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  Erhardt looked back at her, a greedy light suddenly flickering in his eyes.

  “To be sure,” he said thoughtfully, “I can see the benefits of such a… partnership.”

  “So can I,” Katerina breathed, her eyes shining. “I don’t think there’s any need for much more discussion, do you? Let’s just make it our little secret. If you act fast, I think I can find time to come here many times before we leave, for planning purposes of course.”

  Erhardt, his face increasingly flushed, nodded hungrily.

  “What a delightful thought,” he murmured. “I don’t suppose there’s any reason why we shouldn’t start a little… planning right now?”

  “None at all,” said Katerina, smiling seductively.

  Her work was done.

  * * *

  Adjusting her gown as she went, Katerina walked hastily through the walled gardens of Erhardt’s private residence towards the gates. The adjutant had given her a filthy look as she had left the study. Well, he would have to get used to it. Erhardt would probably need another couple of visits to ensure that his enthusiasm was maintained, and the need for secrecy, at least from the Gold College, was paramount. It would do no harm to remind him of that from time to time, and make sure that the name of the Amethyst College was kept well out of the way.

  She was cautiously optimistic. Although no great soldier, Erhardt looked like an efficient administrator, and he was probably desperate enough for a second appointment with her to get on with the business of putting the necessary steps in place. With any luck, they would leave the city at the end of the week, well on course to meet the orcs in battle before the Gold College got wind of the invasion or the horde got anywhere near the capital.

  Katerina grimaced slightly at the thought of spending more time with the man. While there was a certain pleasure in wrapping powerful men around her fingers, she knew the whole business was really an imposition for one of her talents and seniority. Once it was all over, she would demand to be let into Klaus’ plans more completely. The days of him treating her as little better than his personal servant were long overdue to come to an end.

  Pulling her cloak tightly round her shoulders, she approached the gatehouse. The porter let her through the narrow arched way. She straightened her hair once more, and stepped into the flurry of Altdorf’s crowded streets. She turned quickly along the cobbled thoroughfare, eager to make her way to the Amethyst College. After delivering her report to Klaus, she fully intended to return home, get her servants to fill the large copper bathtub with near-boiling water, and spend the rest of the afternoon soaking away the memory of the interview with Erhardt.

  She slipped deftly through the crowds in the wide streets. The imposing houses of the diplomats, senior soldiers and minor nobility stood well back from the teeming multitudes behind their high stone walls. Unlike most of the rest of Altdorf, generally a rank open sewer of humanity, the city watch kept a pretty decent semblance of order in this exclusive quarter.

  She shot the occasional glance through iron railings at the immaculate grounds hidden within. Some of the residents no doubt deserved their lives of indolence after giving many fine years of service to the Emperor. Some most certainly did not, and she allowed herself a brief sardonic smile as she hurried past the mansion of a petty princeling she’d swindled only two months before. She had danced with him a week later at the Marquis d’Alembert’s ball, enjoying more than usual the doe-eyed attention he had lavished on her.

  It was as she stole a glance over her shoulder, her mind wandering, that she first noticed the presence. It was only the briefest of glimpses, but it was enough. Those in her profession quickly became proficient at spotting when they were being followed. She cursed under her breath, and slightly, almost imperceptibly, picked up her pace. She hadn’t got a good look at him, but there was definitely a man on her trail. He was pretty good at his job, and if the streets in this area hadn’t been so free of the normal filth and clutter he might have escaped detection altogether. Thinking quickly, she turned down a side alley and began to make her way into the seamier districts near the river. It would do no good to lead her pursuer to the college. Ideally there would be an opportunity to turn the tables on him, but it would be difficult to do so in broad daylight with members of the city watch all over the place.

