Briardark, page 22
As she finished mending the talisman, Cicely stared at her hands, noting their hideous pallor. Powder would let her hide the true condition, but it would still lend her a sickly look. Something Aaric would be watching for. Worse than that was the awareness that she’d need to replenish herself with someone’s essence soon. Something else her uncle would be vigilant for.
Cicely turned towards the tapestry, dark thoughts swirling through her brain. If she struck at any of her relations, Aaric would uncover her. The only way to proceed was to claim a victim he’d never know about. Yet she couldn’t just choose anyone. The onyx needle would only work against those its enchantment deemed part of her family. And it would have to be someone she knew well enough that she could recreate their image from memory.
Cicely sank into the chair and puzzled over the problem. Looking over the tapestry, she made note of Anya and the children. It was then that the answer came to her. Someone Uncle Aaric would never know about. Someone who wasn’t even in Felstein.
Taking up the onyx needle, Cicely started to weave Rukh’s picture into the tapestry.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Samuel couldn’t help the feeling of self-satisfaction when he walked into Felstein’s square with Cicely and saw Aaric outside the Skintaker’s Swallow. The scholar from Gothghul Hollow had been as good as his word. After leaving the Helmgaart household, he’d accepted the hospitality of Thayer Greimhalt. The townmaster was eager to bring an end to the killings and expose Alastair’s murderer. Samuel had spent a terrible day worrying about what Aaric would say to Thayer and how attentively the despondent father would listen to him.
It was time to make the scholar eat those words. Aaric had seen Cicely two nights ago, when she was so sick and frail that she didn’t even stir when they were arguing right beside her bed. Now she was hale and hearty, with a flush of rich colour in her face and the old keenness in her eyes.
‘Spinning any tall tales for Thayer?’ Samuel asked as he walked up to the scholar. Aaric gave him only a brief glance, then fixated on Cicely. He gave a start, confusion visible on his face. Samuel turned to his daughter. ‘Why don’t you go visit Lucilla? I have things to discuss with your uncle.’
Cicely gave Aaric a surly look. ‘I’d rather stay. I’d like to know why there’s this rift between you now… and how I’m the cause of it. If Uncle Aaric has been saying ungracious things about me, I’d like to hear him explain himself.’
The venom in his daughter’s tone, Samuel felt, was justified. If she knew the full extent of Aaric’s insinuations, she’d be far more upset than she already was. For this reason, he was determined that she wouldn’t be privy to the discussion. Not when it meant being accused of matricide.
‘Do as I say,’ Samuel told her, perhaps a bit more harshly than he’d intended. Cicely gave him a pained look, but after a moment she turned on her heel and withdrew across the square and back into the little lane that led home.
Samuel waited until he was certain Cicely couldn’t hear them before he turned back to Aaric. ‘Well? There’s no denying she’s recovered her vigour. According to you, that means she must have used witchcraft to kill a member of our family.’ He jabbed a finger into the scholar’s chest. ‘Nobody’s died in Felstein, relative or otherwise. Nobody’s even missing, in case your twisted mind is trying to rationalise how your theory can still hold.’
Aaric shook his head. There was regret in his expression when he met Samuel’s eyes. ‘I don’t know how this can be, but I would never have made such an accusation unless I was convinced.’ He ran his finger across the talisman he wore. ‘She’s the only one who could have stolen my protection. You’re desperate to disbelieve me, but you’re blinding yourself so you can see only what you want to see.’
‘Someone stole her talisman too,’ Samuel snapped.
‘To work her dark magic, she would have needed to get rid of it,’ Aaric stated. He paused, his own words spurring a thought. ‘The talisman may even have disrupted the stolen essence she’s drawn from her victims. Another reason to rid herself of it.’
‘Only she hasn’t. She wears the talisman you made for me. She’s wearing it right now.’ Samuel scowled at the scholar. He still feared what Aaric could do with a few wrong words in Thayer’s ear. ‘Cicely is protected from this sorcerer. Now it is you that menaces her. Swear to me you’ll not spread this vile delusion of yours to other people.’ He felt the colour rushing into his face as he growled a warning. ‘I’ll see you dead before I see her taken by the witch hunters.’
