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

by Sandy Mitchell - (ebook by Undead)

  “I’m not particularly hungry,” he said. Somehow the limitless supply of gruel and dry brown bread had blunted his appetite.

  “I’m heading down to the refectory,” said Gerhard. “If you’d care to join me.” Rudi hesitated for a moment before replying. No doubt an ulterior motive lurked behind the apparently casual invitation, Gerhard probably hoping he might let his guard down away from the room and let something slip that could be used against him. Then he shrugged.

  “Might as well,” he agreed. “I could do with the exercise.” Not that the few hundred yards they’d have to walk would stretch him at all, but it was better than nothing. In the three weeks he’d been here he’d only left the chapter house a handful of times, to pray in the temple, a concession that Gerhard could hardly refuse, and once to go to the temple library, to select a few books to while away the hours of his captivity. On every occasion, he’d been accompanied by a group of armed guards, and after the first visit to the archives he’d simply asked someone else to collect books on his behalf, finding their lurking presence among the bookshelves while he tried to make his selection intolerable. Rising, he reached for the thick woollen cloak that Gerhard had provided for him. “I assume it’s still cold outside?”

  “It’s stopped snowing, if that’s what you mean,” Gerhard said, rising too.

  Catching a glimpse of himself in the glazed window, rendered reflective by the darkness outside, Rudi was struck by how different he seemed. Gone were the battered clothes in which he’d fled across the Wasteland and up the Reik. He was dressed like a templar, all in black, his new cape fastened with a small silver hammer. He could almost have passed for one of his own guards, had it not been for the ugly weal of wax in the centre of his forehead, which continued to induce its faint, throbbing headache without respite.

  When Gerhard had first given him the hooded cloak, he’d hesitated for a moment before putting it on, seized by an unaccountable nervousness at the sight of the hammer on the clasp. Then he’d donned it impatiently, aware that the unease was the daemon’s, not his, and that he had nothing to fear from the holy symbol. Indeed, if anything, it seemed to strengthen his resistance to the daemonic parasite nestled against his soul.

  Now he knew the reason for the panic attacks that had afflicted him whenever he’d tried to set foot on consecrated ground. He had ventured into the temple itself several times since his stay began, initially, simply to prove to himself that he could do it. The first time had taken a tremendous effort of will, he had to concede. He’d stood outside the great doors, sweating and shaking for what had felt like several minutes before he’d been able to force his trembling legs into motion, and he’d left after only the most cursory inspection of the wonders inside, but he’d felt a surge of triumph in the victory over the thing within him, and subsequent visits had been a great deal easier.

  He’d become particularly fond of the tiny shrine to the dwarf gods, in one of the side chapels, although he couldn’t have said why; perhaps because no one else ever seemed to go in there, and he was able to savour the solitude he’d grown to love in the woods around his home near Kohlstadt. Even his ever-present bodyguards would hang back outside, leaving him to his own company for a while, no doubt feeling that nothing much could happen to him in there.

  “A little snow won’t hurt you,” Rudi said, trying to keep the conversation light.

  They left the chambers that Rudi had been given, and the pair of templar initiates who had been waiting outside the door fell into step behind them. After a pace or two, Gerhard turned, and dismissed them with a gesture.

  “He should be safe enough with me,” he said, and the two young men disappeared back into the shadows from whence they’d come. They, or others like them, had been within arm’s length of Rudi every time he left his room since he’d arrived, and their absence felt like a small liberation. Gerhard smiled thinly at Rudi. “Perhaps that will sharpen your appetite,” he said.

  “Perhaps it will.” Rudi pulled the hood of his cloak up over his face, concealing the wax stigma that marked him out as a heretic. He still didn’t trust the witch hunter’s intentions.

