Roald watched the iron heating in the fire. He wasn’t a squeamish man, but he did consider such things to be dirty and sordid. The kind of work he paid people to do for him, not perform on his own. He sent a contemptuous glance at Lothar. Of course the alchemist would have a few of his vile potions among his effects, such as the one that had subdued Alrik, but he didn’t happen to have any of the ingredients for the mixture he claimed could compel anyone to answer questions put to them.
‘Be sensible, damn you!’ Roald spun around and glared at the duardin. Alrik was bound hand and foot, sitting in the same seat Goswin had sat in hours ago. There was no fear in the cogsmith’s gaze, only an insolent defiance that to the baron felt like a personal affront.
‘It is foolish of you to stay quiet,’ Hiltrude said, her tone more diplomatic than Roald’s. She was always like that, always adopting a manner that would make her appear more controlled and commanding than her husband. ‘Brond has become the daemon’s new host. That means you are its next victim. Time is short for all of us, but even more so for you.’
Hartmann dropped to his knees beside Alrik. ‘You’ve got to tell us how to get past the traps,’ he implored. ‘None of us are poor. We’ll pay you handsomely–’
‘Stop grovelling,’ Roald snarled. ‘You won’t make an impression on him that way. He’s already made it clear he doesn’t care about money.’ He withdrew the iron from the fire. The faint glow around its pronged tip wasn’t to his satisfaction, so he thrust it back into the flames.
Abarahm paced behind Alrik’s chair, the aelf’s clothing rippling with an uncanny motion, as though it were woven from oceanic waves. ‘The duardin are renowned for their stubbornness,’ he said. ‘It will be useless to threaten him. Even more to torture him.’
‘I must agree,’ Thilo said. He walked towards Roald. ‘If we lower ourselves to this kind of thing… what does that make us?’
Roald’s eyes were cold when he answered. ‘Alive. And that is all that matters right now.’ He glanced over at Hiltrude, but the baroness had nothing to add. Liebgarde was sitting at the far end of the room, putting as much distance between herself and Alrik as she could. She was always timid, Roald reflected. That was Hiltrude’s fault, for pampering her too much.
‘There is the chance the witch hunter could find a way to stop the daemon,’ Lothar suggested. ‘Men in that profession are not without their own abilities.’
‘The only person here Klueger cares about saving is that girl,’ Roald said. He turned towards Inge. ‘Is that not so, Frau Hausler? If not for your daughter, would that man have dared pass through Sieghard’s quarantine?’
Inge met the baron’s sharp gaze. ‘I often advised her against associating with that man. They’re a fearsome breed. I wanted better things for her, a loftier future. But right now I thank Sigmar for the bond between them. Klueger will do everything he can to protect Magda.’ She looked across the room at the rest of the guests. ‘Magda is the only one I care about.’ She pointed at Alrik. ‘This barbarous farce makes me wonder if any of you even deserve to live.’
Roald smiled at the retort. ‘There you have it. From the mother’s own mouth. All the witch hunter cares about is saving that girl.’ He moved back towards the chair and loomed over Alrik. ‘You’ll talk. I promise you. I’ll singe that beard down to stubble. Brand your cheeks down to the jawbone if I have to. You’ll talk. Save yourself a lot of pain and just tell us now.’
Alrik merely stared back at Roald. Not with anger, or fear, but with that same fatalistic insolence. Roald spun around and snatched the iron from the fire. He tested its heat on the rug, searing a long stripe across it. He gestured with its glowing tip at the cogsmith’s face.
‘This against that,’ Roald warned. He fought to keep his tone measured, to keep an edge of panic from his voice. For the first time it had occurred to him that even under torture Alrik might stay silent. ‘Last chance. How do we get through the traps in the dungeon?’
‘Do it already,’ Hartmann hissed. The merchant’s eyes were frantic, his face glistening with sweat. ‘Make him tell us how to get away! Force it out of him!’
