‘What… what is that… witch…’ Vidor gasped, fear for the first time unseating the enforced calmness demanded by his noble bearing.
‘Have a care, Vidor,’ Kreyssig snarled. ‘It is by her ladyship’s grace that you are here and not down in the Dragon’s Hole.’
The baroness stepped away from Kreyssig as she reached the floor. Stroking the kitten she held in the crook of her arm, she approached the chained Vidor. The aristocrat began to shiver as the witch drew near, Auernheimer’s story about summoned daemons rising unbidden in his memory.
‘He will be more useful to us here,’ the baroness declared. Her gaze was cold as she locked eyes with Vidor. ‘Having failed once, he won’t be so foolish as to move against us a second time.’ She wagged a finger at the shackles and collar. ‘I think those are unnecessary. You must speak to your Kaiserknecht about their zeal.’
Kreyssig reached into a pocket, removing a large brass key. He contemplated it for a moment. ‘I should scold them for their laxity,’ he observed, tossing the key at Vidor’s feet. ‘It doesn’t appear they broke any bones when they collected his grace.’
Vidor stared in confusion from the key to Kreyssig and then to the baroness, wondering what sort of trap they had set for him.
The witch noted his hesitancy. ‘There is no trick, your grace,’ she said, demonstrating the claim by leaning down and retrieving the key, slipping it between Vidor’s fingers. ‘Adolf has demonstrated his reach. This little display was arranged to impress upon you that, whatever his parentage, you are subject to his authority.’
‘My Kaiserjaeger weren’t able to find that fanatic you set after us,’ Kreyssig grumbled. ‘Otherwise you’d have a much more memorable display to impress you.’ His voice dipped, losing its element of forced charm. ‘When I find him, I’ll be sure to send the pieces to you.’
Vidor fumbled at the lock to his shackles, still expecting some kind of trick. When the chains fell from his wrists, there was a look of disbelief in his eyes. Quickly, he repeated the procedure with the heavy collar.
‘That should convince you of our sincerity,’ the baroness said.
Vidor looked from her to Kreyssig, uncertain which of them was in control. Which of them he needed to placate. ‘What about the others?’ he asked.
‘I told you, they are profiteering traitors,’ Kreyssig declared. ‘They will be publicly tried and executed. Their titles will be abolished and their holdings forfeit to the crown.’ Again, he reached into his pocket, removing a ruby-encrusted signet ring. He scrutinized it for a moment, before returning his gaze to the duke. ‘Baron von Forgach’s lands in the Ostermark have been something you’ve wanted for a long time.’ With a last look at the signet, he tossed the ring to Vidor. The duke wasn’t surprised when he saw the von Forgach coat of arms emblazoned on the jewel.
‘Von Forgach was a traitor,’ Kreyssig stated boldly, ‘leaving all of his lands to the crown for redisposition.’
‘You have proof of this?’ Vidor asked.
Kreyssig laughed darkly. ‘The best. A signed confession.’
Duke Vidor grimaced at the peasant’s lack of candour. Just the same, he drew a merely ornamental ring from one of his fingers and slipped the signet in its place. ‘Do not think you can buy my loyalty.’
Kreyssig’s grim humour expressed itself in a grotesque smile. ‘If I cannot buy it, then I will compel it,’ he warned. ‘When you say that there would be an uproar if I were to try and prosecute you, it was something that had occurred to me. I wouldn’t presume to try such a thing. Not at all. If it comes to it, you will be dragged before the proctors of the Temple of Sigmar and tried for…’ Kreyssig paused, looking at Baroness von den Linden.
‘You will be arrested for heresy, your grace,’ the witch said. There was a dark gleam in her eyes as she added, ‘Anyone can be made to sign anything given the right incentive.’
‘And even your staunchest supporters will desert you if it is the Temple of Sigmar, not Protector Kreyssig, who prosecutes you,’ Kreyssig stated.
Vidor glared at his enemies, realizing how utterly he had fallen into their clutches. ‘What is it you want of me?’ he demanded.
Baroness von den Linden smiled slyly. ‘One last present for you. The Protector is going to reverse his earlier decision. You will be appointed the new Reiksmarshal and given command of the army we are building.’
‘I need to use the veterans of your previous campaign as the core of this new force,’ Kreyssig said. ‘As soon as my programme began, I realized Soehnlein was out of his league. I don’t have time for my soldiers to adapt themselves to a new leader. I need a leader they already know and respect. That makes you necessary.’
It was Vidor’s turn to laugh, appreciating now the reason for such gracious treatment from Kreyssig and his witch. ‘You must be planning to move against Talabheim soon,’ he stated, guessing now the source of all the inflammatory rhetoric that was upsetting the commoners and even ruffling the feathers of some of the nobility.
Again, the duke was due to be surprised. ‘The enemy we prepare for isn’t Talabheim,’ the baroness said. ‘The real enemy is much closer.’
Vidor was puzzled by her statement, and by the nagging familiarity with which she said it. Suddenly he recalled a sermon given by Grand Theogonist Gazulgrund, something about ‘the inhuman enemy in our midst’. Indeed, of late the priests had been making quite a point about warning their flock about Old Night and its monstrous progeny.
What sort of enemy, Vidor wondered, was it that these two were afraid of? What threat hovered over them that they needed an entire army to guard against it?
And, more disturbing, how soon did they expect that threat to be realised?
Abin-gnaw bent almost double as he abased himself before Sythar Doom. The Warpmaster’s gemstone eyes reflected the green luminance of the warplight as he turned away from the piebald tinkerer, who was filing his metal fangs and cleaning them of rust. The Grey Lord’s lips peeled back, exposing those fangs in a threatening snarl.
‘Disturb me, murder-rat, and you will feed the burrow-worms,’ Sythar hissed. He started to turn back to the tinkerer when his nose twitched, detecting a scent that had been nearly stifled by rat-dung and skaven blood. He peered down at Abin-gnaw, noticing for the first time the trembling cloaked shape huddled beside the ratman. Now that he focused upon the figure, he could tell that here was the source of the scent — the smell of frightened human.
Abin-gnaw had done an expert job of concealing the creature’s smell, hiding its presence from the other skaven in the warren. That didn’t, however, explain why the murder-rat had brought a man-thing into the presence of a Lord of Decay. Suspicion flared through Sythar’s mind. Had one of the other leaders bribed Clan Skully to remove him as he had had Deacon Blistrr eliminated? General Twych wasn’t keen enough for such insight, but Grey Seer Pakritt might be! Hurriedly, Sythar swung around, tilting his head so that his groom-mechanic could reconnect the power cable to his jaw. At the same time, he gestured wildly with his paws, waving his warpguard to surround Abin-gnaw and the human.
‘Great Sythar! Most Exalted of Tyrants! Most Potent of Calamities! Most Fertile of Sires!’ Abin-gnaw had his nose to the floor now, arms extended in an appealing gesture. ‘This humble-loyal servant wish-want to squeak-speak!’
Sythar Doom’s fangs crackled with sparks as he turned. His electrified bite could burn through any garrotte the slinking murder-rat might carry. Then again, the killer might be clever enough to have something else in mind. Yes, it would be good policy for Clan Skully to use a poisoned throwing star and blame the assassination on Clan Eshin! Before the same idea could occur to his tinker-dentist, Sythar caught the hapless ratkin by the neck and dragged him between himself and Abin-gnaw.