Sofia compressed the fingers of her left hand as tightly together as she could and pulled hard against her bindings, her screams of pain muffled by the rag.
Though the pain was incredible, she kept pulling, her blood-slick hand straining to come free. Without her thumb, there was fractionally more give in the rope. Her moistened hand slipped up a tiny amount and she redoubled her efforts, eyes screwed shut as the pain threatened to overwhelm her.
A flap of skin and muscle around the stump tore and as Sofia pulled harder, she felt the wound rip wider. Even more blood soaked her hands, pattering in a red rain to the wooden floor. But her hand slipped up a fraction more, and even though she felt the wound rip wider the harder she pulled, she kept going.
She gave one last muffled shriek of pain and it was done.
Bathed in fiery agony, her hand felt like it was immersed in hot lava.
But it was free, hanging limply at her side and no longer bound to the chair.
She fought to stay conscious, taking great sucking breaths as best she could through her gag. Sofia knew she was losing a lot of blood and could go into shock at any minute, so, as quickly as she was able, leaned over and gripped the knife handle with her numbing fingertips. It was heavy and she almost lost her grip on it several times, but at last she was able to lift it to her lap.
Freeing her left ankle proved difficult without her thumb to grip the knife's handle properly, but the Butcherman's blade was wickedly sharp and cut through the rope with ease. With her ankle free, she was able to twist her body around, though her movements were slow and painful. She could feel sores on the backs of her thighs and felt dizzy from the lack of food and water. She cut her other ankle and wrist free then stiffly pushed herself to her feet, using the chair for much-needed support.
Sofia ripped the gag free and felt hysterical laughter build within her.
She was free!
Though she wasn't out of danger, the thrill of imminent escape made her giddy. Knowing her legs would not properly support her, she crawled across the floor to the trapdoor that led from this place of horror.
Sofia pulled the bolt free and lifted the trapdoor open.
V
KASPAR BELLOWED AT the crowds before him to get out of his way as he charged along the Goromadny Prospekt on Magnus's back. He and every Knight Panther fit to ride had mounted up the instant Kaspar had realised what Kajetan had thrown him. He didn't know how the swordsman had come upon the brush with Sofia's hair, but knew that the bastard had some serious questions to answer.
Pavel had provided him with the location of the Gryphon Legion's billets and, while there was no guarantee that Kajetan would be there, it was as good a place to start looking as any.
Their helter-skelter ride through Kislev had passed as a blur, too many emotions fighting for supremacy in Kaspar's head for him to think clearly: anger, vengeance, fear and, most of all, hope. The chance that he might get Sofia back thundered in his head, pressing hard against his anger towards Kajetan. Had this all been some ploy born out of jealousy? The thought that a man could stoop so low for the sake of his twisted vision of love both disgusted and horrified Kaspar.
As he had swung into Magnus's saddle, Anastasia had run out to meet him, her expression of cold fury the equal of his own. She had taken his hand and looked deep into his eyes.
'If he has hurt Sofia, I want you to kill him,' she said.
'Don't worry,' promised Kaspar, 'If he's hurt her, then the gods themselves won't save him from me.'
CHAPTER NINE
I
PAIN FLARED IN his side like an angry sun, blood leaking from the hole blasted by von Velten's pistol ball. Sasha Kajetan kept his hand pressed against the injury, plugging the entry wound with his shirt-tail. He could feel that the ball had passed cleanly through him from the exit wound on his back, but knew that the real danger was the dirt and fibres that had been pushed into the wound by the ball. He had no wish to end his days convulsing in a fever in the Lubjanko, though he knew that was all he deserved.
His head hurt with the trueself screaming in anger at what he had done. It thrashed against the barriers he had erected, screaming at him that he was weak, a fool, a snivelling wretch who deserved nothing but the hangman's noose.
Kajetan knew that it spoke true and that he was damned, but he could try to make amends for the terrible things he had done. An impossible task, he knew, but that was no reason not to try. He had passed beyond the point where all mortal laws had any meaning for him and wept bitter tears as he rode through the gates of the Gryphon Legion's billet compound.
