Razumov's Tomb (7 page)

The officer recoiled, obviously horrified to be recognised. “Captain Stoltz,” he gasped, lowering the smoking flintlock pistol in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

As the other figures stepped out into the moonlight, Stoltz saw that they were all state troops and that several of them were bloodied or bruised. He shook his head in confusion and was about to speak when the boy broke free from his grip and dashed away.

“They’ve murdered him!” he cried as he disappeared into the dark.

Stoltz shook his head in disbelief, but as he looked hack at the house he saw that the smoke was clearing, revealing a body sprawled on the floor, blood pumping from a terrible chest wound. It was the stern-faced man who had tried to approach the reiksgraf in the town square.

“Is that the captain of the watch?” he asked, stepping a little closer. “Have you been attacked?”

Captain Stoltz let out a grunt of annoyance as Sergeant Zelter poked him in the side of his chest. “What are you doing?” he said, scowling at the soldier in confusion.

The sergeant’s face twisted into a furious grimace. “Why did you have to come down this street?”

Captain Stoltz shook his head. “What do you mean?” Then he noticed that the sergeant had dropped his pistol and now had a long, thin knife in his hand. The blade was dripping with fresh blood and, as pain exploded in his side, Stoltz realised he had been stabbed. Falling to the floor, he tried to speak but found that his mouth was full of warm blood.

Sergeant Zelter leaned over him, drawing back his dagger to strike again, and Captain Stoltz noticed that the soldier’s sleeve was torn and that the skin beneath was covered in hideous, open sores.

As he took his last gurgling breath, Stoltz was sure that the sores were opening and closing, revealing tiny, jagged teeth.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Groot frowned in confusion. “And this Razumov built his tower in Schwarzbach?”

They were sitting in the bürgermeister’s study. It was a handsome, oak-panelled room, lined with now-useless books and lit by the warm glow of the oil lamp perched on the mantle beside Groot’s desk. Caspar and Gabriel were seated opposite Groot in comfortable, high-backed armchairs, and the reiksgraf was standing just inside the door, as proud and motionless as a decorative suit of armour. It was a cosy scene. For a few seconds, an observer might have imagined that the plagues had ended and the Empire was sane once more; then they would have noticed the endless ticking of the beetles, crawling across the casement windows and scurrying across the floorboards.

“No,” replied Caspar, glaring at one of the beetles. “Razumov lived many, many centuries ago. We’re not sure exactly when, but he built his tower long before the days of Schwarzbach. Maybe even before the time of Sigmar.”

The confused expression remained on Groot’s face. “Then what do you expect to find after all these years?”

Gabriel leaned forward, his pale, skeletal face as emotionless as ever. “The tower was a conduit. The state of the bricks and mortar is unimportant. We’re here to complete Razumov’s ritual.” He waved out of the window at the dazzling face of Morrslieb. “He channelled vast quantities of azyr through the tower. There will be an indelible link with the luminary bodies. No length of time would diminish it.”

Groot nodded and leaned back in his chair, causing the wood to creak under the pressure. “I see.” He continued looking at Gabriel for a few seconds. “And, if you were to achieve this—I mean, if you manage to raise the tower somehow—what would happen then?”

Gabriel shook his head, looking utterly bored. “In the current situation, it is impossible to know. If the ritual is completed as Morrslieb waxes full, whoever is in control of the tower will unleash a great power.”

Caspar leaned forward, his rheumy eyes glittering with excitement. “Do you understand, bürgermeister? If I can do this, I will channel the winds of magic at their most powerful. Just think what I could achieve. The monsters that have besieged you are just a part of the story. The whole Empire is blighted, but if I can do this thing, I could set the world back on its axis.” He slammed his staff on the floor, crushing the beetle with undisguised glee. “History will be made here, bürgermeister, tomorrow night.”

The 29th of Jahrdrung dawned with a chorus of howls and a crash of splintering wood.

For the fifth time that week, the proud walls of Schwarzbach braced themselves against a ferocious beastmen attack. A tide of cloven hooves, snarling bovine snouts and brutal iron blades thundered down from the hills and slammed against the town gates. The attackers vaguely resembled men, but their belched war cries carried no trace of humanity and, as they threw themselves uselessly against the walls, their eyes burned with animal hunger.

