Most of the Gravesward were too busy fighting to register Gotrek’s question, but some looked round in surprise at the sight of a Slayer storming towards them.
Maleneth cursed and ran after Gotrek, with Trachos and Lhosia following close behind. The gatekeeper took his chance to flee, sprinting off up a side street.
Ghouls dashed at Gotrek as he broke from the shadows, but he hacked them down without breaking his stride.
‘Halt!’ cried one of the knights, breaking from the fight to level a scythe at Gotrek. ‘Who are you?’
The skeletal drake reared up behind him, a furious edifice of bone, locking its empty eye sockets on the Slayer.
‘I could ask the same of you,’ replied Gotrek, glaring at the knight, clearly unimpressed by the massive beast looming over him.
Maleneth muttered another curse.
‘You’re clearly not the defenders of this fort,’ continued the Slayer, ‘or you’d be up on the walls instead of hiding down here.’
Maleneth had to step aside as a ghoul broke from the scrum and leapt at her, its face rigid with bloodlust. She opened its throat and booted it into another of the creatures, then bounded over the first one and hammered a knife into both their faces. She flipped clear and landed at Gotrek’s side. Her pulse was hammering, willing her to abandon herself to the slaughter, but she held her bloodlust at bay.
A knight pushed through the crush, trying to reach Gotrek. It was the warrior carrying the fallen knight.
‘Who are you?’ he called, struggling under the weight of his burden.
‘Where’s your prince?’ shouted Gotrek, punching a ghoul to the ground and slamming his axe through its neck. ‘Well? Anyone got a tongue in their head?’
‘Take their weapons,’ said the knight. His armour was more ornate than the others’, engraved and filigreed and studded with white gemstones.
The Slayer rumbled with laughter, gripping his axe in boulder-sized fists and dropping into a battle stance. ‘Just you bloody try.’
The knights hesitated, thrown by Gotrek’s psychotic grin.
The Slayer shrugged, swapping the axe from hand to hand. ‘Not much of a weapon, to be fair.’ He tapped it against his chest rune with a clang. ‘I got it from the same mewling runts who made this. But it’ll do for the likes of you.’
The knights staggered backwards as ghouls continued to pour from the surrounding streets. Trachos limped past them, pummelling ghouls and singing.
‘Wait!’ cried the knight in the ornate armour. ‘Lhosia?’ He pushed towards her, still dragging the fallen warrior, but then hesitated when he got within arm’s reach of Gotrek.
‘Lord Aurun,’ said Lhosia, rushing past Gotrek and embracing the knight.
He smiled, clearly shocked.
‘Prince Volant!’ said Aurun, looking down at the man in his arms. ‘It’s the high priestess!’
‘You’re the Morn-Prince?’ cried Gotrek, striding towards the prone knight.
There was a loud clatter as the Gravesward locked ranks, raising shields and readying scythes.
‘Wait!’ Lhosia raised a hand. ‘The duardin is not an enemy. I would not have reached you without his help. He killed countless mordants to get me here.’
The prince managed to raise himself up and look at Gotrek.
It was only then that Maleneth realised how big he was – almost twice as tall as her, larger than Trachos, even. His armour was filthy and damaged, but he was unmistakably the leader. His face was hidden inside a tall black-and-white helmet that displayed a snarling face on one side and a serene smile on the other.
‘Your majesty,’ said Lhosia, backing away.
‘Who are you, duardin?’ gasped the huge knight, ignoring Lhosia. His voice was rough with pain, and there was blood pooling beneath him. ‘Why do you fight for Morbium?’
The ghouls surged forwards again, and there was a flurry of blows as the knights struggled to hold them back.
‘I’m Gotrek Gurnisson,’ bellowed the Slayer over the din, ‘and I fight exclusively for Gotrek Gurnisson.’ He hacked down a pair of ghouls with one savage swipe. ‘I’m here because I’ve been told you can get me to Nagash.’
‘Nagash?’ Prince Volant turned to Lhosia, shaking his head. He had to pause as more ghouls broke through the lines of knights. There was a furious flurry of scythes, and then, when there was another gap in the fighting, Volant stared at Gotrek. ‘No sane person wants to reach the Great Necromancer.’
Gotrek laughed. ‘Sane?’ He waved his bloody axe at Lhosia, still holding the cocooned corpse she had taken from the docks. ‘You live in bones and worship moths.’
Prince Volant looked past Gotrek towards Maleneth. But before he could say anything, the ground juddered and the sounds of distant battle swelled in volume. A low, booming explosion echoed down the streets.
‘Grungni,’ muttered Gotrek as a shadow loomed over the city. It looked like a column of smoke pluming from a volcano.
‘What is that?’ said Maleneth as the shape moved into the light.
‘A mordant,’ said Prince Volant, his tone bleak.
The ghoul looked similar to the others apart from its size – it was a colossus, hundreds of feet tall and teeming with legions of smaller ghouls. It smashed an enormous fist down into the battlements, destroying the rows of explosive charges lined up for the ballistae. Flames blossomed through the walls, lighting up the giant’s grotesque face. It was just as hunched and sinewy as its smaller kin, but there was a gleam of cruel intelligence in its eyes, quite different from all the others. It dragged its fist sideways through the battlements, hurling men and war machines through the air and creating another drum roll of explosions.
‘To the Separating Chambers,’ snapped Volant, turning towards Lord Aurun. ‘Protect the Unburied.’
Aurun nodded and ordered his men back across the square. They were completely surrounded and it was slow going, but the knights fought with impressive discipline, carving a path through the frantic crowds.
The fury of the fighting made more conversation impossible, so Gotrek, Maleneth and Trachos fought alongside the knights in silence as they made for a building on the far side of the square.
It was a huge, undulating structure built in an architectural style unlike anything Maleneth had seen before. It looked like a marquee of white silk, frozen at the moment its peaks were caught in a breeze, all ripples and bulges, but it was made of the same hard, bone-like material as the rest of the fortress.
‘Into the Hidden City,’ shouted Aurun, waving for everyone to follow him as he dragged the prince up the steps with the help of some of his men.
As most of the knights formed a semicircle at the bottom of the steps, raising their shields, Aurun unlocked the door, flinging it open and spilling purple light over the battle.
They hurried inside, hurling ghouls back down the steps as they backed into the hall. There was a fierce scrum at the threshold before the knights managed to shut the doors with a resounding slam.
‘Bar them!’ cried Lord Aurun, leaving the prince on the floor and rushing back to the doors. They were vast, imposing things wrought of iron-threaded bone, with thick crossbars mounted on either side. As Aurun waved his men back and forth they slammed the bars down. When each bar landed, it triggered a mechanism that whirred like an enormous timepiece, turning and interlocking and creating a lattice of bolts.
The sound of the mechanisms seemed to draw Trachos out of his habitual daydream, and he wandered over to them, fingering the locks with interest.
‘What is this place?’ asked Maleneth, looking up at the distant vaulted ceiling. There were twelve cocoons, identical to the one Lhosia was carrying.
‘Who are you?’ demanded Prince Volant, still sprawled on the floor and clutching his wounds. His skeleton steed was circling him protectively, its hollow gaze locked on Gotrek and Maleneth.