Maybe if you paid attention to your surroundings, you might learn something to your advantage, said her mistress, causing the amulet to pulse warmth across her chest.
Unlikely, she thought. A berserk hog, a babbling necrophile and a Stormcast Eternal who’s so confused he can barely speak. They’re not likely to offer much in the way of insight.
Something caught in Maleneth’s hair. She batted it away, realising it was one of the pallid moths. Another one fluttered across her face and then another, until the air was busy with the things.
She cursed and tried to wave them away. They were fluttering past her in a great cloud, heading towards Lhosia. They landed on the priestess like a pale robe, covering her and the cocoon in humming wings.
Lhosia’s hands were sinking into the surface of the cocoon, vanishing from sight. Then a pale light started to shimmer inside it, like a candle in a paper lantern. The surface of the cocoon gradually became transparent and, as the light burned brighter, the cocoon’s contents became unmistakable. At first there was a flurry of tiny shapes, circling like gnats, then one began to grow and take shape. Maleneth could not help but laugh. There was such a contrast between the reverence in Lhosia’s gaze and the pathetic, grotesque thing hanging in front of her. It looked like a wizened foetus, no bigger than a human head, but with the grey, weathered features of a decrepit old man. It had long, thin, grey hair and patchy stubble on its jaw. Its limbs were atrophied and wasted and its eyes were milk white.
Gotrek grimaced. ‘I risked my life for a pickled corpse? How could that thing have got any more dead?’
‘The Unburied endure,’ replied Lhosia, speaking in hushed tones, her eyes still closed.
She moved her palms beneath the surface of the cocoon as its contents began to move.
Trachos muttered and Maleneth smirked as the shrivelled thing kicked its legs, disturbing whatever fluid suspended it inside the cocoon. Slowly, it raised a withered hand and pressed it against Lhosia’s palm.
Lhosia whispered a prayer of thanks and, when she opened her eyes, the pupils and irises had vanished, leaving featureless white orbs. Then she began to undergo a more profound transformation. As the moths fidgeted across her robes, the dusty, white texture of the cocoon washed over her, turning her whole body into luminous bone. The light of the Unburied pulsed through her and caught on the wings of the moths as they spiralled around her.
Then the shape in the cocoon began to speak. No sound emerged but its mouth was opening and closing and Lhosia nodded in reply.
‘How did you create such a revolting thing?’ asked Maleneth.
‘We did not do this,’ Lhosia’s voice sounded odd – like an echo. ‘No mortal can preserve souls. Not by natural means, at least.’ Lhosia nodded to the moths spinning around her. ‘This is the power of the noctuid.’
‘Noctuid?’ Maleneth frowned. ‘The moths?’
Lhosia nodded, her voice hushed. ‘Harbingers. Our link to the next life. They weave the shrouds and preserve the spirit. Every one of our ancestors has been preserved this way for countless generations. We built our faith on the wisdom of our bloodline. Nothing lost. Nothing forgotten.’
Maleneth looked back towards the room containing the ruined cocoons. ‘Until now, you mean.’
Lhosia’s expression hardened. ‘They should not have been left here. Each one of those cocoons held hundreds of souls.’ She placed her other palm on the cocoon and whispered more prayers. The light was burning so brightly it looked like she had caught an amethyst star. The glare flashed over her hard, opalescent face, making her look like a work of devotional art.
‘How will this thing lead us to your prince?’ said Gotrek.
Anger flickered in Lhosia’s eyes at the word ‘thing’ but she nodded. ‘We are in a Separation Chamber. I have separated my soul from my flesh so I can speak with my ancestor.’ She gave them all a stern look. ‘You must be silent. If my concentration is broken, my form may be altered.’
‘Your what?’ laughed Maleneth.
‘I have sundered my soul from my flesh. I am holding an image of my physical self in my mind so I may return to find it unchanged.’
Maleneth frowned at Gotrek and shook her head.
There was a long silence as Lhosia held the cocoon with her eyes closed, her hands still pressed beneath its surface. The only noise was a vague rattling sound coming from somewhere above. After several minutes, the shrivelled corpse mouthed more words and Lhosia nodded. There was another pause, then the priestess opened her eyes. The moths scattered from her skin and her flesh lost its shell-like texture, becoming normal again.
She took a deep breath, then looked up at them. ‘The prince is headed to see Lord Aurun at the Barren Points. Not far from here. Three day’s walk if we make good speed.’
‘Good,’ said Gotrek, striding away from the light and heading for the door. ‘Then we should leave now.’
Maleneth and Trachos followed but Lhosia remained where she was, whispering to the tiny corpse.
‘What’s that sound?’ said Gotrek, pausing by the door and looking up, noticing the rattling noise for the first time.
They all listened. It sounded as though someone were hurling stones at the roof.
Maleneth looked at Lhosia.
The priestess dragged her gaze from the cocoon and listened. Then she frowned, disconnecting her hands from the cocoon, extinguishing its inner light and rushing past Maleneth to the bottom of the stairs.
Maleneth and the others followed her as she climbed back up to the quay. The noise grew as they climbed the steps, becoming a fierce, rattling din, like coins poured onto metal.
As they reached the entrance hall they were greeted by a spectacular sight. The sky was a veil of glittering shards.
‘I’ve never seen this,’ said Lhosia. She stepped towards the opening at the end of the hall, her hand outstretched.
Gotrek grabbed her and shook his head. ‘Watch out, lass.’
Lhosia glared at him and pulled her arm free.
‘He’s right,’ said Maleneth. ‘We’ve seen this before. In Klemp they call it bone rain.’
Lhosia shook her head. ‘Bone rain?’
Gotrek grunted and stepped back, avoiding the shards that bounced towards him. ‘Weather from Nagash. It’ll cut through you like knives.’
They stood in silence for a while, stunned by the spectacle of the scene. It looked like they were trapped behind a waterfall spilled from the stars, and the sound was deafening, like waves crashing against rocks.
Eventually, Lhosia looked at Gotrek. ‘When will it stop?’
He shook his head. ‘Could be days for all I know.’ He scowled. Then he looked past her, back into the temple, a hopeful gleam in his eye. ‘Do you people have anything to drink?’
Chapter Nine
The Hounds of Dinann
The war had been brutal but brief. King Galan had not expected the level of resistance, but he had expected the glorious devotion of his men. The Hounds of Dinann. What army, in all the realms, could hope to stand against such warriors? Never had he felt so alive. He was almost grateful for the uprising. To rise from his fur-strewn throne and take up his spear one last time. One final war. The Great Wolf had smiled on him.
The traitors had taken hold of an outlying keep, burning effigies and flying their colours from the walls in defiance of his rule, but King Galan could taste victory. He was days away from ending the rebellion and returning order to the entire kingdom. Loyal vassals from every corner of his empire had flocked to his banner when word of the rebellion spread. There were reports coming in from all the major engagements, describing victory after victory. By the time he reached the capital, there would barely be a rebel left to face him. He looked around as he rode towards the keep. Ranks of spearmen were arrayed around him, their golden torcs gleaming in the darkness, their breastplates flashing as they followed him to the gates. Behind them came serried legions of foot soldiers, their pennants flying and their voices raised in song as the sigil of the hound fluttered in the wind.