Daemon Gates Trilogy (6 page)

'Mine as well,' Alaric answered, knowing there was some truth to that. He and Gunter had never gotten along well,

the oldest and the youngest, the one most honour-bound and the one least willing to follow tradition. If Gunter had been here, he would have helped Alaric recover and then sent him back to their father, in chains if necessary. He had no problem with Deverick, but no great rapport with him either, nor any with Randal. He had always gotten on well with Morgan, since they were the two most independent of the brothers, but it had been him, Heinrich and Heintz, the three youngest, who had played together as boys. Thus it was Heinrich and Heintz he would have had the best chance to slip away from, because they were the two he could most closely predict.

'Father will be happy to see you,' Heinrich said, as if reading Alaric's thoughts. He had been pacing while they talked, and somehow he was in front of the door, those heavy arms folded across his broad chest. 'So will Mother.'

'A family visit will have to wait,' Alaric replied smoothly, although his heart was hammering in his chest. 'I really do need to get after those men.'

'Because of some sentimental item they stole from a friend?' Heinrich shook his head. "You'll have to do better than that, Alaric. What is it you're really after?'

For a second, Alaric considered telling him about the daemons, the statues, the gauntlet, the mask, and the cultists: all of it. But he couldn't. It wasn't even a question of Heinrich believing him. He was actually fairly certain he could convince his brother. They knew each other well enough for Heinrich to recognise that he was telling the truth. However, that might be even worse than being thought a liar, because Heinrich was utterly loyal to their father. He would report every detail back to him as soon as possible. If their father knew what Alaric was doing, the sort of foes he had faced, and the dangers the mask repre­sented, he would do one of two things:

Either he would send a small army to retrieve the mask, stomping about openly, destroying any chance of catching

the thieves, who would use the confusion to slip away for good.

Or he would order Alaric, along with his own men, to find the mask, and bring it to him at Black Rock, because he would think it could be used as a weapon.

Alaric had never agreed with his father on much, and he had hated the man many times over the years, but he was still his father, and Alaric still loved him. No one, not even someone Alaric truly hated, deserved whatever the mask could do to them. If it was anything like the gauntlet, it would damn the wearer's soul forever. Alaric could not allow that to happen to any member of his family, not even his father.

'I can't tell you,' he answered finally, meeting his brother's gaze. 'Please don't ask me to. Just believe me when I tell you it is important, not just to me but to all of us.'

Heinrich studied him for a moment, and then he nod­ded. 'You have grown up, Alaric,' he said, grudging respect in his tone. 'You are no longer the little boy who refused to follow orders just because they were orders.'

'I still hate orders,' Alaric said with a grin, and Heinrich laughed.

Then he stepped aside.

'I will tell the servants to prepare your horses. I believe your man is down in the kitchen, or near it.' Heinrich held out his hand. 'Good luck, Alaric.'

Alaric took it and clasped it firmly. 'Thank you.' He hes­itated. 'Tell Father and Mother... I am well. I am all right, and I have found my calling.'

'I will,' Heinrich assured him. He smiled. 'Now go. The trail will grow cold otherwise.'

Alaric nodded, not sure what else to say, and stepped past his brother, and out into the hall. The room was on the third floor, it turned out, and he found Dietz sitting in a room down on the first floor, chatting with one of the

servants while chewing a sausage he had skewered on his knife. Glouste was curled up in his lap, chittering happily and stealing bits of sausage with her quick, clever paws.

'We're leaving,' Alaric informed him as he strode into the room.

'You're better, then?' Dietz asked, standing and finishing the sausage, before sheathing the knife and joining him. He didn't look surprised or concerned about Alaric's sud­den appearance or statement. Glouste chirped a warm hello as she shifted to her usual spot around Dietz's shoul­ders.

'I'm well enough,' Alaric replied, although he felt a little light-headed from taking the stairs so rapidly. 'I should eat something, though.' He could tell his friend wanted to ask what had happened, but shook his head. They'd have time to talk later. For now, he just wanted to get out before Heinrich changed his mind.

