Roald poured himself another glass of brandy. The first had steadied his hand enough that this time only a little of the liquor spilled across the mahogany cabinet. The baron drank it down in a single jolt. At once he felt a fortifying warmth rush through him. Feeling more secure, he turned from the cabinet and looked across the room.
The surviving guests were back in the parlour. No one had any desire to linger in the chapel.
So much for the vaunted protection of Sigmar.
Roald looked across to Hiltrude and Liebgarde. His wife and daughter were sitting together on a couch, each holding the other’s hand. The baroness retained a stolid appearance, but she didn’t fool Roald. There was just a bit too much detachment in the expression for it to be real. Inside, he knew, she was every bit as rattled as the wide-eyed Liebgarde. A slight bit of positivity to come out of this horror, he thought.
The two duardin were keeping to themselves, leaning against the far wall of the room. They’d appropriated two decanters from the liquor cabinet and were gradually draining the contents. Even so, there was a sharpness about their eyes as they watched the door leading into the hall. Roald wasn’t sure what they thought they’d see. The daemon certainly wasn’t going to make much use of the pile of mush it had turned Reiner into. The thing would need a new host to continue its murderous work.
Hartmann and his children were sitting near the fireplace. The younger Senfs were distraught over Sigune’s horrible death. They sat close together on two chairs, crying and consoling one another. Their father was standing apart from them. He was trying to keep his eyes focused on the fire, but Roald caught the merchant casting furtive glances at Heimo and Herlinde. When he looked at his children, it wasn’t with sympathy. Hartmann had the attitude of a rabbit watching a fox. It wasn’t hard to understand the reason for his fear. The rest of them had only a single child for the daemon to possess. Hartmann’s chances that he would be the next to be marked for death were double.
The Walkenhorsts and the Hauslers were together, gathered around the divan. The Hauslers were taking the death of Ottokar hard, especially the daughter. Magda sat staring at the floor, unresponsive to the efforts of Inge and Bernger to comfort her. Bruno stood away from the three, one hand on the hilt of his sword. As though he’d be able to do anything to protect them when the time came.
The Krebs and Abarahm were towards the back of the room. Lothar was having a hushed conversation with the aelf while his son stood back and listened. As ever, Saskia had that listless, careless attitude, slouched in a chair with a vapid expression on her pretty face. Roald wasn’t sure what concoction the alchemist was administering to his wife, but its potency couldn’t be argued. Even the scene in the chapel hadn’t been enough to rouse the woman.
Roald took up one of the empty glasses from the cabinet. He dashed it to the floor with a dramatic flourish. The sound of breaking glass had everyone except Saskia looking his way. The baron seized upon their attention.
‘Well, now we know that the count’s threats are real,’ Roald said. ‘No room for doubt now. The question is, what are we going to do about it?’
Alrik ran his hand through his beard and shook his head. ‘Last idea someone came up with was to hide in the chapel. That didn’t work out so well. The daemon was there just waitin’. Like it already knew what was goin’ to happen.’
The cogsmith’s words had Hartmann recoiling away from the fireplace. ‘Can that be true? Does the… thing know what we’re going to do before we do it?’
‘The daemons of Khorne are not known for their subtly,’ Lothar said. The alchemist smiled at Hartmann. ‘The… Mardagg is a being that exists only to kill. To harvest death for the Blood God. In such readings as I have made into the subject, there is no suggestion that it has any prophetic abilities. Fate and possibility are more the province of the daemons that serve Tzeentch.’
‘Yet it knew we would go to the chapel,’ Roald pointed out. ‘You can’t deny that.’
Lothar conceded the point, but had an explanation. ‘When it took possession of Reiner, the daemon also claimed the boy’s mind and memories. It knew everything Reiner knew about his father. From that, it could predict that Notker would pray for the protection of Sigmar and seek safety in the chapel.’
‘It looked like it knew who was going to strike at it before they did,’ Magda said, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘It knew my father was going to attack it.’
‘Coincidence,’ Lothar said, but there was uncertainty in his tone. He shook his head. ‘No, it was only using Reiner’s knowledge to plot its actions.’
