witch hunter chronicles 2: army of the undead by stuart daly sample chapter extract

8/3/2019 Witch Hunter Chronicles 2: Army of the Undead by Stuart Daly Sample Chapter Extract

1/31


2/31

The Army of the Undead

Copyright Stuart Daly 2011. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored

in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.


3/31





4/31

stuart daly

The Army of the Undead





5/31

A Random House bookPublished by Random House Australia Pty LtdLevel 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060

www.randomhouse.com.au

First published by Random House Australia in 2011

Copyright Stuart Daly 2011

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by anyperson or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any

means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutoryexceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or byany information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission ofRandom House Australia.

Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found atwww.randomhouse.com.au/offices.

National Library of AustraliaCataloguing-in-Publication Entry

Author: Daly, StuartTitle: The army of the undead / Stuart DalyISBN: 978 1 74275 055 2 (pbk)Series: Daly, Stuart. Witch hunter chronicles; 2Target Audience: For secondary school ageSubjects: Witch hunting Juvenile fictionDewey number: A823.4

Cover illustration and design by Sammy YuenMaps by Stuart Daly and Anna WarrenInternal design by Midland TypesettersTypeset in 12/16 Minion by Midland Typesetters, AustraliaPrinted in Australia by Griffin Press, an accredited ISO AS/NZS 14001:2004Environmental Management System printer

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The paper this book is printed on is certified against the Forest

Stewardship Council

Standards. Griffin Press holds FSC chain ofcustody certification SGS-COC-005088. FSC promotes environ-mentally responsible, socially beneficial and economically viablemanagement of the worlds forests.





6/31

For my three little musketeers





7/31





8/31

ENGLAND

FRANCE

THEHOLY

ROMAN

EMPIRE

POLAND

sweden

OTTOMANEMPIRE

SPAIN

RUSSIA

HUNGARY





9/31





10/31

ENGLAND

WESTPHALIA

BRANDENBURGPOLAND

SAXONY

SILESIA

BOHEMIA

AUSTRIAHUNGARY

OTTOMANEMPIRE

DUTCHREPUBLIC

SPANISHNETHERLANDS

FRANCE

WRTTEMBURG

LORRAINE

SWITZERLAND

BAVARIA

SAVO

Y

PIEDMONT

THE

MILANESE

PARMA

MODENA

REPUBLICOF

VENICE

POMERANIAPRUSSIA

FRANCHE-COMT





11/31





12/31

Part One

Cemetery adjoining the Church of the

Three Apostles

Outskirts of Wurzen, Saxony1 April 1666, Midnight





13/31





14/31

3

ChapteRone

Drawing a deep breath to steady my nerves, I pull

my cloak tight around my neck, place a tremblinghand on the butt of one of the flintlock pistols tucked into

my belt, and move deeper into the cemetery.

There are tombstones all around me, rising out of the

ground like broken teeth. Theres the odd crypt here and

there, surrounded by crucifixes and statues of angels, saints

and the Virgin Mary, keeping a silent vigil over the dead.

All is blanketed in mist and darkness. All is deathly

still.

I can think of a million places Id rather be right now.

Even the witch-infested banquet hall at Schloss Kriegsberg

would be preferable to this. But dark times call for darkwork, and there isnt much darker work than investigating

exhumed graves in the dead of the night.





15/31

4

Over the course of the past week three burials have

taken place in this cemetery, only for the bodies to be

exhumed overnight. This morning, a nightwatchman was

found dead at the nearby church gates. The local parish

priest sent a messenger to the Hexenjger headquarters at

Burg Grimmheim which lies several hours by horse to

the east requesting our assistance. And so the Hexenjger

has been assigned to investigate the case.My companion on this mission is the Bavarian swords-

man Wilhelm Friedsthorm, a veteran witch hunter with

the savage look of a starving wolf. Hes stalking through

the darkness a few yards over to my right, moving with

such stealth and with his crimson tabard hidden beneath

a dark grey cloak, that I can barely see him. If it werenot for the occasional flash of moonlight on the blade of

his drawn rapier and main gauche a left-hand dagger

often used by duellists to slit open the belly of an advers-

ary, or to entangle an enemys blade within its elongated

cross-guard I would have lost track of him the instant

we entered the cemetery.

