Kurt saw the watch commander motion at him to get up. Soon as he got to his feet, Kurt felt more in control of his audience. He imagined them as a gaggle of unruly recruits and made certain all of them would hear what he had to say. “Suiddock is lost, taken by an undead army led by a notorious necromancer, known as Farrak. He has driven most of the citizens and dock-workers out of the district with his twin tactics of terror and torture. We believe Farrak’s hordes are systematically slaughtering all those people still alive in Suiddock. Once they’re dead, he can resurrect them, adding to the undead army at his command.” Kurt described the range of creatures Farrak had used to take over the district. “So far the only positive sign we’ve witnessed is the necromancer’s decision to remain in Suiddock. His forces have not attempted to storm either bridge that offers overland access to the rest of Marienburg, and they’ve shown no inclination to use boats to reach the city’s other southern districts, or to cross the Rijksweg.”
“Why do you think that is?” Gyngrijk asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Kurt admitted. “Any other questions?”
“How many men would you need to retake Suiddock?” a young man in rich garb to the captain’s left enquired. He did not bother to identify himself, a sure sign he was a representative from one of the Ten. Kurt studied the speaker’s face and recognised him as one of the Rothemuur family, with whom the captain had had an encounter in the past. The young man must be the heir, Stefan. “The city’s wealthiest families all have their own private militia. Some of those men have been seconded to act as a fighting force for the witch hunters. There must be thousands all told, if every militiaman in Marienburg was pressed into service, and just as many Black Caps. How many of them would be required to take back the docks and the rest of the port from this Farrak?”
“I’m not sure there’s enough men in all of Marienburg to stop this monster,” Kurt replied, and sat down.
Dark murmurs passed round the circular table, fat old men with double chins shaking their heads in dismay at Kurt’s stark assessment. Kurt could see the watch commander frowning, but didn’t care. He could see no point in lying about how bad things were, not when the city was in danger of going the same way as Suiddock.
“Thank you for that frank if somewhat disturbing report,” Gyngrijk said. “Let us hope your bleak view of the situation is overstating the case.”
“It isn’t,” Nathaniel interjected, getting to his feet. “The day of judgement is upon all of Marienburg and your city has been found wanting.”
“Could we keep matters of faith out of this?” Gyngrijk suggested. “Not all of us share your fervour, but we all share your concern for our fair city.”
“You cannot pretend matters of faith have nothing to do with this, not when you have a master of dark magic lurking like some malevolent, poisonous spider in the heart of your city!” Nathaniel raged. “Farrak cannot be defeated by force of arms alone, he must be stopped by a person of belief, someone who’s willing to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. If that is not an article of faith in this city, I don’t know what is.”
“Be that as it may, we need facts and not theology to judge the way forward.”
Nathaniel held up a hand, acknowledging the speaker’s request. “Very well, I shall confine myself to the facts. Captain Schnell is quite accurate in his assessment. Suiddock is lost. It’s only a matter of time before Farrak’s hunger for power grows too great to be sated by a single district. His undead army will march forth to consume the rest of Marienburg and your lives will be forfeit. My brethren have fought this necromancer in the past, and his lust for power is beyond all reckoning.”
“What does he want?” Stefan interjected. “Could we strike a bargain with him, a negotiation, perhaps offer something in return for his cooperation?”
“You are not confronted with an aggressive new competitor or businessman,” Nathaniel hissed. “This is a necromancer, a dealer in death and destruction. He has no interest in anything you want to offer him. He follows his own agenda, regardless of what you’re used to encountering. Left unchecked, Farrak will turn Marienburg into a living necropolis, a city of the dead with its people as his playthings. From here he can launch a war against the Empire, having already crippled it financially by stopping all trade on the Reik. Farrak’s coming foreshadows an era of darkness that could last generations. That is the true horror that faces us all here today. The decisions you make in this room could determine the fate of hundreds of thousands. The future is now in your hands.”
