CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

The house was completely different.

The exterior was exactly the same as it had been three nights ago. Konrad and Taungar were admitted within the outer walls by the same white-clad servant, who led them through the illuminated gardens, across the miniature bridges over the winding streams, and to the door of the house.

It was the interior which had been totally transformed.

The other young servant was waiting in the hallway for them, and this time she was instantly recognizable as female. The white uniform had gone, replaced by a pink silk robe which bared her right breast. Without a cap, her hair was also pink; it had been dyed and hung halfway down her back. She reminded Konrad of someone, or something, although he was unable to recall what it was.

“May I take your clothes, gentlemen?” she said.

The house had been very quiet a few days ago, but now it was filled with noise. From along the passageway came the sounds of laughter and talking, the beat of a heavy drum seeming to shake the whole building to its foundations. A strange sweet smell filled the air, which was cloudy with faint trails of differently coloured smoke. There could be no doubt that this was one of Zuntermein’s social gatherings. The number of guests could be judged by the way that the clothes stand was so heavily laden. Even the floor was piled with all kinds of garments, and not merely cloaks.

Konrad had removed his jerkin and handed it to the servant, who casually threw it onto the ground. Then he noticed that Taungar had not stopped once his coat was off. He continued discarding his clothes.

“Everything,” he said, gesturing for Konrad to strip off.

He was naked by now, except for the jewellery which he must always have worn, even beneath his uniform. There were two silver bracelets above his elbows, with an intricate insignia repeatedly etched into their surfaces, and from the gold chain around his neck hung a pendant wrought into the same shape. It was a circle with what could almost be the hilt of a sword projecting to the upper right, its pommel a smaller circle. Konrad had encountered the emblem on pennants and banners carried by many of the legions whose diabolic warriors he had fought and killed on the frontier…

The servant girl handed Taungar a robe similar to the one that she wore. It was pastel blue, and he pulled it over his head. “Come on,” he told Konrad, “don’t be shy!”

The reason Konrad was reluctant to undress was because it would mean surrendering the dagger he had hidden in his right boot—and also the one tucked inside the waistband of his trousers.

He was almost certain that Zuntermein had lured him here under false pretences. The likelihood that Elyssa would be in this mansion tonight was extremely remote. But if she was, what Konrad must do was obvious: escape with her. How that could be achieved was less obvious as yet, but weapons were surely essential.

And if Elyssa were here, it could only be by permission of Skull-face—who would probably also be present.

Konrad had tried not to consider this possibility until now, because the image of Skullface still chilled him to the very bone. Konrad had witnessed many dreadful sights the day that his village had been destroyed by the rapacious horde of mutant marauders, but the vision of the skeletal figure of Skullface, walking unharmed through the flames of the Kastring manor house, had been the most frightening of all.

In the years since then, Konrad had observed many far more appalling feats of endurance. He had seen creatures so badly hacked apart that they could only crawl on the gory stumps of their legs or tentacles, but still they refused to die; he had seen severed limbs take on lives of their own, becoming new recruits to the enemy swarms; he had seen the dead rise and return to battle against the living, although they were infested by worms and maggots, and rotting flesh fell off their bones as they shambled into the fray.

Yet despite all this, Konrad was still haunted by the memory of Skullface. He had often been scared by what he saw and encountered. Fear gave a warrior a certain edge in combat, sharpening his senses and perceptions. The feral invaders seemed to know neither fear nor terror, but that was because they were immune to such human feelings. They were never scared, and they were never brave. All they seemed to live for was to fight and to die, to kill and be killed. Often it seemed it did not matter who suffered so long as the battle produced victims. Ally or enemy, the invaders would kill either without favour, and they did not even care if it was they themselves who were slaughtered.

Konrad would rather face a whole legion of such berserkers than encounter Skullface once more…

Elyssa had been the most important person in his life. Without her, he would have been nothing. Without her, he would probably have been dead—because he would not have escaped when the whole village was massacred. Skullface was the most terrifying being he had ever seen. To imagine Elyssa being his hostage for so long was almost too repulsive to contemplate.

It was also because of Elyssa’s captor that Konrad was carrying the two hidden knives. He had little hope of using the blades effectively, but he must make the attempt. If Skullface could survive an arrow in the heart, a knife thrust would be as harmless as a flea bite to a dragon.

There was no alternative except to do as Taungar instructed. Konrad removed his clothes, slipping the second dagger into his left boot, exchanging his garments for a long silk robe. His was vivid yellow, and—as with Taungar and the servant girl—it was tailored so that the right side of his chest was bared. He felt a fool dressed in such a way, but that was of no consequence. What he had said to Zuntermein three nights ago was the truth: for Elyssa, he would do anything.

