“Why did you build a likeness of me?” he asked.
“Chance.”
There is no such thing as chance — Wolf had told him that so many times, and over the years Konrad had come to believe it was true. Fate, coincidence, they did not exist. They were all part of a larger, although incomprehensible, pattern.
“I was transforming life,” Heinler continued, “taking one of the undead and refining their image into that of someone else. One of them happened to be you. Before we parted, I took a sample of your blood and a piece of your flesh. That was enough to build a semblance of your life. An excellent semblance, in fact.”
Blood, flesh. When Konrad had regained consciousness, discovering himself a prisoner of Kastring’s marauders, he had lost plenty of both.
“The eyes were wrong,” he said. “The colours switched from left to right.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s your eyes that are wrong.”
To distract Heinler from his eyes, Konrad said: “You must have known it was me in the tunnel. That was why you sent my double to fight me.”
“I had made a simulacrum of a human warrior. I wanted to see how it would fare against a human combatant. That human warrior happened to be you, Konrad. Chance,” Heinler said again.
And again Konrad did not believe it could be chance. The rat wizard must have been lying; everything he said had probably been a lie. Heinler’s long sleeve covered the end of his right arm, and the missing paw. If he were such a great sorcerer, if he could create an imitation of life, why could he not replace his own missing limb?
The grey seer spoke to each of the skaven warriors. They both replied, and then the one without any ears left the cave. The guard with the single eye remained by his master’s side.
“I don’t know what to do with you, Konrad,” Heinler said. “I sense that…” He shook his head, which seemed such an unreal gesture from such an inhuman, but he did not finish the sentence.
Konrad waited, hoping that he would conclude what he was saying and that he might provide some clue to the enigma that was Konrad’s life.
“What were you doing at the mine?” Konrad asked. “Waiting to kill me?”
“The knife I threw? If I’d wanted you dead, you would have been dead.” He glanced at the stiletto and threw it into the air. It spun around and around, but he caught the handle easily in his one paw. “Good with a knife, aren’t I?” he said, in the voice of a Kislevite mine slave. “I was a miner. For a day. Until I caused a dark mist to envelop the watchtowers so that the raiders could attack without warning.”
“Why did you join me when I followed the beastmen?”
Heinler said nothing.
“Were you obeying Skullface’s orders?”
The grey seer still did not reply, but there was something strange about his expression. Was it doubt? Could it be that he did not know the real answer? Perhaps he knew almost as little as Konrad. Heinler stared at him for a long while, and Konrad did not glance away. He met the skaven’s red gaze without flinching.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asked. “It was you that hit me, wasn’t it? You called out a warning, I turned, then you knocked me out.”
It took a while for the grey seer to reply. “I took your blood, I took your flesh,” he insisted. “That was all I wanted. This time I will take more, far more.”
He spun around and left the cave, and Konrad was left alone with one of the giant warrior rats.
Time passed, and it was almost like being locked in Litzenreich’s chamber. But that was several miles away, both horizontally and vertically, and there were a number of other differences. He was chained up, it was dark, he had to lie on the hard rock, and he was given no food. He managed to keep his tongue and throat moist by sucking on the moisture which oozed from the damp walls.
There was no locked door, but there was no door. Instead, there was always a guard nearby. It was often one of the first two warrior rats, who he came to think of as No Ears and Silver Eye. If not, they were members of the same clan and branded with an identical circular emblem. There was never any sign of the grey skaven. Konrad shouted out his name many a time, hoping that the sentries would call their leader, but to no avail. Perhaps Heinler was not even the grey seer’s name, just one he had invented when he had transformed himself into human form.
He began picking up the nearest bones. There were plenty lying loose, and he did not have to prise them from the nearby corpses. He smashed the bones against each other, or rubbed them upon the wall, until they became splintered and pointed. He used most of these to pound into the rock, as if hoping to dig his way free.
