feeling detached from his own body, as he had that night in

the woods when he was drawn to the strange celebration.

“Liar!” Fritz bellowed, trying to rise. Rudi kicked him in the face and knocked

him backwards.

“Listen, you imbecile. This is important. If you say one word to the people we’re

with about me and Hanna I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” A detached corner of his

mind observed his own actions with horror and revulsion, which was rapidly swept

aside by a savage glee in the act of violence. The tip of his sword was against Fritz’s

throat now, and the urge to plunge it in and see the lad spasm and choke on his own

blood was almost overwhelming. In fact it would be safer, a little voice urged. With

Fritz dead no one would ever find out their secret. He drew back his hand for the

killing blow…

“Hold, skavenslayer!” Bodun’s bellow echoed around the clearing, snapping him

back to his senses in the nick of time. The dwarf was ploughing his way through the

undergrowth by sheer brute strength; Conrad a pace or two behind. Shivering with

reaction Rudi lowered the sword. “We need him alive!”

Fritz’s eyes were wide with terror as Rudi sheathed his weapon and bent to pull

him to his feet. He grasped the simpleton’s injured hand and yanked him upright with

a gasp of fear and pain.

“I mean it,” he said, too quietly for his approaching companions to hear. “Just

one word.” He raised his voice to a normal level, and adopted a bantering tone like

the one the sell-swords habitually used among themselves. “Now you tell me,” he

said.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The threat seemed to have worked, for the time being at least. Despite Rudi’s

apprehension Fritz said nothing to his companions on the way back to the camp. He

simply darted terrified glances from one to the other, which reminded Rudi

uncomfortably of a rabbit in a snare.

Before leaving the clearing Conrad had picked up the youth’s pack and thrown it

to the young forester, who caught it absently with one hand.

“Here,” the archer said. Rudi looked at him quizzically. “You beat him on your

own. It’s all yours.”

“Thanks.” Rudi responded mechanically, still trying to come to terms with the

feelings the fight had stirred up in him. Now it was over he was trembling from the

reaction and he felt vaguely sick. He had little enough time for Fritz, that was true,

but he’d been profoundly shocked by how close he’d come to killing the hulking

youth. Not trusting himself to speak he simply shouldered the burden and walked

after the others. Conrad carried the spear, joking that the army would be more

pleased to see it back than they would the man who’d stolen it.

To Rudi’s relief Hanna wasn’t around when they rejoined the others, although

Bruno was hovering on the fringes of the group looking vaguely dejected. They all

crowded round with congratulatory back-slappings, and Theo thrust a mug of

carefully hoarded ale into his hands.

“Sounds like you earned it,” he said.

“That he did,” Bodun confirmed, looking up from hobbling the prisoner. “He was

doing so well I thought he was going to cheat us out of our bounty!”

“That would have been unfortunate,” Theo said, looking at Rudi with renewed

respect, and taking in the injuries to Fritz’s face. “I should have warned you the

warrant’s specific about bringing him in alive.”

“Waste of time if you ask me,” Bruno put in sulkily. “They’re only going to hang

him anyway.” Fritz flinched, looking even more terrified than he had before. Rudi

tried to ignore a pang of sympathy.

“Who cares?” Alwyn said, taking her husband’s arm. “So long as the bounty’s

paid.” She and Conrad looked as though they were planning to celebrate their success

early.

“He doesn’t look worth five crowns to me,” Bruno persisted. “The last couple we

brought in were only one apiece, and they put up a lot more of a fight.”

“So,” Rudi asked him, hoping to divert his attention. “Where’s Hanna?”

“Out looking for herbs.” Bruno shrugged. “I offered to go with her, but she said

she’d be fine.” She’d probably said a lot more, judging by his expression, but Rudi

tried not to gloat. If the youth wanted to pay court to her he was just going to have to

learn to live with her temper.

185

“Right. She does that.” Rudi shrugged, trying to look as unconcerned as he could.

