CHAPTER THREE

 

 

They’d beaten Dieter with their fists, scourged him with a thin black whip, and left him dangling from a rafter with the weight of iron balls and chains hanging in turn from his ankles. Eventually he’d passed out, to wake bound and gagged on the cold dirt floor of a cell.

A rat came creeping, enticed, perhaps by the bloody smell of the lash marks on his back or the galls on his wrists and ankles. He heaved and thrashed as best he could until the rodent scurried away.

“That works for a while,” said a cheerful bass voice, “but eventually the rats figure out a prisoner in restraints can’t really do much to fend them off, and then they take their supper. I’ve seen it happen time and again.”

Dieter hitched himself around to face the bars and the corridor outside, where Otto Krieger stood. With the light of the torch in the wall sconce wavering behind him, the big man was little more than a shadow, but by now, fear and outrage had stamped every detail of his appearance into his prisoner’s memory.

Krieger was broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a square, pleasant face and a smiling, ruddy mouth. Had he opted to wear something other than the sombre garments and ominous regalia of a witch hunter, a new acquaintance might have taken him for a genial, convivial fellow, with nothing brutal or cruel about him. Unfortunately, the reality was otherwise.

Krieger selected one key on a ring, inserted and twisted it in the lock securing the door, and the mechanism clanked. He entered the cell, bent over Dieter—who struggled not to cringe—hoisted him up and sat him on the wooden bench by the back wall.

“There,” the witch hunter said, “that’s better than the floor, isn’t it? It’s certainly a better attitude for a friendly conversation. Although for that, we need to take the gag out of your mouth. Promise me you won’t try to cast a spell.”

With his back and joints throbbing, Dieter doubted he could have mustered the necessary concentration in any case. He nodded.

“Good man.” Krieger pulled down the knotted kerchief. “You must be thirsty.” He produced a leather canteen and held it to Dieter’s lips.

Until now, the witch hunter and his assistants hadn’t given Dieter anything to drink, and the lukewarm water eased at least one of his miseries. He felt an irrational twinge of gratitude, and tried to quash it.

“Now, then,” Krieger said, “let’s talk about the evidence against you.”

“There isn’t any,” Dieter said. “There can’t be.”

Krieger tapped the satchel hanging with his broadsword and wheel-lock pistol from his broad black square-buckled belt. “I have the affidavits. Testimony sworn in Sigmar’s holy name. A woman named Elfrida never fancied you � I don’t know why not, you look all right—yet one night, she felt compelled to couple with you anyway.”

“‘Felt compelled’? Meaning, I bewitched her? She was drunk! We both were! It was Sun Still!”

“Several witnesses saw you cast spells while in the company of a boy named Berthold—”

“I plucked pennies from his ears to make him laugh. It’s not even real magic, just sleight of hand.”

“—and subsequently, he wandered off alone into the forest, where wolves attacked and killed him.”

“You can’t believe I made it happen!”

“Several miners heard strange whispers in one of the shafts. Then a support gave way. A man lost his arm.”

“A terrible accident, but again, nothing to do with me. Since I settled here, I’ve done nothing but try to help my neighbours. Much of Celestial magic is divination, and I tell the farmers where to dig their wells and when to plant. I help the miners locate veins of ore and coal. I search for lost sheep and cows, and lost children, when necessary. Anyone will tell you! Why would I work to help and harm the village?”

“You do some small semblance of good so the town will tolerate a wizard in its midst. Then, having lulled everyone’s suspicions, you can address your true task: spreading pain and despair to advance the cause of Chaos.”

“That’s insane.”

Krieger rested his hand on the satchel. “Your neighbours say otherwise.”

“Then it’s simply because they have a morbid fear of any magician, and you played on it. Or because you bribed or threatened them.”

The witch hunter chuckled. “I will admit that, once I hinted I might pay a modest fee for pertinent information, several witnesses came forward. While after I made it clear that in my view, only a Chaos worshipper would seek to defend another such, a couple of folk who at first seemed inclined to speak on your behalf thought better of it.”

