by Warhammer
‘Much as I would like to take you up on such an offer, I fear it would be unwise under the circumstances. This girl is my shield and before a battle it’s a foolish warrior who throws aside his shield.’
‘You are no warrior,’ grated Gotrek. ‘You have no idea of what the word means.’
Krieger’s smile was sour, and oddly sad. ‘Once I did, probably more than you. Alas, things change.’
Gotrek was about to throw himself forward. Foam frothed from Snorri’s mouth as he champed at the bit for battle. Still he waited to take his cue from Gotrek. Ulrika tried to bring her heel down on Krieger’s booted foot, but he eluded the move easily. A further tightening of his arm brought a squeal of pain from the Kislevite noblewoman. Her neck could not be far from breaking.
Felix put a hand on the Slayer’s shoulder. He knew he had no more chance of restraining the dwarf if he decided to attack than he would have of holding back a dire wolf, but he felt he had better try. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘There has to be a way out of this.’
‘There is,’ said Krieger. ‘Let me go and, after I am free, I will let her go whenever she wishes.’
‘You would not accept my word,’ said Felix looking at the sorcerer. His faint complex smile had widened. ‘Why should I accept yours?’
‘You don’t have any choice,’ said Krieger with assurance. He raised the pomander dangling from his neck to his lips, and took a long satisfied sniff. He looked utterly calm and collected. He had the poise of an aristocrat. Felix had always disliked them.
‘Let him go,’ said Felix. ‘We can always hunt him down later.’
‘You can try,’ said Krieger.
Gotrek seemed to emerge from his killing trance. ‘However long it takes, however far you travel, I will find you and I will kill you,’ he said.
‘That goes twice as much for Snorri Nosebiter,’ said Snorri.
‘Step aside,’ said Krieger. Slowly and reluctantly, the dwarfs did so. Lifting Ulrika as if she weighed nothing, clutching the talisman in his fist still, Krieger strode between them and up the stairs.
Silence filled the vault.
‘What do we do now?’ Felix asked.
‘Follow him,’ Gotrek replied. ‘He won’t get too far.’
They moved up the stairs in Krieger’s wake but when they emerged into the night he was gone, and so was Ulrika. Felix thought he heard a sledge hissing off into the distance but it was night, and there were many sledges going to and fro between the mansions of the nobles.
Icy, freezing fog filled the streets. It had gathered almost too quickly to be natural. Felix wondered if the mage had cast some sort of spell to obscure his tracks. It seemed all too likely. Despair filled him. Ulrika was in the hands of an evil mage and so was the talisman they had agreed to protect. Andriev was dead. Max was in a coma. Failure tasted bitter in his mouth.
‘He must have used magic to remove himself once he was clear of the vaults,’ said Felix. ‘The wards would no longer have held him there.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Gotrek. Rage filled his voice. He liked their situation no more than Felix. ‘I am not a magician.’
‘Neither is Snorri, but we’d better work out how to find him soon. Snorri Nosebiter swore an oath, and if Snorri has to search this city house by house Snorri will.’
‘Chances are we will be joining you,’ muttered Felix. ‘Come on, let’s go inside and see to Max.’ None of them suggested ringing the alarm bell and summoning the watch.
Krieger lounged back in the padded seat of the sleigh. Roche’s broad back obscured his view as he handled the horses. He put an arm around the unconscious Ulrika. It was good cover. They were just two lovers returning from a sleigh ride in the night, a scene Krieger had enacted many times in the past, with the cattle, before he drank of their blood. No one would notice them.
The warm glow of triumph filled him. He had thought things might all go terribly wrong there for a while. Close up, the power of that dwarf’s terrible axe had been evident to him. There was no doubt in his mind that the weapon was capable of ending his immortal life with one blow. He had never seen anything so filled with terrible killing power. To one with mage senses as keen as Krieger’s, it was practically incandescent with deadly energy, and its wielder had been almost as worrying, a grim, fell-handed creature indeed.