Arrows rained down from the battlements as the exhausted state troops began another long day of battle. As the soldiers fired down on the ocean of scarred flesh, they had to shield their eyes from a blinding emerald glare. Morrslieb had now waxed full and grown so vast that it obscured the heavens, its maleficent glare driving the beastmen into a frenzy of bloodlust. As they reached the gates, a huge bull-headed brute rose above the others and roared out a series of commands, waving at the gates with a battered two-handed axe. From deep within the mass of fur-clad bodies emerged a crude, iron-clad battering ram and, as the bull-headed figure continued to bellow his orders, the beastmen began pounding it against the gates, filling the narrow streets with an ominous booming sound.

As the gates buckled and creaked, it quickly became clear that they would not last the morning—the supports cracked and groaned pitifully as the creatures piled their weight against them. Hollow-cheeked men shook their heads in fear as they watched the endless waves of attackers charging towards them. Arrows flew wide of their marks as soldiers’ hands began to shake with fear. None of them had ever seen such a vast gathering of beastmen. As the monsters scaled the walls, the moonlight flashed in their black, merciless eyes and glinted along their jagged blades.

As the noise of battle swelled, Reiksgraf Niclas von Südenhorst calmly polished his monocle and pushed it into place. He and his knights were mustered in the street, on foot, just a few feet behind the creaking gates, and from this close the noise of the enemy was deafening. Their feral chant boomed through the gates like a storm, battering against the gnarled oak.

The reiksgraf drew his sword and his knights did the same, filling the square with the sound of scraping metal. He turned to look back at the gleaming, orderly ranks and nodded in satisfaction. Their faces showed no trace of the panic that was running riot on the walls. “This is it,” he whispered, turning his gaze back towards the buckling gate. “Even my father never faced such a horde.”

A squire approached and handed the reiksgraf his tall, winged helmet.

“Is there still no sign of Captain Stoltz?” snapped the reiksgraf. “He should be here to witness my triumph.”

“No, my lord,” replied the boy. “He hasn’t been seen since last night.”

The reiksgraf slammed the helmet in place, unable to hide his irritation. “How inconvenient.” As the boy turned to leave, he called out to him. “Find a good vantage point then. And make sure you see everything that happens. I don’t want my deeds to go unrecorded.”

The squire bowed and hurried gratefully away from the gates.

“Come on, you filth,” hissed the reiksgraf, willing the gates to break. His whole body was trembling with suppressed energy and his breath was coming in short, snatched gasps. The gates bowed again as the screaming monsters slammed the ram against it. Support struts exploded in a shower of splinters, but the doors still held. The reiksgraf felt as though he was one blow from a place in history. He could already see his name preserved forever in legend and myth.

He looked back again, over the heads of his knights. The light of the moon threw odd shadows across the tightly packed buildings, making it hard to see anything very clearly, but he could just about make out the square and the town hall at its centre. His chest swelled with pride. The Grand Astromancer was relying on him. The reiksgraf looked down at the keen edge of his sword. On this fateful day, the safety of the whole Empire was in his hands.

He closed his eyes for a second to whisper a quick prayer. When he opened them again the doors were tumbling, unleashing a tide of such lunacy that, for a few seconds, he froze in horror. Then, as his knights raced past him, the reiksgraf shook his head and joined them, slamming down the visor of his helmet and launching himself into the fray.

“It’s here.” Gabriel had set up his moondial on the steps of the town hall and was peering at it intently.

“Are you sure?” cried Caspar, straining to be heard over the attack on the gates. The reiksgraf had left a small group of knights behind to guard the wizards, and Caspar had to barge through them to get a clearer look at the device. Morrslieb was scattering a bewildering combination of shadows across its face and Caspar shook his head in confusion. “How can you understand it?”

Thaddeus Groot was standing a few feet away, leaning heavily on two of his guards. He was watching Gabriel intently as he turned the metal rings. “Your colleague has a rare skill, Grand Astromancer. Did you say that he will he the one to raise the tower?”

“No!” Caspar’s tiny frame shook with rage and his black skullcap slid from his head. “Only
I
can do such a thing!”

