Daemon Gates Trilogy 01 [Day of the Daemon]

by Warhammer

  The river barge finally reached the Hundleir. Middenland lay on the north side and Reikland on the south, Uder and Merxheim representing them respectively. Alaric paid the ferrymen and the party disembarked on the Reikland side, leading their horses onto the dock and down into Merxheim proper. It was not until the ferry had swung back into the current and floated on down the river that the travellers examined their location.

  Merxheim was not a large town, perhaps a hundred buildings in all, and many were in sad repair. Deitz had grown up among the stone of Middenheim and still found it strange to see wooden houses and dirt roads, but he had learned to appreciate the warmth of a well-built wooden structure. The buildings he saw beyond the docks did not match that ideal - their planks were worn and grey, the roofs sagged, the walls drooped, and the buildings themselves leaned, often in more than one direction.

  Doors hung crooked and shutters flapped in the breeze, revealing darkened interiors. No one moved around them.

  'Where is everyone?' Alaric wondered out loud, glancing about. 'I've always thought Merxheim a dirty little hovel, but last I was here it had mud-spattered children and dogs playing in the road, old women trying to sell fish and soap, and brutish men offering to hire as guides and bodyguards.' He looked around again, as did the others, but still nothing moved but them, the doors and shutters. The town seemed deserted.

  'Perhaps it was the war,' Renke suggested, though he did not sound convinced. As far as they knew the forces of Chaos had not crossed the Reik.

  'Plague,' Fastred offered with a shudder, an explanation that was both more plausible and more chilling. Normally plague houses were fired with the victims inside, but the buildings here, though dilapidated, were unburned. Adelrich and Dietz jogged quickly among the buildings but saw no people nor any traces of them. Finally they returned, no less confused than before.

  'Well, whatever happened here is not our concern,' Alaric decided, swinging up into his saddle. He frowned, 'Although this was the drop-off point for the second statue. I hope its presence was not the cause of the town's emptiness.' He raised his head and grabbed his reins. 'Still, it's clearly not here so we'd best get moving.'

  'But where should we go?' Kristoff asked, still looking around warily. 'Do we have any idea who might have taken the statue, or where it might be?'

  'None,' Alaric admitted. He grinned. 'But Drasche is not that big, no matter what its baron might think. If we head south along the river we'll be out of the trees in a week. Another two will see us to the foot of the Grey Mountains and I very much doubt that anyone carried it up there. If we have not found it by then,' he shrugged, 'we head north along the mountains' base until we hit the Fleudermeiser, which forms Drasche's - and Reikland's - northern border.

  That will lead us back to the Reik. If we reach the Reik again without seeing signs of this statue it is not in the barony, I guarantee you.'

  The others looked less certain, but none of them knew the terrain as well as Alaric did, and he had already demonstrated his leadership to be competent, so they nodded, mounted, and followed him from the empty town. Dietz kept glancing back as they rode away, worried that something might be lurking there to leap at them from behind. He was not the only one.

  Two days later they reached another village, this one so small it did not appear on Renke's maps. Nor was it likely to do so now, Alaric thought as he studied the blackened remains of buildings, posts - and people. Merxheim at least had been intact. This nameless place had been burned to the ground and its inhabitants had perished with it.

  'It could have been plague,' Fastred confirmed, tossing aside several charred planks to examine a body beneath them. 'I see no evidence of sickness, but the fire would have burned it away.'

  'Sigmar's holy flame cleanses the world,' Kleiber agreed, though Alaric noticed the witch hunter kept his mount well back from the destruction. Perhaps, he thought, the fanatic was not so confident in his god's favour, or in Sigmar's power to protect him, as he often claimed.

  'Whoever did this was efficient,' Hoist commented, his eyes skimming across the wreckage. 'More bodies at the centre, and more ash - they started there and worked outward, burning as they went.' He shook his head. 'Militia, I'd wager my sword on it.'

  'Reikland's soldiers do have a reputation,' Kristoff pointed out lightly, and Alaric was glad he was standing slightly ahead of the others when the trader said it. That way he knew his expression wouldn't betray him.