The skaven seemed very amused, and he often saw a few of them in the entrance, coughing their rodent laughter. They did not even appear concerned when he tried to lever the metal collar from his throat or dig the chain out of the wall. He soon gave up on the former, because the only damage he did was to his own neck.
After he had snapped several femurs, the rusty securing bolt was still securely embedded into the stone. It had remained in place for centuries, and hundreds of prisoners must have been chained to it and died in this very cell carved from the rocky strata. But when he was not apparently attempting to lever away the solid metal, or to chisel into the solid rock, Konrad collected a few sharpened bones which would serve as weapons if ever one of the rat-things approached within range. They seldom came close enough for him to reach with his bare hands.
Without day or night, there was no telling how long he had been chained up. He had slept a few times, but never properly, and it had been impossible to calculate the passing days.
He thought of Heinler, and how he had first met him at the mine. It was because of Heinler that he had become a prisoner of Kastring’s band. Kastring was Elyssa’s brother, and Konrad had been with Elyssa when he first saw the bronze warrior. Then Konrad had become the bronze warrior, and it was Litzenreich who had saved him from the armour which imprisoned him. Now he was Heinler’s prisoner, and Heinler seemed to know Litzenreich.
Everything seemed connected, each separate occurrence like the link in a chain — an invisible chain which had always held Konrad captive without him ever being aware of his confinement. All he could do was contemplate the situation into which his unseen slavemaster had now driven him, and try to work out his place in the larger pattern. There seemed no solution because as a forgotten hostage of the skaven, his role in the greater scheme must be over.
He was lost beneath the world, where all true events occurred, and he must surely die and rot like every previous inhabitant of the foetid cavern.
As always, he was leaning against the damp wall, gazing through the darkness towards the slightly less dark entrance opposite, when he thought he heard a sound behind him. But the only thing behind was rock, and he realized he must be hallucinating. He was delirious through hunger.
He was almost beginning to hope that Heinler would return, to carry out his threat of taking more blood and flesh. That would be a much swifter way to die, although Konrad did not like the idea of his unliving double continuing to exist after his own death.
Then he heard the noise again, a distant echoing which seemed to be coming through the very rock.
He leaned back against the cavern wall, pressing his ear to the moist surface. It sounded like a hammer hitting a chisel, as though someone were tunnelling through. There must have been other caves nearby, where more prisoners were incarcerated.
One of them was hitting the wall with a stone or a piece of bone, doing what Konrad did. That was the only possible explanation.
Konrad stood up and walked as far towards the centre of the cave as the chain around his neck allowed. He kept moving as much as he could, although he realized that it depleted his energy. Any kind of activity kept his senses alert, however, and he exercised his muscles regularly.
He paced two yards to the left, two yards to the right, because that was as far as his tether allowed. He saw the red eyes of No Ears watching him.
<
br /> Suddenly, Konrad was flung across to the other side of the cavern, near the entrance. He lay on his back, gazing up at the low ceiling. The cave was full of swirling black smoke, and he could not work out what was going on.
A squat shape loomed above him. He seemed to recognize the figure, but could not identify him. He saw the mouth moving, but he heard no words. Just as the smoky clouds had obscured most of his vision, so he seemed to have become deaf. The shape pulled him to his feet. A dwarf; it was a dwarf!
He felt dizzy, saw the dwarf mouthing a word, and he shook his head again. Another squat and bearded figure emerged from the jagged hole that they must have blasted into the cave. The dwarfs had blown their way into the cavern where he was held prisoner. The explosion had freed the end of the chain that held him, but it had also stunned and deafened him for a while.
“Varsung?” yelled a voice. It was Ustnar, he realized. That was who was supporting him.
“Dead,” he whispered. “Dead!” he shouted.
The other dwarf closed his eyes for a second, shook his head, then said: “Let’s get out of here!”
But before Konrad and the two dwarfs could escape through the passage they had created, the cavern was invaded by a pack of skaven.