Dieter could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “Then you admit to manufacturing a case against an innocent man.”

“There are no innocent men, my friend, simply varying kinds and degrees of guilt. Certainly there are no innocent wizards. Sigmar teaches that all magic derives from Chaos, no matter how you scholars of the colleges try to obfuscate the fact.”

“That may be your opinion, but we have charters from the Emperor allowing us to practise our arts.”

“Until you get caught abusing them. Let’s discuss the contents of your house.”

“What? My telescopes? My star charts? My staff? A wizard of the Celestial Order is allowed to possess such tools.”

“Arguably so, but what about this?” Krieger unbuckled the flap of his satchel and removed a child’s toy comprised of a wooden cup and handle linked to a little ball by a length of leather string. “Recognise it?”

Dieter did. It had been Berthold’s. But he refused to say the words, as if that would make any difference.

“How about this?” Krieger produced a kerchief. In point of fact, Dieter didn’t recognise it, but suspected it belonged to Elfrida. “Or this?” The witch hunter proffered a little clay figure of a man with one arm missing. “I believe they’re the sorts of items a warlock might have used to lay curses on the folk who have come to grief.”

“You planted them!”

“You’d be surprised how many witches utter such slanders. You probably wouldn’t be surprised that nobody ever believes them.”

Struggling for calm, Dieter took a deep breath. “You must realise, you don’t even have jurisdiction over me. I’m a mage of the Celestial College. If I’m accused of wrongdoing, my order is supposed to adjudicate the matter.”

Krieger shrugged. “Technically, you may have a point, but we’re not in Altdorf. I’ve spoken with the Graf, and, upright, pious child of Sigmar that he is, he’s eager for me to bring this troubling case to a quick conclusion. That’s why he allowed me the use of his dungeon.”

“Damn you!” Dieter said. “What’s the point of this? What is it you actually hope to accomplish?”

The witch hunter grinned and clapped his hands together. The smack resounded in the cramped confines of the cell. “Finally, you said something intelligent. Good. I was beginning to wonder if I had the wrong man.”

“You do.”

“Now don’t turn thick on me again. Obviously, I’m not talking about whether you really used sorcery to pry Elfrida’s knees apart, or fed poor little Berthold to the wolves.”

“What, then?”

“Have you ever heard of the Cult of the Red Crown?”

“No. I assume you’re talking about a Chaos cult? I’ve heard there are many such groups, but I’ve never bothered to learn about any of them. They have no relevance to my field of study.”

“It’s a society devoted to the Architect of Fate, the Changer of the Ways. My colleagues and I have learned that the cult has a strong presence in Altdorf itself, and we suspect they’re in league with a horde of mutant raiders who prey on caravans and other travellers on the roads leading into the city.”

Bewildered, Dieter shook his head. “And you suspect this has something to do with me, miles and miles away in little Halmbrandt?”

“No, not yet. But I intend for it to. You see, I’ve made it my business to bring down the Red Crown, but it’s difficult, because of the way they’re organised. At the top is a sorcerer called the Master of Change. He only deals with his lieutenants, who aren’t told one another’s real names. Each of the lieutenants leads a coven, and none of the covens has any knowledge of the others. Do you see the strength of such a system?”

“I think so. You witch hunters can identify and attack a single coven and still accomplish relatively little in terms of crushing the entire cult. Because, no matter how you torture them, the members can’t give up secrets they don’t know. Although if you arrest the leader…”

“So far,” Krieger said, “I haven’t managed to take any of them alive. If need be, they turn their magic on themselves. I need a different strategy, and that’s where you come in.”

“I don’t understand.”

The big man grinned. “It’s simple enough in principle. I break you out of this prison. You run to Altdorf. You use your divinatory abilities to find a coven, and then you infiltrate it. Once inside, you ferret out the cult’s secrets, up to and including the identity and hiding place of the Master of Change.”

