It was Sigune’s suggestion that brought Magda’s group to Mhurghast’s chapel. Tall and narrow, if anything the place had an even gloomier atmosphere than the rest of the castle. Dust caked the altar and covered the marble hammer that was bolted to the wall. Silvery cobwebs stretched across the beams overhead, fitfully reflecting the light from the gilded braziers Inge and Sigune ignited. The dried wood gave off a musty smell as it burned, somehow making the dereliction of the place even more pronounced.
Magda prowled between the decrepit pews. They were carved from a silvery sort of wood that she had never seen before, with intricate engravings that depicted the great constellations and the twin-tailed Comet of Sigmar. The legs of each bench were rendered into the clawed foot of Dracothion, and at each end of the pews was a carved support representing the winged dragon. Soft, velvet-covered padding stretched across the seats, and when she set her hand against them she could feel the richness of the material even under the patina of grime.
Windows opened out from either side of the altar, massive arches filled with panels of stained glass. The left side depicted gold-armoured Stormcasts descending upon Chamon in a blast of lightning. A few skin-clad tribesmen were in the foreground as they cautiously approached the mighty knights. The right window showed one of the tribesmen standing with the Stormcasts and pointing at a dark castle atop a craggy hill. Magda recognised the fortress as Mhurghast and reasoned that the tribesman must be the scion of the von Koeterbergs who had aided the holy warriors in seizing the castle from the barbarians that held it. She was impressed by the attentive workmanship, the adoration of the artist evident in each line and figure. The effect was inspiring even in darkness. She could only imagine how much more magnificent it must be with daylight streaming through it.
‘This is certainly the best place to be,’ Hartmann was telling his son and daughter. ‘Your mother is quite right. A daemon wouldn’t dare enter a place sanctified to the God-King.’ The merchant and his children sat in one of the pews, poised so that they could see out through the iron gate that opened into the chapel. The younger Senfs appeared unconvinced by their father’s assurances. From his nervousness and the way he was sweating, Hartmann did not seem especially convinced either. It would appear Sigune had all the faith in their household.
Magda watched Sigune for a moment as she walked through the chapel, lighting the braziers. She had a strange sort of confidence in her expression, given the circumstances. Frequently she would pause to look up at the altar and the hammer suspended above it. It was easy enough to guess the source of her strength. Faith in Sigmar’s power, the conviction that all things happened in accordance with the God-King’s design.
That kind of faith was something Magda had never known. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in Sigmar’s power or that she failed to venerate Him. It was simply an appreciation of the cold fact that Sigmar didn’t rule alone. There were other gods, some of them dire and baleful. They too had their domains and their influence upon the lives of mortals. How far the protection of one god could extend into the dominion of another was a puzzle scholars and priests tirelessly debated without reaching a consensus. If such learned people couldn’t resolve such a question, who was Magda to believe she had the answers?
Often she had met Klueger in temples and shrines devoted to Sigmar. This chapel felt different. Certainly all the expected holy designs were here, the images of the Hammer and the Comet, the sacred appeals to Sigmar carved in stone above the nave. But there was something absent, something that wasn’t seen but rather felt. A feeling of welcome and protection that simply wasn’t here.
Magda shuddered when she considered that absence. Was it something about this place, or was it something else? Something inside her. She had eaten the profaned food and thereby drawn into herself the mark of Khorne. Did that mean she was now corrupt? Irrevocably damned? Did the chapel feel different to her because she had fallen outside Sigmar’s domain? She wished Klueger were here. He would know the answers.
A feeling of horror coursed through Magda. Klueger would know, but what would he know? What if the answer was indeed that she was irrevocably damned! Doomed to be consumed by Chaos, to fall into the infernal grasp of Khorne. What would Klueger do then? She had often heard him describe the severity of his vocation, the harsh lengths to which the Order of Azyr had to go to protect people from the Dark Gods. The witch hunters could permit no trace of corruption to escape. Perhaps that now meant Magda. Suddenly she hoped nobody got word to Klueger. It was terrible enough to think about the daemon, but it was even worse to think Klueger might be the one who had to kill her.