‘But would the daemon subject itself to the sanctity of such a place?’ Hiltrude wondered. Roald took a grim pleasure in the undercurrent of fear behind her words.
‘There was no sanctity in the chapel,’ Lothar stated. ‘If there had been, the daemon could not have long endured there. Yet it must have been hidden in Hagen’s sepulchre for hours. No, whatever sanctity had been there was abolished.’ He paused and nodded as he connected an idea. ‘Yes, by Notker himself. Recall what he said about removing the ancient protections placed in Mhurghast by the Stormcasts? He did not scruple about de-sanctifying even Sigmar’s chapel. Reiner must have known what he’d done.’
‘At Count Wulfsige’s behest,’ Bruno cursed.
Roald walked towards Lothar. ‘But was Notker aware of why he was doing it? Did he know this hellish night was part of the count’s plans?’ The baron shook his head. ‘I think not. No man of Notker’s timidity would stick his head into the dragon’s mouth like that. Perhaps he agreed as a concession to the count’s loss of faith in Sigmar after Hagen’s suicide.’
‘There can be no question that Notker was unaware of why he was de-sanctifying the castle,’ Lothar stated. He looked over at Abarahm. The aelf motioned with his slender fingers for him to continue.
‘I have been consulting with Abarahm, asking if his mother had any contact with the count after Hagen’s death. His information confirms my worries. It was from Nushala Iliviar that he learned of the…’ He hesitated before speaking the fearsome name. ‘Mardagg, and how it might be summoned. The count had consulted with her frequently on the subject of daemons. It is no doubt a measure of her arrogance that she believed no human could possibly put such esoteric knowledge to use.’
A ghastly realisation struck Roald. One that made him quiver inside. ‘Then it may have been more than conceit that caused her to walk into the courtyard and be shot,’ he said. ‘She was afraid because she knew what it was the count had called.’
‘Certainly more than any of us did.’ Lothar turned and looked over at the duardin. ‘Notker and Nushala were not the only ones who did work for the count after Hagen’s death.’
Bernger let go of Magda’s arm and rose from the divan. He pointed an accusing finger at Alrik. ‘Those traps in the dungeon. You built them!’
Brond stepped forwards and glowered at Bernger. ‘Aye, my father designed and built the traps you saw.’ An ugly leer pulled at the duardin’s beard. ‘More, even. Some you didn’t see.’
‘The count said he wanted protection for the castle,’ Alrik said. ‘He was worried about the entrance below Mhurghast.’
Of all that Roald had heard, it was that statement that introduced a ray of hope. He pounced on the comment. ‘Then there is a way out through the dungeon. You built the traps – you must know how to get around them! You can show us the way through. You can get all of us out of the castle!’
Alrik’s gaze was defiant when he looked at Roald. ‘We took an oath when we took the job. An oath of secrecy.’
‘You can’t be serious!’ Hartmann cried. He gestured at the other guests. ‘All our lives are in danger! Even yours! You have to get us out!’
The cogsmith remained steadfast. ‘Maybe for manlings it is different, but for duardin, an oath is more important than life. Without your honour, you are less than dead.’ Alrik grinned at the merchant. ‘Besides, I don’t think any of us didn’t help the count in some way. Notker de-sanctified the castle, the aelf told him about the daemon, I built the traps to close off the dungeon. What was your part?’
All the colour drained out of Hartmann’s face. ‘I… I did nothing,’ he protested as he backed away.
‘I believe the cogsmith is right,’ Lothar said. ‘It must have suited the count’s twisted thirst for vengeance that each of us should contribute to our own destruction. A kind of oblivious self-destruction to match the self-destruction of his son.’ The alchemist looked carefully at the others, then fixed his attention back on Hartmann. ‘When we came here, none of us understood the importance of the work we did for the count. Now… now we do. What was your role, Herr Senf?’
Roald rounded on the alchemist. ‘What part did you play, Herr Krebs?’
Lothar’s expression grew grave. He laid a hand on Saskia’s shoulder and gave her a sad look. ‘My wife nearly died when giving birth to Thilo. After that I devised a potion that would ensure such danger would never threaten her again.’ He turned and faced the other guests. ‘The count learned of the potion somehow and hired me to provide him–’
‘Sigmar’s Grace!’ Inge exclaimed. She stood up and looked in horror at the alchemist. ‘All of us. Only one child.’
