At first, he could not have moved had he wished to. Whenever they relieved one another, the girls would shift his position on the mattress. The one who left would take away the blanket upon which he had lain, freshly stained with the blood from his open sores. As he regained his strength, and his bones no longer protruded through his flesh, he was careful not to move of his own accord. He did not wish Litzenreich to know of his recovery.
Konrad had made one discovery about his senses. Almost his first reaction upon realizing that he had regained his life was to notice that there was something wrong with his eyes.
But that was incorrect: the opposite was true. His vision was now perfect. His eyes had never been in true alignment. His left eye had possessed the talent of future vision. It could warn him of danger; he could frequently see what would happen before it occurred. The power had grown more and more erratic and unreliable over the years. In a way, it had become more of a hindrance than an asset.
Now it was no more. He had no proof. How could there be any evidence of a lost skill? Yet he was certain that he no longer had the ability to foresee danger.
When had it gone? During his confinement within the armour, it seemed all that was left to him had been his sight. Perhaps even that had been taken away. Or possibly he had lost his gift when the bronze had been removed. Or maybe it had happened during his apparent flight from his body.
Whatever the circumstances, Konrad was glad. Ever since realizing that others could not foresee danger as he did, he had felt uneasy. No one should possess any such extra skills. Why had such a gift been granted to him? In some respects, it was like a mutation. And the most common mutation in the world was that which afflicted beastmen. They were deformed, evil, and his own talent had seemed similarly tainted.
From now on, he must rely only on his normal five senses and the aptitudes he had developed over the years. And as soon as it was possible, he would use all of these to accomplish the same purpose — escape.
He had no idea what the wizard had planned for him, and he had no intention of finding out. Litzenreich occasionally came to visit him, and so did Varsung. They tried to provoke some reaction, but to no avail. Konrad refused even to admit that he was capable of speech. He simply lay immobile and silent.
All he could do was think. Mostly he thought about the past, his own and the equally mysterious past of his false memories…
A split second, that was all he needed. He knew that he would have to keep totally alert because the right moment must inevitably come — and finally it did.
When Gertraut and Rita changed places, that was the most likely time to attempt an escape, but they were never alone. One of the dwarfs was always there, guarding the door.
He heard the bolt being drawn back, but Gertraut had entered the room no more than an hour earlier. Varsung came in. Whenever he or Litzenreich appeared, one of the other dwarfs always stood outside in the corridor. This time, the passage was empty. It was only half a chance, but that was more than sufficient. Varsung stood with his back to Konrad, speaking to Gertraut.
Konrad sat up quickly, spinning around and reaching out for the hilt of the dwarf’s sword. Once it was in his hand, he used both legs to kick the dwarf away. Then he sprang up, dashed out of the door, turned into the passage. But somehow his legs gave way beneath him, and he fell to the ground.
“I am glad to see you can move,” said Litzenreich, who was standing a few yards away.
Konrad was still holding Varsung’s sword, but he offered no resistance when the dwarf removed it from his grip. He realized he had been tricked. They knew he was not as weak as he pretended. It appeared, however, that he was far weaker than he himself thought.
He picked himself up, his head spinning.
“What do you want with me?” he said.
“What do you want with me?” the wizard repeated. “Is that it? Is that the first thing you have to say? Not ‘Thank you for rescuing me’? Gratitude. Courtesy. Have you ever heard of those words? Do they exist where you come from?”
Konrad leaned against the wall, and nodded slowly.
“What is your name?” asked Litzenreich.
“Konrad.”
“Where are you from?”
“A village several days from here, but I’ve been in Kislev for five years.”
“Take him back inside,” said Litzenreich.
Varsung and Gertraut helped Konrad into the chamber where he had been kept, and sat him down on the mattress. Gertraut filled a beaker of water.
“Haven’t you got any beer?” said Konrad. “I’m fed up with water.”
“I think he’s about recovered, boss,” said Varsung, grinning.
“So it appears.” Litzenreich stepped into the room. “Leave us. Fetch him some ale.”
The other two departed. The door was closed, but it was left unlocked. Litzenreich was a wizard; he did not need bolts to keep Konrad his prisoner. He sat down in the one chair, and they gazed at one another.
Konrad glanced away, not wishing to become mesmerized.
“Thank you,” he said, finally, in order to break the silence.
As if that were a signal, Gertraut returned, handed Konrad a tankard brimming with beer, then left.
“What do I want with you?” asked Litzenreich, echoing Konrad’s earlier question. “Nothing.”
Konrad stared at him. He was more suspicious than ever. The wizard must want something. He wiped at his lips with the back of his hand. “Nothing?”
“As soon as you are fully healed, you are free to go.”
“Free? Why has the door always been locked if I’m free?”
“I did not wish you to come to any harm, that is all. What happened when you rushed out of here a few minutes ago? You fell over. You are not yet strong enough to leave. When you are, you may do so.”
“I can simply walk out of here?”
“Yes, although that may not be such a good idea.”
“Why?”