  'Oh yes,' he replied, forcing his tone to stay casual. 'We have some of the finest soldiers in the Empire. No offence,' he added, nodding to Hoist, who nodded back.

  'None taken, sir,' the warrior replied. 'I've fought alongside several from Reikland and always been impressed with their skill.' The burly sergeant frowned. 'I'm not sure why soldiers would burn a village, though, unless it was plague.'

  'Or bandits,' Adelrich added, returning from a quick survey of the area. 'I've heard stories of small towns that preyed upon travellers, and they're well-situated for it here.' It was true - the nameless village had stood along the bank of the Hundleir, still well within the north-west edge of the Reikwald Forest. It would be easy to ambush anyone coming down the river or through the woods.

  'No signs of the statue,' the scout added, falling in beside Dietz and Alaric. 'Nor can I see traces in the forest of a wagon or cart carrying such a weight.'

  'It did not travel by land,' Alaric agreed, turning away from the burnt village and leading them farther along the river. 'Whoever has it must have received it at Merxheim and taken it south by boat.'

  The others nodded. That made sense - the Hundleir was right here and Merxheim stood at the junction between it and the Reik. The forest was dense enough to make even riding on horse back difficult - no one could have brought a massive stone sculpture through the trees intact, but the river provided an easy alternative. By riding alongside the river they were tracing the same route as the statue, but could stop to study clues at any time. Alaric could not help but notice the nod Adelrich gave him - it was the gesture of a man who agrees with your decision and respects it -and that buoyed his spirits, which had been low since they had boarded the river boat and crossed into his home province. He was hot accustomed to making decisions and even less familiar with having them turn out correct. For an instant he wished his father could see him now, but he quickly quashed that notion.

  Adelrich spotted another small settlement a few days later, this one deeper within the forest and well away from the riverbank. It too had been destroyed, but not burned -the buildings had been shattered and torn down. They detoured to examine it and Hoist confirmed the others' first impressions.

  'Axes did this,' he stated, running one finger along a broken board, 'and longswords. More soldiers.' He squinted up at the surrounding trees. 'They didn't dare risk a fire spreading so they tore the place apart instead.'

  'No sign of the people,' Fastred was saying, but Kleiber interrupted him.

  'Over here.' The witch hunter gestured and the others followed his finger to a low mound just beyond the furthest building. The ground was still damp and loose. 'Fully forty people could be buried there,' he declared, his voice unusually soft, 'possibly the village's full occupancy.'

  'Plague again?' Fastred wondered aloud, but corrected himself. 'No, they'd have burned the bodies, at least. Bandits, then? It is an ill-omened place,' he said, looking at the trees looming over the wreckage, 'and well-suited to such villainy.'

  'Well-armed men passed through here,' Adelrich confirmed, studying the ground around the village, 'but nothing larger.'

  'No statue,' Alaric muttered, trying not to look at the mound. 'So we return to the river.' The others followed him back, but it was a sombre group that focused almost obsessively upon their quest, avoiding images of the place they had just seen or the fate its people had doubtless suffered.

  They had almost reached the edge of the forest when they came upon a third village. 'Not again,' Dietz muttered quietly, and he saw several of his co
mpanions making similar requests. Even Kleiber paused in obvious prayer, and Dietz suspected the witch hunter was asking Sigmar to spare them the sight of another mass grave.

  This settlement sat along the river, so close the water lapped up against the outer buildings, and that had been

  Day of the Daemon

  Aaron Rosenberg

  98

  99

  its salvation. As they rode in they saw signs of fire again, but several buildings still stood and a few were even serviceable. The river had doused the flames before they could spread along the waterfront and so had spared the town the same fate as its predecessors.

  Not that this had saved it completely. The buildings furthest from the water had turned to ash and blackened wood, and several more bore both scorch marks and signs of violence. A few buildings had toppled as a result, creating a pile of wreckage near the village's centre. The remaining homes stood open and empty, their dark doorways staring reproachfully at the travellers as they rode past.