Tonight the candles in the chandeliers were red, casting a spectral hue across the corridor as the girl led them along. The tapestries and paintings on the panelled walls were also different from before. Instead of the triumphs of Sigmar, mankind’s greatest hero, they displayed the obscene depths to which humanity could descend.

Konrad had never seen so many repulsive images, hardly believed that such vile perversions could ever have been considered let alone performed. Men, women, animals, all indulging in the most corrupt of fornications, each depraved scene was more disgusting than the previous one. The pictures seemed to illustrate the manner in which the repulsive race known as beastmen had been created, that they were indeed the bastard offspring of the debauched matings between the human and the inhuman, between man and beast, and beast and woman.

“Rolf! Konrad! So delighted that you accepted my invitation.”

It was Zuntermein, but Konrad hardly recognised him. He was wearing a flimsy saffron robe, and his right breast was bare. It was a female breast. There could be no doubt that the rest of him was male, however, even though his lips had been rouged, and the broken veins on his cheeks were similarly hidden. Long earrings dangled from each lobe, their pattern the same as Taungar’s pendant. Fat and gaudy, his grey hair covered by a yellow wig, he was a parody of the slender servant girl. She remained in the room, closing the door behind her.

Zuntermein hugged Taungar and kissed both his cheeks. Konrad stepped back, out of reach, and quickly surveyed the room.

“Now we are six,” said Zuntermein, and he waved his arm to encompass the other occupants. “Six times six.” The rings on his fingers sparkled in the candlelight, and wine slopped over the rim of his crystal glass.

“Is she here?” asked Konrad.

“Have patience, my dear boy. The night is yet young. Let us eat, let us drink, let us make merry. And if you’re good, if you’re very good, then…” Zuntermein smiled and turned away, his arm still around Taungar’s shoulder.

Everyone in the room was clad in the same type of garment, but the different colours were hard to distinguish in the scarlet light. There seemed to be equal numbers of men and women, although they were also difficult to distinguish.

The young servant who had given him the spiced wine on his previous visit offered him an ornate goblet from a laden tray. Konrad could still not decide whether the servant was male or female. The right breast was bare, and was male. But the blue hair was long and curled, the face powdered and rouged. Konrad was about to refuse the drink, then decided it would be best if he appeared to join in the festivities. He accepted the goblet and tilted it to his lips, but kept his mouth closed and drank none of the contents.

This was the same room he had been in before, but it was no longer recognizable. The elegant furniture had gone, replaced by satin cushions which covered the floor, while long velvet drapes hung across the walls. The pounding sound came from a pair of drums which were being played bare-handed by a huge bald man. In the corner with him sat a small woman who plucked at the strings of her harp. The instrument seemed ill-suited to such raucous accompaniment, and yet the rhythm of the strange duet was hypnotically powerful.

There were sounds, there were scents, there were sights. Without indulging in what was on offer, Konrad’s senses were almost overwhelmed by what was happening all around him. The air was thick with the fragrance of various exotic substances. He recognized weirdroot, and there were many more other forbidden aromas in the room. He began to feel intoxicated simply by breathing in the atmosphere.

Everyone else seemed to be talking or laughing, dancing or kissing, while he remained but an observer. He moved around the room to make his lack of participation less apparent, pretending to drink. He did not even need to taste what the goblet contained to know how strong it was, the heady bouquet told him that.

Meanwhile, the sounds became louder, the scents became stronger, the sights became more indecent.

“Konrad!” said one of the inebriated revellers, slapping him on the back. “This is the life, hey!”

He stared at the grinning face a few inches in front of his, a face that seemed familiar. He tried to imagine it beneath an Imperial guard helmet—and he recognized Captain Holwald, the officer in charge of raising the Imperial standards above the palace every morning. Konrad wondered how many others from the Imperial guard were here.

“Yes, sir,” he agreed, “it is.”

“Sir? Sir!” Holwald laughed, and wine dribbled down his beard. “We’re all equals here, Konrad. Call me Manfred. But what’s your first name, Konrad?”

“That is my first name. And my second name. It’s my only name.”

“This is Sybille,” said Holwald, gesturing to the woman by his side. “Say hello to Konrad. Konrad, Sybille.”

Tall and fair and definitely female, her bare breast was tattooed with the same runic device that everyone except Konrad wore. She was nowhere near as intoxicated as her companion. After looking Konrad up and down with undisguised admiration, her eyes met his and she smiled.