A trio of his shaven-headed warriors looked at him in puzzlement as he rode through the gates, vaulting from the saddle and slapping his horse on the rump. Kajetan drew one of his curved swords, keeping his free hand pressed to his wounded side. The warriors shouted to him, seeing the blood soaking his shirt, but he ignored them, limping across the courtyard to the unused tack stores, looking up at the dirty skylight where she awaited him.
One of the Gryphon Legion warriors took hold of his arm, but he shook it off, spinning and cutting the man down with one sweep of his sword and a cry of pain. The others drew back in horror, only too aware of his fearsome skill with a blade.
All he could do now was end everything. It was all he had left.
He would kill his mother and then he would kill himself. Their blood would mingle on the ground and they would spend eternity together.
They would die cradled in each other's arms and the thought of everything ending made him happier than he could ever remember being.
II
SOFIA DESCENDED THE ladder with exaggerated caution, every movement careful and precise, her rat-bitten feet tender and painful. Below the attic was what smelled like a rarely visited storeroom. The smell of animals was strong and she could see horse blankets, saddles and bridles piled around the long, dust-filled hall - no one had set foot in here for some time. The tack store ran the length of the building, forming a long mezzanine above a straw-floored stable with several horses in narrow stalls.
Dim light filtered in from a number of snow-covered windows and she could see another ladder leading down to the ground level of the stables. She had no idea where she was, but the glow of sunlight around the ill-fitting stable doors was like a beacon of wonderful, divine hope to her.
Sofia eased herself to the dusty floor and crawled towards the second ladder, as she heard shouting voices from nearby. She heard a cry of anguish and felt hot terror fill her.
The doors to the stables below were wrenched open and light flooded inside.
Sofia covered her eyes, unused to such brightness. She heard footsteps lurch through the straw and whimpered in fear, hesitantly opening her eyes as she heard someone climbing the ladder towards the mezzanine.
Did she hope or fear? Was this liberation or was this death?
She pulled herself towards the edge of the mezzanine, her eyes still watering in the bright sunlight. Sofia gripped the knife in her good hand as she saw a man climbing towards the mezzanine.
As he climbed higher, she saw the familiar form of Sasha Kajetan and let out a shuddering breath of relief. It wasn't Kaspar, but at least it was a face she knew. Then she saw the blood on his arms.
He looked up and she saw the madness within his piercing and terrifyingly familiar violet eyes.
'It was all for you...' he said.
She realised in that instant who the Butcherman had been all along and screamed.
III
THE KNIGHTS PANTHER rode towards the open gates of the Gryphon Legion's billets, charging through and drawing their swords as they saw the armed men milling in the central exercise yard. Kaspar reined in his horse and drew his own sword.
'Where is he?' thundered the ambassador, levelling his weapon at the nearest fur-clad warrior. 'Where's Kajetan?'
The Knights Panther spread out to surround the Gryphon Legion warriors. They held their swords threateningly and even the slowest of the Kislevit
e warriors could see that they were itching for a chance to use them. And though they were not men without courage, they knew that the armoured knights were more than a match for them.
Kaspar was about to shout his question again when he saw the dead warrior lying on the cobbles and the trail of scarlet that led to the sagging, open door of a long, high stable building at the far end of the yard.
He walked his horse forward and jabbed his blade towards the chest of the nearest Kislevite warrior and pointed at the stable.
'Kajetan?' he shouted.
The warrior nodded hurriedly, pointing to the stables. 'Yha, yha, Kajetan!'
Kaspar dragged on Magnus's reins and the horse galloped towards the building as he heard a piercing scream echo from inside the stables. He charged through the door on horseback, his eyes sweeping the interior for some sign of the swordsman. Kaspar heard a woman scream and his head snapped up to the top of a long ladder.
Kajetan was climbing the ladder, his curved cavalry sabre dripping with blood. Kaspar heard another scream, this time unmistakably that of Sofia.
'Kajetan! No!' he bellowed. Kaspar realised that there was no hope of climbing to Kajetan before the swordsman murdered Sofia. There was only one way to stop him. He raked back his spurs and roared in battle fury, charging his heavy horse towards the ladder.