“The good citizens of Middenheim would probably not take kindly to a naked man walking the streets. The watch would arrest you, and their hospitality is far less generous than mine, I assure you.”
“You could give me some clothes, or lend me some.”
“I do not think so. I have already done enough, do you not think? You are not a beggar, you would not ask me for more. And I am certain that you are not a thief, you would not steal from me, not after all the expenses I have incurred on your behalf.”
“You want me to repay you?”
“Not at all. You have no financial resources, I believe.”
“You don’t want money, but you want something else. What?”
Litzenreich shrugged. “I am not certain, not yet. But I am sure you are an honourable man. I have done you a great service — or at least I presume I have. You did not wish to remain within the bronze armour, did you?”
“No.”
“As I was saying, I have done you a great service and I am sure that I will find some service that you may accomplish for me in exchange. I think that is reasonable, do you agree?”
Konrad nodded. He supposed that the magician must already know what he wanted in return, but there was no point in pressing him for the answer which he so clearly did not wish to give.
“How did you unseat me from the bronze horse? How did you get me out of the armour?”
“Two questions, but almost the same answer.” Litzenreich stood up. “I feel, however, that you need to rest after your recent exertions. We shall discuss this subject in the near future. Meanwhile, is there anything you wish?”
Konrad thought for a moment before answering. “A book? I’m bored doing nothing. I’d like something to read.”
The wizard raised an eyebrow, evidently impressed that Konrad could read.
“What kind of book? Poetry? Science? Geography? Philosophy? History?”
“History.”
“I shall choose something from my library.” Litzenreich left the room and closed
the door. It was left unbolted. For the first time, Konrad was alone.
After a while, Varsung entered. He was carrying some clothes, and also three volumes.
“Thank you,” said Konrad. “And thank you for—”
“What?” The dwarf frowned.
“For seeing that I was alive.”
“Ah, yes! As soon as I saw your eyes, I knew there was life there.” He rubbed at his back where Konrad had kicked him, and he pulled a face.
“I’m almost wishing I hadn’t noticed.”
The dwarf had taken a great risk in allowing Konrad to seize his sword; he did not know that he would not find himself impaled upon his own blade.
Varsung saw Konrad looking at the hilt of his sword, and he grinned. He drew the weapon with his right hand, then thrust it straight into his left palm! But as soon as the tip touched his skin, the whole blade disintegrated, dissolving like broken glass.
“I wish Litzenreich was the armourer for all my opponents!” the dwarf laughed.
It seemed there had been no risk at all. The wizard had devised the sword to trap Konrad.
He should have realized: dwarfs were usually armed with axes.
“My eyes,” said Konrad, remembering. “What colour are they?”
Varsung looked at him suspiciously.
“This is no trick,” Konrad assured him. “I want to know what colour they are.”
The dwarf picked up the lantern and moved closer. He held the light in front of Konrad’s face, gazing at each of his eyes in turn.
“They’re… different,” he said. “They seem the same at first, light green. But the left one is more yellow really, almost gold.”
Konrad nodded. His eyes might now both give proper vision, but it seemed they were not identical. They were still different colours.
“I’ve got to be going,” said Varsung. “Anything you need, just open the door and yell.”
Konrad watched him go, then picked up the three books and read the embossed lettering on the leather covers. The Empire Divided was the title of one, Years of Despair: the Vampire Empress was another, and the third was simply called Sigmar.
That was the volume he selected, and he pulled the lantern closer. One of the few books available on the frontier had been a battered copy of another biography of Sigmar Heldenhammer.
Konrad had read it several times, even though many of the pages were missing.
He opened Sigmar near the front and began to turn to the beginning of the saga. But as his eyes idly scanned the open page, one of the first words he saw was a familiar name.
It was Evane…
Konrad read what he never had before.
He was aware of how Sigmar had been born two and a half thousand years ago, the son of Tafal, chief of the Unberogen tribe. He had lived at the southern edge of the Great Forest, in a fortified village.
What Konrad had not previously known was that there was another village nearby. The headman was called Quant, a sub-chief of Tafal’s, and it was he who taught Sigmar to use the bow and arrow. Quant had a son named Errol, and also a daughter named Evane. The three children grew up together as close friends, and as the years passed, Sigmar and Evane became even closer. It was accepted that when the two were old enough they would marry. But then the goblins had attacked Quant’s village.
Sigmar was the first to reach the village, having seen the ominous pall of smoke while he was out hunting. The whole place had been looted and destroyed, everyone within slaughtered. He found Evane’s body, but the ugly marauders had taken her head as a gruesome trophy.
It was this terrible episode, Konrad realized, which had shaped the rest of Sigmar’s life. This was why he had become such an enemy of the green hordes and dedicated himself to their destruction. He had waged a one-man war against the hideous creatures, and over the years he built up an army sworn to defeat the goblins and drive them from the known world.
