‘I do not understand why you want him alive.’
Abarahm’s voice cut through the darkness that had enveloped Klueger’s mind. He tried to move, but found that his hands were tied behind him. He was sitting on a chair and the cords were fastened to its back to hold him in place. Carefully he tested his legs, but they too were bound and connected to the chair.
‘Contingency.’ The answer came in the sardonic purr of Lothar Krebs. ‘If this doesn’t work, we may need him.’
Klueger opened his eyes slowly as he tried to hide the fact that he was awake from his captors. He saw that he was in the dining hall. Candles and lamps blazed everywhere. The chair to which he was bound was pushed up near the wall, only a few yards from the door to the corridor outside. The other chairs had been removed from the table, thrown aside in disarrayed heaps. Plates and cutlery, glasses and uneaten food were likewise strewn about the floor. The head of the table, where Count Wulfsige had opened his own throat and used his own blood to summon the Mardagg, was beyond Klueger’s field of vision. It was from that direction that the voices came.
‘This is the best way. The only way to be sure,’ Lothar declared. ‘If not, we will have to make a fight of it. That is why we need the witch hunter.’
With excruciating slowness, Klueger started to turn his head to face Lothar. Perhaps the motion would have been gradual enough to escape the alchemist, but the keen eyes of the aelf caught him almost immediately. Abarahm stalked over and seized Klueger by the chin. His slender fingers forced the witch hunter to look at him.
‘Klueger is awake,’ Abarahm told Lothar. ‘Are you sure you still want him alive?’ There was an impersonality to the question that made Klueger’s blood run cold.
Lothar came away from the end of the table. Klueger could see now that Thilo was chained to the throne-like seat that had served the count. Thick loops of steel were coiled around his body, circling his arms and chest, even his throat and forehead. All that Thilo could move was his eyes. These, Klueger saw, had already turned to pools of blood. The daemon was inside its new host.
‘You are wondering, no doubt, what I am doing.’ Lothar paced before Klueger. The witch hunter’s brace of pistols was belted around his waist. A sideways glance showed him that Abarahm had his sword.
‘Heresy,’ Klueger said. ‘Daemonology. What you’re doing is obscene. Unforgivable.’
Lothar smiled and nodded. ‘All true,’ he conceded. ‘But you may also add “necessary” to your description. Desperate moments demand desperate measures.’ A cruel laugh rippled from the alchemist. ‘I don’t think I need to explain that to you. Abarahm tells me you released Bernger and Magda. How did it feel, lying to the woman you love?’
Klueger kept all emotion from his voice when he answered. ‘I didn’t lie. If that eavesdropping aelf hadn’t waylaid me, I would even now be looking for Inge Hausler.’
‘That should be easy.’ Lothar laughed. ‘Since you know where you put her body.’
A gesture from Lothar had Abarahm grab Klueger’s chin and force the witch hunter to look at the table in front of Thilo. He was stunned by what he saw. Saskia was sprawled there, lying over the spot that had been stained by the count’s cursed blood. Around her had been drawn a pentacle, and the woman’s head and limbs stretched away into each point of the design. There was a dazed, dreamy look in her eyes, even more pronounced than her usual stupor.
‘You see, we searched for Inge ourselves,’ Lothar said. ‘She could have helped… bolster… the ritual I have in mind. Abarahm went looking for her. An aelf is very good at finding people, you know.’
‘Maybe she’s just better at hiding than he is at finding,’ Klueger said, pulling his chin free from Abarahm’s grip.
Lothar shook his head. ‘I think not. You released Magda and Bernger, but you went into Thilo’s room with the intention to kill. Abarahm watched you. Why go to kill my son but free the others? It can only be because you accept the theory of arcane chains. That the daemon is irrevocably bound to the pattern of host and victim. Even in your affection, I don’t think you’d send the daemon to run amok through Ravensbach. That means you considered Magda as safe as Bernger. The only way that could be is if her mother is dead.’
The witch hunter struggled against his bonds. To have his crime known by a creature like Lothar was too much to bear.
‘I don’t blame you,’ Lothar said, and laid a consoling hand on Klueger’s shoulder. ‘The things we do for love can often flirt with madness.’ He waved his hand towards Saskia. ‘My dear wife wearied of life when she couldn’t have more children. I caught her…’ He hesitated, a look of remorse briefly on his face. His eyes flashed with a terrible resolve when he glanced again at his possessed son. ‘To prevent her from trying again, I gradually conditioned her to a certain potion.’ He reached into a pocket and withdrew a silver flask. ‘A few drops in her milk, in her tea, in her soup. After a few weeks, she was addicted. She felt listless and weary, but she no longer desired death. You see, she needed me again. Only I could give her the mixture that had become life itself.’
As Lothar spoke, Saskia showed the first sign of motion. She turned her head and looked at the flask. The expression in her eyes was of the most abominable lust Klueger had ever seen, a hunger that transcended flesh and rooted itself in the very soul.
Klueger could not look at the ravenous appeal in Saskia’s eyes. He turned instead to Lothar. ‘A damned heretic! A foul slave of Chaos!’