Conversely, the grey-haired, hunchbacked gravedigger I

am trailing a few yards behind is making enough noise to

wake the dead. Weve only moved some fifty yards through

the cemetery, and Ive already had to caution him twice. If it

were up to me, I would have left him back at the front gates,for some sixth sense warns me that we are not alone in the

cemetery and that the criminal is already here, prowling





16/31

5

through the night, determined to exhume another corpse.

For that very reason we abandoned our lanterns at the

cemetery gates and decided to proceed in darkness.

Despite the amount of noise being made by the grave-

digger, however, it is necessary for him to accompany us:

he is our guide, directing us to the exhumed graves. The

local parish priest was more than willing to nominate the

gravedigger for the task. And so we have no option but totolerate his presence.

I cannot help but wonder who committed this crime. It

was obviously someone with a powerful motive; someone

prepared to risk being interrogated by the Catholic Church

and face the wrath of the Inquisition.

My initial thought was that the bodies had beenexhumed by someone with an interest in studying human

anatomy: possibly an artist, sculptor or physician. This

assumption was based heavily upon the evidence that the

bodies had only recently been buried. The headstones had

not yet been erected. The culprit wanted fresh corpses

bodies that had not yet decomposed.

I once read that artists such as Leonardo da Vinci and

Michelangelo, driven by their passion to develop a greater

understanding of muscle and bone structure, had conducted

autopsies on bodies they had stolen from graveyards. Of

course, they had kept such activities secret. And rightly so,for the Church still considers such activities as heresy an

act punishable by being burned alive at the stake.





17/31

6

If the bodies had been exhumed by artists, why did they

dig up and steal three bodies? Surely one would suffice.

And why risk bringing this to the attention of the Church?

One body may have perhaps passed unnoticed. But three,

all from the same cemetery and within a week is a

different matter.

Perhaps it wasnt artists or physicians. Was it grave-

robbers? Not likely. They usually just steal the possessionsthat have been buried with the dead not the corpses

themselves. So who, then?

With my thoughts focused on trying to determine who

is responsible for this crime, Im surprised by the grave-

diggers announcement that we have arrived at the

desecrated graves. Following Wilhelms lead, the grave-digger and I crouch behind a tombstone, and spend a

few minutes monitoring the cemetery, scouring the night

for evidence of movement.

The darkness betrays nothing.

A signal from Wilhelm indicates that Im to inspect the

graves. I wonder if now would be a good time to remind him

that Ive only been in the Hexenjger for just over a month. I

was inducted as a fully fledged witch hunter only two weeks

ago, as a reward for the role I played during the mission to

Schloss Kriegsberg. But that doesnt mean that Im experi-

enced in the art of combat, and I often wonder if my fellowHexenjger now have higher expectations of me.

This is only the second mission I have ever been sent





18/31

7

on. It took me over two weeks to fully recover from the

injuries I sustained whilst facing the witches, the Brother-

hood of the Cross and the Kings Secret in Schloss Kriegs-

berg. Perhaps I might have recovered sooner had not

my convalescence been interrupted by periods of sword

training. I would have much preferred to have spent the

fortnight resting, allowing my body to fully recover. But

Armand Breteuil the flamboyant ex-captain of LouisXIVs Royal Palace Cavalry had argued otherwise, insist-

ing that it would only be a matter of time until I would

be called into the field once more, and that I needed to

develop greater confidence in the art of swordplay. So,

having only had three days rest, Armand and I found

ourselves engaged in a daily routine of crossing blades inthe Hexenjger training hall.

Although I found it annoying at the time with every

muscle in my body screaming in protest I could not be

more grateful for Armands dogged persistence. One can

hardly perfect the art of swordplay in one month, and I still

have a long way to go before I can even begin to consider

myself competent in the use of a rapier. But Armand has

taught me valuable lessons that manuals cannot ones that

can only be taught by a veteran duellist experienced in close-

quarters combat, such as how to use your cloak in your

off-hand to ensnare an opponents blade, and how to turn aparry into a riposte guaranteed to unbalance even the most

sure-footed of duellists.