Roald hesitated. He looked aside to Hiltrude. He caught the slight nod she gave him. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about her disapproval later. He firmed his grip on the poker and stepped towards the chair. The hot iron slashed down, raking across Alrik’s cheek. The stink of burnt hair rose from the duardin. Just like the rug, a blackened stripe ran through the cogsmith’s beard.
Roald took a step back when Alrik didn’t cry out. He simply stared at the baron with the same defiant indifference. Roald was prepared for rage or terror, but not this sort of resignation. How could he torture someone who didn’t even care about what was happening to him?
‘Make him talk!’ Hartmann cried. ‘He has to talk!’
Roald raised the iron to strike again. Before he could, the sound of someone running in the corridor outside brought him up short. Except for the captive Alrik, everyone turned towards the doorway, their hands tightening around whatever weapon they’d found for themselves. Hartmann scrambled back and uttered a sob of horror.
Their dread proved unfounded when Bernger came into the parlour. He was flushed from his recent exertions and it took him several moments to recover his breath so that he could speak.
‘We didn’t catch Brond,’ Bernger finally reported. ‘It looked like he was headed towards the courtyard. That he might use Sieghard’s men to kill himself before the daemon could take complete control.’
Roald clenched his fist in frustration. Now it was going to be even harder to get Alrik to talk. However, the germ of an idea took shape in his mind. An idea that horrified even him.
‘You said it looked like he was headed for the courtyard?’ Hiltrude prompted Bernger.
Bernger shook his head. ‘He turned. We followed him down into the dungeon. We thought maybe he was going to use the traps to… stop the daemon. But we followed as far as the first room, and there was no sign of his body. We could hear someone moving further on. Past where I lost sight of Goswin.’
‘It is the daemon,’ Lothar declared. ‘It knows everything Brond knows, which would include how the traps work and how to get past them. It has used that to hide itself while it completes its transformation.’ The alchemist shuddered. ‘When next we see him, he will be in the same state that Reiner was.’
Inge slumped in her chair, seeming to wilt into the seat. ‘When we see him, he’ll be coming to kill his father.’ Roald understood her terror. None of them were thinking about the duardin. They were all thinking that the same horrible doom threatened all of them.
‘Right now the daemon will still be weak,’ Lothar said. ‘It is caught between two spheres, two planes of reality. It needs time to pour enough of its essence into Brond to completely manifest. It hides because during this process it is vulnerable.’
Abarahm was not so certain as the alchemist. ‘It is reckless to speak in absolutes when dealing with Chaos. There are certain rites that open the door for daemons, but once that door has been opened there is no way to be certain how wide the opening is. The transference is not entirely predictable. The daemon might need hours to consume its host in one manifestation – in another the process might take only a few heartbeats.’
‘Do you know that, or is it mere supposition?’ Roald asked. ‘Is there a chance to strike this thing or contain it before… before it does what it was summoned to do?’ He looked over at Bernger. ‘How certain are you that Brond is under the control of this thing already?’
‘I only know that Brond has fled into the dungeons,’ Bernger said. ‘My father’s down there now, waiting to give warning if he sees him… or it… come back.’
‘We have a chance,’ Lothar insisted. ‘If we can kill Brond while the daemon has yet to fully possess him, we might be able to break the chain.’
Roald scowled at Lothar. ‘How will we reach Brond? He’s safe behind all the traps he and his father built. Unless Alrik tells us…’
‘I’ll tell none of you anything,’ Alrik said, suddenly breaking his silence. ‘But I can show you. Cut me loose and I’ll show you how to get past the traps.’
Roald gazed down at the cogsmith. He was shocked to see tears on Alrik’s face. He had started to think the duardin was as tough as the iron and steel he worked. ‘Why?’ he asked.
