A twitchy blur scrambled across the flagstones, ripping at Franz as the bald knight made to finish his enemy. He cried out in agony as a pair of crooked knives slashed through his legs. He crashed to the ground, rolling in pain, his sword thrusting uselessly at the wool-robed cultist. A shrill, hideous titter sounded from the villain as he darted in and stabbed one of his knives into Franz’s knee.
‘Get away from him, you scum!’ Mandred roared. Sword in hand, he rushed at the slinking killer. The cultist sprang away at the sound of his voice, displaying an unbelievable agility and speed. Mandred chided himself for shouting. If he’d kept quiet he might have taken the fiend by surprise.
The prince had no time to think about his mistake. With a snarl, the wiry cultist leapt at him, whipping the wool cloak from his shoulders as he did so. Mandred was forced to duck the flying garment, then hurriedly brought his sword whipping up to block a descending knife. The other knife glanced across his side, catching in the heavy furs the prince wore.
Mandred barely noticed the pain of the cut along his ribs. For the second time, the boy was horrified by the shape hidden beneath a cultist’s robes. The thing attacking him was utterly inhuman, more beast than man, and the most debased fusion of the two he had ever seen. Its face was pulled into a long, verminous snout, its hands were claw-tipped paws and its body was covered in mangy brown fur. The creature resembled nothing so much as an enormous rat.
The beastman gnashed its yellow fangs at Mandred, then jabbed its knife at his side once more. The prince twisted away from the stabbing blade, his free hand closing about the furry wrist. He felt his flesh crawl with revulsion at the contact. Utter disgust welled up inside him, overwhelming the careful discipline that had been drilled into him for years by instructors like van Cleeve. Howling, the prince brought his boot kicking up into the beastman’s lean body. Its paw held in the prince’s unyielding grip, the rat-creature could only partially twist away, taking the heavy boot against its leg instead of its belly.
The thing squeaked in pain, its scaly tail lashing out at Mandred as it tried to flee. The prince’s sword came chopping down, severing the tip of the loathsome appendage. The smell of its own blood seemed to drive the beastman berserk. Chittering malignantly, the monster lunged at Mandred, knocking him onto his back with the snarling rodent sprawled across his chest.
Mandred saw the creature’s arm twist, trying to bring its other knife into play. Pressing his boots against the flagstones, the prince pushed himself over, rolling onto his side and bearing the beastman with him. The creature squealed in panic as its hand was caught beneath the weight of both their bodies, the knife dropping from its numbed claws.
The panicked thrashings of the monster propelled both of them towards the crenellations looking out over the cliff. Mandred struggled to free himself from the monster’s tenacious grip, its scrabbling claws trying to tear through his tunic. The prince screamed in pain as the rat-creature’s snapping fangs sheared through the lobe of his ear.
Blood was streaming down the side of his face when the prince and his enemy at last crashed against the stone crenellation. Pressing his body against the solid stone, Mandred used it to gain extra leverage against his enemy. With his body anchored against the battlement, he heaved upwards with all his strength. For all its savage fury and ghastly speed, the rat-creature was sparsely built and weighed much less than a real man. Mandred’s brawn broke the thing’s hold, pitching it outwards between the crenellations. He saw its paws scratch desperately at the masonry as it hurtled head-first out into empty space. A shrill squeak of terror receded into the distance as the monstrosity fell towards the foot of the Ulricsberg.
Mandred’s shaking hand pressed against the crenellation, using it to support himself as he regained his feet. He stared across the fortification, the flagstones splotched in black beneath the moonlight. All of the cultists were either dead or had fled into the night. All except for the burly Neumann. The chief cultist had ended the valiant effort of the guard who had turned against him, but not before the soldier had crippled one of the mutant’s arms. Now he was looking for a way to get past Othmar’s flashing sword, finding the effort easier in concept than execution. Every time the cultist tried to circle past the knight, Othmar would press him back with a sweep of his blade. Gradually, Neumann was being pushed back towards the battlements.
Mandred reached down to the bloodied ground, retrieving the discarded halberd of one of the soldiers. He shifted towards Neumann’s flank, cutting off all possible chance of escape.
The mutant turned his deformed head, a sneer twisting his lipless mouth. Neumann gestured with his bloodied dagger at the windlass and the ropes hanging over the side of the wall. ‘There are people in that basket down there, just waiting to be pulled the rest of the way up. Innocent people, like this indiscreet Reiklander.’
Mandred’s blood went cold as he saw the cunning gleam in the cultist’s eyes. Neumann was much closer to the windlass than anyone. One quick slash of the knife and he could send the basket crashing down the side of the Ulricsberg.
‘We’ll let you go,’ Mandred said. He stared hard at Othmar. ‘You understand? This… man is to go unharmed.’
The evil chuckle again bubbled from Neumann’s lipless mouth. ‘It is charming that you expect me to trust you.’ His eyes narrowed with malicious spite. ‘And utterly moronic that you would trust me.’
Before Mandred could even start to move, Neumann raked the edge of his dagger across the windlass, breaking the pin which restrained it. Faint screams rose from below as the unwinding ropes, free and unfettered, sent the basket crashing to the ground.
‘Bastard!’ Mandred snarled, charging at the gloating mutant. The cultist’s body shuddered as the prince impaled him upon the spiked tip of the halberd. Hissing his defiance, Neumann tried to slash at the boy’s face with the dagger, only the length of the halberd preventing his blow from landing. Before he could rear up for a second try, Othmar’s sword hewed through the mutant’s arm, sending both it and the dagger clattering across the battlements.
‘You are all doomed,’ the dying mutant chortled as he wilted against the flagstones. ‘You can’t even surrender. Because they’ve already won.’
Mandred pressed the halberd deeper into the cultist’s body, sending a gout of blood bubbling from his mouth. The malicious light in Neumann’s eyes slowly faded. The prince looked up as Othmar came beside him.
‘Now can we see the Graf?’ the knight asked.
Chapter X
Altdorf
Vorhexen, 1111
Rats scurried through the rafters of the old warehouse while snow drifted down through holes in the roof. The bite of winter whistled through gaps in the walls, stirring up the thick layers of dust which lay everywhere.
The building had been shabby and poorly maintained even before its abandonment, owned by a Drakwald baron with a penchant for mercantile pursuits far beyond his finances. Since the ruination of Drakwald and the evanishment of the baron, the warehouse had been left to its own, quietly decaying into the riverfront. Even before the plague, Altdorf’s dispossessed had shunned the place, seeking less dilapidated environs in which to ensconce themselves. Since the onset of the Black Plague, there were too many houses and manors devoid of tenants for anyone to look twice at a crumbling ruin.
Its very ignominy made the warehouse the perfect setting for a midnight rendezvous. Never had the riverfront played host to such an assemblage as now congregated under the tattered tile roof of the old warehouse.