Lothar sneered at him. ‘Like any fanatic, everything must be termed in absolutes. I am no worshipper of the Dark Gods. There are ways to harness the tremendous arcane energies they represent, however. You can exploit Chaos without submitting to it.’
‘I’ve heard those same words from many a witch and sorcerer before they were consigned to the flames.’ Klueger glanced at Abarahm. The aelf was fingering the pommel of the silvered sword. ‘Your confederate doesn’t appear happy with this kind of talk.’
‘Abarahm understands that I am the only chance he has to be free from the daemon,’ Lothar said. He gave Klueger a solemn look. ‘I may be wrong. Even with the links broken, it could still try to consume the hosts prepared for it.’
‘Why waste time gloating over this man?’ Abarahm asked. ‘When you are finished he will die anyway.’
Lothar bristled at the interruption. ‘There is still time. Go and watch Thilo if my conversation bores you. Let me know when he begins to weep.’ He waited for the aelf to walk away before turning back to Klueger.
‘If I could trust you, I wouldn’t need to kill you,’ Lothar said. ‘You know now that I have delved into forbidden lore. I will show you that it has been to a good purpose. What is more, I know about the murder you have committed. The authorities won’t take my word against yours, but if it should reach Magda’s ears… well, I don’t think you would care for that.’ He smiled and glanced back at Abarahm. ‘Don’t worry about the aelf. Whatever happens, he won’t say anything. Are we in accord then? Will you swear to Sigmar that neither by action nor word will you move against me?’
Klueger looked past Lothar to where Thilo sat chained in his chair and Saskia lay sprawled upon the table. ‘What are you planning to do?’
‘I’ve said that we do drastic things for love,’ Lothar began. He reached into his coat and drew out a gruesome-looking dagger. ‘This is the phurba the count used to sacrifice himself. This instrument is what made his revenge possible. It called the Mardagg from the Realm of Chaos. With this, I can call the daemon.’ His face drooped as he gazed at his family. ‘Thilo is already lost to me. Even if the Mardagg were exorcised, now that it has been inside him all that would be left would be a blood-mad maniac. However, I can draw the daemon out. I can send it into Saskia’s body.’
‘And you say this is done for love?’ Klueger scoffed.
‘The strongest love of them all,’ Lothar said. ‘The love of life itself. To save my own, I must sacrifice others. Quite literally in this case. To continue, Saskia is a perfect receptacle for the daemon. Her body is plagued by a most terrible hunger. The Mardagg consumes the minds of memories of those it possesses. When it possesses Saskia, it will also possess her addiction. It will become as she is, utterly subservient to whoever can feed that addiction.’
‘You’re mad to think you can control the daemon,’ Klueger sneered. ‘It’ll destroy you and pick its fangs with your bones.’
The alchemist glared back at Klueger. ‘It will work. I can render the fiend insensate. Harmless.’
‘The tears have begun,’ Abarahm called from the head of the table. The aelf backed away from Thilo and drew the silvered sword from its scabbard.
Lothar held the phurba to Klueger’s throat. ‘Your answer. Quickly.’
‘I agree,’ Klueger said.
Lothar pressed the dagger against his skin. ‘Not enough,’ he said. ‘Say the words. Swear to Sigmar, and tell the God-King what you swear to do.’
Rage boiled inside Klueger, but pragmatism won the moment. Dead, he could do nothing to oppose Lothar. Alive, there might be a way to stop him and still honour his vow to Sigmar. ‘I swear by Ghal-Maraz and to Mighty Sigmar that neither by deed nor word will I bring harm to Lothar Krebs.’ He strained against the cords that held him to the chair. ‘Now release me.’
Lothar shook his head. ‘After,’ he said. ‘Once the ritual is performed.’ Furtively, he looked aside at Abarahm. He removed a slender knife from his belt. ‘When I cut you, cry out,’ he whispered, his voice so low that the words scarcely made any sound at all. Klueger nodded, though he didn’t understand what the alchemist was up to.
‘We needed Inge’s blood to bait the Mardagg,’ Lothar lectured, raising his voice. ‘Since you have made that impossible, I will use yours instead.’ He raked the knife along Klueger’s left arm. The cut was shallow, but deep enough to draw blood. The witch hunter yelled in feigned agony and struggled at his bonds. Lothar leaned close to him. The bloodied knife was replaced on his belt, and he removed a little copper bottle. He made a show of gathering Klueger’s blood, but none actually entered the vial.
‘Are you finished with him?’ Abarahm shouted. There was an edge of panic in the aelf’s voice now, distorting its normally melodious quality. ‘The tears are flowing faster!’ A charnel stench began to fill the room.
Lothar turned and walked towards the end of the table. He held the empty vial in one hand and the phurba in the other. ‘I have enough. The woman would have been better, but the witch hunter’s blood will suffice.’
Abarahm looked from Thilo to Saskia. ‘You are certain you can control it?’
‘I am certain,’ Lothar assured him. ‘There is only one thing that could give us any problems now.’