The man’s weapon had not been as powerful, but to Adolphus’s surprise had been magical also, and thus capable of hurting him. Amazing really that Andriev had found two such guardians at short notice. If he had known, he would not have been quite so confident. He did not doubt he could have won any fight with the pair, but there would have been a risk, and right then, with the talisman in his grasp, it would have been foolish to take it.
Still, the part of him that craved violence and death wished that he had initiated combat, wished that he had fought, and torn his opponents limb from limb. The raging beast was still within him. He tried to tell himself that there was more to it than this. It galled him to leave enemies alive and unharmed behind him. He was annoyed by the arrogance of the dwarf. That any mortal should dare threaten one of the Arisen seemed near sacrilegious. He was also certain that the dwarf would attempt to make good on his promise, would spend years if need be hunting him down.
Not that it mattered now. Soon he would have enough power to master the world, and take his revenge on them. It would not be the dwarf who sought him out. Once he fulfilled Nospheratus’s prophecy he would take his revenge. He tried telling himself that powerful though that axe was, he was not frightened by it, but he was wise enough to know that he was lying to himself. That was why the beast was snarling within him so strongly. It felt threatened. He shivered a little. For the first time in many, many years, he had encountered something that caused him to fear.
Perhaps he should try to enjoy the novelty of it. After all, amid the ennui of the long centuries, any new emotional experience was to be welcomed. Somehow he could not quite make himself believe it. Best to get away as quickly and as quietly as possible and leave the Slayers to their futile efforts at pursuit. He could travel so quickly and so secretly that they would have no chance of finding him until he wanted it.
The main thing now was that he needed time to work out how to unleash the power of the talisman, to attune it to him, and learn to draw upon its energies. Once that was accomplished, there was little he could not do, at least according to Nospheratus, and that vampiric seer had been well placed to know.
The girl beside him whimpered but did not come to consciousness. He looked down at her. Ancient malice woke in his brain. It was obvious that the man back there had cared for her, and that the dwarfs had enough regard for her to restrain themselves from attacking. She might prove a valuable hostage and, by all the Dark Gods, she was beautiful. On his long journey a companion to while away the time might prove interesting, and he could always get rid of her if she proved dull. He doubted that she would, at least for a while. She knew the dwarfs and the man with the magical weapon, and thus she could tell him something of his enemies. He would need to know at least their names when the time came to hunt them down.
Of course, he had given his word to the man that he would let her go, and he had never broken his word in all his long centuries of unlife. It was just as well he had carefully worded the promise to suit himself. He had said he would let her go whenever she wished. He had ways of ensuring that she would not wish to leave him.
Gently he pushed back the collar of her tunic, and stroked her neck, looking for the lovely vein he knew he would find there.
Felix looked around the wreckage of the mansion. There were corpses everywhere: the remains of Andriev’s ancient servants, the mangled bodies of the men he, Gotrek and Snorri had slain. The air smelled of blood and opened innards and corruption. It did nothing to improve his mood. He wished now that he carried a pomander, as the mage did. Its perfume might cover the stench of death.
That thought tickled something at the back of his mind. It reminded h
im of something, just as the faint elusive scent he had smelled in the vault had done. What was it? Why did the image of a dead woman spring into his mind now?
Obviously because you are surrounded by corpses, idiot, he told himself, but knew that was not the answer. He remembered seeing the body of the dead woman found in the snow, remembered what her companion had said. She had gone out with a nobleman. She had remembered a very distinctive scent like cinnamon. That was what he had smelled in the vaults. Was it possible that the man who had killed the streetwalker and mangled her corpse was the same as the one who had taken Ulrika?
He prayed not. Many Imperial nobles carried pomanders to cover the smell of the streets, surely this was just one more. Cinnamon-based perfumes were common. No, it could not be the same man – could it? Why not? He was a dark magician and who knew what atrocities they might commit. Felix had heard tales of evil mages devouring the brains of their victims to absorb their souls, maybe those tales were true and maybe this was such a man. Suddenly, he wished Max were awake. He would know much more about such things than Felix ever would. He mentioned his suspicions to the Slayers.