Dietz must have sensed his haste, and did not ask any­thing else. Instead the older man led him into the kitchen, where he apparently knew all the staff by name, and Glouste was clearly a favourite. The kitchen staff quickly set Alaric up with a plate of food and a mug of ale, and he had finished all but a few bites when a servant came to say that their horses were ready. Dietz knew the way to the sta­bles, and Alaric followed him, after accepting some food and a wineskin that the staff pressed upon him.

The horses seemed well-rested and had clearly been well looked after. That was no surprise, though; a good soldier knew the value of caring for his steed. Their clothes and other gear had already been packed into the saddlebags, along with fresh supplies. Alaric thanked the stableboy and handed him a coin. Then he pulled himself carefully into his saddle, wary of over-exertion before they'd even left. He felt fine, however. A few minutes later they were riding down the street and away from the von Jungfreud house. Alaric refused to look back.

'Did you speak to your brother?' Dietz asked, watching him closely.

'I did.' Alaric glanced over at him. 'I take it you did as well.'

His friend shrugged. 'He wanted to know what had hap­pened to you. I told him. Seemed a decent fellow.'

Alaric thought about that one. 'He is,' he admitted after a second. 'He really is.' Then he shook off thoughts of fam­ily. 'We've lost several days,' he pointed out. 'Those cultists will be long gone by now.'

'It couldn't be helped,' Dietz replied. 'You were very ill.'

'I appreciate you finding me help,' Alaric answered. He saw the older man relax, and understood. 'Taking me there was the right thing to do,' he assured his friend.

Dietz nodded, clearly content to let the matter drop. 'Where to now?' he asked.

'I don't know,' Alaric admitted. He thought back to that night, and to the marks he had seen. The city was far qui­eter, now that Geheimnisnacht had passed, and, although a few remnants of the celebration remained, most of the decorations had been cleared away. That might work to their advantage, since the bloody marks would stand out more against Altdorf s usual decor, provided the marks had not been removed in the process. 'I remember where I last saw the trail,' he answered after a moment. 'We'll have to find that area again and then work our way forward from there. I just hope the marks haven't faded away.' He didn't say it out loud, but he also hoped the smears hadn't been a product of his fever-addled brain. If that was the case, he might never find them again, and regardless of their origin they had seemed the only clue as to the thieves' where­abouts.

They rode quietly for a while, letting the more conven­tional sounds of a large city fill the silence. Alaric was still regaining his bearings after being ill and asleep for so long, and he was also trying to make sense of the conversation

he'd had with Heinrich. Since when had his big, bullying brother turned into such a reasonable man? Had the rest of the family changed as well? Had their father? Alaric wondered if he should go to Ubersreik after this and find out. It had been a long time, and it would be good to see his mother again.

He was so caught up in this thought that he almost missed the flash of red off to one side. Glancing around, Alaric didn't see it again at first, but then it flickered into view once more, off on the right side, and he looked more carefully. A pair of stone columns flanked the end of the street, each one bearing the statue of some long-dead and long-forgotten hero, and on the right-hand pillar was a familiar smudge.

'There.' Alaric moved his horse closer, which was a sim­ple matter, since the streets were no longer packed with revellers. 'They went this way.'

Dietz stared at the column where Alaric was pointing, but finally shook his head. 'I don't see anything,' he admit­ted warily.

'I don't know why I can see it and you can't,' Alaric said, rubbing at his eye, 'but it is there, and that means we can still track them.'

Dietz nodded, and they set off again, following the marks, which still resembled blood, but had the sheen of oil to them, and had not faded in the least. Alaric tried not to think about the possible reasons for that. The trail led them back through the city and down to the south docks, across water-warped planks and wave-worn stones, right to the end of one of the longer piers.

'What now?' Dietz asked, glancing around. 'You think they took a boat?'

Alaric looked out over the River Reik, squinting against the sunlight reflected from the water. He could see well past the city's harbour, the water shining like silver, except in patches where the sunlight was swallowed up by small pools of crimson and black.

