The Wewelsburg
Beltane, RY154
The next three weeks were a whirl of activity. Once we had delivered Sigiswald safely to the deepest cell under the Wewelsburg - the one which had been home to his father for so many years, and indeed, where he had been conceived - I personally went into his head and ripped out his memories. Friends. Allies. Enemies. Those who had helped him against me. It was an almost trivial matter to learn what I required, given the disparity between us in strength of will, and if he hadn't wantonly and willingly tried to kill me, I might have even felt a twinge of remorse as such an uneven confrontation.
But he had, and so I enjoyed wreaking my revenge by breaking his mind.
Of course, my actions had two potential benefits. First, the obvious one of learning information. However, the second played into the plans I had for him for Beltane. I had every intention of weakening his mind and then dominating it, such that when push came to shove, I wouldn't be the target of any Death Curse he might choose to unleash. I had a much more deserving target in mind for that. What I didn't have was the luxury of time, the way I had had when his father was my guest, and so I had to be rather more brutal in my handling of this prisoner.
The information I did glean from him was disturbing. He had, indeed, been a member of the Germanenorden, as I'd suspected, and the delightful Ms Engels had been the one who had recruited him into that misguided organisation. Of more concern was the fact that he'd been senior in their ranks for over ten years, albeit that for much of that time, our views hadn't been dissimilar. Indeed, the idea that I was a traitor to the Reich was relatively recent to his thinking: before that, he did truly believe, as I had intended, that I was his teacher and mentor, and the true flag bearer for the honour of the Fatherland. It had only been within the last three months, as it became more obvious that a peace with Sable might be signed, that his thoughts had turned to murder.
Most unsettling of all, however, was his knowledge of who many of the other senior members of the Germanenorden were: a Cabinet minister and a number of senior political and industrial figures topped the list, although more than fifty leading figures around Berlin were also included in their membership, as were over two hundred more across the Reich. There was also evidence that they had either elements, or at least sympathisers, on the Outside, as he was aware of at least two couriers who had come inbound from Sanguine and made contact with the Germanenorden higher ups. That latter issue I was going to have to discuss with Matthias Kapler, as Reichsprotektor of Sanguine, to see if he had any insight into the matter. Perhaps when he was Inside for Beltane.
Personally of most concern, however, was the fact that one of the leading Ahnenerbe geneticist was implicated in Sigiswald's...testimony. Once matters with the prisoner were concluded, I was also going to have to have words with Jaime Armin, who had been the Ahnenerbe's Chief of Genetic Medicine for many years, and was our foremost expert on the genetic makeup of the Talent. I did resolve to talk to him first, before deciding whether he, too, needed to die, as good help is so hard to find. However, I took the slight comfort in the fact that if the worst did come to the worst, at least I'd never made him a full Knight. Having to execute two of my brethren in short succession would be very bad for morale.
First, however, I could see that it was time for Berlin to experience a Night of the Long Knives.
Of course, killing a Cabinet minister - especially one who is also a member of the High Nobility - is a more tricky prospect than organising a general purge, and it seemed wiser to deal with that problem separately. After all, better for him to appear to die accidentally than as part of a more concerted action. However, Kessler, now returned to his usual rank with only wistful regrets, offered to deal with that problem for me. He had spent a long time as my trouble shooter in years gone by, but it was rare now, given his current duties, that he had a chance to keep his hand in at his more...specialised...skills, so he quite welcomed the chance.
For my part, I balanced my time between preparations to deal with Sigiswald's compatriots, and working on the prisoner himself. I also finally got to see signed version of the Treaty, where I was rather surprised to see some of the modifications we'd discussed on Cavazza enshrined in law, and my own signature neatly affixed at the bottom. Thankfully, Heydrich was happy to take point on the larger action, leaving me to deal with the more personal matters, and we set the date for April 20th. It seemed appropriate somehow. Admittedly, given that we had only given ourselves ten days to pull things off, it was an interesting logistics exercise, but Heydrich planned matters with the precision of a military exercise.
Which, of course it was.