  She went quickly, ducking and weaving through the crowds like a pike darting through river water. Every so often, she would casually glance back, seeing if her evasion had been successful. He was not easy to spot without giving the game away, but he couldn’t hide his presence altogether. Katerina was beginning to admire his persistence. If she were being trailed by any old cutpurse or beggar she would probably have given him the slip by now and been thankful for it. As it was, she was becoming more and more interested to see who this determined individual was.

  She took in her surroundings carefully as she went, on the lookout for any suitable locations for an ambush. She was still heading down into the dock area. The smells of fish, pitch and stale beer headed up a list of characteristically unsavoury aromas. The crowds around her, jostling, hustling and cursing, were becoming thicker as the genteel world of Erhardt’s kind degenerated into the undignified scrum that typified most of Altdorf.

  Then, on her left, she spied what she was after, a narrow, long alley, more or less deserted, shrouded in shadows, piled high towards the rear with ranks of crates, barrels and other flotsam. With a deft turn of her ankle, she slipped aside and fled into the shadows. Quickly, knowing the man on her tail would have seen her manoeuvre, she gathered her expensive gown around her knees and leapt up onto the nearest crate, clambering quickly until she was hidden from view entirely, ten feet above street level and shielded from view by a stinking heap of cordage. Then she waited. Her eyes glinted in the darkness and the hubbub of the streets was distant.

  He was cautious. Moments passed and Katerina began to wonder if she had given him the slip entirely. Then, he appeared. There was not much to go on. Against the bright light of the street, he appeared as a blank silhouette against the alley entrance. She carefully took in what few details there were: average height, low-brimmed hat, long leather coat, confident bearing.

  “Now, come further in…” she breathed to herself, willing him to venture deeper into the alley. She felt like a spider at the centre of her web, eagerly anticipating the cautious footfalls of the fly on the outer strands. Carefully, quietly, she began to prepare her familiar sleeping spell, her fingers glowing faintly purple in the darkness. He began to edge into the narrow way, looking around cautiously, his face still hidden from view. “Closer…” she whispered, her spell nearing completion.

  “Eh! What you doing? Get out of there!”

  The burly figure of a dockhand came careering around the corner, a podgy finger prodding at the startled man below.

  “This is my gear, see?” he said, his face red with anger and suspicion. “I don’t want no one poking their fat noses in here. Bugger off!”

  The other man said something that Katerina couldn’t catch and raised his hands in apology. Reluctantly, he backed away, looking behind him thoughtfully as he walked back into the sunlit street beyond. The dockhand stood for a moment at the alley entrance, hands on hips, muttering. In time, he left too.

  Katerina waited for a while, but her pursuer didn’t come back. Perhaps the dockhand had chased him away for good, or maybe he had rumbled the trap. Cursing her luck, Katerina carefully unwound herself from her cramped hiding place and descended. Her dress stank of fish oil.

  She crept back along the alley. Cautiously, she peered around the corner. There was no sign of either the dockhand or her mysterious follower. Sighing, she mingled once more with the crowd in the street. Most of them smelled more or less the same as she did. Klaus could wait, she thought bitterly. Right now, that bath was the major priority.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lothar sat by the fire moodily, its thin flame giving him little warmth. In less than an hour the su
n would be fully up and the battered band of survivors would move again, but his legs felt wooden and lethargic. He couldn’t shake the final images of Helmgart. His restless dreams in the few snatches of sleep he had been able to grab were full of them. He stared out across the valley the mist lying thick and heavy in the pre-dawn gloom. He chewed methodically at the last grisly strands of rabbit in his hands. He knew he would need the strength later, but the meat stuck in his throat. He felt weak and morbid. His staff lay discarded by his side, his hands still burned from the reckless discharges of magic in the doomed defence of the citadel.

  Quietly, Karsten came and sat beside him, looking silently towards the mountains as well. They were there, somewhere to the south. The orcs had been in no hurry to leave their plunder in the passes to pursue them, and were no doubt taking the time to sack and ruin every village in their path. But they were coming, all the same. There would be no respite, no rest, and no safe place.

