Magda put her hand to her mouth to stifle her cry as she watched Count Wulfsige’s horrific demise.
‘The man was mad,’ Roald pronounced, breaking the momentary spell of silence. ‘His claims were mad, his schemes were mad.’ He wagged his finger at the corpse. ‘There is all the proof you need. A madman with more wealth in his coffers than wits in his head.’
Hartmann dabbed his napkin across his sweaty brow. ‘Yes… yes. The count was mad,’ the merchant hurriedly agreed. ‘His claims… completely outrageous.’
Magda turned to her parents. Inge had a strange look in her eyes, an expression she had never seen there before. Was it regret, or guilt? Surely it wasn’t shame? Beside her, Ottokar was tapping his finger against his obsidian goblet. His face had a sickly pallor, but his eyes weren’t bleary from wine. They were clear and focused… and hurt. He didn’t raise his glass. It seemed he had no taste for wine right now.
‘Call the count mad if it makes you feel better,’ Nushala said, her fine aelfen voice wafting across the table like doleful music. ‘But he was not so mad as to not know what he was speaking of. From his perspective I failed to instruct his offspring correctly. I am not so ignorant of humans that I cannot see that each of you agrees with what he said about you.’ She raised her slender hand as Roald clenched his fist. ‘Whatever your protestations, each of you feels guilty inside for what the count laid at your feet.’
Alrik’s son, Brond, kicked his chair away and glowered at the aelf. ‘And what about you, tall-ears?’ the duardin growled. ‘You admit you failed the count’s whelp?’
Nushala simply shrugged, the living gold of her gown rippling with the motion. ‘A human mind can little appreciate the nuances of instruction. They operate upon such a shallow level.’ She brushed aside her son’s hand when he tried to keep her from continuing. ‘It must be said that humans simply cannot understand anything that rejects their preconceptions. That the labour of a few decades or even a few centuries is of no consequence. Of course I feel I failed to educate the boy – how could it have been otherwise? He could barely appreciate the surface of knowledge, much less plunge into the deeps of true wisdom.’
‘Arrogant, insufferable, miserable aelves,’ Bernger said suddenly. ‘You sneer down your nose at the work of men! What great things has your kind ever accomplished? Slinking about with puffed-up airs while enjoying the protection of whoever you can exploit! You’re half witch and half daemon – it’s no wonder you would laugh at a dying man’s curse!’
‘It would be unwise for any of us to laugh at Count Wulfsige’s curse,’ Notker said. The former priest clenched the gold hammer he wore so tightly that his knuckles turned white. ‘The Mar–the daemon he named is real. It is named in the Liber Daemonium as one of the profane Blood God’s most monstrous visitations. A remorseless spectre, an elemental force of death. Not the clean death that must come to all mortals, but the unholy slaughter that rends the soul. It is not the underworlds of Nagash to which the spirits of its victims descend, but rather the endless torment of the Blood God’s obscene domain.’
Lothar rose from his seat and made a placating motion with his hands. ‘I fear you antagonise these good people to no purpose, Volkeuhn. Your knowledge of the names and character of daemons may be extensive’ – the alchemist smiled – ‘but I fear you are forgetting that in magic – even the blackest magic – there are always rules. Rituals that must be followed exactly in order for the sorcery to manifest. Count Wulfsige spoke–’
‘What does any of this matter?’ Inge cried out. She pointed to the corpse at the head of the table. ‘How can you all keep talking with that lying right beside you?’
Magda had seen her mother’s agitation swelling, her eyes darting back to the count’s body, her lips trembling with horror.
Bruno spoke up in agreement. ‘The lady’s right. Perhaps we should talk this through, but it’s obscene to do so while our late host is in our company.’
‘You there,’ Roald called out to the valets. ‘See to your master.’ When they hesitated, the baron fixed them with his most imperious glare. ‘Do as I say.’
‘You had better do as my husband requests,’ Hiltrude warned them. ‘At least, if you hope to find another position somewhere in Ravensbach.’