‘Sigune Senf had twins,’ Lothar stated, ‘and of course there was no need to act where the duardin and aelf were concerned.’ He gestured with his sinuous hands. ‘For some of you it was enough to simply bribe a servant to add a drop or two in your milk, or your brandy, or your tea. A few of you were a little more difficult… but I managed.’
Hiltrude glared at Lothar. ‘You miserable, scheming spider! Poisoning me. Me!’
Roald felt his own temper boiling over. But for Lothar’s potion, Hiltrude might have given him sons to carry on his legacy. He gripped the decanter by its neck, ready to smash it across the alchemist’s face.
‘Before you invest all your hate upon me, perhaps you might ask Baron von Woernhoer what he did for the count,’ Lothar stated. ‘Or do you deny you did him any favours, your lordship? Maybe with the promise of a legacy when Count Wulfsige died?’
The decanter fell from Roald’s fingers and clattered across the floor. It was not the accusation voiced by Lothar that gave him pause, but the look from Hiltrude. He could tell that she knew he’d done something to contribute to the count’s insidious plan. He felt all eyes on him, waiting to hear what he would say.
‘Why shouldn’t I tell you?’ Roald scoffed. ‘There is nothing shameful in it. The count wanted certain people observed. Kept tabs on.’
‘And acted upon if it seemed they might leave Ravensbach,’ Hiltrude said. ‘That is why you were so insistent on some of your business dealings…’
Roald turned to her. ‘Yes! Because I thought by doing so we would gain the confidence of Count Wulfsige. The authority of the von Woernhoers would be magnified by the wealth of the von Koeterbergs. I’d have raised the prestige of your house to a degree that would impress even you.’ He walked over to Hiltrude and took her hands in his. ‘Everything I have done is for your benefit,’ he assured her.
Before Roald could accurately judge the impression he had made on the baroness, Bruno decided to confess the errand he’d performed for the late count. He stepped around the divan so that he could look at Inge and Magda.
‘I crippled Ottokar,’ Bruno said. The declaration evoked horrified surprise from both women.
‘But… but it couldn’t…’ Inge muttered.
‘Ottokar never told you who he fought,’ Bruno continued. ‘Who it was who cost him his arm. At least, I was responsible.’ He lowered his head, unable to hold Inge’s gaze. ‘For weeks I had heard stories about how Ottokar was mistreating you, abusing you.’
Inge shook her head in disbelief. ‘Ottokar never…’
‘If that is true, then we can guess where these stories started,’ Roald said. ‘More of the count’s plotting. Ottokar Hausler was the most feared blade in Ravensbach. Not a man you want to invite to a murder party.’
Bruno nodded at the baron. ‘I learned afterwards that the stories were untrue. I saw for myself what kind of man Ottokar was after he was crippled. Those first days, when Inge stayed by his side. The brute who had been described to me could never have warranted such devotion.’
Magda stood and glared at Bruno. ‘Never mind why. What did you do to my father?’
‘I thought your mother was in distress. No, there was no longer anything between us, but that did not mean I stopped caring about what happened to her.’ Again Bruno lowered his head in shame. ‘I knew I would lose if I crossed swords with Ottokar. At the same time I felt compelled to stop him. So I hired Anton Gerver to challenge him. Anton was not a better swordsman, but he was a vicious scoundrel without scruples. When he duelled with Ottokar, he had a pistol hidden under his cloak. Your father was quick enough to turn when Anton fired, so the shot hit him in the arm. Ottokar was able to kill Anton before collapsing in the street from his wound.’
Bernger stood beside Bruno, shock on his face. ‘You speak as though you saw it happen.’
‘That is because I did,’ Bruno replied. ‘I watched the duel, and afterwards I stepped out to finish what Anton started. But as I stared down at Ottokar, sprawled helpless in the street, I did not have the stomach to strike him. I chose my assassin because he was without any sense of honour. I had too much.’