“Which way did she go?”

Bruno indicated the direction, and Rudi set out across the open grassland to find

her. The trail was easy enough to follow. The undulations of the ground soon hid him

from the others, and a sense of unease began to grow in him. Would Fritz really keep

quiet, now he was out of sight, or would he try to bargain with the adventurers and

reveal their secret? All his old forebodings about potential treachery came rushing to

the fore again. After all, they’d known these people less than a week, and they’d

cheated them before…

“What are you doing here?” Lost in his thoughts he’d stumbled across Hanna

sooner than he’d expected. She looked up from her seat on an outcrop of sun-warmed

rock and glared at him, fumbling the piece of shiny stone she’d taken from the

skaven back into its bag. Rudi shrugged.

“We’ve got a problem,” he began.

Getting to talk to Fritz without the others overhearing them turned out to be less

tricky than he’d anticipated. The wound the boar had left on the older lad’s arm was

the perfect excuse.

“Better let my sister take a look at it,” he said, loud enough for Fritz to hear him,

and hoping the simpleton would have enough wit to realise their imposture and say

nothing to undermine it. Theo looked a little dubious, so he added “I’m sure you

don’t want him dying from an infected cut before we can cash him in.”

“I don’t, that’s for sure,” Bodun agreed, and after a moment Theo nodded.

“Better safe than sorry. But stay with her. I don’t want her left alone with him.”

“That makes two of us,” Rudi assured him truthfully. Evening was falling now,

and the campfire had been lit. He and Hanna walked into the shadows with a

reassuring sense of concealment.

“What do you want?” Despite the truculence in his tone Fritz shied away from

them like a frightened horse.

“Show me your arm,” Hanna said, her brisk tone somehow reassuring. Rudi

squatted next to the lad, angling himself so that his back would conceal most of their

conversation from the adventurers clustered around the fire. The mouth-watering

odour of roasting pork drifted across on the breeze, and he fought against the

distraction.

“We need to talk,” he said in an undertone.

“I’ve nothing to say to you.” Fritz extended his arm as best he could, encumbered

as he was by the heavy manacles Theo had produced from his pack. He flinched as

Hanna took it between her hands. Rudi suppressed an unexpected pang of jealousy.

“Then listen. If you keep your mouth shut about us, we’ll help you escape.”

“Why should I trust you?” Fritz glared at him, wincing as Hanna peeled the

blood-encrusted bandage away from his arm. She glanced up.

“Because right now we’re the only chance you’ve got of escaping the noose,” she

pointed out reasonably. She washed the gash with a little water from her canteen, and

swabbed it clean. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can do for now. I’ve been keeping my

186

eye out for some woundwort, but so far no luck.” She began to retie the bandage,

using a clean strip of cloth.

“That feels better.” Fritz looked surprised, and returned his attention to Rudi. “All

right. But I want to know how you got here.”

“That’s a long story.” Rudi sighed, glancing back at the group around the fire. So

far most of them had their attention on the roasting meat, apart from Conrad and

Alwyn that was, whose attentions were firmly on one another. But Rudi did not dare

risk prolonging the conversation too much. “The short version is the witch hunter

accused us of heresy. We’ve been on the run ever since, and ran into these people a

few days ago.”

“So why are they after you?” Hanna asked. “They said you were a deserter, but

somehow that doesn’t seem right.”

“No, it’s true enough.” Fritz shrugged, the linking chain of the manacles clinking

metallically. “A couple of days after leaving Kohlstadt I ran into a recruiting party at

an inn on the Pottermer road. The army seemed like a good place to hide, so I

enlisted.”

“So why leave?” Rudi asked. Fritz’s face seemed to pale in the distant glow of

the fire.

“The witch hunter came to the camp, looking for soldiers to search the

countryside. For dangerous heretics, he said.” He looked appraisingly at Rudi and

Hanna. “I didn’t realise it was you, of course.” Rudi felt as though he’d been doused

in the Reik again. If Gerhard was that determined to find them they had to get a lot

further away from Kohlstadt than this.