The witch hunter sat back down, his fiery words still echoing round the room. Some of those gathered slumped back in their seats as if wounded, while a few laughed at his doom-laden pronouncements. Others summoned aides to their side, dictating hasty messages and sending them out of the chamber. Among those present, three stayed silent and unmoved by the commotion, as if the words already spoke came as no surprise.
One of them was Sandler, the Black Cap leader responsible for Goudberg. To Kurt’s eyes his counterpart appeared preoccupied, as if wrestling with some internal struggle. He watched as Sandler took a deep breath, and rose from his seat. But the sound of trumpets and running feet outside the chamber silenced those within, and Sandler sank back down into his chair, a frown of dismay evident on his well-fed features.
The double doors that led into the room burst open and a lone elf warrior strode in, his sharp features riven by anger, two halves of a torn scroll clutched in a fist. For a moment Kurt thought the new arrival was Tyramin Silvermoon, a highborn warrior who had led the intervention that saved Three Penny Bridge from the ratmen a year earlier. Had the elves come once more to rescue Suiddock in its hour of greatest darkness?
The newcomer threw the halves of torn scroll into the centre of the chamber. “Who among you dared summon the elves to this feeble gathering?” he demanded. The only response from those present was a stunned silence.
Kurt got a good look at the newcomer, and realised he was just a messenger, not Tyramin Silvermoon. It seemed the elves would not be saving them this time.
Andries and Wijk had been pulling corpses out of the Rijksweg all morning. Most were boatmen from the River Watch, though it was only the remnants of their uniforms and insignia that made this apparent. The bodies had been savaged by Manann knows what kind of monsters. Limbs were torn in two or gone altogether, while faces had been eaten away and torsos gutted. Mixed in with the boatmen were a few other corpses, their identities much harder to determine. The presence of maritime tattoos suggested sailors, while others had body piercings in intriguing places. “What do you think—smugglers?” Wijk asked his Black Cap colleague.
“Looks like it,” Andries agreed. “Never seen no merchant with rings through his nose and his loins before. Smugglers must have tried to run the blockade, collided with the River Watch and drowned the lot of them. Boats probably churned up the bodies.”
“Maybe,” Wijk said. “But what about the teeth marks?”
Andries shrugged, rasping a hand across his stubble. He’d been scrupulous about shaving when the two of them had been stationed on the Hoogbrug. You never knew when the watch commander or their captain might decide to go south of the Rijksweg, and it didn’t do to encounter either man with more than a few hours’ growth on your chin. But now they were reassigned to patrolling the shoreline where Paleisbuurt met Marienburg’s major canal, keeping up appearances was of no great importance. He didn’t want to think about what had really happened to the River Watch and the rest of the corpses. All Andries knew for certain was he hadn’t joined the Black Caps to pull bodies out of the water. Unless things changed soon, he needed to find another job.
“Sweet Shallya, here comes another one,” he complained as a body drifted towards him. It was sprawled over half a River Watch boat, the hands turned blue by the cold. The summer solstice wasn’t that long gone, but sea currents kept the Rijksweg a chill temperature all year round. Andries used the end of his lantern staff to hook the broken boat a
nd pull it closer to shore. But try as he might, the Black Cap couldn’t get to the body without stepping one foot into the water. He hissed a curse at the cold water filling his boot, and grabbed the body. To his shock and amazement, it fought back. Such was his surprise, the watchman fell backwards into the canal, swearing and spluttering.
Wijk jumped over to see what was wrong and found himself face to face with a shivering woman, an angry snarl on her lips. “Tell your friend if he touches me there again, I’ll expect a proposal of marriage or his family jewels as my earrings.”
“Who the hell are you?”
Belladonna glared at him. “Let’s save the introductions for later, and help me get out of this damned canal before I freeze to death.”