Alrik didn’t look up at the baron. ‘Because we’re talking about my son. If there’s a chance to… to kill him… before the daemon takes hold. I’d see his spirit join our ancestors, not be destroyed by this monster. Let me be damned as an oathbreaker – I accept that shame if it lets me redeem Brond.’
Roald nodded as he considered the offer. He wasn’t able to gauge duardin as easily as he could humans when it came to duplicity, but he thought Alrik was genuine. ‘All right,’ he decided. ‘Hartmann, free his legs. His arms stay tied until we reach the dungeon.’
While Hartmann worked at untying Alrik’s legs, Roald stepped back and replaced the iron in its stand by the fireplace. He was just as happy to have an end to such sordid work.
‘We aren’t all going down there?’ Inge asked. ‘Someone has to stay here and tell Magda where we’ve gone.’
‘It would be unwise to put everyone in jeopardy,’ Lothar said. He nodded to Abarahm. ‘If the daemon has already taken hold of its host, we would be putting all our lives in danger to no good purpose.’
Roald thought about that. There was both wisdom and opportunity in what the alchemist said. ‘Since it is my decision, I will go.’ He looked over at Hartmann as the merchant helped Alrik to his feet. ‘You will go with me, Herr Senf.’ The choice was obviously not to his liking.
‘I’m going with you,’ Bernger stated. ‘My father’s down there.’
‘With the cogsmith that makes four. Five with Bruno,’ Roald said. His expression turned grave. ‘More than enough lives to gamble on this venture.’ He looked at Hiltrude, then turned and swept his gaze across the other guests. ‘The rest of you stay here and wait for the witch hunter.’
Roald motioned for Bernger and Hartmann to lead Alrik from the room. He was anxious to be gone now. He didn’t trust himself to be in the same room as Liebgarde.
Not with the ghastly plan that was taking shape in the baron’s mind.
Only when they reached the cellar and he saw Bruno standing watch outside the dungeon did Bernger feel even somewhat at ease. He’d been too focused on reaching the parlour and getting the secret of the traps from Alrik to think of anything else when he’d left his father. On the way back it was a different matter. He was wracked with guilt for leaving Bruno and afraid of what they might find when they returned.
‘Has anything happened?’ Bernger asked as he emerged from the secret passage.
Bruno kept his eyes on the dungeon. ‘Not so much as a sound. Did the cogsmith say anything?’
Bernger stepped aside so that Hartmann could help Alrik into the cellar. ‘He wouldn’t tell us, but he did agree to show us.’
Bruno turned around and stared into the duardin’s eyes. His expression darkened. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t catch your son,’ he said.
Alrik shook his head. ‘My son’s dead already. It’s his spirit I’m worried about now. If I can stop the daemon, maybe Brond’s spirit can join our ancestors.’
Baron von Woernhoer entered the cellar after the rest of them. Roald frowned at the duardin’s words. ‘We are at something of an impasse, Herr Walkenhorst. The cogsmith won’t betray his oath by word, only through deed. He says he will show us how to get past the traps, but he won’t tell us how they work.’
‘So someone has to go with him to see how they work,’ Bruno said. ‘Then he can come back and let everyone know.’
‘Oaths are a strange thing to duardin,’ Hartmann muttered. ‘You can cheat them blind in a deal, so long as you don’t betray a single word of your agreement.’ The merchant smiled nervously at Alrik. ‘Of course, the reverse is true too. Kharadron are quite good at hiding swindles in their oaths.’
Alrik spat on the floor and held his bound arms towards Hartmann. ‘I’ll need the rest of the ropes undone if I’m to go further.’
‘Untie him,’ Roald declared. When Hartmann hesitated, Bernger came around and picked at the knotted ropes.
‘Understand,’ Alrik cautioned, ‘I’m only interested in destroying the daemon. You can follow. You can watch. But if you make a mistake, it’s no concern of mine.’
Bernger dropped the ropes on the floor and stared at the freed duardin. ‘That’d be stupid,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen two of your traps in action. It seems to me if someone following you makes a mistake, that’ll be the end for everyone. You’d better tell us what to do to get past them.’