'There, do you see that?' he asked Dietz. 'Those puddles on the river?' But Dietz shook his head. 'They're like the smears, only floating on the water,' Alaric explained. They definitely took to the river.' And thanks to the city's layout they knew which one. Altdorf had been built where the Talabec crashed into and was absorbed by the mighty Reik, and the city had three separate docks: to the east, for travel back up the Talabec; to the north, for travel up the Reik; and to the south, for travel down the Reik. From here the only direction a boat could take was south and east, towards Nuln.

Dietz sighed, and Alaric felt a momentary twinge of guilt. The older man hated water travel. 'Guess we'll need a boat, then,' was all he said.

They found a river barge that was heading down to Nuln, departing in a few hours, and booked passage on it. 'I'll keep an eye out for the puddles,' Alaric assured his friend. 'If they leave the river, or turn off down a stream, we'll get out and follow them. Otherwise we'll take this barge all the way to Nuln and see if we can pick up the trail again there.'

Dietz nodded. This trip's getting longer and longer,' he pointed out.

'I know,' Alaric agreed. 'I'd hoped we'd be heading back to Middenheim by now, but if there's a chance of getting that mask back, we have to take it.' He looked at his com­panion. 'Look on the bright side - we'll be out of Altdorf by evening.'

Dietz grunted. 'About bloody time.'

CHAPTER FIVE

'Be ready,' Lasalnean
Silverleaf whispered. He had an arrow nocked, as did all his warriors, and they crouched in the for­est not far from their target, their brown and green clothing and grey cloaks fading into the protective foliage. He had waited for the day to pass, knowing their colouring and sight would be used to greater advantage when dusk sent shadows across the world. The light was mostly gone already, only a few small traces of the day remaining, and the sky overhead was deepening to the cool dark blue of night. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and beyond the trees he could see only darkness, which was just what he wanted.

The trees rustled around him, as his brethren shifted in preparation. Or perhaps it was merely the forest indicating its impatience. It was old, nearly as old as Athel Loren, and could outwait any elf, but at times it was capricious and demanding, and unwilling to delay its gratification. What's more, the sight before them was most likely as irritating to the forest as it was to Lasalnean and his kinband.

'Now,' Lasalnean shouted, leaping up and charging out from the trees. The ruins stood before them, not two hun­dred feet away, their backs to the mountains that loomed up just beyond, to brush the sky with snow-capped peaks. The ground flew by as he raced to cross the distance before their foes spotted him.

No such luck, however. The clouds shifted even as he rose from the forest's edge, allowing the moon to cast its soft glow down upon the ground, and Lasalnean knew that his long silvery hair would catch the light. He heard a bellow from somewhere up ahead, joined an instant later by other shouts and cries. He and his kin had clearly been spotted. A crude spear hurtled towards Lasalnean a second later, missing his shoulder by less than a handspan, the force of its travel imbedding it in the ground behind him. More spears followed, along with chunks of rock. Lasal­nean grimaced as one stone fell just short of him, and his eyes caught the rainbow sheen of the rock and the delicate, scrolling patterns carved along one smooth, polished side. The beasts were using the very ruins around them as a weapon.

'Die, foul creatures!' he shouted, his cloak billowing behind him as he ran, his warbraids bouncing against his neck and shoulders. 'For Athel Loren! For the Asrai!' His sharp eyes picked out a glimmer that might have been an eye from up ahead behind the stones, and he fired an arrow at it, swiftly drawing and nocking a second one. He kept his longbow high as he ran, so that its carved length and corded bowstring would not tangle his legs. A movement caught his attention as one of the creatures stepped from behind the rocks to launch a spear. Lasalnean's arrow took the beast in the throat before it could release its weapon, the spear falling from its hands as it pitched backward.

Beside him, Nelyann was singing her battle cry, an eerie combination of melody and rage, her voice mimicking the sounds of fierce winds and heavy rains. Although he had

heard her sing many times, it still sent chills up his spine, but he also knew that it unnerved their foes even more, and so he did not object. She wore no armour, as befitted a Wardancer, but twin blades gleamed in her hands, and she spun and leapt as she ran, sliding past spears and other missiles as if they were moving in slow motion. Although he did not fully understand her devotion to the trickster god, Lasalnean had always admired her grace, and her skill in battle left him in awe. He was glad to have her beside him, as always.