If Abarahm hadn’t been distracted by Thilo’s possession, his aelfish speed would have allowed him to react when Lothar made his move. As things stood, the first he was aware of Lothar’s treachery was when the phurba was buried in his heart.
Lothar knelt beside his betrayed confederate, the vial pressed to his wound, gathering the aelf’s blood. ‘Human blood is good bait, but that of an aelf is even better,’ he told Klueger. ‘Their kind are rare, and so their blood holds an exotic flavour for the daemons of Khorne.’
‘You planned to betray him from the start,’ Klueger accused.
‘It is an unwise man who does not hedge his bets,’ Lothar replied. He rose and walked to the table with the vial. ‘The Mardagg might have ignored human blood, since it is already surrounded by what is inside Thilo’s body. But it will respond to aelfish blood.’ He leaned over Saskia and pressed his finger to the mouth of the vial. With his finger stained crimson, he began daubing streaks across his wife’s face.
Klueger watched the profane ritual, but soon his gaze was drawn away from Lothar and Saskia. He looked at Thilo. It could not be his imagination. He was larger now, filling more of the chair. The chains that bound him were stretched tighter than they had been. The witch hunter realised the enormous mistake Lothar had made. He wasn’t tempting a daemon from the depths of Khorne’s kingdom. He was drawing a daemon that was already in the same room. It already had a vessel of flesh to manipulate and use!
‘Lothar! Stop! Stop it now!’ Klueger shouted.
Lothar looked up in annoyance. The smirk on his face vanished when he heard one of the chains suddenly snap. He spun around and screamed in terror when he saw what was happening behind him. Thilo’s limbs were stretching outwards, the flesh peeling back to expose blood-soaked bone. The face was cracking and splitting as the skull beneath swelled, the teeth expanding into sharpened fangs.
The alchemist threw down the copper vial and snatched one of Klueger’s pistols from the gun belt. He was staggered by the recoil from the weapon, but his shot was true. The blessed bullets smashed into Thilo’s forehead and gouged a crater in the emerging skull. The damage, however, wasn’t enough to route the malicious spirit. The Mardagg hungered, and it would not be denied.
‘Cut me loose!’ Klueger yelled as Lothar scurried away from the table. Another chain snapped, freeing one of the daemon’s arms. ‘Hurry, there isn’t much time!’
For a ghastly moment, Klueger thought the alchemist was going to abandon him, but before he darted out into the corridor, he moved to the chair and slashed the ropes. ‘We must run!’ Lothar cried, and seized Klueger’s arm.
Klueger shook him off. ‘I need my weapons,’ he said. The alchemist drew back and placed his hands protectively over the remaining pistol. Klueger saw that he’d dropped the other one after shooting the daemon. ‘If I’m to fight the thing, I need my weapons!’ Without waiting for a response, he snatched the gun from Lothar. ‘Get to the trophy room – I’ll meet you there.’
‘You can’t fight that! You have to run!’
The thing that had been Thilo used its claws to rip through the last of its chains. The daemon stood up, its body already a foot taller than it had been. The Mardagg stared down at Saskia. The drug-dazed woman didn’t even react to the grisly death that hovered over her.
‘Get going!’ Klueger snarled as he pushed Lothar out the door. ‘I’ll meet you in the trophy room.’ He watched the alchemist flee and then turned back towards the daemon. The creature was leaning towards Saskia. Her eyes were bleary and unfocused until the long fangs bit down into her cheek and gnashed away at the blood-covered flesh. Then a tortured shriek was ripped from her as abominable awareness shattered her stupor.
Klueger raised his pistol and fired. He’d seen how ineffectual a single shot was against the Mardagg. It was far more efficacious against the daemon’s victim. Saskia’s screams fell silent. The daemon, intent upon the aelfish blood spattered across her body, was oblivious to the woman’s death. Its teeth continued to gnaw at her flesh.
The pistol Lothar had dropped was lying on the floor right where the daemon stood. Klueger reluctantly abandoned it as lost. The silvered sword claimed by Abarahm was almost as unlikely. The aelf’s body lay sprawled only a few feet from the feeding daemon. If the Mardagg took any notice of him, it could reach him in a single step.
‘Sigmar guard me,’ Klueger prayed, and made a dash for the sword. Intent upon Saskia’s corpse, the daemon did not even glance at him as he retrieved the weapon. He stood for a moment, the urge to strike the obscene fiend raging through his soul. The sound of the Mardagg’s jaws chewing the woman’s flesh was too much to endure.
Klueger raised the blade to slash the daemon from behind. It was the thought of Magda that made him hesitate. If he was wrong, if the daemon would still seek the others marked for it, then he might damn her with his attack. While Lothar lived, the Mardagg was bound to Thilo.
Lowering his sword, Klueger ran from the dining hall. He didn’t know how long the daemon would linger over Saskia, but he knew where it would go once it was finished. If he could only thwart it from killing Lothar long enough for Magda to escape from the castle, she would be safe from the Mardagg.