Alrik looked uneasy as he considered the point. ‘Each secret I betray cuts away at the oath I swore to Count Wulfsige. It comes hard, even now, to accept that shame.’
‘You waste time,’ Roald reminded him. ‘We don’t know how long it will be before your son becomes like Reiner.’
‘Lead the way,’ Bruno told the cogsmith. ‘I’ll follow you. If we find Brond, maybe I can help.’
‘We can help,’ Bernger corrected him. This time he wasn’t going to leave his father no matter what he was told. Bruno must have seen the determination on his face. Whatever protest he might have made went unspoken.
‘I will stay here with Hartmann,’ Roald said. ‘If anything happens, at least we will be able to get word back to the others.’ The merchant giggled in relief.
Bernger retrieved one of the torches from the wall. He held it towards the trapped room ahead of them. ‘I’ve seen how this one works. There are certain tiles that are slightly raised. Step on one of them and a spiked ceiling springs down.’
‘You’ll find the others even more interestin’,’ Alrik said. ‘At least, if any of us live to see them.’
The duardin’s sinister words were echoing in Bernger’s ears as they headed out across the trapped corridor. The task ahead of them was madness itself. Crossing an unknown succession of rooms, each with some fiendish instrument of death waiting within and their guide resentful of each secret he was forced to divulge. Ahead of them, somewhere in the dreadful maze, was a possessed duardin who even now might be changing into an unstoppable daemon.
‘I think he’ll be helpful until we find Brond,’ Bruno whispered to Bernger. ‘After that, watch out. He might decide he can keep his oath if he lures us into a trap.’
A chill slithered down Bernger’s spine. ‘Dead men tell no tales,’ he said.
‘Something like that,’ Bruno agreed. ‘If he does something, be ready to move fast.’
Bernger couldn’t help but look up at the ceiling as they crossed to the little landing at the far side of the room. Up above them were the servants who had fallen foul of the spikes. He stared at the cogsmith’s back and wondered about the mind that could imagine such ghastly mechanisms.
Heat impressed itself upon Bernger when they turned the corner and saw the next room, the narrow hall with the heated walls to either side and the strange copper floor. The servants who had died here were only blackened lumps on the walls now, only vaguely identifiable as anything human.
Alrik turned to the two men. ‘The floor here is too thin to support any weight. Try to run across it and it will warp under your feet and toss you against the walls. That happens and you’re cooked. Runes of fire.’ He nodded to the symbols cut into the walls.
‘I saw Goswin get across,’ Bernger said. ‘He was crawling on hands and knees, but he made it.’
‘There is only one part that is safe,’ the cogsmith said. He pointed at the floor. ‘A beam that runs right down the middle. Stay on it and you won’t lose your balance.’
‘And the safest way to do that is to crawl,’ Bruno concluded.
Bernger dropped down at the edge of the solid landing and laid his hand on the copper floor. The sides were as thin as Alrik said, but a span as wide as his hand was solid. ‘I’ll start across,’ Bernger said. ‘Then you can send Alrik.’ He was away before either of them could object.
Crawling across the hall was a hellish experience. After only a few feet, Bernger’s body was drenched in sweat. The heat from the walls was nearly overwhelming. Each breath he drew felt like sucking on fire. The smell of cooked flesh filled his nose, and he could feel charred flakes under his hands as he crossed close to where the servants had died. His mind trembled at the image of people trying to race across only to lose their balance and be pitched headlong into the red-hot walls.
At last Bernger reached the landing where he had last seen Goswin. When he pulled himself up, he waved back at Bruno. His father started Alrik across. The cogsmith might have designed the trap, but he crossed with the same tedious crawl Bernger had used. Somehow, watching the duardin creep along was even more unsettling than his own crossing. Bernger dreaded watching Bruno when his turn came.