‘So that is why he said that the man who hired his attacker no longer had any interest,’ Magda snarled. Her eyes blazed with a vengeful light. Roald thought for a moment she was going to fly at Bruno, but Inge coaxed her back to the divan.
‘That would bring us back to Hartmann,’ Roald said as he walked towards the fireplace. He fixed the fat merchant with an expectant stare. ‘What skeleton do you have rattling around in your cellar?’
Hartmann balked at the demand. He licked his lips anxiously, his eyes darting from side to side like a cornered beast’s. ‘I… I had business… dealings with Count Wulfsige. The same… the same as you, your lordship.’
‘Don’t claim innocence,’ Roald said. ‘One look at you is enough to tell anyone you are as guilty as the rest of us.’ He thrust his finger against Hartmann’s chest and prodded the merchant backwards until he was up against the wall. ‘You know exactly what you did and how it helped create this night of horror. What was it?’
‘Okay… okay,’ Hartmann sobbed, sweat peppering his brow. ‘I put him in contact with a tradesman, one Gustav Krause. Count Wulfsige was looking for a specific item, something too exotic for me to handle. Something Gustav, with his wide associations, might be able to find.’
Roald stepped away, disgust on his face. ‘The dagger. That weird dagger the count used to cut his own throat. He needed it to call the daemon… and you told him how to find it.’
‘But I didn’t know,’ Hartmann protested. ‘I didn’t know why he wanted it. By Sigmar, I swear I didn’t know!’
‘Ignorance,’ Lothar grumbled. ‘That will be small consolation when the daemon comes to take your life.’
‘All of your lives are already forfeit.’
The cold, commanding voice came from the hallway. Roald and the other guests turned to see a man walk into the parlour. Someone who had not been present at the dinner and who was not one of the castle servants. He was a tall man garbed in a long black cloak. The broad-brimmed hat he wore cast his face in shadow, but there was no mistaking the large medal pinned to the breast of his dark tunic. The gold badge was cast in the shape of a twin-tailed comet, a symbol sacred to Sigmar. It was the emblem of the God-King’s most feared mortal servants. The Order of Azyr.
The witch hunters.
Fear rippled through the guests when they saw the black-clad witch hunter standing in the doorway, but Magda’s reaction was much different. An excitement raced through her, momentarily subduing her despair over Ottokar and her fury towards Bruno. All she could think of was the desperate hope she had nurtured since crying out to the men in the courtyard.
Klueger was here!
The witch hunter whipped away his hat as he entered the parlour. Klueger’s eyes were ice-blue, often so cold that they seemed reptilian to Magda. Now they had a different sort of intensity. Concern shone in his gaze when he looked at her, a concern so powerful that it bordered upon madness. He took one step towards her, then the expression on his hawkish features became grave.
‘What do you mean, all our lives are forfeit?’ Roald cried out.
Klueger turned to the baron. His glacial eyes stared straight into the nobleman’s. ‘Everyone in this castle has been condemned by Grand Lector Sieghard,’ he announced. ‘The threat of the daemon is too great. He will not allow anyone to leave here alive.’ He bowed to Roald. ‘That includes your lordship.’
Roald’s face turned crimson. He held the hand that had been injured towards Klueger. ‘Sieghard is simply trying to cover for himself. He knows he has overstepped his authority. I will not stand for this outrage!’ He motioned to Hiltrude. ‘The Baroness von Woernhoer has powerful connections–’
‘None of whom wish to be possessed by a daemon… or killed by one,’ Klueger replied acidly. ‘The danger here is too great. Nobody is going to help you.’
‘Except you,’ Magda said. Even as she spoke, she wondered if it was out of hope or from doubt. She hurried over to Klueger’s side. ‘You came to help. That is why you were allowed through the quarantine.’
Klueger took her hand in his, the leather of his glove tightening around her fingers. ‘I came here because I couldn’t do otherwise. I don’t know what I can do, but I know I have to do something.’
‘A fine thing for you to say,’ Bernger growled. ‘You aren’t being targeted by the count’s revenge.’
Klueger explained the threat that hung over his head. ‘I won’t be allowed back through the quarantine,’ he stated. ‘My passage through the cordon was one way only. It’s fortunate for you that I have a personal interest in this affair.’