Bernger tried not to look at Roald’s mangled body, or the fleshy mush that he decided must have been Liebgarde after the daemon abandoned its host. Baron von Woernhoer had been an arrogant and dictatorial person, the kind of victim he would have robbed without the slightest hint of guilt, but there was something obscene about the way he’d died. Perhaps he was only now appreciating the full horror of Count Wulfsige’s revenge – using the child to deliver death to the parent.
Magda stared at the gory tableau, disgust and fear etched across her face. ‘Don’t… don’t let me do that to my mother,’ she begged Bernger. ‘If it comes… If the daemon… just kill me.’
The weariness and defeat in Magda’s voice grated on Bernger. He shared her attitude, despite how desperately he tried to cling to hope. It was a fact he wasn’t happy to admit to himself. ‘We’ve come this far,’ he snapped. ‘We’re going to make it all the way. We’re going to get out of the castle, and then the daemon won’t be able to do anything to us.’
Bernger tried to believe his own words, but he knew how hollow they really were. They’d passed through four of Alrik’s traps, but those had been comparatively easy. They’d already known how to navigate them. Now they stood before a fifth room, a hallway that had brought Roald up short and allowed the daemon to catch him. Who could say how many more were beyond this one?
‘I’m going to move this… mess,’ Bernger said. He gripped the splintered pole lying beside Roald’s body and used it to slide the carrion back around the corner. While that gruesome spectacle was lying at their feet, he knew it would be impossible to concentrate on the hall ahead of them and whatever trap was hidden there.
When Bernger came back from removing the bodies he found Magda crouched at the edge of the landing. She was staring out into the menacing hall. For a ghastly moment, he thought she was going to dive in. Kill herself the way his father had.
Magda turned at the sound of his approach. She had an intense expression. ‘I’ve been trying to puzzle out the secret of the hall. The only thing I can see are some wooden splinters on the floor.’
Bernger came forwards and squatted down beside her. She pointed out the debris on the floor. The colour reminded him of the pole he’d used to move the bodies. He went back and got it, ignoring the bloody residue that clung to it. ‘Roald must have used this to trigger the trap,’ he mused. ‘He was still trying to figure out how to get past it when the daemon caught him.’
‘But he didn’t find a way across,’ Magda pointed out. A shudder passed through her. ‘He died right here.’
Bernger laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘We’re smarter than the baron was,’ he said. ‘He had other people do everything for him. We know how to do it for ourselves.’
Neither of them spoke while Bernger studied the scene. The splinters on the floor. The way the pole was broken. He glanced at the ceiling in the hall. No, if it had come crushing down, the pole would have snapped with a less ragged break. He turned his attention to the walls. He could just about see a few slivers of wood pressed into them.
‘That’s the trap,’ Bernger declared. He pointed to the slivers. ‘The walls come together and crush whatever is between them.’
‘What sets them off?’ Magda waved to the far side of the hall. ‘How do we get past?’
Bernger studied the distance between the landing and where the splinters were pressed into the wall. ‘Roald must have held the pole out from here to try and trigger the mechanism.’ He sighed and took a firm grip on what was left of the pole. Careful to keep every part of his own body on the landing, he thrust it into the corridor.
They waited in tense silence as seconds passed without any result. Bernger could hear his own heart pounding as he braced himself for a reaction. When it came, it did so with alarming abruptness. The walls smashed together, crushing the end of the pole between them. Bernger stumbled back, his hands locked on the further-shortened stump of splintered wood.
‘How can we possibly get past that?’ Magda cried out.
‘I think I know how it works now,’ Bernger said. He hesitated before telling her his idea. He wanted to make sure. ‘We’ll try it again. Start counting when I throw the pole into the room.’
Magda nodded. She started as soon as he made his throw. ‘One… two… three…’ The pole clattered to the floor almost three quarters of the way into the room. ‘… eight… nine… ten…’ At thirteen she stopped counting. The walls came crashing together and pulverised what was left of the pole.
‘A count of thirteen,’ Bernger stated. ‘That’s how long we have to get from here to there. This trap operates on time. The mechanism starts as soon as something’s between the walls. After a specific interval, it crushes–’
‘Don’t,’ Magda said. ‘It’s enough to imagine it. I don’t need you to tell me.’
Bernger nodded. He removed Klueger’s book and tore out a page. He scrawled a message to the witch hunter, describing how he thought the trap worked and how to get past it. At the end of the missive, he advised him that if he saw remains in the hall, it meant Bernger was wrong.
‘We’ll have to run.’ Magda shook her head. ‘Only to a count of thirteen… I don’t know if it’s possible.’
‘I can go across first,’ Bernger offered. ‘If I’m wrong… If I don’t make it, you can figure something else out.’
‘No,’ Magda said. She glanced down at the bloodstains on the floor. ‘I’m not going to stay down here alone. Besides, if I had to watch you… I’d never have the nerve to try by myself.’
‘Together then,’ Bernger said. He took Magda’s hand and held it tight. ‘When we move, start the count.’ He took a deep breath, nerving himself for the ordeal ahead.
Then they were off. Racing for their lives against the sinister machinery. The count Magda kept sounded like a funeral bell in Bernger’s ears. Each number was that much closer to a horrible death.
