by Warhammer
‘Felix Jaeger,’ he murmured by way of introduction. She said nothing, merely smiled coldly and then seemed to withdraw within herself. She gave no further acknowledgement of his presence.
‘Be silent,’ the magician sitting opposite them said, and there was more menace in his calm, quiet tone than there was in all the angry glares of the guardsmen combined.
Felix decided there was nothing to be gained by defying the old man. He cast another look around the forest, hoping to see some sign of Gotrek, but the Trollslayer was nowhere in evidence. Felix lapsed into morose silence. He doubted that the dwarf could overtake them now, but he could at least follow the tracks of the sleds – providing it didn’t snow too heavily.
And then what? Felix did not know. He had every respect for Gotrek’s formidable powers of slaughter and destruction but he doubted that even the Trollslayer could overcome this small army.
Occasionally he risked a glance at the woman beside him, noting that she too was casting anxious glances towards the trees. He could not decide whether she was hoping that friends would come to her rescue or was simply measuring the distance of a dash for freedom.
A wolf howled in the distance. A strange inhuman smile twisted the woman’s lips. Felix shuddered and looked away.
Felix was almost glad when the manor house loomed out of the gathering storm. The low, massive outline of the lodge was partially obscured by the drifting snowflakes. Felix could see that it was built from stone and logs in the style they called half-timbered.
He felt weary beyond belief. Hunger, cold and the long trudge through the snow had brought him almost to the end of his strength. It occurred to him that this was their destination and that here he would be prey for whatever foul schemes the wizard had in mind, but he simply could not muster the energy to care. All he wanted was to lie down somewhere warm and to sleep.
Someone sounded a horn and the gates were swung open. The sleds and the accompanying men-at-arms passed through into a courtyard, and then the gates were closed behind them.
Felix had a chance to glance around the courtyard. It was flanked on all four sides by the walls of the fortified manor house. He revised his earlier opinion. It was not so much a hunting lodge as a fortress, built to withstand a siege if need be. He cursed: his chances of escape seemed slimmer than ever.
All around, the party climbed down from the sledges. The nobles called for hot mulled wine. Someone ordered the drivers to see that the horses were stabled. All was bustling disorder. The breath of men and beasts emerged from their mouths like smoke.
The guards pushed Felix into the building. Inside it was cold and damp. It smelled of earth and pine and old woodsmoke. A massive stone fireplace filled the centre of the entrance chamber. The warriors and nobles stamped about inside, windmilling their arms and hugging themselves against the chill. Servants rushed forward bearing goblets of hot spicy wine. The scent of it made Felix’s mouth water.
One of the warriors hastily laid kindling in the fire and then set to work, striking sparks from a flint. The damp wood refused to catch.
The wizard watched with growing impatience, then shrugged, gestured and spoke a word in the ancient tongue. A small burst of flame leapt from the end of his pointed index finger to the wood in the fireplace. The wood hissed, then roared. Ozone stink filled the air. Blue flames flickered around the wood, then the logs all caught fire at once. Shadows danced away from the fireplace.
The nobles and the wizard passed through one of the doors into another chamber, leaving the warriors and the prisoners alone. Tense silence reigned for a moment, then all the men began to speak at once. All the words that they had held in during the long trek to the lodge tumbled from the soldiers’ mouths.
‘By Sigmar’s hammer, what a fight that was. I thought those wolves were going to have our nuts for sure!’
‘I have never been so frightened as when I saw the hairy beasts loping out of the trees. Those teeth looked plenty sharp.’
‘Yeah but they died quick enough when you put a crossbow bolt through their eyes or twelve inches of good Imperial steel through their mangy hides!’
‘It wasn’t natural though. I’ve never even heard of wolves attacking such a large party! I’ve never seen wolves fight so hard or long either.’
‘I think we can blame the witch for that!’
The girl returned their stares impassively until none of them could meet her gaze. Felix noticed that her eyes were odd. In the gathering gloom, they reflected the light of the fire the way the eyes of a hound would.
