“Templars! To arms!” Gerhard bellowed, moving up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Rudi, and deflecting a downward blow from a rusted knife blade as he did so. He caught the luckless cultist on the back-swing, hewing through his or her windpipe, the body so swollen with corruption as to completely obscure its sex. Von Karien barged Rudi aside, stepping in to impale the man he’d punched on the point of his own sword, and the mutant monstrosity folded, gurgling.
Despite the witch hunters’ attempts to keep him out of the fight, Rudi found himself facing another of the shrouded figures. He parried another knife thrust easily with his forearm, seizing his assailant’s billowing cloak and pulling the cultist sharply forward. Off balance, the madman lost his footing on the treacherous cobbles and fell heavily at Rudi’s feet. Rudi stamped down hard on the creature’s neck, hearing a crack! like a dried twig snapping, and the follower of Chaos spasmed under his boot sole.
“Rudi! Keep back!” Gerhard roared a warning, his blade flashing in the torchlight as it reaped its crimson harvest of Chaos-worshippers. Von Karien ran another would-be assassin through, and suddenly the narrow passageway was quiet and still, save for the groans of the dying.
Gerhard sheathed his sword as a group of templars hurried up to them, their own weapons drawn.
“See if there are any survivors in a fit state to put to the question,” he ordered, “and burn the rest of this offal at once.” He turned to Rudi, his face concerned. “You’re bleeding. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Rudi assured him. “It’s just a scratch.” The tip of the cultist’s dagger must have caught his sleeve as he parried it. “Look, it’s barely broken the skin.”
He smiled as he spoke, holding up his forearm to the light of a hissing torch in a nearby sconce. The exercise had left him feeling comfortably warm, despite the freezing temperature. If anything, it had felt good to be facing a simple, uncomplicated threat again.
“Nevertheless, let’s get you back inside,” Gerhard said. He glanced at von Karien. “Can you tidy up here?”
“No problem,” von Karien assured him, taking charge of the party of templars with easy authority.
“I’m all right,” Rudi insisted, following Gerhard up the stairs to his room. Though the fire was unlit, it still felt warmer here than outside. He discarded the heavy cloak with a feeling of relief. The faint scratch along his forearm was barely visible, and he cleaned it in the bowl on his washstand as he spoke. “I’ll need a new shirt, though.”
“That can be arranged.” Gerhard headed towards the door. “But first things first. I’ll get a healer to look at your arm. There’s always the risk of infection.”
“If you must.” Rudi listened to the witch hunter’s feet clatter down the stairwell. True, when he died the daemon would get loose, taking possession of his body in the process, but there was no reason to suppose that he wouldn’t live to a ripe old age first, particularly with one of the most powerful institutions in the Empire taking an obsessive interest in his welfare.
Of course, that was simply postponing the problem, and from the daemon’s perspective a few more decades here or there, before taking physical form and wreaking untold havoc across the face of the Old World, was probably no more than a minor inconvenience. There would be plenty of time to find an answer before then, and he would, he vowed. Whatever it took, he would send the daemon back to hell, and prevent the foul legacy of his parents from polluting the lands of the Empire.
There was no sign of Gerhard returning, and no point in going to bed until he did.
Stifling a yawn, he picked up the book that he’d been halfway through on the night he’d persuaded the witch hunter to let him wade through the material recovered from the cults they’d raided, inadvertently springing Greta’s trap in the process. Since then all he’d read had been the ravings of madmen, and the chance to lose himself for a while in the fanciful tales of faraway lands that he’d become so fond of held out the promise of an hour or two of welcome relief from the thoughts that continued to torment him. Opening the book at the scrap of paper he’d used to mark his place, he continued to read.
Of all the marvels which the continent of Lustria has to show, the greatest must surely be the vast temples and dwelling houses of the lizard folk, which continue to stand from time immemorial, despite the encroachments of the jungles which surround them. Though many have lain abandoned for so long that the time since last a footfall echoed among them would seem vast even to the elf or dwarf kinds, a wise traveller would do well to avoid entering such places: for the scaled ones still account them sacred, and pursue such trespassers as they become aware of without pity or respite.
Rudi nodded. He’d read similar warnings in other accounts of journeys through the New World, and had heard as much at first hand from von Eckstein, the afternoon the nobleman had shown him and Hanna the artefacts he’d obtained from that far distant continent. Along with that thought, the memory of the strange disc of polished stone and the bundle of knotted cords floated to the surface of his mind, and there was something else, too. He’d felt a flare of irrational panic at the time, he remembered, merely puzzling then: one of the flashes of inappropriate emotion that he’d felt from time to time, which had come and gone so capriciously. With hindsight, and his newfound ability to distinguish his own feelings from those of the daemonic parasite within him, it had obviously been the daemon that had reacted so strongly to the peculiar objects. He’d even mentioned as much to Gerhard.
A new hope began to rise within him. It was a long shot, of course, but perhaps, just possibly, the Lustrian artefacts might provide the answer they were looking for. If the daemon had been so afraid of them, there must surely be a reason.
