Razumov's Tomb (8 page)

As Groot and the others backed away, Caspar uncorked the bottle and began walking in a circle around Gabriel, pouring a thin stream of viscous liquid onto the floor. As the liquid splashed across the tiles it hissed angrily, sending up trails of blue smoke. Gabriel made several circuits, until the two wizards were surrounded by a shifting, diaphanous wall. As the smoke rose towards the ceiling, it shimmered and flashed in the moonlight as though it were bedecked with thousands of tiny stars.

At the same time as Caspar was creating the wall of smoke, Gabriel was covering the floor with dozens of arcane chalk marks, using each one to chart the movements of a different heavenly body. Then he traced his staff across each of the intersections and mouthed a long, garbled incantation.

Once the two wizards had completed their preparations, they knelt together in the middle of the smoke circle and closed their eyes. They reached out with their left hands, pressed the tips of their fingers together and began to mutter the spells they had rehearsed in Altdorf.

Groot and his men edged back towards the curtain of smoke, peering in wonder at the silhouettes of the wizards, but before they had taken more than a few steps, the knights barred their way.

“Gentlemen,” said one of them, gripping the hilt of his sword and nodding at the door. “The Grand Astromancer requested that we leave him in peace.”

One of Groot’s men sneered and placed his hand on the knife in his belt. It was the officer with the long black ponytail and the beak-like nose. “Really?” His voice was low and menacing. “And if we don’t, what will you—?”

“Sergeant Zelter,” interrupted the bürgermeister, grabbing his guard by the shoulder and shoving him towards the door. “Show some manners.” Groot smiled sweetly at the knight. “Of course we’ll leave, my friend.”

The knight did not return the smile, and he watched Groot closely as they headed back into the entrance hall.

Behind the wall of smoke, Caspar’s mind was racing to keep up with Gabriel’s. His thoughts began to fill with the strangest visions. First he saw crowds of cuttlefish, pulsing and writhing in the space between him and Gabriel. As he watched in disgust, the molluscs merged into a single gelatinous mass. The lump of rippling flesh began forming into a vaguely humanoid shape, with spindly, twitching limbs and a vast grinning mouth. The thing was utterly disgusting, but the most disturbing thing was how infectious its humour was. As the creature began to chuckle, leaking clouds of flies from its misshapen mouth, Caspar found himself grinning along.

“Wait!” he cried, opening his eyes. “What
is
this?”

“You must stay focussed,” said Gabriel in his usual deadpan voice.

Caspar suddenly found Gabriel’s blank, skull-like face as terrifying as the vision had been. He glanced briefly at the wizard’s neck and noticed that the expanse of transparent skin had risen higher. The lower workings of his throat were now visible. He could see the man’s gullet twitching as he swallowed.

Gabriel noticed the direction of his master’s gaze and pulled his robes a little higher. “You must not deviate,” he insisted. “Recite the words as we rehearsed them.”

The old man hesitated for a few seconds then touched his fingers to Gabriel’s and closed his eyes again.

“The winds of magic will appear,” said Gabriel flatly, “but in many guises. Do not be distracted. The crucial moment will be brief. We must latch onto the current that is most rich in azyr. Then I will withdraw and allow my portion of the magic to enter you. If the ritual has been successful, you will feel Razumov’s tomb rising beneath you and be able to use it to harness more power.”

Caspar nodded, but as he began to mouth the incantation, a terrible thought occurred to him. Had he been wise to trust so completely in this strange man? He had told no one else of their destination—apart from Tylo Sulzer, and the old letch was on the other side of the Empire, chasing drunken women.

An unnatural breeze struck up from nowhere and began to circle them, ruffling their robes and drawing sparks from the wall of smoke. As the ground beneath them began to buckle and shake, the Grand Astromancer realised that the whole building was starting to tremble. There was a series of jangling blasts as the windows imploded, then the walls groaned mournfully as great cracks spread across the stones. As the spell neared its completion, the smoke circle became a whining cyclone of magic, snatching blue flames from his staff and flooding his limbs with vigour.