Magda moved across the chapel to join Inge. She needed someone to talk to, to get her mind away from the grim fears she had started to dwell on. Her father had gone to the parlour to bring Saskia and Abarahm back to the chapel. She would have preferred to talk to him. Inge was less than sympathetic to her relationship with Klueger. Before, Magda had always imagined Inge’s reservations to be a reflection of her own unrealised social ambitions. Now she wasn’t so sure. She’d had to rethink several of her preconceptions about her parents this night. Maybe her mother’s reservations had more to do with Klueger’s being a witch hunter, a man to be feared as well as respected. A man who would suffer no evil, even for the sake of those who loved him.
Inge had left the last two braziers on the right side of the chapel unlit. When Magda walked over to her, she was kneeling beside a marble sarcophagus. The cover was sculpted into the life-size image of a young man with his hands crossed over his chest. The face was quite vividly depicted and the resemblance to Count Wulfsige left Magda in no doubt whose remains were within.
‘I always suspected,’ Inge said when she sensed her daughter standing behind her. ‘I never bothered to find out for sure. Perhaps I was afraid to.’
Magda took Inge’s hand in her own. ‘Would it have changed anything? What good would it have done to know how Hagen died?’
Inge set her other hand on the cold stone. ‘Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.’ She turned and looked at the carved face. ‘That was how he looked before… before the decline. Strong but sensitive, always with a kind of hidden smile he’d try to restrain until he had no choice but to release it in an absurd grin. He was so vibrant, so determined. He had to succeed on his own, you see. He was too proud of his heritage to merely accept a legacy. He felt compelled to build his own.
‘Do you know he refused a commission in the Freeguild? As the count’s son he had no business marching with the rank and file. But he did. That was the kind of man he was.’ A sad smile pulled at Inge’s face. ‘I think that was why he was so set on having me. Not some lady from the noble houses, coaxed and groomed by the count’s influence. He wanted someone he felt he had earned on his own, had won through his own work. That was the big contention between Hagen and the count. It was what caused Hagen to push too hard, to reach too fast. He had to prove himself.’
Magda knelt beside Inge. ‘That was his choice. It wasn’t your fault.’
‘It was, you know,’ Inge said. ‘It all started with me, and it all ended with me too. The deeper Hagen sank, the less love I had for him. The less he had for me, too, I think. By the end I believe I was nothing to him but a trophy, something to show the count and justify himself.’ She stood and looked down at the stone face. ‘Somewhere along the way, Hagen forgot his pride and his integrity. All that mattered was to win. To be right. When he couldn’t have me, he couldn’t have his victory, couldn’t show the count that he was his own man. Rather than live with that, Hagen chose to die.’
‘Hagen made that choice,’ Magda said, standing to face her mother. ‘Nobody could make it for him. The man you describe, the man you loved, wasn’t the same man you left. You know that.’
Inge drew Magda close to her. ‘What I know is that this terrible thing threatens us because of what I did. If I’d only–’
‘If you’d done anything different, I wouldn’t be here anyway,’ Magda said, cutting her off. ‘You wouldn’t have married father and I wouldn’t have been born.’ She turned her mother around and nodded towards Hartmann. ‘Even the count knew you weren’t entirely to blame. That’s why he spread his vengeance among all these people.’
Hartmann suddenly got to his feet. He scrambled back, leaving his children in the pew. The merchant cast his frightened gaze around the chapel until he spotted Magda. He knew she was the only real fighter in their little group. ‘I hear someone outside in the hallway,’ he said as he continued to retreat deeper into the room. ‘They sound like they’re coming this way.’
Magda shook her head at the merchant’s unreasoning fright. ‘If you hear more than one person, then it can’t be the…’ She hesitated, unwilling to name the thing they all feared. ‘It can’t be Reiner.’
‘Maybe… maybe the daemon found friends,’ Hartmann suggested as he climbed the few steps up to the altar. He gave Sigune a panicked look. ‘You don’t know. It might have friends.’
Magda walked towards the gate, her mother following close behind her with the spear. The Senf children joined Hartmann up at the altar while Sigune dashed across the chapel to light the last braziers.