  Despite Gerhard’s assurances to the contrary, it seemed that the snow was beginning to fall again, a few desultory flakes drifting in the flickering light from the torches outside many of the buildings. A few spots along their route were illuminated by the clearer, steady light of lamps at the top of iron columns, like those that Rudi had been told were set to light the streets around the temple, the Imperial palace, and a few of the wealthier areas of the city. Passers-by were few, driven into the light and warmth by the onset of winter, although the snow that had already settled was trampled to slush by the evidence of their passing.

  “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time,” Rudi said, certain that they wouldn’t be overheard in the maze of narrow passageways between the buildings. “I won’t die of old age for years yet, and you’re bound to find an answer before then.”

  “I wish I shared your confidence,” Gerhard said, as they stood aside to make way for a small procession of dignitaries following an icon of Sigmar into one of the innumerable subsidiary chapels scattered across the site, clustering around the temple like skiffs around a carrack. This one, Rudi vaguely remembered, had been endowed by the cordwainers’ guild centuries before as a mark of gratitude for Sigmar’s protection against the siege of the vampire counts. As the last of the celebrants vanished inside, sweeping the accumulating patina of snow from his shoulders, the witch hunter’s voice rose again to a conversational level. “We have to proceed as if time is of the essence.” He led the way up a narrow stone staircase, which seemed to lead directly to the refectory through the Scribes’ Cloister. “Suppose you slipped on a patch of ice this evening, and broke your neck? Accidents happen.”

  “Then I suppose I’m lucky to have so many of your colleagues looking out for my welfare,” Rudi said sarcastically. He shrugged, brushing the melting snowflakes from his shoulders as they gained the shelter of the cloister. The patch of ground inside the main quadrangle was bare of anything, even footprints, save for the white-shrouded shape of a sundial, denuded of purpose by the fall of night.

  “It’s not a random accident I’m worried about,” Gerhard said. This was new, he’d never admitted to being apprehensive about anything before. Perhaps that was why he’d wanted to talk away from the chapter house, eliminating even the possibility of being overheard. “We have reason to suspect that our enemies are drawing their plans against us. I’m far less concerned about the possibility of an accident than I am about a deliberate attempt on your life, or something even worse.”

  “You mean Hanna, I suppose,” Rudi said.

  Gerhard nodded. “Her mother, too. No doubt she’s been using this time to instruct the girl in still darker sorceries. She clearly has some long-term aim in view, involving you, or the taint of raw Chaos you carry. What that might be, however…”

  Rudi felt his jaw tightening, and kept his voice level with an effort.

  “You know what I think. I think they’re both long gone, somewhere they’ll be safe from murderous fanatics like you, and as soon as we get this abomination out of my head, I’ll be gone too.” He looked at Gerhard challengingly. “Unless you intend to kill me as soon as you safely can, just to be on the safe side.”

  “It has crossed my mind,” Gerhard admitted, his voice still conversational, “but that’s a problem for another day.” He glanced across at Rudi, his expression neutral. “After all, there’s no guarantee that you’ll survive whatever we have to do to destroy the daemon.”

  “I see,” Rudi said, masking his anger as best he could. “And if I do?”

  Gerhard shrugged. “That rather depends on how cooperative you are at the moment.” The refectory was growing nearer, and Rudi found that the combination of cooking smells and the keenness of the air had sharpened his appetite.

  “I am co-operating,” Rudi said, pushing the heavy wooden door open. Warm, steamy air
and the babble of conversation rolled out to meet them. “I’ve told you all I know.”

  “You’ve told me all you think you know,” Gerhard said, following him inside and doffing his hat. Rudi pulled the hood of his cloak a little lower over his forehead, hiding the brand of heresy as best he could. “You, of all people, must understand what’s at stake if we fail. Perhaps in a more relaxed environment you might be able to recall some new little details that can help us.”

  So that was it. Gerhard was hoping he’d let his guard down after a breath of fresh air and a decent meal. Rudi nodded, as if considering it carefully.

  “There are a couple of seats over there,” he said at last, indicating a gap in the long bench flanking one of the tables that stretched the length of the hall. Gerhard nodded.

  “That should do,” he said evenly.