“Did he say why?” Hanna asked, her voice tight. Fritz shook his head.

“I didn’t hang around to find out. The minute I recognised him I was out of

there.”

“He must have recognised you too,” Hanna said. Fritz shook his head.

“He didn’t see me. I was on my way to the captain’s tent with a message when I

saw him go in.”

“But they must have known who you were,” Hanna insisted. “Why else would

they put such a big price on your head?” A thought occurred to Rudi.

“Fritz,” he asked carefully, already sure of the answer, “what name did you give

when you enlisted?”

“Name?” The brawny youth looked confused. “Fritz Katzenjammer of course.”

Rudi sighed, meeting Hanna’s expression of stunned disbelief. It seemed that life on

the run had done nothing to sharpen his old enemy’s wits.

“So the moment you disappeared he realised you’d been there.” And would no

doubt be waiting for the fugitive to be returned. That meant he and Hanna would

have to leave too. Every day they spent with Krieger’s company would bring them

closer to the man who’d destroyed their lives. And apparently he would stop at

nothing until they were dead. As to how they would manage to slip away under the

noses of a party of experienced warriors…

“We’ll think of something,” Rudi promised, standing to leave. As he turned away

Fritz called after him.

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“Wait a minute.” Rudi turned back, meeting an expression of eager enquiry.

“You left Kohlstadt after I did. How’s my mother holding up?”

As the days passed, Rudi found no opportunity to keep his promise to Fritz, despite

his assurances. They were within sight of the river again and were heading back

upstream. Knowing that they were getting further away from Marienburg where he

might get answers to the questions which continued to torment him was almost as

painful as the thought that every step was bringing them closer to the witch hunter.

“We have to go tonight,” Hanna murmured, dropping into step beside him. She

gestured to the left, where a grey mass rose indistinctly from the marshland between

them and the water. With a start Rudi recognised the ruins where they’d fought the

skaven. “Bruno says we’re only two days from the soldier’s camp.”

“That’s not good,” Rudi said, but he smiled as though she’d made some remark

about the weather. He glanced at Fritz, who was stumbling along in the middle of the

group, goaded by Bruno. Since they began to plan their escape he and Hanna had

become closer again, and Bruno had become correspondingly more sulky, taking his

bad temper out on the prisoner. A small part of Rudi relished the idea that the bully

was getting a taste of his own medicine, but he was ashamed too. Fritz had suffered

enough, and he ought to intervene, but doing so would draw attention to them.

“How’s Fritz doing?”

“His arm’s getting better,” Hanna said, smiling and waving as Bruno glanced in

their direction. She’d continued to treat him, but Bruno had insisted on

accompanying her on subsequent occasions, so it hadn’t been possible to talk openly.

“But as for how he’s feeling…”

Rudi sympathised. Fritz had taken the news of his mother’s death more calmly

than he’d expected. He had just nodded slowly, and hugged his knees. But he knew

the older boy well enough to know that he would be feeling it keenly, just as he and

Hanna still felt the pain of their own losses, but unlike them he could do nothing

about it except brood.

“We’ll need a good start on them,” Rudi said. Though none of the others had his

tracking skills they could follow an obvious trail after a fashion, and Fritz was in no

condition to move stealthily enough to conceal the traces of their passing. Hanna

nodded.

“I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve an idea…” But she was cut short as Bruno

came trotting over; Theo had told him to leave the prisoner alone. No matter, he

trusted her. He forced his face into a smile of greeting as the youth joined them.

“Hello,” he suppressed another pang of jealousy as Hanna took hold of the lad’s

arm.

“Hello.” Bruno seemed more awkward than usual, as though he had something on

his mind. He patted Hanna’s hand absently, and cleared his throat. “If you don’t

mind, liebchen, I’d like a word with your brother.”

