‘They’re like the engines in Azyr,’ said Trachos, talking to the ceiling. ‘In the Sigmarabulum. In the alchemical forges. Those machines were designed almost entirely by duardin engineering guilds. These look similar.’
Maleneth looked from Trachos to Gotrek and back again, realisation dawning. ‘You’ve studied duardin engineering?’
Trachos was still talking to the ceiling. ‘Of course. Most of Azyr is built on the principles of duardin engineering. I have studied several methods of containing aetheric matter – Baraz Cylinders, Gromthi Coils. They’re no different to any other…’ He shook his head and began mumbling to himself.
Gotrek nodded. ‘Between the two of us, we could untether these cocoons.’
Trachos lowered his gaze from the ceiling and stared at Gotrek. ‘What?’
Gotrek’s grin froze on his face, and he gripped his axe tighter. ‘I said we could release them, you tin-headed lump.’
‘Oh. Yes, perhaps. It would require an influx of aetheric energy.’ Trachos tapped some of the arcane devices jangling at his belt. ‘I should be able to trigger the correct currents.’
Gotrek had just opened his mouth to say more when the doors gave way.
Chapter Sixteen
The Master Rune of Krag Blackhammer
Maleneth ducked as bone and iron whistled through the air.
Tree-sized fingers clawed at the doors, ripping away the frame, causing the walls to crumble.
Then, as the giant ghoul backed away, hundreds of its smaller kin poured into the hall, howling and snorting, their eyes rolling with kill-frenzy.
‘Shield wall!’ cried Lord Aurun, and the Gravesward locked together, forming a row of tightly packed shields just before the ghouls crashed into them.
The knights staggered under the impact but held their position. As one, they swiped their scythes beneath their shields, cutting the legs from the creatures. Ghouls slapped to the floor, thrashing in their own blood.
‘Trachos!’ bellowed Gotrek, waving at the stairs that lined the walls. ‘Get those bodies down!’ He was running as he shouted, rushing to join the battle. He vaulted a toppled column and leapt over the shield wall with a joyous howl, crashing into the heart of the ghouls.
Prince Volant waved Lord Aurun and Maleneth over. ‘Help me up!’ he called, pointing at his steed.
The skeleton drake had already lowered its head in readiness, but Aurun shook his head. ‘Morn-Prince! Your wounds!’
‘It’s an order, Lord Aurun.’
Maleneth scoured the hall for the other exit, cursing as she realised she might have to abandon her plans, after all she had endured. They were cornered like rats. It was going to be a massacre.
The other doors lead to the sea. There’s no point trying them. Her mistress’ voice was not as sneering as usual. It sounded alarmed. You heard them. Walk on those dead waters and you’ll lose your mind. There’s nowhere to go.
Maleneth hissed in annoyance. Her mistress was right. Her only chance was that Gotrek’s lunatic plan might somehow work. Trachos was still only halfway up the wall, struggling to climb because of his wounds. ‘Your prince will last longer on that thing than on the floor,’ she muttered, glancing at Aurun. ‘Get him on there.’
Aurun looked appalled that she was addressing him in such a commanding tone, but he gave a grudging nod and, between them, they hauled Volant up onto his mount.
The prince seemed reinvigorated to be looming over the fighting, and he raised his scythe. ‘Morbium eternal!’ His steed reared beneath him and the Gravesward roared in reply, their shield wall unbroken as they cut down row after row of ghouls.
Volant’s drake jerked its head forwards, jaws gaping, spewing a column of dust across the hall. It hit the ghouls with such force that it carved a path through the centre of the scrum, toppling dozens of the creatures. But as Maleneth climbed some rubble for a better view, she saw that the blast was doing more than simply knocking them over. As they tried to rise, their movements grew stiff and awkward and their flesh hardened. Within a few seconds, every ghoul that had been hit was lying cracked and lifeless on the ground.
Maleneth nodded, impressed, then remembered Gotrek. ‘The Slayer is out there!’ she cried.
‘Aye!’ shouted Gotrek, climbing onto the toppled door, the head of a ghoul in one hand and his axe in the other. He raised the weapon and grinned.
‘Watch out for Gotrek!’ she called to Prince Volant, pointing at the Slayer.
He nodded and cried out the same command, and his steed vomited more dust in the opposite direction.
Trachos was still struggling to reach the ceiling, so Maleneth bounded up the steps. As she approached him, she shook her head in disbelief. The idiot was singing to himself, as though he were enjoying a moment of quiet reflection.
She grabbed his arm and hauled him up the last few steps. They reached a balcony suspended just below the ceiling, and were now within arm’s reach of the machines. Trachos’ song faltered.
‘Incredible workmanship,’ he said, removing his helmet and fastening it to his belt so that he could study the devices in more detail.
‘We’re about to die,’ said Maleneth.
Trachos fixed her with a flat, blank stare. ‘I will not die.’
‘Oh, well that’s all fine then.’
He continued staring at her.
‘The machines, Trachos,’ she prompted. ‘Can you make them work?’
He looked back at the engines and the rows of pale ovoid shapes they cradled.
From up here Maleneth could see the twelve cocoons clearly. They were just like the one Lhosia carried – like oversized eggs wrapped in dusty gauze. Now that she knew what they contained, she found the sight of them revolting.
‘Think of all those withered little corpses,’ she muttered.
Trachos shrugged. ‘Gotrek won’t leave without the prince, and the prince won’t leave without the corpses.’
There was an explosion of howls from below as the ghouls broke through the shield wall. Knights scrambled to block the gap, but it was like trying to stem a ruptured dam. Ghouls rushed in every direction, leaping and clawing and tearing soldiers to the ground.
‘Quickly!’ cried Maleneth. ‘Get those things out!’
Trachos turned back to the machines. He singled out a particular piece of the workings and rotated cogs with his fingers, clicking them into a new position, aligning the duardin runes engraved into the ancient metal.
Maleneth laughed with relief as light shimmered through the metalwork, edging its wheels and levers.
The fighting became a desperate rout. Gravesward staggered in every direction, trying to fend off claws and teeth as their shields were ripped from their grip.
Gotrek whirled through the carnage, hacking, laughing and lunging.
‘His rune,’ whispered Maleneth.
Trachos was too engrossed in his work to hear. He had taken a spherical golden cage from his belt and fixed it to the cogs. The instrument was pulsing with the same light as the rest of the ceiling and making a bright ticking sound.
Maleneth stared at Gotrek. He was lost in the moment, fighting so ferociously that Grimnir’s face was blazing in his chest. His blocky, savage features looked like they were rising from a brazier, underlit by a hellish glow. ‘It will change him,’ she muttered.
Trachos paused. ‘What?’
‘The rune.’ She pointed one of her knives at Gotrek. ‘It’s consuming him.’