Her mind worked quickly. There might be possibilities in the overlooked report. She read the document again quickly, taking care to memorise the details. Knowing the way his mind worked, she felt sure her master would be very pleased with the intelligence. Stowing the papers carefully back at the bottom of another pile of unread documents, she extinguished the lantern and prepared to leave. With a faint swish of her gown, she was gone. The doors to the study closed behind her and within moments the two snoring bodies in the hallway were the only obvious sign of her passing.
Gunther Klaus, master of the Amethyst College, leaned back in his chair and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. Like Gelt, his voice was thin and rasping, the product of too many late-night incantations in the dark places of the Earth. He was bald, his pale skin drawn tight across ancient features, a few wisps of hair at the back of his neck the last of his once flowing locks. His lips were thin and dark, his eyes a cerulean blue within dark rings of loose flesh. He recovered and rearranged his deep purple robes over his skeletal frame, still grinning in a sinister fashion.
“Ah, my Katerina,” he said, looking at his protégée greedily. “You are the very best of all the wizards I have trained, the greatest of the many who have passed through these doors. You exceed my expectations at every turn.”
Katerina, tired from her efforts at the party, smiled weakly. She was pleased her master was happy with her, but found she wanted nothing more than to retire to her chambers and go to sleep. If she’d known how eager he would be about the despatches, she might never have told him.
Klaus, oblivious to her fatigue, stroked his chin with thin fingers.
“Your insight was a good one,” he mused. “It may be that, as we speak, the shaman lies dead, and the Empire lives safe for another day. But let us suppose that the valiant defenders at Helmgart have failed to stem the green tide, as they predicted. An army will need to be mustered and sent south to counter the threat before it comes towards Altdorf. If a shaman is at the heart of this incursion, then wizards will be required. No doubt, if this missive had gone through the proper channels quickly, that whoreson Gelt would have insisted on sending his favourites to do the job. Either his idiot Gold wizards would botch the job, in which case we would all need to flee for the hills while the capital burned, or they would succeed, in which case the honour would be his, weakening our position. Neither is a very appealing prospect.”
Katerina struggled to keep her eyes open as her master went through the various options she had worked out an hour ago. It was early in the morning, and a thin line of dove grey had appeared in the east. Klaus’ chambers were high in a tower overlooking the Amethyst College and the view across the rooftops of Altdorf was quite mesmerising. Checking herself, she turned her attention back to her master.
“The fact that we know of this, changes everything,” continued Klaus, his forehead frowning in concentration. “There’s no need for Gelt to discover its existence for weeks, or for however long it takes that fool Erlich to get around to reading the despatches. In the meantime, we can whisper words in the right ears. An army can be raised, with you accompanying it. A mere shaman should be no trouble for one of your powers, and I can pull some strings to ensure that the proper channels are not followed.”
“You mean to send me?” asked Katerina, suddenly waking up a little. Slogging for days with a dirty column of sickly, flea-infested soldiers was not what she’d had in mind. Surely this was an assignment for some luckless junior wizard eager to earn his spurs?
“Of course,” said Klaus, surprised. “You’re my best student, and things might get tricky if this shaman is half as powerful as the report suggests. There’d be no point in beating Gelt to the prize if my own wizard fails to deliver. I thought that’s what you had in mind.”
Katerina sighed inwardly. She had no one to blame but herself, but it was a miserable turn of events, nonetheless.
“Of course, master,” she said, weakly. “I was just making sure.”
The master smiled with satisfaction.
“Very good, my child,” he said, gazing at her with affection. “This will be a masterstroke for the college. Gelt will look weak, while we’ll reap the plaudits for a successful campaign. We need to act fast, though, news is impossible to keep quiet in this wretched city for long. You’ll need to speak to Aloysius Erhardt. He’s an army commander I’ve used before for a few little things, and he’s very suggestible. I’m sure you’d have no trouble persuading him of the wisdom of an expedition with you in tow, and he’s been itching to find something to do for months. In all truth, he’s not a very good general, but you’re only facing greenskins, and it’s more important to have someone you can control. Best of all, he’ll be able to leave quickly, as I happen to know he’s a stickler for keeping his forces in fighting trim, even when there’s not much to do apart from polish spear-tips and black boot leather.”
“Erhardt?” said Katerina, the name sounding familiar. “Wasn’t he the one who presided over the debacle in the Kragheur Marshes?”
Klaus smiled. “A mistake anyone could have made, being so unaware of the nature of the unquiet dead. Some advice from me put him back on the straight and narrow, with the pleasing consequence that he owes me for a number of trifling favours. He’s no hero of the Empire, but he’s not entirely useless either. You’ll have an easy time with him, and I believe he’s receiving visitors at his residence during the afternoon hours. A quick wash and brush-up, and you’ll be ready to pay him a visit.”
“Very well,” said Katerina, wearily. “I’d better go and get some sleep. I don’t want to turn up at his chambers looking like a peasant wench.”
Klaus grinned at her.
“You’d make a charming one, my dear,” he said, silkily, “but you’re right of course. I’ve detained you far too long. After you’ve rested, call on Erhardt, and let me know what he says. If you’re on the road with him before the end of the week, that would be perfect. We’ll steal a march on that damned golden fool. If you have any trouble, let me know; I may be able to help.”