“All right.” Hanna looked a little puzzled, but detached her arm. “I’ll be with

Alwyn when you’ve finished.” She wandered away, leaving Rudi to fall into step

beside Bruno.

“What’s the problem?” Rudi asked, trying to mask his annoyance at the casual

endearment Bruno had used with the girl.

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“To be honest, it’s you.” Bruno’s voice was unwavering. He kept it low and

emphatic, so none of the others would overhear. “I know what’s going on with you

and Hanna, and I’m giving you fair warning, I’m not going to stand for it.”

“What?” Rudi stopped walking; momentarily paralysed with astonishment. Bruno

walked on a couple of steps before stopping too. He turned to face him.

“You’re trying to get between us. You think a wandering sell-sword isn’t good

enough for your precious sister, don’t you?” Bruno prodded him in the chest for

emphasis. Rudi fought down the urge to strike him. Conrad’s words at the coaching

inn came back to him, and for the first time he truly believed that this awkward

buffoon could be dangerous. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll back off.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick,” Rudi said, trying to sound

reasonable. “Hanna makes her own decisions. Whatever’s going on between the two

of you is nothing to do with me.”

“Damn right. And you’d better remember it.” All of a sudden Bruno was smiling,

as though the conversation had never been anything other than affable. “See you later

then.” He wandered off to look for Hanna, leaving Rudi to wonder if things could

possibly get any more complicated.

189

CHAPTER THIRTY

That night they made camp late, just as dusk was falling. Normally they would have

done so at least an hour earlier, but Theo had insisted on putting as much distance

between them and the skaven stronghold as possible before resting for the night. This

made sense, but Rudi suspected that he was just as eager to get close to their

destination so he could turn Fritz in for the bounty.

Rudi’s mind was reeling. He busied himself with the routine of settling for the

night, and tried to look as casual as possible. Bruno glanced at him oddly a couple of

times, but he hoped that was simply a result of their astonishing conversation earlier

in the day. Boden, Conrad and Theo didn’t seem to be treating him any differently, so

he supposed he was concealing his feelings well enough. He stowed his new pack

where he could grab it in a hurry if he needed to, and started to collect firewood from

the fringes of the copse where they’d made camp.

“Here you are.” He dropped a bundle of sticks in front of Hanna, grateful for the

excuse to talk to her.

“Thank you.” She extended a hand to the small pile of kindling she’d already

prepared, and flashed it into flame. Rudi watched Fritz flinch and mutter prayers to

Sigmar as he had done every time he’d seen the girl use her abilities. He still seemed

more frightened of Hanna than the rest of them put together, and Rudi hoped he

would be able to overcome it when they made their break.

“This idea of yours…” he began quietly then checked himself as Bruno trotted up

with another bundle of wood.

“That should do,” Hanna said brightly, favouring the youth with a smile. She

picked up the company’s stewpot and hung it over the flames. “Anyone got some

water?”

“Right here, lass.” Theo threw her a half-full canteen, which she emptied into the

cauldron. Then she started preparing a stew with the rabbits Rudi had snared the

previous night. Bodun sniffed disappointedly.

“We’ve still got plenty of pork,” he pointed out hopefully. Hanna smiled at him.

“We’ve already cooked it, so it’ll keep another day or two. But these coneys are

still fresh.”

“Aye, I suppose so.” The dwarf nodded reluctantly, conceding the logic.

“Besides,” Rudi added, holding a freshly skinned rabbit corpse up to spill its guts

into the fire, “you’ll be able to afford some ale to go with it this time tomorrow.”

“True.” Bodun seemed a great deal happier as he considered the prospect.

“That’ll make it all the more sweet.”

“A drink, for Sigmar’s sake.” Alwyn appeared from nowhere, with an abruptness

Rudi was beginning to get used to. She swayed on her feet. Conrad hurried forward

to support her. He glared at Theo.

“I told you it would be too much for her!”

