Daemon Gates Trilogy 01 [Day of the Daemon]

by Warhammer

  'What will you do now?' he asked softly, and the youth, who had nervously watched him approach, started at his voice.

  'Nothin',' the boy replied finally, and Alaric almost laughed.

  'No, I mean where will you go? How will you and your sisters survive?' At the mention of his siblings the boy's brow furrowed. 'Look, do you have a trade?'

  At that the boy perked up slightly. 'I'm good with wood,' he boasted, tugging a small pendant from around his neck. 'Made it myself,' he bragged, removing it from its cord and handing it to Alaric. It was an owl and finely carved. The boy did have talent.

  'Good, good,' Alaric said then, reaching for his pouch. 'Best if you leave here - make for Carroburg or Altdorf or one of the other cities, but outside this province. Understand?' The boy nodded. Take these coins-' He had his hand in his pouch already, but the boy shook his head and backed away.

  'I'm no beggar,' he grumbled, and Alaric almost growled in frustration. He was trying to help! How would this poor wretch survive otherwise, him and his sisters alone and with nothing? He glanced over at Dietz, who looked pointedly at the pendant still dangling from Alaric's fingers. Then he glanced at the pouch and nodded his chin towards the boy.

  Ah, of course. Alaric turned back to the youth. 'No, of course not,' he agreed cheerfully, 'but this pendant' - he held it up between them - 'is truly fine work. Will you sell it to me?' When the boy's chest puffed out he knew Dietz had hit upon the right tack. 'I can only imagine its worth to you,' Alaric continued, rummaging in his pouch, 'and I am sure you hate to part with it. I hope this will be sufficient recompense?' He realised as he said them that the boy might not understand the words, but judging from the gleam in his eyes he had followed the meaning. Alaric held up four gold coins and the boy snatched them from him, stuffing them into his tattered shirt.

  'Fine then.' Alaric tied the pendant around his neck, adjusting the cord so the polished woodcarving hung neatly at the front of his shirt, and returned to his horse. 'Good luck to you and your sisters,' he called out, swinging into his saddle again. Then he turned and led the way from the ruined village. The others followed him, though he saw several of them glancing back from time to time, looking at where the boy still stood watch by the closed door. At one point Alaric thought he saw something fall from Dietz's saddlebags, and when he turned to his companion the older man shrugged innocently.

  'Must not have tied it shut,' he said, but Alaric knew better. A moment later something tumbled from Renke's side as well, and then something from Adelrich's. Soon the way behind them was littered with food, rope, a knife, a blanket and several more coins. The boy and his sisters would have enough to get them to a larger city and perhaps enough for the lad to apprentice himself to a woodcarver as well.

  Putting the boy from his mind, Alaric led his companions further along the river, wending their way towards the Grey Mountains. They had left the Reikwald behind and were in gentler country, rolling hills dominated by rich farmlands. Small stands of trees still appeared here and there, but much of the land was covered in crops, and from their horses they could easily see over vast stretches.

  They reached another town a few days later, the Uxer the boy had mentioned. Just as he'd stated, this town had not been harmed and it seemed a tidy, active place.

  'I can see why the baron would leave this place unmolested,' Kristoff commented as they rode through, admiring the neat houses and the bustle of activity all around them. 'It's certainly a credit to his name.'

  'That it is,' Adelrich replied, rejoining them - the scout had veered off towards the docks when they approached. 'It has the last dock along the Hundleir.' He grinned in answer to Alaric's unspoken question. The gypsies the boy mentioned have a camp somewhere nearby.' He scratched his chin. 'Arrived in boats two months back, beached them and drove their wagons ashore, through town and out the other side. A month ago four of them sailed in and hauled a small cart onto the docks. Heavy, I hear, but covered in blankets. They wheeled it out towards the gypsy camp.'

  'We might have known they would have the statue,' Kleiber commented. 'I only hope we have arrived in time to prevent them from sacrificing infants before it, as is their wont.'

  Those are only old tales,' Dietz argued, but the witch hunter sniffed dismissively.

  'Old tales are borne from old truths,' he stated. T he gypsies are a blight upon our world and all right-thinking folk despise them upon sight.'