‘Then you are trapped here with the rest of us?’ Magda asked, afraid to accept that dire prospect, feeling guilty that she had drawn him into their plight.
‘I regret nothing,’ Klueger assured her. ‘And it may be that I can find a way to break the curse.’ He looked across at the others. ‘That is your only chance. If I can convince the grand lector that the daemon is gone, he may allow you to leave. But time is short.’
Roald shook his head. ‘Tell Sieghard it is gone then! Your neck is in the noose now too!’
‘I won’t put everyone in Ravensbach in jeopardy,’ Klueger said. He squeezed Magda’s hand. ‘Not even with all I stand to lose. Besides, your lordship, if I fail to convince the grand lector, he will go ahead with his plan to put everything inside Mhurghast to the torch.’
Shock rippled through the room. Magda felt the hope inside her flicker and die. The daemon, the ghastly traps in the dungeon, and now this, the promise of being burned alive by the grand lector’s mob.
‘How can you stop that from happening?’ she asked.
Klueger released her hand and walked to the centre of the parlour. ‘First you will tell me everything that has happened. Every detail is important. Once I know what has transpired here, then maybe I will know what action to take.’
No secrets were kept from Klueger. The doom hanging over them removed even Hartmann’s reticence. Magda felt anger flare up inside her when she listened to Bruno explain about crippling her father for the second time. When everyone was finished, Klueger looked at Inge.
‘It’s not hard to guess the part you played in helping the count plan his vengeance,’ he said.
Inge stared at him in bewilderment. ‘But I hadn’t seen Count Wulfsige since…’
‘Since Hagen died,’ Klueger finished for her. ‘That, for the count, was enough. To him, you were the instigator of all this. Your mere existence gave him the determination to persist, no matter what foulness was demanded of him to achieve his revenge.’
‘What do the count’s motivations matter?’ Lothar asked. ‘What is needed is a way to thwart this daemon. Has anything we’ve told you suggested a way to defeat it?’
Klueger turned to the alchemist. ‘I will have to see for myself the evidence the daemon left behind. Once I have seen that, I will have a better idea of its power.’
‘That would mean goin’ back to the chapel,’ Alrik said.
Magda knew what Klueger would need. ‘I will show you the way,’ she said.
‘We don’t know if there is still danger,’ Bernger objected.
The witch hunter had an answer for him. ‘Where the daemon has already been isn’t the place of danger. It’s where the fiend will go next. And in whom. Right now it’s gathering its strength to seize a new host. When it’s ready, one of you in this room will feel its evil consuming you.’
Magda repressed a shudder at the thought of ending up like Reiner. More, the daemon would use her to kill her mother. It was a hideous doom, the kind of horror only a monster would conceive. Then her eyes strayed to Bruno and she felt her own lust for revenge blazing inside her.
‘I’ll show you the way,’ she said. Magda’s expression was resolute as she led Klueger from the room. ‘There’s something I left in the chapel that I want to get.’
For a time, as Magda guided Klueger through the dark halls, they could still hear the murmur of conversation emanating from the parlour. It was only when they were too far to hear the guests that Klueger spoke.
‘Whatever happens, I’ll get you out of here,’ he said.
Magda could see the desperation on his visage. It was unlike the cold confidence she was accustomed to. Klueger wielded considerable authority as a witch hunter, and was the final arbiter of life and death for those who fell within his purview. He had to be certain and steadfast in his convictions. The slightest doubt would bring his judgement into question, and that was something the Order of Azyr could not afford.
Yet here he was, frightened and uncertain. Vulnerable. All because, Magda realised, he was afraid. Not for himself, but for her.
‘There’s more than just me to think about,’ Magda reminded him. ‘You have obligations.’
‘I will not betray them,’ Klueger vowed. ‘There’ll be no need to. In times of darkness it’s faith in Sigmar that sustains us. Faith in the justness of His power and His dominion.’
Instead of being assured by Klueger’s words, Magda felt a chill run through her. She was thinking of the chapel. Notker might have lost his faith, but Sigune had been devout in her beliefs. The daemon had killed her just the same.