They reached the opposite landing at a count of eleven. Bernger collapsed as he lunged out from the trapped room. Magda reeled and fell across him. They heard the ferocious smack of the walls slamming together behind them.
Magda started to laugh. Raucous, jubilant laughter. The thrill of survival when death had seemed assured. Bernger joined in, venting all the nervous tension that coursed through him.
‘We made it! By Ranald, we made it!’ Bernger rapped his knuckles three times against the floor to thank the trickster god for their good fortune.
It was many minutes before they were composed enough to continue. Bernger walked around the corner of the landing. He stopped short when he saw what lay ahead of them. There was a kind of natural cavern illuminated by some phosphorescent crystal growth that peppered the rock walls. A stout door of iron stood out from one of the walls. It was the first door they’d seen since entering the dungeon.
‘Could that be the way out?’ Magda waved at the door.
‘I think it is,’ Bernger said gravely. When Magda gave him a curious stare, he directed her attention away from the door and to something much closer.
Yawning almost at their very feet was a deep pit. Glowing crystals littered its walls, casting the depths in light. Slithering at the bottom of the hole were dozens of long, sinuous, copper-scaled creatures.
‘Ore-adders,’ Bernger said. ‘They feed on metal, but that doesn’t mean they won’t spray venom at us if we disturb them.’ He pointed out the thin, narrow planks that crossed the pit. Each had long chains dangling from them into the hole, low enough that their motion was sure to be noticed by the serpents.
‘That’s the trap then,’ Magda groaned. ‘Try to cross the pit and the snakes spit poison on you. Freedom’s just the other side, but it’s impossible to cross.’
‘No,’ Bernger said. ‘There’s a way across. We just have to figure out what it is.’
Bernger hoped his words sounded more confident than they felt.
Klueger poured the essential salts from the sigmarite flask. The azure powder had a faint glow to it, an aura from the Celestial Realm. It was ground down from the shed skins of stardrakes by the Sacrosanct Chambers of the Stormcast Eternals. Some among the Order of Azyr were granted the privilege of carrying these dragon castings, and Klueger had been blessed to be deemed worthy of such a charge. He had only used a few pinches of the powder before, against the daemons he had encountered in the past. That had been enough to restrict and bind such lowly manifestations of Chaos. It would take much more to defy a fiend like the Mardagg.
Lothar paced about the trophy room, his robes swirling around him in his agitation. ‘A pentacle,’ he repeated as he observed Klueger’s work. ‘The shape can both attract and bind the daemon.’
The alchemist’s words reeked of corruption and forbidden knowledge. Klueger felt ashamed to pay them any heed. Yet now he was attending Lothar’s instructions as though they were spoken by Grand Lector Sieghard.
‘There’s no need to attract the Mardagg,’ Klueger reminded him. ‘We already have what it wants.’ It was a petty thing to say, but he enjoyed the way the alchemist trembled.
‘Leave an opening,’ Lothar said when he had recovered enough to speak. ‘By all the gods, do not forget to leave a place for it to enter!’
‘A fine one to speak of the gods, since you’ve flaunted their authority.’ Klueger pressed the ivory stopper back in the flask and stepped out from the pentacle. There was a gap between the points that faced the doorway. ‘You can have faith in this much – I’ll seal the pentacle if it steps inside. I’ll also pray it’s strong enough to hold the daemon.’
Lothar eyed the door that led down to the dungeon. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so. Klueger knew he was evaluating his chances against the traps. Whether he was better risking them or the daemon. The witch hunter tapped his pistol against one of the display cases. ‘Here I’ll defend you,’ he said. ‘I gave my word. Go down there and you are on your own.’
The alchemist started to say something, but he choked on the words. His eyes widened in terror. He stared towards the doorway and the dark corridor beyond. Klueger couldn’t see anything, but he knew wizards were more attuned to the occult than men who practised less unsavoury vocations. Soon, the carnage-ridden reek of the daemon wafted into the room. A few moments more and he heard the ghoulish sounds of dripping blood and naked feet.
Klueger swung around and hurried to the spot he’d chosen to hide himself, a row of armour that flanked the pentacle. There was no point in Lothar trying to hide. The Mardagg would sense him anyway. The alchemist stood several feet from the top of the pentacle and faced his approaching doom.
The stench of blood preceded the daemon, rolling into the room and making it stink like an abattoir. A long, bony hand gripped the edge of the doorway, the claws scratching against the iron setting. Then the Mardagg stalked inwards. The once splendid clothes Thilo had worn were now gore-soaked rags. The daemon had expanded, stretched and twisted the youth’s body until it was twice its original size. The fangs that protruded from its skull were like glistening daggers. The boiling pools of blood that filled its sockets shone with an infernal light.
The first few steps it took, the daemon exhibited some degree of caution. Its head swung back and forth, searching the room for ambush. Before it did more than glance at Klueger’s hiding spot, the Mardagg growled and locked its hellish gaze upon Lothar. A wolfish snarl rattled through the skeletal daemon. It lunged forwards, intent upon its prey.
