It could not be Elyssa’s father, Wilhelm Kastring; he had been killed at the same time she had died. It must be one of her three brothers. They were all older than Elyssa; they had all left the valley before the village and its manor house had been destroyed by the beastmen. And now one of the Kastrings was in command of a band of such creatures.
Elyssa had referred to her family only rarely, and Konrad tried in vain to remember the names of her brothers. It made no difference, he supposed.
A fire had been lit, and it was only wood that was burning, not human flesh. Konrad sat in front of the blaze. He was shivering and felt feverish, weak from the blood that he had lost, totally exhausted by the events of the last few days. His body was a web of painful cuts.
“Knowledge of a person’s true name gives one power over that person, they say,” Kastring remarked, as he sat down a few feet from Konrad. He did not look at Konrad, and instead gazed into the flames. “The very fact that you are still alive proves, I dare say, there may be some substance to the tale. But no purpose would be served by my requesting your name.”
Konrad gazed at the man, trying to recognize him. He had often seen the Kastring brothers, but it had been many years ago. Whichever he had been, he looked much different now. His lips were missing, so that he seemed to be grinning all the time — and a pair of curved horns grew from his skull. Even with the glare from the fire, however, it was hard to make Kastring out, to see where his long dark hair became the thick dark furs that he wore over his armour. Konrad was glad that he could not see what else had happened to the man — if he could still be called a man…
A figure walked towards them. Slim and supple and apparently female, it was the surviving torturess. She was carrying a silver tray, on which stood a jewelled flagon and two matching goblets.
Kastring spoke to her in an unknown language, and she set down the tray and poured something into each goblet. It was red. She lifted the tray once more, offering it to him. Kastring gestured and said something else, and she held the tray to Konrad instead.
“She knows nothing about etiquette, I regret,” Kastring remarked. “Do take it,” he added, when Konrad hesitated. He laughed briefly, without humour. “It’s not what you think, I assure you. It’s wine, red wine.”
Konrad accepted the cup, sniffed at it, took a taste, then swallowed the contents in a single gulp.
Kastring watched, then took his own goblet, spoke to the girl once more. She set down the tray and went back the way she had come.
“I was intending to offer a toast to your very good health, but I venture to suggest that such might be less than appropriate under these inauspicious circumstances.”
He swirled the goblet and inhaled the bouquet, then put the cup to his teeth — the lower set overlapped the upper — and tilted back his head. Because he had no lips, some of the pink liquid dribbled down his chin, and he dabbed at the drops with a lace kerchief.
“Pray help yourself.” He gestured towards the tray.
Konrad filled his cup again, then again.
“There was someone with me,” he said. “When I was caught. What happened to him?”
Kastring shrugged, and he said something incomprehensible, in the alien tongue. He must have been speaking to the huge shape who stood a few yards behind Konrad, the one with the beaked face, the taloned hands, the clawed feet. In reply, the creature let out a huge belch, loud and long. Again Kastring shrugged, sipped at his wine, savouring it on his tongue before swallowing, then he mopped at the stray drops.
Konrad had seen no sign of Krysten amongst the dead, but he did not ask. He would not be told the truth, he was certain, and there were so many other mutant cohorts in the vicinity where she could be held.
“How do you know me?” Kastring queried, finally.
The truth was always to be avoided wherever possible, and so Konrad replied: “I’m from Ferlangen.”
“Ferlangen! Now there’s a name I haven’t heard for many a year. By your accent, I suspected you must hail from the same region of Ostland as I. I dwelled in a poxy village near Ferlangen, but I had many a fine time in the town. Otto Kreishmier and I used to go hunting together on many an occasion. How is the fellow, do you know?”
“Dead.”
Kastring raised his glass in a silent salute, but Konrad did not drink. It was Kreishmier who had sentenced him to death for poaching rabbits — and who had been killed by Wolf in a duel. That was how Konrad and Wolf had met.
“How many years since you departed from Ferlangen?”