‘Thayer says the witch hunters should be in Felstein at any time,’ Aaric said. ‘He’s nervous about what will happen when they arrive… as he’s right to be. Some witch hunters aren’t concerned about collateral damage when seeking their prey. Some feel it is better to burn a hundred innocents than to let one sorcerer go free.’ Now it was the scholar who gave warning. ‘I’ve kept my thoughts to myself and mentioned nothing about Cicely to Thayer, but if it looks like innocents are threatened, I’ll tell all that I know.’ He thrust his finger in Samuel’s face. ‘I’ll do the same if there are any more victims. You might tell your daughter that.’
‘Damn you,’ Samuel hissed. His balled fist caught Aaric by surprise. The scholar was knocked off his feet and crashed into one of the tables outside the tavern. He lay there for a moment, sprawled over its surface. A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. When he rallied, he wiped the stain away with the back of his hand.
‘Short-sighted for someone who wants discretion,’ Aaric commented. The altercation was drawing attention from the townsfolk in the square. A crowd was starting to gather, people glancing uncertainly at the two antagonists, wondering which of them deserved their support.
Samuel backed away, forcing his temper to subside. If he forced matters to a crisis now, it would only succeed in doing precisely what he wanted to avoid. The threat remained in his eyes when he met Aaric’s gaze, but for the moment there could be peace.
‘I must have been mad to bring you to Felstein,’ Samuel said.
The scholar gave him a condescending smile. ‘On the contrary, it was the only sane thing you’ve done. Come back to reason, Samuel. Don’t cling to something that’s already lost.’
A withering retort was on Samuel’s tongue, but it went unspoken. Across the square, commotion was growing. People flocked towards the town hall, then just as quickly recoiled in fright. A presentiment of doom came over the hunter, a crawling dread that set its claws into his soul. The crisis had come.
Samuel pushed his way to the forefront of the crowd, dimly aware that Aaric followed in his wake. A wide gap was left open between the spectators and the town hall. In this space, a pair of riders sat atop their steeds, but neither were like anything seen in Felstein before.
The steeds were fleshless animals with six bony legs and long, spindly tails. Bare ribs hung from exposed spines. Elongated neckbones supported the barren skulls of the brutes, narrow heads that suggested to Samuel aspects of both horse and hound. Rigid saddles were bolted rather than strapped to the gruesome creatures, metal fastenings that were dull with age and use.
The riders were as grim as their steeds. They were skeletal beings, but far more than simply human corpses drawn up from their graves. Their bones were bulky and thick, suggestive more of a crustacean’s armour than decayed remains. Sharp spurs projected along their forearms and up their calves. Their skulls were sheathed in helmet-like protrusions of bone that encased all; the only suggestion of a face to be hinted at were the burning green embers that shone through the sockets of their featureless masks. Heavy cloaks, blacker than night, drooped from their shoulders, and buckled to their exposed bones were many pouches and bottles. Hanging from chains fitted to their hips were curved swords with dun-coloured blades and box-like arbalests that seemed carved from ivory.
‘Mercy of Sigmar,’ Aaric whispered in a tone of both awe and terror. ‘You told me Thayer sent for witch hunters, but these aren’t from the Order of Azyr. They’re templars of Nagash!’
Samuel shuddered. Fearsome as was the reputation of the Order of Azyr, at least its agents were mortal. Those dispatched by the priests of Nagash were undead constructs crafted by exacting and secretive magics. They couldn’t be appealed to or bargained with. Once set upon a task, they would see it through regardless of things like compassion and mercy. Sigmar’s witch hunters, even the most ruthless of them, still had some notion of protecting the innocent. Nagash’s templars were only interested in destroying disciples of the Dark Gods.
‘He must have been mad to send–’ But even as Samuel started to speak, he bit back his words. Among the onlookers, only one man approached the skeletal riders. He knew it was the man who’d sent for them, the only man who would dare to. Thayer had made a terrible mistake by impinging on the sanctity of the cemetery, bringing a mob to disrupt Emelda’s funeral. He’d forced Pater Kosminski to take matters into his own hands.
