‘The Unburied,’ said Lhosia, touching the cocoon she carried. ‘We preserve our ancestors, and they, in turn, loan us their immortal power, feeding life into the prominents. Or at least, that’s how it has always been until now.’
They trudged on in silence for a while, the only sound coming from Trachos’ twisted boot as he dragged it along behind him. After walking for a few hours, his limp had become even more pronounced. Maleneth imagined he would like to rest but was too proud to ask. The thought of his stoical, grimacing silence made the journey slightly more entertaining.
Every dozen yards or so, they passed another corpse – either a dismembered ghoul, one of the knights in a flamboyant, feathered cloak or one of Morbium’s civilians – pale, emaciated wretches like Lhosia, dressed in white or dark purple robes. Every one of the corpses was surrounded by a mobile shroud of tiny moths that scattered when Maleneth and the others approached, filling the darkness with movement and noise. It took a few minutes for Maleneth to realise that one of the bodies up ahead was still moving, trying to fend off the moths.
‘Gotrek,’ she said, nodding towards the struggling shape.
He nodded and veered back into the centre of the road, slinging his axe from his back as he reached the man.
When the Slayer hauled the terrified wretch to his feet, Maleneth recognised his face. ‘The gatekeeper,’ she laughed. ‘You didn’t get far.’
‘Traitor!’ cried Lhosia, barging past Maleneth to confront him. ‘How dare you abandon your post? If you had done your duty, the mordants could have been halted. How could you hide yourself away while the Gravesward fought for their lives?’
The man tried to pull away from her, shaking his head, but he was trapped firmly in Gotrek’s iron grip. ‘High priestess… forgive me.’ His voice was shrill. ‘What could I do?’
‘What you were trained to do!’ Lhosia exclaimed. ‘What you were sworn to do!’ Her voice was taut with rage. Maleneth sensed that she was venting all the grief and rage that had been tormenting her since she had left the port. She drew her scythe and brandished it at the quaking man. ‘Your cowardice will have risked countless souls! I should execute you for your–’
‘They came so fast,’ said the gatekeeper, shaking his head. ‘There was no time to lock the gates or raise the wynd. Even the Gravesward could not hold them back.’ His eyes flicked towards Lhosia. ‘I’ve never seen so many mordants. Where are they coming from? Why are the prominents growing dark?’
‘The Iron Shroud has been breached,’ said Lhosia, not looking at the man. ‘Something has broken through the power of the Unburied. We have been revealed to the rest of the princedoms.’
The gatekeeper looked like he might be sick. He shook his head and muttered something to himself. ‘You’re headed somewhere,’ he said. ‘Where?’
‘Prince Volant is at the Barren Points. And I have promised to take this duardin to him.’
The man stepped away from Gotrek, staring at him in confusion, taking in the chest rune and the streaks of gold in his beard and mohawk. Then he turned towards Maleneth.
Her leathers were drenched in gore and her hair was clotted with blood, sticking up from her head at a deranged angle. She gave him a friendly wink.
‘Take me with you, priestess,’ he gasped, looking back at Lhosia. ‘Don’t leave me with these…’
Maleneth wondered whether he was more afraid of her or the ghouls.
Lhosia did not meet his eye, but nodded.
‘Only if you can keep up,’ said Gotrek, and marched off down the road.
As the road climbed higher, they saw other highways passing beneath them, criss-crossing the sea, made of the same amalgamation of bone and iron. After a few hours, lights began to wash over the metal, coming from up ahead.
‘Is this it?’ asked Maleneth, peering at the distant shape. ‘Is this the fortress where we will find your prince?’
Lhosia nodded.
Maleneth looked again at the shape in the distance, frowning as they walked towards it. ‘Did you say the lights come from the…’ She hesitated, gesturing at the cocoon Lhosia carried. ‘From those things?’
Again Lhosia nodded. ‘The Unburied.’
‘And did you say that your prince took all the Unburied back to your capital, so that they would be safe from the flesh-eaters?’
Lhosia hesitated, staring at the lights.
‘It would appear he’s overlooked some,’ said Maleneth.
The priestess strode on, gripping her scythe and picking up her pace.
‘Finally!’ grunted Gotrek, jogging after her. ‘Someone with a sense of urgency.’
The Barren Points were nothing like the fortress they had seen at the port. Rather than a shell-like spiral curve, it resembled an overgrown version of the shrine where they had first met Lhosia – a gnarled, briar-like tangle of bone towers, each knotted around the others to make an impenetrable tangle. The whole tormented mass reached up like flames, as large as a city and as strange as everything else they had seen in the princedom. Somewhere deep inside the knotted walls was the source of the purple light, which spilled through the gaps between the towers, landing on the sea in a jumble of rippling shafts.
‘Looks as buggered as the last place,’ said Gotrek.
The far side of the fortress had collapsed, and hundreds of fires littered the ruined walls. There were figures battling through the fumes, silhouetted by the flames. Even from half a mile away, it was clear that most of the figures were ghouls. They were breaching the walls in a way that no sane warrior would attempt, swarming over the defences like rats, scrabbling over each other in a frenzy to reach the defenders that had gathered to face them. War engines hurled comet-like missiles, huge spheres of purple flame that exploded on impact, drenching the ghouls in liquid heat and adding to the fires that were spreading quickly through their ranks, but the shots were wild and sporadic.
Lhosia stared at the carnage. ‘If the Barren Points fall, there is nothing to stop them taking the Northern Wards.’
‘Are they more of your sacred moths?’ asked Maleneth, peering at the clouds of tiny shapes that tumbled around the fighting.
Lhosia frowned in puzzlement, shaking her head.
‘We would not see moths from this distance,’ said Trachos. He took a carved ivory box from his belt and flicked a clasp on its side. A dozen linked boxes rattled out of it, each one smaller than the previous one, creating a long, square-sided tube. He snapped the clasp back, locking the boxes in place, then held the tube up to his helmet, looking through a lens at the narrow end. He muttered something and handed the spyglass to Maleneth.
She grimaced as the scene over the walls swam into focus. The flying shapes were ghouls with vast leathery wings, and as the knights reeled away from them, the creatures swooped down and tore them apart. ‘No one is leading the defence,’ she said. ‘Look. It’s mayhem. Where is this prince you’ve been telling us so much about? Is he the kind of prince that directs his troops from the local hostelry?’
They each took a turn with Trachos’ spyglass, but when it came to Gotrek, he held it for a long time, muttering under his breath. ‘There are thousands of ghouls at the front gates. They’re everywhere. I presume the gates on this side will be locked, and I don’t fancy our chances of climbing the walls. Any ideas how we get in?’
Lhosia was still staring at the battle on the walls. ‘Where is the prince? Or Lord Aurun?’
‘Priestess,’ said Maleneth, causing her to turn round in surprise. ‘Can you get us in? I can’t imagine it will be long before the ghouls take a look at this side of the fortress.’