Halfway down the hall he sprang forwards and made a diving tackle at its legs. It was only as he was flying through the air that he noticed that the figure had no arrow sticking from its shoulder.
He grabbed at the figure’s berobed legs and they went down together, but something felt very wrong. Felix didn’t feel legs under the robes. Indeed the robes didn’t feel like robes.
They hit the floor as one, but as the figure slapped down, it exploded into a swarm of squeaking black shapes that fluttered around his face then up into the air. Felix clutched at them wildly and crushed one in his hand. It sank needle-sharp claws into his index finger as it stilled—a tiny little bat, but rotten with mould and decay.
The rest of the swarm looped up and around and shot for the door just as Kat and the slayers and the rest of the men pushed through. They shielded their faces as the little beasts battered past them and vanished into the night.
“Where is he?” growled Gotrek, walking towards Felix.
Felix stood and held out his hand to show the mangled bat corpse. “Here,” he said. “And the flock that flew out the door.”
Kat shook her head. “No,” she said. “I hit a man. I heard him yelp. This was a decoy.” She started running towards the door. “Back to the officers’ residence! Quickly!”
Rodi shook his head. “He won’t be there. He sent us chasing in here so he could slip away.”
Gotrek nodded, disgusted. “We lost him.”
“But we haven’t,” said Felix. “We just have to look for a man with a wounded shoulder.”
Gotrek raised a shaggy eyebrow. “How many men in Castle Reikguard don’t have a wounded shoulder?”
Felix’s heart sank. The Slayer was right. After all the fighting, everyone in the castle was hurt in some way. Even if they found a man with a puncture wound, how would they prove it had been Kat’s arrow that made it?
“Do you have a better plan?” Felix asked.
“Aye,” said Gotrek, walking away. “Kill everybody. Then we’re sure to get him.”
The steward, when he was roused from his bed and given the news, seemed close to tears. “Again?” he said, pacing before the underkeep doors. “Again?”
He stopped suddenly and turned to his officers. “Wake everyone,” he said. “Assemble them before the temple of Sigmar. I will not wait until after morning mess to speak. We will begin now. This will end today!”
“My lord,” said von Volgen, who had followed von Geldrecht down from the keep like a dour shadow, “as the Slayer says, everyone is wounded. It will be difficult—”
The steward waved that away. “There will be no need to check for wounds,” he said. “I have a better way. We will find him out, you can be certain of that.”
But as he watched von Geldrecht limp away, Felix thought von Volgen didn’t look very certain at all.
While the people of the castle began to gather in the courtyard for von Geldrecht’s speech, Felix, Kat and the slayers went up to the walls and looked at the sections of the hoardings that the traitor had visited during his shadowy prowling, and it was Felix who found the first sign of sabotage—and nearly died for it.
Remembering that the saboteur had stopped and reached over the outer edge of the hoarding roof at regular intervals, Felix climbed out onto the battlements and began to examine the shingles and walls from the outside, though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He saw nothing on the shingles, nor anything on the shoulder-high panels that protected the defenders from airborne attacks and enemy fire, but as he looked at one of the support posts that held up the roof, he saw a strange black squiggle drawn on the wood.
At first glance, Felix took it for a carpenter’s mark, made in charcoal, but something about the shape of it looked wrong. He grabbed the post to pull himself closer for a better look, but the wood around the mark splintered and gave way and the post slipped sideways under Felix’s weight. Only a frantic scramble and a wild grab at the panels kept Felix from falling backwards off the walls to the sea of zombies below.
“Felix!” cried Kat, from the roof.
“All right, manling?” asked Gotrek, looking up.
Felix’s heart was pounding so loud as he clung to the panel he almost didn’t hear them. With infinite care, he pulled himself back onto the solid stone of the crenellations, then let out a breath.
“I believe,” he said, “I may have found something.” He pointed a trembling hand at the next post. “Look there, near the top. But don’t put your weight on it. It won’t hold.”