The two walked on in silence, their footsteps echoing through the iron halls. Magda could feel the enormous age of Mhurghast pressing in on her. All the stories she’d heard about it while growing up came back to her again. The castle was ancient beyond reckoning, a relic from another time. It had served as a bastion of civilisation, a fortress from which the champions of order defended the land from the hordes of Chaos. Before that, however, it had been the citadel of the enemy, a place of evil and horror. That sinister legacy persisted, soaked into the very foundations. Magda could feel it rising up, rallying to the nightmare conjured by Count Wulfsige’s hate.
‘This is the chapel,’ she said as their path drew them to the iron gate. Her step faltered as they approached.
Klueger laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘There’s no need for you to enter,’ he said.
Magda looked past him, her eyes focused upon the horrible memories. ‘No, I have to do this.’
The witch hunter held her close. ‘I’m sorry about Ottokar. He was a good man. He died the way a warrior should die. Fighting to protect those he loves.’ Klueger stared into Magda’s eyes. ‘Every breath, every heartbeat, with it you pay respect to his sacrifice. Your father bought you the rest of your life when he fought the daemon.’
Magda wanted to accept Klueger’s consoling words, but they fell hollow in her ears. Ottokar had thought he could save them when he attacked the daemon, but the thought was different from the deed. His death had been pointless. The daemon endured. Magda didn’t need to be told that by some expert of the occult. She could feel it, sense it scratching at the edge of reality like a wolf pawing at a locked door.
The lock was weakening. Soon the door would open.
‘Come on,’ Magda said. She drew away from Klueger and stepped towards the gate. The witch hunter drew the sword he carried, a slender blade fashioned from silvery metal. Klueger had told her that it had been fashioned in Azyrheim from sigmarite, the fabulous metal used by the mighty Stormcast Eternals. It could harm creatures otherwise inured to physical injury. Things like daemons.
‘Keep behind me,’ Klueger said as he stepped past Magda and cautiously entered the chapel. He emphasised his meaning by nodding at the falchion she’d brought with her from the parlour. ‘Your blade is merely steel.’ He reached to the holster on his hip and handed her the gold-handled pistol he carried. ‘If there’s something here, use this. The bullets are blessed by the grand lector. The charge will hold for six shots. Just aim, squeeze the trigger and pray to Sigmar.’
‘I’d be more use with the sword,’ Magda reminded him. She was unfamiliar with pistols, but almost from the cradle she’d learned how to handle a blade.
The witch hunter strode forwards, his gaze sweeping across the dusty pews. ‘If there’s something here, I know how I’ll react to its presence.’ He turned, a pained look on his face. ‘I mean I have been trained…’
Magda just nodded in reply. Klueger did not have to say anything else. There was the threat that the daemon might possess her, just as it might possess any of the children. The witch hunter was willing to risk the pistol – he had a second on his belt – but not his sigmarite sword. Magda did not press him further. She didn’t want to know if, should she be possessed, Klueger would be able to strike her down.
The guests had done nothing to cover the gory scene around the altar. The bodies lay strewn about the bloody pulp that had once been Reiner. Magda stifled a sob when she saw the twisted remains of Ottokar’s silver arm. Tears welled up in her eyes when she saw her father’s corpse. It was more than a look of horror that was frozen on his face – an expression of agonising despair. In his last moments, he’d tried to save her. When death took him, it came with the knowledge that he’d failed.
This time Klueger was oblivious to Magda’s distress. Training and instinct took over, and the witch hunter prowled about the carnage like a gryph-hound. He examined the bodies, the shattered altar. He stood beside the broken sepulchre and studied what was inside. Then, with a visible repugnance, he knelt beside the fleshy mash that had been the daemon’s host body. He drew a long silvery pin from a pocket and began to prod the remains.
‘I hoped… I prayed that your stories were wrong,’ Klueger said. ‘I wanted to believe you were all mistaken, that the count had conjured some lesser fiend to haunt you.’
Magda approached the altar. Her eyes kept straying back to Ottokar’s body. ‘Whatever he conjured, it has to be killed.’
