‘Of course. I have my own routes into all of the prominents.’ She waved at the approach to the gates, where several smaller paths snaked away from the main one, then started to hurry on along the road. ‘Quickly.’
As they neared the fortress walls, they heard the sound of winged ghouls whirling overhead in the darkness. Some of them were making a thin, scraping, gasping sound. It was like a knife being dragged across porcelain. Maleneth would have found the noise easier to cope with if Trachos hadn’t tried to drown it out with another grating hymn. He tried to look proud and triumphant as he marched on, but his wounds made him more tragic than fearsome.
Think how easy it would be to lace one of your knives and jam it through those splits in his armour, whispered her mistress.
‘I serve the God-King,’ she muttered. ‘I serve something bigger than myself. You wouldn’t understand what that’s like.’
You were meant to serve me! You serve yourself before any god. And you need Gotrek dead if you’re going to claim the rune for yourself. How else can you guarantee that he won’t end up marching back into Azyr with it?
‘Look at him. He’s half dead already. I just need to bide my time and he’ll do the job for me. That way I’ll get the rune without breaking the oaths I swore in Azyrheim. The Order of Azyr won’t last long if we murder each other every time there’s a chance of glory.’
You’re getting soft in your old age. You care about him.
Maleneth laughed. ‘I haven’t changed that much.’
‘This way,’ said Lhosia, leading them down a side road that followed the curve of the fortress walls, heading down as it went.
Maleneth glanced up. This close, the fortress looked even stranger, like a forest of heat-warped bones.
‘Look out!’ cried the gatekeeper as a ghoul dived at them from its perch on the wall.
Maleneth cursed. The thing was huge, like the ghouls they had faced at the port.
Gotrek ran at the wall of the fortress with such speed that he managed to take a few steps up its sheer side and hurl himself into the air.
The ghoul screamed in confusion as the full weight of the Slayer hit its back. It struggled furiously, forcing everyone to back away, blinded by clouds of dust, but Gotrek was still laughing as he struggled to keep his footing on the monster. He reached down, grabbed its chin and snapped its neck.
Maleneth ducked as another ghoul attacked, but she was too slow and a fist slammed into the side of her head. She stumbled like a drunk, swerving across the road. Then her breath exploded from her lungs as she tripped over rubble and thudded to the ground.
She was vaguely aware of a figure standing over her, fending off the ghouls, but she did not realise who it was until she heard Trachos’ voice, booming out, ‘Mallus-born and fiery-eyed! Godly lightning in my hand! Turning back the darksome tide! From Sigmar’s golden starlit land!’
As the dust cleared, she saw him battling for her life, chin high and voice raised in triumph. He whirled his hammers back and forth, ignoring his wounds and his pain, smashing down every ghoul that scrambled towards her, punching sigmarite into their deranged faces. There was something horribly desperate in his words. It did not stem from fear of the ghouls, she realised, but fear of his own state of mind.
With a few of the ghouls down, the screams were more bearable and Maleneth managed to stand, staring at Trachos as he staggered away from her, dragging his ruined leg and looking for another target.
‘You’re such a dunce,’ she said. ‘Why were you protecting me? Without me around you’d have a chance of getting that rune.’
‘I will protect you with whatever strength Sigmar spares me, Maleneth Witchblade, servant of the God-King.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘So brave.’
‘This way!’ cried Lhosia, dashing under an archway and continuing on down the road.
Maleneth ran after her and Trachos followed as quickly as he could, but Gotrek stayed in the centre of the road, roaring at the horrors above. Some were clambering over the walls and others were pounding torn, rotten wings as they circled overhead. Deranged as they were, the ghouls appeared reluctant to go anywhere near a raging Slayer. ‘Get down here!’ he cried. ‘Or on my oath, I’ll sprout wings and come up there after you!’
‘Gotrek!’ shouted Maleneth, waving her knives at the archway. ‘The prince! He’s in the fortress, remember?’
Gotrek grunted, gave the ghouls one last glare, then stamped through the carnage towards the arch, shrugging gore from his massive shoulders.
The road followed the curve of the wall, and after a few minutes, the clamour of battle began to fade.
They passed through a low arch. Lhosia unlocked a small hidden door, and they entered the fortress, emerging onto a wide paved area surrounded by windows and doors, all of which had been shuttered and barred. They could hear battle all around them, but there was no sign of soldiers or ghouls. The place seemed to have been overlooked as the fighting raged all around it.
The glow they had seen outside the fortress was brighter here, and the buildings looked like shards of alabaster held before a fire, pale and shimmering with amethyst light. Lhosia looked furious as she studied the lights. ‘The Unburied should be safely in the capital by now. I explained to the prince. We didn’t need to lose a single soul, as long as he took them to the Lingering Keep.’ She waved her scythe at the lights. ‘And here they are, still at risk, surrounded by mordants.’
‘Where is he, lass?’ said Gotrek, wiping blood from his face as he trudged into the square.
She shook her head and gestured them on, across the square. She led them to a narrow lane that looped up behind one of the buildings, lined with dozens of market stalls.
As they neared the top of the steep road, the sounds of fighting grew louder.
They readied their weapons as they crested the hill and saw another square spread out below them.
A brutal clash was in full swing. Gravesward, black-armoured archers and white-robed priests were all backing slowly into the square as mordants tumbled from every wall and roof. The ghouls were in such a frenzy that they were killing themselves to reach the defenders, leaping from rooftops and smashing themselves across the flagstones or else being crushed by the weight of bodies.
The scene was dominated by an enormous fossilised serpent that towered over the soldiers, its bleached-bone wings rattling as it lashed at the ghouls, flinging them through the air.
The Erebid numbered no more than a couple of hundred, but every building was carpeted with frenzied ghouls and more were looping overhead, pounding their wings as they looked for a place to attack. Maleneth guessed that in the streets around the square alone, there must have been thousands of the creatures, all thrashing wildly as they tried to reach the scythe-wielding knights. The Erebid had formed a tight circle around one of their fallen comrades. Maleneth struggled to see the wounded warrior they were so desperate to protect, but he looked to be unconscious, slumped in the arms of another knight. It was a desperate scene. The Erebid were massively outnumbered, and most of them were bleeding from multiple wounds. As they backed into the square, mordants rushed towards them from every direction, spilling out of streets and windows in a flood of grey, mottled flesh.
‘This is not a fight we can win,’ said Maleneth, searching around for a place to take cover. ‘We need to think carefully about how we–’
‘Who’s the prince?’ bellowed Gotrek, swinging his axe cheerfully as he strode out into the square.
Chapter Fifteen
The Hidden City