“Get me another drink, Manfred,” she said, not looking at her escort.

Holwald staggered away, and Sybille moved closer to Konrad. “Werner knows how to throw a good party,” she said.

Konrad nodded. A party—that was exactly what this was. The occasion was rapidly developing into an evening of decadence, what passed for a bizarre orgy amongst the rich and bored inhabitants of the capital, but it had nothing to do with Chaos. They were simply indulging their own baser instincts, taking whatever hedonistic pleasures were available tonight, because later they would have to put their clothes on again and return to their normal respectable roles within Altdorf society.

What else could he have expected? He raised the goblet to his lips and this time he took a drink. The liquid was thick and creamy, as potent as he had guessed, and its minty taste warmed his mouth and throat as he swallowed.

“Have you tried these?” asked Sybille, taking his hand and guiding him across the room. “They’re delicious. I must ask Werner’s chef for the recipe.” She gestured to the silver tray on the table, scooping a handful of the contents into her mouth.

“No thanks,” said Konrad, recognizing the dish.

Its main ingredient was a type of mushroom which certain troops on the frontier eagerly consumed before going into combat, claiming the substance rendered them immune to wounds. Perhaps it did, because few who ate such a meal were ever wounded; they were usually killed. The mushrooms altered their perceptions, some argued, heightening their awareness of danger. Konrad believed that the opposite was true: their senses were so dulled that they did not care whether they were killed or not. It must almost have been like being a beastman.

“You don’t seem very relaxed, Konrad,” said Sybille, who had not released her grip on him.

She was extremely good looking, despite her green hair, and Konrad recognized that under different circumstances he might have been attracted to her. Sybille must have noticed the way he was watching her, because she suddenly leaned forward and kissed him. Konrad felt the warmth of her naked breast against his own bare flesh, and he did not resist—not until a few seconds later, when she tried to feed him some of the mushrooms from her mouth to his…

He drew back, taking another sip of wine. He held the goblet between them, as if it were a shield and Sybille an enemy to be held at bay.

“Give me some of your wine,” she said, and he offered her his goblet. “Not like that.” She pushed it back towards him. “You drink first. I want to taste it from your lips.”

He shook his head and finally freed his hand from hers, not wanting even to touch her.

“You’re amongst friends here,” said Sybille. “We’re all friends.” She glanced around. “Why don’t we join the festivities?”

Konrad noticed that he and Sybille were almost the only ones still standing. By now, there was near silence in the room and everyone else was otherwise engaged. It did not matter who with, or how many of them. The drummer and the harpist were no longer playing their instruments, they were doing something quite different together; the third servant was involved with someone else of equally indeterminate sex; Taungar was proving that the pink-haired servant girl could do more than lead guests through the mansion; even Captain Holwald had found himself other partners in the brief time he had been away from Sybille. But there was no sign of Zuntermein, who should have been easy to locate. His absence made Konrad feel uneasy.

Sybille’s hands began to rove across Konrad’s body, and he pushed her away, gently at first, then more forcefully. She shrugged and turned around, and it did not take her long to discover a welcome elsewhere.

Wizard or not, it was time to find Zuntermein and confront him. Konrad started across the room, to where the door was hidden behind the velvet draperies.

That was when the curtain at the other side of the room fell away. A wall had stood there on Konrad’s first visit, but now that had gone and the hidden chamber beyond was revealed.

There was Zuntermein. He stood upon a raised platform in front of a giant effigy of his perverted god, and with him was a girl, helpless and naked.

She was not Elyssa.

Elyssa had been tall and slim and long-legged, and this girl was not. Elyssa’s long hair had been thick and straight and jet black, but hers was short and blonde, fine and wavy. Elyssa’s face had been oval, whereas hers was round. Elyssa’s nose was firm and straight, not small and upturned. Elyssa’s eyes had been the blackest of black, the pupil and iris almost as one, not soft brown.

She was not Elyssa.

She was Krysten!

 

A moment later, before Konrad could react to the tableau which had suddenly opened up before him, he was seized from behind by several strong arms which held him rigid and immobile.

The huge idol was half male, half female; the left side of its humanoid body displayed masculine attributes, while the right side showed its feminine physique. Two pairs of horns rose out of its skull, protruding from its long golden hair. Clad in pale velvet, over which was worn a shirt of chain mail, the figure carried a jade sceptre in its right hand and a small dagger in its left.

“Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh!”