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“What’s the matter?” Rudi handed her the bottle of rough spirits he’d found in

Fritz’s pack. He’d sniffed cautiously at it the first night, when he went through the

contents to see what was worth keeping or bartering, but he hadn’t dared take a sip at

it. Alwyn took it gratefully, and downed several swallows. Her face was pale, and her

nose was bleeding.

“Too many jumps. Too fast.” She coughed, spraying a mouthful of the liquid at

the fire, which flared momentarily with a bluish flame. Then she wiped the blood

away with the back of her hand. “I’ll be all right.” She smiled wanly at Hanna.

“That’s something you’ll learn about magic soon enough. Push it too hard and it’ll

push right back.”

“I hope you think this was worth it,” Conrad snapped at Theo. The mercenary

captain nodded thoughtfully.

“That depends. Did you find them?”

“Right where they said they’d be.” Alwyn took another pull at the bottle then

handed it back to Rudi with obvious reluctance. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“And?” Theo asked, apparently only partially satisfied with her answer.

“And they’ll have our money.” Alwyn paused. “There was another man there this

time. The captain did all the talking again, but I’d bet my grandmother he was really

in charge.”

“Who was he?” Bruno asked. The sorceress shrugged.

“No idea. But I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him, that’s for sure.”

Rudi fought the impulse to glance across at Hanna. It had to be Gerhard.

“Thanks,” Theo said. Conrad stared at him again, his expression still hard.

“Satisfied?” he asked. Theo nodded again.

“It confirms what we thought,” he said. “There’s more to this one than meets the

eye.” He glanced reflectively at Fritz.

“Who cares?” Bruno asked. “We’re getting paid, aren’t we?”

“Oh yes.” Theo nodded. “But just to make sure, I think we should double the

guard on our quarry tonight. If there’s something we’re not being told…”

“Agreed,” Conrad said. His expression softened, and he led his wife solicitously

over to their bedroll. Rudi felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach.

Try as he might, Rudi was unable to think of a single strategy. It would have been

hard enough spiriting Fritz away from under the nose of whoever would normally

have been left on watch, but if two of them were going to be on guard the whole

night it looked as though they were sunk. He began to entertain the idea of slipping

away on his own; he was sure he could move stealthily enough to evade them in the

darkness, and no doubt Hanna would be able to look after herself well enough…

He rejected the idea impatiently. He’d made a promise to her, and to Fritz, and he

was honour-bound to go through with it. There must be a way, somehow…

“Here you are, it’s piping hot.” Hanna appeared in front of him with a bowl of

stew. He sniffed at the appetising aroma, suddenly aware of how hungry he was. The

faint scent of herbs overlaid the richer smell of the cooking meat. She lowered her

voice as she bent to hand him the bowl. “Don’t eat it. Just pretend.” Before he could

react she’d turned away.

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Confused, Rudi did as he’d been told. The effort of stopping the spoon just short

of his mouth was agonising. The others were plying their spoons with evident

enthusiasm. Even Bodun, who had finished first, called for more.

“There’s plenty,” Hanna assured him, taking a bowl over to Alwyn. “Here.

This’ll make you feel better.”

“Thank you.” The sorceress was shivering as though she had the ague, and she

took the food gratefully. “It smells great.”

“You’ll make someone a wonderful wife,” Theo pointed out, and Bruno flushed

to everyone’s amusement. While they were laughing, their eyes fixed on the youth,

Rudi tipped the contents of his bowl quietly onto the ground.

“I’ll take some more too, if it’s there,” Conrad said. Hanna refilled his bowl,

before going round the campfire to ensure everyone else had a second helping. Theo

pretended that Bruno was getting a larger portion than the rest of them, and Bodun

and Conrad joined in with accusations of favouritism. By now the youth was

blushing furiously and smiling with more genuine warmth than Rudi had seen since

they’d met.

