‘Very well. I will go first. Stay close to me.’
Keeping his sword held low, he inched carefully across the treacherous and uneven rocks. Whoever had made the gate was certainly not keen on visitors. As he neared the cleft, he could see a rough wooden door hidden beneath the natural stone lintel. It was closed and heavily barred. Working slowly and methodically, he climbed up towards it. A few moments later Annika was by his side once more, and the two of them stood on a narrow ledge before the door.
‘Extraordinary,’ said Dieter. ‘I’m impressed you saw it.’
‘I’m paid to be observant,’ Annika said. ‘That, and killing people. What do you suggest we do now?’
Dieter thought for a moment, then placed his head carefully against the surface of the door. There was no sound from the other side.
‘I believe it is unguarded,’ he said. ‘I will force it. If there are guards on the other side, I trust I can rely on you to remove them?’
Annika smiled. Dieter often felt she was amused by him, but rarely saw a reason for her to be.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, drawing her sword. ‘They won’t know anything about it.’
Dieter nodded, and took a step backwards. Gathering his huge frame, he hurled himself at the narrow portal. The door swung open with no resistance, and he found himself flung far into the corridor beyond. He could hear Annika run in behind him. He clambered laboriously back on to his feet, sword in hand. The torch-lit tunnel beyond was empty and silent.
Annika gave him a reassuring pat on the back.
‘Very suave,’ she said.
Dieter felt the blood rushing to his ears, and tried to retain an air of residual dignity.
‘Why would it be unlocked?’ he said, keeping his voice low.
Annika looked at the lock, which had long rusted into uselessness and had been cracked in two by Dieter’s charge.
‘It wasn’t. You don’t know your own strength.’
The pair went forward cautiously, letting their eyes get used to the smoky gloom. Torches had been set into the walls at regular intervals. It looked as if the tunnel went sharply downwards into the heart of the rock formation.
As they walked, Dieter began to hear the first noises. A low, throbbing sound could just be made out. It came from below.
‘If Grauenburg knows of this place,’ he said, ‘he must surely be involved with some form of treachery. No one hides away in such fashion unless they have something to conceal.’
‘I fear you’re right,’ Annika said, listening carefully to the growing ambient noise as they descended. ‘Whatever’s hidden in here, I think we’re about to come across it.’
Ahead, the light was growing. It had an unhealthy crimson sheen. Somewhere below them, a fire was burning. But the glow was not the cheery aura of the hearth. Some corrupted quality animated the flickering light. Both Dieter and Annika had enough experience to recognise the mark of Chaos when they saw it. The Imperial knight clenched his sword a little more tightly, and whispered a benediction to his patron goddess.
‘Let’s take a look,’ he said, motioning forwards.
At the end of the tunnel, the roof of the rocky chamber soared upwards dramatically. Through what must have been a massive labour, a great space had been hollowed out of the living rock. Dieter and Annika emerged from the narrow corridor on to a rough-hewn ledge halfway up the huge walls. It was roughly circular in shape, and ran around the full circumference of the chamber. On the opposite side of the domed hall other entrances could be seen. Narrow stairways, also cut from the raw stone, led downwards. The noise from below was now in focus, amplified by the echoing curve of the high roof. The stone surface glowed a dull red in every direction, lit by the flames coming from below. Over the roar of the fire, voices could be heard chanting in mournful unison.
Dieter dropped to the ground, and crept forward on his belly. Beside him, Annika did likewise. He reached the edge of the walkway, and peered carefully over the rim, taking care to keep his face as close as possible to the concealing lip. The floor of the chamber was perhaps twenty feet below their position. Unlike the rest of the strange construction, it was highly polished and seemed to have been made of a black, marble-like stone. Dieter could only guess at the cost of such wild extravagance out in the middle of the wilds. An eight-pointed star, crowned with barbs and florid swirls, had been engraved into the surface. At the very centre of the star, a wide bowl of stone stood. Within it a vast fire raged, filling the entire space with heat and a strange, shifting light. The flames looked unnatural, and writhed like snakes rather than flickering. No smoke rose from the bowl, and there was no sign of fuel either.