  Discussing their real business during the meal would have been impossible, surrounded as they were by other ears. Since they had virtually nothing else in common, they fell back on discussing the books that Rudi had been reading.

  Not unnaturally, the majority of the volumes the temple library contained had turned out to be theological material of a degree of abstruseness that was far beyond his understanding, but he’d discovered a shelf full of travellers’ tales during his brief foray into the labyrinth of bookshelves, and had spent his days since then learning all that he could of the ways and peoples of the Empire, and the lands beyond its borders. For some reason books on Lustria held a particular fascination for him, and he wondered if that was because of the items he’d seen in the package that Shenk had brought up the Reik for von Eckstein.

  “Possibly,” Gerhard conceded, polishing off the last of his veal. “It’s a fascinating place, they tell me.”

  “It seems to fascinate the Amethyst College,” Rudi said. He’d already mentioned his encounter with Magister Hollobach in a previous conversation. Von Eckstein’s letter of introduction was proof that he’d met the nobleman, and Gerhard had seemed as interested as von Karien in how they’d become acquainted and the nature of the package that Rudi had defended aboard the riverboat. Rudi had, however, glossed over Fritz’s presence in Altdorf. Gerhard had ordered him burned once before, and would be certain to try and arrest the young bodyguard if he was reminded of his existence.

  “I’m not surprised,” Gerhard said. “The lizard folk would seem to have a long tradition of death magic.” He shrugged. “I’ve no doubt that was why Magister Hollobach was so keen to get his hands on the bauble you described. I’m certain he was hoping to learn something of their methods.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t rush off to confiscate that too,” Rudi said, as they approached the chapter house again. It was snowing in earnest, thick white flakes blurring the outlines of the buildings surrounding them, and no one else was abroad. The only sign of life that Rudi could detect was the sound of singing from the service in the cordwainers’ chapel as they passed by it. “I’m sure you think it’s some artefact of Chaos, like everything else magical.”

  “On the contrary,” Gerhard said. “From what I’ve read on the subject, the lizard people are implacably opposed to Chaos in all its forms. If we could only reach some kind of accommodation with them, what formidable allies they would be.” He shrugged, with a trace of self-mockery. “Other than being stuck on the other side of the world, of course.”

  “That makes sense,” Rudi said, without thinking. “When I saw the artefact, I felt panic-stricken, like the first time I tried to get into the temple. It must have been the daemon, recognising something belonging to an enemy.”

  “That seems plausible,” Gerhard said. He stood aside, motioning Rudi up the staircase leading to his room. As always, the two young templars were standing outside the door, awaiting his return. Gerhard turned, ready to depart. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight.” Rudi began to climb the stairs without a backward glance, angry for having given the witch hunter the satisfaction of seeing his stratagem rewarded. True, he hadn’t made the connection between the Lustrian artefact and the daemon inside him before, and the new shred of information might prove useful in some way, but he felt as if he’d granted his enemy some kind of moral victory by sharing it.

  “Excuse me, sir.” The senior of the two templars called after Gerhard. “Master Walder has a visitor. He specifically said he wanted to see you both when you returned.”

  “Did he indeed.” Gerhard hurried up the stairs after Rudi, just as the young forester pushed open his door, and followed him into the room.

  “There you are.” Von Karien looked up from one of the chairs by the fireplace. He glanced from one of the men to the other, barely suppressed excitement threatening to break through a thin veneer of self-control. “I think I’ve discovered a way to break our little deadlock.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Apart from the presence of his kinsman, the room seemed exactly the same as when Rudi had left it. Ignoring Gerhard, who closed the door behind them, no doubt to prevent the ever-present guards from overhearing whatever secrets were about to be disclosed, he hurried forward with rising excitement, eager to hear what von Karien had to say.

  “Well?” he asked impatiently. “What have you discovered?” Von Karien stood, and walked across the room to the unused writing table, motioning the others to do the same. A scattering of papers lay across it, along with a large, open book, bound in decaying leather, its pages discoloured with age.