As ridiculous as Hartmann’s idea about the daemon bringing friends was, Magda felt uneasy when she heard lowered voices approaching the chapel. It was only when she recognised Roald’s acid tones that she started to relax. A moment later she heard Ottokar respond to him, and the last of her concern dripped away.
‘It’s father,’ Magda told the others. ‘He’s coming back.’ Inge set down the spear and helped her move the pew they’d dragged over to block the gate. Once it was aside, they pulled the iron bars inwards and opened a path for Ottokar and the others.
The swordsmith had done more than simply collect Saskia and the aelf. He also had Roald’s group with him. At least, that was Magda’s initial impression, but as they filed into the chapel, she noticed that the servants who’d been with Roald were gone. Then she realised that Bernger was also missing.
Roald stopped just inside the gateway and quickly scrutinised the chapel. ‘I approve,’ he said. ‘This sanctuary should be the best place in the castle to guard ourselves against a daemon.’
‘Then you didn’t find Reiner either?’ Inge asked.
‘Those treacherous servants deserted us the same as they did you,’ Roald declared. ‘Rather than stumble about in the dark, we thought it prudent to return to the parlour. We were just in time to join Ottokar to come over here.’
‘What about the duardin and Lothar?’ Magda looked over at Bruno. ‘And where is Bernger?’
Bruno shook his head. ‘We saw no sign of Alrik and his group. Even if the servants with him disappear, they still have Notker to guide them.’ His expression became grave. ‘As for Bernger, we split up to try and catch Goswin and the valets when they ran off. I didn’t catch anyone. Maybe he did.’
Roald stiffened at Bruno’s tone. ‘You have no idea where Bernger went. It would be idiocy to go prowling the castle looking for him. The smart thing to do is stay here. There is always strength in numbers.’
Magda felt her blood boil at Roald’s sneering tone. ‘If it was your daughter missing, would you stay here?’
Hiltrude smiled as she led Liebgarde past Roald and towards one of the pews. ‘He would not be so callous as to sit back and do nothing. Oh, he would not go himself, you understand, but he would send somebody to search.’
‘We can defend ourselves better if we have more capable swordsmen here,’ Roald stated as he scowled at Hiltrude.
Magda nodded to the baron. ‘Then you won’t miss me. I’ll go and find Bernger.’
Ottokar stepped between Magda and the hall, while Inge moved over to her side. ‘The baron might not miss you, but we would,’ her father said. ‘You aren’t going.’
Magda started to protest, but Bruno was making his own case to Roald.
‘You’ve just explained why someone has to go,’ Bruno said. ‘Since we didn’t find the… Reiner, our chances are better if we keep together. I’ll find Bernger and Alrik’s group and bring them back here.’
Hartmann came running over from the altar. ‘Not Notker!’ he told Bruno. ‘You won’t bring him here! He’s the one the daemon will be looking for!’
Magda rounded on the merchant. ‘He has just as much a right to survive as you do.’
‘Besides,’ Bruno added. ‘The man was a priest. He might have some idea about how to fend off this thing. Certainly he’d know how best to protect ourselves in this sanctuary.’
‘Just go and find them,’ Roald said. ‘Since you are so intent, get it over with.’ The baron’s hard gaze swept across the other guests. ‘But this is it. We won’t send anyone to look for you if you do not come back.’
Bruno nodded in agreement and started for the gate. Before he left, he smiled at Magda. ‘Thank you for volunteering, but I have to do this. Bernger’s my son.’
‘I understand,’ Magda replied. ‘Sigmar watch over you,’ she added as Bruno headed off down the hallway. Ottokar closed the gate behind him while Hartmann and his son, Heimo, dragged the pew back over to block the entrance.
Magda turned and looked back at the altar and the golden hammer behind it. ‘Sigmar watch over all of us,’ she prayed.
Even in this holy place, the words felt hollow.
The dark halls of Mhurghast felt more desolate than ever when Bernger returned from the dungeons and their grisly traps. Just knowing the murderous devices were down there was like a black stain in his mind. The carnage they’d wrought on the servants was something that gnawed at him, a horror that shivered in his very soul. He wondered what had befallen Goswin, whether the major-domo’s death had been quick or slow. It was hard to dredge up any sympathy for the man, but even so his final scream continued to haunt Bernger.