‘Yeah, just as well we had the wizard with us. Old Voorman showed them what real magic is and no mistake!’
‘I wonder why the count wants her?’
At this a chill smile passed over the girl’s face. Her teeth were small and white and very, very sharp. When she spoke her voice was low and thrilling and strangely musical.
‘Your Count Hrothgar is a fool if he thinks he can hold me here, or kill me without my death being avenged. You are fools if you think you will ever leave this place alive.’
The sergeant drew back his hand and struck her with his gauntleted fist. The outline of his palm stood out stark and pink on her cheek where the blow fell. Anger blazed in the girl’s eyes so hot and hellish and fierce that the sergeant shrank back as if he himself had been the one struck. The girl spoke again and her words were cold and measured.
‘Hear me! I have the gift of the Sight. The veils of the future do not blind me. Every one of you, every single miserable lackey of Count Hrothgar, will die. You will not leave this place alive!’
Such was the compelling certainty in her voice that every man present froze. Faces went white with fear. Men glanced at each other in horror. Felix himself did not doubt her words. The burly sergeant was first to rouse himself. He slid his dagger from its sheath and walked over to the girl. He held the blade before her eyes.
‘Then you will be the first to die, witch,’ he said. The girl looked at him, unafraid. He drew back his blade to strike. Filled with sudden anger, Felix threw himself forward. Weighed down with chains he cannoned into the man and knocked him from his feet. He heard a low gurgle come from the man he had hit and felt a stab of savage exultation at taking some small revenge on the man who had struck him.
The other soldiers dragged him to his feet. Blows slammed into his body. Stars danced before his eyes. He fell to the ground, curling himself into a ball as heavy booted feet crunched into him. He pulled his head against his chest and drew his knees up to his stomach as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. A kick caught him under the chin, throwing his head back. Darkness took him momentarily.
Now he was really scared. The angry soldiers were likely to keep up this punishment until he was dead and there was nothing he could do about it.
‘Stop!’ bellowed a voice he recognised as belonging to the sorcerer. ‘Those two are my property. Do not damage either of them!’
The kicking stopped. Felix was manhandled to his feet. He looked around him wildly, then he noticed the spreading pool of red liquid on the floor that surrounded the recumbent form of the sergeant.
One of the soldiers turned the man over and Felix noticed the knife protruding from the sergeant’s chest. The sergeant’s eyes were wide and staring. His face was white. His chest did not rise and fall. He must have fallen on the blade when Felix had knocked him over.
‘Throw them in the cellar,’ the sorcerer said. ‘I will have words with them both later.’
‘The dying has begun!’ the girl said with a note of triumph in her voice. She looked at the spreading pool of blood and licked her lips.
The cellar was damp. It smelled of wood and metal and stuff contained in barrels. Felix caught the scent of smoked meat and cheeses as well. It just made him hungrier than he already was, and he remembered that he had not eaten in two days.
A clink of chains reminded him of the girl. He sensed her presence in the dark. He heard her shallow breathing. She was somewhere close by.
‘What is your name, lady?’ he asked. For a long time there was silence, and he wondered if she was going to answer.
‘Magdalena.’
‘What are you doing here? Why are you in chains?’
Another long silence.
‘The soldiers believe you are a witch. Are you?’
More silence, then: ‘No.’
‘But you have the second sight and the wolves fought for you.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re not very communicative, are you?’
‘Why should I be?’
‘Because we both appear to be in the same boat and perhaps together we can escape.’
‘There is no escape. There is only death here. Soon it will be night. Then my father will come.’
She made the statement as if she was convinced that it was a complete answer. There was the same mad certainty in her voice, as convincing as it had been when she predicted death for all those armed men upstairs.
In spite of himself, Felix shuddered. It was not pleasant to think that he was alone in a dark basement with a madwoman. It was less pleasant to consider the alternative to her being mad.
