It was more evidence of just how insidious their influence
was. Not that he needed it, considering that he’d just performed a work of Dark
Magic.
He had to extricate himself from this situation as soon as
possible, which meant he needed to avail himself of opportunities like the one
Mama Solveig had now provided. He rose, took up the candle, and proceeded to
search the old woman’s work and living spaces.
Making sure to leave everything as he found it, he opened
drawers, boxes and chests, and rummaged through their meagre contents, looking
for anything that hinted at the Master of Change’s true identity or the location
where he met with his lieutenants. Unfortunately, if such an item existed, Mama
Solveig had hidden it well. In the end, unwise as it seemed to attempt any more
magic so soon after performing the Chaotic spell, he cast a divination. To his
relief, it didn’t have any adverse consequences, but it didn’t point to anything
helpful, either.
He should have known, he thought glumly, that it wouldn’t be
that easy. Nothing else had been. He wondered what he ought to do next and felt
a fierce, sudden craving to return to the parchments.
No! He’d already learned more than enough to satisfy the Red
Crown for the time being. But then again, why not? The texts were inescapable in
any case. He’d have to expose himself to their influence over and over for as
long as he remained here. So why not learn as much as he could as quickly as
possible? It was conceivable that he’d acquire some bit of knowledge or a spell
that could solve all his problems.
He looked into the shrine, and Tzeentch leered back at him.
The writing on the papers began to gleam. Then someone tapped softly on the
door.
He scurried to the source of the noise and peered out the
peephole. Jarla’s pretty, painted face was on the other side. He threw open the
door.
“I should be working,” she said, “but I wanted to say hello.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders. “I’m so glad to see you!” He
realised his voice was too shrill, too agitated, and tried to bring it under
control. “Mama gave me a little money. Will you take supper with me?”
Jarla smiled. “Yes, I’d love to.”
“Then come on.” He seized her hand, and, struggling not to
stride along so quickly that he’d end up dragging her, conducted her up the
stairs and along the street.
Since Jarla knew the eastern part of the city far better than
he did, Dieter suggested she pick the restaurant. Promising that the food was
better than anyone would guess, she took him to a ramshackle place lit by a
paucity of candles. The gloom failed to conceal a general air of shabbiness and
grime.
Still, at this moment, any setting free of the taint of Chaos
seemed pleasant to Dieter, and he smiled at the waiter. “My friend says venison
stew is your speciality.”
The server, a fat man with coppery side-whiskers, a freckled
face, and the stink of sweat wafting from his stained armpits, scowled. “It is,
but we don’t have any. The hunters are scared to go into the woods and get it.
Damn bandits!”
Jarla looked crestfallen.
“In that case,” Dieter said, “bring us a couple of bratwursts
and whatever usually comes with them.” The waiter grunted and tramped off to
pass the order to the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Jarla said.
“It isn’t your fault.” Dieter glanced around and decided
their corner of the establishment was far enough removed from the other diners
that no one was likely to overhear them if they whispered. “Or maybe it is. The
army might already have caught the raiders if not for you.”
“I really am sorry.”
He shook his head. “Relax, will you? That was a joke, or a
compliment if you like. I don’t care about the stew. I like sausage, and I like
the company.”
She smiled and lowered her eyes.
“Do you know,” he said, “you’re about the last person I would
have expected to take part in this enterprise of ours. You’re brave and
resourceful, I found that out the night you tampered with my drink, but you also
seem gentle. Sweet. How did you become involved?”
She sighed. “Adolph.”
“I should have guessed.”
“Not that I regret it!”
“Well, no. Why would you?” Aside from the risks of arrest,
torture, execution, mutation and eternal damnation.
“Things were hard when I was little. My father and brothers
all… mistreated me. Other people knew, but no one helped me. When I finally
got away from my family, I resolved to make a good life for myself, but somehow
things just never worked out the way I hoped. The cause is my chance to finally
be happy, or at least to help make a world where others like me will be.”
They stopped talking while the waiter fetched the bratwursts,
blackened and still sizzling on the plates.
