"Ranald's bloody balls," Emmaline muttered again. This was why sensible people didn't stay out after dark on Hexennacht. Even in Altdorf itself people huddled in taverns or barred the doors to their houses. The whole Empire was rife with tales of dark riders that galloped the lonely roads, long dead shades let loose from whatever hells they inhabited, and the fell whispers of dark unclean voices. Emmaline held no ill will towards the bandits, but her impulse was to run for the Inn. Not that running there would do much good. No one would open a barred door tonight, not for anything, and they might fetch a few ounces of blessed led for their trouble if they tried. She glanced back over her shoulder at the rapidly darkening horizon, the golden light of day replaced with the sickly green of the Chaos moon as it rose in the sky. The thought of walking better than a mile into the gathering gloom was like ice water on her bones.

"Don't look so nervous," Neil encouraged, slinging his rifle over one shoulder.

"It is a night of witches, and you are a witch afterall," he jested.

"Es gibt Hexen und dann gibt es Hexen," Emmaline muttered in the ancient Unberogen tongue. It was a proverb familiar to ever initiate in the Imperial Colleges, even one as truant as her.

"What?" Neil asked, cocking an eyebrow at the ancient words.

"There are witches, and then there are witches," she repeated. 

"Come on, we stand a better chance together!" Johann called. He seemed alive with energy, as though his fear were transmuted into adrenaline. Emmaline supposed there were worse traits in a leader than the stubborn refusal to leave a man behind, though she dearly wished they could do exactly that and find somewhere to weather the ill omened night.

_______

The coach was not difficult to follow. The strange road it had taken meandered through the fields, but was dusty enough that the track marks left by the wheels were obvious. Despite this there was something unnerving about the ruler strait lines in the dust. The road slipped over a hill and down along a chuckling stream before crossing a covered stone bridge into a section of woods. By now it was full dark though there was more than enough moonlight to see by. The putrescent green glow lent everything a sinister air and Emmaline clung close to Neil, her small dagger clutched in her hand.

"Why are you so nervous?" he whispered as they clattered across the bridge, Johann's hobnail boots echoing like drums on the timber cross beams.

"Other than following a cursed coach into the woods on Hexennacht?" Emmaline replied, a touch of acid tinging her voice. Neil chuckled, the sound almost sacrilegious in the gloom.

"Yes, other than that," he pressed on.

"I don't like the sounds," she replied curtly. Neil cocked an ear listening to the sound of wild birds and the chirruping call of small woodland animals. Owls hooted in the distance and insects buzzed in a low sursurence.

"Those are normal sounds for the woods at night," he replied.

"I'm a city girl," Emmaline told him huffily, "I make a point of not being in the woods at night."

"Wait.." Johan said, suddenly stopping in the roadway. The tracks of the coach turned from the road and forced themselves into a narrow gap between trees that led deeper into the forest. Just for a moment Emmaline thought she heard another sound, a distant booming sound like great drums being struck. In the distance there was a scream, like a horse being driven to despair by the spurs.

"They went into the woods... they cant plan to go much further," Neil commented. It was plain even to Emmaline that a coach would not be able to make its way too far without a better path than this to follow. Even this close to the road they could see where branches had been snapped by the coach's passage. They hung in a row like little flags off into the woods. Or like chickens hung by broken necks.

"The tracks..." Emmaline said after a moment. Johann and Neil turned to look at her while Kurt prayed in a low fervent voice.

"What about them?" the bandit chief demanded. Emmaline scraped a shoe along the line of the wheels.

"No hoof prints," she half whispered.