‘What do they want with you?’
‘I am bait in a snare for my father.’
‘Why does the Count want you dead?’
‘I do not know. For generations my people have lived at peace with the Count’s. But Hrothgar is not like his forefathers. He has changed. There is a taint about him, and his pet wizard.’
‘How did they capture you?’
‘Voorman is a sorcerer. He tracked me with spells. His magic was too strong for me. But soon my father will come for me.’
‘Your father must be a mighty man indeed if he can overcome all the occupants of this castle.’
There was no answer except soft, panting laughter. Felix knew that the sooner he got out of here the better.
The door leading into the cellar was thrown open. A shaft of light illuminated the darkness. Heavy footsteps marked the approach of the wizard, Voorman. He held a lantern in his hand and leaned on a heavy staff. He twisted his head up to look Felix in the face.
‘Having an interesting chat with the monster, were you, boy?’
Something in the man’s tone rankled. ‘She’s not a monster. She is only a sad, deluded young woman.’
‘You would not say that if you knew the truth, boy. If I were to remove those shackles binding her, your sanity would be blasted in an instant.’
‘Really,’ Felix said with some irony. The magician tittered.
‘So sure of yourself, eh? So ignorant of the way the world really is. What would you say, boy, if I told you that cults devoted to the worship of Chaos riddle our land, that soon we will overthrow all that exists of order here in the Empire.’
The wizard sounded almost boastful.
‘I would say that you are, perhaps, correct.’ He could see that his reply surprised the sorcerer, that Voorman had expected the usual casual denial of such things one expected from the educated classes of the Empire.
‘You interest me, boy. Why do you say that?’
Felix wondered why he had said that himself. He was admitting to knowledge that could get him burned at the stake if a witch-hunter overheard him. Still, right now, he was cold and tired and hungry and he did not like being patronised by this irritating and supercilious mage.
‘Because I have seen the evidence of it with my own eyes.’
He heard a sharp intake of breath from the wizard, and sensed now that perhaps for the first time he had got his full attention.
‘Really? The Time of Changes is coming, eh? Arakkkai Nidlek Zarug Tzeentch?’ Voorman paused as if expecting a reply. His head tilted to one side. He rubbed his nose with one long bony finger. His foul breath filled Felix’s nostrils.
Felix wondered what was going on. The words were spoken in a language he had heard before, during the rituals of depraved cultists that he and Gotrek had interrupted one Geheimnisnacht. The name ‘Tzeentch’ was all too familiar and frightening. It belonged to one of the darkest of dark powers. Slowly the air of expectancy passed from Voorman.
‘No, you are not one of the Chosen. And yet you know the words of our Litany, or some of them. I can see that in your eyes. I don’t think you are part of the Order. How can this be?’
It was obvious that the sorcerer did not expect an answer, that the last question was asked more of himself than of Felix. Suddenly there came the sound of the baying of many wolves outside the keep. The wizard flinched and then smiled. ‘That will be my other guest arriving. I must go soon. He slipped through the net earlier but I knew he would come back for the girl.’
The wizard checked the chains that held Magdalena. He inspected the runes on them closely and then, apparently satisfied with what he saw, he smirked and turned and limped away. As he passed he looked at Felix. The younger man felt his flesh crawl. He knew that the wizard was deciding whether or not to kill him. Then the sorcerer smiled.
‘No – there’s time enough later. I would talk more with you before you die, boy!’
As the wizard shut the door behind him, the light died. Felix felt horror mount within his soul.
Felix was not aware of how long he lay there with despair growing in his heart. He was trapped in the dark with no weapons and only a madwoman for company. The wizard intended to murder him. He had no idea where the Trollslayer was or if he had any hope of rescue. It was possible that Gotrek was lost in the woods somewhere. Slowly it dawned on him that if he was going to get out of this, he was going to have to do it for himself.
