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.
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 apothecaries 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.”