Kat and the slayers stepped to the next post, and when Felix could get his legs working again, he joined them, and saw that it too had a squiggle drawn upon it. It was most definitely a symbol of some kind, but not one a carpenter ever made. It had the look of the kind of arcane glyphs he had seen carved upon ancient tombs and other places Of unfathomable evil that his travels with Gotrek had led him to, and it hadn’t been made in charcoal, but in blood, now dried and brown.
The wood around the symbol was a different colour than the rest of the post, pale and grey, as if it had been exposed to the elements for centuries. Gotrek grunted when he saw the discolouration, then pinched the wood between his finger and thumb. It crumbled like dry cheese.
Kat shook her head, dismayed. “Taal and Rhya, had he marked every post…”
“The hoardings would have collapsed entirely,” said Felix.
“But likely not until the start of the next battle,” said Rodi, grinning. “A nasty little trap.”
“See how many he marked,” said Gotrek.
But before they were able to check more than a few, a horn blared, and Classen’s voice rang from the courtyard.
“Fall in! Fall in! Lord Steward von Geldrecht will speak!”
Gotrek ground his teeth and glared down at the assembled crowd. “There are things to be done.”
“Aye,” said Rodi. “Replace these posts. Open the dike and flood the moat again…”
“Kill more zombies,” said Snorri.
But the three slayers turned and started for the stairs nonetheless, and Felix and Kat followed them down into the crowd.
The mood of the men as they squeezed through to the front was sullen at best. Soldiers who had only a few hours ago killed off the last of the river gate zombies were grumbling about not being allowed to sleep nor getting to eat or drink before lining up. Men from the morning watches, whose job it was to repair the damages incurred in the battle, grumbled about not being able to get on with their work. The servants grumbled about being dragged away from preparing the biscuit and water. Felix felt for them all. He and Kat hadn’t had a minute’s rest since he didn’t know how long—nor did it look like they would get another minute anytime soon.
But they were hardly the worst off in attendance. Even the wounded had been trundled out to the courtyard and lay or sat or slumped where they had been put, while Sister Willentrude and her initiates stood wearily among them, looking angrier than everyone else in the audience combined.
When everyone had quieted, von Geldrecht walked up the steps of the temple of Sigmar and turned to stand with Sergeant Classen, Lord von Volgen and Grafin Avelein Reiklander. Father Ulfram and his acolyte waited behind them, while Bosendorfer and his greatswords flanked the steps, their huge blades drawn and point down at parade rest. What was the reason for that, wondered Felix?
“Defenders of Castle Reikguard,” called von Geldrecht, his haggard face stark in the light of the still-burning corpse-pyre. “I have gathered you here today in Graf Reiklander’s name…”
He inclined his head to Grafin Avelein at this, but she did not acknowledge it, only stared glassy-eyed into the middle distance, a strange half-smile on her lips.
Von Geldrecht coughed and began again. “I have gathered you in Graf Reiklander’s name, I say, in order to broach a serious matter—and to end it!” His voice cracked as he tried for emphasis, and his eyes, as he glared around at them all, glittered wildly. “There is a traitor among us, a sor
cerous saboteur who is weakening our defences!”
A murmur rose at that, but von Geldrecht waved it down with a weary arm.
“Yes!” he cried. “A traitor! A collaborator with that foul necromancer who hides in the woods and sends his filthy corpses against us. It is this traitor who shattered the runes of warding that protected our walls, he who drained the moat, he who tore the hole through the river gate. But his reign of sabotage ends today! This morning—here and now—we will flush him out!”
The murmuring of the crowd grew louder as von Geldrecht turned to Father Ulfram.
“Father,” he said, “let us begin.”
Father Ulfram hesitated, seemingly reluctant, then signalled to Danniken. The gaunt young man bowed, then stepped to a rough wooden table set to one side. On it was something wrapped in sable fur. He hesitated and seemed to pray, then gathered up the bundle in his arms as carefully as if it were a bomb, and returned with it to Ulfram. As the priest bowed before it, Danniken delicately unfolded the bundle to reveal a gold-filigreed, jewel-encrusted warhammer of incredible workmanship, gleaming red at the edges in the light of the pyre.