Great shocks of arcane power blasted through Caspar’s old bones and as he uttered the final word of the spell he started to laugh.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Von Südenhorst cried out in frustration and stumbled back into the crush of bodies. As he fell, his sword slipped from his blood-slick gauntlet and clattered across the road. The rest of his armour was equally drenched in gore and his shield had been wrenched from his arm. The hulking, bull-horned leader of the beastmen was tantalisingly close, but every time he got near, one of the lesser monsters had blocked his way. As the reiksgraf cursed his luck, another goat-faced mutant loomed over him, raising a battered iron sword.

The reiksgraf cried out as the weapon shaved off a portion of his left shoulder. The blade sliced through armour and muscle with sickening ease and the beastman let out a bellow of pleasure as the general’s blood filled the air.

Von Südenhorst scrambled backwards, clutching his arm, furious at his lack of progress. The monsters had massed in such incredible numbers that tactics had become meaningless. As his men tried to hack them down, they simply drowned beneath a crush of iron-clad hooves and stinking, scarred flesh. Dozens of them had died in the first ten minutes of battle.

“Regroup!” he cried, managing to briefly raise his head above the mass of heaving bodies and flailing swords. “Defend the town hall!”

As the beastman swung its sword for another blow, the reiksgraf drew a knife and jammed it deep into the monster’s belly.

The beastman belched black blood and tried to throttle the knight, but as its viscera fell away, so did its strength and it collapsed on top of him with a final grunt.

The general screamed as the creature’s bulk crushed him down into the mound of corpses. A sharp pain flashed in his neck as his head twisted at an unnatural angle and for a moment he lost consciousness. Then, as the weight of the advancing army pressed down on him, the knight wrenched himself free and climbed to his feet.

A fist slammed into the visor of his helmet, knocking him onto his back. The pain in his neck returned with a vengeance and he blacked out again.

When he awoke, he realised that several minutes must have passed. There were no living knights anywhere near him, only hordes of howling, bellowing beastmen, tramping across his battered body in their eagerness to advance.

The reiksgraf rolled aside and the monsters blundered past, too caught up in their impending victory to pay him any heed. He scrambled clear of the charge and saw a group of his men, cornered by the side of the gate and surrounded by an impressive mound of fallen beastmen.

“To the town hall!” His voice sounded ragged and odd, and as the knights looked towards him their faces blanched.

The reiksgraf grinned as one of the men dashed to his side and handed him a sword.

“Your shoulder…” said the man, grimacing.

“The town hall,” repeated the reiksgraf, fending off a blow with his new blade. His attacker stumbled back and von Südenhorst followed up with a fierce backhanded slash that split the monster’s throat like a new mouth and sent it toppling to the floor. The general strode confidently through the battle, waving his men back down the street as he went.

The remnants of von Südenhorst’s army were gathered on the town hall steps. Only thirty of them were left to receive their general, and the host gathering around them was in the hundreds, if not thousands. A few hastily-fired arrows were still raining down from the battlements, but most of the state troops had either died or abandoned their posts.

The reiksgraf barked orders as he reached his men, demanding that they form into orderly ranks, but as he turned to face the oncoming horde, he hesitated. The moon was waxing ever brighter and as it did so, it seemed to feed the lumbering brutes gathering around them. They howled in delight and raised their swords to the writhing heavens, tasting victory.

CHAPTER NINE

Groot stumbled out onto the steps, watching in amazement as the building behind him started to collapse. Ancient columns were shearing up through the disintegrating roof like the ribs of prehistoric monsters, tearing through the walls and billowing great plumes of dust into the air.

The knights and guards staggered out after him and, after a few minutes, so did Gabriel. The wizard’s face was as emotionless as ever, but his robes were flickering with flashes of light and the astrolabe mounted on his staff was crackling with power.

“What are you doing out here?” demanded Groot, his voice shrill with terror. “Has he failed? Is he dead?” He waved at the tumbling building. “What’s happening?”

Gabriel looked through the bürgermeister with blank, incandescent eyes. “The first part is complete. Razumov’s tomb has answered.”

“Then what are you doing talking to me? By the gods, man, you should be helping your master! You’re meant to be catching starlight!”

Gabriel showed no sign of emotion as he shook his head. “The fulcrum is a focus for one mind.”