The castle’s corridors were utterly silent as Bernger stole through them. There was something bitterly ironic about the dark quiet. When he was prowling through the homes and businesses of Ravensbach, such conditions would have been cheered by him and his fellow thieves. Now he felt as he imagined the victims of his intrusions must have felt. He appreciated the unknown menace that lay behind the lurking dark and the ponderous silence.
Somewhere, waiting in the dark, perhaps just around the next bend, was Reiner. Or at least the thing that had been Reiner. Bernger wondered what would happen if he were to stumble upon the daemon now, alone. Even if the monster’s prey was supposed to be Notker, he doubted it would be so discreet as to restrict itself to a single victim.
Bernger raised his mace as he stepped around a corner. There was a dark shape there, poised against the wall. He swung the heavy bludgeon at it, striking for its head. He felt a ringing impact as he smashed the thing. A loud clatter echoed down the hall as the suit of armour fell to the floor and some of its components went spinning free from the armature that held it together.
Bernger sighed as he stepped over the wreckage. Not for the first time he remonstrated with himself for getting turned around and losing track of the candles the servants had left. Now he was simply stumbling around in the dark, trying to at least find some part of the castle that he recognised.
He’d walked only a few yards from the armour when he thought he saw a light at the far end of the corridor. It was gone so quickly that he wondered if he’d seen it at all. His first thought was Reiner, but if the daemon was fully in control of him now, would it even need a light to guide it through the castle? Then Bernger wondered if it could be one of the servants, someone who’d got lost on their way to the trophy room. If so, then they had no idea what was waiting for them in the dungeons.
Bernger quickened his pace and jogged down the corridor towards where he’d seen the light. He rejected the impulse to call out. Even if whoever had the light was friendly, there was no knowing what else might be listening.
Halfway down the corridor, Bernger became aware of movement in the dark ahead of him. It was crouched low, but moving at a good pace. More than that he couldn’t see, but it was enough to bring him up short and have him make ready with the mace.
‘None of that, lad,’ a gruff whisper sliced through the silence. The voice came from ahead, where he’d spotted movement.
‘Alrik?’ Bernger whispered back.
A low laugh replied. ‘Close. I’m Brond Alriksson.’ Another grunt of amusement. ‘I keep forgettin’ you manlings are as blind as burrow-worms in the dark.’
Bernger knew from experience how sharp a duardin’s eyes were. Some of them made a good living as night guards for Ravensbach’s nobles.
‘Are you alone?’ he asked.
‘No. My father’s back down there with the alchemist and the rest,’ Brond said. ‘Your father’s with them. He persuaded us to go looking for you. We’d already been this way though. Would have passed you by if you didn’t knock something over.’
‘A suit of armour. In the dark I thought it was Reiner.’
‘I’m not too proud to say we’d the same idea when we heard the racket. My father blew out the light and I came down here to see what was what.’ Brond muttered a duardin oath. ‘Suits me that it is you and not Reiner.’
‘You haven’t seen him? Is Notker still with you?’
‘Aye, but those cussed servants lit out. Your father tells us the ones with the other groups also took off. Thinks they knew some secret way out of the castle.’
Bernger’s blood felt cold when he answered Brond. ‘They thought so,’ he said, then went on to describe what he’d seen in the dungeon.
Silence ensued. For some reason, it seemed some sort of tension had imposed itself between Bernger and Brond. Finally the duardin spoke. ‘I’d better lead you to the others. Your father will be happy to see you. Keep your hand on my shoulder until we get there.’
The duardin’s rough hand closed on Bernger’s and guided his fingers to Brond’s shoulder. Bernger had to stoop somewhat as he followed him down the hall, but he was impressed by how quickly the duardin navigated in the dark. The idle thought came to him that if a few like Brond became thieves they’d be able to pick Ravensbach clean in a fortnight.
‘I’m back,’ Brond whispered when they reached the end of the hall. ‘We can stop lookin’ for Bruno’s boy. He’s with me.’
