‘But if we are locked away in the capital, what will become of us?’ said Aurun. ‘Wouldn’t we starve?’
‘The prince has not shared all the details with me.’ She shook her head, looking grim. ‘He said nothing of our survival, only of the Unburied.’
Aurun frowned as the ship’s momentum carried them over the final approach to the city and the ship rumbled to a halt. It bumped to a stop alongside a broad wynd that led to a set of enormous gates forged to resemble folded wings, mirroring the shield designs of the Gravesward. The highway teemed with refugees, hundreds of exhausted-looking people hauling carts and sacks towards the city. Many of them were wounded, and they all looked emaciated, but they were cheering Prince Volant with even more gusto than the soldiers on the battlements.
The soldiers on the boat leapt to action, hurling ropes to the wynd, where gaunt-faced refugees grabbed them and tied the aether-ship to the metal road.
Lord Aurun led the way down a gangplank, proud and victorious, waving to people like a monarch as the rest of the ship’s passengers trailed after him.
Gotrek was right beside Aurun, looking eagerly up at the city gates as Maleneth and Trachos hurried after him.
The Gravesward formed an avenue of shields for them to march down, and as Prince Volant soared overhead, over the city walls, Aurun and the others marched through the gates, entering a square crowded with hundreds more refugees and soldiers.
The noise was incredible. The people saw the cocoons and cheered even louder, crying, ‘Morbium Eternal!’
Prince Volant landed in the centre of the square, his bone steed clattering against the flagstones. He dropped from his saddle, attempting to look triumphant but unable to completely hide the fact that he was injured. He moved in awkward, sudden lurches, but waved his men away when they rushed to help.
‘I have kept the oath of the Morn-Princes!’ he cried, looming over the crowd. ‘I will never abandon our past!’ He waved his scythe at the cocoons, which were being carried into the square. ‘We will endure!’
The crowd hurled his words back at him.
‘Incredible,’ whispered Maleneth to Gotrek. ‘They’ve lost their entire kingdom and now they’re cheering a half-dead prince.’
Gotrek glared at her. ‘They kept their oath. That means nothing to an aelf, but it means a lot to them. I thought these realms were peopled solely by treacherous thagi and cack-handed morons. But these people are prepared to risk everything for the honour of their ancestors.’ He took a deep breath, threw back his shoulders and punched his chest. ‘It does me good, aelf. It does me good to see this. Perhaps not all of the old ways have been forgotten.’
They joined the crowd around Prince Volant as he continued his speech, describing the battles he had fought to save the Unburied as more and more people crushed into the square.
‘They look worse than their pet corpses,’ muttered Maleneth. ‘And what do they think will happen when the ghouls get here?’
Gotrek was about to answer when a loud clattering sound announced the approach of more soldiers. A column of Gravesward entered the square, riding beneath an arch and heading straight for the prince. They were mounted on wingless versions of the prince’s skeleton steed, and their armour showed no signs of battle, shimmering with a dull lustre in the light that spilled through the streets. There was a carriage at the head of the column that looked like a mobile ossuary – an elaborate construction of sharpened bones led by four bleached, fleshless horses. As the carriage reached Volant, a knight climbed down. He wore a wreath of iron rose petals and held himself with the casual, languid bearing of an aristocrat.
‘Your majesty!’ the noble called out across the noise of the crowd. ‘The Unburied prophesied your return, but it is wonderful to see you so soon.’
Prince Volant laughed. ‘Soon?’ He gazed out across the crowd, studying the crowded streets. ‘We must talk, Captain Ridens.’
The captain nodded and gestured to a nearby building. ‘The chapter house, your majesty. We will have privacy in there.’
The knights made another colonnade of shields, and they passed through the crowds and approached a tall, narrow building that looked quite different from those around it. Most of the architecture that lined the square was built of the same bone-like contortions as the rest of the city, but this building was a slab of ink-black stone and its design was simple and unadorned. The only decoration was a pair of folded white moth wings on the door.
The captain led the way inside, closely followed by Prince Volant, who had to stoop under the doorframe, High Priestess Lhosia, Gotrek, Maleneth, Trachos and finally Lord Aurun and a detachment of Gravesward. Aurun ordered some of his men to stand watch outside, then slammed the door.
The entrance was long, narrow and lined with crackling torches. It led into a wide circular chamber with a domed roof and twelve alcoves spread equally around its circumference. In each alcove was a white shield, forged in the shape of a wing and carved with small lines of text.
There was a circular stone table at the centre of the room, and Prince Volant strode across to lean over it, fists pressed to the stone and head bowed. He was breathing heavily.
‘Your majesty,’ said Lord Aurun, hurrying towards him. ‘We must tend to your wounds. Let me send for an apothecary.’
Volant removed his black-and-white helmet and dropped it onto the table with a clang, then waved Aurun away. ‘Later.’ He glanced at one of the soldiers. ‘Food. And water.’
The knight nodded and hurried away as Volant turned towards the captain. ‘Tell me everything.’
He nodded, speaking quickly. ‘The garrisons from the prominents have been deployed across the city walls, as you instructed.’
‘How many?’
‘Nearly four thousand, your highness.’
‘How many archers?’
The captain hesitated. ‘There are four thousand men in total, your majesty. Roughly two thousand Gravesward. The rest are archers, assorted foot soldiers and militia.’
Volant stared at him for a moment. He sighed and nodded. ‘And the Unburied?’
‘Other than those you have just brought from the Barren Points, every surviving cocoon has been taken to the Halls of Separation, as you instructed.’
Volant nodded again. ‘The host that follows in our footsteps is larger than anything we anticipated. Four thousand soldiers will not suffice.’
The captain paled, but before he could reply, the prince continued.
‘But neither would fifty thousand. Our only hope is to hold the walls until I and the high priestess have completed the rite. With the power of the Unburied gathered together in a single location, we can use the Cerement Stone to guarantee their future.’
The captain nodded. ‘We have positioned the men exactly as you ordered, your majesty.’
‘I will see for myself before I leave the walls.’ Volant grimaced and pressed a hand to his side, closing his eyes. Then he noticed that the captain was looking awkwardly at him. ‘Anything else?’
The captain nodded. ‘Something peculiar happened at the Sariphi Docks. The relics…’ He frowned, struggling to explain himself. ‘The relics began moving. And making noises.’
‘Relics? Which relics?’
‘The aether-ships, Morn-Prince – the ironclads and frigates. They were shaking and rattling, shedding light from their hulls. Some of them moved with such force that they damaged the nearby buildings.’