Incomplete, the pentacle was nothing but dust on the floor to a daemon of such profane might as the Mardagg. It wouldn’t stop the fiend. Klueger sprang from hiding and threw himself across the floor. He had the last of the essential salts clenched in both fists. Crying out the name of Dracothion, he slammed both hands down and closed the figure.
The Mardagg roared when it realised what was happening. It leapt for Lothar, but the pentacle had been completed in time. As it rushed for the alchemist, a sheet of blue lightning crackled around its crimson body. The gangrel daemon snarled in pain as it retreated from the barrier. It swiped its claws in Lothar’s direction, only to be thwarted by another burst of electricity.
‘It won’t die!’ Lothar screamed. ‘It isn’t going to die!’
Klueger had seen the dragon castings reduce lesser daemons to nothingness instantly. The Mardagg, while hurt by the barrier, wasn’t destroyed. In fact, it didn’t even seem to be wounded, only provoked. It lunged again at the barrier and struggled to push its way through.
‘It will die,’ Klueger vowed. He drew his pistol and fired into the fiend. The sigmarite bullets weren’t affected by the pentacle’s barrier. They passed through to crack against the Mardagg’s ribs, shattering three of them. The daemon staggered, its skull pressing against the warding field and causing its head to be enveloped in blue electricity. The monster howled, but didn’t fall. Instead it pressed against the edge of the pentacle, trying to overwhelm the barrier.
‘It won’t die!’ Lothar’s terrified wail echoed through the trophy room.
Klueger cast aside the spent pistol and whipped his silvered sword from its sheath. He dashed around the pentacle. Even he was starting to wonder if it would hold the Mardagg. If the daemon broke through, he was determined that it would need to get through him to reach Lothar. Alive, the alchemist ensured the daemon could not leave its current host. The murderous spirit was trapped in a cage of flesh.
The witch hunter’s blade slashed through the barrier and raked the daemon’s arm. Foul ichor sprayed from the wound. It sizzled and steamed as it struck the warding field. Klueger swung again and broke two more of the exposed ribs. The Mardagg swatted at him in retaliation, but its claws were thrown back by a burst of electricity. Klueger could attack across the pentacle. The daemon couldn’t.
Then the Mardagg drew back. Its arms fell to its sides. The daemon fixed Klueger with its hideous gaze. He could feel its hate pressing down on him, but there was something more. There was a sardonic humour in that look. The mocking contempt born from only the bitterest enmity.
The skeletal body rapidly began to decay. Strands of flesh turned to crimson slime. Blood gushed from corroded organs. Bones cracked and splintered, striking the floor as little more than shards. The skull fell in upon itself, the glowing eyes bursting in a shower of gore. In only a matter of moments, the giant daemon was nothing but a heap of putrid slush.
Klueger felt cold inside as he watched the daemon’s dissolution. He knew this was no victory. This wasn’t the work of the barrier or his sword.
The witch hunter slowly turned around. He saw Lothar’s lifeless body on the ground. His face was discoloured, almost black, and there was a greenish spittle dripping from his lips. In his hand was a bottle. Certain that the Mardagg would break through the barrier, the alchemist had decided to cheat the daemon by taking poison.
Klueger shook his head. The daemon was free now, no longer held by either a magic pentacle or a cage of flesh.
Magda stared down at the copper-coloured reptiles. The serpents crawled about the walls of the pit. There were what looked like iron circles embedded into the circumference. As she watched, one of the ore-adders stopped in front of a metal disc. Its hood snapped open, and from its fangs it spit a stream of burning venom onto the iron. It bubbled, and a molten ooze dribbled away from the circle. The snake dipped its head and started to drink the liquid sludge.
‘So that’s how the snakes sustain themselves,’ Magda said.
Bernger followed the direction of her gaze. ‘Before he put them down there, Alrik must have lined the pit with iron rods.’ He pointed to several dark holes that had the same dimensions as the metal circles. ‘Ore-adders will follow a vein until it has been played out. They don’t need to eat too often, so a single twenty-foot-long rod might feed them for a year.’
‘Is there a way to use that to help us?’ Magda wondered. She turned her gaze to the planks that stretched over the pit and the chains hanging from them. ‘Why don’t they eat the chains?’
‘Forged metal is indigestible to them,’ Bernger said. ‘Their venom can dissolve raw ore but not anything that has been fired in a forge.’ He studied the planks and the serpents below. He held his hand out to Magda. ‘Hold on to me and pull me back if this is a mistake. I want to try something.’
Magda took a firm grip on Bernger’s hand. She didn’t know what he was going to do, but it was clear they had to try something. Knowing that salvation might be so close was torture. Especially when any moment might have the daemon seeping into her body. Consuming her soul.
But the Mardagg did have its own things to offer. The power of revenge.
Magda’s fingers tightened on Bernger’s hand. He spun around, anxiety on his face.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Magda said. ‘Just nervous.’ She didn’t know how to explain the strange thought that had flashed through her mind. The horrible realisation that there was some part of her that wanted to submit to the Mardagg and let the daemon take over. With salvation so close, how could she possibly resist the prospect of escape?