19/31

8

With the gravedigger and Wilhelm remaining hidden,

I swallow back the ball of nerves in my throat, draw one

of my rapiers and, with a pistol held at the ready, move

over to investigate the desecrated graves. They are now

just dark pits in the earth. So much for resting in peace for

an eternity. These poor souls were dug up even before the

earth had settled around them.

And you dont need to be a genius to tell me whichgrave is going to be targeted next. For, just off to the right,

there is a burial that looks as if it took place earlier this

morning, evident by the fresh earth and its absence of a

headstone.

I scurry back to my companions.

Can you remember who was buried here? I ask thegravedigger, trying to shed some light on the mystery.

The gravedigger scratches his head, as if hes trying to

prod his brain into action. The first three burials were

for locals killed by a bloody flux that has swept through

this area, but I cant remember their names. He pauses as

he takes another scratch. And the burial that took place

this morning was for a man who died over a week ago of

natural causes. We had to keep the poor old wretch lying in

the charnel house all that time as my assistant gravedigger

has been ill. If I could have had my way, Id still have all the

bodies lying in the charnel house. Its not easy digging asix-foot-deep grave, let alone three of them, at my age. But

the parish priest insisted that I bury the three people killed





20/31

9

by the flux for fear of an outbreak. It was only this morning

that my assistant felt well enough to return to work, and

we finally had a chance to put the old man to rest. I cant

remember his name, but he had the most peculiar birth-

mark on his forehead: it looked like an infants handprint.

My blood freezes at the mention of this.

It would have been nice to have been given this infor-

mation beforehand. For now I know that these are no actsof random desecration. These graves were deliberately

targeted. I shift nervously. The plot has thickened like

curdled milk. And it smells just as foul.

There had once been a man named Andreas Rundst,

who lived for some time in Dresden, the town in which

I grew up. He had the most remarkable birthmark in theform of a small handprint on his forehead. He had sought

my uncles assistance a while back something concerning

a horse that had gone lame, as far as I can recall. But I dont

think there was anybody in Dresden nine years ago who

hadnt heard about the man. Although I was only seven at

the time, he was often the topic of discussion around my

uncles dinner table, and I have a solid recollection of the

mystery surrounding his life.

Andreas is or, rather, was an apothecary who reput-

edly possessed the power of divination: a prophet who

could see into the future. As such, he enjoyed the patron-age of Dresdens nobility until he came to the attention

of the Church. He endured several weeks of interrogation





21/31

10

before he was finally released. A very lucky man, to say the

least. And smart, too, for he concealed his prophecies in

cryptic verses that were open to multiple interpretations.

But their true meaning was kept secret, ultimately saving

him from the Inquisition.

It was many years ago, however, that I learned something

about Andreas that would haunt my sleep for years to

come. Deep in the dead of a cold winters night, I had beenwoken from my sleep by voices in the common room.

I had crept into the adjoining kitchen and, spying through

the doorway, saw my uncle engaged in a hushed conver-

sation with Father Giuseppe Callumbro, with whom both

my uncle and Andreas were intimate friends. Withdraw-

ing into the kitchen, I trained an ear on their conversation,and it did not take me long to learn that Father Callum-

bro had come to seek my uncles advice on a matter of the

gravest importance. He informed my uncle that he had

been approached by Andreas on the steps of his church

that morning. Andreas said he had had a horrific vision in

which he had seen thousands dying of plague and war, and

entire kingdoms engulfed in blazing infernos and swamped

by cataclysmic floods.

He had witnessed what no mere mortal should have

ever seen. He had witnessed the end of the world

Armageddon! But Andreass vision had also revealed thatthese events would only come to pass if an ancient device

known as the Tablet of Breaking was activated. This





22/31

11

device had been hidden from mankind for thousands of

years, that it had passed into the hazy realm of myth and

legend. But Andreass vision had scraped away several

millennia of sand and dust from that which should have

remained hidden from the memory of man. For his vision

revealed the secret location of the Tablet of Breaking.

