The Witch Hunters, Book 1: The Prophet of Ash

They reached the people of Eichen long before they reached the walls of the ancient city. The populace fled the necropolis in wagons, on horseback, or by foot: the old and young, the rich and the poor rubbed shoulders awkwardly along the road. Those at the front of the winding, ragged column were anxious and afraid at the approach at the small party of strange riders. Siegfried checked his mount and stopped to speak with them. Relief was visible on the faces of the foremost refugees. Word of mouth quickly passed it back down the disorganized column.

Eisengrim had no time for this. “Tell them to keep moving. Our presence does not make these people any safer, Siegfried. Instruct them to find north and head to the Capital. Do they know who the King sent?”

“The Duke of Horitz,” Siegfried relayed after a moment’s enquiry.

“Thank God,” sighed Dietrich. “Armin should know what to do.”

“Don’t count on it,” the old bull told him, keeping his voice as low as he could. The refugees didn’t need to hear his pessimism. “He has not seen what we have.” The old bull turned then to the prince. “Siegfried, come along. Haste is needed here.”

They set off again, single file at the edge of the road as they rode against the tide of refugees. Slowly, the moon crept into the sky above them from where it had been hiding behind the trees.

“Do we have a plan?” Klara asked as they rested the horses for a few minutes. It would be very late when they finally arrived in the city. Eisengrim’s frustration at being outmanoeuvred by his quarry at this stage was obvious to all.

The old bull said nothing. He was pacing along the side of the road. He could feel them all watching him and knew they were waiting for him to speak. He remained silent, his thoughts a whirlwind. Events had slipped out of his control, and now it seemed more lives than ever were under threat. The bodies they had left in their wake back at the farm, the abandoned house in the woods, and then near the river surfaced then in the dark, joined by the survivors slain by the very creature they had followed. Life meant nothing to their foe, and now here they were, heading towards a settlement of thousands. Their quarry had beaten them to the city and was now ensconced somewhere among those who had not evacuated.

The road was choked with people, and that was something to be thankful for, but how many still remained in Eichen? Siegfried had spoken of the Ashen cult that had nearly murdered him in the underground ruins of the old Elven temple. These people would have welcomed Volkard’s return as much as they’d welcomed his first arrival. They would fight to defend him as well, since they seemed to behold him as some kind of prophet. It made sense that the black bull would come here seeking sanctuary. Eisengrim had overheard the people they had passed mention dead guards. What kind of hell was Volkard building up now on the other side of the walls, amid all those empty, ruined buildings? God only knew what was happening in Eichen right now, and here he was, forced to wait until the horses could carry them further!

Calm yourself, the old bull thought then, his pace slackening and then ceasing entirely. It was not his voice he heard then, but that of his master, long dead. Accept what cannot be changed. Stop. Breath. Consider. God reigns. We serve.

Eisengrim closed his eyes, letting his arms fall to his sides. He forgot Volkard. He forgot Martin Bauer and his meddling father. He took in a long, slow breath and he forgot Klara and Dietrich. When he exhaled he forgot Gerda and Theo. As he inhaled, Siegfried and his unfaithful uncle were gone, too. He exhaled, and his fears began to slip away. Inhale. Exhale. This was what he been trained for. This was the very threat he had trained to face.

Even in the waking nightmare that had followed the Last Day, the lore of those times mentioned nothing like Volkard. Even so, it was in anticipation of a fiend such as he that the Order had been created in the first place. The black bull had lived and matured with his power, and now he wielded it in ways the scholars of the hunters’ lore could never have imagined. God only knew what this beast was capable of. God alone knew the damage he might yet do if not destroyed. The stakes involved were stark and frightening. Eisengrim felt ill just considering them, and yet he could not turn away from this fear. It forced him to pause, to think. Volkard might bury himself underground with the Ashen, but he was far from trapped. At any moment he could butcher every living thing in the city, and probably would if he felt it necessary. How could this be prevented? What strategy might prevent a plague’s cost in the space of an hour?

“Eisengrim.”

The old bull paused. It was Dietrich who stood beside him. He glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes widened a little in surprise as he barely noticed the others readying their mounts again. How long had he been lost in this malaise?

“Are you alright?” asked the Deathless.

The Hammer could only shrug.

Dietrich took a hold of his arm, and led him a few steps off of the road, into the dark and silent woods.

“What is it, Eisengrim?”

“It’s nothing, Dietrich.”

“My God you’re a bad liar.”

The bull rolled his eyes, glancing up at the canopy of the fir trees they stood beneath. He stepped away from Dietrich, who let him go and did not follow.

“If you can’t tell me,” the human said. “Who can you tell?”

“I am old, Dietrich,” Eisengrim replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m old, and I feel useless.”

“That’s not true, cow, and you know it.”

“I’m afraid of what will happen tomorrow.”

“We all are, Eisengrim. Any that say they aren’t are either liars or mad.”

The old bull nodded, not really hearing his friend then. For a brief second he was not really there at all. He was the young bull that walked the mountain paths alone where he met his master, half dead in a snow drift. He was in his twenties again, waiting for pale, nervous Dietrich to be presented to him as his first apprentice. He was standing on that wooded hill, and the Abbess Hildrun was holding his hand…

A worried hand grasped his shoulder then. Eisengrim returned to the now, and sighed.