The bürgermeister raised his eyebrows at the vehemence in the old man’s voice and even Gabriel looked up in surprise.

Caspar clenched his jaw and attempted to speak more evenly. “Gabriel is indeed a wonderful student, bürgermeister, but he is still a student. Only an experienced magister such as myself could hope to harness such power.” He placed his skullcap back over his thin strands of hair and forced a brittle smile. “The Emperor himself has requested that I find the cause of these plagues, so it is crucial that I be the one to complete Razumov’s ritual.”

“Of course, of course,” muttered Groot, raising his hands defensively. “Forgive me, magister. Please, continue with your work.”

Gabriel stepped away from the moondial and approached his master. “This is the place. The configurations all indicate it. The town hall is built over the ruins of the tower. We must recite incantations in the most central room. By midnight, the celestial bodies will enter their most auspicious houses. Then the storms of magic will begin in earnest.”

Caspar clutched his staff in both hands and nodded eagerly, turning to the group of knights. “In that case I suggest you guard the steps while we begin—”

The Grand Astromancer’s words were interrupted by the sound of exploding timber.

The group gathered on the steps turned to see the south gates collapsing, scattering shards of wood across the square. As the debris settled they saw the beastmen horde flooding into the town, led by their towering, bull-headed leader. They were met head on by the glinting ranks of the reiksgraf’s knights and a horrendous din filled the streets—the clanging of swords, the roar of feral beasts and the blare of trumpets all combined in one unbearable noise.

“Sigmar,” cried Caspar. “I thought you said the gates would hold, bürgermeister?”

Groot staggered back against his guards and shook his head in disbelief. “By the gods. This is…” He peered through the clouds of dust at the battling figures. “They’ve never attacked in these kinds of numbers.” He frowned and looked back at the town hall, as though expecting an explanation from the shadows within. Then he looked back at the wizards, his face crumpling with fear. “What will you do?”

Gabriel grabbed the sleeve of his master’s robe. “We must begin. We can’t wait until midnight. We must raise the tower.”

Caspar was still staring at the carnage erupting at the gate. He nodded in reply, but as he registered Gabriel’s words he frowned and pulled back from his apprentice’s grip. “Wait a minute! What do you mean, we can’t wait until midnight? None of the stars will be in alignment. How can we complete the spell if the heavens are out of position?”

Gabriel closed his eyes and muttered a series of calculations. Then he gave a firm nod and looked up at the moon. “It can still be done. This is the correct day. Only the initial current will be weakened. Echoes of Razumov’s sorcery will reverberate as you climb his tower.” He looked at the old man with concern. “Do you need me to—?”

“No!” snapped Caspar, drawing himself erect and dusting some imaginary lint from his robes. “If you’re sure we can do this,” he flinched as the invading horde let out another deafening roar, “then let’s find the spot.” He waved his staff at Groot. “Lead on, bürgermeister. Take us to the central chamber. Quickly!”

They hurried into the building, pausing only to bar the doors behind them. The bürgermeister led the wizards and knights into the debating hall and waved at a mosaic in the centre of the floor. It depicted a lion rampant surrounded by a circle of flaming, twin-tailed comets. “That’s the heart of the place,” he gasped, before hurrying over to a window in the far wall. He peered through the rippled glass at the fighting outside. “I can’t understand it,” he muttered, shaking his head and frowning at one of his guards. “There are so many of them.”

Caspar paused, thinking the bürgermeister’s words sounded a little odd. “I don’t think those damned wretches will be concerned with disrupting our plans, bürgermeister.”

Groot laughed nervously.

Caspar frowned, sensing that he was missing something, but, at that moment, Gabriel cried out, listing a series of constellations and numbers.

Caspar whirled around and saw that the wizard was staring up at the ceiling.

“What do you see?” asked Caspar, stepping over to him.

There was a distant look in Gabriel’s eyes that seemed to suggest he was looking beyond the vaulted plaster-work. “This is it,” he announced, nodding at the stones beneath them. “This is the site of the ruins.” He tapped his staff on the floor. “We must begin.”

Caspar gave an eager nod and removed a tall, thin bottle from within his robes. “Stand back!” he cried, waving his staff at the knights. “Leave the room, all of you. Wait in the entrance hall until we’re done.”