‘Good,’ Boris said as he made his way back into the castle. ‘Ease your minds, friends. We mean what We say. The plague will never touch us here.’
The dungeons of Schloss Hohenbach had been neglected for some time. Pushed to the limit by the depredations of the beastmen and the plague that followed, the lords of Drakwald had been unable to maintain the luxury of prisoners. Mutilation, exile and execution had become the punishments of choice. Until the confinement of von Metzgernstein’s son, the vaults had been without human occupant for two years.
If humans no longer inhabited the dungeons, there were things that did. Rats and spiders, beetles and slugs. And sometimes larger vermin. Vermin that padded through the cellars on two feet, that cloaked their crook-backed bodies in raiment of black and grey. Creatures that chittered to one another in a language of squeaks and hisses.
The skaven would have been amused to hear Emperor Boris’s assurances to his guests. There was always something funny about prey that deluded themselves that they were safe.
As though anywhere in the Empire was safe from the ratmen and the plague they had engineered.
The Horned Rat had promised His children that they would one day inherit the surface world.
The time of the Great Ascendancy would soon be at hand.
Chapter X
Middenheim
Brauzeit, 1118
Mandred paced angrily outside the von Degenfeld manse. He’d had everything plotted out so carefully in his mind that he was having a hard time accepting that his plan wasn’t working the way he had imagined. After that day escorting Lady Mirella around the city, he’d realised that perhaps Sofia’s concerns weren’t so unfounded as he’d initially thought them to be. Mirella von Wittmar was a charming, intelligent and exceedingly brave woman, just the sort that would turn any nobleman’s fancy.
To be certain, he’d had dalliances before, but never with anyone he could be serious about. There had never been any real threat to Sofia… until now. Perhaps she had seen it first, some sixth sense of the female that warned her of a rival. Lady Mirella was of the upper strata of the Altdorf aristocracy. Maybe not of the breeding that a prince could marry, especially not with things as confused as they were in Altdorf, but Sofia might not be aware of that. What was it she’d said? ‘Add him to her collection of princes?’ It was only now, with the stirring of emotions in his heart, that Mandred appreciated the import of those words, the undercurrent of fear behind them. Sofia wasn’t as resigned to losing him as he’d believed, as they both had professed over the years. Lady Mirella might have been only a consort to the Prince of Altdorf, but in her fear Sofia had imagined she might do much better with the Prince of Middenheim.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Mirella asked him.
Mandred hesitated before answering, his resolve wavering when she asked the question. They’d discussed it, of course. Been quite blunt, actually, in their discussion of their mutual regard for one another. At the same time, he still held Sofia in his heart. Decorum and simple decency demanded he make a choice between the two women. It had hurt him deeply to make that choice, but he felt chivalry called for him to stay true to Sofia. As he’d explained to Mirella, there was every chance that her regard towards him was simply gratitude for saving her from the Kineater. He felt it wasn’t fair to exploit an affection built upon such traumatic soil.
No, the thing to do, he’d decided, was to bring Mirella to see Sofia, to tell her that there was nothing between them. It was a dangerous ploy, but they had Brother Richter to act as chaperon. Mandred was hoping that the presence of a priest, even a Sigmarite one, would at least restrain Sofia’s temper.
‘I am sorry, your grace, but Burggraefin Sofia is indisposed.’ It was the second time the major domo of the burggraefin’s manse had come back with that answer. Mandred directed a glowering gaze upon the servant. He wasn’t about to be balked at this stage by some peasant.
‘You can move aside,’ Mandred told him, ‘or I can have you moved aside.’ He nodded towards Beck. The bodyguard dropped a hand around the hilt of his sword when the servant looked in his direction. ‘I’ll let you make the decision.’
Swallowing a knot that had suddenly formed in his throat, the major domo stepped aside and bowed the prince in. ‘Please forgive me, your grace. I was simply obeying the orders given me by my mistress.’
Mandred waved aside the servant’s apology. ‘Where is she?’ he inquired as he stepped into the hall.
The servant demurred for a moment, even at this stage trying to figure out some way to preserve the burggraefin’s privacy. Beck noticed the man glance towards the broad oaken stairway at the left. Brushing past the major domo, he marched to the stairs. ‘This way, your grace,’ the knight said.
Mandred glowered at the servant one last time and followed Beck. The major domo was close behind, his tongue still stumbling over an assortment of appeals that did nothing to dissuade the prince. If anything they only made him more determined to see Sofia.
The von Degenfeld manse was an old haunt of the prince’s, and Beck knew the way to Sofia’s chambers almost as well as Mandred himself. Many had been the cold night the bodyguard had spent outside that room. Now, however, he strode boldly to the engraved panel of dark Drakwald timber. Beck knocked once, waited a moment, then looked to his master.
‘I told you, the burggraefin is indisposed,’ the servant declared. Mandred frowned and nodded at Beck. The bodyguard stepped away from the door and brought his boot smashing into it. The first impact merely rattled it on its hinges. The second kick sent the door slamming inwards. His hand falling instinctually to the hilt of his sword, Beck stormed into Sofia’s bedchamber.
An instant later, the knight was back in the hall, a hand clasped around his nose and mouth. His eyes were wide with fright. Mandred felt his pulse quicken as the fear in his guard’s eyes infected him. Hurriedly, ignoring the protests of the major domo and the puzzlement of Mirella, he rushed to the room. Beck caught at him, trying to keep him in the hall, but he pulled free of the knight’s clutch.
The room, luxuriously appointed in the best Middenland style, seemed indistinct to Mandred’s gaze. It was as if his vision were blurred by the foul, sick-house stink in the chamber. Like Beck, his first action was to cover his face. Unlike his guard, however, he didn’t retreat into the hall but swept towards the canopied bed. Dreading what he would find, he reached for the embroidered curtain and drew it back.
A pale, wizened figure stared up at him, and somewhere beneath that nest of black boils a face squirmed into the semblance of a smile. ‘I’m afraid I’m not receiving… today… my prince.’
‘She has the plague, your grace,’ Beck called from the doorway. The knight had failed to keep Mandred from the room, but he was more successful in keeping Lady Mirella from the chamber.
Mandred didn’t need Beck to tell him what hideous affliction had descended upon Sofia. He’d seen the Black Plague at work in Warrenburg. He knew its stink, he knew the marks it left upon its victims. He knew even breathing the same air as the afflicted was to tempt Grandfather Pox.
A hundred thoughts stampeded through his mind, but only one roared so loudly as to command his body. Clenching his jaw tight, Mandred reached down and bundled the pathetic scarecrow-figure in a heavy blanket. Ignoring Beck’s frantic warnings, the prince rose from the bed, Sofia in his arms. ‘How long has she been like this?’ he snarled at the major domo.
‘Three… No… Four days, your grace,’ the servant answered.
‘Then there’s not much time,’ Mandred growled back, marching from the room with Sofia.