The young Brown Skaven shook his head. Gradually, the world around him began to make sense again. But he still couldn't integrate what he'd just seen.
Vladimir Bäsenhau, member of the Purple Hand!
He thought back to all the times he had crossed paths with the intendant, all the discussions he had with him, all the missed opportunities to lock up one of the most dangerous infiltrators, dangerous thanks to his privileged position in relation to the Prince. How he must have enjoyed watching the whole Steiner family suffer martyrdom, watching the population threaten to tear itself apart, and counting the points and gold crowns gained in the process! And yet, this Human was one of the people closest to his grandfather, and therefore beyond any doubt!
Kristofferson didn't know whether to congratulate Bäsenhau on his intelligence, or curse him for his perfidy, or feel sad for his friend Walter. He had always known and appreciated the Human, and this betrayal left his heart all the more dolorous.
A friendly voice drew him out of his daze.
- Kit! Kit, over here!
The young Steiner turned his head and saw his other friend Pol Demmler approaching.
- Holy crap! Pol!
The fat Skaven had a splint on his left arm, and several strips of blood-browned cloth above his elbow.
- Don't worry, Kit, I got worse and it shall heal.
- Did you see this? Wally's father has been arrested.
- Yeah, I can't believe it. Since he slipped away, I'll have to report this to the Prince myself. Have you seen him lately?
- No, I haven't.
- He's in the casualty tent, Marjan intervened, as she passed by without stopping.
Pol walked quickly towards the tent. Kristofferson followed in his tracks.
- How's your old man?
- A priestess gave him a potion, I'll see if it had any effect.
The two Skaven stepped under the canvas covering the opening of the dispensary tent.
- I laid him it there, in the middle.
As the two ratmen approached the master mages bunk, someone stood up on their passage.
- Ah, there you are again, Kit! You too, Sergeant Demmler?
The young Steiner hadn't noticed him on his first visit, but the Prince was lying on the mattress next to the one his father was lying on, under a blanket. Pol had the reflex to kneel down.
- Please forgive my inattention, Your Highness.
- It's all right, get up. So, where are we, Sergeant?
- Your bold plan has succeeded, Your Majesty. We suffered a few losses, but they would undoubtedly have been far worse had it not been for the tenacity of the Master Mage!
- Those heretics tried to summon something. Have you determined what it was?
- The rip to the Chaos Lands closed on its hand, Opa, Kristofferson explained. You won't believe it when you see what's left of it; whatever it was, it was very big, and clearly demonic!
- What about the cultists? Were there many fugitives, Sergeant Demmler?
- Negative, Your Majesty. None escaped. Sergeant Weller contained the first runaways, and as soon as the Master Mage closed the gate, those who were still fighting immediately surrendered.
- Give me a complete list of this gang, the living and the dead. I want to know as soon as possible who chose to betray us.
- As you order, Your Highness.
- Dismiss, Sergeant.
Pol bowed, saluted Kristofferson and disappeared. The Prince then called to his grandson.
- Kit, come closer, I have more things to ask you.
- What do you want to know, Opa?
Steiner smiled wryly.
- You'll be aware of it sooner or later, so you might as well be taught from me.
And with his still valid arm, he pushed back the blanket and presented his stump. Kristofferson widened his eyes, thunderstruck.
- Verena, have mercy... How did it happen?
- A scratch from that old Cazarras scoundrel. Marjan had to cut it short.
- For a simple scratch?
- His claws were imbued with chaotic energy, which caused a mutation beginning.
- What a horror!
- Hey! I've been lucky, he could have stroke me in the eye. Sister Agatha examined me, and confirmed the amputation was done quickly enough to prevent the mutation from spreading.
- It's a good thing, still I feel sorry for you.
- There's no need, I tell you: it could have been worse. And speaking of spreading, did you recognise any of our entourage among the cultists?
- Unfortunately, I did, Opa. When you read the report, you can expect some nasty surprises. I've already got one, for a start: Vladimir Bäsenhau is a member of the cult.
The Prince grunted in surprise, his eyes wide.
- Bäsenhau? No! It can't be!
- And yet... Wally didn't believe it either.
- By Taal's beard! What a shock that must have been for him!
- That's why Pol came to see you, because Wally had to withdraw.
- I can understand that. But I don't understand at all about Bäsenhau...
A low moan reached the ears of the two men, who turned their heads simultaneously and exclaimed:
- Psody!
- Father!