“I won’t have any trouble, master,” said Katerina flatly, rising from her chair with difficulty, her limbs stiffened by the dawn cold.
She bowed to Klaus, and made to leave. Just as she was about to turn, she paused.
“Oh, I meant to ask, what exactly did you want the bronze figure for? You never told me.”
Klaus nodded. “That’s right. I didn’t.”
He looked away and began to study the thick leather-bound tome he had been perusing when she had entered. Katerina smiled to herself; she should have known better. Turning stiffly on her heel, she gathered her cloak around her and left the chamber.
Once into the frigid air of the early morning, Katerina began to wake up slightly. The households grand enough to have lanterns hanging from their imposing residences had sent men out to extinguish them. The streets were still damp and dark, and the sun would take at least another hour to peer properly into the crowded alleys and overlooked squares of the Imperial capital. The sky was grey and damp, and the air was filled with the stench of fish and the acrid aroma of charcoal braziers being ignited next to hastily erected market stalls.
Slowly, bad-temperedly, Altdorf was coming to life. Small boys, their faces pinched and pale, had begun their daily thievery, running through the gutters like rats. Merchants waded through the filth of the streets, trying to keep some semblance of respectability amidst the mud. Stall-keepers began to advertise their wares, and their coarse voices soon filled the air. It seemed as though everything in the world was for sale, although not much of it looked very appetising.
Katerina went quickly along the short route between the college and her significantly more humble dwellings. She felt self-conscious in her evening gown; elegant finery intended for seducing young noblemen was rather too conspicuous in daylight. Thankfully, only the meanest types of hawker and scavenger were up and about in numbers, and they gave her a wide berth. The few that caught h
er eye looked away quickly. Some would know who she was, or had heard rumours about her at least. When they knew the truth of her profession, even the meanest, stupidest goat-herder developed an instinctive aversion. Many of the neighbourhood residents would have seen her come and go from Klaus’ isolated tower before. When she passed, they lowered their gaze, muttered some blessing or made the sign of the twin-tailed comet under their cloaks. Even whores got more respect than wizards. At the least the populace knew what they did with their time.
Katerina had long been used to such superstitious treatment and ignored it. In the past she had got angry, at times confronting the worst offenders, but it did no good. For most of the simple-minded inhabitants of the Empire, being a wizard was only one step away from damnation, and causing too much of a fuss about the daily indignities visited on her kind merely brought the unwelcome attention of the witch hunters. So she had learned to keep her head down, and her dealings secret, and to nurture her contempt for the everyday folk of the teeming city in private. None of them knew a thing about her, whatever they might believe. None of them knew she had been raised amidst jewels and silks in one of the oldest houses in the Empire, none of them knew the sacrifices she had made since her fall from grace, and not one of them could have imagined the trials she had passed through to reach her current position. They were like cattle compared to her, dumb animals, proud of their ignorance and blindness.
To a wizard, the world was a myriad of extraordinary sensations, the very matter of the ethereal realm leaking into reality like a brightly coloured tapestry. None of this glorious vision impinged on the dreary, grey lives of the non-gifted as they plied their miserable trades in the filth and squalor of the back-streets and riverside tenements.
As she walked, Katerina kept her expression blank, but inside she felt her disgust rising. She needed to sleep, to escape the dank streets and shake off her fatigue in time for her call on Erhardt later in the day.
Shivering a little in the early morning chill, she hurried down the narrow street towards her lodgings, her footfalls soft on the cobbles, her eyes half-closed from weariness. So it was that she missed the figure twenty paces behind her, standing quietly at the corner of the road, his eyes shaded by a cowl, his slender form hidden by his long, elegant coat. As she drew out a ring of iron keys and clumsily unlocked her front door, he watched carefully, his eyes glistening, patiently observing. Once she was inside, he nodded briefly to himself and went on his way, striding through the gradually rising chatter and bustle with a calm authority. All around him, the street was coming to life, the early cold receding somewhat, and the promise of a new day beginning. The sun began to haul itself over the sluggish grey waters of the Reik, and the deeds of the night were banished into memory.
CHAPTER FOUR
Marius Joachim awoke. His neck was stiff and his joints ached. It was cold. Gingerly, he uncoiled his body and began to stretch his limbs. Little by little, feeling returned. He sat up, and the cool air began to clear his head. He shook his shaggy mane of jet-black hair, and leaf matter showered the earth around him. He’d spent the night in worse places. The enormous oak towered above him, its shelter having been welcome during a windswept, rain-soaked night. He threw aside the branches that had covered him, enjoying the feeling of life gradually returning.
He smelled strongly of the land. His skin was caked with dirt, his clothes stained heavily from grass and grime. He looked out over the valley before him, glowing verdantly in the first bloom of spring. The storm had passed, and the scene was exquisitely beautiful, framed by the last fronds of mist retreating in the dawn sunlight. The land reared sharply upwards on the far side of the valley into the high peaks of the Grey Mountains, their jagged summits pale and ethereal in the southern sky.