Finally all three of them were safe on the other side. Alrik held a finger to his lips, then started to remove his boots. Bernger and Bruno followed his example, pulling off their shoes. When all of them were unshod, the duardin motioned them forwards.
Bernger stifled a gasp when he saw what had befallen Goswin. The major-domo’s body was lying a few feet inside another narrow corridor. This one was much longer and had iron walls much like the rest of the castle’s. Try as he might, Bernger could find no explanation for the ghastly state Goswin was in. The man had been cut in half.
Alrik looked at each of them and again motioned for silence. The cogsmith didn’t step into the hall, but rather slid his bare foot onto the floor. He repeated this and silently shuffled his way towards the landing at the other side. Bernger and Bruno followed, copying the duardin’s curious progress. It was faster going than crawling across the other hallway, but at the same time far more terrible, not knowing where the instrument of death was hidden.
Alrik stopped when he reached the landing. Bernger felt sick when he saw the cogsmith glance back at them. It would be very easy for him to set the trap in motion while they were both under its threat. Fortunately he was more concerned with putting his boots back on.
‘You can gab all you’d like now,’ Alrik said when the two men joined him.
‘What’s in there?’ Bruno demanded. ‘What killed Goswin?’
The cogsmith chuckled grimly. ‘It’s enough to know how to get past it.’
‘No sound in that room,’ Bernger said. He pointed at his bare feet. ‘Not even so much as a footfall.’
‘Anything louder than a heartbeat would be enough,’ Alrik said. ‘You’ll have a hard time gettin’ that gutless Hartmann through there.’ The duardin seemed oblivious to the irony in the remark.
‘What now?’ Bernger asked.
Alrik’s face was stern. ‘I’m goin’ ahead to look for Brond. If you’re followin’ me, you’d better get your shoes back on.’
‘Now hold up!’ Bruno called as the duardin circled the corner.
Bernger darted after Alrik, but not so recklessly as to follow him farther than the landing. He stayed on the little patch of safe ground and hurried to fasten the buckles on his shoes. He could see that the room ahead was wide but not so long as the others had been. There was a strange sheen to the floor, a kind of gloss that reflected the torchlight. The ground looked firm enough as the cogsmith crossed it.
‘So that’s how he’s going to play it,’ Bruno said as he joined Bernger. ‘Show us how to get past the traps but not tell us what they are.’
Bernger had his shoes back on and stepped out onto the floor. ‘If we follow exactly behind him…’ His words failed when he saw the change in Bruno’s face. His expression had changed from irritation to a look of terror. Bernger noticed the charnel reek that drifted through the dungeon. The same gory stench that had surrounded the daemon’s earlier manifestation. The sound of raw, wet footfalls echoed in his ears.
Bernger turned and looked across towards the other side of the room. Instantly he felt his blood turn cold. Standing on the opposite landing was the bloody, skeletal daemon. It had completed its domination of Brond’s body and moulded his flesh into this horrifying aspect. The Mardagg made no sound as it tilted its skull-like head, but there was a ravenous fire in its sunken eyes.
‘Back! Get back! Through the last room!’ Alrik scrambled towards them. As he retreated, the daemon stepped down from the landing. The ragged flesh on its elongated foot sizzled and smoked as it touched the glossy floor, but it didn’t faze the monster. Alrik became even more panicked when he saw that the creature appeared unharmed.
‘Crystallised acid!’ the duardin said as he climbed back onto the landing. ‘The entire floor’s coated in it.’
‘Well, it isn’t stopping the thing!’ Bruno shouted.
Alrik gave him a dark look. ‘Then I’ll find something that will.’ He hurriedly pulled off his boots and prodded the two men back towards the last chamber.
Bernger felt his heart racing when he moved out into the silent corridor. He recalled what Alrik had claimed, how sound was the trigger for this trap. Anything louder than a heartbeat. What about a heart that was hammering inside his chest like an orruk war drum?
