In a few seconds Maleneth left the Gravesward behind and crossed the hall, arriving next to Gotrek with a final, acrobatic leap.
The Slayer turned on his heel, axe raised, ready to behead her, his face contorted.
‘Gotrek!’ she said, holding out her knife in warning, squinting into the inferno that had engulfed him. ‘It’s me!’
Recognition flickered across his eye. He axed down a pair of ghouls without looking away from Maleneth.
‘Aelf?’ His voice was hoarse from shouting. He looked barely recognisable. Golden light was slicing through the pores of his skin and rippling across his mohawk. He looked like a weapon plucked from a forge.
They were a few feet from the wall, and Maleneth pointed at the pipes stretching to the ceiling. They were still shimmering with the power Trachos had triggered.
‘The machines…’ she said, but her words faltered as Gotrek stepped closer. The sweating, porcine oaf had vanished, and she found herself facing something quite different. He looked like an avatar of war, gilded with bloodlust and burning with power.
Gotrek dealt out a storm of brutal blows, cutting a path around Maleneth. Then he shook his head. ‘It’s my time, aelf.’ Even his voice sounded different – deep and calm rather than harsh and boorish.
He turned to go.
‘No!’ cried Maleneth, leaping in front of him.
Fury burned in Gotrek’s eye. ‘Step aside!’
Maleneth saw one last chance. One hope of survival. She shook her head, crouching before him. It was suicide, but she gripped her knives and dropped into a battle stance.
Gotrek glowered, outraged, and swung his axe at her head.
She ducked, rolling clear, and Gotrek was thrown forwards by the force of his blow.
His greataxe smashed into the shimmering pipes.
Power rushed through him, pouring from the rune down the haft of his axe and into the machines.
Maleneth was hurled backwards, engulfed in white heat.
Chapter Seventeen
The Lair of the Great Wolf
‘For Dinann!’ howled King Galan, standing in his stirrups and lifting his spear.
‘For Dinann!’ His soldiers filled the night with noise, their horses rearing and screaming, pounding their armoured hooves on the dusty road.
Nia was at his side, triumphant on her white destrier, grinning as she raised her spear. She was bold and beautiful, her auburn hair plaited down her back and her voice as ferocious as any of the men’s.
The Hounds of Dinann kicked their horses into a canter, and the highway rang to the sound of metal-shod hooves.
The capital was still half a mile away, but Galan could already see soldiers rushing to man the battlements.
‘These are our lands,’ said Nia, her voice hoarse with anger. ‘The birthright of the Dinann. The lair of the Great Wolf. How could they fail us so badly? What could have driven them to betray us?’
Galan waved his spear at their glorious host. ‘Who cares? It will soon be over. This battle might be larger than the others, but it will be just as decisive. And when we are done, the kingdom will be restored and we can end our days in peace. We can be proud of our reign, Nia.’
She held his gaze, and an unspoken thought passed between them.
He leant closer. ‘We might not have produced heirs, but we have rebuilt the kingdom and given our people hope. That is worth far more. We can be proud, Nia.’
‘Your majesty,’ said Lord Melvas, steering his horse towards Galan.
Nia smiled at Galan and rode away, chin raised and eyes flashing.
Melvas looked troubled, and Galan slowed his horse to speak with him. The warrior seemed unable to talk, grimacing and struggling to meet Galan’s eye.
‘What is it, man?’ Usually, Galan would have found his general’s awkwardness amusing, but not on the cusp of battle. ‘Speak up.’
Melvas shook his head. ‘I’m not sure…’ He still looked pained. ‘Now that I come to say it, it sounds absurd.’
‘Pull yourself together, Melvas. I can’t have you pulling faces and cowering when we’re about to attack. What is it?’
Melvas frowned. ‘This morning, when I was inspecting the rearguard, I saw the strangest thing. For a moment, I thought I saw the men eating something…’
‘What are you talking about, Melvas?’ snapped the king. ‘Eating what?’
He grimaced. ‘It looked like they were eating the men they had just killed.’
‘Eating the bodies? What are you talking about? You’re saying they were cannibals?’
Melvas stared at him a little longer, then laughed and shook his head. ‘I know. It’s absurd. Forgive me, your highness. I think I really did drink too much at the feast.’
Galan leant closer. ‘We’ve been fighting too long and sleeping too little, all of us.’ He slapped Melvas on the back. ‘Soon you’ll be back at home with your feet up, boasting about how you did all the real work.’ He laughed. ‘Cannibals!’
Melvas tried to smile, but his eyes remained fixed and dull.
‘Galan?’ called Nia from the other side of the road. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Only Melvas’ inability to hold his drink! I warned him this would happen!’
She laughed and rode on.
Galan pulled Melvas so close their faces were almost touching. ‘We are about to end this uprising. The men will be looking to you for guidance. Understand?’
Melvas nodded and sat up in his saddle. ‘Of course.’
Galan loosed his arm, and the general’s horse carried him back into the flow of riders. Melvas barked orders as he went, but his commands lacked their usual vigour.
Galan shook his head and rode on, frowning until he saw Nia, just ahead of him, laughing with one of the men, radiant and glorious.
‘For Dinann!’ he howled, grinning.
The host echoed his call.
Chapter Eighteen
The Spindrift
Maleneth’s breath exploded from her lungs as she landed, hard, on the floor. As she lay there, dazed and breathless, blinded by dazzling light, a great roaring came from somewhere and the ground started to shudder.
‘Gotrek!’ she gasped, her throat full of ash.
You’ve killed him! Finally!
Maleneth’s skull was pounding where it had hit the floor, and nausea rushed through her as she stood, swaying, surrounded by coruscating light.
‘Nice work, aelf,’ boomed Gotrek, staggering through the glare. ‘If in doubt, blow it up. Always a good plan.’
She tried to speak, to explain herself, but her breath was still trapped painfully in her lungs.
Gotrek’s bludgeoning tone told her that he was himself once more. Whatever transformation had been threatening to overcome him had ceased. He was the hog again. He laughed. ‘Did you attack me?’
‘The cocoons,’ she said, taking a deep, juddering breath. ‘The power of the Master Rune. You sent it into the machines.’
He shook his head, looking at her as though she were insane. Then he laughed. ‘By Grungni. Only an aelf could be so devious. If that’s worked, I’ll buy you a barrel of Bugman’s.’
He hauled her across the hall, carving a path through the dazed ghouls until the light dimmed and they saw the effects of the blast.
The explosion had given the Gravesward a chance to regroup around their prince. There were more of them left than Maleneth had guessed, and they had locked their shields back together, forming a circular wall that bristled with scythes. Trachos was there too. His armour was even more damaged than the last time she had seen him, but he was still standing, staring up at the ceiling.
Maleneth followed his gaze and laughed. ‘It worked!’