[Blood on the Reik 03] - Death's Legacy

by Sandy Mitchell - (ebook by Undead)

  “They say the dwarfs had a hand in its construction. Looking at it, I can well believe it.”

  “So can I,” Rudi said. It hardly seemed possible that human hands could have crafted stone so cunningly. The Imperial Palace, which stood facing the temple on the other side of the huge square dividing the two principal buildings of the capital, looked lumpy and ill-formed by comparison, although it was sumptuous enough by any reasonable standard, making the splendours of the staadholder’s palace in Marienburg fade into insignificance.

  “This way.” Von Karien led Rudi towards the temple, nodding in homage to the vast statue of Sigmar over the main doors, which stood open to admit a steady stream of visitors. Not until he noticed them was Rudi able to appreciate the truly titanic scale of the structure itself. The scurrying humans were reduced to the apparent size of halflings by the mighty portal, which loomed at least four times their height, and the statues of warriors flanking the doors glowered down at them like disapproving parents.

  As they moved closer to the great slabs of finely carved wood, Rudi felt that he was about to be swallowed by some vast stone leviathan, and fought down a rising sense of irrational panic. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his footsteps stumbled.

  “Are you all right?” von Karien asked, an expression of mild puzzlement on his face. Rudi nodded.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I just felt a bit dizzy, trying to take it all in.” The same thing had happened outside the cathedral of Verena in Marienburg, he remembered. He should have learned his lesson, and tried to absorb the atmosphere of this building a little more cautiously. He took a deep breath, finding the ever-present stench of the streets curiously bracing. It was surprising what you could get used to, he supposed.

  “I see.” Von Karien nodded, and started walking again, angling slightly away from the imposing wooden doors carved with the twin-tailed comet of the Empire’s patron god. Feeling more or less recovered, Rudi trotted after him.

  “Aren’t we going inside?” he asked, trying to mask the flood of relief that he felt at the words. In the distance, the right-hand crossbar of the T-shaped building, which supposedly reproduced the exact proportions of Ghal-Maraz, the legendary dwarf warhammer of Sigmar, began to grow a little clearer, and he became aware that the temple itself was surrounded by a cluster of smaller structures which he’d barely noticed, since his eye was naturally drawn to the stone behemoth that dominated the skyline.

  Von Karien turned to look back at him. “We’re here to consult the records, not burn a bit of incense.” His expression softened. “If you want to say a few prayers once we’ve concluded our business, I certainly wouldn’t object. There’s no finer place to do it in the whole of the Empire. Just being inside it is balm to the soul.”

  “Let’s hope we have the time,” said Rudi, trying to ignore the fresh spurt of panic that sparked somewhere in the back of his mind at the prospect. He forced it down angrily. The key to his identity, final confirmation or denial that he truly was the missing von Karien heir, was within his grasp at last. This was no time to be getting the jitters.

  “This way.” Von Karien led the way between two of the buildings on the fringes of the complex surrounding the temple, and once again Rudi was lost in a labyrinth of stone. Here, though, the clamour of the streets was absent, the purposeful figures hurrying or loitering about their business moving quietly or conversing in hushed tones. Many of them wore the robes of priests or initiates, the hammer of Sigmar around their necks, although to his surprise he saw a few green-robed acolytes of Taal and Rhya as well, and once caught a glimpse of a white-robed priestess of Shallya, talking earnestly to a couple of Sigmarites.

  “The Empire needs all its gods,” von Karien reminded him when he remarked on the fact. “We do well to remember that, and discuss the matters we all have in common.”

  “I suppose so,” Rudi said. A couple of armed guards had been on duty at the gate they’d entered the warren of buildings by, and both had nodded affably at von Karien as he’d walked through. Now, another black-clad templar inclined his head as he hurried past on some errand of his own.

  “Osric, you’re looking well.”

  “Well enough.” Von Karien returned the greeting cordially.

  “You know him?” Rudi asked, surprised. It seemed that his companion was well thought of in some quarters, after all.