The threat overcame the servants’ trepidation, and the men took hold of the dead count. Magda watched in morbid fascination as they gathered up the corpse, taking pains to wrap the head in a napkin as if in fear that it might fall off. One of the valets paused beside the hideous knife. He snatched the napkin from in front of Ottokar and used it to recover the weapon. The men soon withdrew with their gruesome burden.
Nushala motioned to Lothar. ‘Before you were interrupted you had been saying something about how magic works. I should be very interested to be educated on the subject.’
Lothar gave the aelf a dark look. ‘I was simply reminding everyone of what the count claimed would happen. That the daemon he would conjure would infest our children – one by one – and that through them it would seek to murder us.’ He paused as several of his companions gasped. ‘A horrible thing to claim, but I assure you well beyond the man’s ability to make reality.’
The alchemist stopped and turned to Notker again. ‘Mind you, I am only speaking from theory rather than practice. I should hardly enjoy leaving here to find the Order of Azyr waiting at my home.’
‘Forget about witch hunters and get to the point,’ Roald snapped. Magda wasn’t taken in by the baron’s veneer of superiority and position. He seemed to be on the verge of losing all restraint and running from the room.
‘The point, Baron von Woernhoer, is that there are certain occult rituals that must be observed to make a physical host ready for a daemon.’ Lothar raised his glass. ‘Before you can pour the wine there must be a suitable vessel to receive it. There would also need to be an incantation to summon it.’
Magda’s eyes went wide at Lothar’s words. Something that had struck her as strange earlier now came back to her with monstrous implications. ‘When we were seated,’ she said. She looked at her parents. ‘Remember, when the steward showed us to our places?’
Inge’s voice was sharp with tension. ‘He simply said our names and indicated the chairs we were to take.’
‘No, that isn’t right,’ Bernger said. He looked to his father for confirmation. ‘When he showed you to your seat he said, “This is your chair.” But when myself and Magda were shown in, what he said was, “Bernger Walkenhorst, accept the place prepared for you.” Those were his exact words.’
Magda nodded. ‘That’s what he said to me. “Magda Hausler, accept the place prepared for you.” But he did not use those words when my parents were seated.’
Other affirmations came from around the table as the children of Count Wulfsige’s guests recalled the manner in which they had been seated. Roald turned and fixed the servants with a demanding look. ‘Where is that steward? I want him to account for this!’
The servants looked among themselves. Finally one of the maids stepped forwards. ‘Please, your lordship, but Herr Goswin isn’t here.’
‘Well, find the cur!’ Roald snarled. ‘I want him to explain this foolishness.’ He glared at the servants until they hurried off to find the absent major-domo.
Lothar gave Magda a patient smile. ‘You think such an innocent phrase can conjure a daemon?’ There was a cynical mockery in his tone that caused her to scowl back at him. In the best circumstances she had no tolerance for that kind of patronising smugness.
‘I should not be so quick to dismiss the possibility, alchemist,’ Nushala said, her tone as haughty as Lothar’s. ‘The ritual might have been performed before we arrived. Left incomplete. Waiting for the final… I am not sure there is an adequate concept in your philosophy, so let us say consecration. With those mundane words spoken by Goswin, whatever curse Count Wulfsige plotted may have been brought to fruition.’
Notker banged his fist against the table. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘It cannot be. Mighty Sigmar has confounded the Ruinous Powers. They cannot manifest except in flesh that has been marked for the Dark Gods.’ He shook off his son’s hand as he slammed his fist again and again on the table. ‘None here could be so abominable as to have the mark of Chaos upon them.’
Notker was in what amounted to a fit now. One hand clenched the hammer icon so tightly that blood dripped from his fist. The other continued to pound the table. Plates and bowls were jostled by the vibrations. Those in front of his son, Reiner, were upended and spilled to the floor. Hartmann’s daughter reached down to recover the fallen objects. Herlinde set the bowl on the table, but as she picked up the plate the girl screamed and threw it across the room. Shrieking, she cowered against her mother, unable to speak for the frightened sobs racking her.