Surrounding the strange fire, perhaps two dozen figures in purple robes genuflected and abased themselves. They seemed entirely consumed by the spectacle before them and entirely oblivious to the world outside their charmed circle. Every so often, a tendril of flame would reach from the blaze in the centre and caress one of the figures. The tender stroke seemed to cause them no pain, nor did it leave burn marks on their rich robes. As Dieter watched, they repeated the same movements over and over again.
‘They’re summoning something,’ whispered Annika. ‘Or perhaps doing some preparation for a summoning. I’ve seen this kind of thing before.’
Dieter’s eyes went flat. The blasphemy disgusted him.
‘Then we must purge this place at once,’ he hissed, flexing the fingers of his sword hand in anticipation.
‘Wait,’ whispered Annika, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘Something’s happening.’
From a doorway at floor level on the far side of the chamber, fresh figures emerged. There were two men clad from head to toe in purple robes, their faces hidden by pointed hoods. They carried elaborate staffs crowned with jewels. Between them strode a tall man, robed as they were but with his hood confidently thrown back. He had long dark hair and pale skin. Even from a distance Dieter could see the signs of corruption in his face – the lurid eyes, the subtle marks of alteration. Whoever the figure was, he was deeply immersed in the worship of the Ruinous Powers. A sorcerer no doubt, a scholar of the dark arts. The knight clenched the grip of his sword tightly, impatient to use the blade.
The sorcerer glanced around the kneeling throng with a look of satisfaction. As he neared the bowl, flames rushed to greet him, wreathing themselves around his arms and torso as if greeting a friend. He appeared to relish the embrace of the fire, and let the writhing tongues lap across his body. The two companions stood on either side of him, and planted their staffs firmly against the marble floor with an echoing clang. Only then did the worshipping figures around the fire seem to notice their arrival. Slowly, some of them looking very unsteady on their feet, they rose and acknowledged the newcomers’ presence.
‘Brothers and sisters!’ the man called out in a deep, resonant voice which echoed around the chamber. ‘The culmination of your long labour is at hand. Your efforts here have hastened His coming. Once He arrives, none shall dare stand before us again. The reign of the boy-god is drawing to its end.’
At that, Dieter’s knuckles whitened. A reckless voice within him urged him to jump straight down from the ledge and into the fray. He quelled it with some difficulty. To his left, he could see Annika’s face set in a mask of concentration, obviously trying to glean as much information as possible from the speech below.
‘Now the time is nigh, my master is summoning the cabals together for the final stage of our great work,’ continued the sorcerer. ‘Your work here is nearly ended. Soon all will gather at the appointed place. When the Moon of Promise waxes once more, you are ordered to leave this hallowed place and make your way towards the nexus. All other faithful will do likewise. When we are gathered together, no power in the world will be sufficient to prevent His coming.’
The man’s eyes flashed with anticipation.
‘And when He does, the realm of men will be drenched in blood,’ he said with relish. ‘Thus shall they reap what their persecution of us has s
own.’
Some of the robed figures seemed to moan or mumble something in reply to that, but their response was oddly muted. It was as if they were drugged, or in some kind of trance.
‘Keep at your task!’ the sorcerer warned, his voice lowering menacingly. ‘The cost of failure is known to you all. But the rewards of success are boundless. We’ll meet again soon, alongside all the other faithful. May your work hasten His coming!’
At that, the speaker turned on his heel, and his purple robes swirling dizzyingly about him. His companions took up their staffs once more, and the trio went back from the chamber. As they left, the flames reached out for them imploringly. Dieter felt the blood rise in him once more.
‘Now we must cleanse this place!’ he spat, looking with naked hatred at the slow-moving figures below as they numbly returned to their genuflecting.
Annika shook her head.
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘That sorcerer. He’s the real target here. The rest are barely awake. If we move quickly we can reach him. I want to know what’s going on here.’
