01 - Death's Messenger

by Sandy Mitchell - (ebook by Undead)

  “The sergeant told me to stay, in case you needed any help.” He looked a little embarrassed. “I’m afraid he got past me.”

  “Not for the want of trying, evidently.” Gerhard nodded affably at the liveried youth, and turned his attention to the widow, who was by now sobbing hysterically. “Please try to calm yourself, madam.”

  “What happened?” she asked, blinking in bewilderment. “Where’s Hans? Why did Fritz run off like that?” Gerhard put a sympathetic arm around her shoulders.

  “I’m afraid your son has indeed been touched by the Chaos powers. His brother was concealing his condition, which by strict interpretation of the law was in itself an act of heresy.”

  “But… how? I had no idea…”

  “Of course you didn’t. They took great pains to conceal the truth from you, knowing how much it would have hurt.” His arm jerked suddenly, and the woman spasmed, a fountain of crimson blood gushing from her throat. She gurgled, pain and surprise mingling in her eyes for a moment, and slumped to the floor. Gerhard wiped the thin dagger Rudi remembered from their encounter at the Altmans’ farm fastidiously on a fold of her dress before returning it to his sleeve. “But heresy spreads like disease, and we have to be sure.” He glanced up at Rudi as though nothing untoward had taken place. “As I’ve said before, we’ve wasted enough time here.”

  Rudi fell into step behind him, not trusting himself to speak. As he passed the white-faced militiaman they exchanged shocked glances. Both regarded the man in black with fresh dread. On the threshold Gerhard paused, and looked back at Stug. “Burn this place to the ground,” he said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  By the time they returned to the burgomeister’s mansion a thick pall of smoke was visible over the rooftops of Kohlstadt, Stug having evidently lost no time in obeying the witch hunter’s instructions and Rudi couldn’t blame him for that. After the casual execution of Frau Katzenjammer his own fear of the man in black, which familiarity had begun to dull, had returned with renewed force. Littman and a couple of his militiamen were back on duty outside the house, keeping back a crowd that seemed larger and more agitated than ever, and Gerhard raised a quizzical eyebrow as he drew level with the veteran sergeant.

  “Back so soon?” he enquired. Littman looked him in the eye, with the expression of a man determined to deliver the bad news as quickly as possible.

  “It got away,” he admitted.

  “Evidently.” Gerhard’s tone was non-committal and stung the old soldier far more than an overt rebuke would have done. The face behind the white moustache grew ruddy.

  “It jumped over the wall.” Despite his defensiveness a tone of awe began to creep in. “Three times the height of a man, from a standing start. There was no way we could have kept up with it. By the time we got to the gate it had vanished.”

  “I see. And the brother?”

  “Fritz?” Littman looked confused for a moment. “What about him?”

  Gerhard sighed.

  “I take it no one’s seen him either, then.”

  “No one’s told us to look.” He shrugged. “Isn’t he still at home?”

  “No.” Gerhard looked mildly annoyed. “Pass the word. I want him arrested on sight for harbouring a mutant.”

  “A mutant?” Greta joined them on the threshold, concern and triumph mingled on her face. “Are you sure?”

  “Unless he’s always had three eyes, yes.” Sarcasm didn’t sit well with the witch hunter, Rudi thought. It betrayed his frustration, and undermined his air of confident authority. It was the first sign of weakness the man had shown, and he found it vaguely reassuring.

  “Then there’s no question of my daughter being responsible for his condition,” Greta stated flatly, daring him to contradict her.

  “Perhaps.” Gerhard wasn’t about to concede anything without a fight. “But something must have triggered the change. Perhaps her words were enough.”

  “But he was changing before then!” Rudi cut in, forgetting his own nervousness for a moment. “He had a bandage over that eye thing when Hanna and I saw him! Ask Franz the smith.” He appealed to Littman. “Hans was in his militia troop. He’ll tell you.”

  “Big Franz is dead,” Littman said dully. “Took sick last night. Went just like that.”

  “He can’t be!” Rudi refused to believe it. Greta shook her head in sombre confirmation.