Brond moved from his chair and walked over to the plate. He picked it up, and as he did his expression became dour. He hurried back to the table and seized the plate he had been supping from. Tossing the remaining food on the floor, he turned it over and stared at the underside.
‘What is it?’ Alrik asked. Magda wasn’t certain, but she thought she could see anxiety in the duardin’s eyes.
The younger duardin didn’t answer. He simply turned both plates over and showed their undersides to the rest of the guests. Drawn upon the bottom of both plates was a grisly sigil.
‘Sigmar preserve us!’ Sigune Senf cried, and held her daughter close.
‘The Skull Rune of Khorne,’ Nushala gasped, her shock such that the aelf forgot her lofty arrogance.
‘The mark is not upon the flesh,’ Lothar proclaimed. ‘It has been taken into the flesh! Whatever was set upon the plates was consecrated to the Blood God, and by eating it, by consuming the food, the mark was drawn into…’ He swung around and turned over his own plate. A sigh of relief rose from the alchemist when he found that there was no mark.
All around the table, others were upending their settings, checking their plates, bowls, cups, even cutlery for the gruesome symbol. It soon became clear that only the plates had been touched. And only certain plates.
Magda sat shivering as she gazed upon the grotesque rune drawn upon hers in blood. She looked across the table and saw Bernger gazing at his own plate in a kind of numb horror.
‘All of the children,’ Hartmann stated. ‘He marked only the children’s plates, and the steward only recited those words when he seated the children.’
Nushala turned to her son. ‘Did you eat anything?’ Abarahm dipped his head in reluctant acknowledgement.
The question, however, provoked an immediate reaction from Roald. Lunging from his chair, he seized his daughter by the shoulders. ‘You didn’t eat anything,’ he said. ‘Tell me you didn’t eat anything, Liebgarde!’
Hiltrude stood up and cracked her hand across Roald’s face. He rubbed at his cheek while she knelt beside their daughter. ‘It is no good pretending. All of us are at the same risk. All of our children ate from their own plates.’
‘The daemon will come,’ Notker groaned. There were tears in his eyes as he looked at Reiner. ‘It will do what Count Wulfsige called it to do. It will kill all of us through our own children!’
Magda was surprised when her father suddenly stood up. Ottokar gave her a sad, wistful smile, then turned and spoke to the others at the table. ‘May I ask one thing? If we accept that there’s some murdering daemon coming to possess our children, then why by all the underworlds are we just sitting around waiting for it?’
Lothar seized on the idea. ‘To call a powerful daemon requires everything to be exact. That includes the place in which it is expected to manifest.’
‘Mhurghast was once used by the barbarians as a citadel,’ Bruno said. ‘Even now it has a sinister quality to it. Surely all of you have felt it.’
‘A residual taint,’ Nushala said. ‘A trace of Chaos that has seeped into the very walls. The least echo, biding its time to be awakened again.’ The aelf shook her head. ‘Yes, such a place would ease the passage of a daemon.’
‘Then if we are in agreement on that question,’ Hiltrude said, ‘let’s stop wasting time and get out of here!’
Of everyone who had spoken, Magda thought the baroness made the most sense.
Bernger was close behind his father as they left the dining hall. Hiltrude’s suggestion had been taken with nary a protest. Indeed, the only voices that had been raised in objection had been those of the duardin and Bruno Walkenhorst. Bernger had little experience with the Ironweld, as it was generally considered a bad idea to steal from the stocky duardin. As famous as they were for the quality and craftsmanship of their wares, they were equally infamous for the excessive vindictive streak that seemed ingrained in every one of them. Slight a duardin and they would bear that grudge against your grandchildren’s grandchildren. Alrik and his son wanting to stay and somehow make a stand struck Bernger as sheer obstinacy more than anything else.