“I don’t know how to operate as a spy!”

“Sigmar has given you the gift of finding hidden knowledge. It’s the essence of your art, and it’s what’s required.”

“There must be someone better.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But believe it or not, there isn’t. You have the proper skills, and in addition, you haven’t been to Altdorf in years. Not many people remember you anymore, even at the Celestial College. Your particular mentor is dead, and your fellow students graduated and moved on. That anonymity will make it easier for you to pass yourself off as something you’re not. It would also make it easy for me to denounce you to your order and convince them of your guilt, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Dieter took a deep breath. “Let’s say I do this for you. What happens to me afterwards?”

“I clear you of the charges against you,” Krieger replied. “You regain your freedom. Your good name. Your life. Whereas if you refuse to do your duty and serve Sigmar, and the Empire in its time of need, I’ll regretfully proceed with your torture, trial and execution. You’ll never see the sky again until my assistants march you to the stake.”

“How can you justify killing a man you know to be innocent? How could you live with yourself?”

“Oh, I’d manage somehow. So what’s it going to be?”

Dieter felt sick to his stomach. “This whole idea is crazy. I doubt I’ll even find the cultists, and if I do, they’ll unmask and murder me. But you’ve left me no choice except to try.”

 

In a small community like Halmbrandt, even prosperous and aristocratic folk were frugal enough to extinguish every lamp and candle when it was time for bed, and the Graf was no exception. Groping his way down the murky passage, his abused limbs stiff and aching, Dieter nearly tripped over the vague shape of the body before he spotted it.

“What’s this?” he whispered.

“One of the servants,” Krieger answered from behind him. “I don’t know what he was doing out of bed, but don’t worry, he didn’t see me. Just keep moving.”

“Is he dead?”

The witch hunter jabbed the muzzle of his pistol into the small of his prisoner’s back. “I told you to move. We’re in danger every moment we delay.”

Dieter reluctantly stepped over the recumbent form and crept onwards, until he and Krieger finally exited the keep.

Krieger tossed him the sack he’d been carrying. “Clothing. You don’t want to wear wizard’s robes anymore. The bounty hunters and such will be watching for that.”

Dieter opened the bag. “Did you kill that man?”

“Probably not. I just knocked him over the head. It was necessary to clear him out of our way, and if I did break his skull, Sigmar will reward him for giving his life to further our ends.”

“How does Sigmar deal with murderers, and wretches who bear false witness?”

“You don’t have time for complaints and recriminations. You need to be well on your way to Altdorf before I ‘discover’ your escape. I imagine a good many of your neighbours will offer to help hunt you down, and if they volunteer, I won’t say no, lest they suspect I’m not as zealous as I ought to be.”

Dieter pulled off his tattered shirt. The night air was cold on his skin. “It would ruin your whole crazy scheme if they caught me, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but I guarantee that in the end, you’d regret it even more than I would.”

Dieter finished fastening his new garments, the attire of a peasant or common labourer. He was used to better, and the homespun felt coarse and scratchy, especially where it lay against the welts on his back.

“Do you expect me to make the journey alone?” he asked. If so, his career as a spy would likely reach a painful and inglorious end before he even reached Altdorf. Given a choice, no one travelled alone. The roads were too dangerous.

“No. There’s a caravan camped just a few miles down the road. Hurry and you can catch up with them before they break camp and move on in the morning.”

“They’ll want to be paid.”

“And I have a few coins for you.” Krieger threw him a pigskin purse that clinked when he caught it.

Dieter took a deep breath. “All right. I guess I’m ready.”

“Not quite. I have advice you need to hear. Once I turn you loose, you’ll suffer temptations. You’ll wonder if you shouldn’t run to the Celestial College and ask for help. Don’t. I’ve built a strong case against you, and what’s happening now—your escape, the attack on the servant—makes it stronger. Your colleagues are as wary of witch hunters as any other wizards. They won’t risk compromising themselves to shield a fugitive who looks guilty, particularly a man no one remembers.