  'Is anyone still alive in this land?' Alaric wondered out loud, smacking his fist against his thigh. Not that he liked the Baron von Drasche - far from it - but he had nothing against the man's people. Besides, no one deserved this. What had happened here? He turned to ask Dietz a question and saw that his friend had stiffened in his saddle. One hand was gliding slowly to the long knife at his belt and the other was stroking his horse's neck, keeping it calm. Glouste, that damnable tree-monkey, chittered once and disappeared into its owner's jacket. That, as much as anything, warned Alaric to be ready. Much as he hated to admit it his friend's pet had an uncanny sense for imminent danger.

  Adelrich was already off his horse and moving silently towards the largest remaining structure, a small single-storey house whose thick wooden walls looked almost undamaged. The scout had his longsword in one hand, the other held open before him, and as he reached the building his free hand reached up and flattened against the door. Then he froze, going completely motionless for several seconds. Suddenly he shoved the door hard, reached in, and grabbed at something inside.

  'Got you!' Adelrich shouted, yanking his arm back, and a wretched-looking individual with it. The man might have been young, but his hair was thin and oily, his face lined and flushed, eyes bulging above sunken cheeks, his skin pale. He wore little more than rags and yelped with fright as Adelrich hurled him towards the others.

  'Don't kill me!' the man pleaded, dropping to his knees, and Alaric felt disgust - not towards this unfortunate, but whoever had instilled such fear in him.

  "We won't hurt you,' he told the man, dismounting and tossing his reins to Dietz. 'It's all right.' That was a stupid thing to say, he knew, but as usual he had spoken without thinking. 'We mean you no harm,' he tried again, holding his hands out from his sides. 'Look, I'll leave my blade in its scabbard.' He wished he'd thought to disarm first, but it was too late for that now - he was sure if his hand ventured anywhere near his sword hilt the man before him would interpret this as an attack. Not that the wretch was any threat, but Alaric desperately wanted to know what had happened here, and this man was the only survivor they had found thus far.

  'Alaric!' At Dietz's hiss he glanced back, and turned just in time to catch the water skin and biscuit the older man tossed him. 'Give him those.' It made sense, Alaric admitted - the man was clearly starving. He offered the food and drink to the man, who was still kneeling, hands up to protect his head. When the villager didn't move, Alaric inched forward and set the offerings on the ground a few feet away, and then backed away.

  'Go on, eat,' he urged. The man glanced up, saw the food at once and snatched it up, cramming the entire biscuit into his mouth in a single motion and swigging water from the skin even before he had begun chewing. He swallowed convulsively, almost gagging, and spluttered a bit, spewing water about him, but at last he had forced the food down and sat back.

  'More,' he demanded, and Dietz wordlessly tossed down several more biscuits and a second skin, plus a hunk of cheese. The villager gathered them up and rose unsteadily to his feet. He backed away, inching past Adelrich, who moved aside at Alaric's nod. When he reached the doorway,

  however, the villager did not enter. Instead, he tossed the food and the water skin into the building, and then pulled the door shut behind him. They could all hear the sound of hurried footsteps and a soft squeal of delight, followed by slurping and chewing.

  'My sisters,' the man explained, his back protectively against the door, and Alaric felt like laughing and crying all at once. They were almost twenty, all well fed and well armed and mounted. He was one man, barely alive. Yet he guarded the door as if he would strike them all dead should they pursue his sisters.

  'What happened here?' Alaric finally asked and the villager seized gratefully upon the change of subject.

  'Soldiers,' he replied grimly. 'Rounded us up an' marched us to the elder's house. Slaughtered everyone, then tore the town down around 'em.' He puffed up slightly. 'I saw 'em coming... was fishing. Hid my sisters in the root cellar and climbed a tree. They didn't find me.'

  'Was there plague here, boy?' Fastred asked kindly, and at the word 'boy' Alaric looked again and blinked in surprise. Fastred was right - what he had taken for a man was no more than a boy, perhaps fifteen summers! Even as he realised this, the boy shook his head.

  'Marauders, then,' Kleiber asked, leaning forward, and Alaric was not surprised to see the boy cower from the witch hunter. Even after weeks of travel together he found Kleiber's zeal intimidating, but the boy shook his head again.