The priest of Nagash held a subdued conversation with the templars. Samuel couldn’t hear what Kosminski said to them, but he knew the undead understood him when they would nod in agreement or make a negative chopping motion with their hands.
‘I think Felstein will need a new townmaster,’ Aaric observed. On the steps of the town hall, Thayer watched the proceedings with marked unease, a ghastly pallor stealing over him.
‘Thayer,’ Samuel hissed. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before? Thayer Greimhalt could be the sorcerer, striking out as a way to discredit Samuel and his supporters. Perhaps Alastair had opposed his father’s plans and had been eliminated out of necessity.
Even as he warmed to the theory, Samuel saw one of the undead templars twist around and cut something free that was tied to the back of its steed. A body crashed to the ground. It rolled onto its side, its face turned towards the beasthunter. Samuel gasped when he recognised the dead man through the patina of gore.
Aaric caught Samuel by the shoulder. ‘You know that man?’
Still shocked, Samuel answered before he was aware he was even speaking. ‘My cousin Rukh. Anya’s husband.’
Pater Kosminski turned away from the grisly riders and addressed the crowd. ‘The principatuum found this man’s body on the road only a few miles from Felstein.’ He gestured at the corpse. ‘This was your friend and neighbour Rukh Helmgaart.’ He pointed at the templar whose steed had carried the body. ‘The principatus tried to question Rukh’s spirit but could elicit no answer.’ The priest’s eyes flashed with cold fury. ‘There can be no doubt but that sorcery caused his death, sorcery foul enough to silence his spirit even when it was rendered into Nagash’s dominion.’
Panicked murmurs rippled through the assembly. Pater Kosminski raised his arms, appealing for calm. ‘The principatuum are here to root out this evil. They will unmask this murderous servant of Chaos.’ The priest turned and looked up at Thayer. In that moment, Samuel understood that he wasn’t the only one who was suspicious of the townmaster. ‘The fiend will be found, wherever he hides.’
‘They will find the villain,’ Aaric told Samuel, something between a warning and an appeal in his voice. ‘Do you want that to happen?’
As he watched the skeletal templars unhook themselves from their saddles and dismount, Samuel could feel the pitiless menace they represented. When he looked at Rukh’s body, his refutation of Aaric’s accusations brought a bitter taste into his mouth. Cicely had recovered and a member of their family had died. The one relative she knew was beyond the boundaries of Felstein. Rukh must have heard about his wife and children and was coming back when he was struck down.
‘The templars won’t stop,’ Aaric persisted. ‘They won’t relent until they find who they’re looking for. They will find her.’
Samuel’s body was numb with horror. ‘She’s my daughter,’ he groaned.
Aaric motioned him to silence and pulled him back through the crowd. ‘She can’t be saved, but you can spare her from the templars. That’s still something we can do.’
The hunter pushed Aaric away with his bronze hand. ‘You have no proof,’ he insisted, but there was no conviction in his voice. ‘I’ll take her away from Felstein. Far away.’
The scholar’s expression wasn’t without sympathy as they headed into a side street. ‘That wouldn’t do any good. You could take her all the way to Carstinia and the templars would follow. They aren’t gryph-hounds that can be shaken from a trail. There’s nowhere you could go and be safe from them.’ Aaric shook his head. ‘Nor do I think Cicely would give up this foul magic. I don’t think she can.’
‘Please,’ Samuel implored. ‘You don’t know for certain. It could be someone else.’
Despite the hunter’s plea, Aaric had no words of comfort to proffer. Silence held the two men as they walked back to Samuel’s home.
‘Cicely,’ Samuel called out. The name echoed strangely through the house. He could feel the emptiness of the place. Sensed that she wasn’t here.
Aaric sensed it too. ‘She’s gone,’ he said as he started down the hallway. Samuel hurried after the scholar.
‘Lucilla could have told her about the templars. Or she might have been drawn to the square when they arrived. Everyone’s afraid of them, but they’re curious all the same.’ Samuel’s words sounded desperate even to his own ears.
