Maleneth laughed incredulously. ‘You fought them? Your own kind?’
‘No! Not that. I fought them off. I don’t mean I attacked them. Not that, at least. Even now, changed as I am, I would not harm one of Sigmar’s own. But I resisted them. I abandoned them. I left them to their fate. I could not rid myself of the faces I saw. I still can’t.’
Gotrek was looking thoughtfully at him and spoke with softer tones than usual. ‘The gods make fools of us. All of us. You were there because they ordered you to be there.’
‘The God-King did not order me to kill unarmed families.’
Gotrek glowered at the rain. ‘When the gods talk of Order or Chaos, they just mean glory – their glory. They have no interest in what happens to the people who win them that glory.’
‘Changed as you are?’ said Maleneth.
Trachos shook his head, confused.
‘That’s what you said,’ she continued. ‘You said, “Changed as I am, I would not harm one of Sigmar’s own”.’
Trachos stared at Maleneth, and for the first time since they had met, she felt something other than amusement when she looked at him. She did not feel that she was looking into the eyes of a man. It was not a human gaze. What were they, these Stormcast Eternals? She had never really considered it before, but now she felt a chill as she realised just how peculiar he was. In some ways, he seemed less human than the ghouls.
‘I’ve lost myself,’ he muttered, finally freeing her from his inhuman stare and looking back at the fire. ‘I died for the first time at the battle of Visurgis. It was glorious. Agony, yes, but glorious. When I felt my soul, still intact, blazing in Sigmar’s halls, hammered on the Anvil of Apotheosis, I knew I had been reborn. Reforged so that I could fight again. Then I died again, fighting greenskins at the Orrotha Pass. The pain was greater that time, but still, the glory was unimaginable. A chance to live again, to fight for the God-King, to fight against all that is wrong in the Mortal Realms.’
He looked up at the stars. ‘The third time I died, the pain seemed like it would never end. Perhaps something was wrong? Perhaps I was too broken to be saved? I could not be sure. But the torture seemed endless. And that was not the worst of it. Once it was over, and I rejoined the host, I could not quite remember what it meant. Why were we fighting? Everything that had previously seemed so important felt like stage directions in a play, or the words of a song. Nothing seemed real.’
He turned to Gotrek, shaking his head. ‘I could not remember my family. Not even the name of my father. Or the place of my birth.’
‘And then you were sent to Shyish,’ said Maleneth, guessing what came next.
He nodded, without meeting her eye. ‘All I could remember was the songs. The hymns we learned in Azyr. Those glorious tunes. I sang them as I fought, praying that the words would hold me in check – that they would guide me when my mind could not. But the truth is that I do not know what I am. I have killed so many in Sigmar’s name, thinking I was doing his work. But was I? Always?’ He frowned and fell quiet again.
No one spoke for a while. Even Gotrek looked troubled by Trachos’ speech.
Something occurred to Maleneth. ‘What will happen to you when you return to Azyr? Word of your flight from Shyish might have reached them. Unless the Hammers of Sigmar all died. What will your commanders say when you return empty-handed and without your men?’
‘I will not return empty-handed. I will submit to whatever judgement is deemed appropriate, but I will not return with only failure to report.’ He gazed at the rune in Gotrek’s chest. ‘I will return with a prize.’
Gotrek’s laughter boomed around the hall. ‘Of course! You want me dead too, just like Ditch Maid. So you can cut this thing out of me and–’
‘No.’ Trachos tightened his fists. ‘I am not a murderer. Whatever I did in the past. I will keep you alive. I will let no harm come to you until I can convince you to come with me to the Celestial City.’
Gotrek staggered to his feet, unsteady with drink, and grabbed his axe. ‘Murder?’ The calm, sympathetic tone had vanished from his voice, replaced by a savage roar. His face was contorted by rage and amusement. ‘There need be no murder, manling. Face me in honest combat. Earn the bloody rune!’
Trachos remained seated. ‘I will not. You are not a creature of Chaos or an agent of the Ruinous Powers. Nor are you a revenant summoned by the Great Necromancer.’ He shook his head. ‘In truth, none of us know what you are. I doubt you know yourself. I will not fight you.’ He opened his hands and stared at the scarred, riveted palms of his gauntlets.
Gotrek stood for a moment longer, then dropped heavily back down beside the fire, grabbing another wineskin. His belligerence had lacked its usual fervour, almost as though he were going through the motions because it was expected of him. ‘Pity,’ he muttered.
Maleneth considered what she had just learned. A Stormcast Eternal whose faith had been shaken was far less of a threat than the hard-line zealot she had thought she was travelling with. There was no hope of convincing Gotrek to stroll up to Azyr and hand himself over to the Order to offer himself in service to the God-King. And if Trachos was too battle-weary to kill the Slayer and take the rune, that meant she was the only one with a chance of getting it back to Azyrheim. She leant back, sipping more wine, and grabbed some of the food Lhosia had fished out of the temple storerooms, feeling happier than she had for a while.
‘And what about you?’ asked Lhosia, turning to face her. ‘Are you here to protect the Slayer too?’
Maleneth stifled a grin and Gotrek snorted.
‘She’ll protect me unless my death offers a better chance to get the rune,’ he said.
Maleneth splayed her hand against her chest in mock offence.
‘And what about the soul you carry?’ asked Lhosia.
Maleneth laughed. ‘You don’t want to know what’s in my soul, priestess.’
‘No,’ replied Lhosia. ‘I don’t mean your soul. I mean the one you carry around your neck.’
Trachos and Gotrek both glanced up, surprised.
Maleneth clasped her hand around the amulet.
She knows what you did! Her mistress laughed wildly, delighted by the turn of events. How will you explain this one?
‘What do you mean?’ Maleneth said, pitching her voice a little too loud. ‘It’s just a memento of a kill.’
Lhosia frowned, looking suspicious. ‘Surely you know it’s more than that? If not, I can help explain. I’m the High Priestess of the Cerement. Even the most shrouded spirit is visible to me. I see every soul in Morbium.’
Maleneth cursed inwardly. She needed to silence the idiot woman before she ruined everything.
‘It’s stopped,’ said Trachos.
‘What?’ snapped Maleneth.
‘The rain.’
‘Finally!’ cried Gotrek, leaping to his feet.
They watched as the last few shards rattled across the platform and ceased, then looked at Lhosia, but she was still staring at Maleneth’s amulet.
Gotrek stomped out onto the platform, holding his palm up to the stars. ‘Looks like marching weather!’
Chapter Eleven
Something more than Blood
While Trachos headed back into the temple to fetch supplies for the journey, Gotrek and the other two wandered around the platform, examining the damage, running their fingers over the scars that now covered every inch of the bone-work. There were still storm clouds overhead, glinting oddly as they rolled and swelled, but they were heading south, away from the quay.