She grabbed the fallen pipe, trying to heave it away. It was impossible – she could not shift it an inch, even with Trachos shoving from the other side. Bubbles rushed from his armour and he thrashed furiously.
‘Gotrek!’ she cried. The Slayer had backed away to the far side of the hole in the ceiling and there were now shapes in the column of light that separated her from him – pale, glittering shards clattering down through the hole.
‘Bone rain,’ she muttered.
It was hard to see Gotrek clearly through the downpour, but she could tell he was shaking his head, powerless to reach her.
She looked the other way, back down the tunnel, and saw pale purple light coming from that direction too. ‘Another hole,’ she muttered. ‘The whole place is coming down.’
Trachos twisted violently under the water, straining and bucking against the pipe.
She grabbed it again and pulled with all her strength, but it was hopeless.
‘Khaine,’ she wheezed, backing away and shaking her head. As she watched Trachos drowning, an unexpected fury washed through her. If she had engineered his death, she might have seen matters differently, but the idea of him being taken against her will was infuriating. ‘We need you,’ she muttered, trying again to shift the stone.
Light flickered over the walls and flashed in her eyes. She thought for a moment that another hole had opened in the ceiling, but it was Trachos’ torch, shining beneath the surface of the water and throwing rippling lights across the arched ceiling.
‘Gotrek!’ she shouted again, but she knew it was useless. If the Slayer passed through that curtain of rain, he would be cut apart like anyone else.
Splashes echoed down the tunnel and she turned to see a hunched, loping shape lurching into view. Even in silhouette, she could recognise the wiry, twisted frame of a ghoul.
She cursed and backed away from Trachos, whipping her knives from her belt as more ghouls rushed from the shadows, their pus-yellow eyes flashing in the light of Trachos’ torch.
She could see the Stormcast Eternal watching her from underwater as his struggles grew weaker.
‘What can I do?’ she said, taking another step away from him as the crowd of ghouls thundered through the sewer, twitching and grunting as they splashed through the effluence. There were dozens of them, just minutes away, and even more dropping into view behind.
‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘Any advice?’
You should have killed the Slayer. Then you wouldn’t be stuck down here with your back to the bone rain and flesh-eaters about to rip your lungs open.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Very helpful.’
She looked up the tunnel again. Gotrek had gone, carrying on without them. It made sense. The Slayer had never made any pretence of friendship. If he had ever had friends they had died a long time ago. But, absurdly, she still felt an odd sense of betrayal. In the months that she had travelled with the Slayer, she had begun to feel as though their fates were somehow entwined.
‘I’m a fool,’ she muttered. The first of the ghouls was only a minute or two away. She could see its black, jagged teeth drooling saliva as it tried to fix its febrile gaze on her.
Give us a death to be proud of. There was none of the usual venom in her mistress’ voice. She sounded unusually calm. Show Khaine we deserve a place at his side. These things bleed. Cut prayers into them.
A cruel smile stretched across Maleneth’s face. There were far too many ghouls for her to win this fight. There was no need to play it safe. Her mistress was right – she may as well abandon herself to the glory of the kill. She could revel in the bloodshed and devote herself, body and soul, to the Lord of Murder.
‘In mine hand is the power and the might,’ she whispered, dropping into a battle stance. ‘None may withstand me. By the Will of Khaine I will bathe in the blood of mine enemies.’
Not far from where she was standing, Trachos finally became still, but Maleneth had already forgotten him. There was nothing left in her mind but the moves of a lethal dance.
She lashed out as the first ghoul reached her, spinning on her heel in an elegant pirouette to open its throat and send it crashing into the water.
A bright umbrella of blood engulfed her, and she sighed with pleasure before sidestepping the next ghoul, hammering her knives into its back and ripping it apart with an ecstatic howl.
The kills merged into a fluid ballet of hacks and lunges. Maleneth flipped and rolled, singing to Khaine as she opened throats in his name. Her mistress howled along with every cut.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A Test of Faith
King Galan rode hard through blood-filled streets, howling orders as the city toppled around him. Ancient towers and sprawling manses were pulled to the ground, and as the traitors fled in panic, his men cut them down. It was brutal and merciless, a massacre the like of which he had never witnessed before. For a moment, he wondered if he had gone too far. Had he become the kind of tyrant he had always sworn to oppose?
Nia saw the hesitation in his eye. ‘This is the only way,’ she gasped, plunging her spear into another back and wrenching her drake round to face him. ‘When people hear of this victory they must quake. They must be horrified and appalled by the fate of these people.’
Galan nodded. They had discussed this many times on the road to the capital. He was old. And without an heir. If people believed they could turn on the crown without fear of death, the kingdom would not survive another year. This was his last chance to show what became of anyone who tried to claim independence. And yet… As his soldiers tore down statues and performed far worse atrocities in his name, his battle lust left him. ‘To the tower,’ he said, pointing his spear at the building that dominated the whole city. ‘Once I find the ringleader and introduce him to Rancour, in front of the whole city, our message will be clear. And then we can finally rest.’
He ducked as, in the next street, a huge temple collapsed, pulverised by one of his war engines, sending a writhing tower of dust up into the hazy summer heat. A powerful sense of purpose rushed through him. The wounded rebels were all fleeing to the tower at the centre of the city. Once he reached that building, he would ascend. He was sure of it. He would breach that central keep and butcher everyone inside, and then the Great Wolf would crown him not just king, but immortal Wolf Lord.
He glanced at Nia, grinning despite the carnage boiling all around him. And Nia would be his eternal queen. This was why they had come – not just to quell a foolish rebellion, but to reach this point and be elevated to a new life.
He grabbed Nia’s arm. ‘I can feel him riding with us.’ He pointed his spear at the tower, and his voice trembled. ‘He’s in there, I know it. Today, we will walk at his side!’
She stared at him, her eyes glistening.
And they rode on, killing with more fury than ever before.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A Path through the Darkness
Maleneth lost herself to the ritual of sacred murder. She abandoned every thought of Sigmar and the Order and thought only of Khaine, moving with more speed, cruelty and elegance than she ever had before. Bodies piled up around her, scored with holy sigils and drained of blood, until finally, inevitably, the sheer volume of them began to overwhelm her. As the piles of dead collapsed towards her, she stumbled, banged against the sewer wall and fell cursing to her knees in the water.
A ghoul locked its bony hand around her neck, but she sliced through the wrist, cutting the hand free and staggering clear as the mordant lunged after her, oblivious to the blood rushing from its arm.