“Five,” Konrad replied. “And you?”
Kastring said nothing for several seconds, and Konrad thought that he would not reply, but then he said: “Before, I believe. I cannot recall precisely. But what is time other than a chain around our lives? I left because I wished to see the world, the great cities, other lands. And I did. Then I fell in with a bad crowd and…”
If he could have smiled, he probably would have done. Instead, he sipped at his wine once more, and wiped his chin again. He was clean-shaven, had made no attempt to cover his missing lips with a beard. Konrad wondered if his lips had rotted away or whether Kastring had deliberately mutilated himself.
“But tell me more of Ferlangen,” he continued. “What of Marlena, Otto’s sister? She is still alive, I trust.”
“She was.”
“She and I had such excellent times together. We were intimate friends for a considerable while. Our families were nearly joined through us, but I was somewhat reluctant to bind myself so permanently. Instead, I suggested that Otto should marry my sister. Did they ever wed, do you know? I was never one for writing letters, I admit. And because of my present circumstances, I have rather lost touch.” Kastring shrugged and reached for the wine flagon.
Konrad stared at him even more intently. “It was your idea that Elyssa should marry?”
“Indeed.” Kastring lowered his goblet without drinking. “You know my sister?”
“I heard the name somewhere,” said Konrad, swiftly. “I don’t think they married. Otto was killed… a hunting accident.”
“What a shame. Marrying that fat bastard was exactly what Elyssa deserved.” He touched the side of his face. An ancient scar marked his cheek, running from his left eye down to his jaw. He became aware of how closely Konrad was watching him.
“My first battle wound,” he laughed. “A gift from my sister. Otto and Marlena were very close to one another, and it seemed reasonable that Elyssa and I should enjoy a similar relationship.” Kastring shook his head, sipped at his wine, wiped his mouth. “Alas, she had a different opinion.” He laughed again, a laugh that betrayed no trace of humour.
Elyssa had never told Konrad anything about how one of her brothers had attempted to assault her; but there was very little that she had told him, he recalled.
“With Otto dead,” Kastring continued, “that would make Marlena the baroness. Perhaps I should visit the old place when we reach the Empire. I would rather like to renew my acquaintance with Marlena.”
“The Empire?” said Konrad, his voice soft. “You’re heading for the Empire?” He already suspected that the armies of damnation intended to cross the border, but he had hoped he was wrong.
“Just a fleeting visit, perhaps,” Kastring told him. “Burn a few towns, loot some villages, slaughter all the inhabitants.” This time, there was no doubt that he was grinning; the last traces of his lips were curled upwards. “They’ve had it far too easy there for too long. They’ve grown soft, like fruit over-ripe for the picking.”
Konrad shuddered, thinking what the battle-hardened northern troops — the beastmen and their crazed allies — could accomplish amongst the defenceless townships. He clenched his fist tightly around his goblet.
Kastring sipped more of his wine. “I may even call in on my sister. I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see me.” He noticed Konrad’s glaring eyes. “Come now, don’t be so old-fashioned. She isn’t even my real sister.”
“What do
you mean?”
Kastring yawned, leaning back against the fallen tree trunk behind him. “Oh, I’m not too sure. Father never admitted it, but I’m convinced there was something strange about Elyssa. Mother died soon after she was born, although I don’t know if she was really Elyssa’s mother, or even if father was Elyssa’s father. I believe one of my parents had been up to some — how can I put this? — some mischief. Probably both of them.”
Konrad said nothing. Elyssa had revealed none of this to him, but there was no reason why she should have done. She might not even have known. Her mother may not have been her mother, Wilhelm Kastring may not have been her father — or maybe neither of them was her parent. Her origins seemed as mysterious as his own…
Konrad wondered if Kastring had heard anything of his unknown past. They had lived in the same village. Kastring’s father had been the lord of the manor and should have known of everything that happened there. But if Kastring did not even know the truth about his own sister, it seemed very unlikely that he would be any more aware of the background of a nameless peasant boy.