“Behold!” said von Geldrecht, holding out a hand to it. “The Hammer of Judgement, first carried by Frederick the Bold, the great-grandfather of our beloved Emperor, Karl Franz. Long has it sat in the family vaults of Castle Reikguard, but whenever there is evil to be vanquished, it is brought forth, for its very touch destroys the unrighteous, and burns them with the holy fire of Sigmar’s twin-tailed comet.”
Danniken’s hands trembled as he held out the massive sacred hammer to Father Ulfram in its bed of furs. “It is here, father.”
The blind priest reached out until he touched it, then lifted it with one hand and began a prayer as he held it over his head. He might be a shadow of his former self, thought Felix, but he must have retained some of his strength to lift a weapon like that. It looked as if it were made of solid gold.
As Father Ulfram prayed, von Geldrecht surveyed the crowd with too-bright eyes. “Each of you,” he said, “will come forwards, one at a time, and lay hands on the hammer. Our traitor will be the one whose impure flesh burns at the touch of so holy a relic! At which time…” He nodded to Bosendorfer and the greatswords. “We will kill him immediately. He who refuses this test will also be killed immediately.”
Felix turned uneasily to Gotrek as the courtyard burst into anxious whispering. “Do you think this will work?” he asked. “Do you think the hammer has the powers he says it has?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Gotrek grunted. “The traitor won’t touch it.”
“But von Geldrecht said everyone has to touch it,” said Kat.
Before Gotrek could answer, an angry voice called out from among the wounded. “You have forgotten some suspects, my lord! Shouldn’t Tauber and his assistants take the test as well?”
The whole courtyard turned to see Sister Willentrude glaring at von Geldrecht with haggard eyes.
Felix looked around, his anger rising. Was she right? Was Tauber not there? Had von Geldrecht forgotten him? Or had he left him out on purpose? Was this another sign of the strange connection between the two men that had caused von Geldrecht to hide him away from Bosendorfer—and keep him from his duties? His anger boiled over, when he saw that Draeger and his militiamen had been brought out from their cells, but not Tauber.
“Yes!” Felix cried. “Where is Tauber? Let him prove his innocence so he can get back to work.”
“And if he burns?” muttered Gotrek.
Felix’s heart lurched. He hadn’t thought of that, but if Tauber was a traitor after all, then that was all the more reason for him to take the test.
“We already know what Tauber is,” called the steward, looking nervously from Felix to the sister. “There is no need to test him.”
“Then you lied before, lord steward!” cried Willentrude. “You said you were holding him until you could determine his guilt. If you know he is guilty, why haven’t you killed him? Bring him out!”
The courtyard began to murmur in agreement, some because they wanted Tauber to burn, some—mostly the wounded—because they wanted him freed, but all seemed to agree he should be tested.
Von Geldrecht looked like he was going to explode. “This is not about Tauber!” he said. “This is about finding a further man!”
“But what if Tauber is the only one?” said Felix. “What if he has the power to slip through his bars like mist? Or a swarm of bats?”
Von Geldrecht opened his mouth to make another argument, but voices were crying out from all around the yard now, drowning him out.
“Test Tauber!”
“Let him burn!”
“Free him!”
Von Geldrecht’s eyes darted around, frightened. Felix smirked. The steward would have to bring Tauber out now, or he’d have an insurrection on his hands. But then Felix glanced towards Bosendorfer, and saw that his eyes were gleaming with excitement, and his hands were clenched around the hilt of his two-handed sword.
“Very well!” shouted von Geldrecht over the cries of the crowd. “Very well! Tauber will be tested!” He turned to two of his household knights and gave them a key. “Bring the surgeon and his assistants.”
Felix groaned as the knights saluted and trotted to the stairs to the keep. “Sigmar,” he said. “We’ve signed his death warrant.”
“Whose?” asked Kat. “Tauber’s? You think he’s guilty?”
Felix shook his head. “Look at Bosendorfer. Do you think he’ll wait for Tauber’s guilt to be proved before he strikes?”
Kat’s eyes widened. “Shallya’s mercy.”
“Now,” rasped von Geldrecht, leaning heavily on his cane. “If there are no further interruptions, we will begin.” He turned to Grafin Avelein. “Grafin, if you will go first, we will keep you no longer.”
