Razumov's Tomb (3 page)

Caspar clasped his hand. “Then we should leave soon. If your theory is correct, I may even be able to harness Razumov’s power to solve the mystery of these wretched plagues.” He stroked his long, serpentine goatee and finally allowed himself to smile. “Perhaps I can remind the Emperor of our
true
importance.” He ushered Gabriel towards the door and then paused, frowning in confusion. He turned around and scoured the shadows. “There are no beetles in here.”

Gabriel shrugged as he opened the door. “I asked them to leave.”

CHAPTER TWO

Reiksgraf Niclas von Südenhorst leaned back in his saddle and smiled. Even the repugnant light of Morrslieb could not dampen his mood this morning. A hundred Knights of the Twin-Tailed Comet were mustered before him, just a mile north of Altdorf, and as the sun failed to break through the thick green pall, Niclas thought his men made a suitable replacement. Every sword, breastplate and shield was polished to a dazzling sheen and as they cantered towards him, the Imperial standard snapped proudly over their plumed helmets. Attending on the knights were dozens of squires and servants, making final adjustments to their lords’ armour and driving wagons laden with supplies and weaponry.

“This is my moment, Captain Stoltz,” said the reiksgraf, looking proudly at the knights. As he spoke, he flared his nostrils and lifted his chin, so that the moonlight flashed in his monocle.

“Your moment, reiksgraf?” replied the knight at his side. He wore the same intricately filigreed plates of armour as his commander, but where von Südenhorst was slender, straight-backed and tall, like a sliver of Reikland steel, the captain resembled a bull stuffed into a can. His armour strained to contain his hulking shoulders and thick, trunk-like arms, and his face was almost entirely hidden behind an iron-grey, shovel-shaped beard.

The reiksgraf turned to face him with a disdainful sneer, addressing the old warrior like a despairing parent. “Look around you, captain.” He waved his sword at the brackish swamps that surrounded the city. Green-lit fumes were draped over the landscape, leaving nothing but the ghost-like silhouettes of trees and the distant glow of funeral pyres. Death and lunacy had besieged the capital. Hordes of refugees were looming out of the darkness wearing their strange bestial masks, and beetles were still raining endlessly from the low, fleeting clouds, rattling against the knights’ armour and ticking ominously in the long grass. “These truly are the End Times.”

The captain gave a noncommittal nod. He had served the reiksgraf’s father with unswerving devotion for three decades, but had yet to make up his mind about the order’s new commander. He had a suspicion that a life of privilege might have thinned the blue Südenhorst blood.

“Do you follow me, soldier?” asked the reiksgraf. “The Empire’s on the verge of ruin and the Grand Astromancer asks the Order of the Twin-Tailed Comet to ride out with him. This is no ordinary exercise.”

“I believe the messenger talked only of investigating a ruin up in the Howling Hills. There was no mention of the current…” the captain’s vocabulary failed him as he waved at the strange scene.

“Use your imagination, captain,” snapped the reiksgraf, curling his lips back from his teeth in a lupine snarl. “Why would the Celestial College have need of an army to investigate a ruin?”

“Begging the reiksgraf’s pardon, but they didn’t request an army. The messenger only made mention of a small honour guard.”

The reiksgraf blushed and sat even more stiffly in his saddle. “Well, it’s sometimes necessary to read between the lines when dealing with astromancers.” A note of derision entered his voice. “Even you should know that.”

Captain Stoltz’s eyes flashed dangerously and he gripped his destrier’s reins a little tighter.

“Ah, speaking of which,” said the reiksgraf, nodding back towards the city gates.

A black coach-and-four was ploughing through the crowds of refugees. There was a small, stylised silver comet on one of the doors, and Captain Stoltz immediately recognised the symbol of their patrons, the magisters of the Celestial College.

As the carriage approached, the curtains drew back and the wizened face of Caspar Vyborg scowled out at them. “What’s this?” He nodded at the ranks of knights and squires. “I asked for a few guards, not an invasion force.”

The reiksgraf’s blushes deepened but he replied in the same clipped, stern tones he had used with his captain. “My lord, the Empire is more dangerous than ever. A journey into the Howling Hills will require every sword at our disposal. And we have no idea what we might find in Schwarzbach—the place has been cut off for weeks.”

