“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 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 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.
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.
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 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.
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.”
“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.
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