“You’ll also,” Krieger continued, “consider simply disappearing. Perhaps leaving the Empire altogether. You’ll think a life in hiding or in exile wouldn’t be much of a life compared to what you’ve lost, but it would be better than getting murdered by the Red Crown, or captured and burned when some roadwarden or watchman happens to recognise you. Once again: put such notions out of your mind. My men and I have ways of tracking you. Shirk the task you promised to perform, and we’ll find and punish you.”

“I understand.”

“I hope so. Because I made it a point to learn about you, Herr Schumann. You accomplished some remarkable things before you made your money and retired here to study stars and clouds or however it is you pass the time. Granted, your achievements didn’t involve spying, but they were impressive nonetheless. I’m confident you can do this job even if you doubt it yourself, and once you do, I’ll make everything right for you. I swear it in Sigmar’s name.”

Another man might have jeered at such an assurance from a knave who’d already proved himself so utterly dishonest. Or vowed that one day, he’d exact revenge on the bastard who had so abused him. But with his injuries paining him and Krieger’s pistol trained on his torso, Dieter realised that such a declaration would only make him feel more helpless than he did already. So he simply stood and listened as the witch hunter explained how he was to make contact with him when the time was right.

 

Once away from the Graf’s dungeon and Krieger’s pistol, Dieter’s state of mind started to improve. He found himself calmer and better able to think.

Which, he decided, was what he ought to do. Together with his magic, a capacity for practical, logical deliberation had always served him well. Unfortunately, it was a difficult knack to apply when people were pummelling and flogging him, but that wasn’t the case anymore. He left the path, sank down on the ground, and gingerly rested his sore back against the trunk of an oak. His ordeal and exertions had so exhausted him that it was bliss to sit, and he felt a sudden pang of fear that he might actually fall asleep, and be discovered so, slumped and snoring, when the hunters caught up with him. He promised himself he’d get up and march onwards as soon as he finished his deliberations.

Krieger had done his best to persuade him he had no choice but to do his bidding, and while he was frightened, helpless and humiliated, his captor’s arguments had rung true. But were they really?

Or, to put it another way, could Krieger and his helpers actually track him wherever he went? The witch hunter claimed as much, but maybe it was only a bluff. Maybe Dieter could shake them off his trail if he wanted to.

Did he? He didn’t know. He valued the quiet, comfortable life he’d built. It suited him, and he supposed he was willing to take risks to keep it.

But maybe this insane task was more than risky. Maybe it was suicide, pure and simple.

Perhaps he should put Krieger to the test. Find out if he really could track him. If it turned out he couldn’t, Dieter would know he at least had the choice to cooperate or flee, and then he could make a decision.

Unfortunately, it would mean a somewhat longer period of travelling alone. But even if he had the bad luck to encounter orcs, goblins or one of the countless other perils infesting the wild places of the world, perhaps his magic would see him through.

He rose, his stiffening limbs protesting. He swept his left hand through a sinuous pass and murmured an incantation. Waking abruptly, squawking and screeching, birds exploded from the nearby trees. They felt magic stirring, and it alarmed them.

Dieter winced at the noise. If any pursuers were within earshot, they were bound to hear. But he couldn’t have anticipated the birds’ reaction, nor could he do anything about it now.

Power burned through his body, and he grunted at the discomfort. Then that sensation gave way to a sort of tingling lightness.

The feeling meant the enchantment had taken hold. Secure in the knowledge that while it lasted, he wouldn’t leave any scent trail, footprints or other signs of his passage behind, he tramped off at a right angle to the road and up a wooded slope carpeted with slippery, rotting leaves.

