Felix himself was not so sure. The previous year on Geheimnisnacht he had seen terrible things. He pushed the memory back from his mind.

"If we go west we face certain peril and no surety of finding haven," said the Baron, his face made gaunt and angular by the underlight of the fire. "South it is claimed we will find clear land, guarded though it may be by a sorcerous foe. I think we should brave the southward way. It may be clear. We will follow Thunder River."

His voice held no great hope. He sounded like a man who had resigned himself to his fate. Does the Baron court death, wondered Felix? In the atmosphere created by the trapper's dark tale Felix could almost believe it. He made a mental note to find out more about the von Diehl curse. Then he noticed the face of Manfred. The young noble was staring raptly into the fire, a look almost of pleasure on his face.

"I believe I have found the inspiration for a new play," said Manfred von Diehl enthusiastically. "That delightful story the trapper told last night will be its core."

Felix looked at him dubiously. They were walking along the west side of the caravan, keeping between the wagons and the ominous, barren hills.

"It may be more than a simple trapper's tale, Manfred. There is some truth to many old legends."

"Quite so! Quite so! Who should know that better than I? I think I shall call this play Where the Dead Men Walk. Think of it: silver rings clinking on bony fingers, the parchment skins of the restless dead glistening in the witchlight. Imagine a king who lies in state untouched by the worms and who rises every year to seek blood to prolong his shadowy reign."

Looking at those brooding, blasted heights, Felix found it only too easy to imagine such things. Among the four hundred who followed Baron von Diehl only three people dared enter the hills. During the day Dr Stockhausen and Frau Winter would search among the mossy boulders on the rubble-strewn slopes for herbs. Sometimes they would encounter Gotrek Gurnisson if they returned late. The Trollslayer prowled the hillside by night as if daring the powers of darkness to touch him.

"Think," said Manfred in a conspiratorial whisper. "Think of lying sleeping in your bed and hearing the soft pad of approaching feet and no breathing whatsoever except your own... You could lie there listening to your heart pound and know that no heartbeat tolled within the chest of the approaching..."

"Yes," said Felix. "I'm sure it will be an excellent work. You must let me read it when it is complete."

He decided to change the subject, tried to think of one that would appeal to this strange young man. "I was thinking perhaps of writing a poem myself. Could you tell me more of the von Diehl curse?"

Manfred's face froze. His glittering look made Felix shiver, then Manfred shook his head and smiled and became his old affable self.

"There is really little to tell." He giggled slightly. "My grandfather was a very devout man. Always burning witches and mutants to prove it.