Light flared up as Lothar removed the lead cover from the lantern he was carrying. Beside him was his son, Thilo, an old sabre tucked under his belt. Alrik had purloined an ugly-looking mattock from somewhere, the sledge resting over one shoulder as he welcomed Brond back.
Bruno stepped forwards and embraced Bernger, relief on his face. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’
‘You aren’t getting rid of me so easily,’ Bernger said. ‘But I wouldn’t spend too much time looking for the servants.’ He was a bit less frank in describing the traps in Mhurghast’s dungeon than he had been with Brond. It wouldn’t do to worry his father needlessly now that the danger had passed.
At least that particular danger.
Notker came forwards and spoke once Bernger was finished. ‘Then they are all dead. If one of them had got away, maybe they would have had pity on us, done something to help us. But they’re all dead.’
Alrik frowned at the priest. ‘It does no good hopin’ for help. You want to save your skin, you do it yourself.’ Like with Brond, Bernger felt there was a tension in the cogsmith after he had heard about the dungeon.
‘We could help ourselves by leaving him here.’ Thilo pointed at Notker. ‘Why drag him around and draw Reiner to us?’
‘You’d prefer to let Reiner kill him?’ Lothar snapped at his son. ‘Then the daemon finds a new host for itself.’ He tapped his finger against Thilo’s chest. ‘Maybe next time it takes you, sends you to kill me.’
Bruno also came to Notker’s defence. ‘The count wanted us to turn on each other. If we stick together, if we fight this thing together, we can beat it.’ He turned to the duardin. ‘The chapel has only one way in, a gate with iron bars. We’ll be able to see Reiner if he tries to get in. Maybe we can fight him from behind the bars. Spears, swords, whatever it takes. Keep fighting him. Keep him from ever getting in.’
Alrik nodded. ‘So you still want to use Notker as bait,’ he stated. He shifted the weight of the mattock on his shoulders. ‘Well, let’s go have a look at this chapel and then see what kind of trap we can set.’
The cogsmith had winced when he said trap, something that wasn’t lost on the humans who heard him. For the moment, however, no one challenged him about it. Bernger suspected that they were of much the same mind as he was. Somewhere in the vastness of Mhurghast, Reiner was prowling the halls, and wherever he was, he would eventually come looking for Notker.
An iron gate and the holy protection of Sigmar sounded like good things to have between themselves and the daemon.
Magda paced behind the iron gate and cast frequent glances through the bars into the darkened hall. Ottokar and Bruno had lit some of the candles when Bruno had left, but as yet there’d been no hint of activity beyond a few rats slinking around.
Ottokar sat in the barricading pew and watched his daughter. Inge was resting in one of the other pews, reluctantly surrendering to her husband’s theory that at least one of them should get some sleep.
‘Worrying won’t make them show up any faster,’ Ottokar told Magda.
She stopped pacing and looked at the swordsmith. ‘Have you ever tried not to think about something?’
Ottokar nodded in defeat. He rapped the hollow silver of his false arm. ‘Every day. It doesn’t work. The more you try to ignore some things, the more you think about them.’
Magda held her father’s gaze. She wanted to talk to him about it, to ask what had happened. He’d never told her before. Not really told her. Everything she knew was bits and pieces picked up here and there. She thought if she asked this time, he would tell her everything. That was why she didn’t ask. It might be better not to know.
‘Do you think Reiner will come?’ she said. ‘I mean here, to this sanctuary?’
‘Not until it gets Notker,’ Ottokar said. He stared off, no longer looking at Magda but at some image in his mind. Something too terrible for words. ‘The count said it’d look for a new host once it… did what it was going to do.’
Magda leaned down beside Ottokar and laid her hand on his knee. ‘If what happened to Reiner happens to me…’
Ottokar took hold of her and crushed her against him. ‘Sigmar’s grace, don’t say that. Don’t even dare to think it! Nothing is going to happen to you. Nothing!’
Sounds from the hallway caused Magda to pull away from her father. She cried out in joy when she saw Bernger and Bruno coming back with the other guests. Her shouts brought the others in the chapel trickling forwards to watch the approaching group.