Away from the path, the branches crisscrossed thickly overhead, but not so thickly as to conceal the sky entirely. A scholar who knew every star and constellation could see enough to give him his bearings. When the sun rose, he peered backwards, studying the slopes he’d just traversed. So far, nothing was moving among the trees, nor could he hear anything but chirps and trills of birdsong. No doubt folk were searching for him, or would be shortly, but they didn’t seem to be anywhere nearby.

Encouraged, he tramped onwards, desperately craving rest but only permitting himself to stop for brief intervals. Twice more he employed the same charm to break whatever trail he might be leaving, and at one point waded up a cold, gurgling stream to accomplish the same purpose. Afterwards, his shoes were soaked, and he wished he’d had the sense to take them off first.

Around midday, he reached a different road, narrow and rutted. No one had maintained it of late, and the forest was well on the way to overgrowing and erasing it. Still, it promised faster, easier travelling, and if he followed it far enough, it would take him to Grunburg. He could go to ground there and ponder his next move.

Or so he imagined, until Krieger, smirking, pistol in hand, stepped out from behind an elm a dozen paces ahead of him. “Hello,” the witch hunter said.

Dieter felt a surge of rage and frustration. Hard on the heels of that came the reflection that Krieger only had one shot, and short-barrelled guns like the pistol weren’t accurate beyond close range. The wizard decided he liked his chances. He drew breath to chant his words of power and raised his arms to commence the necessary passes.

“Don’t,” Krieger said. He waved his off hand, and half a dozen of his men, scarred, vicious-looking ruffians in brigandines, emerged from cover. They had Dieter surrounded, and each was aiming a crossbow or arquebus at him.

Dieter lowered his hands.

“Good,” Krieger said. “I imagine that’s the first sensible thing you’ve done since we said goodbye in Halmbrandt.”

“How did you find me?” Dieter asked.

“I warned you I have watchers keeping track of you, and I promise, they’ll stay on your trail no matter what sleights you try. But actually, I didn’t need an alert from them to intercept you. I expected you’d try to run.”

“Then why turn me loose?”

“To get this out of the way. To prove to you there’s no escape so the impulse won’t distract you from your work. But you asked how I found you. Well, I knew you couldn’t just vanish into the hills for an extended period of time. You have your talents, but you’re no woodsman, and I didn’t turn you loose with any food. You needed to make for another settlement, and you only had a few options. I looked at a map, figured out you’d pick up this road, and then it was easy for men on horseback to circle around and get ahead of you.”

The explanation brought back the sick, helpless feeling in the pit of Dieter’s stomach. For all his magic, all the alleged insight and foresight of a Celestial wizard, he couldn’t outthink his tormentor no matter how he tried. “What happens now?”

“Something unpleasant,” the witch hunter said. “You disobeyed me, and I have to punish you. Take him.”

Krieger’s guards moved forwards. With their weapons still pointed at him, Dieter could only stand and wait until a pair of them gripped his forearms from behind and immobilised him.

Then Krieger himself advanced. He eased down the hammer of his pistol, holstered it, and then, suddenly, pivoting, putting the weight of his entire body behind it, drove a punch into Dieter’s belly.

Other blows followed, to the stomach and the ribs, until Dieter lost count of them. Finally, breathing heavily, face flushed, Krieger stepped back, and his assistants released their holds. Dieter crumpled to his knees and retched.

“I hope,” Krieger said, “you don’t think you’ve been tortured, because you haven’t. Up until now, we’ve simply been trying to get your attention. We can’t treat you the way we treat ordinary warlocks, because you wouldn’t be capable of doing your job afterwards. Of course, if you convince us there’s no chance of you doing it anyway—and one more act of resistance will be enough to convince me—we’ll have no reason to hold back. Then you’ll find out what torture is really all about.

“So I’ll ask you one last time: will you carry out your end of our bargain, without any more foolishness?”

“Yes,” Dieter groaned.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m afraid the caravan is long gone by now, but don’t worry about it. My friends and I will take you to Altdorf ourselves.”