The White Skaven had opened his eyes and was struggling to sit up on his mattress. He turned his head towards his father and son. Kristofferson was heartbroken to see tears glistening at the edges of his pink eyes and sliding down his fluffy cheeks.
- My son! Are you all right?
- Father, how do you feel?
The White Skaven shook his head.
- I... I feel like the worst is over-past. But it doesn't matter.
- Are you kidding, Father? You're alive, you're not brain-damaged, and you think it doesn't matter?
Psody didn't dare face his father, or his son. He continued to cry softly.
- Alas-alas, maybe we've been wrong for the beginning?
- What do you mean? Kristofferson asked. On the contrary, we've been right all along! We've dismantled that damned sect! At least, the enclave it was threatening to inseminate in our midst!
- No, Kit... I'm not talking about that. In fact... I've just seen everything again, more clearly.
- What are you talking about, Psody?
Psody turned his muzzle towards the Prince.
- I had to face the stare of a Tzeentch Archdemon.
- I've heard it's enough to break the mental health of anyone. And yet you don't look fit for the sanatorium?
- It showed me some... abominable-terrifying things.
- Which aren't true! Kristofferson retorted. Iapoch tried to break you too, but you held out!
- Yes, because his illusions played on my personal fears, without looking-searching any further than my own mind. But an Archdemon with such a power is far more dreadful-fearsome. It can see into the past, the future, our world, it's... maybe even others!
- So, what did you see?
The White Skaven thought for a few moments. Images were scrambling through his mind, threatening to give him a violent migraine. Finally, he murmured under his breath:
- Our failure.
- Our what?
- The Rat Kingdom... won't work. Are... too... different.
The White Skaven looked truly broken. But Steiner didn't let pity overwhelm him.
- Wait a minute! Don't tell me that, after all we've done together since we met, you shall give credence to the illusions an Archdemon has sent you to drive you mad?
- What if... what if we were wrong? What if the Skaven are too dissimilar-different from Humans? Two such different peoples living together can't mix! One of them will fatally gain the upper hand of the other!
The Prince got off his straw mattress, got to his feet and crouched down next to the bed where the White Skaven lay.
- Listen to me, Psody: you have heard the venomous words of a demonic viper! As far as I know, Tzeentch is the God of Change for heretics. He causes chaos and madness in the minds of mortals who have the misfortune to cross paths with him, or meet one of his agents. Yavandir, Cazarras and Alcibiades wanted to summon a minion of this God.
- Yes, a minion who has lived for tens-hundreds of years, perhaps thousands! It may know more than anyone else in the Old World!
- And, more likely, its mind is as twisted and poisonous as a bramble bush sprinkled with warpstone! In short, it... Well, I don't even understand why I'm arguing; I'm sorry that it has been able to wound you to the core of your psyche, my son, but I forbid you to give the slightest credence to the most insignificant image this unholy abomination has been able to send you!
Steiner waved his mutilated arm. The White Skaven's pink eyes widened with a disgusted chill.
- All of us have given for Vereinbarung. You have risked your life many times to make its existence possible. You represent the Rat Kingdom, Psody. Humans and Skaven can live in harmony, and well do everything we can to ensure that this Kingdom lives on for as long as possible! And it's not the first Archdemon to come along that should make us back down nor have any doubts! History will prove Xarkish, Cuelepok and the rest of us are right!
The Prince then turned to Kristofferson.
- My boy, you've done everything well, I'm proud of you. Go back to the manor, the others must be eager to see you safe and sound. We'll go back when Sister Agatha gives us her blessing, probably tomorrow morning.
- Right, Opa.
- Wait, don't go, son! exclaimed the White Skaven. My mask? Where's my mask?
- Marjan kept it. With your permission, I'll take it back from her and put it in your chapel.
- Yes, do that, you've got permission this time.
- When you've put the mask back at its place, take a rest, Kit, you've deserved it! the tall Human concluded.
The brown ratman was about to leave the tent, but at the last moment he turned round, looking worried.
- Will you… be all right?
- I'll stay with your father, you've got nothing to worry about.
Psody didn't add a word, but smiled benevolently. More or less reassured, Kristofferson left the place.
He found Weissherz, his white steed which he had tied up in the corner of the forest where Sergeant Weller had waited for the order to surround the sawmill. The beast looked relieved when it saw him arriving, but himself was even more relieved when he realised that all of this was over.
The hours of riding to Steinerburg passed without a hitch. As he approached his home town, Kristofferson had the impression the ominous glow of Morrslieb had diminished, as if their victory over the creatures of Tzeentch had had repercussions even on the green moon.
