03 - Death's Legacy (28 page)

“Templars’ Court,” von Karien explained. Understanding at
last, Rudi nodded. If von Karien did have any friends here, it made sense for
them to be among the Church’s elite warriors.

“I see. They must remember you helping them raid the family
estate.” Von Karien laughed.

“I suppose a few of the older ones might, but most of them
remember me because I’m the one who put them through eight kinds of hell to turn
them into fitting instruments of Sigmar’s vengeance on the unholy.” He led the
way up a short flight of stairs, and the clang of sword against sword faded into
the background. “After that night, when I’d faced the taint of Chaos at the
heart of my own family, I became a templar myself. I could hardly go back to the
Panthers and pretend that nothing had happened.”

“And you’ve been one ever since,” Rudi concluded.

“I’ve served Sigmar, and fought the forces of Chaos as best I
could.” Von Karien opened a small, undistinguished door with a key from a pocket
somewhere beneath his cloak, and ushered Rudi through it. Once they were both
inside, he locked it again, and returned the key to wherever it had come from.
Rudi found himself in a narrow, windowless corridor, lit by oil lamps.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“One of the outlying annexes of the main library,” von Karien
explained. “Not everything is out on the main shelves. Most of the stuff in here
is at least three hundred years old, and I don’t suppose anyone’s so much as
glanced at it since it was brought down and forgotten about.”

“Someone must have done,” Rudi said, following the
black-garbed man along the passageway, “otherwise the lanterns wouldn’t be
alight.” Their footsteps echoed against the flagstones, and shadows flickered as
the draft of their passing disturbed the flames in the lamps. A thought occurred
to him. “They must trust you well enough to give you your own key.”

“I’m not sure that the librarians know I have one,” von
Karien admitted, leading the way into a book-lined room. A table, scarcely
better cared for than the one in the nobleman’s kitchen, stood in the centre, a
scattering of chairs around it. More lamps burned, and the smell of combustion
mingled with the acrid odour of old books and parchments. Shelves stood around
the walls, some of them projecting out into the room to afford access from both
sides, forming small enclosed areas of their own, and making it hard to tell
just how big the chamber really was. “Over the years, my colleagues and I have
found it a useful place to meet, and discuss our more sensitive business.”

“What sort of business?” Rudi asked, trying to read the
titles on the spines of the nearest books, but they were too encrusted with
grime to be intelligible.

“Protecting the Empire from its enemies, of course.” Von
Karien glanced at a sheaf of documents lying on the table. “It seems we’re in
luck again. Someone’s already here, and apparently working on our little
problem.”

“They are?” Rudi felt a shiver of unease. “Who?”

“Who do you think?” Von Karien raised his voice. “Luther? Is
that you?”

“Osric?” Someone moved behind one of the bookshelves, a
black-clad silhouette coming slowly into view. Bleak blue eyes bored into Rudi
from the centre of an all too familiar face, disfigured by a partially healed
burn, but still unmistakable. “I see I was right.”

“You were.” Von Karien nodded. “He came running straight to
me, just as you said he would.”

“You’re working for Gerhard?” Rudi asked, aghast, and still
struggling to grasp the magnitude of this latest betrayal. Von Karien shook his
head impatiently.

“No, boy, with him. Who do you think burned your parents in
the first place?”

A tidal wave of anger burst over Rudi, the insensate desire
to kill hammering in his veins. Before he was even aware of what he was doing,
he drew his sword and leapt to attack.

“There’s no need for this.” Gerhard’s blade sprang from its
scabbard, blocking the blow as he moved to evade it, but he held back from
delivering the counter strike that Rudi had been expecting. As in their previous
encounters, the witch hunter seemed content to fight defensively rather than
going in for the kill. “Put your sword down, and let’s talk. There’s a lot you
need to know.”

“I’ve seen how you talk,” Rudi snarled, renewing the attack.
“I was there when you talked to Frau Katzenjammer, remember?”

“I told you, that was a regrettable necessity.” Gerhard
parried his next attack, and stepped back to open the distance, hemming himself
in between two of the projecting bookcases as he did so. “There’s so much at
stake here.”