Klueger stood. His face was desolate. ‘A daemon can’t be killed, because it’s not really alive. It can only be vanquished, sent back to the cursed Realm of Chaos.’ His voice dropped to a grave whisper. ‘Magda, this thing is more powerful than anything I have seen. Every speck of Reiner’s flesh has been corrupted, befouled with the daemon’s essence. Only a manifestation of obscene power could do such a thing.’ A shudder passed through him as he told her the bitter truth he’d been forced to accept. ‘Magda, I don’t know if I can stop this thing.’
Magda felt her insides turn cold. The bold, confident witch hunter was now unsure of himself. To hear a man of sincere faith express doubt was somehow more horrible than the fear and despair of all the others.
Magda stared at the fleshy pulp. She reached down and withdrew the blade that was partially buried in the gore. Ottokar’s sword. Her father’s sword. It was why she’d come back to the chapel. She intended to avenge her father.
‘Maybe we can’t stop the daemon,’ she said, ‘but that doesn’t mean it takes us without a fight.’
Bernger stood with the others as they tried to interrogate the duardin. After the witch hunter left, Hartmann had brought up the idea that they shouldn’t waste time trying to fight the daemon. They should get out of the castle. Abarahm supported the idea. The stronger the daemon, the harder it was for the fiend to maintain itself away from the Realm of Chaos. The ancient sorceries that had once dominated Mhurghast might allow it to manifest in the castle, but outside would be different. Or so it was hoped. Of one thing there was certainty. Remaining inside the castle was waiting for certain death.
‘An oath is an oath,’ Alrik snarled. He held the broken leg of a chair in his hands and waved it menacingly at his interrogators. ‘I’d sooner die than be an oathbreaker.’
‘Be sensible,’ Abarahm advised. ‘It is not just your life in jeopardy, but that of your son. Would you sacrifice him because of a promise made to a dead man? A dead man who planned for both of you to die?’
Alrik glanced over at his son, then sneered at the aelf. ‘If I broke my oath, the shame of it would pass on to Brond, and to his children and their children’s children.’
‘Don’t you feel any responsibility for those people who died in your traps?’ Bernger demanded. ‘I saw them. Impaled on spikes. Cooked alive on those red-hot walls.’
The cogsmith shrugged. ‘I only did what I was paid to do.’
Hiltrude began removing her jewellery. ‘If it is a question of money, I will pay you to show us how to get past–’
‘It isn’t the money,’ Brond said. ‘It’s our oath. We cannot break it.’
Bernger gestured to Bruno. ‘I would do anything for my father,’ he said. ‘What about you? You can save your father by telling us how to get past the traps.’
‘Don’t let them turn your head,’ Alrik warned Brond. ‘I’ll not have an oathbreaker for a son. Tell them anything and you are no longer of my blood.’
‘This is idiotic!’ Roald shouted. He stormed towards the duardin. ‘You would let all of us die for some bombastic notion of honour!’ He glanced around at the other guests. ‘There are only two of them. I say we rush them and make them tell.’ He pointed at Alrik. ‘Maybe after I use a hot poker to trim that beard, you’ll feel more like talking.’
Howling with outrage, Brond rushed Roald. The nobleman retreated before the duardin’s charge. He fell over the divan and lay sprawled on the floor. Brond stood over him and raised his mattock for a downward swing.
Bruno and Bernger hurried to catch hold of the duardin while Roald scrambled away. Brond proved surprisingly strong. He threw them off and glared at the baron’s defenders.
‘His eyes! By Sigmar, look at his eyes!’ Bruno cried as he backed away.
Bernger stared in horror at Brond. The duardin’s eyes were completely red. A trickle of blood dripped from the corner of each like crimson tears.
Brond’s rage faltered. Haltingly, he lifted a hand to his face and touched the blood falling down his cheeks. A wail of terror rose from him when he saw the crimson patina on his fingers. He cast aside his mattock and ran out into the hallway.