Konrad had not known about Evane, not until his strange vision, when he had seemed to return from his infinite voyage across the universe. But why should he have dreamed of a person he did not know? He must have heard her name somewhere else, perhaps from a storyteller who had narrated the famous tale around the campfire one night on the Kislev border. It was the only explanation, and that was why in his dream he had confused the legend of Sigmar with his own early life. The attack on his native village, when Elyssa had been slain, had been very similar. In Elyssa’s case, however, he had not even discovered a headless corpse.
He thought of Krysten, who must certainly be dead by now. Life was short on the frontier, and he had lost so many good men, so many friends. He tried to convince himself that Krysten was no different from his comrades in combat, because that might have made her loss more bearable, but he knew it was untrue.
Konrad read on, trying to lose himself in the epic tale of Sigmar. Allying his human legions with the dwarfs, the goblinoids’ ancient enemies, Sigmar finally defeated the goblin swarms at the Battle of Black Fire Pass. That was where Sigmar won his name “Heldenhammer” for wreaking ultimate vengeance against so many of the foul beings with the legendary warhammer Ghal-maraz.
In some respects, Konrad realized, his own life paralleled that of Sigmar’s. Evane and Elyssa had both been murdered, by goblins or beastmen. They both seemed to have been victims of increases in hostile activity by such inhuman forces. Sigmar had lived during one of the most violent eras in the history of the known world, and now another era of relative peace was ending: for the first time in two centuries the Empire itself was in danger of invasion. Its frontiers had already been infiltrated by Kastring’s accursed warband, and there must have been many more such marauding Chaos cults on the rampage.
Chaos. It was a time of Chaos once more.
Like Sigmar, Konrad had become a warrior fighting against the hordes of destruction, and like Sigmar, he had fought his own battle against the goblins when he ventured into the subterranean lair to rescue Wolf. Instead of a battle hammer, however, he had used a double-bladed axe to wreak his vengeance upon the green horde.
But Sigmar, he thought ruefully, had never been imprisoned beneath a fortress city, captured by a mad magician.
Konrad closed his eyes, remembering. He had used the axe because he had dropped his sword when he fired the arrow at the goblin shaman that was torturing Wolf. It had proved a better weapon for the task at hand, like a mighty butcher’s cleaver to swing at his enemies, severing heads and arms. Wherever he struck, another of the foul creatures had screamed and died, and then the huge axe would swing once more, cutting a swathe of destruction through his hated foes.
Yet, at the time, he had believed he was using a warhammer…
He had put this out of his mind since, preferring to forget what he could not explain; but something of such significance could not be easily forgotten. He recalled how he had seemed possessed as he fought, as if some unknown power governed his actions.
Whenever he was in combat, his fighting instincts took command of his body. Often, it seemed, there was no need for thought; fighting was on a different level of existence than thinking. If he had time to consider what he should do, debating all the foolhardy risks he had so frequently taken in the past, then he would have hesitated more often than not — and hesitation would have meant failure. Fortune favoured the brave.
That was not the way it had been during the underground battle, however. It was something greater than mere reaction and skill that dominated his aggression; a feeling that he was not alone against the goblins. At the time, he had imagined that his unknown ancestors were guiding him, a whole ghostly legion which stretched back to the dawn of time.
It was similar to what he had experienced during his phantom flight through the stars, when he had been drawn towards that unimaginably bright entity where he felt he somehow belonged.
Krysten had always been fascinated by dreams. They were humanity’s doorway to the spirit world, she claimed. When people slept, their souls were free to wander; dreams
were the adventures of the soul and could be interpreted by seers. Konrad did not believe her, and he always teased the girl about her beliefs.
Now, he was no longer so certain. He had never witnessed anything like the visions that came to him when the bronze armour was removed. Unlike other dreams, it had no connection with anything he had ever experienced during his waking times; and unlike many others, it did not return to him.
The following morning, Litzenreich asked: “How did you come to be inside the bronze armour?”
They were in the chamber where Konrad had spent so long recuperating. Now that he did not have to pretend, he paced up and down the room.
He explained briefly what had happened: he had been a prisoner of Kastring’s mutated band, escaped, found the armour, climbed inside to defend himself from his ruthless pursuers. What he said was true, but he did not reveal everything.
He did not say that he had first seen the bronze knight five years earlier, when the warrior had ridden into his village; he did not say that he had observed the horseman’s image reflected through a lens inside the ancient dwarf temple; he did not say that he had been pursuing the mysterious rider; he did not say that he had finally fled from the Khorne worshippers as soon as he glimpsed moonlight reflected upon the bronze.
The wizard nodded. “As you say, you cannot have been within the armour for very long or else there would have been nothing left of you except bones, as happened to the horse. And there must have been even less of your predecessor; he must have been totally absorbed. The bronze feeds off life, the life that it slays or the life within the armour.”
“But — what was it?”
“A creation of Chaos,” said Litzenreich simply, as though the answer were evident. “What else? I had heard about this creature previously. It has roamed the known world for many years. When it was reported to be near Middenheim, several Knights Panther were sent to investigate. I heard that they never returned, and I thought it worthy of my attention.”
[Konrad 02] - Shadowbreed Page 12