The two men looked back into the heaving clouds of dust and falling masonry. As the final section of roof slammed down, they were forced back down the steps, shielding their faces as great chunks of stone tumbled and spun around them.

“Where’s the Grand Astromancer?”

They turned to see the reiksgraf elbowing his way through the tattered remnants of his army. He was a mess. His armour was dented in several places, the wings on his helmet were bent at a ridiculous angle and his shoulder was a gruesome lump. “Has he completed his work?”

Gabriel shook his head, but before he could speak, he noticed the crowds of beastmen gathering at the foot of the steps. The monsters had paused to watch the building collapse, as though the whole scene had been engineered for their amusement.

Groot flinched at the size of the army and backed away, but Gabriel composed himself and continued. “It’s not a simple process,” he said, waving his staff at the ruined building. “Watch and wait.”

They all looked again at the rolling banks of dust and, true to Gabriel’s word, something odd started to happen. Most of the masonry had tumbled to a halt, but a few larger, older stones had begun lurching into the air, halting at predetermined points as though placed by an invisible hand. As they jerked upwards, they created a disjointed spiral of blocks, hovering in the air, enmeshed by a glittering network of flames.

“Is that it?” gasped Groot, clutching his trembling jowls. “Is that the tower?”

Before Gabriel could answer, the beastmen grew tired of the display and charged into the knights with a guttural roar.

“Hold your positions!” cried the reiksgraf, rushing back to his men with his sword aloft.

The clatter of steel on steel rang out across the square as the knights made a desperate last stand. They fought with incredible skill, but it was clearly hopeless. Thousands more beastmen were still trying to force their way through the town gate.

“Is there nothing you can do?” wailed Groot, grabbing Gabriel’s arm and turning him towards the swirling column of rocks rising behind them. “He’s almost there! Can’t you buy him some more time?”

Gabriel studied the drifting, skeletal tower. The ancient blocks were floating several feet apart and the whole edifice was slowly rotating, with the base hanging several feet above the ground. But even in such a disjointed state, it was possible to imagine the style of the original tower. It was very different from Imperial architecture, with ornate, undulating cornices and a slender spire topped by a bulbous, onion-shaped cupola. Arcs of light were leaping between the blocks, tying the whole swirling mass together and filling the air with electricity.

The smoke parted for a second and Gabriel caught a brief glimpse of his master.

The wizard looked barely human. Fingers of lightning were sparking from his flesh and dancing along the length of his staff. His hair was whipping around his head in wild, shimmering strands and his eyes were blazing with light. As he climbed, he was still mouthing the words of his spell and, even through all the swirling currents of magic, his laughter was quite audible.

Gabriel turned back to Groot, remembering that he had been asked a question. “Buy him time?” He looked down at the battle below. The reiksgraf seemed unable to accept defeat. Every time the knights faltered, he roared defiantly and rallied them again but in just a few short minutes, another dozen of them had been torn apart. Seeing no hope of martial victory, Gabriel lifted his gaze to the hills and trees beyond the ruined town gate. Morrslieb’s light had begun to pulse, dragging the landscape in and out of view, revealing frozen glimpses of wind-lashed clouds scudding across the sky. Gabriel frowned, scouring his memory for a prophecy that might be suitable. Then his eyes narrowed and he looked down at his wrist, irritated by something. One of the death watch beetles had crawled down his sleeve and onto his hand. He stared at it for a few seconds, then looked back at the sky. “Perhaps,” he muttered, launching the beetle into the storm with a wave of his hand.

Groot watched anxiously to see what the wizard would do. He expected an elaborate spell, or at least a dramatic flourish of his staff, but to the bürgermeister’s disappointment, Gabriel did nothing; he simply closed his eyes and remained stock-still.

Groot looked down at the struggling knights. Despite their general’s furious protestations, they were dropping at an alarming rate. Groot shook his head in dismay and peered at the cracked foundations of the hall. “He won’t have time,” he whispered, too quietly for Gabriel to hear. “What should I do?” Then he noticed something odd. The square was growing darker. He looked up, presuming that a cloud must be passing across the face of Morrslieb.