  “I’m afraid it’s true. I’ve never seen a case come on so quickly or so severely.” She shrugged. “But then his family had it, and he was strong. Maybe he’d been fighting it off for days, and it overwhelmed him all at once.”

  “Tragic, but of little help now.” Gerhard turned to Littman. “If the boy was mutating before this alleged curse was cast, you might have noticed something. The militia is your responsibility, after all.”

  “He hadn’t been around much,” Littman agreed, after a moment’s thought. “I wasn’t too bothered to be honest, he wasn’t much of an asset at the best of times. I thought he was just getting over his injuries.”

  “Injuries?” Gerhard seized on the word. “How did he come to be injured?”

  “He fell into a thorn bush,” Littman said shortly. “When we were out chasing beastman tracks in the forest.”

  “That seems remarkably careless. Why would he be so close to it?”

  “We all were,” Rudi said hastily, not wanting his own part in their tussle to be drawn to the witch hunter’s attention. “There was blood on it, from one of the beastmen, and we were trying to see if…” He trailed off as an expression of sudden understanding crossed the witch hunter’s face.

  “Ah,” he said. “Blood. I see.”

  “See what?” Magnus had appeared in the doorway behind Greta, an expression of mild interest on his face. The healer shifted a pace or two away from him, making room for Steiner to interpose himself between them.

  “Blood will carry the taint,” she said. “If he got the ichor of a beastman in an open wound…” she made the sign of the dove with great ostentation. “Even the blessing of Shallya might not be enough.”

  “Well,” Magnus said with a degree of cheerfulness that was calculated to get under the witch hunter’s skin, “it seems you won’t have to execute us for wasting your time after all.”

  “Not in this instance, no.” Gerhard turned back to Littman. “Get your best people together, and meet me at the main gate.”

  “Yes, sir.” Littman saluted and hurried off, elbowing his way through the crowd. The man in black turned back to Rudi.

  “Where’s your father?”

  “Still in the forest I suppose.” Rudi shrugged. “He was already out scouting when I woke up this morning.”

  “Very well.” Gerhard shrugged. “It seems we’ll have to rely on your tracking skills, at least for the time being.”

  “Tracking what?” Steiner asked, blinking bewilderedly.

  To Rudi’s relief the tracks left by the thing which had once been Hans Katzenjammer were easy to spot. There were deep impressions of abhuman feet driven into the soil where its weight had descended so precipitously on the far side of the wall. He bent to examine them, and the small group around him shifted nervously.

  “They seem clear enough,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

  Littman spat. Rudi was beginning to notice he did so at any sign or mention of the Empire’s inhuman enemies. He leaned on the haft of his halberd. Rudi was shocked to see that the man was beginning to look his age now, worn down over the last few days by the pressures of duty and the immanence of the beastmen threat, but the old soldier still looked formidable enough. He took comfort in that, as the idea of facing the altered Hans was far from appealing, the memory of the talons on his hands was far too fresh for that. But Gerhard was determined to track it down, and the witch hunter was impossible to refuse. If he’d even contemplated trying, the dying gurgle of Frau Katzenjammer was still loud enough in his ears to stop any protest before it could reach his tongue. Stug was clearly
of a similar mind; he hovered on the fringes of the group, as far from the man in black as he could contrive to be. Every now and again his eyes met Rudi’s and they shared a brief moment of terrified complicity.

  Gerhard was as cool as ever, merely watching as Rudi considered every detail of the footprints. They were large for human feet, and small indentations in front of the toes implied that these nails too had elongated into claws. He shuddered at the picture they conjured up, and returned his mind to the business at hand.

  “Which way?” Gerhard’s voice was as conversational as ever, and a casual observer might have been forgiven for thinking he was merely asking directions for a pleasant summer stroll.

  Rudi pointed.

  “Over there.” The prints disappeared almost at once on the hard ground, but the stalks of the grass on the common grazing land that stretched out before them were clearly bent to his practiced eye. He led the small group of armed men off with growing confidence. “Towards the forest.”

  “Of course,” the witch hunter said. “Seek the unholy in the darkest of places…” It sounded like a quotation to Rudi, although he couldn’t imagine where from. His guess was confirmed a moment later as Littman completed it.

