Wilcreitz glared at him, clearly hoping to find fault with his words, tone or expression. Unable to find any, he nodded again and turned away to speak with several of the mercenaries.
“Pay him no mind,” Kleiber instructed. “He has a suspicious nature and distrusts any not of the order, but his intentions are good and his heart pure.”
Alaric wasn’t too sure about the last one, but chose to simply nod and say nothing.
“You have not said why you are here,” Kleiber reminded them, clapping both Alaric and Dietz on the shoulders to show that his statement was a friendly request rather than an interrogation. “When last we met you were pursuing thieves in the hope of reclaiming an item of some value.”
“We still are,” Dietz explained, nodding, “although not the same thieves.”
“We found the men we were chasing in Nuln,” Alaric continued for him, “dead, torn apart, actually, but the item was not with them, and we saw signs that someone else may have taken it. We have been following that trail ever since. It led us to Dotternbach, then into the mountains.”
Kleiber stroked his long chin thoughtfully. “Interesting. We too have been pursuing our quarry,” he told them, “and their trail has led here as well. Perhaps these two pursuits are connected in some way.”
Alaric glanced at Dietz, who nodded. “I think they may be indeed,” he agreed slowly. “The men were Chaos cultists, and they were slaughtered by beastmen.”
The witch hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Truly?” he asked. “Then we are almost certainly upon the same quest, and did not realise it.” He glanced around and lowered his voice. “Have you caught sight of them?”
“No,” Dietz answered, “but they may have shot at us once.”
“Someone attacked us from the bank while we sailed upriver to Dotternbach,” Alaric explained. “I thought I caught a glimpse of a beastman among the trees, but I could not be sure.” He decided not to tell Kleiber about his strange visions; the witch hunter had proved a decent fellow for one of his order, but even his new-found tolerance might not be able to withstand the notion that Alaric was seeing corrupt images everywhere.
“You did not pursue them?” Kleiber asked.
Dietz shook his head. “We were on a boat at the time,” he pointed out, “and they had spears, and at least one rifle. Besides, our trail still ran beside the river.”
The witch hunter nodded. “Yes, I see.” He thought for a moment before nodding again. “You were no doubt correct to continue on,” he said finally. “Confronting them might have meant your death, and the failure of your quest.” He grinned, a tight smile. “Besides, if you had died, you would not be here, and we would not have met again, to compare information and perhaps join forces.”
“I think joining forces may be a good idea,” Alaric agreed, “especially since it does sound as if we are after the same beastmen.” He shook his head. “I am still amazed to run into you out here, however. How did you happen across us?”
Kleiber’s grin widened. “We saw your tracks,” he admitted. “We did not know they were yours, of course, but our tracker picked them out from the mass of other marks along the trail, and we followed them this way, curious what two humans were doing behind, and then diverging from, a pack of beastmen. It was a good thing we did, at that.”
“Definitely,” Dietz agreed. “We owe your tracker our thanks.”
“You may tell him so yourself,” Kleiber said. “He is right over there.” He gestured, and Alaric turned to follow the motion. He saw Wilcreitz talking to two men, one of them a grizzled old warrior and the other dressed in worn travel leathers. The second man was short and stocky like Wilcreitz, with sandy hair going grey, and Dietz was already striding towards him by the time Alaric caught a clear glimpse of his face. Then he was following his friend, leaving a puzzled Kleiber behind.
“Lankdorf. You clever bastard!” Dietz’s shout cut across the small clearing, and the tracker turned, surprise and then shock followed by pleasure flickering across his solid features. He turned and stepped forward, clasping Dietz’s hand as the taller man reached him.
“Dietz, Alaric.” Merkel Lankdorf shook hands with both of them, and then laughed as Glouste stuck her head out of Dietz’s jacket and burbled at him, “and Glouste, as well. Don’t bite me this time, eh? This is a surprise, an’ not a bad one at that.”
“For us as well,” Alaric replied. “How did you get here, of all places? And with these men, of all people?” He gestured behind him, but Kleiber’s curiosity had brought him forward as well.