Although Andreas had informed Father Callumbro of

his vision, he never revealed the secret resting place of theTablet. Andreas had told Father Callumbro that he could

not even trust him one of his oldest and dearest friends

with such a dangerous secret. It would mean the end of the

world if this knowledge were to fall into the wrong hands.

And so, he vowed that he would take the secret with him to

his grave. He had then left in a terrible state, rambling likea person who had lost leave of their senses.

The meeting with Andreas had left Father Callumbro

in a dilemma, and he had come to seek my uncles advice.

He was torn between his desire to keep Andreass vision to

himself and thus not betray his friends trust, and his belief

that such a secret needed to be reported to the Church

immediately, knowing that this would result in Andreas

being investigated by the Inquisition again. After discussing

the matter late into the night, Father Callumbro decided to

follow my uncles advice and report the incident. Having

assured my uncle he would not reveal to the Churchthat he had sought his advice hence clearing my uncle

of any possible connection with Andreass vision, which





23/31

12

the Inquisition was sure to investigate Father Callumbro

had left.

He reported the incident the following morning. The

Church officials arrived in Dresden three days later, but by

that time Andreas had disappeared from the city. He was

never seen again.

Until today, in this cemetery on the outskirts of Wurzen.

And it looks to me as if somebody has taken Andreassvow literally dug up the graves in an attempt to find the

prophets resting place and discover what secrets were

buried with him.

Someone has tried to find the secret to the end of the

world.I knew there was going to be more to this case than I

had been told, but I wasnt expecting this. I cannot help

but feel that it is no mere coincidence that, out of all

the available Hexenjger, I was one of only two chosen

to investigate the exhumed graves. I firmly believe that

the Lords hand guided me to join the Hexenjger, guided

me to meet Armand Breteuil, who, in turn, introduced me

to Dietrich Hommel, the sole person who has been able

to provide me with information concerning my fathers

life. I do not know what the Lords design is for me, but

the events of the past month have steered me along acertain path, all leading to this point in time to Andreas

Rundsts grave.





24/31

13

I need you to do something for me, I whisper to the

gravedigger. I need you to go back into Wurzen and find

the nightwatchmen. Tell them to gather as many men as

they can. Then they need to get here fast!

The gravedigger digests this for a while, almost as if hes

sampling some food hes not too sure about. I can manage

that, he says finally.

Good. Now go! I need you back here as fast as your legscan carry you.

As the gravedigger shuffles off into the darkness, I

gesture for Wilhelm to come close and whisper into his

ear all that I know of Andreas Rundst. I warn him that the

graves are being exhumed by somebody hoping to find

Andreass body and discover clues that will reveal the secrethiding place of the Tablet of Breaking, and that we must do

everything within our power to stop this from happening.

Hunched in the darkness behind the tombstones,

we have one final check of our weapons. Then we begin

our silent vigil, scanning the graveyard for evidence of

movement.

In nervous anticipation I finger the wolfs-head cross-

guard of my drawn Solingen rapier. This will be the first

time I will use this blade in combat, having acquired it only

four weeks ago from one of the Brotherhood of the Cross.

But I havent abandoned my trusty Pappenheimer rapier.Its sheathed by my side, enjoying its peaceful slumber

before it may be called into action. I never thought that I





25/31

14

would turn into a dual wielder. Its a very difficult fighting

style to master; unconventional, to say the least, but deadly

effective. In an age dominated by swordsmen who are

masters of fighting with rapier and cape, or rapier and

main gauche, its important to seize any advantage over

your opponent. And having seen Armand Breteuil wield

his dual cavalry sabres in Schloss Kriegsberg, Im deter-

mined to master the technique. Even under Armandstutelage, however, its proving to be a difficult undertaking.

But practice makes perfect, and Im a fast learner in the art

of swordplay or so, at least, Armand tells me. Perhaps this

night might even mark the christening of my dual blade

technique.

Not long has passed before I catch movement in thecorner of my eye. Whats this? The gravedigger? Moving

through the moonlight over to my right, returning so

soon? Dont tell me hes lost his way.