At the last second he wrenched the reins to one side and the heavy horse hammered into the ladder side on, smashing its base to splinters. Above, Kaspar heard a wail of frustration and the thump of a body landing hard on the packed earthen floor of the stables. Horses whinnied in fear at the commotion, lashing with their iron-shod hooves at the gates of their stalls.
Kaspar wheeled his horse, fumbling for his pistol as Kajetan groggily picked himself up from the floor, his face a mask of fury and pain.
'She said you would help me!' he bellowed.
'I'll help you die, you murderous bastard!' yelled Kaspar, sliding from the saddle and advancing towards Kajetan with his pistol pointed at the swordsman's head. The shadows of the Knights Panther loomed black upon the ground as they blocked the exit from the stables.
Kajetan looked piteously at the upper level of the stables, tears coursing down his cheeks and cutting clear streaks through the dirt on his face. His breath came in quick, exhausted bursts. Though he was wounded, Kaspar had seen how deadly an opponent Kajetan could be and advanced cautiously.
The swordsman still held his blade before him and his eyes never left Kaspar's as Kurt Bremen shouted, 'Ambassador, get away from him, leave him to us!'
'No, Kurt, this is something I have to do. He killed Stefan.'
'I know, but he is Droyaska, a blademaster, you cannot best him in a duel!'
Kaspar smiled grimly. 'I don't intend to, Kurt,' he said and pulled the trigger.
The moment froze. Kajetan swayed aside and Kaspar was amazed to see his pistol ball blow out a chunk of the stable wall behind the swordsman. Kajetan's sword swept up, knocking the pistol from Kaspar's hand.
Kaspar leapt away, expecting a lethal reverse stroke, but was too slow.
Kajetan held the tip of his blade an inch from Kaspar's throat and sobbed, 'I am so sorry...'
The swordsman put up his weapon and spun away from the ambassador, vaulting into the stall of a rearing horse. He gripped its mane and swung smoothly onto its back. The beast's lashing hooves smashed down the stall door and with a feral cry of the steppe, Kajetan and his horse galloped out.
The Knights Panther charged, but Kajetan was a master of horse as well as blade and expertly controlled his mount with his knees while fighting with two swords. Even through his anger, Kaspar was amazed at the man's skill; not a single blade so much as grazed him as he fought his way clear of the knights. His own weapons slashed and cut with the ring of steel on steel and grunts of pain.
Kajetan forced a path through his opponents and his horse skidded out into the courtyard, its hooves throwing sparks from the cobbles. Kaspar sprinted after him, shouting, 'Close the gates for Sigmar's sake!'
But it was already too late.
Hunched low over his mount's neck, Kajetan shouted, 'Matka!', galloped through the gates and was gone.
IV
KASPAR APPLIED A damp cloth to Sofia's forehead, though the blood and filth that had accumulated from her many days in captivity had long since been cleaned off. When the surgeon had said she was out of immediate danger, Kaspar had prayed to Sigmar, Ulric, Shallya and any god that would listen to thank them for delivering her from the clutches of Kajetan, the Butcherman.
In the hours since her safe return, the Chekist and Pashenko had sealed off the stable block and were even now scouring the city for any sign of Kajetan, but not before a morbid fascination to understand a measure of what Sofia had suffered had led Kaspar to climb into the attic where she had been held. He had not known what to expect, but the ghastly sights he had witnessed there would haunt him for the rest of his days.
Blood covered virtually every surface and trophies of flesh hung on hooks nailed to the walls alongside cheap trinkets and items of clothing belonging to men, women and children. It seemed Kajetan exercised no discrimination in his killing sprees. A varied assortment of tools, knives, and pliers had been discovered, each encrusted with dried blood and matted with hair. How many people had died in that dark, horrible place was a mystery that perhaps even Kajetan did not know the answer to, but Kaspar vowed he would pay for what he had done.
Sofia had somehow survived her captivity in that dark place and Kaspar was filled with admiration at her strength and courage.