“So you say,” Rudi said, moving in to take advantage of his
enemy’s inability to evade. He cut at the witch hunter’s head, intent on nothing
more than spilling his blood, blind to every other consideration. His heartbeat
thundered in his ears. Gerhard ducked in the nick of time, and Rudi’s sword
embedded itself in the wood of a bookshelf, the tip of it slicing into an
incunabulum, raising a cloud of dust and scattering the pages as the age-rotted
leather binding split. Rudi wrenched frantically at the weapon, trying to free
it, but it was stuck fast in the age-darkened wood. Before he could recover the
sword, Gerhard had taken full advantage of his loss of momentum, diving at his
chest and grappling like a wrestler.

Rudi stumbled backwards, trying to shrug off the witch
hunter’s pinioning arms, and feeling a sudden shock of impact against his back.
A moment later the unexpected blow was followed by agonising pain, searing up
into his torso. Turning, he found von Karien behind him, a bloody knife in his
left hand, and an expression of shock in his eyes.

“You…” Rudi tried to draw his own dagger, but Gerhard
forestalled him, expertly shifting his grip to clamp a muscular hand around his
wrist. The senior witch hunter glared at von Karien.

“Are you insane? You know what happens if he dies!”

“He just stumbled into me.” Von Karien dropped the
red-stained dagger, which clattered loudly on the stone floor of the chamber. “I
only drew it in case I needed to parry.” His arm went around Rudi’s shoulders,
holding him up just as the young forester’s knees gave way. Rudi tried to speak,
but the taste of blood filled his mouth, and he hawked crimson phlegm onto the
flagstones. The images of Bruno, and all the pirates and ruffians he’d killed
since leaving Kohlstadt, rose up in his mind, taunting and vindictive. Was this
how their last few moments had felt? His kinsman’s voice held an edge of
desperation. “Is there anything we can do?”

“If Sigmar wills it,” Gerhard said calmly. He pulled one of a
pair of thin leather gloves from his belt, and held it between his palms,
murmuring a prayer beneath his breath.

Von Karien lowered Rudi to the cold stone floor as gently as
he could, the chill seeming to seep upwards into his very bones as he did so.
Rudi’s vision began to blur, and something seemed to stir in the darkest depths
of his soul. Despite the pain, he felt a sudden surge of malevolent triumph
sweep through him, leaving him giddy and disorientated.

“Hurry.” Von Karien rolled Rudi over onto his side. “He
hasn’t got long.”

Recalling the event afterwards, Rudi was never quite sure
what actually happened next. The glove in Gerhard’s hands seemed to dwindle and
shrink, like dispersing smoke, and then it vanished, as if it had never been.
Gerhard knelt, and pressed his hand to Rudi’s back, right where the wound from
von Karien’s dagger had been inflicted.

A wave of pain surged through his body, spasming his muscles,
and with a howl of agony the shadowy presence deep within him returned to
wherever it had emerged from. Both witch hunters sighed with relief.

“Sigmar be praised,” von Karien said, making the sign of the
hammer. Gerhard nodded.

“Indeed,” he concurred dryly. He shrugged. “It seems I’ll
need another new pair of gloves.”

“A small price to pay,” von Karien said, and Gerhard nodded
his agreement.

“Can you sit up?” he asked, supporting Rudi’s shoulders
again.

To his surprise, Rudi found that he could. The pain in his
chest was gone, replaced by a numbing chill. He drew in a shaky breath,
unimpeded by blood or phlegm.

“What did you just do?” he asked, curiosity driving out fear
and anger, at least for the time being. Whatever his reasons, Gerhard had
clearly just saved his life. Shaking the witch hunter’s arm off, he staggered to
his feet, leaning against the table for support. Von Karien retrieved his sword
from the bookcase and his own dagger from the floor, placing both well out of
reach, and moving to block the door. Gerhard pulled out a chair, and motioned to
Rudi to sit.

“I prayed to Sigmar for aid,” he said. “Sometimes he
intercedes, if the cause is just.”

“It looked like sorcery to me,” Rudi said. If he still felt
too weak to fight the man physically, he could always lash out with words.
“Shouldn’t you run off and burn yourself?”

“There is absolutely nothing like sorcery in the blessings of
the gods!” von Karien said angrily, “and only a heretic would dare to suggest
such a thing!” For a moment, Rudi thought his kinsman was about to strike him,
and tensed for the blow, but to his surprise Gerhard intervened.

