One Hexensnacht he roasted a pretty maid called Irina Trask. All his subjects came to watch, for she was a beauty. As the flames rose about her she called on the powers of hell to avenge her, to bring death to my grandfather and the wrath of Chaos to his heirs and followers and all their children. The darkness and its children will take you all, she said."

He fell silent and stared gloomily towards the hills. Felix prompted him. "What happened?"

"Shortly thereafter my grandfather was killed, while out hunting, by a pack of beastmen. There was a quarrel amongst his sons. The eldest, Kurt, was heir. My father and his brother rebelled and ousted him. Some folk say that Kurt became a bandit and was killed by a warrior of Chaos. Others claim that he headed north and met a much darker fate.

"My father inherited the Barony and married my mother, Katerina von Wittgenstein." Felix stared at him. The Wittgensteins were a family with a dark reputation, shunned by normal society. Manfred ignored his stare.

"Uncle Gottfried became their warleader. My mother died giving birth to me, and my father disappeared. Gottfried seized power. Since then we have been dogged by ill-luck."

Felix could see a figure approaching downslope. It was Frau Winter. She seemed to be in a great hurry.

"Disappeared?" said Felix distractedly.

"Aye, vanished. It wasn't until much later I found out what had happened to him."

Frau Winter approached. She and Manfred exchanged glares. "Bad news," she said. "I've discovered an opening on the hillside up there. It is barred by runes, but I sense terrible danger lies beyond it."

Something in her tone compelled belief. She swirled on down into the camp. Manfred glared daggers at her back.

Felix looked over at him. "There is no love lost between you two, is there?"

"She hates me, has done ever since Uncle named me heir. She thinks her son should be the next Baron."

Felix raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yes, didn't you know? Dieter is her son. He's my father's bastard offspring."

Moonslight dappled the waters of Thunder River. It gleamed like liquid silver. Old gnarled trees hung over the banks at this point, reminding Felix of waiting trolls.