  “You will recall,” von Karien said to Gerhard, “that there are several references in my cousin’s papers to certain passages in the Fulvium Paginarum.”

  “The what?” Rudi interrupted.

  “That.” Gerhard indicated the volume on the table, his face twisting with disgust. “One of the most damnable texts on the art of Dark Magic in existence. Your father evidently used it to help him select the daemon that he thought was most likely to provide him with what he wanted, and to determine the correct ritual to summon it.” He turned to von Karien. “This is hardly new, Osric. We knew about it fifteen years ago.”

  “Precisely.” Von Karien nodded, apparently unconcerned by the implied rebuke. “But fifteen years ago we didn’t have our hands on the Vessel.” He glanced meaningfully at Rudi. “His description of the Kohlstadt ritual was most illuminating. Look at this.” He indicated a passage in the book, and held one of the handwritten fragments up next to it. “See the discrepancy?”

  Rudi craned his neck to look, but to his intense frustration neither the sinister tome nor the notes his father had made were in a language he recognised. The words clearly had some arcane power, though. As he looked at them, he felt the thing in his mind begin to stir again, incongruous feelings of glee and exhilaration rising up in him, until a stab of incandescent agony shot through his head, making him reel.

  “What’s the matter?” Gerhard asked, holding out a hand to steady him as he swayed over the tabletop.

  “Your damn talisman’s giving the daemon a kick,” Rudi said, leaning back in his seat again, and taking a deep lungful of air. Gradually his sense of his own identity began to reassert itself, through the pounding in his head. “It seemed to recognise whatever that gibberish is, and was getting excited.”

  “Was it indeed. Then it seems that Osric is on to something, after all.” Gerhard returned his attention to the book, and the fragments of paper, studying them both intently. “There do seem to be a few inconsistencies,” he conceded.

  “Precisely.” Von Karien nodded. “At the time, there was no need to make a line by line comparison. Manfred wasn’t the first heretic to make use of this vile tome, and he’s unlikely to be the last. Merely knowing that he had done so, and which rituals he had employed, was sufficient for us to deduce what he had hoped to accomplish. However, it occurred to me that it might be worth examining these documents again, in the light of the new information that Rudi was able to supply. As so often in these cases, it seems, the daemon’s in the detail.”

  “Pe
rhaps he just copied it down wrong,” Rudi suggested.

  “Possible, but unlikely,” Gerhard said. He read a little more, his expression growing more thoughtful by the moment. “It appears that he varied some of the elements of the ritual quite deliberately.”

  “What elements?” Rudi asked. The two witch hunters exchanged glances.

  “The exact details are unimportant,” von Karien said at last, “but they appear to be the key to the soul-binding process.” He looked at Gerhard again, a trifle reproachfully. “If we hadn’t been spending so much time trying to track down the witches, I would have found this much earlier.”

  “It’s never wise to forget that we have more than one enemy,” Gerhard said.

  “Well, we have managed to root out three covens while we were searching,” von Karien agreed, “so it’s hardly been a wasted effort. No doubt the papers and grimoires we’ve recovered will lead us to more heretics once we’ve had time to study them.”

  “So what does all this mean, exactly?” Rudi asked, trying to understand what he was looking at. “I can only read Reikspiel, remember?” The slightly peevish tone in which he spoke reminded him of the evening when he and Hanna had stumbled across the remains of the old elf watchtower, and her amused reaction to his naive assumption that being able to read the common tongue of the Empire meant that she could read the inscriptions in archaic Eltharin just as easily.

  “In simple terms?” Gerhard pointed to the age-yellowed book, and once again Rudi found his vision blurring until he turned his head away. The script on the page formed shapes that no human eye should be able to perceive, and seemed to squirm like maggots if he tried to look at it directly. “This ritual is a conventional one, if such a word has any meaning applied to so monstrous an endeavour, intended to summon and bind this particular daemon in the usual way, allowing it to exist for only a limited time in our world.”