  'Did Chaos venture this far west, then?' Hoist asked, standing stock-still so as not to frighten the lad. 'Was it ores or goblins or the like did this?' The boy once again shook his head.

  'Soldiers,' he repeated, and Alaric knew he was not the only one confused.

  'Whose soldiers?' he asked finally, and the young villager gaped at him as if he were simple.

  'The baron's, of course,' the boy said. 'Only soldiers here.'

  'Baron von Drasche?' Alaric repeated, and this time the boy nodded. 'But you said the town was plague-free.' He rocked back on his heels. 'Why would the baron send his troops to destroy your village?'

  The boy shrugged. 'Undesirable, they said. "Cleansing the land," they said.' He glanced about warily, as if afraid the baron would hear him and punish him for speaking out of turn.

  'I can't believe it,' Alaric muttered, no longer seeing the villager before him. 'Not even Gemot would-'

  'Would what?' Dietz demanded, stepping close to him. Alaric hadn't noticed him dismounting, but realised now that all of them had done so, probably to reduce the boy's fear.

  'Who is Gemot?' Fastred added, also approaching. The others gathered as well, all but Adelrich and Hoist who stayed near the boy.

  'Gemot is the Baron von Drasche,' Alaric explained finally, pleased he kept the bitterness from his voice. 'A nasty piece of work; he once complained that his lands were the dregs of the province and his people the refuse.' Alaric deliberately blocked out the argument that had goaded the young baron into such a statement. 'Apparently he has decided to correct the situation.'

  'His soldiers destroyed all these towns?' Fastred asked, amazed, and the boy shrugged.

  'Uxer, that's three days downriver, they left that one alone. An' they took Hans the potter from Merxheim, and Greta the weaver, an' a few others.'

  'So he's actually dividing his own subjects into those worth saving and those to die,' Renke marvelled softly. 'Astounding!'

  'No man has such dominion,' Kleiber agreed. 'All who live just lives are entitled to protection by their lords, and only the gods may smite them.'

  'Oh, the baron follows the gods,' the boy said bitterly, speaking out for the first time. 'His soldiers burn offerings at every town. 1 heard 'em say they'll slaughter ten oxen when they finally bring the gypsies down.'

  'The gypsies?' Alaric had been lost in memory, but now he glanced down at the boy. 'What have they to do with this?'

  They're
the only ones left,' the village replied. 'Big band of 'em, been wandering through here a year or two now. The baron hates 'em, but can't get rid of 'em 'cause they just fade into the trees.' He shrugged. 'Guess with no more villages they won't have any place to hide.'

  'Serves them right, too,' Renke snapped, his face twisted into a surprising snarl. 'Dirty thieves, the lot of them, good for nothing but mischief and disease.'

  They are an ungodly people,' Kleiber agreed as if that were enough offence to justify a slow, painful death. For him it probably was.

  Even Kristoff was nodding. 'I've crossed paths with gypsies before,' he admitted quietly, 'and never had good come of it. They're crafty, certainly, and out for themselves. This baron is not the first I've heard who wished them gone from his lands.'

  'That's no reason to hunt them like animals!' Dietz snapped, glancing over his shoulder to the boy and lowering his voice. 'Nor does it justify killing his own subjects.'

  'I'll not argue that,' Fastred said, stroking his beard idly. 'But it is ultimately his land to govern as he chooses. Who are we to gainsay his choices?'

  Kleiber and Renke both opened their mouths to reply, but Alaric spoke first to cut them off. 'Fastred's right - we have no say here. Nor is it our responsibility. We should find the statue, destroy it, and be gone.'

  Slowly the others nodded. Alaric understood their anger, as he felt the rage pouring through his own veins, but this was neither the time nor the place. They had a task to complete. Perhaps afterwards he would return and have a word with Gemot - in private.

  In the meantime, there was the boy to consider. Turning back, Alaric walked towards the villager, keeping his steps slow and his hands at his side. Finally he stopped just beyond arm's reach.