Konrad gazed up at the monstrous effigy, almost mesmerized by its different aspects—it was repulsively ugly, yet paradoxically beautiful.

“Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh!”

All of those who had been indulging their orgiastic lusts only seconds previously had now risen to their knees, and they chanted out the two syllables of their revered lord’s name, making it into a profane prayer. It was they who composed the sacrilegious congregation; this was their blasphemous church; Zuntermein was their heathen priest.

The wizard was still wearing the same garment, but he no longer looked ridiculous. He had been transformed into a tribal shaman, dressed in his sacred robes. His ornaments had become talismanic emblems, his facial decorations were now warpaint, his wig was the same colour as his master’s golden mane and a symbol of his ritual authority.

“Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh!”

Slaanesh…

One of the most powerful of the Chaos pantheon, Slaanesh was the lord of pleasure, the god of hedonism and carnal lust.

“Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh!”

Konrad knew the name, and now he remembered the symbol of the bisexual deity was composed from a union of the ancient sign for a male and that for a female: a circle with an arrow pointing to the upper right, a circle with a cross rising above it. That was the motif which all the worshippers wore as jewellery or carried permanently as tattoos.

“Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh!”

The altar to the god of decadence and depravity towered over Zuntermein and loomed menacingly above his defenceless hostage.

Krysten stood with her head bowed, facing the chanting crowd. There was a chain around her neck, and Zuntermein held the other end as if she were some kind of wild animal that he had tamed.

“Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh!”

Zuntermein raised his other hand, and the chanting ceased.

“I have kept my promise,” he said, staring down at Konrad. “I knew how disappointed you would be if I hadn’t.”

Konrad had believed that Krysten was dead, just as he had thought Elyssa had died five years before her, five years to the very day; he had thought both had been slain on Sigmarzeit, the first day of summer. But it had been Elyssa he had hoped he might see tonight. Now he knew that they both lived—for a while…

“I observed that you didn’t seem to have been enjoying our hospitality.” Zuntermein spoke as though he and Konrad were totally alone and simply making conversation. “Perhaps there was nothing we had to offer which was to your liking. I can understand that. We all have different tastes, some more refined than others. But we do like to provide our guests with whatever pleasure they most desire. You have no excuse now, Konrad. We have the very thing to tempt you.”

At the sound of Konrad’s name, Krysten moved for the first time. She raised her head slightly and looked in front of her. When she saw Konrad, her eyes widened, and she took a step forward. That was as far as she could go, because the chain kept her back. She held out her arms towards him.

“Konrad,” she whispered. “Konrad,” she begged. “Konrad…”

“Let her go!” yelled Konrad, and for the first time he began to struggle against the arms which gripped his limbs and neck. He could hardly move, it was almost as if his whole body were in chains. His captors were experts in restraint. Taungar was one of them, Holwald another.

“Don’t be so foolish,” replied Zuntermein. “I have gone to a lot of trouble on your behalf, Konrad. You should be very appreciative, although I suppose gratitude is too much to expect. But aren’t you pleased to see your ladyfriend again?”

“Are you all right?” said Konrad, speaking to Krysten instead of answering the sorcerer priest. He knew that was also a foolish thing to say but he could think of nothing else.

Krysten shook her head, in confusion rather than in reply.

“I thought,” she said, “I thought…” Silent tears dripped down her cheeks as she gazed at Konrad, and she wiped her face with her fingertips.

“Let her go!” he shouted again. That was all that he wanted, he realized, and so it was not a foolish demand.

“I can imagine how overjoyed you are to find your beautiful friend is safe, Konrad. You have not seen her for a long while, I believe? That means you have so much lost time to make up. It will be wonderful to kiss her again, to hold her. Think how much pleasure you will both have. To thank us for bringing you together, I think you ought to show us exactly how much you have missed her.”

Konrad stared up at him, knowing exactly what the wizard meant. He was expecting them to behave in the uninhibited manner that everyone else had been doing a few minutes ago. Konrad had vowed to do anything to save Elyssa, and the same was true for Krysten. He would obey every command the sorcerer gave him— yet he was well aware that no matter how he and Krysten might abase themselves, Zuntermein did not intend allowing them to live to see another dawn.

Konrad lowered his gaze and nodded his head. “Whatever you say,” he said quietly.

“I knew you would see things my way,” said Zuntermein. “Bring him up here.”

As Konrad was manhandled towards the steps which led up to the dais he remembered that while he had been a prisoner of Kastring’s raiding band, they had captured a small group of marauders whose misfortune it was to honour another deity. Konrad’s hosts were adherents of Khorne; the others obeyed Slaanesh. The followers of the god of blood and those who bowed down to the god of pleasure were the greatest of enemies, so implicitly opposed were they in the extremes of their beliefs.