Avelein woke from her daze and nodded. Bosendorfer’s men tensed and the whole courtyard held its breath as she stepped up and without hesitation laid both hands on the sacred hammer, bowing her head in prayer. When she failed to burst into flames, the crowd let out their breath.
“Thank you, Grafin,” said von Geldrecht.
She curtseyed to him, then drifted off towards the stairs to the keep, the half-smile still on her face. Felix watched her curiously, her behaviour breaking through his anxiety about Tauber and Bosendorfer. What had happened to her earlier sadness? Was the graf recovering?
“Spearmen,” called von Geldrecht. “Step forwards.”
The spearmen marched forwards, led now by a sergeant Felix didn’t know. There were less than twenty of them now. The crowd quieted again as the sergeant reached out and touched the hammer, and again let out a breath when nothing happened. As the rest of the spearmen advanced and laid their hands on the hammer one by one without incident, the tension before each touch lessened, but still, no one looked anywhere else.
After the spearmen had finished, Bosendorfer’s men pointed them to the big open doors to the underkeep, and sent them inside to wait. This was to make sure that no one who hadn’t yet taken the test could slip in amongst those who had.
Halfway through testing Hultz’s handgunners, the two knights who had run off returned, leading a sad, shuffling coffle of filthy men. It took Felix a moment to recognise the skinny, unshaven figure at their head as Tauber. The surgeon’s superior sneer and the sharp eyes were gone, replaced by a dull, slack-mouthed stare.
Felix watched Bosendorfer as Tauber was brought to the front of the crowd, afraid he was going to attack then and there, but the greatsword only stared at the surgeon, hard and cold, and stayed at his post.
Felix thought von Geldrecht would test Tauber immediately and get it over with, but he did not. Instead he called up Classen and the household knights, and had them touch the hammer while Bosendorfer and his greatswords stood ready to strike them down, then he had Bosendorfer and his greatswords touch the hammer while Classen and his knights stood ready to strike them down. No one burst into flames.
After that came Sister Willentrude and her initiates and then the wounded, while Tauber and his assistants continued to stand and wait. Why was von Geldrecht doing it this way, Felix wondered? Was he saving the best for last? Was he afraid Tauber wouldn’t burst into flames, and wanted to delay the inevitable anticlimax? Then it came to him. He wasn’t afraid nothing would happen. He was afraid Tauber would actually burn.
“He thinks Tauber’s guilty!” he whispered. “And he doesn’t want him to be.”
“Aye,” said Kat. “You’re right. But why?”
Felix shrugged. He had no idea.
It took almost a half-hour for the wounded to be tested, for many had to be carried up and lifted so that they could touch the hammer. Some were so weak they had to have their hands placed upon it for them. Some had no hands.
“How is a man like that supposed to have crawled across the hoardings?” growled Kat. “Von Geldrecht is a fool.”
The servants came next—cooks, menials, maids, grooms, the blacksmith, carpenter and all the rest, and then the refugee farmers and all the other “guests” of the castle.
Von Volgen and his Talabeclanders went first, as dignified as they could, under the circumstances, then Draeger and his militiamen, as sullen as ever, and then it was Felix’s turn. He scowled as he put his hand on the hammer, but made no complaint, only gave von Geldrecht a withering look as he stepped aside to wail for Kat and the slayers. Kat slapped the hammer contemptuously and made the horns of Taal right after. Gotrek turned the hammer by the head and squinted at it.
“Not bad for human work,” he said.
“Better than elvish at least,” said Rodi, running a thumb along the gold scrolling.
“Snorri thinks it sounds hollow,” said Snorri, tapping it with a thick forefinger.
As they reached the door to the underkeep, Felix turned to watch as von Geldrecht called the men off the walls one at a time and then sent them back. Then, finally, there was no one left but Tauber and his assistants.
Von Geldrecht glared and chewed his lip, then motioned for them to be brought forwards. He was almost cringing as they approached, and his brow was beaded with sweat.
[Gotrek & Felix 12] - Zombieslayer Page 18