The Enemy Within (5 page)

“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.