Masters of Magic

by Chris Wraight - (ebook by Undead)

  It was odd, thought the Grey wizard, to speak to someone whose mouth never seemed to move, whose face remained fixed whatever the emotions running underneath, but one did not need to be a seer or a mystic to know that the Supreme Patriarch was in a foul mood.

  Gelt put his goblet on the table beside him, slightly too heavily, and clasped his gleaming hands together. A thin trail of spilled wine pooled on the polished wood.

  “You know what they say about him, don’t you?” Gelt continued, spitting the words out with some difficulty. “That he’s a practitioner of the forbidden arts. That he communes with the dead. That his power derives from proscribed sources. Of course, it would be easy for any one of us to emulate him in such dabbling, but we don’t. That’s precisely why we have the colleges, to prevent this unguarded meddling with the dark arts. He brings us all into danger, and all to satisfy his ego, his lust for power.”

  Starke nodded sympathetically. It was unwise to contradict the Supreme Patriarch, especially when his anger was evident. He did consider remarking that Gelt’s own lust for power was fairly well documented, but thought better of it. Not everyone found the endless scheming of the colleges as tedious as he did. He took another sip of wine, enjoying the sweet, tart taste.

  “Very true, Balthasar,” he mused, smoothly, “but from time to time we’ve all been accused of tapping into forbidden sources of power, and such stories are most often false. Our brothers and sisters of the Amethyst Order are particularly open to rumour mongering, due to the nature of their craft. I’ll warrant such tales will turn out to be unfounded.”

  Gelt shook his head slowly.

  “Whether or not they are involved in the necromantic arts,” he said, bitterly, “they’re certainly poking their noses into things that do not concern them, and it is he who guides all their machinations, that double cursed, half-trained, slack-handed, hex-ridden hedge wizard. I should have him run out of the city. Or perhaps an open duel would show him who really has the mastery of the winds of magic.”

  Starke sighed. He too had doubts about Gunther Klaus, Master of the Amethyst College and the target of Gelt’s bile, but such petty hatreds were common, and the penalties of things getting out of hand were potentially troublesome.

  “A duel would, I think, be unwise, my friend,” he said carefully. “You know most of them are only for show these days. Your contest against the previous patriarch was carefully stage-managed to avoid upsetting those who have no understanding of our ways. If the masters of two colleges were seen to be fighting each other for real, that would only add fuel to the fires of those who wish us ill. We both know that such things happen in secret places, but we cannot allow ourselves to give into the temptation.”

  Gelt nodded. His reluctance to agree was evident despite his blank mask.

  “I know it,” he said, resignedly, “but this scheming cannot go on! I am the patriarch, by right of combat and skill, and Klaus will go too far one day. His agents are all over the city, whispering their intrigues into susceptible ears. I trust I can rely on your support, if things start to get worse?”

  Starke raised a white eyebrow in surprise. He knew that Gelt wanted his support, just as Klaus no doubt did, but it was rare to have things so explicitly spelt out. This was a delicate situation. When two master wizards decided to have a feud, it was wise to keep out of harm’s way until it was clear who was going to emerge on top. Gelt was a powerful man with good connections, but Klaus had his supporters too. Traditionally, Grey magic was more closely aligned with the Amethyst art, as both dealt in shadows, but Klaus was difficult to read, and Starke personally disliked him. He drained the last of his goblet, finding the taste had soured somewhat.

  “Now, Balthasar,” he said, carefully, “I really don’t think things have reached such a point. Of course you have my support. You are the Supreme Patriarch, and command the loyalty of us all, but don’t ask me to intervene between you and Klaus. At a time when the witch hunters are ever more suspicious of us, we would bring ruin on ourselves if our divisions were allowed to grow. Let us see if we can resolve these matters amicably. Why not call a council of all the masters and clear the air? I have influence with some of my colleagues, and I’m sure such an approach will smooth out your difficulties with the Amethyst Order.”

  Gelt did not reply immediately, but stared instead for a moment at the lawn outside the window. The ravens seemed to gaze back at him intently, their eyes glistening.