The witch hunter leapt lightly to her feet and began to run around the ledge to the far side of the chamber, drawing her pistol quickly as she did so. Dieter cursed under his breath and followed her slightly more cumbersomely. He hated it when she darted off – it wasn’t easy to suddenly change direction whilst wearing plate armour.
They reached the stairway leading down to the main chamber and quickly descended. The chanting figures around the fire still seemed completely unaware of them and remained firmly fixed on their monotonous task. The pair ran back along the tunnel from which the sorcerer had emerged, and quickly passed once more into torch-lit gloom. The sound of voices raised in laughter came from ahead of them, and Dieter felt the expectation of approaching battle run through him. This was what he lived for.
They rounded a sharp corner and found themselves in a small antechamber, once more carved from the heart of the rock. The three figures they had seen earlier were lounging on low benches, and had removed their robes. Each had a flagon of what looked like ale in their hands, and they were clad in ordinary Imperial garb. The speaker in the chamber had been laughing as they entered, but his face fell quickly in horror as they burst in.
‘Myrmidia!’ bellowed Dieter, and launched himself at the nearest of the staff-wielders.
His sword plunged straight into the shocked man’s torso, who only had time to half-raise himself from his seat. The thrust lifted him clear off the bench, and with a snarl Dieter hurled his body across the room. The staff-wielder crunched against the wall and slid on to the floor. Annika dispatched his companion with a crack of her pistol. The cloud of blackpowder masked the bloom of crimson from the man’s forehead where her bullet penetrated, and he was flung backwards in his turn, his limbs flailing wildly.
The sorcerer jumped from his seat and backed up against the far wall of the room. He frantically waved his hands in a jerking motion before him, and a purple cloud began to materialise in front of him. His eyes were wide with surprise and fear, and Dieter couldn’t help noticing that one was green and one was lilac.
‘Sigmar damn you!’ hissed Annika, pulling a sacred icon from her jerkin.
The silver relic blazed with a pure light. The sorcerer’s purple cloud rippled and evaporated in tatters. He recoiled from the searing icon. Dieter strode over to him and raised his sword. The sorcerer attempted to cast a fresh spell.
‘Too late,’ said Dieter grimly, and smashed the pommel of his sword with all the force he could muster into the sorcerer’s face. With the sound of snapping bone, the man crumpled into a heap, and his half-summoned spell ebbed out of being.
‘Don’t kill him!’ cried Annika urgently.
‘I had no such intention,’ Dieter said, his pride wounded. ‘What do you take me for?’
Annika knelt over the prone form, looking urgently for signs of life. The sorcerer still breathed, though his face was a mess. Dieter leaned across and pulled his body into a seated position. The man came round groggily, and his eyes widened once more. With what little strength he possessed he struggled against the grip of the knight, though his feeble efforts were entirely futile.
Annika smiled coldly.
‘So your life ends,’ she said. ‘But you have a choice about how painful the experience will be.’
She pressed the icon into the man’s forehead. The sorcerer’s flesh burned and popped, and he screamed. He thrashed wildly about, frantically trying to shake off Dieter’s grip. The knight held him easily. Annika withdrew the icon. A comet-shaped weal had been branded into the flesh of the speaker’s forehead. Blood welled in the wound.
‘Tell me the name of your master,’ ordered Annika.
The man looked up at her. His strange eyes were out of focus, but he managed a snarl of contempt.
‘I’d die first!’ he spat.
Dieter casually punched him heavily in the chest, and the man crumpled in pain. Dieter pulled him back up, and the icon was applied again. The sound and stench of flesh cauterising filled the antechamber. The sorcerer wailed pathetically, but Dieter still clamped him tightly in place.
The icon was withdrawn.
‘This symbol is agony to you,’ said Annika. ‘Much more than the burning. For such as you, the very presence of holiness is pain. You deserve nothing less.’
She pressed the icon back against the man’s flesh, and the searing continued. The sorcerer now screamed with abandon, trying desperately to free his hands. There was no escape from the torment. His mouth began to flex, and spittle lined his lips. Between cries of pain, it sounded like he was trying to say something. Annika pulled the icon back once more. The sorcerer sagged back.