  “How goes it, castellan?” asked Lothar at length, throwing the last of the bones into the fire.

  Karsten smiled wryly, his pale eyes fixed southwards.

  “We have more men now, at any rate,” he said in a dry voice. “Some got out of the citadel before we did and have since found us. Others fled from the villages below the passes, and they’ve got nowhere else to go. At least we have our swords and armour, which gives them hope. They’ve no idea how many greenskins are on their way. No doubt they’ll find out soon enough.”

  Lothar nodded grimly. If a well-stocked garrison in a frontier fortress had not been enough to stem the green tide, a ramshackle bunch of defeated soldiers and scared villagers would hardly make much difference. He took a swig of water from his gourd and pondered for a while.

  “So,” he said at last, “what’s your plan?”

  He spoke more as if addressing a colleague than a senior officer. Since the flight from Helmgart, the distinction of ranks between them had seemed less important. Karsten still enforced discipline with his men, but Lothar had been thrust into the role of battle wizard, an advisory position, whether or not he liked to admit it.

  “That’s what I wanted to discuss with you,” said Karsten, looking sincere enough. “I do have an idea, but it’s not something the men will like. I’d value your opinion.”

  Lothar allowed himself a bitter smile. He didn’t place great store by his own opinion, not after what had happened. First Malgar, then Helmut; he wondered if he’d been cursed in some way. But he made no protest, only nodded for the castellan to continue.

  “Well, it’s like this,” he said in his simple, broad Reikland accent. “I sent reports of the orc incursion before they struck. A scout called Niklas Steinhauer took detailed estimates of their numbers to Altdorf. He was on a fast horse and was ordered to travel as quickly as he could; with any luck, the Empire is forewarned. As for us, we could head north as fast as possible by the same route, avoiding the vanguard of the orcs if we can, and head to Altdorf. That’s the surest way of saving our skins, at least for the time being.

  “I reckon we can outrun the main host for a while, since they seem to be stopping to burn everything in their path. But here’s the problem, if nothing else holds them up, what are we likely to find at Altdorf? Most probably a city unprepared for anything. Even if our message got through, which I pray to Sigmar it did, there’s been no time to organise a proper defence. I’ve experienced the Imperial bureaucracy before. It can take weeks for the right stamp to find its way onto the right seal. For all I know, my report is still sitting on a desk somewhere in a nobleman’s palace, with no response organised, and no defending army mustered.”

  “So what do you suggest?” asked Lothar. “Go back and fight them again?”

  Karsten nodded, and then held up a scarred hand to ward off Lothar’s incredulous laughter.

  “Listen,” he said, “I know we can’t face them out in the open, that’s madness, but we do need to hold them up somehow, even if it’s just for another day or so. We could be the only force between them and the rest of the Empire. If we die in the attempt, then we’ve probably only shortened our lives by a tiny fragment. In any case, it’s our duty.”

  Lothar looked carefully at the grizzled face of the castellan to see if he was being sarcastic, but the pale eyes remained steady. He felt a brief pang of shame. During his years of study in Altdorf, the idea of someone doing their “duty” for the Empire would have been laughed out of the college. Perhaps things were different in the provinces. He lowered his eyes.

  “We can’t engage them by ourselves,” he said, self-consciously. “The shaman’s proved it’s more than a match for me, and I wouldn’t even be able to get close to it, not with the forces we have left.”

  Karsten nodded.

  “An assault on the shaman is not what I had in mind,” he said. “Its army, though, is another thing. We have to do something to dent the power of the incursion; it’s as big as any I’ve ever seen.”

  Lothar couldn’t stifle a grating laugh.

  “I see. So it’s easy. We just forget about the shaman and kill the rest of the orcs.”

  Karsten looked at him darkly, his patience growing limited. The dark rings under his eyes spoke of fatigue.

  “Of course we can’t stop them all,” he said irritably, “but there are ways of luring them into situations where more of them will be killed than they can kill. We can’t do more than make them stumble in their march, but at least it’s doing something.”