  “Very well, Reiner,” said Gelt at last, his unease still evident. “I’ll give this some time. But I warn you, if Klaus continues to undermine me, I will take action. The Celestial and Bright Colleges are with me, and my patience will not last forever. Should the time for moving against him come, I’ll need to know who is with me, and who is against me. You’re a wise man; when the moment comes, I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”

  Starke looked carefully at the face in front of him, but, as ever, it was impossible to read. He didn’t much like the implied threat in the Supreme Patriarch’s words, nor did he like the certainty with which he predicted a confrontation. He found himself regretting sending Helmut Anselmus on that assignment in the south; it would have been good to discuss the matter with him. He resolved to take it up with him on his return, and in the meantime to avoid as much entanglement as possible.

  “Of course, Balthasar,” he said, smiling diplomatically. “I’ll give it my most earnest consideration.”

  Dusk was fast falling into night. Katerina Lautermann looked around, concealing her distaste expertly. All across the lawns, richly dressed men and women talked and laughed. Their voices were false, their smiles deceptive. Whenever the elite of Altdorf gathered for a social occasion, the rich gowns and beautiful faces always hid intrigue, dishonesty and malice. This evening’s party, hosted by the fabulously wealthy Count Rasmol von Erlich, was no exception.

  Katerina observed the scene coolly with her dark eyes. With the failing of the afternoon sun, lamps had been brought out by servants. They cast a soft amber glow across the impeccable gardens. Erlich’s servants passed like ghosts between clusters of nobles discussing scandal and gossip in low voices, filling glasses and offering choice delicacies from silver plates. The cost of the evening’s entertainment would have fed an entire quarter of the city for a week, but such were the ways of Altdorf. A privileged few had control of the riches, and fought to hold on to them with all the skill they could muster. If you ever lost your grip on the slimy ladder of success, the gutter would be happy to claim you back. Katerina smiled grimly, knowing from bitter experience how hard it was to climb back up.

  She looked around once more, careful to observe the position of all the guests. The wine was taking its toll on them, and her moment had come. Carefully, silently, she retreated from the bustle of the open lawn and into the ornamental garden. Under the cover of sculpted bushes, she sped, quiet as a cat, away from the throng and towards the house. Her slim figure was clad in a gown the colour of nightshade. It seemed to cling to her like a shadow, and rippled soundlessly against her body as she moved.

  The distant lamps in the garden threw little enough light in her path, but it was always wise to be careful. She glided over to a tall yew tree and sheltered under its long, low branches for a moment. Her brown eyes, glistening slightly in the moonlight, took in her situation expertly. The mansion house lay ahead. It seemed that everyone was busy in the garden, and the whole building looked quiet and deserted. It always amused her, the casualness with which the rich guarded their treasures. It was a wonder they were not robbed more often. She smiled grimly. She had particular reason to resent the ways of the nobility in Altdorf, and knew how cruel they could be, as well as how careless.

  Katerina took a deep breath and once more checked to see if anyone was following her. She didn’t enjoy these assignments. A wizard, especially one of her seniority, should not have to go filching objects from the houses of noblemen. But the party was a good opportunity and Klaus was always keen to explo
it an opening. Absently, she found herself fingering the amulet around her neck, its heart cold and empty in the dark. Silently, she replaced it within her bodice and crept out from under the branches.

  There was an open space in front of her of perhaps fifty paces and then a low wall. She knew from her planning that this led to the kitchen garden, from where the servants’ quarters would provide the easiest route into the mansion. Casting a careful look around, she picked her moment and sped across the clipped lawn, her feet as light as snowfall on the soft, well-watered turf. An ungainly vault over the wall, a quick dash through the ranks of herbs and she found the door she’d been looking for. Hoping the silver shilling had been enough for that simple lad to obey her instructions, she tried the lock. With a rasp, it turned. Her heart fluttering slightly, Katerina eased the door open and slipped inside.