Gyngrijk stood to face the elf’s wrath. “I sent a scroll to Elf town inviting you to this emergency meeting, as what’s decided here will affect the future of all who live in Marienburg—man or elf. A necromancer called Farrak has seized control of Suiddock. We believe he plans to claim the rest of the city, and use it as a beachhead for an assault on the Empire. If he’s to be stopped, it must be now before any more lives are lost. Marienburg stands at a crossroads. The elves are a vital part of this city, and I believed you should be involved with our discussions here today.”
The messenger sneered. “We already know what has taken place to the south of our enclave. Did you honestly believe it could be otherwise?” Gyngrijk sat down, cowed by this angry presence. The elf looked round the room, searching the faces of those present. “This city stands on the shoulders of an ancient port built by my kind, long before the coming of man. We are as much a part of this place as anyone here, and more so than most. My people know this Farrak of old. He’s had many names, but his evil is unswerving his savagery unparalleled.”
Kurt rose to address the newcomer. “I’m Captain Kurt Schnell, son of General Erwin Schnell, born of Altdorf. Will you stand with us against Farrak’s evil?”
The elf shook his head. “This is your battle, not ours. We have withdrawn to our enclave and shall remain there, until the conflict is ended—one way or another.”
“But what about the necromancer, his army of undead?” Stefan Rothemuur protested, springing to his feet. “Won’t he raise up your dead and send them against you?”
“Our walls are high, and our magic strong. My brethren will be safe from this evil if we remain within Sith Rionnasc’namishathir,” the messenger replied, preparing to leave. “Do not ask for our aid again, it shall not be forthcoming.” He strode out.
The speaker rose, his face flushed red with anger. “The elves have abandoned us to our fate, whatever that may be. I’m throwing this meeting open to any suggestions for stopping the necromancer’s dark magic. We must defeat this Farrak, or Marienburg may well perish at the hands of his undead army. So, how can we save our city?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The watch commander leaned forwards in his chair. “Brother Nathaniel, earlier you said the witch hunters had fought Farrak more than once. How was this necromancer stopped then? If we knew the method by which he was defeated, we might be able to use that against him again.” His comments brought a murmur of approval from those nearby.
Nathaniel shook his head. “Alas, it is impossible. The ancestors of my faith were able to isolate Farrak away from his resurrected horde, diminishing his defences. Then one man got close enough to strike the fiend a mortal blow. Farrak did not die, but the wound weakened him for centuries afterwards. The necromancer retreated to the darkest corners of the world to recover, leaving the Old World in peace—until now. In truth, we do not know if he can ever be truly vanquished, but his terror can be postponed.”
“Postponed is better than nothing,” the watch commander maintained, “but you haven’t explained how he was struck a mortal blow. Was it a special weapon? A blade inlaid with ancient runes? Or a spell cast by some powerful mage that laid Farrak low?”
“It was a rare gemstone, set inside a special amulet that focused the gem’s power. Whoever wore the amulet was protected from a necromancer’s dark magic. It could not turn away weapons such as blades or bows, but the amulet made the wearer immune from magic so they could strike at the likes of Farrak. But that protection has limitations. The amulet’s power is lost to the bearer forever the moment they wound a necromancer. All who have worn the amulet into battle against the likes of Farrak have died.”
“Still, there are many brave men in this city who would willingly sacrifice their life to save all those who live in Marienburg,” the watch commander persisted. “Where can we find this amulet, so it might be used against Farrak?”
Nathaniel looked away, distraught. “We do not know. Whether forgotten by history or cast aside by some hand with malice aforethought, the amulet is lost to us. Even the name of the amulet has been forgotten in the mists of passing time.”
“Then we have no weapon that can stop this necromancer?”
“None known to my brethren or the Temple Court,” the witch hunter admitted.
Brother Daniel argued for hours with the crematorium owners of Doodkanaal, urging them to stop their furnaces. But they refused to accept the witch hunter held any authority over their business, and kept the fires burning. Daniel despaired as he watched all the chimneys belching fresh clouds of black smoke and ash into the sky, adding to the fog that lingered above the city. No new corpses had been delivered to the crematoria from the north of Marienburg that day, thanks to the quarantine around Suiddock, but families from nearby southern districts such as Winkelmarkt and Kruiersmuur were still bringing their dearly departed to the furnaces for immolation.