Im about to rise from behind the tombstone to berate

him for not finding the nightwatchmen, when I catch

myself. A cold chill races across my skin as I realise that its

notthe gravedigger.

Wilhelm shifts back further behind his tombstone and

signals for me to do likewise. Then, from our concealed

positions, we watch the mysterious figure lumber through

the darkness, drawing closer, allowing us to get a betterlook at them.

It is a man, wrapped in a cloak, and dragging a shovel.





26/31

15

He is making awkward lurching movements, as if his

limbs have been dislocated. Then, when his head lolls to

the side and moonlight falls across his face, I see that his

skin is the deathly-white pallor of a corpse, and his eyes

are lifeless orbs.

I notice Wilhelm place his rapier on the ground and

flex the fingers of his sword-arm in preparation for

combat. He then makes the sign of the cross, retrieves hisblade and whispers, It is an animated corpse one of the

undead!

Staring wide-eyed at the abomination, I only now realise

that there is a second figure, drifting through the darkness

some ten yards behind the undead corpse, wrapped in

the folds of a black, hooded robe, and moving with suchstealth that it appears to be floating through the cemetery.

It follows the undead corpse to Andreass grave, then draws

back its hood.

I recoil in horror, for the second figure is not human

either.

Its skin has the same deathly pallor as its undead

companion, and its face is horribly mutilated, the features

scarred and burned. In place of a nose it has two small slits,

like gills, set flush against its face, and its mouth is bristled

with jagged teeth. Beneath the strands of shoulder-length

white hair is a pair of narrow, blood-red eyes, which glow inthe darkness and scan the cemetery, searching for evidence

of movement.





27/31

16

Barely daring to breathe for fear of being detected,

I follow Wilhelms lead and crouch further behind the

tombstone. After what seems to be an eternity, the stranger

turns back to its undead companion, points at Andreass

grave, and issues a command in a strange, hellish language.

Its deep, grinding voice sounds like a sarcophagus lid being

dragged aside. The undead henchman starts to dig.

The robed figure is so focused on the task at hand that

Im sure I could sneak right up behind it and place my pistol

against the back of its head. But as much as I am inclined

to do that, caution warns me that its more prudent to wait

for the gravedigger to return with the nightwatchmen.

Theres safety in numbers, particularly when facing

what is undoubtedly a supernatural enemy. Its a shamethat Wilhelm doesnt think so.

He must be ardent for fame and glory to arrest the

stranger single-handedly. Either that, or he is overconfid-

ent in his abilities to wield a blade. For why else would he

rise from his place of concealment, point his rapier at the

robed stranger, call for it to place its hands above its head,and order its henchman to stop digging?

Just because Wilhelm has betrayed his element of

surprise, doesnt mean that Im going to follow suit.

Neither the robed stranger nor its minion have seen me,

and I intend to keep it that way. If I stay hidden, I still

might be able to salvage some element of surprise andcatch them off-guard. And so I remain crouched in the

darkness, peering from behind the tombstone.





28/31

17

Theres a moment of silence as the stranger freezes.

Without even bothering to turn around, it says something

in the same unknown tongue it used before, and the undead

henchman sets its lifeless eyes on Wilhelm. It then lumbers

towards him, its shovel raised in preparation to club him

to death.

Do you think an undead minion can kill a witch hunter?

Wilhelm snarls, flipping his maingauche and catching it bythe blade. He draws the dagger behind his head, takes a

swift step forward, and throws it at the undead.

The slim-bladed dagger, its blade engraved with holy

passages, hums through the air to thud, hilt-deep, into

the undeads chest. Knocked off its feet by the force of the

impact, it writhes on the ground, clutching at the dagger,crying out in a terrible, guttural moan. After a few seconds,

it finally dies.

Wilhelm grins victoriously. Is that the best you can

do?

Your confidence will be your undoing, mortal, the

robed stranger says in a voice so deep and foreboding it

sounds as if it is rising from the very bowels of Hell.

It reaches into a fold of its robe and draws a blade the

likes of which I have never seen before. It appears to be

a medieval broadsword, double-edged and cumbersome.

