INTERMISSION

Within two leagues of Altdorf, the clouds had rolled across the sky and the harrowing rain came down. The light of the moons was hidden, although glow shone faintly in some weak patches. Dietrich had long since discarded the muffles from his horse's hooves; each step squelched in the mud with or without a covering of sackcloth. He felt his coat grow heavy as every second passed and more droplets of rainwater clung to it. His mount's head drooped low. Her name may have been Longshanks, but the evil feeling in the air, which still wafted from the thick dark forests to either side, weighed upon the creature and made her plod along slowly. Horses could be smart, Dietrich knew. Sometimes they sensed things that their riders missed, alerted by the slightest sound, the tiniest change to the scents on the wind. Longshanks had once pulled up and refused to go further, one day when they were riding in column with fellow templars. Confusion and frustration had given way when beastmen had leapt from the forest ahead of them, their attempted ambush of the knights foiled.

Just as these memories passed through Dietrich's mind, tainted with bitterness at his current situation, Longshanks drew up and halted, ears up and rigid. Amid the splatter of raindrops on the road and the creak of branches, there came the sound of hoofbeats from somewhere behind. They lasted for bare seconds before they stopped, almost like a dying echo of Longshanks's own.

Dietrich twisted in the saddle, but there was nothing to see over his shoulder. The rain and the midnight dark made it impossible to make out anything further away than a dozen or so yards. Cautiously, he tapped Longshanks forward again, but his ears remained open and alert.

And he was rewarded. The stalking hoofbeats returned, now discernible despite the effort made to conceal them behind Longshanks and the other sounds of the night. Whoever was following was proving amateurish in the art of tracking.

With the tiniest nudge with his knee, Dietrich turned Longshanks off the path and into the forest to the side. He brought the horse around again and reigned in, now with a clear view of the road and adequate concealment for himself. Much like before, the hoofbeats died away within moments, and silence held sway. Dietrich bided his time. He was willing to bet that whoever was stalking him would soon become impatient at the apparent lack of movement from ahead and would ride up to investigate. Then they would receive a surprise when former templar and horse burst from the trees.

While he waited, Dietrich began to wonder who the stalker could be. There weren't many people who would ride out on such an evil night as this one. Perhaps it was a zealous templar, who had overheard his conversation with Master Eisler, and ridden out in determination to slay the traitor and the spawn of the north. A small smile tugged at the corner of Dietrich's mouth; he wouldn't say no to a duel in the mud and rain, even though his opponent might prove to be a former friend or colleague.

Perhaps it was Master Eisler himself, following on a hastily commandeered horse, trying one last desperate time to convince his old student to reconsider his actions, to pick another course for his life.

It wasn't long before rider and horse emerged from the gloom. The mount was smaller than the average travel horse, and it was fairly draped with saddlebags and provisions, all clearly for a long journey. The rider was hunched in the saddle, shrouded in dripping hood and cloak that moved from side to side as the person within searched for their quarry. A sword lay wedged at the back of the saddle amid the bags.

Dietrich waited until they had drawn level with him, before launching from the forest and pulling his sword free from the scabbard. The rider did not even have time to blink as a quivering length of sharpened steel was laid at their throat. Dietrich had already decided that the identity of the stalker was indeed Master Eisler, but it was time to properly show the old templar that there was nothing that could convince him to come back.

"I must admire your audacity, old man, but this farce has gone on long enough. This is your final warning to return to Altdorf."

Silently, the rider's trembling hand drew up, took hold of the hood, and pulled it back. And Dietrich realised with a shock that the rider had not been hunched, and that it was someone he had not considered to be a factor until this very moment. Blue eyes and a small collage of freckles stared at him from under blond hair shining in the falling rain.

Dietrich overcame his shock quickly, sheathing his sword amid the first niggling of frustration digging away at his skull. "Walter. You have seconds to explain yourself."

"I saw you leaving, sir," the squire said with a light hiccup.

Dietrich rubbed the bridge of his nose. "By the Hammer. What happened to 'Yes sir, I'm going to bed early, sir'?"

"I... I..." The boy's mouth was quivering.

"Well?"

"It's that night, sir. I couldn't sleep."

"So you thought it would be a good idea to follow me out into the darkness? You had no idea where I was going. I could've been going somewhere dangerous. Hammer's sake, you could've been attacked every step of the road here."

Walter looked on the edge of tears, but perhaps that was just the rain dripping down his face. "A squire is supposed to follow their knight into danger."

"I'm not a knight anymore." The admission felt foul on his tongue. It was true now, not just a thought or a plan. The bridge was burnt, there was no going back. "I left the order."

"You're my knight, sir. If you're not in the order anymore, then I'm not either."

"I'm only going to say this once. Turn around and go back to the temple."

"No, sir. I won't. You need my help."

The frustration was building exponentially. Why did he have to be cursed with such bad luck to be confronted during his escape by the only two people he seriously cared about. "How do you know that?"

"Well, respectfully, you can't cook, Sir."

Cheeky bastard. Dietrich rubbed his nose again. "Okay. Let me tell you exactly where I'm going. North. To Norsca, and the lands beyond where the demons live."

Walter's face went pale at the mention of such terrifying entities. "Why there?"

"I believe that's where my future lies."

"Did Sigmar tell you-"

"Sigmar told me nothing. And if you're coming with me, I don't want to hear any gods mentioned. Not Sigmar, not Ulric, not Morr, not Taal, not any gods from other lands. Understood?"

"So you'll take me with you?"

Dietrich sighed as loudly as he could. "We'll see how you feel when we reach the next town. Oh, and one more thing to chew on. I'm not going to be able to protect you. If you follow me, it'll be the life of a mercenary or an outlaw. We could die in the next minute for all I know."

"You're the only knight who treated me with respect, Sir. I'll stay with you even if it means we're doomed."

"Well. Come on then." Dietrich nudged Longshanks into a trot on the road. Within moments, there was the sound of the following hoofbeats once more; this time moving up and coming alongside, no longer lingering behind in the dark.