‘Rachsdorf!’ he gasped, and went limp in Dieter’s grasp.
Dieter looked at Annika.
‘So we have a name,’ he said.
Annika nodded, and took a dagger up.
‘It’s a start,’ she said.
But then the sorcerer’s face stared outwards in horror. It was as if an invisible hand had suddenly clasped itself around his throat. His legs started kicking wildly, and his veins throbbed thickly on either side of his neck. Annika recoiled with surprise. Then her expression changed to one of loathing.
‘Dark magic,’ she said to Dieter. ‘Step back.’
Dieter stood up and cast a worried eye about the chamber. The two other bodies lay still where they had been felled. The noise of chanting still came mournfully from the hall of fire. The sorcerer’s face was now purple from lack of air. His breath came in gurgled gasps.
‘H-he will not let me go!’ came the final, strangled cry, and then he went limp again. Dieter looked down at the bloodied, twitching corpse distastefully.
‘What do you think that was?’ he asked Annika.
‘A spell of binding,’ she said, flatly. ‘Activated by certain words to prevent him talking. Such things are possible. Unfortunate. He’s dead, and we’ve learned very little.’
Dieter shrugged.
‘It is better than nothing at all,’ he said. ‘But our work here is not yet done.’
Annika nodded, and began to reload her pistol.
‘Agreed. This place must be cleansed. But then we need to find out more about this Rachsdorf. The name is unknown to me.’
The two of them left the room, and headed back to the hall of fire. Soon the noise of chanting was replaced by the clash of steel and the crack of blackpowder. The purging had begun.
CHAPTER SIX
Captain Johannes Fassbinder dismounted and surveyed the scene with a grim expression on his weather-beaten face. The bodies lay all across the wide forest clearing. Even in the weak sunlight, the smell was sickening. The plague creature cadavers gave off a uniquely disgusting aroma. But the stench was not the worst of it. If the corpses were not swiftly burned, their rotting flesh was liable to spread fresh contagion and misery. Even after their second death, the victims of the unnatural pestilence contributed fresh layers of pain.
/> The tall, rangy Imperial captain turned away from the scene before him. It was depressingly familiar. Behind him, his men began to filter into the clearing. They still marched in relatively well-ordered formation, which gave Fassbinder some satisfaction. Keeping several companies of state troopers in peak fighting condition while on a long campaign in the Reikwald was not easy. Despite their discipline, he knew they needed to see proper action soon.
His lieutenant, Sigismund Kirchner, waited patiently for orders.
‘Tell the men to prepare a pyre,’ said Fassbinder. ‘We’ll burn them all before we leave.’
Kirchner looked uncertain.
‘Sir, Schulmann’s troops are in the area. If we delay here…’
Fassbinder gave him a weary look. He couldn’t blame the man. Dragging the stinking, deformed bodies of those who had once been fellow Reiklanders into piles in order to incinerate them was a loathsome job. But it had to be done, or else the contagion would only keep spreading.
‘Just do it, Kirchner,’ Fassbinder snapped. ‘Schulmann will keep for another day. Unlike him, we have responsibility to those who have not yet succumbed.’
The lieutenant grudgingly saluted, and stalked over to the rest of the troops. The shifty looks of irritation cast in his direction told Fassbinder his orders had been passed on, and the men reluctantly started to fan out across the clearing, tying rags over their faces and around their hands. The captain turned back to the clearing and began to walk slowly amongst the carnage.
After a few moments, Kirchner rejoined him.
‘So what do you think, sir?’ the lieutenant said, looking across the scene with an expression of disgust.
Fassbinder knelt down. There was a patch of flattened grass ahead with patches of dark brown strewn across it. Blood, lots of it.
‘The only bodies are those of the plague creatures,’ he said. ‘There are signs of other casualties, but the corpses have been taken away. Whoever fought them here must have won, and then had time to clear the fallen from the area. This was no camp of wandering brigands.’
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