Why Bruno wanted to remain was more of a puzzle. But then Bernger had learned things tonight that he had never known about his father. It was clear that Count Wulfsige’s accusations about Bruno and Inge were closer to the mark than not. He wanted to ask him about his version of what had happened, whether he had truly betrayed Hagen or if that part of it was merely the count’s bitter interpretation. It would be an impolitic subject to broach, but Bernger needed to know. He needed to understand the specifics of whatever had happened between Bruno and Magda’s mother.
‘Thunder and hammer!’ Roald cursed as he led the group away from the dining hall. ‘Where are those damn servants?’
‘Looking for Goswin, your lordship,’ Lothar reminded him. ‘Don’t you remember sending them all away?’
Roald turned his scowl from the five corridors that led up to the dining hall and fixed the angry look at Lothar’s sardonic face. ‘One of the swine could have had sense enough to stay behind.’
Bernger frowned at the nest of hallways. ‘Does anyone remember which corridor we came down?’
‘This one,’ Roald declared, and started for the centremost hallway. Like the others, it was dimly illuminated by a few sputtering candles. There was no trace of the bright displays that had served to guide them before.
The two aelves headed for the inner-left passage, their raiment of living gold writhing about their tall, lean frames. ‘It is this one,’ Nushala said.
Hartmann barked with scornful laughter. ‘We’re just going to follow an aelf on her say-so? They’re probably in league with the daemon. Leading us to it so they can bargain with it and save their own lives.’
Several of the others took up the merchant’s track, casting their own aspersions on the trustworthiness of aelves. Magda wasn’t one of them. ‘You’ve nothing to justify such claims, Herr Senf,’ she said. ‘Only rumour and superstition.’
‘The lass is right,’ grumbled Alrik, his face looking as though he’d swallowed something repugnant. ‘You can call an aelf a flouncy fop without the mettle for honest work, but you can’t question that snare-trap memory they have. If an aelf tells you it was rainin’ at a specific hour four years ago, then you can bet it was rainin’. If she says this is the way, this is the way.’
Nushala gave the entire group an indifferent stare. ‘Follow me or don’t. If you want to get lost in here, it is no difference to me.’ With her son following in her wake, she started off down the left hallway.
‘Well, that convinces me,’ Ottokar declared. He took hold of Magda’s hand and led her after the aelves. Inge was close behind them, asking the swordsmith if he was sure but receiving no answer.
Bernger looked at his father. ‘Let’s follow them,’ he said. ‘If anything’s wrong, they’ll need help.’
Bruno gave Bernger a wry look, but finally nodded. His hand fell to the sabre he wore, another relic from his days as a Freeguild captain. ‘I’ve heard it said it takes a blade of cold iron to hurt an aelf. If those two are up to anything, we’ll put that to the test.’
Bernger and his father set off, joined by the duardin. Soon the rest of the guests were following down the hall. Bernger could hear Roald complaining that they were going the wrong way, but the baron’s objections weren’t enough to keep him from following them.
Bernger quickened his step and hurried to join the Hauslers. Inge gave a start when he caught up to them, her mind clearly on other things. Ottokar nodded by way of greeting. Bernger felt a warmth flash through him when Magda turned and smiled at him. ‘Father and I were concerned. If Nushala is planning any–’
‘They say an aelf can hear an ant crawling up a leaf from a mile away,’ Ottokar said. ‘You may want to be a bit more guarded with whatever you wanted to say.’
Embarrassment coloured Bernger’s cheeks. ‘I just wanted to say, whatever happens, my father and I will help.’ He glanced at the sword hanging from Ottokar’s right hip. ‘I can use a blade.’
‘So can my father,’ Magda said, anger tingeing her words. ‘For that matter, so can I.’
‘A graceless conceit for a young lady,’ Inge said. Her anxious gaze swept the stark iron walls around them and the grim portraits of old von Koeterbergs glaring down at them. ‘Though right now I begin to think…’ She smiled awkwardly at Magda and then quickly looked to Ottokar. ‘Don’t be foolish. Give your sword to this young man. He has two good arms to use it.’