  The corridor was dark and quiet. She guessed the servants were mostly on duty elsewhere. That suited her fine. Taking just a moment to check her bearings against the mental map of the palace, she crept along the gloomy passageway deeper into the building, keeping to the deep shadows. There was no one within earshot, but her caution did not lessen. She had enough respect for her job not to take any risks, and she needed to stay prepared. Casting a spell with little warning was not an easy matter, and she would require her strength for a possible fight, should she be discovered. So she moved quickly, her footfalls soft, her face perpetually in shadow.

  Once past the kitchen complex, she moved swiftly through the dining chamber and various reception rooms. At night, their majesty was hidden, but she knew that in the sunlight they would gleam with ornate, and extremely expensive, decoration. Erlich was rich and his family had risen high in the Imperial service. His brood were bureaucrats, quill-sharpening scribes who kept the vast organisation of the Emperor’s armies supplied and equipped. It was hard to feel guilty about robbing such men, who pocketed their wealth while the peasant soldiers who provided them with an income laboured in the mud of the Empire’s many battlefields. What was more, Erlich famously didn’t like wizards, frequently interfering in their postings with Imperial armies. That hardly singled him out—most people didn’t like wizards—but it made her disagreeable assignment just a little more bearable.

  Katerina was no petty thief, however, and passed by the treasures lining the walls of the many rooms. Some of the silverware, placed in flimsy cabinets even a street urchin could pick open, would have fetched a decent amount in Altdorf’s back streets, but there was only one thing on her mind, a trinket ordered by her master for collection, and nothing else in the palace would be touched. Erlich was probably unaware of its value, and if she did her job right, no one would notice its absence for some time. Her master had discovered its location only recently, and she had to admit, despite her annoyance at having to creep about in such an undignified manner, there was a certain pleasure in having been selected to retrieve it for him. It spoke of trust. No one else in the Amethyst College had her connections. Of no use to a normal man, her target was of particular interest to a wizard.

  Smiling to herself, thinking of the rewards a successful conclusion might bring, she picked up her speed, heading inexorably to the count’s private quarters, finding her way surely in the gloom.

  Nearing her goal, she paused on a narrow landing to let a manservant, candle in hand, wander lazily across her path. Then she crept down a wide stairway into a high central hall with exits in all directions. A long corridor, lined with family portraits, stretched away to her left. The carpet under her feet was plush and deep. At the far end of the passageway, a heavy set of doors stood in the light of a single flickering candle. That would be Erlich’s study, where she would find what she was looking for.

  Then she heard footfalls behind her on the stairs. Quickly, she made her way into the corridor, pressing herself against the dark walls. With any luck, whoever was coming down the stairs would turn into one of the many other doorways. But luck was not with her. Two guards, their swords clinking against the buckles of their elaborate uniforms, sauntered casually down the stairway, lanterns in hands. They turned left and began to walk down the corridor towards her. There was no way to evade them. Sighing with irritation, Katerina prepared herself.

  As they neared, she stepped out of the darkness, flicking a strand of dark hair casually from her face as she did so.

  Katerina was an arresting sight at the best of times, and her sleek, aristocratic looks were one of her finest and most useful assets. The sight of a beautiful woman stepping unexpectedly into the lantern light made the guards stop in their tracks for a moment. They were clearly not the sharpest swords in the Empire, and stood immobile for a second, their jaws slack. Then they remembered themselves, and clumsily pulled their blades from their scabbards.

  “Who’re you?” grunted one of them, evidently the more senior of the two. His companion tried to look threatening, but seemed distracted by Katerina’s rather low neckline.

  “Why, I am Anna Merckle, the count’s new secretary,” said Katerina sweetly. “I appear to be lost. Could you direct me to the state rooms? I have some papers to pick up.”

  The second guard smiled stupidly and made to give her directions, but his companion was not quite so dull. Secretaries did not creep around the palace at night wearing an evening gown and pearls.