“I understand,” Dieter said when the fat man had gone away
again. He sliced off a bite of sausage. “Still, I’m surprised you’d join after
hearing all your life that such efforts are unholy and depraved.”
She hesitated. “You came to Altdorf knowing exactly what you
wanted, so when the rest of us offered it to you, we did it in a straightforward
sort of way. Some recruits don’t realise what they’re seeking, and to them, the
faith reveals itself in stages. When I joined, I was told the group exists to
help people and fix things that are wrong, but at first I didn’t realise how
ambitious and dangerous its plans really were. But now that I do, I’m proud to
be a part of it all.”
Or else you just assume you’re in too deep to get out, Dieter
thought. “Did Adolph know what the cult truly was when he brought you in?”
“No. I asked him once, and he got angry that I would even
wonder. Because he wouldn’t trick me.” Her voice lacked conviction.
“That’s good. You certainly deserve a better man than any
who’d betray your trust.”
She coloured. He could see it even beneath the layers of
rouge. Perhaps because she didn’t know how to answer, she took another bite of
the spicy, chewy meat. Reminding himself it was better not to push too hard,
Dieter did the same, and they ate in silence for a while.
But it wasn’t long before anxiety and impatience compelled
him to go to work on her again, although this time he took a different tack.
“So, is it really true you’ve never seen our leader, or is that just something
you old hands tell to new recruits like me?”
She glanced about, likely making sure no one had wandered
close enough to eavesdrop. “It’s true.”
“And you’ve never met a single member of one of the other
covens, either?”
“No.”
“It would be funny if there weren’t any others, and no Master
of Change, either.” Actually, it wouldn’t be, not for him, because even if he
discovered it was so, his instincts told him Krieger would never believe it.
“You mean, if being part of something big is just a lie Mama
tells to make us feel brave and important? I can’t believe she’d do that.
Anyway, the sacred pages have to come from somewhere.”
“I see your point. Does she meet the Master at a regular time
every week or every month? Or does she tell you when a meeting’s coming up?”
Jarla cocked her head. “That’s an odd question.”
He shrugged. “I’m just curious about the way things work.
Remember, this is all new to me.”
“I understand. When I joined, I felt the same. Anyway, I have
no idea when she goes to see him.”
Then what good are you, Dieter thought? He imagined himself
reaching across the table and slapping her face back and forth, leaving
handprints in the cosmetics.
Then the spasm of anger subsided, and he felt sick at the
urge that had momentarily possessed him. By the comet, what was happening inside
his brain?
Three labourers, sweaty and dirty from their work, tramped in
and sat at a nearby table. Jarla indicated them with a shift of her head,
warning him it was no longer safe to discuss clandestine matters.
They drifted into talking about his imaginary village as it
had supposedly been before disaster overtook it. He invented friends and a lass
he’d fancied, all lost to him now, and felt a certain sneering superiority when
his fraudulent reminiscences prompted her to pat his hand in sympathy. It was a
spiteful, mean-spirited reaction, but he couldn’t entirely suppress it.
In time they finished their meals, rose, and headed for the
door. As they passed the labourers’ table, the biggest of the three said, “Hey,
darling. When you finish with skinny there, come back. I’ll feed you a sausage.”
His companions laughed.
Dieter pivoted, snatched up a ceramic tankard from the table,
and backhanded the largest labourer across the face with it. The mug shattered,
spattering foam and pungent ale.
The big man lurched back in his chair and clapped his hands
to his face. His friends started to rise, and Dieter brandished the remains of
the tankard at them. The jagged edges, or perhaps something they saw in his
glare or posture, froze them in place.
Jarla pulled on his forearm. “Come on!” she said, and he
allowed her to haul him outside. The cool evening air felt good on his flushed,
sweaty face.
Now that his rage was subsiding, he was appalled at himself.
He’d fought during his time with the army, but only with sorcery and only when
necessary. He hadn’t used his hand to strike a blow since he was a child, and
he’d never in his life lashed out so viciously in response to such minimal
provocation.
“Why did you do that?” Jarla asked.