Bruno was already halfway across, shuffling his feet as rapidly as he dared. Bernger followed after his father. He imagined they must look absurd, shoes clenched in their hands, their bare feet sliding along the floor. He struggled to repress the laugh that threatened to crack the silence. He was losing control, letting the panic overwhelm him. He focused on Bruno, fixated on the fact that if he did lose control he would be killing his father too.
When he reached the landing, Bruno dropped his shoes and turned back to Bernger. He waved his son onwards, desperation on his face. Bernger restrained the impulse to look back and see the thing that had provoked such terror. He kept moving, his entire perspective limited to just the landing and the end of the silent hall.
At the landing, Bruno wrapped his arms around his son. Both men then focused their attention back on the room they had escaped. Alrik had stopped midway. The cogsmith was watching the other side of the hall. Approaching him, the sound of its scorched footfalls failing to activate the trap, was the Mardagg. Bernger noticed now the tattered strips of cloth that hung from the daemon, all that remained of Brond’s clothes. The gangly monster reached out with one of its long arms as it drew nearer to Alrik.
The duardin stood his ground before the daemon. Bernger could not see Alrik’s face, for he had his back to the two men, so he could not be certain what the cogsmith’s intention was when he raised his arms and brought his hands together in a loud clap.
Immediately after the sound, there was the rumble of machinery set into motion. From the roof, a great knife came scything down. Fastened to a long iron armature, it swept across the hall like a murderous pendulum. Bernger saw now the manner in which Goswin had died. The blade struck Alrik, slashing through him like a cleaver through a piece of mutton. The duardin was spilt from scalp to groin, his bisected halves flopping obscenely to either side. The crescent-shaped knife continued its butchering swing and slashed into the daemon’s monstrous body. The wet, glistening bones and crimson flesh were ripped asunder, cleft apart by the pendulum. The size of the daemon made the cut more jagged than it had been for its other victims and the skull-like head was whole when the creature collapsed to the floor. Bernger could see its ravenous eyes fixed on Alrik’s body. Even with such a mutilating wound, the fiendish vitality endured for a moment. Then the same rapid disintegration that had consumed Reiner’s possessed figure settled across what had been Brond.
‘He killed it!’ Bernger shouted.
Bruno shook his head. ‘It didn’t have prey to hunt. So it left to find another host. And another victim.’
Climbing down the secret passage from the trophy room, Magda could hear Roald’s voice rising from below. ‘Then we are in agreement?’ the baron said, followed by a muttered reply from Hartmann that she couldn’t catch. ‘You understand what you have to do?’ Roald asked.
Magda motioned for Klueger to hang back so that they might eavesdrop on the baron. Whatever the nobleman was up to, she was certain it wasn’t anything intended to benefit anyone else. In the dark, however, Klueger missed her cue and continued on into the cellar. The moment Roald saw him, the previous conversation was set aside.
‘Ah, so here you are,’ Roald said. ‘We have been waiting here for the others. Keeping watch.’ He gave a sideways glance at Hartmann. The fat merchant nodded and confirmed the baron’s statement.
‘We were told everything that happened,’ Klueger said. He shifted his gaze from Roald to the trapped room beyond the cellar. ‘How long have they been gone?’
Roald didn’t have a precise answer to that question. ‘It seems like a great deal of time, but not even close to how long it took for Reiner to completely change.’
‘There’s no knowing how long it took for Reiner to change,’ Magda said. ‘We don’t know how long the daemon waited in the sepulchre for Notker to arrive in the chapel.’
‘The aelf Abarahm may be right in another respect,’ Klueger added. ‘The daemon may not take as long to manifest each time. It’s certainly a daemon of Khorne, and as such it will be invigorated by bloodshed. The more violent death that occurs inside Mhurghast, the more firm its presence in Chamon will become. Each possession will come easier than the last, each manifestation faster than the one that preceded it.’