  “I should do, he saved my life once.” Von Karien shrugged. “Mind you, I’ve returned the favour, so I suppose we’re even.” He led the way through a wrought iron gate into a small courtyard, where more of the soberly dressed guards were practising with swords and pole arms. “If we cut through here we’ll save a bit of time. The storerooms of the library are a bit out of the way.”

  “Where are we?” Rudi asked, confused. Wherever it was, it seemed more like the watch barracks he’d lived at in Marienburg than anything to do with a temple.

  “Templars’ Court,” von Karien explained. Understanding at last, Rudi nodded. If von Karien did have any friends here, it made sense for them to be among the Church’s elite warriors.

  “I see. They must remember you helping them raid the family estate.” Von Karien laughed.

  “I suppose a few of the older ones might, but most of them remember me because I’m the one who put them through eight kinds of hell to turn them into fitting instruments of Sigmar’s vengeance on the unholy.” He led the way up a short flight of stairs, and the clang of sword against sword faded into the background. “After that night, when I’d faced the taint of Chaos at the heart of my own family, I became a templar myself. I could hardly go back to the Panthers and pretend that nothing had happened.”

  “And you’ve been one ever since,” Rudi concluded.

  “I’ve served Sigmar, and fought the forces of Chaos as best I could.” Von Karien opened a small, undistinguished door with a key from a pocket somewhere beneath his cloak, and ushered Rudi through it. Once they were both inside, he locked it again, and returned the key to wherever it had come from. Rudi found himself in a narrow, windowless corridor, lit by oil lamps.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “One of the outlying annexes of the main library,” von Karien explained. “Not everything is out on the main shelves. Most of the stuff in here is at least three hundred years old, and I don’t suppose anyone’s so much as glanced at it since it was brought down and forgotten about.”

  “Someone must have done,” Rudi said, following the black-garbed man along the passageway, “otherwise the lanterns wouldn’t be alight.” Their footsteps echoed against the flagstones, and shadows flickered as the draft of their passing disturbed the flames in the lamps. A thought occurred to him. “They must trust you well enough to give you your own key.”

  “I’m not sure that the librarians know I have one,” von Karien admitted, leading the way into a book-lined room. A table, scarcely better cared for than the one in the nobleman’s kitchen, stood in the centre, a scattering of chairs around it. More lamps burned, and the smell of combustion mingled with the acrid odour of old books and parchments. Shelves stood around the walls, some of them projecting out into the room to afford access from both sides, forming small enclosed areas of their own, and making it hard to tell just how big the chamber really was. “Over the years, my colleagues and I have found it a useful place to meet, and discuss our more sensitive business.”

  “What sort of business?” Rudi asked, trying to read the titles on the spines of the nearest books, but they were too encrusted with grime to be intelligible.

  “Protecting the Empire from its enemies, of course.” Von Karien glanced at a sheaf of documents lying on the table. “It seems we’re in luck again. Someone’s already here, and apparently working on our little problem.”

  “They are?” Rudi felt a shiver of unease. “Who?”

  “Who do you think?” Von Karien raised his voice. “Luther? Is that you?”

  “Osric?” Someone moved behind one of the bookshelves, a black-
clad silhouette coming slowly into view. Bleak blue eyes bored into Rudi from the centre of an all too familiar face, disfigured by a partially healed burn, but still unmistakable. “I see I was right.”

  “You were.” Von Karien nodded. “He came running straight to me, just as you said he would.”

  “You’re working for Gerhard?” Rudi asked, aghast, and still struggling to grasp the magnitude of this latest betrayal. Von Karien shook his head impatiently.

  “No, boy, with him. Who do you think burned your parents in the first place?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A tidal wave of anger burst over Rudi, the insensate desire to kill hammering in his veins. Before he was even aware of what he was doing, he drew his sword and leapt to attack.

  “There’s no need for this.” Gerhard’s blade sprang from its scabbard, blocking the blow as he moved to evade it, but he held back from delivering the counter strike that Rudi had been expecting. As in their previous encounters, the witch hunter seemed content to fight defensively rather than going in for the kill. “Put your sword down, and let’s talk. There’s a lot you need to know.”