  'Prepare to brave your disgust then,' Alaric told him. 'We will need to find the statue ourselves, which means close contact with these gypsies, if they possess it.'

  They left the town, resisting the urge to sleep on real beds and eat food someone else had cooked for at least one night. Fastred in particular looked longingly towards a long, low building that looked suspiciously like a tavern, and Dietz knew the large man was thinking of the ale and wine within. The very thought set his mouth watering, but he knew their mission came first. 'Perhaps we can drink to our success later,' he told Fastred as they rode away and the explorer nodded glumly. 'I'll buy,' Dietz added, and that cheered the other man up considerably.

  Once past Uxer they kept riding, though they slowed considerably. There had been no tracks in the town itself, or at least none to be distinguished from the general foot traffic. Out here, however, the signs of man and horse were less frequent and Adelrich had a better chance of noticing the marks they wanted. They were still within sight of town when the scout stopped them and indicated a faint trail amid the grass and mud.

  'Many wagons,' Adelrich announced, studying the tracks, 'at least one month ago, possibly two or three.' He ran one hand, palm down and fingers splayed, over the marks. 'Frequent visits to Uxer,' he decided finally, 'but only in small groups.'

  An hour later they crested a small hill and found themselves looking down upon a shallow valley. It was a wide, low stretch filled with trees spaced too evenly to be natural - Alaric guessed it might have originally been an orchard. Sunlight leaked through the gaps in the foliage and spilled upon the long grass, and upon the camp nestled there.

  Alaric's first impression was one of frenzied disorder, but he revised that as he registered more details. The scene below was certainly a lively one, filled with constant activity, but his eyes began to see patterns in the way the people moved, as if they danced about one another. Music wafted up to them, enhancing that notion of a dance, and in fact he saw people stepping in time to the melody. Strange covered wagons were ranged among the trees, almost hidden in the shadows, but the people who owned them were impossible to miss, their brightly coloured clothing producing flashes of brilliance as warm as the flames from their small cookfires. Horses grazed near each wagon, evidently tethered to their masters' homes.

  'Gypsies,' Renke whispered, the name almost an insult from his lips.

  'Indeed,' Kleiber agreed, 'and like as not, the recipients of the abomination we pursue.'

  Dietz looked ready to protest, but stopped and nodded instead. 'Probably true,' he finally agreed. 'Let's go find out.' He kicked his horse into motion, cresting the hill and trotting down towards the gypsy camp.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  'Damn and blast!' Muttering one of Dietz's favourite curses, Alaric prodded his own horse forward and raced after his friend. The others followed right behind and they all reined in together at the bottom, mere yards from the startled gypsies.

  'What were you...?' Alaric's question died on his lips as he glanced around. A moment ago these people had been laughing and dancing without a care in the world. Now they had somehow moved to surround the travellers, and in each hand he saw a knife, a whip, an axe, or even a sword. A low murmur had sprung up as well and it was growing louder.

  'Oyega, Roma,' Dietz shouted, and the tension stilled. He looked down at the gathering gypsies, glancing from face to face and finally settling on one, an older man with a shock of white through his otherwise black hair and golden hoops in each ear. 'Zeo?' Dietz asked him.

  The man nodded and stepped forward,
openly sheathing the dagger he'd been holding. The tension dropped still further, and another buzz spread through the crowd, though to Alaric this one felt different - not hostile at all, more curious and slightly excited.

  'Conocinti,' Dietz continued, gesturing at himself and the other riders. Then he held up a wineskin - not water, Alaric noted, and wondered where his companion had been hiding that. 'Spartirimos vini,' he said, and took a swig, then offered the skin to the gypsy.

  For an instant no one moved as the earringed man studied Dietz. Then he reached up, accepted the skin, and took a hefty swallow. Wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, he beckoned for Dietz to dismount, which he did. Still the gypsies stayed silent and the travellers held themselves ready. Then the gypsy grinned and embraced Dietz. The air around them exploded with shouts and laughter. Weapons vanished and the other riders found themselves dragged from their horses and offered warm bread, cold water, strong wine and fresh fruit.

  Tour accent,' Alaric heard the man asking Dietz as they were led into the centre of the gypsy camp. 'Estalian?'