Bernger set his foot out on the plank. As he pressed his weight down, it began to tip upwards from a pivot ten feet further along. The chains fixed to the bottom rattled against the floor of the pit. Agitated snakes reared back and spat venom up towards the plank. Magda pulled as Bernger shifted back to the landing before any of the poison could land on him.
‘Well, that explains how it works, anyway,’ Bernger said. He tried to put confidence in his tone, but Magda could tell he was rattled by the experience. With his weight withdrawn, the plank tilted back to its former position.
‘We’d have to move fast,’ Magda said. ‘Too fast to be cautious.’
‘Thirty feet at a run,’ Bernger said. ‘Keep your balance or visit the snakes.’ He looked down into the pit. The ore-adders had quieted down when the chains stopped moving around them. Venom dripped from the plank. The serpents weren’t accurate at any distance. ‘Get unlucky, even a little of that poison on your skin, and you’ll go mad with pain. You’ll fall before you even know what’s happening.’
‘There has to be a way,’ Magda said. She saw that Bernger was surprised by the ferocity in her tone. He’d be even more stunned if he knew why. The insane urge to stay in the castle was nagging at her. To reject its influence, Magda had to focus, had to compel discipline. All the concentration Ottokar had demanded from her when she practised with the sword. Now she needed that intensity of thought to bring her through the dungeon.
Bernger was silent for a moment, watching the venom dripping off the chains. ‘They will attack anything that disturbs them. There’s no way to rush across those planks without making the chains move.’ He plucked at his coat and pointed at Magda’s clothes. ‘This isn’t thick enough to keep the venom from seeping through to our skin.’
Magda nodded. She reached into a pouch hanging from her belt and removed a silver coin. ‘What if we give the snakes something else to annoy them?’ She threw the coin down into the pit. The ore-adders near where it landed started spitting at it.
‘Too much to hope their venom will hurt the other snakes,’ Bernger said. ‘Their scales are too thick. And the coin doesn’t move around long enough to hold their attention. Not long enough to do us any good, at least.’
Silence lingered between them. Magda gave the pit closer scrutiny. Finally she noticed something odd. None of the snakes crawled near a particular spot. She saw why. There was an ugly stain there that had a vaguely serpentine shape. ‘What do you think that is?’
Bernger stared at it for a moment. ‘It looks like a dead ore-adder. They decay pretty fast.’
‘The other snakes don’t seem interested in going near it,’ Magda observed. ‘In fact, they seem to abhor getting anywhere close to it.’
Bernger considered that point for a moment. Eventually he shook his head. ‘Maybe they just don’t like to be near their own dead. I don’t know how that can help us. It’s not like we can go down there and get it.’
‘Then we try something else,’ Magda said. She removed Ottokar’s sword and drew it out of the scabbard. ‘You have a knife?’
Bernger gave her a puzzled look. ‘What do you have in mind?’ he asked as he removed the blade from inside his boot and proffered it to her.
‘If we can’t go down to the snakes, maybe we can bring them up to us.’ She removed her jacket and took the knife. Quickly she began to cut the garment into long strips. She waved her hand at Bernger. ‘I think we’ll need your coat as well.’
Bernger was confused as he handed it over to her. ‘I don’t–’
‘It’s simple. We need a cord long enough to reach down into the pit,’ Magda said. ‘Unless you’re sneaking a coil of rope around with you, we have to make do. I’ll cut these into strips, bind them together, and we’ll have something long enough to go into the pit.’
‘What good will that do?’
Magda set her hand against Ottokar’s sword. ‘Not everything my father taught me about fighting was entirely honourable,’ she said. ‘He showed me a unique way to deal with someone who is better than me. They couldn’t be wearing armour if it was to work, but I don’t think these snakes are going to suddenly start putting on steel plate.’
The last was meant as a jest, but there was no humour in her tone. Tension raced through her body. She hoped Bernger wouldn’t notice how firmly she gripped the knife. She prayed he had no idea that her mind was boiling with ghastly images and the insane desire to see his blood spraying across the walls.
Magda crouched down beside the coat. She stabbed the knife into it and began to cut. ‘I’ll throw the strips to you. Tie them into a cord.’
‘And then?’
‘Then I’m going to try to spear one of those snakes and see if we can get across this pit,’ Magda said. The words were meant more for herself than for him. The urge to stay behind was getting stronger with every heartbeat.
It took some time before the cord was long enough to suit Magda’s purpose. While Bernger wrote down their plan and left it for Klueger and Inge to read, she busied herself with the last part of her idea. One end of the cord was tied firmly around the hilt of Ottokar’s sword, the other secured to the scabbard. Another strip of cloth fastened the scabbard to her arm. She held the sword against her chest. As a little girl she’d always been confident that her father’s sword would be there to protect her. Never could she have dreamed it would be in such an unusual way.
‘Are you ready?’ Bernger asked.
Magda didn’t say anything, just gave the slightest nod. She fought to focus, to blot out the destructive impulse to stay behind.
Fixating upon one of the snakes, Magda braced herself for the effort ahead. She waited and watched, biding her time until everything was perfect before she made her cast. The sword flew down into the pit like a javelin. Its point impaled one of the snakes. The reptile writhed on the blade while those around it spun around and started spitting venom at the sword. True to Bernger’s words, the acid did no harm to the forged steel.