Runes are etched along the length of the blade glowingin a soft, red light, like coals that have just been stirred in

a fire.





29/31

18

The stranger turns, slowly, almost mechanically, and

sets its blood-red gaze on Wilhelm. I feel my stomach knot

in terror, for there is no fear in the strangers eyes no sign

of alarm that it has been caught in the act of exhuming

a grave, nor that Wilhelm had so easily slain its undead

minion. Just a sadistic sneer guaranteed to send even the

Devils hordes running.

As if the situation could not get any worse, the strangerutters a strange command, and Wilhelm appears seized by

fear. His sword-arm starts to tremble, and his feet seem to

be rooted to the spot. But I cannot come to his aid. Not

just yet, for to do so would give away my position. Id get

us both killed. All I can do is wait for a window of oppor-

tunity to present itself. And when it does, I pray that thewindow doesnt come crashing down on my head just as

Im about to climb through.

The stranger crosses over to Wilhelm. It draws back its

heavy blade in preparation to cleave the Hexenjgers head

clear from his shoulders. But it seems all Wilhelm can do is

stare at the blade at his impending doom.

I raise my flintlock pistol, stare down the barrel, take

aim at the strangers heart, and squeeze the trigger. Theres

a flash of powder and the report of my firearm, deafen-

ing in the still of the night. This is followed by a cry of

demented rage as the stranger takes the shot in the chest. Itstaggers back, clutching a hand at the wound, then removes

it and stares in morbid curiosity at its blood-stained palm.





30/31

19

Its eyes blazing with rage, it then hoists its blade behind its

back in a two-handed grip. I watch helplessly as the heavy

blade slices through the air.

Theres a gargled cry, a spray of blood, and a sickening

thump as Wilhelms headless body slumps to the ground.

Time freezes.

Aghast, I stare at Wilhelms lifeless form, the terrible

final seconds of his life replaying in my mind. Wilhelm wasa veteran witch hunter. How could he have been slain with

such ease? And why hadnt my pistol killed the stranger?

It was a direct hit, straight to the heart. But I snap back to

reality the instant the stranger comes towards me.

Tossing aside my pistol, I leap to my feet, both rapiers

drawn. Without even having time to contemplate aplan of action, I find myself lunging forward, thrusting

my Pappenheimer at the strangers chest. To my surprise,

the stranger makes no attempt to parry my attack, and

my blade drives deep into its torso. It convulses against

the steel and gives a blood-choked roar. But I catch myself

when the stranger stops convulsing, looks down at the

blade embedded in its chest, and regards it with the same

morbid curiosity with which it had considered the pistol-

wound.

How can that be possible? We are in a cemetery, on

hallowed ground, meaning that this malevolent beingshould be stripped of its powers. And my weapons even

every pistol ball I carry have been consecrated by a priest





31/31

and blessed with holy water. My weapons should be able to

kill the stranger!

Realising the situation is hopeless, I extract my blade

and attempt to flee, but one of its hands shoots out. It locks

onto my neck like a vice, so tight its a miracle my windpipe

isnt crushed. Then, to my horror, the stranger lifts me off

the ground. It holds me dangling in the air, like a gutted

pig hanging from a hook in a butchers shop. Dropping itssword, the stranger grabs my right hand by the wrist and

forces me to raise my Pappenheimer rapier.

Caelitusmihi vices My strength is from heaven, it says

in a deep, mocking tone, reading the inscription engraved

on the blade. Its eyes then bore into mine. Where is your

God now, mortal? Why doesnt He come to save you? Youshould have run when you had the chance. Now you will

pay for your stupidity with your life.

Struggling to breathe, I try to wrestle free. But its useless.

All I can do is stare helplessly into the strangers blood-red

eyes. Its not long before I feel myself sliding into deaths

cold embrace. Darkness starts to take me.

Its strange, but I think I can hear distant voices. Perhaps

its angels coming to greet me. Or knowing my luck a

pack of demons leering at me from Hell.

Taking what must be my last breath, my blades fall from

my fingers and I cross myself. Then I slip into completedarkness.

witch hunter chronicles 2: army of the undead by stuart daly sample chapter extract

Documents