Bernger did not think he’d ever seen someone’s expression descend into complete fury as quickly as Magda’s did when she heard Inge’s words. Such was her rage that she couldn’t speak, only stare in mute abhorrence.
Ottokar simply shrugged, a peculiar motion since it failed to so much as shake his right arm. ‘I’ll trust no hand but my own to guard my daughter,’ he said. His eyes strayed over to Bernger. ‘I thank you and Bruno for all the help you care to give, but while I can still draw and slash, I’m keeping my sword.’
Bernger was struck by the intensity of the swordsmith’s voice. The sot who had staggered around in the courtyard was gone, only some faint echoes of his presence lingering on in the corners of Ottokar’s eyes. ‘I’ll support you in whatever way I can.’
‘Don’t be stubborn!’ Inge argued. ‘You aren’t the brash duellist any more. The boy can do more with that sword than you can.’
The anger that had been boiling inside Magda burst forth. ‘Maybe, mother, if you had a loyal thought in that strumpet brain you would appreciate father! Hagen, Bruno – how many other men have you enjoyed? That cogsmith didn’t bring a wife with him!’
‘Don’t speak to your mother that way,’ Ottokar snapped. He waved his hand at the next turn in the hall, where a flash of gold was just disappearing around the corner. ‘If we keep bickering, we’ll lose sight of the aelves.’
The little group continued on in silence. Bernger could feel the anger rolling off Magda and Inge. The daughter kept directing black looks at her mother. The few glances she turned his way were little better. Resentment over whatever past association Bruno had with Inge, he decided. He wondered how long that relationship had gone on. Was it after her marriage to Ottokar?
Bernger looked back and waved to his father. He gestured to indicate the corner they were turning. Bruno acknowledged the direction and said something to the duardin. Farther back, the rest of the guests advanced in a bunched crowd. Bernger strained, but he couldn’t hear Roald grousing over his injured pride. Perhaps the baroness had finally told him to shut up.
Turning the corner, Bernger was surprised to find that Ottokar had drifted back, waiting for him. There was a grave look in his eyes as he regarded him. ‘If anything happens, promise me you’ll get them out,’ he whispered, jerking his chin at Magda and Inge. The two women were about ten feet ahead of them, hurriedly pursuing the aelves.
‘I will,’ Bernger said, the words coming before he really gave thought to what they might entail. ‘I’ll get them out.’
Ottokar slowly followed his family. ‘Promise me you’ll keep Magda from… If I can’t go with her, you have to make her accept that.’ A strange, sad smile appeared on his face. ‘She’s always been headstrong. Takes after me in all the wrong ways.’
‘I’ll get her out,’ Bernger assured him. His eyes drifted to the swordsmith’s silver arm. A horrible thought came to him. It was spoken before he could restrain himself. ‘Your arm. Did you lose it in a duel with my father?’
Ottokar slapped his false arm, the hollow ring of the silver shell echoing down the hall. Magda and Inge looked back, worry in their gaze. ‘This? This was much later. And it wasn’t your father who was responsible. Bruno Walkenhorst was a fearsome swordsman, but if we’d ever crossed blades you might not be here today. No, this wound came from someone else. Someone who didn’t scruple about cheating.’ He gave Bernger a reassuring pat on the shoulder. ‘Bruno was never the sort of man who could beat me, and he wouldn’t cheat in a fight. The man who did this did it for money. He’s dead now, and the man who hired him lost interest soon after.’
‘What was at issue?’ Bernger asked.
‘I’ve told you what I’ve told you to allay worries about your father’s integrity,’ Ottokar said. ‘The rest doesn’t concern you.’ He strode forwards to join the women. ‘Hang back a bit so the others don’t get lost, but see that you keep us in sight as well.’
They turned down two more side passages before again reaching the main hallway. Bernger could see the aelves ahead of them. Nushala was speaking with a group of twenty or so servants who were clustered in the middle of the hall. Beyond them, just visible at the end of the corridor, was a bright glow. For a moment he was confused. It should be early evening. There couldn’t be any sunlight in the courtyard. Then his ears caught the faintest trace of sound. It was the low murmur of many voices.