The room felt hotter than ever, and he swallowed, suddenly aware of a raging thirst. He stood, the book falling unheeded to the floor, and took a step towards the ewer of tepid water sitting on a table by the door. His head reeled, and his footsteps stumbled. Raising a hand to brush the thin sheen of sweat from his forehead, he caught sight of the scratch on his arm. It was livid now, puckering up from the skin like the weal of a lash, and a thin, pale fluid was beginning to weep from it. A roar of vindictive triumph echoed around the inside of his skull.
“Rut you, pusbag. I’m not dying yet!” Summoning up the last vestiges of his strength, he pulled the door open, and staggered across the threshold.
“What’s wrong?” The nearest guard caught him as he fell, a note of panic entering the man’s voice. Somewhere in the distance, Rudi heard the sound of running feet hurrying up the stairs.
“Tell Gerhard… Hurry…” he managed to gasp, and then the world disappeared into a maelstrom of swirling grey.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Time passed in an indeterminate blur as Rudi drifted in and out of dreams that seemed as real, or intangible, as the events going on around him. Now and again, in his more lucid moments, he became aware that he was surrounded by activity, voices droning in prayer or conversation, only to segue seamlessly into the realm of febrile imaginings.
Finally he woke normally, stirring in his bed to find daylight leaking in through the window, and levered himself up on his elbows, panting with the effort of attempting to sit upright.
“Good, you’re awake.” Gerhard was looking at him narrowly, relief and concern mingled on his face. “Here, drink this.” He handed Rudi a goblet full of some herbal infusion that smelled foul and tasted worse, although once it was down, Rudi felt a little more energy flickering through his body.
“What happened?” He tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed, and the room seemed to rock around him, almost as if he was back aboard the Reikmaiden. After a moment, the solid walls seemed to steady themselves. “Have I been ill?” It was possible, he supposed, although he’d never known a day’s sickness in his life.
“You were poisoned.” Gerhard looked at him soberly. “The blades of the scum who attacked you were coated in venom, a foul concoction that even the best apo
thecaries in the city have been unable to fully identify.” He shrugged. “They’ve been treating you with antidotes for the components they have been able to isolate, however, and I’ve been praying for your recovery.” Remembering how Gerhard’s intercession had healed his knife wound, Rudi found that more comforting than anything the apothecaries might have done.
“Thank you.” He swung his feet to the floor, relieved to find that his legs, though weak, would still take his weight. “How long have I been asleep for?”
“Eleven days,” Gerhard said, and Rudi felt his head spinning again. With an effort he forced himself to breathe deeply, and his hammering heartbeat began to slow down. “Fortunately you were able to take a little broth, so there was no danger of you starving to death. Nevertheless, it’s been an anxious time.”
“I can believe it.” Rudi looked around the familiar room, finding that fresh sigils and holy symbols had been chalked on the window and door, and that a circle had been inscribed on the floor around the bed.
The implication was obvious, fearing for his life, and uncertain that the talisman on his forehead would be enough, Gerhard had made whatever preparations he could to contain the daemon in case he died and released it. This, above all, brought home to him how much danger he had been in, and how narrow the margin was by which he’d been able to cling to life.
Gerhard looked as if he was about to say something else, but before he could do so, the door opened to admit von Karien. His kinsman glanced in Rudi’s direction with an unmistakable air of relief, and then returned his attention to Gerhard.
“Your guest’s here.” A troubled expression crossed his face. “Are you absolutely sure about this?”
“No, of course I’m not.” Gerhard shook his head. “But we’re out of options. If it’s a choice between the possibility of long-term damage and the certainty of imminent catastrophe, then that’s hardly a choice at all.”
“I suppose not,” von Karien said, although he sounded far from happy. He turned to go. “I’ll show him in.”
“Thank you.” Gerhard watched him leave the room, an expression of resignation flickering over his usually impassive visage. Rudi was beginning to pick up on the man’s moods more readily now, a result he supposed, of their enforced association. He was beginning to understand a little more about what drove the witch hunter, and the terrible price that would have to be paid if he ever failed in his duty, but that didn’t mean he had to like the man, or approve of his brutal methods.
“Did any of them talk?” he asked, recalling the last order that Gerhard had given the templars before they’d returned to his room together. Taken by surprise at the question, Gerhard shook his head.
“None of them were in any fit state to,” he said, “but we’re certain of who they were in any case.”
“The remains of my father’s cabal,” Rudi said, having come to the same conclusion.
“That’s right,” the witch hunter said. “We knew someone must have survived the raid on the family estate, your disappearance made that obvious. They must have gone to ground after that, waiting for a chance to complete their foul design. Your arrival in Altdorf conveniently gave them that.”
“Well, it’s like you told Osric,” Rudi said, “we should have remembered that we were dealing with more than one enemy.”
“Indeed we should.” Gerhard nodded soberly. “And we should have tightened security immediately after the incident in the Sun Chapel, instead of devoting all our resources to hunting the witch that got away. If one group of heretics could get in undetected…”
“It would never have worked,” von Karien assured him, reappearing at the door. “The only way to secure a place like this is to keep the populace out of it entirely, and what use is a temple without worshippers?”