He sucked in a deep, steadying breath. “I didn’t like the way
that bastard spoke to you.”
She lowered her eyes. “He spoke to me the way a man speaks to
a whore. Which is all I am.”
“Not true. That’s simply the mask you wear. In reality,
you’re a fighter risking her life to help the whole world. Nothing could be
worthier than that.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Absolutely.” He took hold of her chin, lifted her head, and
kissed her. She pressed and ground against him. He pulled her into the dark,
narrow space between two buildings.
He remembered his resolve to take things slowly, and Mama
Solveig’s warning that Adolph could prove a dangerous enemy. He told himself he
didn’t need to manipulate and exploit a woman he had, despite himself, come to
like, not to this extent, particularly if she knew as little as she claimed.
Meanwhile, he kept pawing at her.
* * *
His behaviour still troubled him hours after he’d separated
from Jarla and returned to the cellar. Yet at the same time, he felt a thrill
whenever he remembered smashing the labourer across the face, or the frenzied
coupling in the dark.
He prayed that a good night’s rest would make him feel more
in control, more like his old self. He rose and turned towards the grubby cot in
the infirmary.
Mama Solveig said, “I thought we might work on your magic for
a while.”
Her statement kindled the now-familiar urge to plunge back
into his study of the parchments no matter what the consequences. Struggling to
quash the impulse, he said, “I can’t spend all my time reading in the dark, even
if I have good eyes and the writing glows. I’ll go blind.”
“That’s all right. I didn’t mean you should return to the
papers, not this time. Instead, I’ll teach you some of what I’ve already managed
to learn.”
His mind seemed to lock up. He wondered if he couldn’t think
of a viable way to refuse because he didn’t really want to. “I thought…”
She smiled. “That you were required to learn every trick
without any help from anyone? That truly would be inefficient. I wanted you to
familiarise yourself with the holy texts as soon as possible. I believe it
prepares the mind for everything that follows. But now that you have, you might
as well benefit from everyone else’s discoveries.”
He felt a crazy impulse to laugh. Of course. Might as well,
especially when he craved it anyway.
Can’t get away. The only reasonable course is to wallow.
“That would be wonderful,” he said. “During the battle with
the spirit, Adolph stole Jarla’s shadow and made it fight for him.”
Mama smiled and nodded. “That is a good one. But you’ll have
to detach your own shadow. You wouldn’t want to put a strain on this worn-out
old heart of mine.”
They repaired to the hidden shrine and set to work under
Tzeentch’s watchful eye. As it turned out, Mama Solveig couldn’t articulate the
underlying principles, the whys and wherefores, of the spell with anything
approaching the lucidity of Magister Lukas and Dieter’s other instructors at the
Celestial College. But she did an adequate job of imparting the proper words and
gestures, and after a few repetitions, he felt Chaos beginning to rouse.
It dismayed him just how much he liked it. Working Celestial
wizardry could be as bracing as a drink of frigid mountain spring water. In
contrast, Dark Magic was like guzzling raw spirits. He felt a fierce, heedless
elation welling up inside him, and tried his best to hold it in check.
Once Mama Solveig was satisfied with his timing and
articulation, it was time to try the spell in earnest. He spoke the words of
power, and the darkness around him seethed. Someone laughed. Perhaps it was the
icon, the priest, or the stranger he seemed in danger of becoming. Maybe they
were all the same thing.
He looked at his shadow, vague in the wavering candlelight,
and sensed just how much it would hurt to rip it from its moorings. But it
didn’t matter. He was as eager to suffer the shock as he’d been to ravish Jarla.
He snagged his fingertips in the cold flatness of it,
gathered in a handful as if he were wadding up a piece of cloth, and yanked. The
shadow tore free, and he cried out and staggered at the jolt.
Afterwards, he gasped for breath and clutched at the lectern
lest his legs give way. Yet despite the weakness, he felt wonderful. It was
always exciting to master a spell, whatever the circumstances, and this time had
seemed more exhilarating than ever before. He hadn’t just channelled the
attenuated power of the Blue Wind. Rather, he’d reached into the pure heart of
magic.