Ustnar leapt forward, his axe swinging. Furry limbs were severed, and rodent bodies tumbled, sliced and screaming. Konrad joined the fray, swinging the freed end of his chain as though it were a weapon. He caught one of the rat-things around one of its upper limbs, dragging it closer to him. It was No Ears.
The skaven’s jagged blade arced towards Konrad, but he ducked away and evaded the blow. As he did so, he picked up one of the bones that lay scattered on the ground — and thrust it into the rodent’s mouth, down its throat.
The creature fell, dropping its weapon. Konrad raised yet another bone, one of those he had sharpened, and drove it into the skaven’s chest. Foul blood spurted from its writhing body, but he kept on stabbing the beast with more and more bones until it had been totally impaled. And still it kept twitching, refusing to accept that it was dead.
“Come on!” yelled a voice. It was Hjornur, the other dwarf.
Ustnar was busy slaying skaven, and the cave was a mass of bodies. It seemed that he would have preferred to venture out into the warren beyond, to find more of the enemy and keep on killing rather than retreat. Konrad knew the way he felt.
Hjornur beckoned to Konrad, and he gathered up the chain, then bent down into the tunnel. Hjornur pushed him through. He saw another figure ahead, lit by a lantern. As the shape gestured for him to hurry, he recognized Joukelm. He obeyed, moving as fast as he could, following the dwarf as he turned and made his way along the passage. He heard more sounds behind him. Hjornur and Ustnar were bringing up the rear, although he paid little attention. He was too busy trying to keep up with the dim figure of the distant dwarf clambering through the narrow tunnel.
There was a sudden thunderous roar, and a blast of turbulent air knocked him forward. Blood trickled from both nostrils, another cloud of dust enveloped him, and he coughed. Choking and deafened again, he realized that the dwarfs had used more gunpowder to block off the passage behind in order to prevent pursuit.
Konrad kept on scrambling through the gloom, but with each step he was climbing, heading back the way he had come an unknown number of days ago, back towards Middenheim, back towards Litzenreich’s subterranean workshop.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Thanks for coming for me,” said Konrad.
“We didn’t come for you,” said Joukelm.
“We came for Varsung,” said Hjornur.
Konrad already knew that, but he said nothing else; the first five words had been difficult enough. He drank some more water. The dwarfs had taken no such luxury items as food into the skaven domain, being laden down with tunnelling equipment, weapons and gunpowder.
After a long and arduous journey, they had at last reached the labyrinthine levels beneath Middenheim. Several times Konrad thought he could not go on, he was too exhausted, but the dwarfs had half-dragged, half-carried him over the worst obstacles. It was as if they had to get him back or else their whole mission would have been wasted. He was covered in sweat and dirt and blood, his body was cut and gashed and bruised; but he was alive, he was free, and that was worth any pain and deprivation.
He stripped naked and used more water to bathe his fresh wounds and wash away the dried blood, to rinse off the dust and the sweat. But he was not completely naked, because the iron collar was still around his neck, as was the length of rusty chain which had fettered him to the wall of the cave. Konrad remembered the black links that Wolf wore around his neck. He had said it was part of a chain which had once held him captive, that he kept it in order to remember how bad incarceration had been and to remind him that he would rather die than ever be taken prisoner again. But Konrad needed no such reminder, and Joukelm removed the iron necklace with a few accurate blows from his hammer and cold chisel.
“How did it happen?” Ustnar asked, finally.
“It was all over in a moment,” Konrad replied, knowing exactly what the dwarf meant. “An arrow from a crossbow. Varsung never knew what hit him. There was no pain. He died instantly. I killed his killer.”
Only the last sentence was untrue, although Konrad had slaughtered so many skaven in the tunnel that he might even have slain the one with the crossbow.
Ustnar stared at him, and Konrad returned his gaze. “That’s what happened,” he affirmed.
Ustnar nodded, and he walked off into the gloom of the cavern. The other three watched him go.