“It’s a natural mistake to make,” he said evenly. “Both magic
and prayer can alter the fabric of the world. The difference is that a priest
can only do so by the grace of the divine, while witches and sorcerers can
change reality by the force of their own wills.”

“You’ve lost me.” Rudi sat down slowly, waiting for the
strength to return to his body. There were two of them, it was true, but he’d
fought against worse odds than that before. The real problem was the locked door
behind him, but once he’d subdued his opponents, finding the key wouldn’t
present too big a problem, he was sure.

“Then I’ll make it simple,” Gerhard said, sitting down
opposite him. “I healed you by calling on the power of Sigmar. Your friend the
witch incinerates people by calling on the power of Chaos. That’s the
difference.”

“He’s been consorting with witches?” von Karien asked, the
expression of horror on his face echoed in the timbre of his voice. He looked at
Rudi with obvious contempt. “He’s clearly been tainted beyond any possibility of
redemption.” His expression became appraising. “Is that why you went to the
Bright College before coming to my house? Escorting your witch friend to be with
her own kind?”

“There were reports of a disturbance outside the college gate
last night,” Gerhard said thoughtfully. “I take it that means her application
was unsuccessful?”

“She’s safe,” Rudi said, hoping the half-truth would serve to
protect the girl. “You’ll never get your hands on her now.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Gerhard said levelly. “If the
Bright Order had taken her in, you wouldn’t have been able to resist throwing
that in our faces. Why did they reject her?”

“Because she was tainted, wasn’t she?” von Karien put in.
“Her mother was a witch, and a worshipper of the Lord of Change. That’s how she
got her magical talent, straight from the Dark Powers.” Rudi wondered how much
else Gerhard had told his friend of what he’d discovered in Kohlstadt and
Marienburg.

“Rudi,” Gerhard leaned across the table, his voice calm and
reasonable. “Your loyalty is admirable, however misplaced, but surely you must
realise how dangerous Hanna is? She’s almost as dangerous as her mother.”

Rudi shook his head stubbornly, trying to forget the
expression on Gerrit’s face as he’d died, the burning silhouettes of Alwyn and
Conrad, the indifference, even malevolence, Hanna had seemed to show every time
she’d used her abilities to maim or kill since they’d fled from Marienburg.

“If she is, then who made her that way?” he shot back.
“You’re the one who tried to kill her, just for being who she is. So far as I’m
concerned, she’s entitled to do whatever it takes to defend herself!”

“Where is she?” von Karien loomed over him, his face dark.
“We might need you alive, boy, but that doesn’t have to mean whole.”

“Osric.” Gerhard made a dismissive gesture with his hand.
“We’re getting away from the point here. The witch will keep for now, wherever
she is. We have a far more pressing problem to deal with.”

“That’s true.” Von Karien nodded reluctantly, and pulled up a
chair of his own. “I don’t suppose she’ll get far, with both the templars and
the colleges after her, in any case.”

“She’s safe!” Rudi insisted, “with friends.” He glared at von
Karien, “You can keep on asking until you’re blue in the face, but I don’t know
where. Greta said that was for the best, and I’m beginning to see why.”

“So her mother’s here too.” Gerhard exchanged a glance with
von Karien. “They’ve probably taken refuge with the Silver Wheel, then. Perhaps
you’d better start lifting a few stones when we’ve finished here, and see what
crawls out.” Von Karien nodded.

“Perhaps I’d better,” he said. He glanced at Rudi. “You think
they’re planning something to do with him?”

“It’s possible,” Gerhard said. “Greta Reifenstahl was living
in the same village for years, undoubtedly keeping an eye on Magnus von
Blackenburg and his cult. Now she’s here in Altdorf, and reunited with her
daughter, just when we’ve caught up with Rudi. That’s a pretty big coincidence,
and we know only too well that there’s no such thing as coincidence where the
Lord of Change is concerned.”

“Then we’d better finish this quickly,” von Karien said.

“Finish what?” Rudi asked impatiently.

“I’m afraid it’s rather a long story,” Gerhard said, “and
much of it is inference and deduction, but it all goes back to the night we
raided the von Karien estate, and found your father’s cult enacting a hideous
ritual.”

“I know about that,” Rudi said. “Osric told me.”