“He’s a growing boy,” Hanna said, eliciting a roar of laughter far greater than the

feeble jest deserved. He hadn’t seen them like this since the night at the inn, when

they’d all been drunk together.

“I’m going to sleep,” Alwyn said. “I’m all in.” She yawned loudly, and stretched

out on the bedroll.

“Careful, sweetheart. It’s catching.” Conrad yawned too.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Theo said. “Me and Bruno…” He glanced at the youth,

who was stretched out on the grass snoring quietly. “I don’t know, youngsters today,

no stamina. Me and Bodun then.”

“Right with you, boss.” The dwarf yawned. His jaw cracked like a dead branch

under an incautious heel. “Just need to, you know, rest my eyes a moment…” Then

he toppled over sideways.

“What the…” Theo stumbled to his feet. His hand reached for the hilt of his

sword, which he’d almost drawn when his knees buckled. He sprawled face down in

the dirt.

“What did you do to them?” Fritz asked, shrill with panic. He began worming his

way backwards as Hanna approached him, with Theo’s pack dangling from her hand.

“Nothing permanent,” she said. “Just the right combination of herbs in the stew.”

“She’s a healer, remember?” Rudi said, masking his own surprise with a show of

scorn. He began to rummage through the provisions. “Anything we can eat safely?

We’ve got a lot of walking to do.”

“Anything but the stew,” Hanna confirmed, tipping the captain’s possessions out

on the ground, and swooping down to recover the key to Fritz’s fetters. “Hold still,

you idiot.”

“This’ll do.” Rudi gathered a bagful of food together, and threw Fritz a lump of

the pork. “Here, I suppose that’s yours technically anyway.”

“So’s the pack,” Fritz said, biting into the meat eagerly. The last few days he’d

had to make do with whatever scraps were left after the adventurers had finished their

meals… and Bodun never left much.

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“Not anymore.” Rudi shouldered the pack he’d looted from the lad which was

now stuffed with his new possessions. “Unless you want to fight me for it.”

“This one’s better anyway,” Fritz said, picking up Theo’s, backing down with as

much bravado as he could.

“When you’ve quite finished being masculine with each other…” Hanna

interrupted, the old Kohlstadt tone had edged back into her voice for the first time in

days. Rudi nodded.

“You’re right, we haven’t any time to waste.” He buckled up his sword belt and

was vaguely surprised at how natural it was beginning to feel. Then he turned to

Fritz. “Find a weapon. Something you know how to use.”

“This’ll do fine.” The lad obeyed with surprising speed, going straight for the

spear he’d stolen when he deserted. Rudi was taken aback for a moment, until he

realised the simpleton had spent his entire life following the lead of his brother and

probably only ever felt comfortable when someone told him what to do. No wonder

he’d enlisted in the army.

“Anything else we need?” Hanna asked. Rudi cast covetous eyes at Conrad’s

bow, but the memory of how keenly he’d felt the loss of his own stayed his hand.

“We’ve got enough,” he decided, and after banking up the fire enough to keep

any dangerous animals at bay until the adventurers awoke, he led the way into the

woods.

“Where are we going?” Fritz asked after a while. Mannslieb was almost full now, and

even under the sheltering trees enough silvery moonlight filtered through the

branches to make everything stand out clearly in shades of shimmering grey and

deep, black shadows.

“Marienburg,” Rudi said without thinking. Hanna frowned, clearly troubled by

his candour, but Fritz simply shrugged. Rudi had hoped that by taking to the woods

they would make good time and also delay any pursuit, but the heavy set youth was

uncomfortable beneath the trees. He constantly delayed them by stumbling into

bushes and getting snagged in undergrowth that Rudi would have slipped through

without thinking. At least Hanna was managing to keep up without much effort.

“How do we do that?” Fritz asked after a while. Rudi shrugged too, feeling a little

nonplussed.

“Head for the river, and follow it downstream,” he said, reverting to the old plan

he and Hanna had agreed on, what seemed like a lifetime ago. With hindsight, he

found it hard to believe that he had been so naive about the world such a short time

before. “Maybe get passage on a riverboat.”