  “You’ll have to report to the guard captain,” he said, suspiciously. “No one’s meant to be here, not with the party outside. Now, if you’ll come along, my lady…”

  He stepped forward, lowering his sword and making to take her arm. Katerina shrugged, and suddenly flicked her wrists. A cloud of lilac dust burst into the air. Stepping back, she watched as the two men fell heavily to the ground, their eyes glazing and their tongues lolling loosely from their open mouths. Taking a moment to recover, she took their lantern and pulled them as best she could into the shadows. They were heavy in their armour, and she didn’t get very far. She looked anxiously towards the stairway at the end of the corridor, but it was dark and silent. It was annoying to have to waste energy on a spell, but at least it had been silent and effective. They’d wake in an hour or so with an acute hangover and an aversion to strange women in evening gowns. Until then, she was safe.

  “Sleep well, boys,” she said, stepping over their prone bodies and making her way to the doors in front of her. With a push, they swung open, and she was inside.

  Katerina held the lantern in the air for a moment, taking in her surroundings. Erlich had an eye for lavish decor, like most of his kind. The paintings on the walls were depictions of the great battles of the Empire. The figures of Sigmar, Karl-Franz and Magnus the Pious were rendered in vivid colours on canvases six feet tall. The desk before her was heavy, large and exquisitely decorated in a dark polished wood, its surface heaped with parchment. Cabinets and bookcases lined the walls, filled with curiosities from a long career in the Emperor’s service: a stuffed peacock, the skull of something that looked like an enormous rat, brass instruments of dwarf design, a collection of ivory inlaid pistols, silver inkwells and ingenious writing devices from the engineering school.

  Ignoring all of this, Katerina went quickly to the desk, opening the drawers one by one and examining their contents. Most were full of routine scraps of paperwork: long out-of-date orders, messages and minutes to minor functionaries at court.

  One of the drawers was locked. She smiled. Retrieving a slender device from a pocket on her thigh, she set to work with nimble fingers. In a moment, the lock was sprung and the drawer slid open. A collection of well-thumbed books lay within. She had a quick look at the contents and her eyebrows arched. Erlich clearly had interesting, if slightly unusual, tastes, and she very much doubted that the Countess von Erlich knew of the existence of such volumes in her husband’s study. She slipped one into a pocket with a smile before replacing the drawer and clicking the lock back into place. Such things had a habit of proving useful in the future.

  The real prize still eluded her. She turned to the
top of the desk, wondering if he’d been stupid enough to leave it in full view. She thumbed through bundles of crinkled papers bound with red ribbons, searching for the object of her master’s desire. Then she saw it, sitting amidst a pile of quill shavings as if it were the cheapest trinket in the whole place, and, to Erlich, it probably was. What he didn’t know was that the crudely carved bronze figure sitting on his writing desk was old, older than the Empire, forged before the spires of Altdorf had even been conceived.

  It had a certain rough charm, she noted, turning it over in her fingers and examining it in the light of the stolen lantern. Only a wizard would have noticed the faint traces of magical aura seeping from its ancient surface. There were tiny engravings on it that she couldn’t read, but her master would be able to. She paused for a moment, wondering what purpose it served in his plans, and what powers it must possess to warrant her mission, but she quickly put such speculation aside and stowed the figure in a concealed pocket. Her time was short; if the sleeping guards were discovered, she would be in danger. Turning quickly, she made to leave.

  Then she noticed something else, a nondescript bundle of papers at the top of one of Erlich’s many piles of documents. It had brown stains across it that might have been blood. For some reason, the script, written hastily in a poor hand, caught her eye. She read it quickly. These were despatches, brought at great cost to Altdorf and at great speed. No doubt they had been handed to some minor scribe in the Imperial bureaucracy with the expectation the instructions would be swiftly dealt with. Instead, the sheaf of papers languished on the desk of an idle noble, awaiting his delayed signature before it could pass up the tortuous chain of command.

  If any one of the scurrying parasites who populated the Imperial army’s many official chambers and copy houses had actually read the report, they would have realised how desperate the situation was. Katerina read with morbid interest: orcs advancing up the Axe Bite Pass, thousands strong, no reinforcements at Helmgart, prospects bleak. Then came the interesting part: a shaman at the head of the marauding horde, one of prodigious power.