“I take it you know each other?” the witch hunter asked, his tone neutral, but his eyes alight with questions.
“We do indeed,” Alaric replied. “Herr Lankdorf was our… guide in the Border Princes not long ago, and was instrumental in the success of our mission, a similar mission to the one upon which we met you,” he added.
Kleiber’s eyes widened as he understood the reference.
“I would hear more of this mission,” the witch hunter announced, glancing at the three of them. “It seems Sigmar has demanded much of you since our own experiences together.”
“Let’s find some place to set up camp, a way from here,” Alaric suggested, “and we’ll be happy to tell you about it.”
“And to ask a few questions of our own,” Dietz added, poking Lankdorf with one finger, “such as why you disappeared and how you made it out alive, and found yourself in Herr Kleiber’s employ.”
Lankdorf nodded. “I’d hear what befell you once we parted,” the bounty hunter-turned-tracker agreed, “but I’ll second the notion that these trees are not the best shelter for us. The elves left no tracks, which means they could be anywhere. Clearly they know this spot well, though, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable knowing they might leap upon us at any moment.”
Kleiber nodded. “Wilcreitz, we shall set up camp in that small clearing we noticed along the way,” he called to his second, “and, once we have eaten, we will hear each other’s tales.”
“Dinner and entertainment,” Dietz murmured to Alaric as they gathered their meagre gear and followed the others, Lankdorf beside them. “I can’t wait.”
Lankdorf grinned at them, more relaxed than he had been the last time Alaric had seen him, back in the Border Princes. “At least the ale is good,” he told them. “For a man who abstains from most pleasures, Herr Kleiber has shown a strong appreciation for those few remaining, including food and drink.”
“It looks like our time together had a positive effect,” Dietz said to Alaric.
Alaric smiled. “I’ll drink to that.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Myrmidia’s spear,” Lankdorf whispered some time later. “Trouble does seem to follow you, doesn’t it?”
They had made camp under a rocky overhang that rose up within the forest, with several boulders shielding them from any archery, and several of the mercenaries standing guard. Kleiber had travelled well-stocked, and Dietz had taken advantage of the witch hunter’s stores to prepare a decent meal for them all.
Once they had eaten, he and Alaric took turns relating what had happened to them since they’d last seen Lankdorf in Vitrolle, back in the Border Princes. Dietz noticed that Alaric had been deliberately vague about the trail they’d followed from Middenheim and he had followed suit. If Lankdorf alone had been their audience, they might have been less reticent. Kleiber was still a witch hunter, and any possibility of taint or corruption could set him off, and Wilcreitz was clearly as fanatical, if not more.
“The mask is another relic, then?” Kleiber asked them, stroking his chin, “and you fear the beastmen have taken it as an object of worship?”
“Worship I can live with,” Alaric replied. “I’m more concerned they might find a way to use it, just as the cultists used the statues we sought.” Kleiber nodded, and Dietz suppressed a shudder at the memory of that chamber beneath Middenheim, and the ceremony they had almost failed to interrupt.
“Convenient that you keep unc
overing such items,” Wilcreitz commented, his broad face twisted into a sneer. “It’s almost as if you were seeking them out.” At the start of their recounting, they had found themselves having to explain why they had been in the Border Princes at all, and so they had given the two witch hunters an abbreviated account of their adventures in that land.
“It is more as if they are seeking us, actually,” Alaric replied calmly. “Perhaps because they know we are a danger to them.” The short witch hunter harrumphed, but made no other reply.
“You may be correct,” Kleiber commented, staring absently into the flames. “You are most certainly a danger to such tainted relics, the both of you. These artefacts may seek to neutralise you, so you can no longer interfere with their master’s dark plans.”
“Wonderful,” Dietz muttered, tossing a twig into the fire and watching it pop and shrivel.
“Indeed, this may be part of Sigmar’s divine plan,” Kleiber continued, his eyes alight with zeal. “Perhaps he has chosen the two of you to carry out his great work, by assigning you the holy task to destroy all such tainted objects! Certainly your efforts during our time together must have been blessed by Sigmar, for you to have survived and even succeeded against such overwhelming odds.”