He welcomed with satisfaction the sight of the lights of the capital of the Rat Kingdom, as he rounded a bend in the road. He was so happy to have triumphed over the enemy within that had been gnawing at the guts of Vereinbarung for months that the journey ahead of him seemed to fly by.
Finally, when he arrived at the Steiner estate, he felt the last fragments of doubt dissipate as he stepped through the gate. It was very late at night, yet he could see the light in the window of the small tea room. He got his stallion ready for the night, then returned to the manor house.
His mother, who had heard him arrive, welcomed him on the doorstep. The poor woman had not managed to sleep a wink all night, unlike Isolde and Gabriel, whom she had left sleeping in her bed, in each other's arms. She threw herself into her eldest son's arms with relief. He summed up in a few sentences the events that happened at the sawmill. He did not fail to mention the Prince's wound, or the state of disrepair in which he had left his father, but he tried to be reassuring: the victory was complete, and the wounds of the survivors would eventually heal. Before retiring to enjoy a well-earned rest, he went to Psody's secret chapel to put away the mask of Cuelepok.
He then went to the bathroom and abluted himself for many, many minutes. Then he dried off, returned to his flats and, once alone in the darkness of his bedroom, collapsed full length onto his mattress without bothering to put on a nightgown. He immediately sank into a deep, unimaginative sleep.
Repeated knocks on the door gradually brought him back to reality. He squinted as he felt the sunlight high in the sky cross the room to flood his bed. His fur was already warm. He struggled to raise his head, and asked in a still foggy voice:
- What is it?
- It's Bianka, Kit! Come on, get out quickly!
The brown Skaven sat up, stretched, and grumbled:
- You could have let me sleep a bit longer, couldn't you? What time is it now?
- It's after two in the afternoon, Kit!
Kristofferson's eyes widened in surprise.
- Already? Damn it! Let me just a minute.
He tumbled onto the carpet more than he left the bed, threw on a pair of trousers and a shirt, then made his way askew towards the door leading to the corridor. No sooner had he opened it than the blonde Skaven pounced on him.
- Kit, by Verena's Scales!
The emotion was too much for Bianka, and she couldn't hold back tears of relief.
- Father came home this morning and told me everything. What courage you all had!
- Father was the bravest, he fought against one of Tzeentch' closest servants.
- Yes, and he won!
Kristofferson grimaced.
- I'm not sure. After what he has been through, I wonder if that monster hasn't fried a piece of his brain forever?
- I think he'll get over it, in any case, this morning he looked pretty serene compared with what's been going on over the last few weeks, which is reassuring.
- Should I go and see him?
- He's not here, Kit. Neither are Opa Ludwig and Mother. They told me they had some urgent business to attend to.
- Oh, well.
- They'll be back tonight.
From the pocket of her dress, she took out a beautiful red apple and held it out to the brown Skaven. He immediately bit into it.
- The watchword for you is complete stop. You don't think about it anymore, you don't make the slightest effort, in a single word, you R.E.S.T! Marjan has suggested dinner at Esmeralda's Blessing, just the three of us, to celebrate your victory.
- Don't forget to include yourself in our victory, sis; you got your hands dirty too. Speaking of which, I wanted to tell you myself: I've got the final word on the mysteries of our investigation, that famous Beast with the Angel's Laugh!
The young girl immediately became impatient.
- The murderer of Bert and Otto? So, what was it?
- The famous Sire Alcibiades. Walter, Marjan and I confronted and defeated him.
- So, who was this guy really?
- One of Tzeentch's Chaos Warriors.
- Good grief! A Chaos Warrior, no less! Fearsome? Well, not enough, since you beat him.
- Yes, but it wasn't easy. He had a magic sword with a blade equipped with teeth, capable of roaring and chopping people up like tree trunks. What's more, he was able to teleport. That's the way he could come and go and slaughter his targets so savagely without being seen.
- Verena's Libra... His victims never stood a chance.
- I have to admit, fighting this one wasn't piece of cake!
The two brother and sister laughed in unison, then went down to the garden together. Isolde and Gabriel were there, with Magdalena and Teresa. Once again, the eldest of the siblings was greeted with relieved hugs.
Yes, it was good to be home and safe at last. No more worries, no more threats in the shadows. Deep down, though, Kristofferson still felt a twinge of sadness when he thought of Sigmund, who was still away.
- I'll say it again, my Lady: it will probably be impressive to see, but remember that we have to go to such extremes for his safety as well as ours.