  “But be not surprised to find them by the light of day.” He spat for emphasis. “Sound advice.”

  “You’ve read Mossbauer?” Gerhard sounded surprised. Littman shrugged.

  “I knew one of your order a few years back, when we were cleansing the Drakwald. He had a copy. I still have it at home somewhere.”

  “Ah.” Gerhard nodded. “You picked it up after he was killed in battle, I suppose.” Littman shook his head.

  “Won it off him at dice,” he said. “But he was good in a scrap, I’ll give him that. And it’s done me well over the years.”

  “What has?” Rudi asked. He’d never have thought of the old soldier as the literary type, and the news that he had a book at home was surprising indeed.

  “Mossbauer’s Lieber Ferox,” Gerhard said. “A tract on the need for constant vigilance against the enemies of humanity.”

  “He knew what he was on about,” Littman confirmed. “I remember one time me and the lads were passing through this village, and there was something about it just didn’t seem right. Couldn’t put my finger on it, though. So there I was, tucked up in my bedroll and leafing through the book, trying to settle myself before sleeping, and I come across this passage…”

  Whatever else he might have been about to say Rudi never knew, because Stug suddenly pointed and yelled.

  “Over there! By the tree line!” Rudi’s eyes snapped up from the trail he’d been following, failing to spot the distant figure of the mutant for a moment. Then he realised that Hans had doubled back for some reason, and was now a considerable distance to the right of the path he’d left.

  That didn’t make sense. The trail of flattened grasses he was following was running directly towards the forest, and continued in a straight line for as far as he could see. Why would Hans have turned aside before reaching the refuge of the trees? If he’d kept going he would have been well inside the woodland by now, and safe from pursuit.

  “Come on!” Gerhard broke into a run. “We’ve got it now!” Rudi doubted that. The Hans creature was close to the tree line, in a spot he knew well, where the path to the village entered the woods. It was the one he usually took, and it ran past the Reifenstal’s cottage.

  Of course, he told himself as he ran. The creature’s path had intersected the trail as it fled, and it had turned off onto the easier route. But why had it lingered for so long?

  A vivid mental image of the beastman in Altman’s field sniffing the air rose in his mind and a shiver of apprehension ran down his spine. There was no telling what abhuman senses Katzenjammer might have developed as his body altered, and it was perfectly possible that he was able to track by scent now. And he still blamed Hanna for his condition…

  But that was absurd, surely. Even if his feverish imaginings were true the creature would have followed the girl’s scent the other way, back to her home, where it was strongest…

  He was jolted out of his reverie by yells and the sounds of combat. In a moment he had reached the edge of the forest and plunged into the cool shadows beneath the trees, where the familiar odours of damp earth and growing vegetation were befouled by the stench of blood. One of the militiamen was down, blocking the trail, blood spreading slowly across the front of his tunic and he had an expression of surprise on his face as he tried to rise from his knees. The rest were scattered among the trees, their spears levelled. They were far from keen on the idea of closing with their abhuman enemy.

  Far from fleeing in terror from the righteous as a spawn of Chaos was supposed to do, according to Father Antrobus’ sermons, the Hans thing turned to face them. The malicious grin Rudi remembered from the times the village bully would torment a weaker child was vivid on its features, and the sense of familiarity made the sight all the more unsettling. Now that Hans had stopped cowering in the dark and been forced to come to terms with his altered body, he had clearly realised the power it contained and the opportunities that it afforded to hurt and terrorise.

  “Rudi.” It stared at him in vengeful anticipation. “You haven’t got your little witch to save you now.”

  “Hanna’s no witch!” For the second time in as many days Rudi felt the lack of a weapon. Once again he vowed he’d not be caught without one again if he lived through this encounter. Impelled by anger he leapt forwards without thinking, and aimed an unskilled punch at his enemy. Hans reacted too slowly, and Rudi’s fist connected solidly with the mutant’s jaw. Agonising pain lanced through his knuckles and deadened his arm, making him stumble. He’d never realised punching somebody would hurt himself too.