The Reich Minister for Production and Logistics died tragically in an automobile accident on the 18th, and on the 20th, the Germanenorden ceased to be a coherent force within the Reich: for the immediate future, at least. No doubt there remained other extremist organisations within the Fatherland, who felt equally strongly about the Treaty, but the Germanenorden were by far the best funded and best organised, and so their destruction served the whole very well indeed. Wilhelm even had the decency to compliment Tristan, Jürgen and myself on the action at a private audience the following day, complete with the award of membership of the Order of the Red Eagle for the three of us, and I felt that perhaps finally, I was beginning to see the SS rehabilitated in his eyes.
The surviving Knights of the Winter Circle celebrated the following Saturday, the 26th, with a hunt on a Shadow I like to call The Preserve. It's a personal Shadow I have in roughly the same area as my Maui estate, which has some very specific properties. For example, the only place where powers of any kind work is at the gateway into the Hunting Grounds, with the exception of Jewel magic, which will always give me the opportunity to unlock the place in case of an emergency . After all, I can be reasonably confident that I will be the only person able to bring that particular ability to bear on any given visit.
I'd given the Jaegermeister specific instructions with regard to feeding the dogs beforehand, knowing that keeping them hungry would make them keener to go after their prey, and I was looking forward to a good afternoon's sport. And so it proved. After we had ridden down fox and stag, Engels led us a merry chase for a good hour before the dogs ripped her apart in front of the cage I'd strategically placed so that Sigiswald could watch the climax of the festivities. I met his eyes as he looked at the torn remains of his lover, and could see that the various actions I'd been taking against him over the course of the preceding couple of weeks were bearing fruit. His spirit was broken, and his mind wasn't far behind.
It was a close run thing, but I made the final breakthrough during the night of April 30th. I paid him one of my regular visits at around ten o'clock, and by twelve, he was gone. He surrendered to me body and soul, and I knew that I could guide his Death Curse against the object I intended, without fear that anything remained of his own subconscious view on the matter. When I took his Pattern the following evening, the power of his Curse would come with it.
I probably should have rested for the remainder of the night, but I wanted to be sure I had made all the appropriate preparations. Marin, as my Priestess, assisted with the process, and by the following morning we were as happy with what we had planned as we were going to be. I hoped she was up to the job: she'd been a Knight barely five months, and while she is very good at what she does, I did regret, neither for the first time nor the probably the last, the passing of Silke von Halle from the Brotherhood.
Being a weekday, Beltane was business as usual, if perhaps with a slightly higher than usual number of arrest and execution warrants on my desk. I also had the irritation of having to break off part way through the afternoon for my usual first of the month meeting with brother Robert to look forward to. I had considered cancelling tea in Sable, in light of the evening's planned exertions, but eventually decided that to do so would probably lead to more questions than I wanted to answer, given that I knew damned well that he wasn't going to like what I had planned, even if it was to our countries' mutual benefits. I suppose my frustrations and annoyances came out during the meeting - probably not helped by my lack of sleep - and it has to be said that as our tea parties go, it wasn't an unqualified success. I have obviously become too comfortable in his company, and that, combined with exhaustion, meant that I let slip more than I intended of my plans for the evening. With sadly predictable results.
As I beat a prudent retreat, I hoped that he would keep his righteous indignation to himself, rather than do anything stupid, like try to interrupt my plans. Once I returned to the Wewelsburg, however, I put him from my mind and caught a couple of hours of much needed shut-eye, to prepare me for the evening.
I woke at 7.20pm, feeling somewhat refreshed but still a little fuzzy in the head. I decided to allow myself a little chemical assistance in that regard, to sharpen me up and give me energy, and then put on my dress blacks for the first part of the evening. I clipped the sheath of my Honour Dagger to my belt, then headed out. Schultz fell in beside me as I left my quarters, dressed similarly.
"Are you alright, sir?"
"This afternoon's meeting with my brother left me with a nasty taste in my mouth," I replied.
"I must confess that it didn't seem to be one of your more cordial get togethers," he answered, cautiously, and I couldn't help cracking a wry smile.
