A movement caught her eye and she twisted her head back over her shoulder.
There was a pair of men crouched in the avenue of trees that led up to the
grove. They were stood in the darkness beyond the luminous display and she
couldn’t quite make out their faces, but as the smaller of the two edged
forwards, she saw his pale, staring eyes and felt a shock of recognition.
Surman had finally found her.
Thoughts tumbled through her head. Death, or something worse, was only
seconds away. Would the witch hunter do anything? She peered into his strange
eyes and flinched at the hatred she found there. She could see that, even now,
as unholy energy arced and flashed around the clearing, he was desperate to come
to her. If there was ever an ounce of sanity in him it had long gone. She saw a
profound madness in his thin, jaundiced features. The only thing keeping his
rained body alive was his hunger for her blood.
She looked around the grove. Fabian was completely lost in rapture. His
working eye had rolled back in its socket and his flesh was incandescent with
power. The strands of blood and magic that linked her to Wolff and Ratboy were
coruscating wildly in time to the rhythm of his words. The throbbing was now so
loud she could barely hear him, but the imploring tone was unmistakable: he was
using their vitality to summon something. At the heart of the circle of light a
nimbus was forming in the bole of the old oak tree. It was too bright to look
upon directly, but Anna thought she could see movement stirring deep within it:
a foetal shape, twitching and straining for life. Whatever it was, the links
between her and the others were feeding it, she was sure of it.
An idea began to form in her mind.
With all her remaining strength, Anna raised her hands above her head and
twisted her face into a victorious grin. As she turned towards Surman, she felt
the light playing around her fingertips and laughed with pleasure.
Surman’s eyes bulged at the sight of Anna’s ecstatic movements. It was more
than he could bear to see her relishing the power that surrounded her. His worst
suspicions were confirmed. She was obviously a witch of unbelievable power. He
clutched his head in dismay and stumbled into the light, lurching towards her as
though dragged by invisible hands.
His companion grabbed him by the shoulder, trying to pull him back to safety,
but the witch hunter shrugged him away with a cry that was lost beneath the
throbbing hum of Fabian’s magic.
Anna twisted her hands into a series of vaguely mystical shapes, trying to
ignore the pain that was eating into her limbs and assuming the role of an
unrepentant sorceress.
Finally, with a storm of invectives Surman broke into a ran and launched
himself at Anna. He grabbed hold of her legs and they both slammed down onto the
muddy grass.
The triangle of light collapsed and arcs of power thrashed wildly around the
grove, like the flailing limbs of a dying animal. The throbbing ceased
immediately and Wolff and Ratboy dropped heavily to the ground.
A hiccupping scream echoed around the clearing.
Anna looked up to see that all of the light had turned back in on its source,
pummelling into Fabian’s body with such force that it had pinned him to the
ground. The book fell from his hand and smoke began to rise from his clothes as
the power rippled over his prone body. “Gods, what have you done?” he screamed
at Surman, as the witch hunter struggled with Anna, attempting to drag her from
the clearing.
“Help me Adelman, you oaf,” hissed Surman, looking back at the hulking figure
stood beneath the trees. The man looked at the wild directionless power lashing
across the grass and shook his head, white with fear. “Quick,” said Surman,
wrapping his wiry arms around Anna’s legs as she tried to drag herself away.
Anna had almost pulled herself free of the old man’s grip when his servant
finally plucked up the courage to come after her. He lumbered across the grove
and levelled a crossbow at her. Two bolts were loaded in its breach and Anna
yelped in pain as the first sank deep into her thigh. As she clutched at the
wound, gasping in agony, Adelman lifted her easily over his shoulder and began
to carry her back towards the trees, with the grinning witch hunter following
closely behind. Anna’s screams echoed around the grove, but both Wolff and
Ratboy were still spread-eagled on the grass and gave no sign of hearing.
They had almost left the clearing when Adelman stumbled to a halt. He looked
down at his chest with an expression of dog-like stupidity. There was a
smouldering hole where his chest should have been.
“What are you doing?” snarled Surman. “Why’ve you stopped?” Then he noticed
the wound and his eyes widened in fear. As Adelman toppled to the ground,
vomiting thick blood across the grass, Surman and Anna saw the source of his
injury. Fabian had struggled to his feet, still enveloped in the green light and
was lurching drunkenly towards them. His right hand was extended and crackling
with power.