Kastring’s shield was by his side, decorated with the talismanic emblem of his dark deity, and also marked with his own family design. That was not the only heraldic crest which Konrad remembered from his native village. There was also the pattern on the bow and arrows that Elyssa had given him, the weapons she claimed to have found hidden in a forgotten room in the Kastring family home.
A quiver of some strange rippled leather, ten arrows, and a bow — all jet black, all marked with the same golden pattern: a mailed fist between two crossed arrows. It was the last of those arrows which had found Skullface’s heart, that the inhuman had contemptuously pulled from his unbloodied chest. Yet Skullface had appeared to recognize the golden crest, as had Wolf when he saw it on the black quiver and demanded to be taken to the annihilated village.
Could the weapons have belonged to Elyssa’s real father?
“Back in Ferlangen,” Konrad began, “I once saw another family crest. In black and gold. Two crossed arrows, a mailed fist between the arrow heads. Do you know anything about it?”
After a while, Kastring replied: “That does sound somewhat familiar.”
“On a bow, a quiver, a set of arrows?”
“Yes.” Kastring’s eyes were closed, and he ran his fingers across his brow. “An elf? Some connection with an elf, could it be? I confess that nought else comes to mind.”
Konrad stared deep into the flames, trying to concentrate, but his exhaustion and weakness conspired to defeat his thoughts.
Elyssa had given him the bow and arrows, and she had also given him his name. Until then he had none. And now her brother, or the person she had believed was her brother, seemed to have denied Konrad a name.
“You said names give power,” said Konrad. “Why didn’t you want to know mine?”
Kastring’s replies had always been slow, but now he said nothing for almost a minute, and Konrad had begun to think that he must have been asleep.
“Because you will not have it for long,” he answered slowly. “You will be dead by dawn.”
Konrad glanced around anxiously.
“In effect, you are already dead,” Kastring added. “You should not have tried to steal my sword.”
Konrad held up his right hand, examining it by the light of the fire, staring at the twin holes. His hand felt numb, but so did his other hand and both his feet. He was tired, very tired, that was all. Tired and cold and wounded.
His wrist was not even swollen. It could not be poisoned. He had only felt any pain when the snake had actually bitten — if indeed there had been a snake. It was probably only a trick, a delusion. There had been no serpent, no fangs puncturing his flesh, no venom flowing through his veins…
A minute earlier, all that Konrad had wanted was sleep, but now the last thing he intended was to close his eyes and surrender to the night.
CHAPTER FIVE
Konrad sat up abruptly, wincing at the pain that wracked his whole being. The sun burned fiercely down upon his naked body. His throat was drier than ever, his lips cracked, he was covered in a crust of blood. The embers of the fire still smouldered, and the wisps of grey smoke were the only sign of movement. Everything else was still and silent; everyone else was gone.
From the angle of the sun, it was at least three hours since dawn. He seldom slept that long, yet there had been plenty of catching up to do. Although he was no longer so totally exhausted, he felt as if he could easily have found some shade, closed his eyes and slept through the rest of the day.
He resisted the temptation and studied his wrist. The two serpent bites had scabbed over, as had the cut in his arm where one of the inhuman girls had sliced the flesh. The elf who had saved Konrad’s arm now seemed to have also saved his life. According to Kastring, Konrad should have been dead. That was why the marauders had left him here; they believed that he was. It could only be the residual effects of the potent healing magic which had saved him.
He stood up and went to examine the creatures’ camp. At first glance, there was hardly any sign that they had been here. Even the headless corpses of the sacrificial offerings were gone. The blood had been absorbed into the earth, baked by the early sun. The ground seemed very dry, and Konrad knelt down to touch it. It had no substance, was as lifeless as sand. The few clumps of grass and plants in the vicinity had become brown and brittle, and were wilting away. The nearby trees were covered in fungus and rot, decayed like those where the Forest of Shadows was inhabited by beastmen. Whatever the invaders touched became corrupted, even the ground upon which they trod.