‘Snorri thinks you should have let us kill him,’ said Snorri Nosebiter almost petulantly.
I should have let you, Felix thought. As if there were anything he could have done to restrain the Slayers if they had taken it into their heads to fight.
He looked over at the two sullen dwarfs. It was obvious that they were not in the best of moods. They glared at him as if he personally were responsible for costing them their chance of a heroic death. In a way, he supposed he was. Not that he was going to let it bother him all that much. Ulrika’s life was far more important than their deaths. They would have another chance when they caught up with the mage. Somehow, Felix did not doubt that they would. Now he only had to work out how.
The first thing they needed to do was get Max to a healer. He was the expert in this field, and if anyone knew how to go about finding a dark mage, it would be him. Felix thought he had better notify the authorities what had happened here. Not the city guards: they would most likely throw all four of them in the cells just on suspicion and, once there, who knew when they would get out? That’s if Gotrek and Snorri didn’t start a battle with them for their temerity in trying to make the arrest in the first place. Best take the matter straight to the top, to the duke. He would listen to them, perhaps even help.
And then there was Ulrika’s father. Felix was not looking forward to breaking the news of his daughter’s abduction and possible death to the old nobleman. Not that he was prepared to admit that Ulrika might not be alive. Such a thought did not bear thinking about. No – they would tell Ivan Petrovich Straghov and doubtless he would lend them aid, even if the duke would not.
He considered his plan from every angle. There was no sense in heading off on a fruitless search for the magician in this fog, no matter what the Slayers might want. He could perhaps convince the duke to seal the gates, and have his men scour the city. That way the guards might prove to be of use, and several thousand men would be more effective in a search than three.
Swiftly, he outlined his plans to the others. They headed out into the night.
Felix looked in on the sickroom where Max lay. The priestesses had finished their rituals. Healing magic had been invoked. Felix could only pray that it worked better for the wizard than it had for his mother all those long years ago. The duke looked up from his place beside the bed. Even in this place of healing two guard captains flanked him. These were dangerous times.
Enrik’s expression was melancholy. From his large eyes with bags beneath them, to his long drooping moustaches, he seemed to radiate sadness and depression. Felix had heard he was given to moods of black depression, and even madness, but had seen no sign of it himself. The Duke of Praag was one of the most competent and energetic nobles he had met. He had guided the defence of the city against the Chaos horde with vigour and courage. It was evident that the loss of his brother, under somewhat mysterious circumstances, had hit him hard. He moved like an old man, and not just because of his wounds.
‘Yours is very grave news, Felix Jaeger,’ he said. His voice was clear and commanding and completely at odds with his appearance. It held all the arrogant command that one might expect from the ruler of Kislev’s second greatest city. ‘Ulrika was kin to me, and so was Andriev very distantly, although there was no love lost between us. He had more in common with my brother. They were both keen on ancient things, and magic.’
Felix suspected that the duke’s brother had been involved with the cults of Chaos. Was it possible that Count Andriev had been as well? That would explain his interest in magical things, and his wish to avoid attracting attention to himself. But if he had been, then perhaps he would have had allies both magical and human of his own, and he would not have needed to call on himself, Ulrika and Gotrek. Not unless there was something he wanted to hide from his fellow daemon worshippers. Felix was familiar enough with the treachery and backstabbing that all the followers of the Dark Gods wallowed in. It was enough to make his head spin just thinking about it.
Perhaps the old man had been involved in such things, perhaps not. It would be best not to think about it until he had clear proof either way. Right now there were plenty of other things to think about.
The duke turned and barked commands to his guard captains and they departed. Felix knew that soon there would be a watch kept on every gate and the city guard would be alerted to look for anyone like Ulrika or her captor. The duke’s instructions sent soldiers hurrying to obey.