It did not look good. His hands were chained behind his back. He was hungry and tired and ill with cold and weariness. The bruises from the beating earlier pained him. The key to his chains was on the belt of the wizard. He had no weapon.
Well, one thing at a time, he told himself. Let’s see what I can do about the chains. He hunkered into a squat, drawing his knees up to his chest. The chains pooled around his ankles, then by dint of wriggling and squirming, he drew his arms underneath him so that they were in front of his body. The effort left him breathing hard and he felt like he had pulled his arms from his sockets, but at least now he could move more freely and the length of heavy coiled chain he held in his hands could be used as a weapon. Experimentally he swung it before him. There was a swishing noise as it cut through the air.
The girl laughed as if she understood what he was doing. Now he moved forward cautiously, placing one foot ahead of him gently testing the ground like a man might who was on the edge of a cliff. He did not know what he might stumble over in the darkness, but he felt it was wisest to be careful. This would be a bad time to fall and dislocate an ankle.
His caution was rewarded when he felt a stairway under his foot. Slowly, carefully, he worked his way up the steps. As far as he remembered they had not curved in any way. Eventually his outstretched hands struck wood. The chains clinked together softly as they swung. Felix froze and listened. It seemed to him that somewhere far off he could hear sounds of men fighting and wolves howling.
Wonderful, he thought sourly. The wolves had somehow got inside the manor. He pictured the long, lean shapes racing through the hunting lodge, and a desperate battle between man and beast taking place mere paces from where he stood. It was not a reassuring thought.
For long moments he stood undecided and then he pushed against the door. It did not move. He cursed himself and fumbled for a handle. His fingers clutched a cool metal ring. He twisted and pulled towards himself and the door opened. He was looking up a long flight of stairs dimly illuminated by a guttering lantern. He reached out for the lantern, then thought about the girl.
However strange she was, she was also a prisoner here. He was not going to abandon her to the tender mercies of Voorman. He edged back down the stairs and gestured for her to follow him. He caught sight of her face. It was pale and strained and feral. Her eyes definitely did catch the light like those of some animal. There was a ferocious inhuman as
pect to her whole appearance that did not reassure Felix in the slightest. He moved towards the head of the stairs but the girl pushed past him into the lead.
Felix was glad not to have those fierce eyes burning into his back.
The sounds of fighting became clearer. Wolves bayed. War-cries rang out. Magdalena opened the door at the head of the stairs. They found themselves once more amid the mansion’s corridors. The place was deserted. All the guards appeared to have been drawn toward the sounds of battle. A line of doorways edged the corridor. At one end a flight of stairs moved upwards. At the other there was a doorway beyond which was the sound of battle. Felix’s nostrils twitched. He thought he smelled burning. Somewhere in the distance horses whinnied with terror.
Discretion told him to head for the stairs, to get away from the sounds of fighting. He was not part of either faction here, and discovery might prove fatal for him. The longer the others fought, the more the odds against him were whittled down, and the more chance he had of escaping.
Magdalena, however, felt differently. She moved towards the doorway at the end of the corridor. The one that led towards the battle. Felix grabbed her chains and tugged. She did not stop. Although he was taller and heavier, she was surprisingly strong, stronger perhaps than he was.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Where do you think?’
‘Don’t be stupid. There’s nothing you can do there.’
‘What do you know?’
‘Let us look around. Perhaps upstairs we can find a way to remove these chains.’
For a moment, she stood undecided but the last point appeared to sway her. Together they moved up the stairs. Behind them the sounds of howling and war-cries reached a crescendo and then abruptly ceased.
For a moment, Felix wondered what had happened. Had the wolves overcome the defenders?
Then he heard men-at-arms begin to shout at each other once more. He heard noble voices tell the men to take the wounded inside and he realised that the men had won – for a while.
At the top of the stairs a window looked down into the courtyard of the lodge. He could see that there were dozens of dead wolves down there and maybe five dead men. Blood reddened the snow.