Abarahm turned when Bernger and the Hauslers approached. It was difficult to read the aelf’s face, but it seemed to him there was a certain grimness in his visage. ‘The count’s servants tried to leave the castle. They were stopped.’
‘You stopped them?’ Magda asked.
The aelf took a moment to answer her. ‘No. My mother and I came afterwards.’ He gestured to where Nushala crouched over the prostrate figure of a coachman. The man’s cream-coloured vest was stained crimson by the oozing wound in the middle of his chest.
‘Bullet,’ Ottokar said. ‘Who shot him?’
One of the maids shook a trembling hand at the end of the corridor. ‘They did. The men from Ravensbach.’
‘They said no one could leave the castle,’ elaborated a cook. ‘They said they’d kill anyone who tried.’
‘They won’t keep us here,’ Ottokar snarled. His left hand curled around the grip of his sword. Inge grabbed him, pinning his arm between their bodies.
‘Don’t be a fool!’ she cried. ‘Wasn’t it enough to be shot once?’
The remark brought a flash of pain to Ottokar’s expression, but also dulled the reckless heroism of a moment before. He pressed his lips to Inge’s. ‘If I thought I could buy you time to get away, I’d do it gladly,’ he said.
‘We wouldn’t leave you,’ Magda insisted. She gave Inge an imploring look. ‘Tell him we wouldn’t leave him.’ When her mother remained silent, she pushed her away and gripped her father’s arm. ‘We wouldn’t leave you,’ she vowed.
Ottokar raised his hand to his daughter’s head, running his fingers through her hair.
Bernger looked back at the coachman. ‘Can you do anything for him?’ he asked Nushala.
The aelf gave him a curious look. A chill rippled through Bernger. Until he’d said something, had it not occurred to her to try and aid the man? Nushala’s long fingers pulled back the bloodied garment and exposed the ugly wound.
‘You’d be wastin’ your time,’ Alrik grumbled gruffly. The cogsmith had reached the cluster of servants and was now standing over the coachman. ‘I know you tall-ears have enough time to waste it, but some of us don’t.’ The duardin pointed at the bits of tissue that peppered the man’s vest. ‘Bullet smacked right through a lung. He must’ve been hit from up-close.’
‘Otto was shot by one of the Freeguild,’ a valet stated. ‘Couldn’t have been more than six paces between them when he fired.’
‘Freeguild?’ Bruno asked as he joined them. The other duardin stepped in to join Alrik.
‘The castle’s been sealed off,’ Bernger reported, waving at the servants. ‘Men from Ravensbach are in the courtyard and have threatened to kill anyone who tries to leave.’
‘Audacious,’ Nushala proclaimed as she rose to her feet. ‘I should like to see them try.’ She turned, looking as though she might march straight to the courtyard. Abarahm laid his hand on her shoulder, holding her back while the two conversed in their lilting language.
Inge walked over to the aelves. ‘It might be best to wait for Baron von Woernhoer. He’s a man of importance in Ravensbach. Surely these men in the courtyard will listen to his authority.’
Nushala turned a withering look on Inge, but there was gratitude in Abarahm’s eyes. ‘Let the stupid little man have his moment of importance,’ Nushala said.
‘What about the coachman?’ Bernger asked. ‘Maybe the alchemist could…’
Alrik shook his head. ‘Lad, unless Lothar is also a necromancer, there’s nothin’ he can do now. The man’s dead.’
Some of the maids began to cry as the cogsmith made his pronouncement. A butler stepped forwards to drape his coat over the corpse.
The remainder of the dinner guests came marching towards the macabre scene. ‘What happened to him?’ Hartmann asked, his voice becoming shrill as he noted the blood on the floor beside the body.
‘Damnation take the wretch!’ Roald exclaimed. The baron glared at the surviving peasants. ‘Where is Goswin? Have you found the scoundrel?’