"He can just be so frustrating at times, Rikart," I answered, with a sigh, "When the Hell is he going to remember what he is? It would make him so much more...sociable."
We walked into the Gruppenführersaal to see that the other ten Knights of the Winter Circle were already present. As I cast my eyes over their faces, there were grim expressions all around, with the exception of Conrad, who seemed to be regarding matters with amused interest, detached as always. Schultz took his place, and I indicated for the prisoner to be brought in. Karsten and Waldemar escorted him, half walking, half supporting him, and I could see that his eyes were blurred from the drugs in his system. He looked around slowly, taking in the men and woman who had been his colleagues, perhaps hoping for sympathy from any of them. Maybe he thought he might receive it from Conrad, who was the closest my Brotherhood had to a wild card, but he had obviously forgotten that our Party Chairman cares strongly for his Imperial brother.
"Brothers, sister...once again we come together in difficult circumstances," I began, "earlier this month one of our own turned against us. Turned against us, moreover, with an act of betrayal so heinous that its scope can barely be imagined. He plotted the death of our Kaiser, myself, another of your fellow Knights, a Companion of this Order, an Honorary Oberstgruppenführer of our regiment, and a worthy enemy. I am his accuser in this matter, Brother Rikart is my second, and he has been tried and convicted by an Honour Court of his peers. But because of the constitution of this Brotherhood, I must ask, are there any here who would speak in his defence?"
Silence.
"He is blood brother to some of you, as well as being a Brother of this Order, and cousin to others. Again I ask, are there any who would speak for him?"
Silence.
Across the table, I could see Sigiswald swaying slightly, obviously trying to speak, but his keepers made sure that he remained silent.
"I ask a final time. Will any of you speak in his defence?"
Silence.
"The opportunity has been given. It has been declined. Therefore, Brothers...Sister...you are free to pass judgement on the actions of Rutger Sigiswald, Brother of this Order."
"He is worthy of death," came the answering chorus.
"And who should give him that death?"
"It is our right."
"And your rights will be honoured. Rutger Sigiswald. You have been found guilty of Treason and other crimes by an Honour Court of your peers. Your Brothers judge you worthy of death. Is there anything you wish to say?"
As I spoke I met his gaze, and knew that he would remain silent, although he did manage to spit weakly in my direction. However, a slap across the mouth from Waldemar put paid to further demonstrations of that nature.
"Then let us adjourn to the Crypt and pay our respects to our fallen, before judgement is carried out."
We headed downstairs, made our remembrance to our fallen Kameraden, and then I crossed to the keystone and unlocked the staircase. I had debated whether to let Heinrike maintain her position as Sigiswald's guard, but when all was said and done, while she was a Knight, she was not of the Winter Circle, and this was Winter Circle business. So I had suggested to the Knights the previous Saturday that they choose between them who would act as keepers, and as I watched, slightly to my surprise, it was Jürgen and Conrad who stepped forward to take the prisoner from Karsten and Waldemar. It was fascinating to see the matching expressions on their faces, and for a fleeting moment, their blood relationship was obvious in both the way they looked, and the way they moved.
Marin descended first, then Tristan and Dominik, followed by the prisoner and his keepers. The other Knights then fell into step beside them, and as always, Rikart and I brought up the rear. Karsten and Waldemar would remain on guard in the Crypt. I closed and locked the staircase behind us, and we descended into the dark. Conrad and Jürgen were still helping Sigiswald into his robes as we arrived, but by the time Rikart and I had changed and declared ourselves to the wards, they were in the Chamber.
The room itself was bare. Stripped of all banners and decorations, save for a simple black cloth as an altar covering, on which was lying Sigiswald's Honour Dagger, unsheathed and gleaming dully in the candlelight. The others were all in position, Sigiswald still between his keepers, and once Rikart and I were present, we exchanged the ritual greetings and sealed the room. Only twelve of us would leave it alive.
