Gotrek grabbed the man’s arms. ‘Can you hear me?’
He nodded. ‘You survived?’ he said, sounding dazed.
For a moment Gotrek was too overcome to speak. When he finally answered, his voice was husky. ‘I should have stayed with you, manling. They tricked me. Grimnir tricked me. The gods lied, Felix. Everything has been lost.’
The face behind the face smiled. ‘If you’re alive, not everything has been lost.’ Then he frowned and looked back into the darkness, as though someone had called him. ‘I can’t stay,’ he said, turning back to the Slayer.
‘Forgive me,’ growled Gotrek, still gripping his arms.
Maleneth shook her head, still unable to believe that the Slayer could fall for such obvious deception.
Felix smiled again. ‘You are unforgivable, Gotrek. You always were.’ Then his expression became serious. ‘Make them pay. Make them pay for their lies.’
‘Aye!’ Gotrek was breathing heavily. ‘I’m close. Nagash is within my reach. I’m going to bring his whole bloody palace down on his–’ He frowned as the face under the skin vanished, leaving the sleeping face of the old man. ‘Where’s he gone?’ Gotrek demanded, looking at Kurin.
Kurin frowned. ‘You have him so clearly pinned in your memory. There should have been no problem talking to him. Something held him back. Something is keeping him from you – guarding his soul.’
Gotrek spat into the dust. ‘Nagash. Who else?’ He began pacing again, swinging his axe in a way that was far from ideal in such a small space. ‘No matter. The manling was clear enough. Make them pay. And I will do. Starting with Nagash.’ He paused and looked back at the now motionless figure, clearly still shaken by the whole exchange. Then he turned to Kurin. ‘How do we get to Morbium?’
Kurin was still frowning, staring at the sleeping figure that had just been talking to Gotrek. Then he smiled, waving them back, outside the circle. He checked the chains around the old men’s necks, adjusted the padlocks, then began muttering his incantation again. As he spoke, the hard-packed earth of the floor began to spiral and twist. A miniature storm raged between the silent figures, whirling and turning and causing Gotrek and the others to shield their faces.
When the dust cleared, Kurin was still smiling. There was a circular opening at his feet, with narrow steps leading down into the darkness.
‘Follow me,’ he said, descending. ‘The entrance to Morbium is not far.’
Chapter Four
Oathbreakers and Frauds
They emerged from an opening in a hillside, half a mile from the town.
Kurin did not pause for breath as he left the tunnel, and they had to move fast to keep up as their guide rushed into the half-light.
‘Can we trust him?’ asked Maleneth, eyeing the sorcerer as he slipped and scrambled down the rocky hillside.
‘Never trust wizards,’ laughed Gotrek in disbelief. ‘Or aelves, for that matter.’ He scowled at Trachos. ‘Which only leaves you, unfortunately.’ Then he shook his head. ‘It’s not Kurin I trust – it’s Felix.’ Gotrek’s words were becoming less slurred. ‘Besides, he got us out of Klemp, didn’t he?’
They climbed down into a narrow valley, leaving Klemp behind and entering the strange landscape they had spent weeks travelling through since arriving at the coast. It was impossible to see more than a dozen feet or so due to the mist towers – sheer-sided, curved masses that soared up into the darkness for miles. This part of Shyish was relentlessly bleak. No breeze, no birdsong, no animal calls, no trace of mortality. Only one sound punctuated the darkness – the clang of a broken bell, far in the distance. It rang out every few seconds with heartbeat regularity. Maleneth remembered hearing it on the journey to Klemp, but she was surprised to hear it again now, nearly two days later. Time seemed frozen in Shyish. The realm seemed like a single, perpetual moment, hanging ominously over some terrible, imminent catastrophe.
Kurin hurried on, pausing every now and then to make sure they were still following him. Trachos’ wounds caused him to grunt and mutter as he hauled his broken armour over increasingly rocky terrain, but he was far too proud to slow down or ask for help.
They travelled this way for several hours, and Gotrek began to grumble into his beard and complain that Maleneth had not thought to bring food from the Muffled Drum. Not for the first time, Maleneth wondered what Trachos would do if she rushed past him and sank a poisoned blade into the Slayer’s back. It was little more than an idle daydream. Her mistress was right – Gotrek was more than a duardin. She had no idea if any of her toxins would work. And Trachos would almost certainly try to stop her. Whatever went on in that battle-ravaged head, he maintained a rigid code of honour. He would not condone a random murder, however entertaining it might be.
The sorcerer came to a halt next to a bleached, skeletal tree and crouched low, looking at something on the ground. There was a confusing mass of footprints.
‘Mordants,’ he said. ‘But not from Klemp. These came from the south.’
Gotrek shrugged, then nodded at some tracks leading north. ‘The morons were heading somewhere with a purpose. And little morons always follow big morons.’
They marched on, following the tracks, and after a while they spotted corpses, sprawled in the dust.
As they approached the bodies, Maleneth’s lip curled in distaste. There were around thirty of them, twisted and feral, all wearing contorted snarls and scraps of bloody cloth. Mixed in with them were a few dead duardin, possibly the ones they had seen in the Muffled Drum. She raised an eyebrow and looked at the Slayer. ‘I see your relatives made a good account of themselves.’
Gotrek glared at her for a moment, golden sparks flickering across his eye. Then he booted one of the dead ghouls and looked at the sorcerer. ‘I didn’t come here to fight these pitiful things. I came for a god.’
Maleneth shook her head. ‘What in Sigmar’s name would you do if you actually found Nagash?’
‘I’d do nothing in Sigmar’s name, aelf. A hammer-hurler’s no better than a corpse-botherer. Once I’ve dealt with Nagash, the God-King is next.’
Trachos tensed and gripped his warhammers. His armour clicked as his head started twitching.
Gotrek laughed and slammed his chest into Trachos’ armour, knocking him backwards. ‘So there is someone in that bloody suit! That’s the spirit, manling. Did Gotrek make you think a bad thought?’
Maleneth stepped back, trying to suppress a smile.
‘You know nothing of Sigmar.’ Trachos sounded furious, but he lowered his hammers and backed away, his head still twitching.
‘I know more than you, manling. I know what happened last time he faced the Ruinous Powers. They trounced him. That’s why he’s hiding. That’s why he’s up there in… Where did you say he’s snivelled off to?’
Trachos was clearly struggling to stay calm. ‘The God-King will reunite the Mortal Realms. That which has been riven shall be reforged. Sigmar has sent his Stormhosts to–’
‘Why?’ The Slayer waved his rune-axe at the grey walls and up at the black stars. ‘Why does he care for any of these stinking pits? I think he’s had too many knocks to the head. Maybe he sits up there hitting himself with his own hammer? Maybe he’s senile? Grungni’s beard! There must be something wrong with him. He’s as much a stranger here as I am. These are not his wars – these are not his people – any more than they’re mine.’
‘Then why drag us down here looking for the God of Death?’ asked Maleneth. In truth, she did not really care, but it was amusing to see Gotrek upsetting Trachos. ‘If you care nothing for these realms or these wars, why pit yourself against Nagash?’