Kastring had prepared a very special death for the Slaaneshi cultists, ensuring that they died far more slowly and much more painfully than any other of the sacrifices his acolytes so regularly made to the huntsman of souls. The worshippers of the two powers hated and despised each other—and the gods themselves were forever in conflict, two rival deities battling for superiority within the realms of Chaos.

Zuntermein had difficulty in pulling Krysten away to the far side of the altar. She had slipped her hands between the chain and her neck so that the metal links did not bite into her throat. It took three pairs of arms to keep Konrad at the other edge of the shrine.

“Hold her,” Zuntermein ordered, and one of those restraining Konrad released his grip and went to take the end of Krysten’s chain.

“Are you sincere?” said the magician, walking slowly towards Konrad. “Are you really going to demonstrate your affection for her… for us?”

The one idea in Konrad’s head had been of how to kill Zuntermein, and now he tried desperately to think of something else—to imagine that he and Krysten were obeying the wizard’s perverted demands.

Zuntermein put his hand on Konrad’s bare chest, and the touch was like ice. He felt the warmth of his body draining away but that was not important. What mattered was what the sorcerer was stealing from his mind.

“You should not have tried to deceive me,” sighed Zuntermein, stepping back. “As for wishing me harm…” He shook his head sadly. “What a shame. When we first met, I hoped that we could be such good friends. Alas, it was not to be. So if you will not do what is required—”

“No!” yelled Konrad.

“Yes,” smiled Zuntermein.

Konrad began to struggle again. There were only two of them holding him now, but he felt much weaker, as though the wizard’s freezing touch had also depleted his strength.

He watched helplessly as Zuntermein strolled back across the dais towards Krysten. Krysten tried to evade him, but the man holding the metal leash would not allow her to back away. She struck out at the wizard, but he ignored the blows and reached forward to stroke the side of her face. At his touch, her frantic movements slowed. Her arms were still in motion, but at a fraction of the previous rate.

Zuntermein looked at Konrad. “There is pleasure in pleasure,” he said. “And there is pleasure—”

He reached up to the huge effigy’s left hand and took the blade from its grip. The knife no longer looked so small in the wizard’s hand, because it had been made for a human. It was an Imperial guard dagger, and Konrad knew it must have been one of those he had brought here.

“In pain!”

“No!” Konrad’s cry was a tortured scream.

“Slaanesh. Slaanesh.” The audience took up the name of their foul deity again, softly at first, then building up to an even greater crescendo than before. “Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh!! Slaanesh!! Slaanesh!! Slaanesh!!!”

Zuntermein stepped towards Krysten, whose arms were still slowly trying to fend him off. He nodded to the other man, who removed the chain from her neck and stepped aside. The wizard priest leaned towards the girl, and he whispered in her ear. Then he kissed both her cheeks—and gave her the knife…

“Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh!”

For a moment Konrad did not realize what was happening. He had expected Zuntermein to use the blade upon Krysten’s naked body, to begin slowly torturing her. Instead, Krysten now had the dagger. Her eyes gazed at Konrad, her empty eyes, her possessed eyes, and slowly she walked towards him, raising the knife as she did so.

She was under Zuntermein’s command, and the wizard’s command must have been to slay Konrad!

“Krysten!” he yelled. “Krysten!”

But he knew that his shouts would not be enough to break the hypnotic spell which had captured the girl. He renewed his attempts to break free, but he was as powerless as Krysten. They were both Zuntermein’s hostages. Konrad’s body was no longer his own, while Krysten’s mind belonged to the witch priest.

“Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh!”

Krysten moved closer to Konrad, every slow step bringing his death nearer. There could be no death more cruel than to be executed by a lover.

This was why he had been drawn here, he realized: so that he could be slain, sacrificed to the lord of pleasure.

“Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh!”

The girl halted a yard away from him, the point of her blade half that distance from his throat. Her staring eyes were focused beyond him, her face was without expression.

“Krysten!” he shouted again.

She blinked, and the hand which was holding the knife trembled.

She whispered something, and Konrad thought that it was his name, but the word was lost in the depraved ritual chanting.

“Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh! Slaanesh!”

“Krysten!”

Then suddenly she regained full control of herself. Her limbs lost their rigidity, and for a moment she smiled. She repeated what she had said, but far louder, screaming out the word—and simultaneously thrusting the knife towards Konrad’s chest.

“KHORNE!”