Once the initial words had been exchanged, Jürgen moved to take position behind the prisoner, while Conrad moved forward and took the traitor's dagger. Again, I was surprised that he had volunteered to be principal in this: usually, he takes a back seat in the Brotherhood's rituals, as he is as much observer as member of our company. But obviously his attachment to Wilhelm, and therefore his desire to avenge the attempted murder of his brother, was at the forefront in his mind. Slowly and steadily, he began to shred the traitor's robes, and once they were little more than strips of material on the ground, he forced Sigiswald down onto the altar at knife point, no trace of mercy in his movements. At which point the others tied him firmly into place. The dagger, Conrad left on the small table beside the altar, containing the other ritual paraphernalia, before he returned to his place.
Then I drew my own dagger, and began the formal ritual. Marin and I had drawn on elements from a number of different rituals we had undertaken in the past, including the Good Friday Working, a standard Knight's initiation - albeit in reverse - and what I had done on Manira. The ritual itself had two parts: first, burning the Sable Pattern out of him, and collecting its energy as the foundation for what I wanted to do next, prompting his Curse in the process; and then to take his life, holding the additional energy released by the act of sacrificial murder, to give further power to his Curse. Marin had been concerned, to say the least, when I had shared some of my intentions with her, but she had agreed on principal, and as I Worked, I could feel that she was playing her part.
The last time I had done anything similar to the ritual I was now enacting, I had channelled the energy collected to my Brothers and bound it to them, as well as myself, such that they could release it later. However, as a result of my doing so, many of those whose demise hadn't been helped along by my least favourite nephew had cracked and broken when the Shadows gained by the Good Friday Working, were once again lost. With Johan Hartwin's death, a crazy and broken man, the previous July, Jürgen and I were the only ones left of that group. Opening my current Knights up to the same vulnerability was one of the mistakes I wasn't planning to make again. This time I would take it all upon myself.
To achieve the first stage, it was necessary to draw blood, and I began to carve the image of the Sable Pattern into the prisoner's chest. Blood began to well, and I heard him whimper in pain. Ignoring him, I brought the Pattern to mind, and then cut into my right palm, mingling my blood with his, and as I did so, I forced my Pattern into him, backed by some of my own inherent abilities as a Creator, and began to overload his imprint. Around me, I could hear the others chanting, making sure that the energy remained focused within their circle. I also felt the prisoner trying to block me, but with a flick of my mind there was snap his resistance was gone, and I could feel the power of his Pattern imprint flowing out of him, into me, through the blood link between us.
As it did, I prompted him to pronounce the Curse - hoping to Hell I hadn't fucked up with my planning, as this was the moment he could end me if I'd got this wrong, or if his mind had been stronger than I'd realised. But the words were the ones I had intended him to pronounce. I brought his Curse into myself, using the power of his imprint to cushion me from the effect and hold it in stasis, if you will, until I could deliver it for him, and then stepped back.
Conrad took my place, and once again took Sigiswald's dagger from the side table. And then, after saying the appropriate words of incantation, along with the required movements and gestures, he brought it down quickly and accurately into the prisoner's heart. As he did, the blade snapped at the hilt, and a burst of energy filled the room. I saw some of my compatriots stagger, and reached out to draw the energy into myself and give them relief, mentally thanking Conrad's son Jocelyn, the Aurellian God of Channelling, for the instruction in the subject he'd given me years before when we'd worked together. However, the effort was difficult, even for me, and I felt myself staggering under the metaphorical weight. Almost immediately, I felt a solid hand on my shoulder, steadying me, and noted Schultz's familiar form beside me.
"Master, are you alright?" he asked, his voice full of concern.
"I will be..." I replied quietly, then glanced over to the altar, "Conrad?"
As I looked at him, he seemed pale and drawn, and I wasn't certain that he wasn't going to be sick. But then, he hadn't never played such an active role since his initiation as a Knight at the Winter Solstice, back in 142.
"Justice is served," he said, quietly, leaning on his hands on the altar, avoiding Sigiswald's blood as he did so, and I revised my opinion. He looked like Hell.
"Marin, look after him," I commanded, then looked around at the other members of the Lodge, "see him safely to his quarters and give him what relief he needs. He has served us well this night."
And then I addressed the others.
"Brothers...Sister. It is done. The stain our former comrade laid on our company has been removed."
