CHAPTER FIVE

Thaddeus Groot wheezed asthmatically as he made his way through the debating chamber of Schwarzbach Town Hall. One of his men was supporting him as he walked, but his face was still flushed and beaded with sweat. The room was long, rectangular and lined with faded banners. There was a large stained-glass window at one end that usually flooded the place with light, but with the Empire draped in a constant gloom, the bürgermeister had to rely on the light of a flickering candle to lead him down the central aisle.

At the far end of the ancient chamber was a locked door. Thaddeus drew a large bundle of keys from within his robes but paused before using them. The rattling of the keys echoed oddly around the rows of empty seats and Groot turned to the man by his side, a rangy, beak-nosed officer with glossy, ink-black hair swept back in a ponytail. “Someone’s in here, Zelter,” he snapped, shoving the soldier back down the aisle.

Groot watched anxiously as the soldier searched the room, but after a few minutes the man shook his head and announced that they were alone. Groot did not look entirely convinced, but he unlocked the door anyway and hurried on into a small library, locking the door behind him and leaving the soldier to wait in the hall.

The library’s shelves had once been crammed with municipal lore—hundreds of tithes, levies and Imperial statutes recorded in thick volumes of cherry-red calf leather—but now the folios were all empty; the foiled numbers had disappeared from their spines and the beautiful, illuminated letters had vanished from their pages. Fortunately, Groot was not interested in research. He locked the door behind him, set his candle down on a reading desk and approached a Sigmarite shrine that dominated the room. The shrine was far older than the rest of the building. It had allegedly been rescued from a nearby monastery during the Wars of the Three Emperors, but no one could be sure of its true origin. The centuries had not been kind to the God King. The stone had eroded so badly that Sigmar’s face was little more than a featureless mask and his powerful muscles had blurred into one hulking mass of stone. His thick, square fingers were still visible though, and they were spread out over a small, wooden table, placed there in more recent years by a local priest as a receptacle for offerings.

Groot was careful not to look at the statue’s face—even in such a ruined condition, he found it unnerving. The bürgermeister removed the table and reached around behind Sigmar’s back, grasping a crumbling column of rock that had once been recognisable as Sigmar’s warhammer. The bürgermeister grimaced as his pudgy fingers scrabbled over the ancient stone, unable to find purchase. After a few muttered curses, he finally found a tiny depression in the stone and jabbed his index finger into it.

The empty books trembled on their shelves as the shrine rolled back into the wall, revealing a gloomy stairway. Cool, fusty air rushed over the bürgermeister as he picked up his candle and stepped into the darkness.

The stairs led steeply down into damp, crumbling cellars and then deeper, beyond the foundations of the town hall and onto a narrow, partially excavated street. The subterranean road must once have been a wide thoroughfare, but only a sliver of its original width had been unearthed. Groot struggled to squeeze his vast stomach through some of the narrower bends, but the deeper he went, the more excited he became, rubbing his meaty palms together and muttering to himself as he scrambled over the ancient stones.

After a few minutes, he reached a door at the end of a long passageway. The light of his candle flickered over its surface, revealing an intricate array of carvings. The faces staring out of the wood might once have been heroic, or even beautiful, but centuries of decay had warped them into something far more sinister: tortured-looking, featureless grotesques, who seemed to cry out in pain as Groot shoved the door open and filled the tunnel with the sound of screaming, rusted hinges.

As the door opened, a mound of rats tumbled out, scattering from the bürgermeister’s light and scurrying into the shadows. Groot paid them no heed, but the second thing to emerge did cause him to falter—a thick, cloying charnel stink that filled his nostrils and left him retching into his ermine robes. For a few minutes he could do nothing but grimace and cough, then he pulled his robes up over his face and stepped through the doorway.

The darkness that smothered Groot was so profound that his candle could only illuminate a few feet in every direction. He shuffled slowly on through a series of empty rooms and down more stairs. Opening another door, he came to a halt in a small, rat-infested cellar. The room was so tiny that his candle finally managed to push back the shadows, revealing a slight, hooded figure waiting patiently in the corner.

The figure recoiled as Groot approached, but was clearly excited by his presence—twitching and fidgeting in the shadows and tapping the floor with a black spiked staff that ended in a crescent of talon-like horns.

“What news, Groot?” The shadowy figure had a voice like autumn leaves being crunched underfoot.

“My lady,” gasped the bürgermeister, attempting a bow, “they’re not here yet.”

“You’re wrong.” There was anger in the voice and Groot flinched, as though expecting to be struck.

“Are you sure, my lady? I’ve just spoken to Steffan, the captain of the watch, and he travelled several miles into the hills without seeing any sign of strangers.” He laughed. “They encountered quite a few other things though. I don’t think they will be—”

“They left Schwarzbach?” hissed the woman. “What for?”

Groot’s face twisted into a grimace. “They were just scouting the nearby hills, my lady. That was all.”

“How can you be sure?” The woman’s voice was verging on a scream. “What if they’ve learned something? No one must speak to the magisters before they arrive. We’re only two nights away from the full moon. Nothing can be allowed to go wrong.” She looked down at the floor. There was a pile of bones at her feet that gleamed faintly in the candlelight as she stooped down to stroke them. She spent a few moments placing the bones in various different arrangements on the floor, muttering under her breath. This seemed to calm her and when she turned back to Groot, her voice was softer. “The magisters will be here tomorrow night. Nothing can be allowed to disrupt our plans before then. Do you understand?”

“Yes! Yes!” Groot dropped to his knees, peering at the vague shapes on the floor. “What shall I do?”

The woman clutched her cruel-looking staff in both hands and stepped closer to the bürgermeister. As she stooped over him, his candle revealed a brief glimpse of her ashen skin and matted silver hair. “You must kill them, Groot—Steffan first, then his friends. Do it quickly.”

Groot nodded eagerly. “Of course, my lady. Anything you desire.” He massaged his quivering cheeks and frowned again. “It’s so difficult keeping everything on track though.” He looked hungrily at the staff. “Do you think you could lend me a little more strength? Just to see me through this last stretch?”

The woman sighed, then gave a grudging nod.

Groot closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure. Loosening the belt around his robes, he allowed them to fall open. His entire body was covered in bleeding, open sores and as he leaned towards the woman, some of them parted slightly, revealing rows of tiny, pointed teeth.

The woman raised her staff and placed the crescent of horns against his trembling chest. As she dragged it gently over his skin, a string of new sores erupted, causing Groot to moan even louder.

Just as the bürgermeister’s pleasure seemed about to overcome him, the woman snatched the staff away and withdrew into the shadows.

Groot tumbled to the floor, reaching after her with a pitiful whine.

“No more,” she hissed, “until they are dead.”