  “I’ve seen how you talk,” Rudi snarled, renewing the attack. “I was there when you talked to Frau Katzenjammer, remember?”

  “I told you, that was a regrettable necessity.” Gerhard parried his next attack, and stepped back to open the distance, hemming himself in between two of the projecting bookcases as he did so. “There’s so much at stake here.”

  “So you say,” Rudi said, moving in to take advantage of his enemy’s inability to evade. He cut at the witch hunter’s head, intent on nothing more than spilling his blood, blind to every other consideration. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Gerhard ducked in the nick of time, and Rudi’s sword embedded itself in the wood of a bookshelf, the tip of it slicing into an incunabulum, raising a cloud of dust and scattering the pages as the age-rotted leather binding split. Rudi wrenched frantically at the weapon, trying to free it, but it was stuck fast in the age-darkened wood. Before he could recover the sword, Gerhard had taken full advantage of his loss of momentum, diving at his chest and grappling like a wrestler.

  Rudi stumbled backwards, trying to shrug off the witch hunter’s pinioning arms, and feeling a sudden shock of impact against his back. A moment later the unexpected blow was followed by agonising pain, searing up into his torso. Turning, he found von Karien behind him, a bloody knife in his left hand, and an expression of shock in his eyes.

  “You…” Rudi tried to draw his own dagger, but Gerhard forestalled him, expertly shifting his grip to clamp a muscular hand around his wrist. The senior witch hunter glared at von Karien.

  “Are you insane? You know what happens if he dies!”

  “He just stumbled into me.” Von Karien dropped the red-stained dagger, which clattered loudly on the stone floor of the chamber. “I only drew it in case I needed to parry.” His arm went around Rudi’s shoulders, holding him up just as the young forester’s knees gave way. Rudi tried to speak, but the taste of blood filled his mouth, and he hawked crimson phlegm onto the flagstones. The images of Bruno, and all the pirates and ruffians he’d killed since leaving Kohlstadt, rose up in his mind, taunting and vindictive. Was this how their last few moments had felt? His kinsman’s voice held an edge of desperation. “Is there anything we can do?”

  “If Sigmar wills it,” Gerhard said calmly. He pulled one of a pair of thin leather gloves from his belt, and held it between his palms, murmuring a prayer beneath his breath.

  Von Karien lowered Rudi to the cold stone floor as gently as he could, the chill seeming to seep upwards into his very bones as he did so. Rudi’s vision began to blur, and something seemed to stir in the darkest depths of his soul. Despite the pain, he felt a sudden surge of malevolent triumph sweep through him, leaving him giddy and disorientated.

  “Hurry.” Von Karien rolled Rudi over onto his side. “He hasn’t got long.”

  Recalling the event afterwards, Rudi was never quite sure what actually happened next. The glove in Gerhard’s hands seemed to dwindle and shrink, like dispersing smoke, and then it vanished, as if it had never been. Gerhard knelt, and pressed his hand to Rudi’s back, right where the wound from von Karien’s dagger had been inflicted.

  A wave of pain surged through his body, spasming his muscles, and with a howl of agony the shadowy presence deep within him returned to wherever it had emerged from. Both witch hunters sighed with relief.

  “Sigmar be praised,” von Karien said, making the sign of the hammer. Gerhard nodded.

  “Indeed,” he concurred dryly. He shrugged. “It seems I’ll need another new pair of gloves.”

  “A small price to pay,” von Karien said, and Gerhard nodded his agreement.

  “Can you sit up?” he asked, supporting Rudi’s shoulders again.

  To his surprise, Rudi found that he could. The pain in his chest was gone, replaced by a numbing chill. He drew in a shaky breath, unimpeded by blood or phlegm.

  “What did you just do?” he asked, curiosity driving out fear and anger, at least for the time being. Whatever his reasons, Gerhard had clearly just saved his life. Shaking the witch hunter’s arm off, he staggered to his feet, leaning against the table for support. Von Karien retrieved his sword from the bookcase and his own dagger from the floor, placing both well out of reach, and moving to block the door. Gerhard pulled out a chair, and motioned to Rudi to sit.