Shakily, Marius stood up, brushing his tattered and patched clothes down with his callused hands. He stamped his feet to regain circulation and then strode purposefully down the slope towards the gurgling stream ahead of him. White and fast, it sped over a rocky course down the hillside and into the wider river at the valley floor. Without a moment’s hesitation, Marius plunged his head into the stream, the ice-cold water causing him to gasp out loud. A few vigorous plunges into the water and he was glowing a healthy red, his breath coming sharply, his eyes alive. He took several mouthfuls of the clear liquid and its sharp, clean taste revived him completely. Shaking like a bear, he walked back on to the grassy bank and lay in the strong sunlight for a moment, allowing his face to dry before returning to the oak where he had spent the night.
Like many of his brethren, his possessions were few: a staff, a leather flask for water, a loose bag with some essential items of food and an odd assortment of charms, totems and fetishes. He looked like any ragged village tinker or charm seller, apart from the savage glint in his eye and the intricately carved staff he used to walk with. Such an impression could be dangerous—superstitious villagers were apt to seize on any excuse to persecute the weak, the poor or the different—but it suited him perfectly. Even by the standards of his reclusive order, he shunned the company of others, preferring the solitude of the wilds.
On the rare occasions when he spent time in civilised company, his grim, unpolished manner and straggling, pitch-black beard won him few friends. He had a driven, obsessive look in his intense eyes, and was quick to anger at any perceived stupidity or foolishness. Only a few would immediately recognise him for what he was: an Amber wizard, master of the elemental forces of nature, one of the most unpredictable and powerful of the eight Imperial lores. Even fewer would have been able to place the wild, bestial figure before them alongside the sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued street urchin who wandered into the cave network of the Amber College twenty years before, one of the greatest and most naturally gifted of all the wizards of his generation. Time and circumstance had not been kind.
Refreshed, and slightly less filthy, Marius collected his belongings together and cast his eyes across the distant horizon. It looked fair in all directions. The storms of the previous two days had beaten themselves out against the unforgiving mountains and the sky was clearing. The wide approaches to the Axe Bite Pass were visible to the south-east, but that was not his destination. As ever, he was on the trail of knowledge, the secret of a specific spell, the one he had searched nearly ten years for. The auspices had recently been promising: rumours of a single, weather-beaten tower in the foothills of the Grey Mountains, long abandoned, but home to books of lore, tomes filled with wisdom either forbidden or forgotten. The few villagers in the region had known nothing of it, perhaps cowed into silence by his ragged appearance and gruff manner, but he could not discount the possibility entirely. This was empty, wild country, dominated by deep and uncharted forests. Wherever there was a hint of the arcane, he was bound to track it down, compelled to seek it out in the hope of undoing the great wrong done to him so many years ago.
Marius had planned to travel west for the next two days, keeping close to the mountains, but away from any isolated, outlying villages, relying on his experienced senses to guide him. But as he looked east, his face screwed against the morning sun, he paused. Shading his eyes, which were acute even without magical augmentation, he made out two thin columns of smoke rising over the canopy of the trees to the east. Behind them, several more were coiling into the cool air. That was strange. He looked up towards the Axe Bite Pass. The shallow incline and winding road through the mountains was hidden behind the shoulder of the great peak on its near flank. Some sense within him made him uneasy. He looked back into the open air. No birds flew in the eastern sky.
Sighing, he collected his belongings together and made his way down the hillside and along the valley towards the burning. Soon the high, rocky land was shrouded in trees. As he went, his misgivings grew. He walked quickly, expert at passing easily through the tangled undergrowth, irritated at the interruption to his plans. He would have preferred to have ignored it, but despite his wandering lifestyle, he was still an Imperial wizard, and that carried
certain obligations, even for him. He only hoped it wasn’t some conflagration caused by a stray lump of charcoal thrown in a hayloft by a careless farmhand. Such accidents were liable to be blamed on his kind in the absence of more plausible explanations. When disaster struck a village, it was easiest to blame the outcast, the wanderer and the gifted, rather than face the causes of ruin within.
He found his mood darkening as he passed down into a deep valley. The shadows of the trees lay heavily across the narrow tracks.
He paused. There was some commotion ahead, but its source was muffled and indistinct. He pressed on, muttering to himself about the stupidity and ignorance of peasants, when something dark, small and spiny leapt across the path in front of him and away into the shadows. Suddenly alert, he backed towards a tall elm trunk, raising his staff. Before him, the forest extended in a murky sea of dark green. The morning sun pierced the canopy brightly in places, but the foliage was thick, casting deep shadows on the ground around him. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what had leapt across his path and where it had gone. With a muttered incantation, the tip of his staff began to glow with dull amber light.
Then they came at him, hooded goblins, their eyes shining, their grins wide and fiendish. Marius’ face curled into a mask of disgust. So that was it: a greenskin incursion. These dregs must be outriders from the main host. He whirled his staff in a wide circle, allowing the amber tip to glow more brightly.
If the goblins knew he was a wizard, they might decide to slope off without a fight. Unlike their larger cousins, the prospect of an even match was not one that normally filled them with enthusiasm.
Masters of Magic Page 6