Heike Steiner had been warned, but that didn't mean she was reassured. She had accompanied her father and his companion into the deepest cellar of Verena's temple.
The building had been constructed decades earlier, when Steinerburg was a ruined town in the middle of a wasteland kingdom. When Ludwig Steiner bought this piece of land from the Renegade Crowns, he spent a month visiting the area, accompanied by a band of mercenaries hired for his protection. Steinerburg, and the few other large cities, had not grown very much. However, they had been repopulated and renovated. However, some of the major structures had always stood the test of time, war and neglect.
Such was the case with the great temple dedicated to Verena. It had been built at least a hundred years ago. The foundations of the great austere building sank dozens of feet below ground level. And at the bottom of the stairs, one heavy reinforced door followed another. Bianka had never set foot in this part of the temple, but she had told her parents about this special section where the temples most precious treasures were kept, such as sacred relics and ancient scrolls written by famous members of the Order of Verena. The Lorekeepers also stored the most sulphurous documents here.
And deep in the lowest cellar, special chambers had been built, with walls lined with protective talismans and magical materials capable of containing large flows of magic. However, these chambers were not as reinforced as those in Altdorf's Colleges of Magic.
- That's why we're going so deep, and why this part of the building is so isolated, explained Provost Tomas, who led the way.
The footsteps of the two Skaven and Humans' echoed on the cold flagstones. All around them, flames crackled at the end of torches. Heike shivered. Her ear twitched.
- Am I hearing howling, Provost?
- You're not, my Lady, I assure you it's nothing more than your imagination. Besides, some draughts come through the gaps in the doors, and the sound is like moaning. No matter how hard we try, we can't stop the rats circulating and squeaking along these corridors, which adds a few degrees of sinister to the picture. Ideally, we'd like to find a way to control them and get them to leave for good. They gnaw on books and sow droppings everywhere – they're a real nuisance!
When he heard these words, Psody had a dazzling thought that seized his memory for a full second.
Skahl...
Years before, when he had first met his brothers, he had made acquaintance of Skahl of Clan Moulder. Before their first mission, when the trainer had succumbed to the curse transmitted by the breeders of Aescos Karkadourian, the Chaos sorcerer, Skahl had explained to him that he was able to make the rats obey him with a few modulated whistles. He even had given him a demonstration during their first "collective test": the six brothers had been left at the bottom of a well for a week with just a little raw meat each day. Skahl had enabled the siblings to eat a few extras by attracting the Brissuc rats.
After his sudden disappearance, Psody had quickly erased the memory of that brother and never thought about him again. Or very little. In any case, since his discussion with Gabriel on the evening of his return from the last Harvest, the name hadn't entered his memory.
Tomas's voice drew him out of his thoughts.
- This is it.
The three of them were standing in front of a monumental door, even heavier than all the previous ones. Formulas and symbols covered its entire surface, and its hinges were made of reinforced wrought iron, as was the lock with its particularly sophisticated mechanism. The provost manipulated the levers in a precise order, and the bolt gave way with a heavy click.
The door opened onto a low-ceilinged room, lit by torches that gave off an unusually cold, clear glow. The flames were almost motionless, instead of dancing and crackling. Heike opened her eyes wide in surprise when she looked under her feet. The floor consisted of an elaborate paving with a mosaic at its centre. The mosaic formed a perfect circle, with small, delicately carved stones drawing runic symbols all over its surface again.
In one corner of the room, there was a table on which rested a number of objects dedicated to the practice of magic: vials containing potions, jars filled with powders, brushes and ink, and a few books. Prior Romulus and Brisingr Steadyhand were studying a parchment together.
- Impressive device, Heike murmured.
- This circle of magical isolation was already here when we arrived, my Lady, Tomas explained.
- Did you know about its existence, Father?
- Yes, I saw it just once, when the Provost allowed me to visit the site before starting the major renovation work.
- This place means absolutely nothing to me... Wasn't I with you? I've been with you on many of your visits, haven't I?
- That's true, but not this one. Remember, my angel, when you were expecting Kristofferson, you stayed at home with Psody to rest.
- Since then, we've made a few improvements; the mosaic had some holes in it and we've repaired them. Above all, I have to thank Master Steadyhand; thanks to him, we have some pretty effective equipment for magical containment. So, these insulating torches prevent magical energies from passing through. Magical winds can enter this room and be used, but they can't leave. And as for containing the magic of a recalcitrant spellcaster, don't worry. Master Steadyhand has provided us with some very useful accessories.
