‘There will be no grave for you.’ She raised her knife in the air with a dramatic flourish. ‘You live on! Stormcast Eternal! Unfettered by mortality! A light in the darkness! Burning for all eternity!’
He studied her from behind his battered faceplate. ‘You’re mocking me.’
Maleneth lowered her blade and shook her head. ‘I was, but you’re too damned earnest for it to be any fun.’
He maintained his stare. ‘I had a normal life. I was a mortal man before Sigmar chose me to join his Stormhosts. I was destined to live, hate, love and die just like everyone else.’ He looked at the approaching city. ‘Who knows, perhaps this would have been my afterlife? I do not even recall what nation I belonged to before I became…’ He tapped his armour. ‘Before I was remade in Sigmar’s image. But whatever fate was allotted to me has been taken. I serve the God-King. And nothing else matters.’
Maleneth shrugged. ‘What more could you want? You serve your god through strength and courage. You spill blood in his name. You rid the realms of his enemies. Isn’t that enough?’
‘As long as I can remember whose blood to spill.’ He shook his head. ‘My god is not like yours, aelf. Khaine requires you to give him blood and power. He has no interest beyond that. The God-King does not seek power merely for its own sake.’
She sneered. ‘You really have been reborn, haven’t you? Have you forgotten what happened to you last time you were in Shyish? Are you so sure Sigmar’s creations are as perfect and divine as all that? Are you really so different from me?’ She leant closer. ‘Why did Sigmar send hammer-wielding killers into the realms? Was it to broker peace? Was it to negotiate a truce? No. He sent you to wreak murder and ruin. Your god is no different from mine. Every time you crush another skull, Sigmar smiles, Lord Ordinator. Every drop of blood is a tribute.’
‘You’re wrong. Sigmar sent his Stormhosts to free mankind from the yoke of its oppressors. To save it from tyranny.’
‘And what about when you were killing those unarmed families, Trachos? Were you freeing them from tyranny?’ Maleneth’s voice was full of scorn, but she realised, to her surprise, that she was genuinely interested to hear his answer.
Trachos nodded. ‘I have strayed close to the precipice. But now I see that there is hope, even with this tiny ember of humanity I have left, I can–’
The cheers suddenly grew in fervour, drowning Trachos out, and she saw that they had nearly reached the city walls.
‘What?’ she said, wanting to hear what Trachos had to say, but it seemed he could not hear her over the din.
They both stood up and watched over the railings as the rotations of the Spindrift began to slow.
The light around Gotrek and the priestess faded, giving the pair a less divine appearance.
Your chance is almost gone, said Maleneth’s former mistress. In a few more minutes he will be flesh and blood again. You’ll have to move now if you want to get that rune.
He’s surrounded by soldiers, Maleneth thought. And he’s in the process of saving all of our lives. Do you really expect me to plant a knife in him now?
She untied herself and climbed stiffly to her feet, slapping her cramped limbs and stretching her back until the Spindrift was steady enough for her to cross the deck and approach the Slayer.
Trachos clanked after her.
You’ll have no chance with the Stormcast Eternal watching. Get him away. Trick him into going below decks.
Maleneth ignored the voice, staring at Gotrek. His eyes were closed and, like Lhosia, he was sitting completely still. His skin was still pale and shell-like, and he looked more like a statue than a living being. Robbed of his erratic, surly manner and bombastic voice, he seemed an entirely different proposition. Traces of light still played around him, and she could almost imagine that the people of Morbium were cheering for him rather than their prince. They certainly would be if they knew what he had done.
Something is happening here, she thought. Something is happening with this Slayer. He is not like anything I have encountered before.
Fool. Stop being pathetic! Look! His skin is almost normal again. Do it now.
It’s more than just the rune, she decided. He is destined for something. Whatever he thinks of gods, I think one of them has sent him here. He must have some kind of divine patron. How else could he have faced everything he has faced, with so little planning or logic, and still be alive? He’s brutish and thoughtless and has no ounce of finesse, but nothing touches him. How can that be? Something is propelling him through these trials, directing him and loading him with power. And if I killed him here, now, I would never know what it was – or what Gotrek is. What he’s here for.
Blood of Khaine! What are you talking about? He’s not propelled by a god – he’s propelled by stupidity. There’s no divinity in that sweating lump. Look at him! You said it yourself – he’s a talking hog, too ignorant to recognise the danger he keeps throwing himself in. The only thing he’s here for is to destroy himself in the most vainglorious way possible. There is nothing to be gained by letting him live. Kill him now, while you have the chance. Give him the doom he wants, or you will die here. With these vile people. And so will I.
Maleneth shook her head.
Gotrek opened his eyes, blinking and confused, looking as if he had spent a night drinking. He caught sight of Maleneth and Trachos, watching him in dazed wonder.
‘Grungni’s balls. Why are you looking at me like that?’
Lhosia opened her eyes at the sound of his voice and gazed at the lights, fading quickly around the deck as the Spindrift slowed. ‘It worked,’ she said, glancing over the prow at the city as she lifted her hand from Gotrek’s rune.
Gotrek stood, rolled his shoulders and sniffed, making a long, liquid rattling sound. ‘What next, lass?’ He stomped over to the railing and looked out at the prince and the walls of the Lingering Keep. ‘Where do we need to take these things before your prince will consider them saved?’
Lhosia gently removed her hand from the cocoon, and across the ship, the lights began to fade. ‘Incredible,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. They were all present. Every one of the Unburied. There were a thousand souls on this ship.’
‘Priestess!’ bellowed Gotrek, waving her over to the railings and nodding to the city. ‘What now?’
Lord Aurun staggered towards them, flanked by Gravesward. He was covered in cuts and bruises, but his eyes were bright.
‘Now the prince will perform his rite.’ He gestured at the cocoons. ‘With the Unburied assembled in the Lingering Keep, he will be able to save them.’ He smiled at Lhosia. ‘The prince told me you and he will harness the light of a magic stone. He said you will rebuild the Iron Shroud and put an end to this invasion.’
The wonder faded from Lhosia’s eyes. ‘Would that it were that simple, old friend. The prince has a powerful relic called the Cerement Stone. He believes that with the Unburied in the Lingering Keep, he and I will be able to channel their power into the stone and create a new ward, strong enough to protect them. We will be able to keep them safe from the mordants. It will be a kind of Iron Shroud, but not one that will protect the whole princedom.’ She looked back the way they had come, at the vast darkness that had once been lit by the prominents. ‘Nothing can be done for the rest of Morbium.’