  Dietz nodded. 'I met them in Middenheim. Their daughter Rosali and I were - close.' Was it just the dim light or was Dietz actually blushing?

  The man he had called Zeo laughed and clapped him on the back. 'Good, good! Tonight you are one of us, in honour of Rosali. Come!'

  'A girl taught you gypsy speech?' Alaric asked quietly as he and Dietz brushed past one another on the way to the central fire.

  'Among other things,' was the short reply.

  It proved to be an interesting evening. The gypsies were true to their Zeo's word, welcoming the travellers like long-lost cousins. That meant a feast, with music and dancing, and much wine, but it also meant no standing on ceremony - Fastred was handed a basket of fresh rolls and pushed towards the circle to hand them out, Renke was wrangled into filling goblets with wine, and even Kleiber was pulled into helping with the meat, a boar hanging on a spit over the fire. Alaric found himself chatting with several of the gypsies and enjoyed the opportunity to meet them, find out more about their culture, and learn their language. Fastred and Kristoff seemed to feel the same. Hoist, Adelrich and the soldiers stayed wary, though they gladly accepted the gypsies' hospitality and willingly helped when asked. Kleiber and Renke were still visibly uncomfortable in the crowd, though Renke did his best to hide his disapproval. The witch hunter did not bother masking his contempt, but that only made him a target for several young, pretty lasses who took turns trying to sway him to think of them more favourably.

  Zeo - Alaric learned that the word meant 'uncle' and was the honorific given to the band's leader - sat between him and Dietz, and alternately questioned them, told them stories, and offered them food and drink.

  'We come here during summer,' Zeo told them over spits of roast meat, 'avoid the swelter. The townsfolk know us. They come in evenings, we read fortunes and sing and dance, and they give us coin and food.' He frowned. 'Not lately, though. Lately they stay away, don't look at us when we pass. Some won't sell to us, say we steal babies.' He snorted. 'Why steal them? People give us their children all the time, no need to steal!'

  Dietz nodded. 'The baron has been spreading lies,' he suggested quietly, and Alaric knew he was probably right. It would be typical of Gemot, inventing falsehoods to turn the people against these wandering entertainers. He had heard many stories of gypsies himself, but had never met them, and he was both fascinated and delighted to find that many of the darker tales had been lies as well. These people were open and honest and playful, though he knew Dietz's words had helped that. Their language and clothing were colourful, and their grace and rhythm daunting, but he could no longer see them as dangerous.

  Apparently Dietz's pet felt the same way. Shortly after they sat down Glouste emerged from Dietz's jacket, producing a shout of surprise and delight from Zeo and several others. The tree-monkey crept out onto her master's shoulder and looked around, nose twitching as she sampled the rich smells of food and wine, and warm bodies in motion. Finally she accepted the morsel Dietz held out, and then licked her lips, whiskers twitching eagerly, and nudged his cheek for more.

  'Alberi volpini,' Zeo marvelled, holding out one hand palm up, a shred of meat upon it. Glouste examined him carefully, and then the meat, and then the man again before finally accepting the offering. She butted his hand with her forehead in thanks. 'It means "tree fox",' he told Alaric, who had been about to ask. 'I have heard of such, though never have I seen one myself. Like the ferret, yes?'

  'This is an Indyan tree-monkey,' Alaric corrected, and to his surprise the gypsy roared with laughter.

  'Scimi?' Zeo repeated to the others around him, still laughing, then shook his head. 'No, my young friend, not scimi.' He patted Glouste's head cheerfully, causing her to purr and butt his hand again. 'Closer to volpini the fox, than the monkey, this one.'

  Alaric bristled. How dare this ignorant nomad doubt his classification? 'I tell you it is a tree-monkey,' he repeated. 'We found it in Ind.'

  'Ind?' Zeo shook his head and fired off a rapid question to one of the others nearby, a man whose hair and short beard were streaked with white. The second gypsy replied, and Zeo nodded. 'Yes, we have heard tales of that land from cousins. They talk of strange creatures walking and climbing, and flying in those jungles.' He shrugged. 'I do not know that place, but I tell you what I do know. This charmer is no scimi.' He gestured at Glouste's paws, planted securely on Dietz's shoulder. 'The diti, the fingers, the paws, are wrong. The testi, the head, is wrong. The codi, the tail, is wrong.' He smiled, still stroking Glouste's head. 'We Roma know scimi well. This is no scimi.'