She lay asleep in his bed in the embassy, her wounds dressed by the finest physician Kaspar could afford. They could do no more for her just now and Kaspar knew that the rest was up to her.
He had seen many men, whom the surgeons had promised would live, slip away when their will to live simply gave out, but thankfully, he did not think Sofia Valencik lacked the will to live and he bent to kiss her forehead.
He whispered, 'I promise I'll find him for you,' as he heard someone enter the room.
Anastasia stood in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest.
'How is she?' she asked.
Kaspar smiled. 'I believe she will be alright, though Sigmar alone knows how an ordeal like hers will affect her in the days to come.'
'Has she said anything since you got her back?'
'Not much, no,' said Kaspar, rising to his feet and draping the damp cloth over the edge of a basin of water.
'But she said something, yes?' pressed Anastasia.
'In a manner of speaking,' replied Kaspar, puzzled by Anastasia's insistence. 'She said something about Kajetan not being born a monster, but being made into one. That someone wanted him no better than a beast.'
'That's ridiculous,' scoffed Anastasia. 'Sasha was simply jealous of you, albeit in a manner more intense than I would have thought possible.'
Kaspar shook his head. 'I think there's more to it than that, Ana, I really do. After all, if he really is the Butcherman, then he was killing before I even came to Kislev.'
'My point exactly. We don't even know for sure that Sasha really is the Butcherman. You said yourself that Pashenko thought that there were lunatics who murdered people in the same manner as the Butcherman to mask their own crimes. I think Sasha wanted us to think that he was the Butcherman.'
'But what about everything in the attic? Why would Kajetan do that?'
'I don't pretend to have any answers,' said Anastasia, leaning up to kiss his cheek, 'but it's more likely than what Sofia was saying, don't you think?'
Kaspar didn't reply, unconvinced by Anastasia's line of reasoning.
'But more to the point,' continued Anastasia, 'what is being done to catch Sasha? The thought of him still out there chills my blood, I don't mind telling you. I don't feel safe, Kaspar, tell me you'll keep me safe.'
'Don't worry, Ana,' said Kaspar, taking her in his arms. 'I said I wouldn't let anyone hurt you again and I meant that. They're hunt
ing through the entire city for Kajetan right now.'
'Yes?' 'Yes, absolutely.' said Kaspar as a nagging memory tried to surface in the back of his mind. Something about family estates... but it slipped away as Anastasia said, 'You're going to have to kill Sasha, you know that don't you? He won't be taken alive.'
'If that's what it takes.' answered Kaspar.
'If that's what it takes...' repeated Anastasia, pushing free of his arms, sudden anger in her voice. 'He killed your oldest comrade and, from the looks of her, tortured your friend. What kind of man could let such insults to his honour go unanswered?'
Kaspar had not seen this side of Anastasia before and it unsettled him greatly, but he supposed that she had just found out a man she had counted as a friend and admirer had turned out to be a vicious killer.
'Don't worry, Ana.' said Kaspar. 'Kajetan will pay for his crimes. In any case, he may be dead already. When I saw him in the stables, he was wounded. I think I hit him with a pistol ball when he was outside the embassy.'
'Don't be so sure.' warned Anastasia. 'Sasha Kajetan is not a man who will die easily.'
'Perhaps not, but then I am not a man who gives up easily.' said Kaspar as the earlier, elusive memory rose to the surface with the suddenness of a bolt of lightning from a cloudless sky.
'Of course!' he shouted, snapping his fingers.
'Kaspar, what's the matter?' said Anastasia.
'I have to go!' said Kaspar, planting a hurried kiss on her cheek before running from the room and shouting for Pavel.
'Look after Sofia.' he called back. 'I think I may know where to find Kajetan.'
V
RASPOTITSA. ROADLESSNESS.
It was an apt term, thought Sasha Kajetan dreamily as he swayed on the back of his horse - coined with the prosaic practicality of the Kislevite peasant - and never more so than now. The sheer scale of the white, featureless steppe unfolding before him was an unending vista that would humble a lesser man and drive him to seek shelter within the walls of one of the many stanistas that dotted the oblast.
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