‘So they still have Notker with them,’ Roald observed. ‘Reiner still hasn’t come for him.’
‘Maybe… maybe there is no… maybe it isn’t real,’ Hartmann muttered. ‘Maybe it’s all just some cruel trick. Maybe Reiner went crazy, had some kind of fit!’
Abarahm rose from the pew Saskia had laid him out on. The aelf’s laugh was malicious. ‘You can believe whatever idiocy you like, but the count did not wait twenty years and slit his own throat simply to play a trick.’
Hartmann wilted under the aelf’s scorn. He withdrew towards the altar, where Sigune continued to offer prayers.
Ottokar and Heimo helped Magda move the blockade. Roald took hold of the gate and regarded the approaching group.
‘I will allow the rest of you to enter, but not Notker,’ the baron declared. ‘He stays outside.’
Magda spun around and glared at him. ‘What gives you the right?’
‘Rank and breeding.’ Roald sneered at her. ‘Things your common blood wouldn’t appreciate.’ He tightened his hold on the gate. ‘I’m in command here, and I say that man doesn’t enter.’
Roald did not back away, even when Magda’s fingers closed around the grip of her falchion. It was when Hiltrude approached him that his swagger vanished.
‘If rank and breeding are the measure we are using,’ the baroness stated, ‘then I would remind you that in our alliance, you are the junior partner.’ Hiltrude waved at the gate. ‘Open it. Let them in. All of them.’
Roald hesitated just a moment too long for Magda’s liking. She stepped past him and seized the gate, pulling it from his grip. Roald withdrew, casting dark looks at anyone who glanced his way.
Bernger and Bruno escorted Notker into the chapel. They stepped aside while the others entered. Lothar and Thilo went over to Saskia while the two duardin examined the gateway and began discussing how best to reinforce it.
Magda joined the two Walkenhorsts. ‘I talked with my mother. She explained everything. She felt guilty about what happened to Hagen, but I don’t think it was her fault.’ She laid her hand on Bruno’s arm. ‘I don’t think it was your fault either.’
Bruno shook his head. ‘Fault and blame are hard things to accept and even harder to let go of. Hagen made mistakes, but we helped him make them.’
‘I talked with my mother beside Hagen’s sepulchre–’
‘His what?’ Notker asked.
Magda pointed to the stone sarcophagus near the altar. ‘Hagen’s buried there.’
‘He can’t be,’ Notker muttered. ‘I didn’t allow it.’ He walked towards the sarcophagus, mumbling under his breath.
‘But there’s a sepulchre there,’ Magda said.
‘Maybe,’ Bruno conceded, ‘but he can’t be inside. Hagen took his own life. His remains would have to be burned and scattered over water to keep his spirit from coming back as a wraith. Count Wulfsige would never have risked that happening to Hagen.’
‘But I’ve seen his sepulchre,’ Magda persisted.
Notker was almost at the foot of the steps that climbed up to the altar and the sepulchre beside it. Suddenly there was a furious agitation around the sarcophagus. The heavy stone lid was flung upwards, launched like a boulder from a catapult. It landed among the pews, smashing three rows into kindling. A foul, charnel smell billowed across the sanctuary, the stench of congealed blood. Magda nearly gagged as the reek washed over her. It was an effort to turn her eyes towards the sepulchre. What she saw there turned her blood to ice.
Hagen was not inside the sepulchre, but something else was. It rose upwards on thin legs, rising and rising until it was so tall it had to bow its head to keep from striking the ceiling. Crimson bones showed through the wet, dripping meat of its body, and when it reached out with its skeletal arms, the flesh peeled back in bloody tatters. The head that turned and fixed Notker with its murderous stare was devoid of skin, a huge and fanged skull with hellish fires blazing from its sockets.
‘Reiner!’ Notker clutched at his chest and tears fell from his eyes.
Magda screamed. She was not the only one. Terror fairly dripped off everyone in the chapel. Sigune wailed in an agony of fear and prostrated herself before the altar, her hands waving frantically to make the sign of the Hammer again and again. Hiltrude pushed Liebgarde behind her and backed away towards the gate. Lothar fumbled in his pockets, dislodging strange charms and talismans. Thilo cried out and fell in a faint across one of the pews. The Walkenhorsts and the duardin gripped their weapons, but stood frozen in horror at the sight before their eyes.