“Leave her,” he said, with light sparking off his teeth.
“She’s mine!” screamed Surman, pinning Anna to the floor and glaring back at
him. “She escaped my justice once but not—”
Fabian silenced the witch hunter with a single flick of his wrist. Light
poured from his veins and slammed into the frail old man.
The witch hunter barely had time to cry out in pain before the flesh melted
and shrivelled from his face. As he collapsed on top of Anna, his head was
little more than a mass of charred bone and smouldering hair.
“Actually, she’s mine,” said Fabian, pulling Surman’s smoking remains off
Anna and grabbing her arm. The power in his fingers scorched her skin and she
cried out in pain. “I won’t be stopped,” he growled, pulling her face towards
his.
For the first time, Anna saw Fabian’s left eye and she gasped in disgust. The
scab had opened and the huge black orb was rolling excitedly in its moist,
pus-lined socket. She felt a malign intelligence studying her through the
bloated lens and turned away in fear. There was a smell of cooking meat coming
from Fabian and she noticed that where the light was leaking through his pores,
his skin was blistering and cracking. His determination seemed to blind him to
his pain though and, despite Anna’s screams and kicks, she found herself being
dragged slowly back towards the shattered oak.
Anna gasped as she saw that the foetal shape had already doubled in size.
Birdlike talons had erupted from its skin and were scrabbling at the wood in an
attempt to climb free. Its flesh was rippling and twitching as it tried to
settle on a fixed shape and as they approached it Anna heard the wet, laboured
sound of the thing’s first breath.
As she struggled to escape, Anna noticed that Wolff had climbed to his knees
and was praying to his warhammer. His head was bowed and he was muttering
furiously under his breath. The ornate tracery that decorated the head of the
weapon was glimmering slightly with a light of its own: not as dramatic as the
green fire that was devouring Fabian, but enough to give Anna a fierce rush of
hope.
Fabian followed the direction of her gaze and hissed with frustration. He
threw her to the ground and stretched out his hand towards Wolff. “This is my
destiny, Jakob,” he shrieked, as light exploded from his arm and hurtled across
the clearing towards the priest’s head.
Wolff calmly raised his hammer to meet the blast and a deafening explosion
filled the grove.
The flash was so bright that for a second Anna was blinded. When her vision
cleared, she saw that all traces of magic had vanished. The forest had been
plunged back into darkness and Fabian was sprawled, gasping on his back. The
bole of the tree was empty once more and there was no sign of the grotesque
foetus that had been forming within its bark. Anna’s ears rang with the sudden
silence as she climbed to her feet. She had forgotten the bolt lodged in her
thigh and she cried out in pain, dropping heavily to her knees again.
At the sound of her voice, Fabian lifted his head and gave a weak groan of
despair. With the light gone, he saw how scorched and ruined his flesh was.
“What have you done?” he croaked, peering though the darkness at the tree trunk,
then turning to look at his brother.
Wolff was still knelt in prayer.
“You can’t stop me,” howled Fabian, managing to stand. “Not now, after all my
work.” He stumbled across the grove, with burnt clothes and skin trailing behind
him like a bridal train. “You. Can. Not. Stop. Me,” he said, punctuating each
word with a punch to Wolff’s head.
Jakob took the blows with unflinching stoicism, before rising to his feet and
glaring down at his smaller brother. “This is wrong, Fabian,” he said calmly.
“Whatever has passed between us, you must know I
can’t
let you do this.”
He adopted a fighting stance and gripped his warhammer firmly in both hands. “I
have to stop you.”
Fabian let out a long, bitter laugh. “I’m not a child anymore, Jakob,” he
said, drawing his sword and mirroring the priest’s pose. “And father isn’t here
to save you this time.” As he spoke the word “time” he lunged forward with
surprising speed, jamming his blade through a gap at the top of Wolff’s
vambrace.
Wolff staggered backwards, clutching his arm in shock and trying to stem the
flow of blood that rushed down his forearm. He quickly recovered and swung his
hammer towards Fabian’s head, but the Iron Duke was already gone. Wolff’s weapon
connected with nothing but air and the priest’s momentum sent him crashing to
his knees.