“So long as we stay on board this time,” Hanna said, drawing a blank look from

Fritz.

“There’s a clearing ahead,” Rudi said with relief, seeing the moonlight intensify.

He strode ahead of the others, leaving Fritz to flounder through the entangling

vegetation as best he could, and Hanna to hurry him up.

Alone for a moment, and ignoring the older lad’s muttered profanity, he stood

still in the wash of moonlight, examining the glade for clues as to the best direction

to take. It was obvious now that entering the woods had been a mistake, so their best

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bet would be to make for open ground where Fritz and Hanna could move more

quickly. Directly north would be impassable, he knew, due to the swamp they’d

encountered before, and he was in no hurry to encounter the rat-things again. Fritz

had told him that the soldiers hunting them, and Gerhard, were camped to the south,

so even if it hadn’t taken them away from Marienburg that direction was out too. But

going east meant slogging through the main body of the woodland they’d entered,

and that was clearly impossible if they wanted to get a decent head start on the party

of sell-swords. He didn’t know how soon Alwyn would be able to perform her

distance-jumping trick again, but it was clear her range was limited in some way. He

needed to be sure they were beyond it before the sun rose.

“That way,” he decided at last. The going looked easier and the trees were less

mature, so the boundary of the woodland must be close. With a prickle of unease he

noted that it was more southerly than their current course, but that couldn’t be helped,

it wasn’t as if they were going to be marching towards the soldiers for the several

hours it would take to reach their camp. Once they got to the tree line they could turn

east again, resuming their course to the Reik.

“You’re the expert,” Hanna said in a neutral tone. Rudi turned to look at her,

unsure of how to respond. Things seemed different between them now, in a fashion

he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Before he could think how to reply, he was struck

by something odd about the ground where she stood. The moonlight was reflecting

from the grass in a rippling sheen of silver, pockmarking it with black irregular

shadows. He bent to take a closer look.

“Can you do that thing with the light?” he asked. Hanna nodded dubiously.

“If you’re sure we can’t be seen…” she began.

“Just for a moment.” Despite himself an edge of urgency had crept into his voice.

“It could be important.”

“Did you find some tracks?” Fritz asked, looming over him and blocking out part

of the moonlight with his shadow. Rudi was about to tell him to move, but thought

better of it, his body would conceal the light from any observers that might be

around.

“I’m not sure,” he said instead. “We’re about to find out.”

Hanna frowned. Her face took on the by now familiar expression of

concentration. A phantom candle flame like the one she’d conjured up in the ruin

winked into existence in the space between them. Fritz gasped and shied away.

“Douse it!” Rudi had seen enough. Alarmed at the intensity of his command,

Hanna let the evanescent flame wink out. They were all left momentarily blinded by

the sudden rush of darkness. Rudi blinked, letting his eyes readjust to the softer

moonlight.

“Did you recognise them?” Hanna asked. In that momentary flash Rudi had seen

clearly visible footprints in the soft ground. He nodded.

“Beastmen,” he said.

Though he strained his ears, and kept every nerve taut for tell-tale rustlings in the

undergrowth, Rudi could find no further trace of the mutants before they finally

broke through the trees into open ground. As they stepped out from under the

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branches he felt a flood of relief, which he was sure his companions would be

sharing.

“Thank Shallya for that,” Hanna muttered under her breath, and Rudi nodded, not

trusting himself to speak.

“Are we safe now?” Fritz asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“I can’t see any signs of them having left the woods,” Rudi replied. It was a slim

shred of safety to him, but it reassured Fritz anyway. He began to parallel the tree

line, keeping close to the shadows. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Far enough away to see them coming if you’re wrong,” Hanna said, glancing

over her shoulder as she moved away from the woods. Out here the moonlight was so

bright it could almost have been an overcast day if it wasn’t for the lack of colours.