‘Brond!’ Alrik shouted. He started to chase after his son, but only managed a few steps before guests were swarming over him. Heimo threw a chair in the cogsmith’s path, sending him to the floor. Thilo and Abarahm pounced on the sprawled duardin, pinning him down while Lothar poured a strange liquid onto a blanket. Before Alrik could free himself, the alchemist threw the damp blanket over his head. Almost instantly the cogsmith’s efforts to escape lessened. Soon he was completely insensible.
‘We can’t let the other one go,’ Roald shouted in panic. ‘The daemon’s inside him. It’ll come back.’
‘I’ll get him,’ Bernger said. Only after the words left his mouth and he was dashing out into the hallway did it occur to him that he had no idea what he would do even if he caught up to Brond. What could he possibly do with someone who at any moment might turn into a daemon and rend his flesh as it had those it butchered in the chapel?
Bernger turned when he heard footsteps pounding after him. His father came dashing down the hallway, his sword drawn. There was an intense severity in his expression.
‘If we catch up to him, we kill him,’ Bruno told his son, shocking him with the brutality of his words. ‘It might be the only way. Kill the host while he’s still mortal enough to be killed. Brond’s already as good as dead anyway. If we act fast, maybe we can keep him from killing his own father.’
Bernger was still aghast at the plan. ‘It’s monstrous.’
Bruno agreed. ‘Sometimes what needs to be done isn’t what we’d like it to be.’
The two men could hear Brond’s steps far ahead of them. Terror had lent the duardin a shocking fleetness. Or perhaps it was the daemon possessing him that made him so quick. Bernger wondered if it might already be too late to stop the fiend.
‘He’s headed for the courtyard,’ Bruno suddenly realised as they started into the long corridor that led to the castle entrance.
Bernger appreciated what motivated Brond. ‘He has the same idea we do. He thinks if he can die quick enough he can dislodge the daemon and keep it from going after his father.’
‘Prey without a hunter,’ Bruno muttered. ‘Hunter without prey.’
Bernger thought of something else. ‘Grand Lector Sieghard! What’ll he think if he sees Brond like this?’
‘He might be moved to storm the castle and burn everything – everyone – inside!’
Bernger redoubled his pace, coaxing every last speck of speed he could from his body. He had to catch the duardin now. He couldn’t let the men in the courtyard see him.
‘Bernger!’ Bruno yelled. ‘He’s turned away. He isn’t running for the courtyard any more!’ He pointed to a side passage. He waited only long enough to be sure his son knew where he was going before he ducked into the corridor.
Bernger found there was something familiar about the passage. After the second turn he knew what it was. This was the way Goswin and the servants had gone to reach the trophy room.
‘He’s headed for the dungeons!’ Bernger shouted to Bruno.
Bruno let his pace slacken. ‘Then we’re too late.’
‘We can catch him,’ Bernger assured his father.
‘Why did he turn back from the courtyard? I don’t think it was because he was afraid of upsetting Sieghard.’
‘He may have. He may have decided to use the traps to…’
Bruno shook his head. ‘We’ll see,’ he said, but there was no confidence in his voice.
The two men reached the trophy room without catching sight of Brond. Bernger thought he heard hurried footsteps echoing from the hidden passage. He raced over to the secret door and peered into the dark opening. He could detect the faint noise of someone moving below.
‘He’s here!’ Bernger called before darting into the stairway. Bruno hurried after him.
Bernger emerged from the passage just in time to see Brond finish crossing the first of the trapped corridors. ‘We have him now!’ He started for the dungeon, but his father caught hold of him and pulled him back.
‘It’s too late,’ Bruno said.
‘I know how to cross the first two rooms. I saw Goswin do it.’
Bruno gestured to the corridor where one wrong step would see a trespasser impaled on the spikes. ‘Brond could have killed himself right here. He didn’t. That means he didn’t come here to destroy himself. He came to hide somewhere we can’t follow. Just like Reiner, the daemon needs time to fully claim its host.’
‘Then Baron von Woernhoer is right,’ Bernger said. ‘We have to make Alrik tell us the secrets of the dungeon.’
Bruno nodded. ‘Maybe he’ll listen now. Maybe now that he sees what has happened to his son, he’ll see everything else in a new light.’
There was a sombre note in Bruno’s tone that echoed through the cellar. To Bernger it had all the qualities of a portent of doom.