Fabian laughed again as he planted a boot into his brother’s back and sent
him sprawling across the grass. “So slow,” he chuckled. “So old.”
Wolff leapt to his feet, gasping for breath. “You’re a Wolff,” he cried.
“Think what that means. Think of your heritage.”
The smile dropped from Fabian’s gaunt face and his mouth twisted with rage.
“What would you know of being a Wolff?” he screamed, sending trails of spit from
his scorched lips. “How can you dare to speak of our heritage?” His anger
overwhelmed him and he threw back his head, pulling at his own hair and
screaming at the stars. “You ruined everything! I was going to place our family
back at the heart of history, where we belong.” His voice cracked and squeaked
as he glared at Wolff. “And you destroyed us. You and your church and your
pathetic devotion. You killed our parents, Jakob.” He lurched across the grass
with tears of rage flooding down his cheeks. “How can you dare to even speak to
me?” he cried, placing a fierce kick into the side of Wolff’s head.
Wolff climbed to his feet and pounded the haft of his hammer into Fabian’s
breastplate, so that he reeled backwards towards the tree stump. “
I
killed them?” cried Jakob in a voice that sounded as strangled as his brother’s.
“What are you talking about? I simply discovered your guilt.” He levelled a
finger at Fabian. “
You
brought shame on our family, brother, not me. You
diluted our bloodline with heresy and lies.”
Fabian was trembling with fury and his elegant fighting stance was completely
forgotten as he ran wildly back towards Wolff. “You’re nothing but a puppet,
Jakob,” he cried. “A puppet of a dying creed.” He lashed out wildly with his
sword.
Wolff was faster. His hammer smashed the sword aside and connected with
Fabian’s head.
The general’s neck snapped backwards and he let out a gurgled moan, before
toppling backwards into the bole of the tree.
Wolff placed one foot on the tree trunk and raised his hammer for the killing
blow.
He paused.
Beneath him, Fabian was trying to speak. His head was horribly misshapen
where his skull had cracked and his hair was dark with gore, but he still had
the strength to reach out: pawing at his brother’s robes in a final, desperate
plea: trying to form words with his slack, blood-filled mouth.
Wolff scowled and raised his hammer a little higher, but still he couldn’t
strike. “What?” he muttered finally, stooping so that he could place his ear
next to his brother’s mouth.
Fabian’s eye was full of fear, but as he repeated the words, a faint smile
played around his mouth. “The blood of a Wolff runs true,” he whispered,
gripping Jakob’s shoulder.
The priest flinched. To hear their childhood joke, after all this time,
filled him with horror. The years fell away and he saw that the bloody wreck
before him was still Fabian. This awful fiend was still his brother. “I can’t do
it,” he groaned, amazed by his weakness. He freed himself from Fabian’s grip and
dropped his warhammer to the grass. Then he stumbled backwards and sat heavily
on the ground, with his head in his hands.
Fabian lay there for a few moments, watching his brother with an odd, pained
expression on his face. Then, with a gurgling cough, he pulled himself out of
the tree trunk and began to limp towards the far side of the grove.
He had only taken a few steps, when a crossbow bolt thudded into his back. He
stumbled on for a few more feet, reaching out towards the gloomy boughs, then
collapsed onto the grass with a final, ragged breath.
Ratboy approached with the crossbow still in his hand. He stooped and
whispered into the corpse’s ear. “I’ve regained my faith, general,” he said.
Jakob lay on his back watching the endless Ostland rain. It billowed and
swept across the forest in great columns, falling with such force that dozens of
rivulets had begun rushing down the hillside, washing over the priest’s battered
armour and heading down towards the valley below. A couple of miles away, the
ragged fingers of Hagen’s Claw pierced the downpour, reaching up towards the
dark belly of the clouds like a drowning man. Jakob narrowed his eyes. Even from
this distance he could see figures moving beneath the granite columns. Without
their general to drive them onwards, the army was dispersing. The soldiers were
making their way back to their families and homes, keen to forget the
strangeness of the forest. In a few months the crows and other scavengers would
have removed any trace of the dead that were left behind. In time, even the
broken weapons would disappear beneath the grass and there would be no sign that
the battle had ever taken place.