Dietz shook his head, trying to head off that line of thought. As a child, he’d hated it when his father had told him to do something with no explanation and no reason. He hadn’t grown to like it any more now. If Sigmar had a mission for them, he should tell them somehow, rather than letting then wander around blindly and happen across such items apparently at random.
Dietz glanced up and saw Lankdorf, sitting not far away, tossing a small rock back and forth between his hands. “What happened to you?” he asked the former bounty hunter, desperate for a way to change the subject.
“What do you mean?” Lankdorf asked, glancing over at Dietz, but not pausing in his game of catch.
“Last we saw you was in Vitrolle,” Alaric pointed out. “We were trying to escape that battle and you suddenly got a strange look on your face and leapt down into the crowd. Then you were gone.”
“We waited two days,” Dietz added. “Figured if you were alive you’d show up by then.” He studied Lankdorf’s face. “You never did.”
“I got… distracted.” The tracker stared at the fire, his face hard.
“That’s hardly an explanation,” Alaric protested. “Come now, we told you what befell us. It is your turn, Lankdorf.”
“I am curious as well,” Kleiber stated. “I know what you have done since I hired you in Altdorf, but I know little of your life before that. Tell us, if you please.” The witch hunter’s face was impossible to read, but his tone suggested this was more than merely a request.
The former bounty hunter glanced around the fire. The mercenaries were all on watch or asleep, or cleaning their gear. None of them seemed to want to spend any more time with the witch hunters than necessary, which Dietz didn’t find surprising. He’d encountered the Sigmarites often enough in the past to know that, while they could pay well, they were usually harsh taskmasters, and had an unpleasant tendency to find heresy even among their employees. When working for one, it was wise to do the job, keep quiet, and stay out of the way as much as possible. Lankdorf would probably be doing the same, if it weren’t for Dietz and Alaric’s presence, and for the fact that Kleiber was clearly more relaxed around them. As a result, the bounty hunter-turned-tracker found he was alone with only Dietz, Alaric, and the two witch hunters.
Finally he nodded. “It’s only fair.” He frowned. “More than fair, actually. Truth be told, what I’ve done concerns you as well,” he said, looking at Alaric and Dietz, and then over at the witch hunters, his expression grim, “and may involve us all.”
Alaric smiled. “You set the stage well,” he told their friend. “You have our complete attention.” Dietz nodded, as did Kleiber. Wilcreitz only glowered.
Lankdorf straightened up, his hands still as he apparently organised his thoughts. Then, watching the flames dance rather than looking at any of them, he began his tale.
“We were in Vitrolle,” he explained slowly, “trying to get out alive. Then I saw someone I… recognised.”
“A cultist?” Dietz asked. He had expected his friend’s terse nod, but not the fierce expression that flickered across his face, a mixture of grief, rage, and hatred.
“They slaughtered my parents,” Lankdorf answered shortly, his tone blank, his features anything but. “It was… a long time ago.”
“Why would these cultists harm your family?” Alaric asked softly. “Weren’t they herbalists?” At first Dietz wasn’t even sure Lankdorf had heard the question, but the tracker answered after a moment.
“Yes,” Lankdorf said quietly, “simple herbalists. They lived to help others, to heal wounds and ease pain. They were well-liked, well-respected, and well-known.” He shook his head. “That’s what got them killed. The Jade Sceptre cultists came to their shop one day. They wanted drugs, but not for their health; they wanted ways to heighten sensation, to make even the smallest cut deliver true agony, ways to keep someone alive past all normal endurance, not without the pain, but in spite of it. My parents refused. They said it would be a bastardisation of everything they believed in.” Dietz saw his friend’s hands tighten where they rested on his knees. “So the cultists killed them. They raided their small shop, took everything they thought might be useful, and burned the rest.”
“You weren’t there.” It wasn’t really a question.