Magda stalked over to Roald. ‘We have bigger problems, your lordship,’ she said, twisting the address so it sounded almost profane. ‘Soldiers, men from Ravensbach, have assembled in the courtyard. They aren’t letting anyone leave the castle.’ She pointed at the dead coachman. ‘They’ll kill anyone who tries.’
‘Oh they will, will they?’ Roald sneered, his face contorted with contempt. ‘We will just see about that.’ He stormed down the hallway towards the brightly lit courtyard. The other guests and some of the servants followed after him.
‘It’s just possible the pompous nob will make them back down,’ Bernger said to Magda.
She looked over at Hiltrude and Liebgarde. ‘Maybe he’ll get his family out,’ Magda said. ‘But he couldn’t care less about what happens to the rest of us.’
There was too much truth in Magda’s observation for Bernger to argue with her. The flicker of hope that had been there only a moment before evaporated.
As the procession neared the end of the corridor, a harsh voice shouted above the general murmur. ‘You there! That is far enough! No one’s leaving Mhurghast!’
Roald stiffened at the challenge. ‘You dare address me in that tone, dog! I am Baron Roald von Woernhoer!’ His head back, his shoulders set, he brazenly marched towards the entrance.
Bernger braced himself for the crack of a gun. Instead there was the sharp hiss of a bow loosing an arrow.
Roald cried out as a feathered shaft struck his hand, piercing it just behind his thumb. The arrowhead emerged from his palm, blood spraying from the wound. The baron staggered back and waved his other hand in submission. ‘I’m going back! I’m going back!’ he cried.
‘So much for the privileges of rank,’ Lothar remarked as the injured Roald retreated towards them.
‘Fanatics!’ Roald cursed. He held his injured hand so Hiltrude could see it. ‘When we leave here I will have every one of them strung up by their thumbs and fed to the carrion crows!’
Hiltrude gave the injury a brief glance. ‘Is there someone who could do something about this? I don’t want my husband dripping all over my dress.’
‘The aelf tried to help Otto,’ one of the valets suggested, clearly remembering things differently than Bernger did.
Mention of Nushala had Bernger looking around for her. He cried out in alarm when he finally saw her. While everyone else was looking at Roald, she had started down the corridor towards the courtyard. His cry made no difference to Nushala, but it did draw her son’s notice.
‘Mother!’ Abarahm shouted. ‘Come back! They will shoot you!’
Nushala kept advancing, her gown of living gold rippling about her slender body. ‘Preposterous,’ she said. ‘They would not dare.’
Bernger grabbed hold of Abarahm before he could race after his mother. He swung around and tried to wrench free of Bernger’s grip. There was a steely strength in the aelf’s slim arm that surprised Bernger. He surprised the aelf when his fist smacked Abarahm’s chin and dropped him senseless to the floor.
‘By Grungni’s Beard,’ Alrik growled. ‘Tall-ears is goin’ to pull it off.’
Bernger and the others watched as Nushala marched past the spot where Roald had been shot. As she advanced, the dazzling glow of torches retreated ahead of her. He could now see something of the nature of the men in the courtyard. The uniforms of Freeguild soldiers, the habits of Sigmarite monks, the coarse tunics of labourers and the colourful doublets of burghers. All of the men gave ground before the stern aelf, their faces drawn with superstitious dread. Pistols and crossbows were lowered as the mob backed away.
Then, from behind the mob a strident voice called out, ‘Hold your ground! Do not retreat before evil!’ The speaker pushed his way to the fore of the crowd. He was arrayed in white robes edged in gold, and upon his head was a silver mitre with a badge displaying the twin-tailed comet. In one hand he held a massive warhammer, in the other a ponderous tome. He raised both into the air as he addressed the faltering mob.
‘Are your convictions so feeble that you balk at what must be done!’ the warrior priest shouted. ‘Do you fear an aelf’s curse more than the threat that now hangs over all of Ravensbach? Would you let the daemon slip free to slaughter your families in their beds?’ He swung the hammer around and pointed it at the castle. ‘Withdraw into Mhurghast. The taint of evil is upon the place, and we will allow none touched by it to leave!’