‘I am sorry I cannot do more,’ said Duke Enrik, ‘but a house-to-house search is all but impossible at the moment. And there are other things to worry about right now.’
Felix knew what he meant. With the Ice Queen in his palace and the army bivouacked on the city, there was the problem of seeing to her security and maintaining public order, not to mention planning what to do about the oncoming Chaos horde. It was a reminder to Felix that the whole world had not stopped because of his personal problems. The greatest invasion of the Old World in two centuries was still under way. The duke seemed to consider the matter settled but Felix decided to risk persisting for the moment.
‘Have you informed her father, your grace?’ Felix asked.
‘I have summoned him. It was wise of you to bring this to me first. I think such news would be best coming from a kinsman. He is very fond of Ulrika. She is his only ‘surviving’ child.’
Felix heard the hesitation on the word surviving. The duke too was trying to put his best face on things.
‘And you have no idea what this talisman was or what it was capable of?’
Felix could recognise a deliberate change of subject when he heard one.
‘I have no idea, but it must be important considering all the effort this Adolphus Krieger put into getting it. We had best hope that Max recovers soon. Perhaps he can tell us something.’
‘It was investigating the talisman that did this to him?’
‘So Ulrika said.’
‘I will have you informed when he recovers,’ said the duke. His tone made it clear that this was a dismissal. He looked like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
‘Thank you, your grace,’ said Felix and withdrew.
Adolphus looked around the chamber in the mansion. Osrik had given up his best suite of rooms so that his master might occupy them. The tapestries were thick and heavy, the best wine sat unopened on the heavy mahogany table, the fire blazed brightly. Although Adolphus no longer felt the cold and took no pleasure from wine, he always found it best to keep up appearances. Tongues always flapped otherwise, and you could not browbeat or mindbind every servant. They all looked alike to Adolphus anyway. And he admitted to having a taste for luxury that persisted from his former life, before the countess chose him. It was a taste that his status as one of the Arisen allowed him to indulge.
The only thing that was really necessary about the rooms w
as the thick curtains that kept the sunlight out. He had never got used to daylight. It still hurt his eyes, and burned his skin painfully. No matter how much blood he drank, he had but a fraction of his true strength when exposed to it. It made him almost as weak and feeble as a mortal. The sluggishness he felt now told him it was still light outside.
Few of the servants thought it odd that he was not to be disturbed through the day. As far as they were concerned he was a distant kinsman with a taste for lowlife and debauchery, who spent his nights in the taverns and bordellos of the city, and his days recovering from his nightly indulgences.
He was not sorry to be leaving Kislev. It was a barbaric place, and likely to become more so as the Chaos horde advanced. Bloodletting on a massive scale always seemed to bring out the wild rider in the Kislevites.
Still, he thought, the situation was not without its advantages. One could easily exploit the anarchy of the coming months and years, and he would be powerful enough to do so. The prophecies of the Grimoire Necronium would be fulfilled. This was the Time of Blood of which the ancient tome spoke, of that he was certain. And he was the Pale King who would arise to rule the night. The talisman would make that come true. With it, none of the others would be able to stand against him, all of them – even the countess and the Council – would have to swear fealty.
The woman in his bed stirred. She was almost too beautiful, he thought. She had none of the bovine stupidity that was usually written on the faces of Kislevite noblewomen. She looked hard, and sharp and fierce as a hawk. There was something predatory in her beauty. She would perhaps be worthy to be chosen, worthy of the dark kiss. Perhaps she was the one.
For long centuries, ever since the countess had explained to him how the bloodlines had thinned since the time of the Lahmians, he had resisted creating his own get. Most of the Arisen of his generation could create only one, and even that might turn out to be only an insipid counterfeit of what it should be – moronic, weak, mad, the cause of all those bizarre stereotypes of monsters mortals seemed to have about the Arisen. He himself had never risked trying to create one, for he had never found any worthy of his embrace. Over the centuries he had occasionally thought he had found someone but always there had been a flaw in them.