Daniel gathered his brethren and issued a new edict. “I believe these businesses are in league with the dark magic that infested Suiddock. Whether they are doing so knowingly or unwittingly doesn’t matter. As representatives of the Temple Court, we have authority to excommunicate all those who aid and abet dark magic. Therefore, I hereby cast out the crematoria of Doodkanaal, their owners and all those whose mortal remains are burned there, effective immediately. We’ll post notices on all the doors and patrol the approaches to the buildings. If we deny the furnaces anything to burn, they’ll be forced to stop by sundown to spare their fuel stocks.”
The other witch hunters nodded their approval. Daniel set half his brethren to work writing and posting the notices of excommunication, while the rest went on patrol, spreading the news to those who could not read for themselves. In the meantime he returned to the crematoria and warned the owners of his new edict. “Stop the furnaces of your own free will and your soul shall not be forfeit,” Daniel told them. “Continue with this madness and you will suffer an eternity of torment. It’s your choice.”
The decision was taken from all their hands after the first crematoria shut down its fires. Daniel went outside to watch as the chimney stopped smoking, a last few clouds of smoke and ash drifting upwards into the air. But something strange happened as the rising fumes reached the fog above Doodkanaal; the dirty yellow mist moved. The change was all but imperceptible at first, a tiny circle appearing directly over the chimney. Gradually the circle got larger, expanding outwards, while the epicentre became darker by the moment. The witch hunter realised the fog was spinning round in a circle above the crematorium, forming itself into a vortex. Not only could he see the tornado forming in the sky, he could hear it, the wind whipping into a frenzy, building from a low hum to a roaring the likes of which Daniel had never experienced. The witch hunter dropped to his knees and prayed, as the rising winds tore off his hat and whipped the air with his cloak.
The tiny particles of human ash inside the fog cloud were coming back to life.
“If we cannot kill Farrak, we must find a way to contain him,” the watch commander told the emergency meeting. “We believe this necromancer’s taint has largely been confined to Suiddock thus far, yes?” He looked around the room, as if daring everyone to contradict him.
“Not completely,” Captain Sandler said. “Sev
eral families in my district have been attacked by their own ancestors, rising up from subterranean crypts.”
“But these attacks have been stopped by private militia, haven’t they?”
“Yes.”
“And only those bodies stored below the level of the Rijksweg have resurrected?”
Sandler nodded.
“In other words, dark magic incidents outside Suiddock have been contained.”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing, Sandler,” the commander cut in, his voice making it plain he would brook no further opposition. “You would do well to remember your rank, captain. Best if you leave the important decisions to those with the experience necessary to make them.”
Kurt would have enjoyed the moment more if he hadn’t felt Sandler was making a valuable point. Despite their differences, the captain from Goudberg had been correct in pointing out the exceptions to sweeping generalisations about Farrak’s hold over the city. But Kurt also recognised the steely resolve in his superior’s voice. The commander was not going to be denied his moment of glory, and certainly not in front of the city’s most important and influential people.
“My solution to containing Farrak is simple,” the commander continued. “There are but two bridges linking Suiddock with the rest of Marienburg. Destroy those and you destroy his easiest means of attacking other parts of the city. We should strap barrels of gunpowder to the Hoogbrug and Draaienbrug bridges, and rig them both to explode.” When several powerful merchants raised their voices in protest, he smiled and raised a hand for silence. “Please, let me finish. We should rig both bridges with gunpowder. However, I am not suggesting we detonate either structure, not without good cause. We would only blow up the bridges should one of Farrak’s undead army set foot upon them. The crossings are too valuable to the city to destroy otherwise, especially the Hoogbrug.”
[Marienburg 02] - A Massacre in Marienburg Page 20