  “Out of the way, lad!” Littman swung his halberd at the creature, which evaded it with abhuman dexterity. Rudi ducked, as much to avoid the weapon as Hans’ counterblow, and felt something snag in his shirt with the sound of ripping cloth. If he’d been an instant slower the fearsome talons would have gutted him, he had no doubt.

  Hans made a harsh sound deep in his throat, which after a horrified moment Rudi recognised as laughter. He stumbled away, his eyes watering from the pain in his arm. He tripped over something warm, yielding, and foul-smelling. As he rolled to his feet he realised it was the body of another of the militiamen, his throat torn out, still spasming as the last of his life ebbed away.

  “In the name of Sigmar I condemn you for heresy!” Gerhard thrust his sword at the creature as it turned to face Littman and block the swing of his halberd with its forearm. A thick bony ridge grew along here too, which impacted against the hardened wood of the weapon’s shaft with a crack like the collision of the staves the Morris dancers swung at village festivals. Overbalanced, the old soldier stumbled, his weapon turning in his hands.

  “Rut Sigmar,” Hans riposted, as the witch hunter’s heavy blade slashed a red gash in his leather-like hide. The wound would have crippled a normal man, but the mutant shrugged it off, and slashed back with its talons. Gerhard leapt backwards with the grace of a dancer, rapping the rough knuckles of the mutant’s hand with the flat of his blade, and swinging it back for another strike. Next to his fluid movements the rest of the men in the clearing seemed dull and slow. Rudi couldn’t help marvelling at his skill.

  “Gotcha!” Littman swung his heavy cutting blade at the mutant’s ankle. It bit deep and released a gush of foul-smelling ichor. Hans howled with rage and struck back at him, scoring deep gashes in the sergeant’s armour with his claws, and sending the old man flying across the glade. He crashed to the ground winded.

  I have to help, Rudi thought, trying desperately to get to his own feet. His hand fell against something round and hard, and by reflex he picked it up, levering himself upright with it. It was only as he regained his feet that he realised it wasn’t a stick he held, but the dead militiaman’s spear. With it came a rush of confidence, and he ran forward, aiming the poin
t at his enemy and yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “Leave him alone!” Stug planted himself firmly between Hans and the fallen Littman, who was beginning to stir feebly and raise himself on his arms. His voice trembled slightly, as did the point of the spear he held out towards Hans, but his body was rigid with determination. Hans laughed again.

  “He’ll keep ’til I’ve gutted you.” He tried to charge forward, but stumbled, and looked down at his damaged ankle for a moment. As he did so Rudi thrust his own spear directly at the mutant’s face. The strike was a clumsy one and would have missed if Hans hadn’t dropped his head at that instant. The sharp iron point scored across his brow, clipped the orbit of his third eye, and broke against the bony crest that topped his skull. Hans roared again, and turned on Rudi like an avenging daemon.

  “I’ll kill you, Walder! I’ll kill you all!”

  “Not today.” Gerhard’s sword thrust went clean through the mutant’s body. Rudi expected it to drop, no one could survive such a wound, but Hans simply turned on the witch hunter. He backhanded him across the clearing as he had in the bedroom. Hans seized the hilt of the sword and pulled it out. His blood hissed as it met the air, like water on a hot stove, and Rudi felt his eyes stinging. Hans flung the weapon vengefully, spitting Stug like a hare for the roasting.

  “This isn’t over, Walder.” Unbelievably the mutant was still standing, hate glaring from his three eyes. He was swaying a little from the loss of blood. It seemed to be flowing more slowly than it should, and hardening like amber as it met the air. For an instant Rudi was paralysed; he had expected the creature to charge him. He gripped the shaft of his spear tightly, but some semblance of sense seemed to take hold of Hans at last.

  “Don’t just stand there!” Littman was on his feet again too, bawling at the rest of his militiamen, who were still hovering indecisively on the fringes of the battle. “Get stuck in! Or if he doesn’t get you, by Ulric’s beard I swear I will!” That did it. A small knot of nervous spearmen began to advance, hemming the mutant in. Before they could close he turned, and vanished into the undergrowth. Silence descended, broken only by harsh breathing.