  As the gypsy leader talked, Alaric calmed down and sat back, thinking hard. He had assumed Glouste was a tree-monkey - he had heard of them from the sailors when

  they had first docked in Ind, but what Zeo said made sense. Glouste was not built like any monkey he had seen before, and did resemble a fox more with her pointed face, dainty paws, and thick tail. Finally he nodded.

  'You are right,' he admitted, deliberately avoiding Dietz's triumphant smile. 'She is no scimi.'

  'Hah!' Zeo clapped him on the back and handed him a full goblet of wine. 'You are wise, but admit mistakes. This is good! This is how to learn!' Alaric accepted the wine with a smile and raised the glass in a silent toast before drinking. The gypsy was right - accepting knowledge from others was the way to learn, and clearly the Roma knew a great deal. He found himself wishing they could stay with the gypsies, travel with them and learn from them, but Zeo had said 'this night' and some instinct told Alaric not to push their hospitality. Besides, there was still the statue to consider.

  Hours later, Dietz noticed his shoulders felt bare. It took a moment to realise why.

  'Glouste?' He looked around, but saw no sign of his pet. The Roma had taken to her immediately and had spent the evening feeding her and playing with her, so it was no surprise she had wandered off. Most likely, she was playing with several of the gypsy children, or being brushed by one of the older girls. Still, he could feel the effects of a full belly and a great deal of wine, and decided to use the excuse to stretch his legs. Zeo and Alaric were talking about mountain travel and barely noticed when he stood and walked away.

  'Glouste?' His other companions were scattered about the camp - Renke and Kleiber sitting together stiffly, Fastred chatting with one of the gypsy elders, Kristoff apparently haggling with a few young men, Hoist and his men pretending they were not amused by several children's antics, and Adelrich flirting with a pretty lass. None of them had seen his pet - he could stop thinking of her as a tree-monkey, at least, and liked Zeo's description of a

  tree-fox much better - but promised to alert him if they did. He wandered on, through the camp, asking here and there after Glouste. Several had played with her or fed her, or petted her that night, of course, but none had her now.

  'She was playing with Zisi last,' one little girl told him sleepily, 'over there.' Her lazy gesture indicated a wagon near th
e edge of the gypsy's camp. Dietz thanked her and her mother and followed her directions.

  'Glouste?' A soft chittering caught his attention and he peeked into the wagon. Like the other gypsy wheeled homes the walls had many compartments and the floor was lined with heavy quilts. A little girl lay asleep there, Glouste still curled up in her arms. When she saw Dietz the tree-fox slithered free, nuzzled the sleeping girl one last time and hopped over to him.

  'I'd wondered where you'd got to,' he whispered as she climbed up his arm and settled about his shoulders again, nudging him behind the ear. He scratched between her ears as he let the wagon's flaps fall shut and turned to head back to the fire. A wisp of white caught his eye, however, and he turned away instead, looking out from the camp towards a small grove of trees just beyond. Was there someone there?

  'Hello?' No one answered, but the image had piqued his curiosity. Still scratching Glouste he walked away from the wagons and into the night. The trees immediately swallowed the last vestiges of camp noise, bathing him in cool silence, and his feet on the grass and fallen leaves made a faint crunch that was all too loud amid the quiet.

  The grove was not large, maybe fourteen trees in all, and had a natural clearing at its centre, perhaps ten feet across. In the middle, he saw as he slid between the trunks, was the white he had glimpsed from the wagon. Only up close it was less white than pale yellow, the colour of old bones, and it loomed above him, wings flared, tail jutting out, face leering down.

  The statue.

  'Damn and blast,' he muttered. Feasting with the Roma had all but driven their quest from his mind. Only now did he remember the tracks Adelrich had found and the story from the old fisherman the scout had met in Uxer -that the gypsies had brought something large and heavy back with them. Now he knew what that was.

  Backing away quickly, Dietz all but ran as he stumbled out of the grove and back to the camp. He had to tell Alaric as soonas possible.