Konrad fingered his lips, remembering the goblet from which he had drunk, remembering Kastring’s lips, wondering if that was why his own were now cracked…
But it was the lack of water, he told himself, the raging thirst that consumed him. Drinking wine always made him very thirsty the next day, and he had been parched even before his first taste.
“It transpires that you are as tough as you look.”
Konrad whirled around.
Kastring was a few yards away, mounted on a huge beast that must once have been a horse. Its skin was mottled, red and black, and its flanks were protected by armour. Instead of hooves, it had taloned claws; its mouth was fanged like a dog’s, and a single spiral of dark horn grew from the centre of its skull.
Despite his own grotesque appearance, Kastring did not look as frightening in the daylight as he had at night. The horns on his head seemed to be a part of his helmet, his grinning teeth were like a mask he wore over his face. His hair hung almost to his waist, and he was clad in black fur and red leather, as well as gleaming brass armour. His snake-hilted sword hung at his hip, his two-crested shield hung from his saddle.
Konrad backed away.
“Have no fear,” Kastring told him. “I have no intention of killing you, I assure you. Not at present. I merely wish to invite you to join our expedition.”
“If I refuse?”
“That question does not arise. My request was more in the nature of a command. You should be dead. Because that seems not to be the case, you intrigue me. You will join us. You will amuse me with tales of Ferlangen. I was fatigued last night, I must admit, and so my conversation may not have been very spirited. For that I apologize. We will share many hours of discussion in future, until…”
“Until?”
“Until you die. All things must come to a conclusion, even life, especially life. We are born to die. It is not knowing when we shall meet our ultimate demise that makes our lives so interesting, I’m sure you agree? And your own life, I promise you, will be extremely interesting.”
Konrad sensed another figure behind him, and he turned. It was the surviving death dancer. She was clad now, wearing sandals and a short loose robe, her body cleansed of gore. Her hair was tied back, but was still the colour of blood; so were her eyes and her feral teeth.
Her forehead was marked with the main symbol that was on Kastri
ng’s shield; the cross with two bars had been carved into her flesh, leaving a vivid crimson scar. She looked far more gaunt, far less seductive than she had in the haunted moonlight, but no less terrifying. The spiked band was still around her neck, but now she also wore a necklace through which her knife was looped. The necklace seemed to be made from bones, human fingerbones.
“I don’t believe you have been formally introduced,” said Kastring. “This is Silk. Or maybe Satin. I’m afraid I never could tell them apart. No matter. Like myself, she has no need to know your name. She does not speak Old Worlder, but you will learn to do everything that she commands. From now on, you and she will never be more than a yard apart. Perhaps much closer. She can be very pleasant company, I assure you. And then one day, maybe soon, maybe not, she will kill you.”
Kastring spoke to the girl, who nodded solemnly. All the time, her eyes were on Konrad, studying his naked body. When Kastring had finished speaking, she raised the blade of her knife, kissed it, and blew Konrad the kiss. He shuddered, staring at her lips, remembering her forked tongue and the way it had licked his blood last night.
“She appears to like you,” Kastring commented.
Konrad remained silent. It would not be him who died, he promised himself. His erstwhile torturer would be the first to meet death. Either her or Kastring…
“The Empire, Ostland, Ferlangen!” called Kastring, as he tugged at his mount’s reins. “Our beloved homeland awaits our return!” The horse reared up, caracoled, then galloped off towards the south-west.
“Any chance of some Water?” said Konrad to his guard. “Something to eat? Anything to wear?”
He saw her tail twitch. She spoke, a few grunted syllables, and pointed in the direction that Kastring had taken. Konrad kept watching her and remained motionless. The girl withdrew her knife and raised it at a throwing angle. She was too far away for him to reach before she could hurl the blade, but too near for the knife to miss if she threw it.
Konrad turned and followed the rider; his escort followed him.
[Konrad 02] - Shadowbreed Page 6