Nushala stopped just outside the entry. ‘The evil conjurations of madmen are of no concern to aelves, Grand Lector Sieghard. There is no taint of sorcery upon either myself or my son.’ She took another step towards the crowd. ‘Each of us has dwelt in your holy city of Azyrheim. Are you so audacious as to suggest any corruption could strike us low?’
The words made an impact on the crowd. Uncertainty rippled through them. Only Sieghard was unfazed. The warrior priest stood his ground.
‘If what you say is true, withdraw into the castle,’ Sieghard declared. ‘No harm can befall you there if you are immune to the kiss of Chaos and the claws of the daemon. The acolytes of the temple are scouring the records for a rite of exorcism that can break this foul enchantment. Abide within the castle until we can be certain–’
Nushala glared at Sieghard. ‘Impertinence,’ she snapped. ‘You would dare try to restrain me?’ She started towards the warrior priest and a shot suddenly rang out. The aelf stumbled back as a bullet slammed into her chest. Then a second bullet struck her. And a third. By the time her body wilted to the ground, she had been hit five times. As life ebbed from her, a soldier with a pike came forwards and rolled her back into the castle.
‘No one will leave Mhurghast,’ Sieghard vowed. ‘We have been warned! We have been told of the abominable horror that walks within those halls! It will not break free. It will not threaten Ravensbach.’
Bernger looked at Magda. ‘Warned? Who could’ve warned them?’
A moment later Bernger had his answer. Two monks emerged from the crowd, each holding the end of a rope. They were connected to a collar locked around the neck of a third man. Bernger recognised him as the count’s major-domo. The monks drew close to the entrance and jerked the ropes. Goswin was sent stumbling forwards. As he moved past them, the monks released their ropes and let the man fall prone across Nushala’s body.
‘All who have been exposed to this evil must be cleansed,’ Sieghard pronounced. ‘Not a trace of this corruption can be allowed to escape.’
Goswin scrambled away from the entrance and fled down the corridor while shots rang out behind him. As he reached the guests, Bruno caught hold of the errant major-domo.
‘So that’s what happened to you,’ Bruno snarled. ‘Went slinking off to tell Grand Lector Sieghard what your master was plotting?’
‘No, I only tried to get away,’ Goswin protested. He clutched at his shoulder, where one of the bullets had struck him.
Roald fixed the major-domo with a murderous stare. ‘I’ll get the truth out of you if I have to peel every inch of skin from your hide. You’ll tell us all about the count’s plot against us!’
Thilo Krebs and Reiner helped Bruno drag Goswin away. Roald nodded to Lothar. ‘You’re the nearest thing to a healer we have. Come along and see that the cur doesn’t die before I find out what I want to know.’
As the guests and servants began to file back down the corridor, Bernger looked for someone to help him carry the stunned Abarahm. It was then that he noticed Magda creeping towards the courtyard. He hurried after her.
‘What’re you doing?’ Bernger demanded.
Magda twisted from his grip. She didn’t try to move any closer, but she did shout to the men in the courtyard. ‘Please! Someone! Someone who can hear me! Find Klueger. Tell him that Magda Hausler is in here. Magda Hausler! Klueger!’
The only answer to her shouts was the indistinct murmur of the crowd. Bernger coaxed her back down the corridor. ‘They won’t listen,’ he said. ‘They won’t help. If Sieghard can figure out a way, they’d rather burn down Mhurghast and everyone in it.’
‘Klueger can help,’ Magda said, her voice low, as though she were afraid to hear the desperation bound to her words. ‘If only they would get word to him, Klueger could help.’
Bernger eased Magda back down the hallway. She helped him pick up Abarahm when they reached the unconscious aelf. ‘Who is Klueger?’ he asked as they started after the others. ‘How can he help?’
Magda only answered the first question. Perhaps even she was afraid to answer the second.
‘Klueger is a member of the Order of Azyr,’ she said. ‘A witch hunter.’