03 - Sword of Vengeance by Chris Wraight - (ebook by Undead)

“Maybe the
safest place to talk in the city.”
    Tochfel nodded. “Good. I’m glad my message got to you.”
    “Your concerns and mine may be similar.”
    “Maybe. How are things with the elector?”
    Verstohlen shrugged.
    “I see less of him every day. I suspect my services are no
longer of much use.”
    “But how does he seem to you?”
    “His mood changes. Some days, I see the qualities I saw in
him when Schwarzhelm and I first arrived. On others, things are less… clear
cut.”
    Tochfel nodded. “That’s right. That’s what others say. It’s
harder to get to him. I’ve not spoken with him for days. He’s becoming erratic.”
    Verstohlen felt a qualm of recognition. That’s what they’d
said about Schwarzhelm. Was there something corrupting about the city? He
immediately thought of Natassja. The witch had still not been found.
    “So what are you saying to me, Steward?” asked Verstohlen. “I
can’t believe you’ve come here to moan about your master’s moods.”
    Tochfel’s hands fidgeted on his knees. By the glow of the
hearth, his face looked distorted.
    “Something’s wrong here, Herr Verstohlen,” he said, his voice
audibly shaking. “I tried to warn you of it before Grosslich’s coronation. No
one’s seen Ferenc Alptraum since the battle for the city. No one’s seen
Achendorfer. There are other disappearances.”
    “Such things are normal when power shifts,” said Verstohlen,
watching Tochfel carefully, looking for the signs of dishonesty. The Steward was
not a master player of the game, but he could still have been subverted.
    Tochfel looked hurt. “I may not have your skill in such
matters,” he said, “but I’m not entirely naive. Do you know how many men have
been burned at the stake? Two hundred. They’re not all done in public.
I’ve seen the lists. That’s beyond reason.”
    “Are there trials?”
    “Supposedly.” Tochfel snorted. “The witch hunter Heidegger
has his talons into everything. He even wants my own aides dragged to the stake.
None of us are safe.”
    At the mention of witch hunters, Verstohlen had to work to
suppress a grunt of contempt. The cult members who’d taken Leonora had been
Templars of Sigmar. He regarded even the uncorrupted ones as little better than
butchers and sadists, and the fact he was frequently mistaken for one of them
was a considerable irritation.
    Tochfel leaned forwards, his fingers twitching with
agitation. “Can’t you see it?” he implored. “We’ve picked the wrong man.”
    Verstohlen shook his head. “Impossible. I saw Leitdorf’s
corruption for myself.”
    “Now who’s being naive, counsellor? So much has turned on
that, and yet you always say that the great enemy is ever more cunning than it
seems. Could you not have been allowed to see what you did?”
    Verstohlen froze.
    “Natassja’s still not been found,” he said. “She may be in
the city. Her powers are formidable, and while she lives none of us should feel
safe.”
    Tochfel let slip a bitter laugh. “You’re obsessed with
Natassja. Can’t you see that Grosslich is the enemy? He’s duped us all.
You’ve seen that monstrosity he’s building in the poor quarter. What sane man
builds a tower of iron?”
    Verstohlen didn’t reply. The more Tochfel spoke, the more
anxiety started to crowd around him. He’d been so sure. He’d convinced
everyone of Leitdorf’s guilt. Even Schwarzhelm.
    For that matter, where was Schwarzhelm? Why hadn’t
there been any word from Altdorf? Why hadn’t there been word of anything from
outside the province?
    “I won’t deny there’s something wrong here,” he said, “but
Natassja is the witch, and she’s Leitdorf’s woman. We need to find her, and her
whelp of a husband.”
    “What can I do to prove it to you?” asked Tochfel, sounding
miserable. “You won’t accept the evidence of your eyes. No one will. I feel like
I’m the only man left who can see it.”
    “I’ll speak to Grosslich,” said