Caspar clenched his jaw as he looked back at the besieged city gates. “We’re meant to be slipping away without drawing undue attention to ourselves. Now I imagine the whole of Altdorf is discussing our departure.” He nodded to the north. “Let’s go, before the Emperor himself decides to join the parade.”

With that, the wizard drew his head into the carriage and rattled the curtain back into place.

The reiksgraf had prepared a long, self-aggrandising speech with which to greet the Grand Astromancer, but the words stalled in his mouth as the carriage lurched into motion and trundled past him. He turned to Captain Stoltz and waved at the ranks of soldiers. “What are you waiting for, man? We’re not here for our health.”

The smog deepened as they rode north, until it was hard for the riders to see anything beyond the slimy, cuttlefish-strewn road. As Captain Stoltz peered into the perpetual dusk, he decided that blindness might be a blessing. If he tried to discern anything in the shifting, oily darkness, he quickly started to doubt his own eyes. He thought he saw shadows slipping up through the mire and circling overhead. He assumed at first that they were tendrils of fog rising from the marshes, but they moved with an odd sense of purpose. He saw from his men’s faces that they had noticed them too, and were beginning to mutter nervously to each other.

“My lord,” he said, nodding at the shifting shadows, “could this be another plague?”

The reiksgraf gave no reply, keeping his gaze fixed on the wizards’ carriage.

Captain Stoltz scowled in the dark, not used to being ignored. Turning to the columns of knights, he held his sword aloft. “Keep your eyes on the road, men. You’re too old and ugly to jump at shadows.”

A brief ripple of laughter greeted his words and the oppressive atmosphere lifted a little.

As he looked at the virulent green horizon, bathed in Morrslieb’s evil light, Captain Stoltz wished he could dispel his own fears as easily as his men’s.

CHAPTER THREE

“I will not die in Schwarzbach.” Steffan repeated his promise to himself as he ran, trying to ignore the pain it had already brought him. As he sprinted down into another fog-shrouded gulley, his exhausted legs finally gave way and he tumbled headlong across the sodden turf, grunting and cursing as he rolled, before slamming into the charred remains of a tree. He lay there for a few seconds, his face inches from the blackened bark, wondering what new monstrosity was staring back at him. Then he realised with a bitter laugh that it was a dead cuttlefish.

“What have I done?” he muttered under his breath. In the warm confines of an inn, the idea of escaping from Schwarzbach had seemed like an act of inspired bravery, but now, as he lay panting in the mud covered in fresh wounds, it seemed more like lunacy.

He heard voices calling his name, and looked up to see the rest of the party clambering down into the gulley. They were a pitifully small group now. The thing that had crawled out of the swamp had eaten Christoff with disgusting relish, swallowing his still-pumping heart like a delicious oyster. After that they had abandoned all pretence at fighting and simply fled. Within the hour they encountered a grotesque, enormous toad. The vile thing had devoured Alexius with such enthusiasm that he barely had a chance to scream.

And so it had continued. Every glade and valley harboured creatures so bizarre that they beggared belief. Steffan’s men died in the jaws of a bewildering array of beasts: great serpents with human faces that swooped down from the clouds, lumbering ogres with the heads of eagles and a host of other things so unnatural that Steffan would have found it impossible to describe them without sobbing. As they ran, he wondered if Morrslieb could have somehow spawned the creatures. The loathsome moon had swelled beyond all recognition, filling the heavens with pulsing light and painting everything a nauseating green. Dawn had ceased to have any meaning as the putrid disc began to outshine even the morning sun and Steffan had lost all track of time. Morrslieb had clearly grown tired of its celestial role and decided to seize control of the earth, pouring its malice from the heavens and rebuilding the world in its own vile image.

“Steffan,” gasped a lanky, ginger-haired youth, dropping down by his side. “Are you hurt?”

Steffan looked up at the boy. He had never intended to bring children, but the wretched sneak had spied on the gathering at the Golden Hammer and demanded a place in the escape party. Steffan pulled himself up into a sitting position and felt hot agony erupt behind his eyes. It joined his body’s chorus of other complaints in a delirious, screaming opera of pain.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

The others emerged from the shadows, their ashen faces filling with relief when they saw that their captain was still alive.