The whole desolate landscape was limned in delicate shades of silvery grey. As she

turned to watch where she was treading, her hair rippled like liquid light.

“Oh for Taal’s sake!” Rudi said, but suddenly went quiet. He realised that his

instincts had betrayed him: far from being a refuge, the looming tree line could all

too quickly become a deadly trap. He raised his voice a little. “Not too far. That

way’s still south.”

In the end they compromised, and they skirted the wood at a distance that Rudi

estimated was at least twice a bowshot, the stand of trees on their left was like a

looming thundercloud against the shimmering night sky. As he’d hoped they made

better time now. The moss was comfortably springy underfoot, and what vegetation

grew there was sparse enough to avoid. Now their eyes had adjusted to the moonlight

they were able to walk as fast as they would have by day.

“Can you hear something?” Fritz asked after a while. He had stopped to gaze out

over the undulating ground. Rudi shook his head.

“Like what?” he asked. The simpleton shrugged.

“I don’t know. Just something.” A hint of their old animosity began to surface in

his voice. “You’re the outdoorsman, aren’t you?”

“Quiet!” Hanna said, an expression of alarm flashing across her face. Rudi bit

back the retort he’d been about to hurl, and strained his ears. A faint metallic sound

drifted on the air, like coins clinking in a purse.

“I don’t quite…” he began, and Hanna hushed him with a gesture.

“Horses!” she said. Rudi almost laughed.

“Out here?” he asked. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then the words died in his throat.

Dark silhouettes began to appear over a rise in the moor, the outlines of horses and

riders punched against the stars like holes in the sky. Five, ten, a dozen…

“Get down!”

For a moment he dared to hope that they’d escaped detection, but the leading

rider spurred his mount into a trot. A voice floated to them on the wind.

“Verber, Gessler, go with him, see what’s out there.” Two more of the riders

veered off, to follow the first.

“Make for the trees!” Rudi said. “It’s our only chance!” Horses would be useless

in the tangled undergrowth, and he was sure he’d be able to evade the riders if they

dismounted. With that he was up and running, heading for the safety of the wood.

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“Get away from the trees, go back to the trees…” Fritz grumbled, but he started

running nevertheless. Rudi looked round for Hanna, prepared to have to urge her on,

but she was following him, a pace or two behind. Over her shoulder a shout went up,

and the rest of the troop followed their fellows.

“Who are they?” she gasped, risking a quick look behind.

“Cavalry,” Fritz replied. “From the camp.” Rudi shot him a suspicious glance,

wondering how the simpleton could be so sure. Then the moonlight caught the sheen

of armour; it became dazzlingly bright. He turned away to concentrate on running as

hard as he could. He ignored the pain in his chest and legs, the weight of his pack, he

ignored everything except the need to get away.

For a moment he dared to think they might make it. The dark line of trees grew

with every step, but the ground was shaking under his feet, and the rumble of hooves

and clink of harness was loud in his ears. Abruptly the sight of the wood was cut off

by the flank of a horse that had swung round ahead of him. Then there was a second,

and a third.

“Halt in the name of the Emperor!” a voice shouted, “or die where you stand!”

Rudi stumbled to a halt, and gasped for breath. Fritz too was breathing in great

whoops of air, only Hanna seemed in control.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, in a voice so unlike her own that Rudi had to

look to make sure her lips were moving. The confident, assertive tone had gone, to be

replaced by the fluttering, squeaky intonation of some of the village girls back in

Kohlstadt. “We thought you were bandits. We got lost, and…”

“How very fortunate we happened along,” a new and familiar voice cut in. Rudi

shivered and his body turned to ice as he turned. “You’re certainly a long way from

Kohlstadt.”

Gerhard looked down at him from the saddle of his sable horse, his face the only

clearly discernable thing in the solid mass of darkness. He gestured to his men, and

the horses closed around the fugitives like a solid wall of flesh.

“Take them,” he said.

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