‘The daemon!’ Roald shouted. ‘You see! I warned you!’
The daemon turned its grisly stare away from Notker and looked towards the altar. Hartmann fled from the dripping monstrosity, running across the chapel until he fell over one of the pews and collapsed to the floor. Sigune screamed. She grabbed the candlesticks from the altar, crying out to Sigmar for protection. In her panic she threw them at the daemon. Even before she did, the bony arms were lifted to ward off the attack. Magda had the ghastly idea that the fiend knew what Sigune was going to do even before she did it. The gilded missiles struck the arms and clattered to the floor. The daemon stepped away from the sepulchre and its bony talons closed around Sigune’s head. It picked her up and flung her into one of the windows. The stained glass shattered under the impact, but the metal frames held and tossed her back into the chapel, her body shredded by the glass.
‘No!’ Magda cried. Without thinking about what she was doing, she ran towards the grotesque daemon. Ottokar caught hold of her and spun her around, flinging her into the arms of Bernger and Bruno.
‘Hold her!’ Ottokar ordered, before drawing his sword and charging towards the sepulchre. Magda struggled against the Walkenhorsts, desperate to break free.
‘By the mercy and glory of Sigmar!’ Notker was moaning, his hands closed together and raised towards the daemonic beast in appeal. ‘Reiner, have pity on me!’
The daemon glared down at the priest for only a moment, then swung around and glared at the swordsmith as he charged across the chapel. It seemed to relish the man’s defiance.
‘Father! No!’ Magda could only watch as Ottokar put himself between the daemon and Notker. His sword flashed out in the rakish sweep she knew so well. The fiend’s belly was opened by the slashing blade. A killing blow, if Ottokar’s enemy had been truly alive.
The daemon snatched at Ottokar with one skeletal hand. It caught hold of his fake arm and crushed the hollow limb in its murderous grip. The swordsmith thrust at the daemon, his blade taking it between the ribs. Rancid blood spurted from the wound, but still the monster ignored its hurt. It pulled, and the silver arm ripped away as its straps snapped. Suddenly seizing Ottokar’s real arm, the daemon swung him around and bashed him against the altar. A sickening crunch sounded from the impact as his spine folded around the unyielding stone.
The brutal, hideous deaths stunned those who watched. Magda fell to her knees, all the strength drawn out of her when she saw her father die. She could see her mother sitting in open-mouthed horror in one of the pews, paralysed by the havoc around her.
After Ottokar’s death, no one made a move when the daemon turned towards Notker again. Least of all the former priest. He was staring up at the death that loomed over him. His gaze was not fixed on the fanged skull or the skeletal talons. Instead he was looking at the tattered rags that clung to the giant daemon. All that remained of the clothes Reiner had been wearing when the Mardagg took possession of him.
‘By Sigmar, let there be some pity…’ Notker’s pleas echoed through the chapel.
The daemon’s claws closed around Notker’s head. Blood cascaded from the man’s neck as the monster pulled. His body started to lift off the ground, then there was a wet, tearing sound, and it flopped to the floor without its head.
The daemon opened its hand and looked at the ghastly trophy it held. Then its malignant gaze swept across the rest of the chapel. Magda thought the fleshless skull smiled at them. The monster crumpled to its knees. The tattered flesh and elongated bones began to bubble and froth. A pink foam erupted from its mouth and chest, from the now empty sockets of its skull. Slimy strings of blood drooled from its giant body, pooling on the floor in a mire of gory scum.
The long arms crumbled, disintegrating into a charnel mash. The chest melted into crimson ooze. The skull sank into the putrid mass, its bones boiling away. Soon all that remained was bloody residue, a few tatters of cloth and the soiled blade of Ottokar Hausler.
‘It… it is dead!’ Roald exclaimed.
Magda looked away from the corpse of her father and glanced over at the baron. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It simply left Reiner to find itself another host.’