“Varsung was his brother,” said Joukelm.
“But that’s not why we returned,” said Hjornur. “We went back because Varsung was a comrade.”
Konrad drank some more water, then chewed on a piece of dried bread. It had taken them long enough to return, he thought, or maybe that was only the way it appeared. After the warpstone raid, the skaven would have been on full alert, and the dwarfs must have taken a different course into the rat warren, even carving a new route part way through the rock.
He was certain Litzenreich had nothing to do with their expedition. The wizard had sent Konrad to his death, and also anyone who was with him. It was Varsung’s bad luck that he was the one.
Or had it been Litzenreich’s suggestion that it should be Varsung who accompanied Konrad while the other three took a different path?
Konrad thought of when they had first ventured into the skaven domain, and he asked: “You got the warpstone?”
“Yes,” replied Joukelm.
“Why?”
“Why?” repeated Joukelm.
“Why did you do it? Why work for Litzenreich?”
“We work with him,” said Hjornur.
“But you call him ‘boss’,” Konrad said.
“Only to keep him happy,” said Joukelm. .
“But he’s the one who gives the orders. He is the boss. He wants the warpstone, not you.” Konrad looked at the two dwarfs.
“We are allies,” Hjornur said. “We get the warpstone. Litzenreich uses it.”
“No, he uses you.”
“Maybe. But it is the result that matters.”
“The death of Varsung? Isn’t that the result?”
“No,” said Joukelm, joining in. “No one lives forever.”
“Varsung didn’t have much chance to, did he?” said Konrad.
“There are always casualties.”
Now that he was beginning to recover, Konrad was becoming irritated at the way the dwarfs seemed to consider Litzenreich. Did they not realize that he manipulated them for his own dubious purposes?
“Litzenreich wanted the skaven to know I was there. They could smell the warpstone you used to get me out of the bronze armour. Varsung and I were a diversion, so that you could steal the warpstone. Because of that, Varsung died. You didn’t want that, did you? That’s why you came back, hoping he was alive.”
“We hoped,” Joukelm shrugged, “bu
t—”
“We’re fighting a war,” said Hjornur, “just as you were in Kislev” The dwarf must have heard of Konrad’s years on the frontier from Litzenreich. “You were defending a gold mine, which meant battling against beastmen. Each one you killed slowed the advance of Chaos by a fraction, although that may not have been your motive. And we are part of that same conflict here.”
Konrad stared at the two dwarfs, hardly believing what he was hearing. Had the magician enchanted them?
The reaction of Joukelm and Hjornur was completely contrary to what he had expected. Dwarfs were notoriously short-tempered, and he had thought they would be absolutely incensed at the idea of Litzenreich deliberately using Varsung to bait a trap. Ustnar seemed naturally upset at the death of his brother, yet that was all. The other two appeared totally unconcerned, as though the wizard’s behaviour had been entirely reasonable.
They had not even seemed surprised when Konrad revealed that the skaven must have been warned of their approach by the smell of warpstone. The reason, he suddenly understood, was obvious: the dwarfs knew. They knew all about warpstone and its effects; they knew Konrad’s body was permeated with warpstone; they knew that the skaven could detect the scent of warpstone.
What of Ustnar? Had he also known that his own brother might die as a result of Litzenreich’s scheme? He must have done — and Varsung must also have known…
The only member of the mission who had been unaware that the skaven would smell the odour of warpstone on Konrad had been Konrad himself.
Would he always be affected? Or would the taint fade over the years? He needed to ask Litzenreich. He hoped never to encounter another skaven; but if they could smell him, they would seek him out for the warpstone that they craved.
Although relieved to be free, Konrad still resented the way Litzenreich had used him. He had used the dwarfs, too. They knew it, yet they remained loyal. It made no sense, but Konrad was used to the defeat of logic in the face of unreason.
[Konrad 02] - Shadowbreed Page 16