“No.” Lankdorf squeezed his eyes shut and set his jaw. “I was in the army at the time, serving our elector count. I didn’t find out what had happened until I finished my service and returned home. Our neighbours had already buried my parents, of course, along with a friend who had heard the argument, tried to intervene, and been killed for his trouble. The others told me about what had happened, and even described the cultists as best they could.” He gritted his teeth. “I had been trained as a tracker, but weeks had passed and any trail they’d left was long gone.” He shook his head. “I could have signed onto the army again, but I couldn’t bring myself to stay even that close after what had happened. I left the Empire altogether, fleeing to the Border Princes to escape anything that might remind me of my old life, and of my family. I hired out as a tracker, and then as a bounty hunter.”
“Then you captured us,” Alaric said.
“Yes. I also saw how dangerous that gauntlet was, and how it needed to be stopped.” Lankdorf shrugged and looked slightly embarrassed. “I had only been thinking of myself, all those years. My parents would have been disappointed. Helping you seemed like the right thing to do, for many reasons.”
“It was,” Dietz assured him. “We wouldn’t have survived without you.”
Lankdorf nodded, acknowledging the truth of that, and Dietz thought he saw Kleiber and even Wilcreitz look at the former bounty hunter with more respect.
“Once I heard the Jade Sceptre was involved, I couldn’t have turned away,” Lankdorf admitted, sounding almost guilty. “After that it became a matter of revenge, along with everything else.”
“When you disappeared,” Alaric said suddenly, “you looked as if you had just seen someone, and then you threw yourself into the battle.”
The tracker’s expression hardened. “My parents’ friends had seen the cultists who paid them that fatal visit. They described them to me. All the cultists had the same mark, a deep furrow carved into their left cheek and somehow dyed or stained a brilliant green. It was distinctive enough for me to recognise the mark if I ever saw it, and I did, that day, after we escaped the temple. He was a tall man, broadly built, with a shock of white hair and a strong nose bent at the end, and a chin too wide and square for his face. The mark was prominent on his cheek. When I saw him I just… I snapped. I leapt on him like a wild animal and clubbed him down with my crossbow. Then I put a bolt through his mouth, pinning him to the ground, and left him there to be trampled by the warriors still
fighting all around us.”
“Sigmar smiled upon you,” Kleiber assured him, his voice husky. “He granted you a chance to avenge your parents’ unjust murder.”
“Maybe so,” Lankdorf agreed, his eyes bright. “His hand may have been guiding me, and to more than just revenge. After the cultist died, I thought I’d find you two again, and we’d all leave together,” he said, glancing over at Dietz and Alaric again, and then looking away quickly. “Travelling with the pair of you made me homesick. It had been years since I’d left, and I thought I’d like to see the Empire again.” He paused, lost in his memories.
“You didn’t find us, though,” Alaric prompted after a moment. “Something stopped you?”
“Yes,” the tracker agreed, “something.” His face tightened again. “Or rather, someone.” He took a deep breath. “I spotted another cultist, a little way away. He was hard not to notice: short, solidly built, and immensely hairy, with thick orange hair that bristled like a boar’s, despite copious oil. The strangest things, though, were his hands. He was a brute in every aspect, more like an animal wearing clothes than a real man, but his hands… his hands were long, slender, and delicate, almost like a woman’s, and utterly hairless, completely smooth.”
“And he had the same mark on his cheek,” Dietz offered, knowing he was right even before Lankdorf’s nod.
“Yes. There was no mistaking it. He wasn’t fighting, though. He was crouching by the temple, next to what had been the staircase we’d used, but had crumbled into a pile of rubble. He seemed to be talking. Then he reached for something, clasped it to him, rose to his feet, and started running, hunched over and clearly trying to avoid the battle. I took off after him.”
The others were all leaning forward, eager to hear what happened next, even Wilcreitz. Lankdorf seemed to realise that, and showed a certain leaning towards the theatrical as he also leaned in, letting the firelight play across his face as his voice dropped to a whisper. This was far and away the most Dietz had ever seen the former bounty hunter speak at once, but he could tell Lankdorf was just as caught up in the tale as the rest of them.
03 - Hour of the Daemon Page 14