‘I don’t doubt that she knows the templars are here,’ Aaric said. ‘She also knows what they brought back with them. Her ruse is spoiled. We know she’s killed again. We know that’s why she looks so vigorous.’ He pushed open the door to Cicely’s room and stepped inside.
‘We don’t know,’ Samuel objected. ‘You only suspect. You aren’t sure.’
Aaric walked through the vacant room. He inspected a carving that had been left on the floor. Samuel recognised it as one of Marden’s. His son had always been whittling animals from bits of wood. This one looked like it was going to be a mammoth… had his son ever finished it.
‘I’m sure,’ Aaric said as he set down the mammoth. His eyes locked with Samuel’s. ‘You are too. That’s why you’re so afraid.’
Samuel scowled at the scholar. ‘You’ve no proof. Only circumstance and conjecture. You’ve no proof.’
Even as he spoke, the beasthunter noticed something lying on the floor near the bed. It was the engraved skull of a shroud toad – one of the constituents of Aaric’s talismans. The scholar noted the direction of Samuel’s gaze. He stooped and picked up the tiny skull, then turned to the bed. He dragged it away from the wall, exposing the floor beneath it.
There, to Samuel’s undisguised horror, was the rest of what had been sewn inside the talisman. Worse, he saw two intact talismans lying on the floor. He knew they could only be the ones that had been stolen by what he’d insisted must have been an intruder.
Aaric retrieved one of the intact talismans. ‘She couldn’t abide the touch of them, otherwise she’d have taken them somewhere to dispose of them.’ He kicked the litter of ingredients with his boot. ‘She took apart your talisman after you gave it to her, to try and allay suspicions.’
‘I won’t believe it,’ Samuel groaned. His knees felt weak, and he had to grab hold of the chair to keep from falling. His mind groped for something, anything, to explain away what they’d found. Cicely couldn’t be a murderess. A monster.
‘You’d better believe it,’ Aaric snapped. He thrust the talisman into his hands. ‘Cicely will be desperate now. There’s no telling when she’ll strike.’ His gaze became as grim as that of the undead templars. ‘Or at whom she’ll strike.’
Samuel clenched the talisman tight. ‘It can’t be,’ he said. ‘There has to be an explanation.’ As he spoke, his hand brushed against the tapestry lying across the chair. It spilled to the floor. Aaric bent over to recover it. As the scholar started to lift it, his eyes narrowed and he drew it close, staring at it with marked interest.
‘Who are these people?’ he asked, holding the tapestry out to Samuel.
‘Our family,’ the hunter replied, puzzled. ‘I told you that before.’ He tapped his finger on the figure of Alastair Greimhalt. ‘Cicely added Alastair because she thought she could help my position in the community by marrying him.’ Just mentioning the incident brought a sick feeling.
Aaric shook his head. ‘There’s something wrong here.’ He hurried from the room. Samuel followed after and found his brother-in-law near the hearth, starting a fire. When he had a blaze going, he held the tapestry before it. After a moment, an expression of sombre triumph fell across his face.
‘Look here,’ Aaric called. ‘See what the light exposes.’ He drew the hunter’s attention to the figure of Anya. It took a moment, but Samuel began to see flames licking about his cousin. The effect had been cunningly rendered with different threads, but how it could have gone unnoticed before struck him as impossible. The hair at the back of his neck prickled.
‘She couldn’t,’ Samuel gasped. But as his eyes scoured the tapestry, he saw other peculiar manifestations. A noose around Alastair’s neck, blood spilling from Saint’s crushed skull. Emelda’s face blackening into a charred ruin. ‘Not her mother. She couldn’t.’
‘She might not have known,’ Aaric said. ‘Your wife would have been one of the first victims, and Cicely might not have understood the demands of the spell.’ He waved his hand over the tapestry. ‘All of these couldn’t be an accident though.’
‘You can’t be right.’ Samuel pointed at the incomplete images of himself and Cicely. ‘You might say that the image needs to be complete to work the spell.’ He shifted his hand and indicated Aaric’s picture. ‘But she finished yours and you’re still alive.’