‘Then it may already be too late for them to stop the daemon?’ Magda asked.
Klueger paused. Magda could tell he was trying to find a way to soften what he would say. ‘Even if they destroy the host, they can’t destroy the daemon. It will simply find another vessel for its evil.’
Magda felt the pommel of Ottokar’s sword against her palm. She thought of Bruno and how his treachery had maimed Ottokar. Though she knew it was foolish and selfish, she was worried that the daemon would cheat the Freeguild captain from a long overdue reckoning.
‘Is there no hope then?’ Hartmann moaned. ‘Even if they destroy the daemon’s body?’
‘Perhaps a slight one,’ Klueger said. ‘But it’s best to wait and learn.’ He checked the charge on his pistol and faced the dungeon.
Magda aimed the weapon Klueger had given her. Even when Bruno and Bernger appeared at the far end of the corridor, she kept the pistol trained on Bruno. It would be so easy to pull the trigger and send a bullet smashing into his arm the same way his assassin had struck down her father. She resisted the urge. Another time, another place, she told herself, she would not hesitate. Grudgingly, she lowered the pistol as the Walkenhorsts hurried towards the cellar.
‘We were too late,’ Bernger gasped as he joined them. ‘The daemon was already manifest in Brond. It came after Alrik.’
‘Did it get him?’ Hartmann asked.
Bruno shook his head. ‘No. The cogsmith lured it into one of the traps. He used himself as bait to draw it in. A big knife that swung down from the ceiling. It cut clean through Alrik and then on into the daemon.’
‘That stopped it though,’ Roald laughed, though there was a suggestion of nervousness in the sound. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t have made it back.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Bernger confessed. ‘When it fell, the daemon started to dissolve. It melted. The same way it did in the chapel after it killed Notker.’
Magda found that she couldn’t take her eyes off Bruno. Though she’d lowered the pistol, she kept a ready grip on her father’s sword. ‘What did you do?’ she demanded. ‘Did you try to help, or did you just watch?’
‘We couldn’t help,’ Bruno said. ‘The slightest sound would have been enough to trigger the knife. All we could have done would be to die with him.’
‘The traps – before he died, Alrik showed you how to get past the traps!’ Roald had lost whatever reserve he still had.
Bernger answered the baron. ‘We learned the secret to getting through the four rooms Alrik took us through. He didn’t say if there were more. When he reached the fourth room we met… it.’
‘It makes no difference,’ Klueger said. ‘No one is leaving this castle. Not until it’s stopped.’ There was sorrow in his eyes when he looked at Magda. ‘In Mhurghast the fiend is contained. If it were to get loose in Ravensbach, the havoc it could wreak would be incalculable.’
‘I think Brond intended to save his father by killing himself before the daemon could manifest,’ Bernger told the witch hunter.
Magda was still watching Bruno. ‘Maybe the reverse would be true. Without a victim to hunt, the daemon would not be drawn to the host Count Wulfsige picked for it.’
‘Either’s possible,’ Klueger said. ‘The ritual the count performed appears complex. Occult links binding sequences together. Break one link and the sequence falters.’
A strange look came upon Bruno. Magda saw a weird light leap into his eyes. She saw his jaw tighten. Before she knew what was happening, he turned around and darted into the dungeon.
Bernger was slow to understand, but when he did, his shout echoed through the cellar. ‘No!’
‘Stay there,’ Bruno warned. His eyes swept across all of them. ‘Keep my son safe. He’s the only one who knows how to get past the traps now.’
Magda grabbed Bernger before he could rush into the dungeon. She struggled to hold him back. Before he could break free, Klueger was helping her. Then Roald joined in and the struggling youth was borne to the floor.
‘Don’t!’ Bernger howled. ‘Stop him! Stop him!’
Magda could see a kind of regretful pride in Bruno’s face as he looked at his son one last time.
‘I’m breaking the chain,’ Bruno said. Then he stamped his foot down.