‘Help me pull it back,’ Magda said. In striking the snake, the sword had embedded itself in the floor. It took both of them to free it. They carefully began to draw the cord back. Every second they thought the impaled snake would slide off the blade, but their dread wasn’t realised. More, Magda could see the other snakes frantically crawling away from the transfixed reptile.
‘Something’s happening to them,’ Bernger called out. He pointed, and Magda could see that several of the snakes were twitching in pain.
‘Be ready to grab the snake when I pull it up,’ Magda said. Both of them had wound strips of cloth about their hands. She hoped it was enough to let them safely handle the dying reptile.
The hanging sword slowly came up over the edge of the pit. Bernger leaned down to grab the snake. Magda saw the spray of venom that flew past his ear as the wounded ore-adder reacted. Before it could strike again, Bernger had his hand around its neck. Grimly, he pulled the writhing body off the blade.
Magda scowled at the damage inflicted on her father’s sword. The blade was pitted and scarred where it had struck the snake, eaten away as though by a powerful acid. ‘I thought you said the venom couldn’t hurt forged metal.’
‘It can’t,’ Bernger said. He held the snake out at arm’s length. They could see a ghastly slime bubbling from the serpent’s wound. The ore-adder’s scales steamed and blistered wherever the liquid dripped.
Magda understood at once. Her throw had punctured the snake’s belly, and now it was leaking digestive juices, stomach acids powerful enough to eat through the metal meals the snakes consumed. Although safe within the stomach, the juices were even more caustic than their venom when the snake’s belly was ruptured. That was why they so assiduously avoided a decaying ore-adder, lest the leaking acids kill them as well.
‘We have a way to fight back,’ Magda said. She held the sword out to Bernger. ‘Put the snake back on the blade and tie it fast. We’ll give the ones in the pit something worse to worry about than those chains.’
Magda led the way across the plank. She waved the sword from side to side as she moved, spattering drops from the dead serpent down onto the heads of its fellows. Each step she took created pandemonium among the reptiles. The snakes ignored the swaying chains, instead writhing away in panic as the acid dripped down onto them.
Bernger followed Magda, plunging after her across the planks. They tipped and swayed, threatening to send the survivors tumbling at every step. Her mind afire with concentrating upon her footing and keeping the snakes distracted, Magda didn’t need the added complaint of the urge to turn back and return to the castle. Only a few feet from the other side, her foot slipped. She stared down into the crawling pit and felt death rushing up at her.
Instead she was tackled from behind and sent sprawling. The cord tied to her arm broke as it was raked across the edge of the pit. Strangely, it was the loss of Ottokar’s sword that wracked her thoughts more than the closeness of her escape.
Bernger rose from the floor, his face aglow with victory. He held his fists in the air and shouted, roaring like a bloodreaver with a mound of victims heaped beneath his boots. Magda blinked in fright at the weird analogy and the vile picture it conjured in her mind. The vivid horror of atrocity and its obscene appeal.
‘We made it!’ Bernger crowed as he reached to help Magda to her feet. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you, but we made it! We’re across!’
Magda tried to make sense of what he was saying. Was there cause to celebrate? She glanced back at the pit. Yes, it was him. He’d grabbed her when she was going to fall. Why had he done that?
Bernger turned away and hurried to the door. He was excited, but not too excited to cast aside all caution. He examined the portal carefully, studying it for any sign of more traps. ‘I can smell fresh air,’ he called out. ‘Once we have this open, we can escape the castle.’
Escape the castle? Magda shook her head. That wasn’t what she wanted. Or was it? Something inside her kept saying she had something important to do in Mhurghast. Something it would help her do.
‘Are you all right?’ Bernger asked when he looked towards Magda. ‘Did you get hurt?’
Magda wanted to shout. She wanted to warn him. She wanted to tell him to run, to throw open that door and flee. Flee for his life. Flee for his soul. She wanted to do that. But she also wanted to open his belly and watch his blood spill across the floor. She wanted to take his head and carve upon it the Skull Rune and lay it down before the Brass Throne.
There was worry and concern in Bernger’s eyes. He laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked again.
Shock filled his face as Magda drove Bernger’s own knife into his stomach. She twisted and ripped, tearing through flesh and organs. Strength such as she’d never known pulsated down her arm, into her hand, through her fingers. The knife was no longer a knife – it was sacred. An instrument of the Blood God to nurture His insatiable thirst.
There was no regret in Magda’s mind when she watched Bernger stagger away. Only numb indifference as he stumbled to the edge of the snake pit. She didn’t react when he fell in. He didn’t matter – he was nothing. He had no part in what she wanted to do. What she needed to do.
Revenge, the thing clawing at the foundations of her soul howled to her. It was slipping away even as it tried to tighten its hold. The chain was broken. It couldn’t linger. Not unless she said it could.
Revenge, the Mardagg hissed, and in its whisper it told Magda why. Why she had to go back into the castle.
Why she needed revenge.