  Lothar felt his shame returning.

  “Tell me what you have in mind,” he said, regretting his contrary, introspective mood. The grief of Helmut’s death was still too close.

  “Very well,” said Karsten, something of his usual equable expression returning. “It all turns on the way the land lies. There is very little of note around us, just thick, tangled forest, the craggy highlands of the Skaag Hills, and plenty of impassable or difficult patches of hostile wilderness. Once past Helmgart, an invading army has very little choice over which direction it heads. The best route by far is to head almost due north. The orcs will be looking for plunder and looting, and the few farms and villages around lie in that direction. If they do this, which I think they must, they are bound to come up against Castle Grauenburg, several days’ march north of here, and the only fortress of any note between here and Altdorf. With luck, we can get there ahead of them. At the very least, we’ll be able to replenish our supplies, but I have something else in mind. I think we should make a stand there.”

  Lothar looked sceptical, but Karsten was undeterred.

  “Hear me out. If I’m right about the direction the orcs will take, they won’t be able to resist sacking the castle. It’s half the size of Helmgart, and a choice prize for plunder. No doubt the orcs will expect us to hold it against them, but if we attempt to shelter there, we’ll be overrun just as we were at Helmgart. A power that can rip apart stone walls will not be halted at such a fortress, even if there are hundreds more men waiting there for us. But Grauenburg is noted for more than its defences—it’s a major storehouse for the blackpowder on which our gunnery depends. For years, the school of engineers has placed strategic stockpiles of the stuff in key locations, away from the great cities where disasters and thievery are rife, yet close to places where it may be needed.”

  “Like Helmgart.”

  “Indeed so. Marcus was a frequent visitor. Now, being a learned man, you’ll know of the great conflagration that erupts when barrels of the blackpowder, placed together in close confinement, are ignited all at once. I’ve seen the force for myself, years ago, when a wagon carrying munitions to the front line was destroyed in a freak accident. If such a force were unleashed in Grauenburg, where the stores are so much greater, the destruction would be immense.”

  Lothar began to see where this was going. For the first time since the flight from the hills, a flicker of hope kindled in his mind.

  “You mean to draw the orcs into the castle, and then destroy it,” he said, shaking
his head slightly at the audacity.

  Karsten nodded.

  “It’ll be perilous,” he said. “We’ll have to lure them onwards, keep them following us, fight long enough to provoke their interest, and get out at just the right time. We might all die before the first fuse is lit, or perish in the fire with the orcs, but if we plan carefully, and Sigmar is with us, I believe it can be done. I’ll know more when we get to Grauenburg.”

  He paused, and looked at Lothar evenly. “I’ll need a wizard,” he said. “I can’t do this alone, not with all my officers lying in the rubble at Helmgart. You have arts that I need.”

  Lothar laughed again, but this time not through bitterness.

  “I’m not a pyromancer, the sort you’d want for this kind of thing,” he said, watching as the last of the flames before him guttered and died. “But, yes, I may be able to render some service.”

  He turned to face Karsten. “I guess I’d expected we’d head back to Altdorf, defeated and with our heads held low. It would be the safer option, but I can see what you mean about the need to slow them down. Perhaps this is foolhardy, but it’s better than doing nothing.”

  Karsten gave him an approving nod, something like relief on his face.

  “Good, I’m glad you agree,” he said, making to return to his men. “We’ll discuss the plan in detail as we travel, but I need to collect our forces and break camp. Don’t sit here too long, we’ll be leaving soon.”

  He got up in a swift movement and strode back up the hill to where the remainder of his garrison were making their preparations to leave. Lothar continued chewing his final morsel of rabbit slowly, watching the mist begin to rise from the valley floor below. Karsten was right, it was better to have a madman’s plan than no plan at all. For the first time in two days, he began to ponder something other than sorrow. He began to ponder vengeance.