  “I prayed to Sigmar for aid,” he said. “Sometimes he intercedes, if the cause is just.”

  “It looked like sorcery to me,” Rudi said. If he still felt too weak to fight the man physically, he could always lash out with words. “Shouldn’t you run off and burn yourself?”

  “There is absolutely nothing like sorcery in the blessings of the gods!” von Karien said angrily, “and only a heretic would dare to suggest such a thing!” For a moment, Rudi thought his kinsman was about to strike him, and tensed for the blow, but to his surprise Gerhard intervened.

  “It’s a natural mistake to make,” he said evenly. “Both magic and prayer can alter the fabric of the world. The difference is that a priest can only do so by the grace of the divine, while witches and sorcerers can change reality by the force of their own wills.”

  “You’ve lost me.” Rudi sat down slowly, waiting for the strength to return to his body. There were two of them, it was true, but he’d fought against worse odds than that before. The real problem was the locked door behind him, but once he’d subdued his opponents, finding the key wouldn’t present too big a problem, he was sure.

  “Then I’ll make it simple,” Gerhard said, sitting down opposite him. “I healed you by calling on the power of Sigmar. Your friend the witch incinerates people by calling on the power of Chaos. That’s the difference.”

  “He’s been consorting with witches?” von Karien asked, the expression of horror on his face echoed in the timbre of his voice. He looked at Rudi with obvious contempt. “He’s clearly been tainted beyond any possibility of redemption.” His expression became appraising. “Is that why you went to the Bright College before coming to my house? Escorting your witch friend to be with her own kind?”

  “There were reports of a disturbance outside the college gate last night,” Gerhard said thoughtfully. “I take it that means her application was unsuccessful?”

  “She’s safe,” Rudi said, hoping the half-truth would serve to protect the girl. “You’ll never get your hands on her now.”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Gerhard said levelly. “If the Bright Order had taken her in, you wouldn’t have been able to resist throwing that in our faces. Why did they reject her?”

  “Because she was tainted, wasn’t she?” von Karien put in. “Her mother was a witch, and a worshipper of the Lord of Change. That’s how she got her magical talent, straight from the Dark Powers.” Rudi wondered how much else Gerhard had told his friend of what he’d discovered in Kohlstadt and Marienburg.

  “Rudi,” Gerhard leaned
across the table, his voice calm and reasonable. “Your loyalty is admirable, however misplaced, but surely you must realise how dangerous Hanna is? She’s almost as dangerous as her mother.”

  Rudi shook his head stubbornly, trying to forget the expression on Gerrit’s face as he’d died, the burning silhouettes of Alwyn and Conrad, the indifference, even malevolence, Hanna had seemed to show every time she’d used her abilities to maim or kill since they’d fled from Marienburg.

  “If she is, then who made her that way?” he shot back. “You’re the one who tried to kill her, just for being who she is. So far as I’m concerned, she’s entitled to do whatever it takes to defend herself!”

  “Where is she?” von Karien loomed over him, his face dark. “We might need you alive, boy, but that doesn’t have to mean whole.”

  “Osric.” Gerhard made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “We’re getting away from the point here. The witch will keep for now, wherever she is. We have a far more pressing problem to deal with.”

  “That’s true.” Von Karien nodded reluctantly, and pulled up a chair of his own. “I don’t suppose she’ll get far, with both the templars and the colleges after her, in any case.”

  “She’s safe!” Rudi insisted, “with friends.” He glared at von Karien, “You can keep on asking until you’re blue in the face, but I don’t know where. Greta said that was for the best, and I’m beginning to see why.”

  “So her mother’s here too.” Gerhard exchanged a glance with von Karien. “They’ve probably taken refuge with the Silver Wheel, then. Perhaps you’d better start lifting a few stones when we’ve finished here, and see what crawls out.” Von Karien nodded.

  “Perhaps I’d better,” he said. He glanced at Rudi. “You think they’re planning something to do with him?”