Within me, I could feel the energy I had gathered from the ritual, and knew that I had to act fast. I'd done some pretty stupid channelling tricks lately, especially on Manira where I'd effectively acted as a magical transformer, but I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that this one was by far the dumbest. I could feel the energy burning within me, fighting against my own, native Pattern imprint - which I hadn't expected - and I guessed that if I didn't get out of there soon, I'd be shape shifting uncontrollably to counteract the pain, and that would be very bad.
"Master?" asked Dominik.
"Our business is done here...but I have a further task tonight. Jürgen...by the precedent of our Group, responsibility falls to you with my departure. Please, close down the Working space and dispose of the body , and I will see you in the morning."
"Yes, Herr Reichsführer," he said, with a nod.
And with that, I pulled myself together, cleared myself through the wards. Schultz followed me out, but I turned and sent him back inside. I think he was going to argue, but perhaps he saw the resolve in my face, because he eventually stepped back inside. Once he had gone, I changed back into my shirt and trousers, and as I did, I realised just how gingerly I was having to move. This was not going according to plan. Eventually, I steeled myself and headed up the stairs, and by the Gods, I was wishing that I'd allowed teleports to work in the Pattern complex by the time I reached the top. With effort, I said the words which opened the staircase, to be met by Karsten and Waldemar.
"Herr Reichsführer? Is everything okay?"
"Everything went according to plan," I replied. After all, there was no point worrying them, and I didn't want them insisting on following me where I had to go next. "The others will be up shortly. Assist them if they require it."
"Of course. And you?"
"I'm about to do something either very smart, utterly suicidal, or potentially both."
And with that, I walked away from them, up to the Gruppenführersaal, and brought to mind a Trump which I hadn't used for over eighty years.
The young man who answered the Trump call looked surprised, and then scared shitless. Presumably this was the inestimable Captain Carragher. I'd love to know how much my least favourite nephew paid him to act as a telephone exchange, because it certainly wasn't enough. Even the slightest touch against his shields informed me that if I wished, I could crush his mind as I had Sigiswald's. Still, this wasn't the moment, as I was asking for a favour.
"I want to talk with General de Lacy," I said, calmly.
"I'm not sure that's possible."
"Tell him I wish to speak with him in the spirit of mutual co-operation."
"I'm still not sure that's possible."
"Captain Carragher. I have little time and little patience. You have a choice of doing as I ask voluntarily, or I will make you do it. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," he answered promptly, and the link went black...but I could still feel the energy in it. The little toad had put me on hold! There was a brief pause, and then he came back on the line and offered me his hand. I took it, and stepped through into what was obviously the command tent on whichever Godforsaken Shadow Andrew was stationed on that week. I looked around, taking in the mixture of shock, surprise and hostility on the faces of those in the location with us, and then my eyes met my nephew's.
"You and I need to talk," I ordered, "Now."
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you dead where you stand," he asked, consciously breaking the eye contact, and I noticed that his handgun was already out of its holster and pointed at my heart. Given that he was a conjurer, and likely also had access to blue crystal bullets, I didn't wave off the gesture with the nonchalance I might have done under different circumstances.
"Andrew. I don't have time for this."
"I can feel the psychic stench of your rituals on you, you bastard," he said, icily, "and yet you dare to come here?"
"I have my reasons. Order your minions out, and let me speak to you in private."
Our eyes met once more, and I could read hatred in his. I sighed. If there had been any other way which wouldn't have automatically resulted in me dying, then I would have taken it. But I hadn't been able to think of one.
"Please," I said quietly, and after a moment's pause, he concurred. A minute later we were alone, and I could feel the energy within me burning me from the inside out. I tried to switch off my pain sensors, to ease the situation, but nothing happened, and it was becoming harder to stay upright. Still, I was determined not to succumb in front of Robert's favourite son...at least, not before I'd done what I came to do.
"What do you want?"
"Have you been to Prime?" I asked, reasonably confident of the answer.