“Very little, I would imagine,” a dry voice behind him commented, and von Karien stood aside to allow the other man into the room. The voice had sounded vaguely familiar, but it was only as he took in the purple robes and the cadaverous face above them that Rudi recognised its owner.
“Magister Hollobach,” he said, failing to mask his astonishment, “what are you doing here?” The Amethyst mage looked at Gerhard, and then back to Rudi.
“You haven’t been told?” he asked, a carefully modulated tone of surprise entering his voice.
“He’s only just regained consciousness. There hasn’t been time to explain,” said Gerhard.
“I see.” The pale eyes took on an enquiring look. “Then perhaps it’s time our young friend here became acquainted with the facts.”
“What facts?” Rudi asked, somehow sure he didn’t really want to know. He looked challengingly at Gerhard. “You said that consulting the colleges was out of the question.”
“I’m hardly ecstatic at the prospect of working with the witch hunters myself,” Hollobach said, “but our mutual friend has impressed upon me the absolute necessity of our co-operation in this matter.”
“Mutual friend?” Rudi asked, perplexed. His head was spinning again, and he felt simultaneously hungry and nauseated by the thought of food.
“Von Eckstein. He has the artefact we need,” said von Karien.
“The Lustrian stone?” Rudi asked, taking his best guess. Hollobach nodded. “I thought he was giving it to your college for study.”
“It’s not quite as simple as that,” Hollobach said. “As you’ve probably gathered, Graf von Eckstein trades influence and favours—all for the good of the Empire, of course. From his point of view, the Lustrian talisman is just a small part of a much bigger picture. He needs it to impress potential investors, and the interests of the colleges must be traded off against that. I have access to the item in question only under such conditions as he cares to set.”
“When I explained to him why we need it, he insisted that Magister Hollobach be involved,” von Karien said, with evident resentment. The magician nodded again.
“The progress I’ve made in decoding the quipu makes that unavoidable,” he said, with the barest trace of smugness. “It would have taken you weeks to translate it yourselves, even with the aid of my notes. Time, I may remind you, which we do not have.”
“What’s a quipu?” Rudi asked, trying to understand. He had a vague memory of having come across the word before, in one of the books he’d read, but his sluggish mind refused to disgorge the information he wanted. With shaking hands, he poured himself a drink from a ewer standing on a nearby table. Gerhard watched the liquid slopping in the cup with evident concern.
“The lizard priests encode information in cords, by means of a series of knots. Each one has a precise meaning,” Hollobach explained. “The quipu, which accompanies the Lustrian talisman, explains what it is, and how it should be employed.” A trace of animation entered his voice. “It’s quite fascinating. It seems the talisman can be used in a ritual to bind the soul irremovably to the body.”
“You mean you can make me immortal?” Rudi asked, astounded. If that happened, the daemon would never be able to escape and take possession of his physical shell. Hollobach shook his head.
“Not exactly, no. It’s more a question of anchoring the soul to the mortal plane than prolonging life as we’d normally think of such a thing.”
“That sounds like necromancy!” Rudi said in horror, the blood draining from his face as he recalled some of the obscene ravings he’d read in the collection of papers that he’d waded through.
Von Karien nodded his vigorous agreement.
“Exactly. The darkest of dark magic; the idea’s unthinkable!”
“Believe me, if this was anything remotely like necromancy I’d have no part of it,” Hollobach said vehemently. “Such things are a perversion of natural law, which my order regards with absolute abhorrence. This is different.” He coughed gently. “You would simply be suspended between this life and Morr’s realm, a part of both, but fully in neither.”
“A ghost, you mean?” Rudi asked, even more confused. In his weakened state it was hard to
be sure whether the spasms of fear and horror that continued to shake him were his own or the daemon’s: probably both, he thought ironically.
“Not a ghost,” Hollobach said. “Your spirit wouldn’t be free to wander. The whole point of this ritual is to keep it confined to your physical form.”
“It’s the only way, Rudi,” Gerhard said. “If we do this, the daemon can never manifest itself, because your spirit can never leave your body to make room for it.”
“You mean I’d be trapped inside a rotting cadaver for eternity?” Rudi asked, an abyss of terror opening up beneath his feet at the prospect. “Aware of what was happening the whole time?”
“Not exactly for eternity,” Hollobach said, in the tones of a man who cared more about reassurance than accuracy. “The mage priests of the reptile folk who’ve undergone this process have apparently endured for several thousand years, but their bodies have been mummified to preserve them. Yours would simply crumble to dust in a few centuries, and by that point there would be nothing left for the daemon to possess. Presumably when that happens you’d be able to complete your journey to Morr’s realm, and the daemon would simply destabilise.”
“If there was any part of me left by then,” Rudi pointed out.
Hollobach shrugged.
“That’s a considerable risk, of course. There’s no denying that you’d be trapped for hundreds of years with a daemon entangled in your soul; hardly a prospect to take lightly.”
“Well, thank you for explaining it to me so clearly,” Rudi said. He took another gulp of the water, which for some reason did little to quench his thirst. He glanced at Gerhard. “And thank you for taking my suggestion seriously after all. It seems we’ll just have to keep looking for an answer.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” Gerhard said heavily. “We’ve run out of time to look for one.”
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