Half a dozen Ulthuan copper heavy chains were attached to the floor by large rings of the same material. Each chain ended in a thick bracelet. It was at this point that the ratwoman plucked up the courage to look up at the sad sight she had been trying to escape since entering the magical containment chamber.
Yavandir Palebough was no longer in the mood for exuberant showmanship. The Elf was firmly bound by his wrists, ankles and neck. Pinned down on his knees, he could not straighten up any further. His naked body had been covered with cabalistic signs traced in ink by the magister. When he felt that he was becoming the centre of attraction for the newcomers, he raised his head, giving the Prince a defiant look. This look was menacing, his rimmed eyes were red with rage. His ragged breathing reflected an almost bestial state of anger. But that wasn't what shocked the young ratwoman most.
It was his face.
At last, after all these years, she could see the Elf's face, without the slightest artifice to cover it. And she understood.
She understood, even though she saw nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
The face was not frightfully ugly, or intoxicatingly beautiful. Nor was it the reflection of a great person.
The face was hopelessly commonplace, without a single distinctive feature.
It seemed impossible to the young ratwoman to find anyone more ordinary. Apart from the eyes, which expressed bloodthirsty feelings, nothing stood out. Dull skin, a medium-sized nose, a flat forehead with blond streaks stuck to it... Nothing. Not the slightest distinguishing feature, not the slightest interest to look at.
Such was the terrible curse that struck Yavandir Palebough. Even in the middle of a deserted street in broad daylight, he would remain unnoticed. That was the reason why he had become an artist, choosing to multiply costumes, appearance games, gestures, voice bursts, dances and songs. Because he had found no other way to get noticed. The juggler had invented a colourful persona in order to exist, so much so that the clothes and masks contained more of his personality than this ordinary figure. In this state, he had not only lost his freedom; his very existence was threatened.
Prince Steiner rose to his full height.
- I should kill you myself right now, Yavandir Palebough. Because of you, many of my citizens have died. There are orphans, widows and widowers, parents mourning the loss of their sons and daughters. And your little "joke" in the greenhouse almost cost the lives of three of my grandchildren. Can you give me a reason why I should continue to let you live, as Steadyhand expressly requested?
Yavandir answered nothing. He simply held the monarch's gaze, his face frozen in contempt. Heike approached the artist and placed her fluffy hands on his cheeks. Her fingers tightened on the flesh of the Elf's face as she moaned:
- Will you tell me why, why did you try to murder my husband, by Shallya's tears? I love him just as much as I did the first time we met! And our children adore him! You knew the harm that would have resulted! He's not an evil individual, but a good and loved man! Why did you want to take him away from me?
For the first time since she had entered the cell, Heike saw the Elf relax his jaws. He agreed to answer:
- I had to, Heike. Psody is the link between Humans and Skaven, in this Kingdom. The one who would have done the most damage if he'd been broken at the right time. Vaucanson would have reorganised the stuff in a better way. And the Purple Hand would have got the best out of the game!
- You've made an alliance with these... heretics! The Yavandir Palebough who saved me from the clutches of the Feral Skaven would never have committed such an infamy!
- You have no idea what Tzeentch would have given me if his cult had taken root in the Rat Kingdom. That sacrifice would have been worth a thousand times over. And you would have had your share, of course.
The young rat-woman didn't know whether to become very angry or burst into tears. Brisingr approached and laid a hand on her shoulder.
- Little mouse, don't pay any attention to these words. In reality, there's something else that has led our friend to behave so. Something that explains his contradictory behaviour. And it goes far beyond a simple material reward.
- What... what is it? Heike stammered, her throat closing.
This time, even the Prince was surprised.
- You mean Master Palebough didn't just act in exchange of a good position within the Purple Hand cult?
- Your Highness, with your permission, I shall explain the whole truth, which will answer your question. You'll also understand why I insisted that he be taken alive. But I suggest we go somewhere else, where we'll be more at peace.
- A good idea.
The Bright Mage turned to the White ratman and the prior.
- Romulus, Psody, I told you this part of the story this morning, can you continue to prepare the ritual?
- Of course.
At this word, Heike panicked:
- Ritual? What do you mean, ritual? What are you talking about?
- You'll understand everything, little mouse.
Steiner didn't seem reassured either. The three of them retreated to an adjoining wing of the temple, heeled over by Provost Tomas. As they moved away from the cellar, the young ratwoman felt the lump in her throat become more and more painful.