About the first act both Robert and I had undertaken after Sable had come into existence was get to know the rest of the system and initiate to all the reflections of the Terra Magica Pattern, Light and Dark. Admittedly Neutral Powers are different by their very nature, but I still suspect that an equivalent process is required for their Creators to gain some measure of control, and short of Andreas himself, Andrew was the only person I could think of who may have visited the Machine Homeworld and walked away to tell the tale.
"A long time ago," he admitted, and I thought I detected a trace of curiosity in his anger.
"And can you get there again?"
"Yes. What the fuck does that have to do with you?"
"I want you to take me there."
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Probably. But right now, that isn't important. Will you do it?"
"Yes."
"Then please. Before I quite possibly explode."
"It's your funeral," he said, with a shrug, and I felt him bringing up the Nexus.
It was strange. Logical. Alien. And I knew that it, like him, hated me with a passion. In fact, about the only being it hated more, was the Master of the Machine. The actual jump bore similarities to a Pattern jump, although it seemed quicker, almost instantaneous, and before I could mentally count to three, we were elsewhere.
"Whatever you're up to, make it quick," he said, coldly, "we've got about thirty seconds before those drones are on us, and while I'm pretty sure I can take them on, I'm not so sure about you."
I looked around me, trying to focus, and saw a cold, metallic landscape, with drones as far as the eye could see. Moreover, they were obviously reacting to the presence of a pair of living, breathing individuals in their midst as they were stirring and heading in our direction, en masse. So I took a deep breath, and began to intone the words which were struggling to escape from me, powering them with the reserves I had collected during the ceremony.
"A Curse upon the Master of the Machine and all his works. May they wither and fade, and may his endeavours prove fruitless."
And as I did, I could feel the energy coursing out of me, like water through a sieve, and the drones which had been approaching us began to stagger back.
"What the fuck...?" Andrew began, obviously processing what he was hearing and recognising it for what it was. However, I didn't answer. I concentrated on what I was doing, and a few seconds later the energy was gone. I felt myself go limp, and was surprised when he caught me as I fell.
"What in God's name was that?" he asked, and I could hear fear in his voice.
"The Blood Curse of one of our kin," I answered, "any chance of a quick exit?"
"Coming up," he replied, and the next thing I knew, we were back in his command tent. At which point he dumped me unceremoniously on the ground. I fell like a sack of potatoes, unable to prevent myself from dropping like a stone, and every nerve and synapse of my body felt to be firing uncontrollable.
"Sadly, you don't look dead," he commented, "at least not yet...although perhaps if I wait a few minutes..."
"Not funny," I snapped, struggling to a sitting position.
"Who says I was joking?" he replied, nonchalantly, "however, given you're currently breathing, I'm guessing it wasn't your Curse. Whose was it?"
"A former employee of mine. He passed away this evening, and this was his legacy."
"And I can tell exactly how he passed away," he answered coldly, "give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you, you murdering bastard."
"Because said employee was the one who attempted to kill your brother on Cavazza," I answered, angrily, but the position I found myself in really didn't add gravitas to the situation, "and would have tried to kill your father if he'd been there."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Andrew, believe whatever the fuck you like. Do whatever the fuck you like," I answered weakly. I was becoming aware of a crushing pain in my chest, my breathing was becoming ragged, and I realised that my shifting was doing absolutely nothing about it. This really wasn't good. When I spoke again, it was more calmly.
"Right now, I no longer care. I've done what I intended to do - although what effect it will have, the gods alone know - and now I'm at your mercy."
"You really mean that, don't you."
"Just now I hurt so much that death would be a pleasant relief. So if you're going to do anything, kindly get on with it. Otherwise find me somewhere peaceful to pass out."
He thought about it. I swear he thought about it. But then he had an attack of common sense and pulled out a Trump deck. I was too weak to identify who he was calling, but I could sense that he had made contact almost immediately and I could feel the mental exchange between himself and the person he was talking to.
I may have drifted at that point, because the next thing I knew he was hauling me to my feet, which hurt like the blazes, and I could feel myself being passed through a Trump link. The last thing I heard as I passed out was my brother's voice.
"Christ, Rupert. What the Hell have you done...?"