“There is so much that can go wrong here,” the Hammer said then, glancing around at the silent, black trees. “There are so many lives at stake. This is more than a few huts out in the middle of nowhere. This is more than a child that lost their mind and lashed out before they could understand. It’s…humbling, Dietrich.”

“Luckily for us, you’re a humble man, Eisengrim.”

“Am I?” the old bull asked, turning a sceptical eye to his friend.

“Aye,” Dietrich said with a nod and a smile. “We all respect you. You’ve done more than any of us, and you never brag about it. You’re what we all try to be. You’re what I always wanted to be. Great, but modest.”

“There’s a certain pride to be found in humility, Dietrich. You’re old enough to know better.”

They were quiet for a moment. Eisengrim returned to the grim possibilities of the night and day ahead. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Dietrich filling his pipe as he leaned against a tree. He thought about Gerda, and Klara, and the others that had come under his wing. They all had special places in his heart, but these three were his pride. They had all been afraid when they first came to him. He had watched them all grow, becoming the people that they were now, for better or worse. There was a pride in that he would never turn away from, and yet it was now also a source of great trepidation to the old bull. He could not protect them any longer, not before the likes of Volkard. He had taught them all he knew, but would it be enough?

A call from the road reached them. It was Theo. The young minotaur, proclivities aside, was a fine lad really, and Dietrich’s own pride. It seemed that their horses were rested, fed and ready to go. Eisengrim saw the pale man smile at the calling of his second but favourite apprentice.

“It’s a pity he wants to leave,” the old bull said, coming up to stand by his friend.

“Yes, but what can you do? When I…did what I had to do, I wanted to quit too.”

“I still dream about mine,” Eisengrim confessed then, in a tired whisper. “They are not pleasant experiences, but I don’t want them to be. Killing should never be.”

“Me too.”

They set off for the road again, emerging out of the woods and walking along the now quiet, empty road. Eisengrim glanced down the road in the direction of Eichen. He hoped they had encountered their last cart for the night. It slowed them down, but also left the old bull worrying about whether or not those fleeing before him might make it to safety before the world started dying around them. He sighed, and accepted yet another thing he could not control. God reigns. That said, there was something he could do.

“When this is over,” Eisengrim announced to his companion. “Whatever the result, we must proceed to the Dead Lands. Volkard knew where to find Martin Bauer, and another prospective witch back in Anderswo. I think he learned this talent out there, in the land of the Elves.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know, Dietrich. But I’m going to find out.”

*

Eichen’s gatehouse was inhabited when they reached it, after having ridden on a now deserted road for more than half an hour. The handful of men who remained there to guard the entrance let them instantly after they showed their credentials in the torchlight. One of the guards offered his services as a guide with some obvious reluctance. To his great relief, Siegfried knew the way.

It was eerie sweeping through the dark, dead streets. Shadowy, skeletal structures rose up and slipped past them. Even the slightest noise seemed to echo, reverberating everywhere, announcing their presence to this still, fallen world. Eisengrim wanted to speak, to give encouragement to his fellow hunters as they neared the end of their journey, but something he could not define bade him hold his tongue. He felt as if he were somewhere he had no business being, and that anything beyond what he was about might draw the attention of something terrible. There was an edge to the cold air he had never felt before. Never before in his life had such a stark awareness of death gripped him.

They finally encountered more people at the palisade of the inner city. Men-at-arms and a number of archers let them in before returning their attention back towards the dim, abandoned streets. Fires burned within the encampment beyond. The contingent the King had sent was mostly of men, who preferred the valleys and the coast of the Kingdom. Eisengrim sighed. What he would not give just then for the bulls of the Sanctum to be at his back right now…

The duke was still awake in his temporary headquarters when they were announced. Armin was pale, and looked nearly as old as Eisengrim had been feeling lately. Greetings were warm.

“Your colleagues never said anything about you all coming,” the duke mentioned in passing, his rugged face beaming with relief. “This is such a stroke of good fortune!”

Siegfried went visibly pale. Gerda swore, but the duke did not hear her. Everyone else was silent. Eisengrim took control. Where might their colleagues be?

“I believe they’re resting at the inn,” the duke answered.

“Theo, find them. Make sure they stay where they are. I’ll want to brief them when we’re done here.”

The young bull nodded and took an earnest leave. At the duke’s behest they were all seated before his desk.

“Tell us everything,” Eisengrim said, then. “We must have a plan ready before daybreak.”

“Of course, Eisengrim! Have you any ideas?”

The old bull was quiet. Sitting down still had been a mistake. Finally at ease, he could feel what little strength he had slipping out of him as he rested in the duke’s comfortable chair. He tried not to think about when he last slept, and then struggled to order his thoughts.

“I might have one,” offered the prince, saving him.

The duke looked politely at Siegfried, and nodded.

“Please tell us, Your Grace,” Eisengrim said, offering a smile that he hoped appeared encouraging. He looked at the young man who was chosen before him. He wanted to feel something good as he smiled, and nodded. As much as he hated to admit it, the new Master of the Order was better suited to his post than Eisengrim would have expected. He was curious, earnest, and brave. If only he could have been prodded into acting the Master sooner.

Enough now, you old fool. Listen. Do not speak. There can be wisdom in silence. Let the boy have his moment. He may not have many more coming to him. None of us might.