“For pity’s sake,” said an old man called Volkel, trembling as he approached, “take us home.” He was one of longest-serving members of Schwarzbach’s town watch. His face was ugly with scars and his arms were networked with impressively lewd tattoos, but as he rushed over to Steffan, he threw his shattered pikestaff to the ground and whined like a child, waving at the walls of the narrow crevasse they had entered. “What are we doing out here, captain? Do we all have to die before you’ll turn back? There’s nothing in Schwarzbach to match these monsters. Whatever you think of Thadeus Groot, he doesn’t compare to this!”

Several of the other watchmen howled their agreement, waving at their terrible injuries as justification.

Steffan climbed wearily to his feet and peered into the swirling fog, ignoring the tumult that had erupted around him. “My sword…” he muttered.

Samuel followed his gaze and immediately raced off into the dark, returning a few seconds later with a proud grin and the captain’s broadsword in his hand.

Steffan snatched the weapon and held it aloft. The unwholesome light of Morrslieb gleamed across his shaven head and threw his eyes into deep pools of shadow, giving him such a look of menace that the men immediately fell silent.

Once he was sure he had their attention, Steffan spoke. His voice was edged with fury, but he kept it low, knowing that any sign of panic from him would be disastrous. “I gave no orders. You’re here of your own free will. I shared my suspicions, that’s all.”

“But what if you’re wrong about Thadeus?” asked Volkel. “And who could have predicted this kind of madness?”

Steffan looked down and grimaced at the oily mass of beetles rushing over his boots. He knew that Volkel was not just referring to the plagues, though. “It’s true that I never expected this level of…” He faltered as he tried to think of a way to describe the creatures. “I thought the attacks on Schwarzbach were the extent of it. I never dreamt that the monsters would grow in number as we headed south.”

“There’s no way we could reach the capital now,” said Volkel, looking around at the others. “What are we—three miles south of Schwarzbach?” He motioned to the men’s various injuries. “And look at us.”

Steffan glared at Volkel. “I would still rather take my chances out here than in that vipers’ nest.” He looked north, towards the faint silhouettes of Schwarzbach’s turrets and spires. “I will not be party to whatever devious games Thadeus is playing. And,” he looked at each of the men in turn, “when I reach Altdorf I intend to name everyone who has stood with him.”

The men looked nervously at each other and Volkel blanched. He seemed on the verge of apologising when Samuel let out an incoherent yelp.

“What’s that?” cried the boy, his voice a shrill, hiccupping screech.

Steffan turned to see a huge shadow loping up the gulley towards them. It was hard to be sure in the gloom, but it resembled a man—a man who towered over the treetops and caused the ground to shake as he walked.

“Quick!” barked Steffan. “Stand together! Raise your weapons!”

Most of the men obeyed, but Volkel cursed in fear and bolted. As the rest of the watchmen huddled into a defensive group, Volkel began scrambling up the side of the gulley.

The giant lurched from the shadows with astonishing speed, swinging a huge, spiked club at the fleeing man.

Volkel snapped like kindling and dropped to the ground.

The giant scraped him up and wrapped its jaws around his twisted body.

Steffan and the others watched in stunned silence as the towering monster calmly ate Volkel piece by piece. The man’s screams were brief, but awful, and even when Volkel’s body was little more than joints of meat, the sound continued to echo around the hills.

Once he had finished eating, the giant turned to face them with a low, snorting belch.

Moonlight washed over its head, revealing a face that was revoltingly human, apart from the single, blazing eye that dominated its forehead. As it approached, the ground shook so violently that the men struggled to stay on their feet.

It came to a halt a few feet away and addressed them in booming, hungry tones, drooling Volkel’s remains from its huge jaw. “Go to sleep. Let me take the bad away.” Its gash-like mouth twisted into a hideous approximation of a smile. “No pain.”

To Steffan’s horror, the monster’s words almost made sense. He noticed that some of the men were shaking their heads in confusion and lowering their swords. “Don’t listen,” he cried, shoving the men nearest to him. “It’s bewitching us.”

The sound of Steffan’s voice seemed to break the spell and the men huddled closer, raising their weapons again.